#but at least now she has something warm to wear when she's sneaking into his room at night

[softquietsteadylove]

Hello! Wanted to ask you if you could write another Thenamesh AU in Kievan-Rus?

Maybe some interaction with Olga and Thena?

"A word?"

All of the Eternals turned, but the Queen's eyes were on the Warrior Eternal. Thena raised her brows. They were always to respect the rule of the humans of the land. Not that she was always the best at that.

"Please," the Queen offered more humbly, imploring Thena closer, "Warrior Eternal."

Thena looked at the others, who gave the Queen varying degrees of bows before taking their leave. Thena remained on the carpet rolled out over the frigid stone floors of the throne room.

Olga's eyes flicked to the far corner of the room before returning to Thena, "I understand you are no subject of mine."

Thena let her continue. She knew why her eyes had drifted; she could feel Gilgamesh lingering in the room. If she focused she could hear all of his little movements; the shuffling of his feet, his hands fidgeting, even his breathing.

"But I have watched you fight those demonic creatures," Olga held her head high. "Nightmares I thought only existed in legends."

Thena merely nodded. Deviants were getting harder and harder to explain to humans in that sense. But all the better that they became legends and myths and stories used to scare children.

"You are one of the fighters of Lady Ajak's," Olga surmised. Thena never considered a Fighter for Ajak. Although she wasn't even sure she considered herself a Fighter for Arishem. She simply...fought. "The best, in my view."

Thena needed no lavish praise. She had gotten plenty of it over the centuries. Still she bowed her head.

"I would like your counsel," Olga proposed, sitting taller in the massive throne, second only for the one meant for the King. "If you see fit."

"Counsel?" Thena raised a sleek eyebrow. For all she had been revered as a Goddess of War and Wisdom, she had grown rather tired of it.

"On matters of battle," Olga confirmed, now rising from the throne and walking closer to Thena below her. She descended the platform and steps keeping the thrones separate from the rest of the room. Her guards tensed but she dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "Matters of war, if you prefer."

Thena merely looked at the woman, far, far younger than she. And even then, Olga was still young in many ways. "No one prefers war, your majesty."

"It would not be wise to," Olga agreed in not so many words. The two women - equally guarded - stared at each other. "But I think your views on the subject align with mine."

"Do they?"

Olga smiled, and it seemed rather unlike she did when she was sitting on that throne. Olga actually managed much of her husband's ruling, he rather focusing on territory and its expansion. Their partnership was a fine match.

Olga twitched her head, gesturing to the man floating around listlessly, pretending to admire the tapestries hung around the room. "He is yours?"

Thena looked back at Gilgamesh with permission to do so. She smiled; he was very obviously listening in on them. "He is."

"I have seen you two fight," Olga said more gently, speaking less like a queen and more the way one friend might speak to another. "The way you protect each other. I find it rather admirable. Our way of combat is...more brutal."

Yes, the human warriors of this region were some of the most intense and brutal they had come across. They had Thena's full support and admiration for that.

"But of all our current war advisors," Olga slid her eyes in a way that made Thena think she maybe wanted to roll them. "Their views do not...align."

Thena tilted her head, asking for elaboration.

Olga openly admired Thena's hair sitting loosely around her shoulders. "Ferocity need not come from a place of malice, I believe. I much prefer to think of it as a byproduct of love."

Thena smiled. This human woman understood the necessity of force--that sometimes there was no better way to ensure the protection of certain things. Certain people.

"Some think our methods of expansion are aggressive," Olga resumed her more royal demeanour, "but I consider it necessary to keep our enemies mindful of who we are--of what we are capable."

"Yes," Thena murmured.

"To possess more is to lose more," Olga tipped her chin up at Thena, "and I do not intend to lose what I hold dear."

"I understand," Thena agreed.

"I believe you do," Olga's smile grew. She looked over at Gilgamesh again, catching him looking at them this time. His head snapped away. "It's quite all right."

Gil made a face like a child in trouble as he turned again. "Sorry, your majesty."

Olga eyed them as he drifted closer slowly until he was within reach of Thena again. "You are the Warrior Eternal's partner."

"Uh," Gil blushed, as if shyness suited a being of his size and stature, "I guess you could say that."

Thena ran her finger down his arm (she liked flustering him), "in more ways than one."

"You are a fine match," Olga complimented, regarding them as softly as she would her own family. "You, perhaps, remind me of myself and my dear husband."

Gil slipped his hand to the small of Thena's back, gathering that no one was going to gasp in horror or try to order him to remove it. Not that he would listen to that. "Then he's a lucky man."

Olga smiled more fully, looking more like the young woman she truly was. "I certainly like to think so."

Thena leaned into Gil, as if the few minutes spent half a room apart had taxed her.

"I hope I can count on your counsel in the future, Warrior Eternal," Olga nodded, which Thena returned. She wasn't much for bowing. "As a royal War Advisor, you have certain liberties. The royal grounds are open to you, and should you need anything, no one is to deny you."

"We'll keep that in mind, your majesty," Gil did bow to her, much more adept at the manners of any time period.

"Very well," Olga picked up her skirts, ready to return to her massive golden throne.

"Oh!"

She turned partway in her journey, truly a sign of respect and fondness that she would let anyone but the King call out to her in such a way. "Yes?"

"Uh," Gil shrank back, offering a sheepish smile. He held Thena's hand. "Maybe some extra blankets or something?--for her, I mean."

Thena looked at him with love radiating from her. So sweet, her Strongest Eternal.

"She gets cold easily," Gil concluded shyly, remembering to dip at the waist, "your majesty."

"I shall see to it," Olga nodded before settling herself in her throne again. "You will find all you need in your chambers by nightfall."

"Thank you," Thena offered to Olga before turning to Gil. She slid their fingers together, "you didn't have to."

"Of course I did," he countered immediately, pulling their joined hands up so he could kiss each tip of her fingers as they left. "I can't have my poor Thena walking around shivering."

"I am getting better," she argued, pursing her lips at him.

He just grinned at her (like it was so cute or something). He moved his head closer, touching the tip of his nose to hers, "hm, still feels cold to me."

She burst into a laugh.

He pulled her to the side of the corridor, not that there was anyone to witness their affections. He held her by the waist, "I just don't want you to be cold if you don't have to be."

"That's what I have you for, no?" she purred, letting herself melt into him.

"Sure," he chuckled, running a hand over her hair as he held her, "but the trip from your room to my room can be chilly."

#Thenamesh Rus AU #let me tell you #I am delighted that people like this one #I don't know it just has a certain place in my heart #I really do we had gotten more historical Eternals #I think the setting fits them better #Thena goes to her room and finds a heavy fur lined cloak and blankets and furs piled high #which is great and it does make the bed warmer #it's still nothing to sleeping with her beloved Gilgamesh tho #but at least now she has something warm to wear when she's sneaking into his room at night #he still tells her just to come to bed with him #don't bother trying to sleep in your room he says #but she always tries to give it a shot #poor stubborn Thena just go and sleep with your husband

[izvmimi]

cw: fluff. reader wears a dress and is in their late 30s, as is bakugou.

Despite your best hopes, you and Dynamight are late to the charity ball. Not because of anything particularly sexy, at least not this early in your budding relationship, but because traffic decided to be hell at 7pm on a Saturday evening, and while many precious seconds were lost both in his prolonged gaze at your dress and your inability to find the words to tell him how handsome he looks in his suit, there wasn’t much you could do about the highway congestion.

(You’re thankful at least that he respected your suggestion that explosions and chiffon would not mix.)

The two of you manage to shuffle in right before everyone’s finished taking their seats. Katsuki is of course seated with the remainder of the top 5 ranking heroes, and their partners, and he pulls out a chair for you to be seated, your name tag placed right in between him and Deku’s partner. She watches him slide your chair in and help you place your shawl in a safe place, then whispers something to her husband who’s smiling as he always does, splitting glances between the emcee, his wife and his flustered friend.

You try to keep your embarrassment to a minimum, and are thankful when Katsuki finally rubs your shoulders gently before disappearing to the restroom. Now you are alone, warmed in the cheeks and trying to look very interested in the opening speech. No time for introductions, but you can recognize everyone at the table even if you haven’t formally met. Izuku’s partner’s eyes settle on you again and it takes her exactly five minutes to give into finally shifting closer to you, just so she can whisper,

“You know, it’s the first time I think I’ve seen him fuss over someone like that.”

You can feel your body tense ever so slightly, but her demeanor is friendly if a bit playful. She introduces herself in a whisper, despite the fact that you already know who she is, she’s been on the television on and off for the past decade as Number One’s number one. 

“He talks about you all the time,” she adds. You smile, unsure of what to say back except that you’re thankful that you’re finally here to meet his wonderful friends.

You’re new to all of this, and in many ways, feel very much a fish-out-of-water, having lived a quiet life, single and responsible to no one except your well-loved cats. You’ve been on dates in your 20s and have long since lost your interest in the dinner-and-a-movie combo by the time you turned 30, and now that you’re closer to your 40s than you are your 30s, the butterflies in your stomach with every nervous smile or brush of your fingers Katsuki offers you carries a soft twang of embarrassment. You’re too old to be this giddy you think sometimes. 

She says nothing more to you until the speech is over, and Katsuki arrives at the same time as she turns again. Her eyes narrow playfully as Katsuki slips into the chair beside you, slipping his hand over yours on the table. 

“Kacchan, aren’t you sweet?”

He scowls at her, but his hand doesn’t move. Shoto, you can see from across the table, looks curiously at your joined hands while Izuku pulls his partner in and gently reminds her not to worry you. He’s quick to introduce himself as well with a firm but not-too-firm handshake.

“We’re so delighted to meet you,” he says. Red Riot gets up from his seat and claps Katsuki on the shoulder, and it’s loud enough that it startles you a bit, but he’s grinning ear to ear as he looks at the both of you.

“We were beginning to think you’d die alone!” he exclaims, which has Katsuki gritting his teeth. 

“Will any one of you stop acting like I’ve never had a date before?” He’s seething and you try to stifle a giggle. He hears you and his head snaps in your direction, but your smile quickly softens his look of betrayal. He scoots his chair in and holds your hand tighter.

“Act normal,” he hisses to the rest of them, and the lights dim again for the next speech while Izuku and his wife keep sneaking glances at you and giggling, huddled together, as if they are kids themselves.

You on the other hand are gleeful but keep your laughter internal. Katsuki leans in and asks you what’s so funny, but you both know.

You’d think you’d all known each other since you were kids, the way Katsuki’s friends have so easily assimilated you into the group, and it only mirrors the way you’ve always felt since you’ve met him.

That things have fallen in place, perhaps late, but better than never.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes

[drkmgs]

Tyler's Sibling

Wednesday Addams x Reader Galpin

Story type: multiple chapters

Warning: Sibling issue, scar arm, trauma, paint blood...

I know it's been a while... I'm sorry...

previous chapter

After you lost consciousness at the Weathervane, your father strictly advised you to stay home and not to go to work. You have been resting in your room, thinking about what happened three weeks ago. You had a Zoom meeting with your doctor discussing nonsense theories as to what and why it happened. It was clear that these professionals also don't have the answers.

It would be nice if you had at least one friend, but who would befriend you? You were too normal for an outcast and too weird for a normie. Your brother doesn't care about you. He has his own demons and problems to solve. Your father is far too busy, and if he was home, him and Tyler would just bite each other's heads off.

You sighed as you sat up on your bed and looked out the window. You got startled when a hand knocked on your window. Hesitantly, you opened it and let the hand enter. He signed you a thank you and continued with how different your reaction was compared to your brother. You learned that the hand's name is Thing, and he is one of the Addams.

You talked to him like a person, which Thing actually appreciated. You and Thing were so immersed with your conversation that it was almost time for him to go, and Thing had to return to Nevermore. You let him out the window and asked him if he could come back to keep you company. He did a little nod and crawled away.

Not long after, you saw a figure sneaking around the house. You got up, exited your room, and made your way downstairs. You jumped a little when you hear the back door rattle. You slowly made your way to the door, grabbing a pan on the way. You were ready to hit the intruder when you realized it was just your brother. Sneaking back inside the house.

"Woah! Woah!" He said and took the pan out of your hand. "Where were you, and why are you sneaking into the house? Dad is not home yet." You took a step back, letting him close the door. He passed by you, and that's when you noticed the suit he was holding. Your eyebrows furrowed. "Wednesday asked me to be her date for the Rave'N." He held up the suit and ran upstairs, probably to get ready.

Your head went into spiral. She asked him? So, why did she kiss you? Was it to clear her head? Was she confused? You and Tyler do look similar, but you were certain she said she came for you that night. Thinking too much made you dizzy. With the help of the furniture around you, you got yourself back to your room. You dropped yourself onto the bed, curling inside your warm blanket, which helped you fall into sleep.

You got woken up by an extreme pain. You screamed on top of your lungs. Gripping on your arm. Sheriff Galpin burst into your room, already trying to soothe you. Then his phone rang through the house, and he gently lay you back down on your pillow. By now, you were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself.

"Y/N. I need you to come with me. Come on." He said as soon as he hung up the phone. He made you sit up and put one of your jackets on you and then warped you with one of your blankets. You're still clinging on to your arm as if it's going to fall off, and it does feel like it. Once he was finished, he gathered everything he needed and guided you towards the truck, and let you sit by the passenger side. He made sure you were wearing your seatbelt and then drove away.

At some point, you did register where you're headed. Once you past the metal gates, you knew you're at the Nevermore grounds. In your dizzy visions, you could see teenagers running out of the building, covered in blood? Your Dad said something, but your brain didn't register any of it. All you could do was watch him exit the vehicle and storms inside the school.

As soon as he was gone inside, you saw Wednesday covered in blood running past the truck into the woods. You looked around for a hot minute to see if your brother was following her, but no sign of him. You unbuckled your seatbealt and jumped out the truck, following Wednesday.

You called after her in between hissing at the pain shooting through your arm. "Would you stop for a minute?!" You shouted, and that made the girl stop. "Care to explain what is happening? and why are you covered in blood?" You exhaled heavily from chasing her. "It's not blood. It's paint, and right now is not the time. We need to find Eugene!" "The bee boy?" With that, both of you continued to run deeper into the woods. "Eugene!" Wednesday called out, and not even a second both of you hear him. "Wednesday!" The closer you get to him, the pain in your arm grows.

You were just a couple of meters away from him when you heard a screeching scream. Wednesday ran towards the direction, you just behind her, for some reason, you keep looking behind you and bumped into Wednesday. As soon as you turned around and saw Eugene's body, you dropped to the ground.

Everything went black.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday series #wednesday netflix

[chronically-ghosted]

title: you may be dead, but i’m still pretty

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: ~5700

summary: it’s Max’s birthday so you agree to indulge him with one of his biggest and most well-hidden fantasies: Buffy Summers. (AKA the one where you dress up as a slutty cheerleader with a stake and completely own his ass)

warnings/tags: i feel like i should send sarah michelle gellar an apology letter for this, BSDM dynamics, tying up, edging, orgasm denial, blow jobs, brief use of plugs, oral (f and m receiving), piv sex, SMUT, no use of y/n, no reader descriptions other than hair long enough to put into pigtails, max dressed as the dollar store general version of Spike (and satisfies the little goth freak inside of me), dare i tag this as btvs or should i more accurately tag it as Boofay the Vampire Layer, as you can see i had way too much fun with this

a/n: from @heareball ‘s request from my 100 followers celebration: 24. A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips.” with our boy Max Phillips? smutty? (your original ask got deleted! i'm so sorry 😔)

🤍Masterlist

The doorknob to the front door of the luxurious apartment rattled as someone on the other side struggled with the keys in the lock. With a squeak, the door opened and a woman stumbled through. With seemingly no one else home, you frown, confused by the darkness and the seemingly empty apartment. 

“Mom? Dawn? I’m home from cheer practice. Isn’t it supposed to be pizza night?”

No one answered you, the shadows empty and looming. Slightly more worried now, you slip your backpack off one shoulder, your hand sliding into one of the pockets. 

“Ha, ha, very funny, guys, but it’s not my birthday. You can come out now. But feel free to leave out the presents and cake.”

You sneak around to the living room, your hand wrapped firmly around your trusty weapon in your backpack, your pigtails twitching back and forth as you peer into the gloom. Nothing moves, but the shadows feel closer, heavier, darker. You pause, wait, listening, anticipating –

Something moves in the far corner of the room and then strong arms snatch you up around your elbows. You squeak, surprised and a little pissed he managed to sneak up on you, as a long, warm tongue licks up the side of your neck, fangs pinching at your earlobe.

“Slayer,” the shadow hisses, “finally, she came out to play." Oh, no, you trained for this. For six whole weeks at the Y just for this one goddamn move. 

You plant your feet just like you were taught, twisting your body in his arms to readjust his weight and you spin, throwing him over your shoulder and onto his back on the ground. Hardly giving him time to shake off the shock, you snatch up your backpack and pounce on his chest. 

Wide eyes stare up at you from beneath thick black eyeliner. Dark hair slicked back, with at least one fake silver stud in his ear, the vampire watches you with surprise and obvious arousal. Hands with black nail polish hover above your thighs, itching to sink down into your plush flesh. If he thought that was a surprise, just wait until –

You pull a stake out from your backpack and hold it above his chest. 

Behind your ass, his cock jumps awake. You suppress a giggle and force your mouth into a teasing smirk. You press the tip right into his chest and the styrofoam cracks. The vampire breathes sharply through his nose when he realizes you’re not wearing a bra beneath your “Middleton High” cheerleader’s uniform. 

“What do you have to say for yourself? For a creature of the night, you’re kinda lame.” 

Grinning, his hands drop against your thighs, thumb slipping under the edge of the white stocking under your knee, the black shirt around his chest tight and far too complimentary of his biceps. 

“And you’re just a cheerleader. Tell me, are these stockings standard regulation?” 

You shift your weight, pressing into him with your hips and the fake stake, your other hand on his chest, exactly where you put it when you ride him. His mouth drops open slightly when he feels your wet underwear through his shirt, his eyes fluttering.

“I only hunt naughty vampires,” you coo. “Are you going to behave?” 

Brown eyes slipping into a heated blackness as he squirms beneath you, two fangs descend from his upper row of teeth, his tongue licking them teasingly. God, he knows exactly what the sight of him like that does to you. 

“Depends on what you make me do.” 

You smirk and roll your hips once – he groans. “I’m going to make you be very, very naughty.” 

You slide back, out of the reach of his outstretched hands, still pointing that stake at him, and beckon him towards you. He eagerly pushes himself up, revealing that tight torso to the moonlight. You catch a glimpse of his tight black jeans for the first time all night and your mouth waters. You can definitely see the hot outline of his cock, bulging against the seam of his pants. Why didn’t you do this earlier? 

You swallow and catch his gaze again. He’s smirking, glancing down to where you were so shamelessly staring. Flushed slightly, you push him down the hall as if walking a purp back to the holding cell. He even stumbles with his hands up in surrender. You take him by the shoulder and shove him into the bedroom. 

“You’re kind of strong for someone of your size,” he says as he tumbles into the room. 

“Cheerleading is harder than it looks.” His tongue runs the length of his bottom lip as he watches you in a comically small skirt slink towards him. “Kneel for me.” 

He drops to his knees without hesitation, his broad shoulders tight with anticipation. You tuck the tip of the stake under his chin, tilting his head up to look you in the eye.

“Being a hot cheerleader takes a lot out of me.” You prop the sole of your sneaker up against his shoulder, giving him a perfect view of your black lace underwear. His eyes flicker between your crotch and your face. “Take off my shoes for me.” 

His breathing hitches as he delicately takes the back of your ankle, the heat from his fingers warm even through the stocking, as he uses his deft fingers on the other hand to pluck your laces free. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am is my mother.” You cock your head. “Try again.”

“Yes, Slayer.” He nuzzles your shin as he slowly slips the sneaker off your foot, still delicately holding your ankle as if it is precious glass. Looking up at you for permission to continue, his eyelashes thick and heavy, he slowly lowers your foot to the ground, but his hand stays at your heel. Before you can stop him, his hand skitters up and squeezes the back of your thigh, so you press your other knee against his throat and he chokes.

“That’s one,” you warn. He nods, swallowing, and you shift to put your other sneaker against his shoulder. 

“One what, Slayer?” His hands are barely trembling as he unties your laces, tosses your sneaker to the ground. You know he can smell your wetness leaking out onto your panties. His already dark eyes flash with unrestrained want, trying to see where your slick stains your crotch. 

“One time you don’t get to come.” 

His eyes leap from under your skirt up to your face, his mouth slack and desire hot across his face and you nearly give up the game right then – tackle him to the ground and shove your tongue down his throat. But, no, this is what he asked for so you’re going to give it to him. You breathe, trying to steady your own unbalanced nerves, and he sets a warm palm on your knee. 

It’s your boyfriend in his eyes, not some horny creature of the night, asking are you okay? Do you want to keep going? Despite giving him everything he wants, he would drop this scene in an instant if you were uncomfortable in any way. 

You quell the adoration expanding in your chest with an inhale, drop the stake, and you set your shoulders back. You twist your ankle around the back of his neck and flex.

“Come here.” Desire overwhelms his face again, jaw tightening, eyes widening to black as he shuffles forward, careful to keep your leg balanced over his shoulder. 

“Can I touch you, Slayer?” He breathes, voice low and wrecked, hands twitching. Your knee bends over his shoulder, your heel pressing into his back. 

You nod, chest stuttering, his warm breath against your hot inner thigh sending arousal licking up your spine. You nod again and his hand cups the back of your thigh, the curve of your ass, his fingers cradling your opposite knee to steady you. He squeezes just below your ass and you groan. 

“I want my panties drenched. You figure out how to do that.” 

A heavy noise from his chest, and he ducks his head beneath your pleated skirt. His fingers pull aside the crotch of your panties and that first lick has you both groaning. He cups your ass again, pushing you into his face and sending your leg further over his shoulder. You might have stumbled, your knee already weak, had it not been for his hands gripping you, clutching you to his mouth.

He tilts your hips up, holds your pelvis like a bowl, and eats. 

He sucks one lip into his mouth, and then the other, tonguing your flesh as if it needed to be wetter. He dips his chin, licking from your clenching hole up to your clit, groaning praises around the drops of slick that cling to his lips. Tongue firm and steady, he fucks you with it, the curve of his nose pressing against your clit. Heat blooms, pulsates with every plunge of his tongue, your cunt fluttering around him, and it rockets up your spine, yanking your head back. 

“Oh, Jesus – fuck,” your nails dig into his shoulder, his name just in the back of your throat, and the vibration in his chest that you feel against your wet thigh has your knee buckling. With a growl that reverberates up into your cervix, he clutches you tighter, tongue painting you with your own slick even faster. He tucks your clit up into his mouth and sucks – hard.

Your orgasm that detonates in your core is unexpected, strong, and completely knocks you off balance. Entirely dependent on him to keep you upright, you hold him against you, his satisfied licks carrying you through it, teasing aftershocks, and he drinks the splash that bursts out of you with reckless abandon. 

Oh, that bastard is gonna get it . . .

Knees trembling, you pull back, nails wrapped around his hair to drag his head away from your cunt. He growls, displeased, but you manage to wedge your knee against his chest, pushing him farther back with your shin, then your foot. 

He looks manic. Slicked hair completely undone, mouth, nose, cheeks shiny with your release, his eyes were blacker than ever. He licks the corner of his lips, focus still entirely attached to your leaking pussy, and his fangs dig into his bottom lip, seemingly without his control.

“Is that wet enough for you?” 

You use the sternest voice you can muster, almost annoyed at how easily he can pull you apart: “Take your shirt off.” 

He does so without question, without hesitation, eyes catching every heavy breath, every pulse of your heart – he sees the wetness on the edge of one of your stockings and you watch as his cock twitches. 

“What next, Slayer?” It’s intimate, the way he says it, the way it purrs in his mouth. You kind of wish he had gone with the British accent he had been considering, but listening to him beg you just as he is, has your pulse rocketing again. 

In the dim light, he’s all dark shadows and cut muscle. Shirtless, breathing heavy, black jeans slung low on his hips, he could not look farther from the man you know, the man you love, but he’s still there. Still drives you fucking crazy.

In two steps, you capture his mouth with yours, your fingers twisting into his short hair at the cup of his skull as you pull him down into you. His groan is different, relieved, instead of possessive, coming from his ribs instead of his groin. Mouth open, he widens the gap between your lips with the press of his tongue and you taste your own salty, sweet release as his mouth overtakes yours. He kisses your bottom lip, nips at your top lip, and his hands squeeze your ass. 

Your name nearly slips out as he dips his head back, eyelids heavy, but he corrects himself. 

“S-slayer, please, can I fuck you now?”

You shake your head, your confidence growing again, and push him until he hits the edge of the bed and drops on top of it. 

“Oh, no, I’m not nearly done with you. Hold out your wrists.” 

His arms shake slightly as he holds them out to you, his eyes full of desperation and want. You tsk, frowning. 

“It seems I’ve forgotten my super powerful vampire restraints.” You tap the corner of your mouth. He wriggles. “I guess we’ll have to use something else.” 

His jaw drops as you turn around and bend forward, that pathetic excuse for a skirt barely covering the curve of your ass, giving him full view of your dripping wet pussy, as you slide your soaked panties over your hips and down to the floor. Over your shoulder, he looks totally dumbstruck, chest flushed, unable to tear his eyes away as you step out of your panties. His eyeliner is slightly smudged and your cunt clenches. 

He swallows, mouth wet, as you saunter over and poke him in the knee with your toe. 

“All the way back. To the headboard.” 

He scrambles back, still holding his wrists together even though you hadn’t actually tied him up with anything yet. He was always so good at taking directions like this.

You put your panties in your mouth, freeing your hands as you slink up the bed, over his heaving chest. As though tied by string, he follows as you take your panties out of your mouth, loop them around his wrists and firmly secure them to the headboard. It’s laughable, the idea that your wet underwear would actually keep him from moving, his actual vampire strength more than enough to shred them in an instant (as he has done on many occasion), but he settles against the pillows, a red blush emerging behind the brush of hair under his belly button, leading down and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. 

He won’t last long, already like this.

You slide back, your exposed cunt barely touching his skin as you shuffle down, thighs spread over his. For all his bluster and showmanship, he really is so fucking pretty when you get down to it. You drag your three fingers down from his collarbone, digging in with your nails around his nipple and eliciting a short breath, continuing lazily down his stomach, to that maddening patch of hair. You think you can smell sex on him so you dip forward and inhale. 

He loudly whines, eyes squeezing shut, stomach twitching against your hot breath. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby – S-s-slayer – please, please o-open my jeans.” 

You tongue him once, he shudders, and you pop the button on his jeans. The sound of the zipper is loud, daunting, ratchets up the pulse in your chest, in your cunt. You’re going to soak him through his jeans at this rate, and he’d thank you for it. 

“Please take me out. I want you to touch me.”

You tilt your head, watching as he squirms beneath you, his knuckles white from how hard he clenches his fists. You’ll kiss him later and thank him for trusting you with something like this, but for now, you’re going to keep teasing him.

He whimpers as you lean away from him, back towards his feet. You watch him go a bit red as you smirk over your shoulder at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you need something?” 

He doesn’t know how to ask for it, and knowing if he does, it’ll cost him. His gaze flickers to your chest. 

You shrug. “I guess you’ve been good enough for this, little vampire.” 

With practiced ease, you slip the cheerleader uniform top over your head, your tits bouncing as they’re released from the tight confines. You watch him bite his bottom lip, eager and desperate to put his lips around your nipple, but that will come later. 

“Better?”

He shifts, hips thrusting against his zipper for some relief, and nods. You lean back again, smirking, and untie his big heavy black boots. You’re dying to ask him where the hell he got this costume, but you have to stifle your own curiosity for his sake. Making sure your ass is in full view, you yank off his boot, and then the other. They thump loudly to the floor and you lick the soft place under his ankle, pulling a groan from his throat.

Now only in your skirt and stockings, you crawl back up his long legs and situate yourself in the cradle of his pelvis. He swallows, his mouth flushed with sweat, his arms tight and flexing around his head. You’d thought up a dozen scenarios when you got to this point, things you wanted to try out, toys to play with hidden in your backpack, but just having him beneath you, you knew exactly what you wanted. 

“Where are my friends?” You growl at him. “My mother, my sister – what have you done with them?” He blinks up at you in confusion for a moment, before pulling his bottom lip into his mouth with his tongue.

“I’ll never tell you, Slayer,” he snarls with a flash of fangs. You wonder if he’ll pull full Vamp Face tonight after all the teasing. Your cunt clenches at the thought.

You tsk. “That’s two.” 

You shuffle down his slim hips, fingers wrapping around the waistband of his skinny jeans, and tug as you go. He eagerly lifts his hips as you pull, harder than normal. How he fucking poured himself into these things, you’ll never know. 

Like a true badass, he’s not wearing any underwear, the teeth of his zipper leaving red marks on his groin, and his cock, so hard for so long, springs out. He is unfortunately very good at getting you to babble mindlessly during sex, his strict questions baring no room for argument.

Whose cunt is this? Yours. Always yours.

Who fucks you the best? You, you, you.

How do you like my cock, splitting you open? I love it. God, I fucking love it. It’s such a pretty cock.

You babble, but never lie. Flushed, thick, long, he does and always has had a gorgeous cock, as far as cocks go. Or maybe it’s just how it makes you feel, tapping against your g-spot, that makes your mouth water with adoration. 

“I have ways of making you talk,” you say gruffly, palming the leaking precum around his head and using it to pump him once. His eyes roll back in his head, his biceps flexing with restraint. But, admirably, he holds out.

“I-I’m not afraid of you, S-slayer,” he mutters breathlessly. That sort of arrogance, cock-assuredness, it made you wet the first time you met him, and it still does. You grind against his thigh, but it’s not enough. You lift your palm from him and spit into the cup of your hand. His eyes track the string of spit as it falls from your lips, as you turn your cupped hand over and take him by the base of his cock. You drag your hand up, feeling every ridge, every throb of his vein, as you twist your wrist, thumbing the head of his cock. Precum leaks more and his cock flushes darker. 

“You still don’t want to talk?”

He shakes his head, eyes tightly shut as if using every mental facility available to keep from cumming. 

“You know what I can do to you if you don’t talk.” He nods. “And you know what’s going to happen if you come before I tell you to. Right?”

You pump him a tick faster and his hips buck. 

“Fuck. Yes, yes, I know.” 

You arch an eyebrow at him, his jaw tight and clenched, the pink from his groin spreading up his chest. You think he might be sweating slightly, his skin fire hot. 

“Then you only have yourself to blame for this.” 

You bend forward and take him entirely into your mouth, his sensitive head pricking the back of your throat.

“Ohhh, fucking hell–,” 

His cock rigid against your tongue, you lap at him, deeply inhaling the musky scent of those curls. His stomach tenses and his hips jerk but he doesn’t move. He knows bucking them into your mouth will making him come like lightning, despite the torture of keeping still. He drops his head back against the pillow and releases a full body groan. 

“I’m gonna fucking die.”

You chuckle, humming around him, before sucking him up and down, up and down – he pants loudly above you – and then you pull off him entirely. 

“You aren’t going to die,” you murmur coolly, using your middle finger and thumb to jerk his head slightly. His thighs shake. “You might, though, when I suck your soul out through this cock.”

You slurp him down again, mouth salty with precum, and suck and twirl and lick and –

“Okay, stop, stop, I’m gonna c-come – I’ll tell you where your friends are.”

Beyond pleased with yourself, you let him drop out of your mouth and look up. You’re struck by what you see.

Chest red and heaving, sweat darkening the hair at his temples, arms shaking and fingers clenched around the headboard, he’s coming undone. He’s falling apart. His teeth clenched so hard, the tension contorts his beautiful face and he breathes harshly through his nose. You know if it really was too much, he’d say the safe word and you’d back off in an instant. But this is also the sort of play your boyfriend goes absolutely bonkers for. 

He swallows. “I-in the bathroom,” he chokes out, his voice cracked and dry, “they’re in the bathroom.” 

You bite his hip bone, flesh twitching beneath your teeth. 

“Good boy.” 

Easing your weight off him, you slide off the mattress and leave him sweating and flustered. You flip on the light switch, the dark room suddenly flooding with an almost painful white light. Blinking back tears as your eyes adjust, you catch yourself in the mirror.

He is the one tied up, edged to the fringe of pain, but you still look debauched. Hair a mess from where he sunk his hands into you as he kissed you, pleated skirt up by your waist, teasing a hint of your cunt, and your tits flushed and pink, the power of a vampire slayer looks good on you. You smirk at yourself, knowing that just this look on you has him at the razor margin of coming in his pants, and then your gaze drops to the counter.

On little pieces of paper in front there are names like “Xander”, “Cordelia”, “Willow”. Clearly planned and thought out, the names sit in front of different sex toys. Vibrators, beads, plugs – you name it. You grin because your boyfriend was often a pop-culture dork and you can only imagine his childish glee as he set this up. Ridiculous. Idiot. 

You pick up a black plug, short and squat, with the name “Spike”. Sometimes he was about as subtle as a train wreck. Taking up the conveniently placed bottle of lube, you go back to the bedroom, to your little plaything. 

His cock isn’t bright red, not as strict, whatever he focused on to keep from coming clearly worked. He licks his lips as he sees you come out, hands behind your back. 

“Did you find them?”

“Yes, I did. Very good vampire.” Kneeling at the edge of the bed, you bunch up the covers and hide the toy and lube underneath, knowing exactly when you want to show them to him. His eyes widen, hands fisting your sticky panties. 

“Can’t we play?” 

“So eager,” you coo as you crawl up to him again. You bite his earlobe, hands palming his wide chest. “We’re almost there, but not yet.”

His hips shift, searching for the heat of yours as you settle on his stomach. Your cunt’s slick smears on his hot skin and his nose flares.

“What do I have to do?”

Heartbeat hard against your wrists, your ribs, your thighs, you swallow his gaze as you reach behind you and squeeze the base of his cock. He gasps, the touch unexpected, and in three strokes, he’s hard, straining, between your ass cheeks. You rub your ass against him once and you can see his resolve start to crumble. He’s been on the edge for too long, buckling against the climbing weight of his own orgasm. He whines, his eyes tightly shut, the eyeliner running down his temple. You wait, thinking this is where he will call it quits, use the safeword and tear out of his restraints. But he doesn’t. He twitches and heaves and shudders, precum running in between your fingers. 

Your little goth badass is struggling to keep it together. 

You bend forward and kiss him lightly on his cheek, his skin warm and wet. 

“You have to make me come,” you whisper. Without looking at him, you reach to the end of the bed, and pull out the plug you’ve chosen.

He literally whimpers when he sees what’s in your hand. His open mouth is wet, stringy with spit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck – S-slayer, p-please –,”

“Not for you, silly,” you hum. Holding onto the plug, you slather a truly horrendous amount of lube over it. It drips wet and warm onto his chest, his skin tightening. His fangs hover above his bottom lip. He wants to devour you. 

You stroke him twice more, inch back, and arch your back, his cock brushing your stomach. On an exhale, you insert the plug into yourself and finally let out the moan that’s been building in your chest all night. Watching your face go slack, he snarls.

“I wanted to do that.” 

You breathe out, feeling full and swollen, slick leaking down your thigh. You crack open an eye and smirk as he seethes. He straddles the edge, cracking under your fingertips, and he still thinks he owns your asshole. 

“Don’t be naughty or I’ll make it three.” 

With a quick lick up his cock, you settle forward and take his red tip into your cunt. He flushes, sweat breaking out on his skin, as you sink, lower, and lower, swallowing him more and more, as your body literally molds to take more and more of him. By the time you straddle him completely, his cock thick and throbbing inside of you, the moan you made is only matched by his, low, deep, aching. The headboard hisses as his fists clench around the slates. 

“Baby – please, you have to – move – baby–,”

“You don’t get to come, even if I do, understand?”

He shudders, his hips jerking up in small strokes, his eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, I k-know.” 

“Good boy.”

And you rise up on your knees and drop all the way back down, searching for a pace that is as fast as it is punishing. Squeezing his hips with your thighs, you ride him, that syrupy heat turning from a simmer to a roar, pleasure throbbing like a fresh bruise. The tendons in his neck flex and strong as he fights to wrangle in that spark, that wildfire, he looks up at you, eyes swimming with need, with adoration, with rage. He wants to fuck you, wants his hands on you, wants to pluck you apart with his fingers, his tongue – but mostly he wants to come with you.

Sweat slips down the back of your neck, over your shoulder, nestling under your breast. More dripped down your spine, his thighs soaked from your slick. His restraint only drags you higher, faster, sharper. His own frustration is palpable and your complete control over him tightens your cunt. You bounce rougher and he grunts, barely audible words escaping his clenched teeth i’m gonna fuck you gonna ruin that cunt gonna split you open baby baby baby his forearms so tight, you could see his veins up through his arms. 

The image of a ruined Max Phillips quivering and sweating beneath you, obeying you, submitting to you, allowing you to reduce him to this – the plug going deeper and deeper, feeling overwhelmed, overspilling – it breaks you open. White lightning pierces you and tears slip out of your eyes, head thrown back, a moan tearing up your throat so loud you wonder if his neighbors will complain. 

You gush over his hips, his jeans, his throbbing cock, every muscle in your lower body tense and tight, milking his cock. Over the ringing in your ears, you hear him make a guttural groan in the back of his throat. Your thighs tremble.

“You can come, baby, come inside me.”

Three things happen within seconds of each other. 

Max tears his way out of your black panties, tears the cheap skirt from your hips, literally tearing the fabric in half, and he flips you onto your back. With a snarl, he shoves your knees up to your chest and thrust deeper inside you than you could ever reach on top. It nearly knocks the wind out of you.

You scrabble at his chest, little nails digging into his damp skin, but he doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t stop. He’s kept himself back long enough for this. Only this. 

He fists the stocking around your calf as he plunges deeper and deeper into your pussy. He pushes against a patch inside of you only he can seem to reach and you tighten beneath him, mouth dropping open.

“That’s it. That’s where you need it,” he smirks, the groan that follows nicking his ribs. “You’re such a filthy little Slayer. Need to get properly fucked by your dirty vampire’s big cock, don’t you?”

You nod, each brush of his cock against that spot has your thighs shaking and knees weak. He gives a particularly rough thrust and tears leak out of the corner of your eyes. 

“Oh god – yes – I need – right fucking there – I need it.” 

“Need what?” He isn’t going to let you get away with it after that much edging. 

You try to focus on his face through bleary eyes, through the rapid pounding your cunt is taking, the whole bed creaking, so cock-drunk you think you might drool, and you claw at his ribs. 

“Need your cock, Max. And your hand.”

He knows exactly what you mean, what you want. His grip switches, arm balanced out by your head, and the other hand sliding up between your damp tits and his fingers tighten around your throat. His eyes tracking his thumb, he brushes the spot where he bit you last week. He could have healed you in an instant, hates seeing any lingering hurt on you, but you begged him to leave the mark, leave the scar. You thought you really might love him that day.

He thrusts hard and deep and his fingers tighten. Your vision blurs, blackness creeping in, your body going numb to the pounding, your grasp around his wrists going limp. 

And then, the world rushes back, pours into you, bright, loud, hot, and pleasure explodes out through your body and you come, harder than you’ve ever done in recent memory. It doesn’t even feel like an orgasm – it’s your soul being returned from some other astral plane into a hot, steaming soup. 

Above you, the force of his own orgasm knocks Max onto his elbows, hunched over you and filling you with so much delayed cum it leaks out of you and down the curve of the plug. You feel numb, tingle all over, as feeling slowly returns to your extremities, your skin warm and throbbing. Max’s own body beats in sync with his thudding heartbeat. Sweat pours off you both as if a dripping towel had been wrung out above you. 

As awareness slowly returns, you realize he’s basically crushing you with his full weight, but you wouldn’t dare ask him to move. If he is in the same state you are, he can’t feel his legs. 

Panting through the same shared breaths, Max lifts his head from the curve of your neck and soothes his pulsating skin by gently touching his forehead to yours. Shaking, he presses an embarrassingly chase kiss to your lips. 

“Fuck, can we do that again?” 

You chuckle mindlessly. “Which part? The heart-stopping orgasm or a shameful reenactment of a 90s classic tv show?”

Max groans as he flops onto the bed next to you. “The first one. Both. I don’t know. Don’t ask me hard questions right now.” 

You chuckle, breathing heavy, as you eye the shredded remnants of your cheerleader skirt and panties. 

“You’re lucky I bought this costume outright. Don’t know how I was going to explain what the fuck happened to it.” 

“Hey, you show up in these again,” he flicks the ruined lumps of your pigtails, “I’ll fuck you however wherever you want.”

“Do I even want to know where you got your get up?” You nod to his general appearance, ruined makeup and black nails. He glances down and realizes he’s still wearing those black skinny jeans. 

“Shit, no fucking wonder I can’t feel my legs. Damn things are cutting off my circulation.”

You giggle as he struggles to strip himself bare, kicking the jeans down his legs and off the bed. Carefully, you take out the plug, dropping it to the floor, wince at the emptiness knowing it would need to be cleaned later. And maybe later, Max would use his tongue to soothe the muscle.

But he’s too out of it to notice now. He flops back down, arms outstretched, and not needing an invitation, you curl up against his chest. His arms fold around you, his lips automatically coming to rest against your hairline, as your breathing settles. 

“So, good birthday present?” You grin up at him.

He rubs his eyes as he groans, smearing his eyeliner even more. “Fuck, baby, the fucking best. Like, you don’t even have to get me a Christmas present.”

You trace his chest, his ribs with a finger, a small smile curling your lips. “Hmm, you say that now . . .”

He laughs, no more than a huff, and kisses your forehead. “It’ll be hard to top that, sweetheart.” 

With that smirk spreading across your face, you sit up on an elbow, turning to look down at him. He’s just fucking glowing. 

“I don’t know . . . I was thinking something more dirty. Something that will ensure we definitely go to hell.”

He tips his finger up and down your shoulder, eyes already going dark, cock twitching against his stomach. “What did you have in mind?”

“Have you ever been choked out by a rosary?”

-----

Like what you read? I’m at 100 followers on this blog! come party with me!

#100 followers #100 followers event

[hippielittlemetalhead]

So season 3. Let's do this!

This took so so so long and is not quite where/what I wanted it to be soooo... I am so sorry 😅🥲 this will most likely be 2 parts cause... Yeah, just life man.

Actually some dialogue in this one? Sure, a line or two, as a treat.

(Part1) (part2)

Steve had been working at Scoops Ahoy for a few weeks now and he feels like he's built a decent rapport with his coworker Robin. She's witty and snarky and opinionated and when Steve wears a more tinted lipgloss than he intended resulting in a customer clocking it and saying something rude that he can't help but smile his dead-eyed customer service smile at, she clocks out for her lunch early (and takes an extra 15 minutes) and comes back with a full face of makeup and shoos him into the back with the mascara she bought from the shop a couple stores over. They both start coming to work with at least mascara, eyeliner and lipstick and Steve loves it. He compliments the hand-drawn designs on her shoes and she asks where he got his rainbow heart pin. They mostly disagree on music they listen to -she still lets him drag her to a couple live music nights at The Hideout with him and Billy every now and then anyway- but their politics and basic life philosophies line up pretty well.

He could do without the 'You Rule / You Suck' board, especially when Billy gets in on it and adds tallies from a little notebook he starts keeping when he and Steve hang out outside of kids and work. And the jokes about his kids (and occasionally Billy) when they come through for free passage to the movies. And the jabs about his parents' money like he still has access to that or their house.

He doesn't tell her that he was cut off and disowned and kicked out. He doesn't tell her that he had to get a job to help pay for his community college courses because he was a disappointment that couldn't get into a pre-approved 4-year university and that meant no college fund and he was still a few years away from being 21 and having access to the trust fund his grandparents set up for him when he was still just a lump of forming cells. And even then anything in that will probably be blown on buying himself his own permanent place instead of just a hand-me-down trailer in the middle of the woods so he needs to save for things like bills and a mortgage.

He doesn't tell her that the reason he lets the kids get away with so much is because they're *his* and they've already seen more fucked up shit than the cops in this town (save Hop) and he'll be damned if they don't get to just be kids. He'll be damned if they decide he's someone they need to hide from and sneak around like they hide and sneak from Joyce and Hop cause that's how they didn't know about half the shit the kids got up to while the adults were doing their best to take care of things themselves. He doesn't tell her that he's paying "rent" to the chief of police (it's way less than he should be but it's all Hop would take).

He doesn't tell Robin a lot of things.

Then sometime after Robin finally warmed up to him but before Dustin comes back from camp, Eddie Munson walks into Scoops Ahoy, his metalhead nerdy entourage in tow. He orders a plain scoop of vanilla with sprinkles in a cup and one of the others also orders something small and simple (while longingly eyeing their diabetes-inducing, horribly artificial tasting, bubblegum flavor when Munson turns away) before all of them are squeezing into one of the largest booths, emptying out messenger bags and backpacks of overstuffed binders and scuffed up versions of very familiar looking textbooks. It's like looking at an older -slightly grungier- version of his kids.

"Gentlemen, now that 🎶school's out for summer🎶-" There's a musical lilt as he says it that sounds vaguely familiar to Steve, "-and it has been confirmed that I will in fact be held captive for yet another stint in the hell they call Hawkins High School it is time we confer and conspire for the next year of Hellfire and the little sheep that will be joining our flock." He kinda loses track of it after that because then his kids are rushing in demanding tasters of everything and edging towards the lifting part of the counter with a look in their eyes that speaks of mischief. He puts up the initial fuss about them only visiting him for his backrooms access and that they promised to only come over when there were no customers around. He lets them through anyway.

He notices Munson eyeing him as he puts the partition back in place shaking his head and Robin laughing at him as she washed their ice cream scoops. The one that's vaguely more familiar looking than the rest and reminds him of a taller, angrier, Dustin with a better hair regimen isn't quite glaring at him but is definitely paying more attention than the rest of Munson's posse and seems more suspicious than Eddie's curious.

The metalheads are still there when Billy shows up stinking of chlorine in clothes that are damp where they cling to his frame. The group loosens up a little when he shoots Steve his signature smug smirk as he shrugs on his denim jacket that -like Steve's own jacket hanging out of sight in the staffroom- had begun accumulating patches and pins since Neil's incarceration. Unlike Steve's, Billy's has homages to bands like Mötley Crue, Deff Leppard, Twisted Sister and Guns N' Roses with little trails of shakily embroidered flowers and constellations on the collar and hems and filling the spaces between the patches and pins. Billy also has a small pink triangle on the lapel where Steve has a rainbow. Steve pretends not to notice the way the group goes a little quiet as Billy starts his usual routine of sunnily demanding tasters of all the available flavors and then again with sprinkles to "-really get an idea of their ✨nuance✨, prettyboy" before deciding on a scoop of double chocolate with a scoop of raspberry vanilla in a cup with sprinkles and one of their fresh waffle cones on top. Like always.

"Really branching out there aren't ya, tough guy?" Steve keeps his face as stoney as possible but he can't help the humored edge to his voice.

Billy just winks at him running his tongue over his teeth as he gives Steve an exaggerated leer, "Gotta keep you on your toes, handsome." Robin fake gags and Steve laughs and Eddie Munson turns red as he stares at the two joking jocks. Billy goes quiet as he stares at his ice cream and Steve recognizes the look on his face, tells the blonde to go sit down in their usual booth and he'd be taking his break soon and they can talk about whatever's bothering him.

What's bothering him is Neill getting parole for 'good behavior', Jim only telling the Mayfield-Hargroves almost a week after he was let out because that was actually the same day he himself found out. Billy found out just before a summer basketball practice session and thinks he snapped at an underclassmen he's been trying to get to open up about what Billy is 90% certain is going on in the kid's home, but he knows that cops can't do much if the victim(s) refuse to trust in those trying to help them. He's worried about the kid he snapped at. Worried about Susan and Max. Worried that even with the restraining order Neill will try something. Billy tells Steve he had thought he saw Neill around the outskirts of town during errands or during his turn to haul the kids around a couple of times before Hop told them and now he's sure it wasn't just paranoia. Steve tells him they'll figure it out, reminds him he's not alone in this

That makes Billy smile, small and tired but real and grateful. His shoulders are still tense and there's still a wariness in the smallest crease between his eyebrows that makes Steve ask if there's anything else. They talk about some of the weird dreams Billy's been having that makes Steve encourage him to talk to El. Just to make sure Billy isn't going through what happened to Will the last alternate-dimension-go-around.

They make plans to head out to see the two Hoppers after Steve's shift. Come up with a basic timeline of when and where Billy thinks he saw Neil so they have something to start with for Hop. Put together an idea of how involved Billy wants to be in whatever plan Hop comes up with. They're interrupted by a group of girls swanning into the shop and Steve being yelled at by Robin to get himself back to work. As he gets up from the table Steve levels Billy with a look that makes the blond think about the way Max and the kids described Steve when they talked about how he fought off the pack of demodogs in the junkyard, planting himself between them and snarling snapping danger like Galahad himself.

Steve looks him in the eyes and says "I swear Billy, we're going to get through this, we'll take care of it and keep you and the girls safe. Hop knows what's going on and even Callahan can't get away with letting that piece of shit fall through the cracks after what he pulled." He leans in close and bites out probably louder than he should for the amount of people in the shop, "And if that fucker gets near any of you I've got Darling in Baby's trunk and I am not afraid to use her on a human shaped monster instead."

Author's (rambler's) Notes:

So, that's all I have for season 3 rn I am so sorry. 😭 I'm working on the next bit but I am so burnt out recently and now I'm unemployed cause of the ceiling at my job caving in which does not help the stress. So I unfortunately do not have a timeframe for you. 🥲 A couple of folks asked to be tagged so... Here you are? To be fair I'm not making any promises in regards to the taglist in the future, I will do my damnedest and y'all will have to bear with me.

I'm glad people are liking this and tbh this has gotten more attention than I expected so thanks? I appreciate the appreciation of my ramblings. Feel free to scream at/with me about this au in my asks box and I'll respond when/as I can. I'm just glad people are enjoying this. 🙃

@heartsong18

@knightofthieves

#punk!steve harrington #punk steve au #punk but make it preppy #punk!steve au #punk steve harrington #punk steve headcanons #stranger things thoughts #stranger things season 3 au #pre stobin #platonic soulmates stobin #i will die on this fucking hill #billy antis dni #not apologist #but billy hargrove deserves better #abuse victims deserve love and affection too #neil hargrove is his own warning #neil hargrove can fuck off #steve Harrington has shitty parents #bffs billy and steve #billy and the party #steve and the party #steve and the kids #eddie munson makes a minor appearance #Steve notices Eddie #Eddie notices Steve #bamf Steve Harrington #protective steve harrington #part 3 #rambler writes

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Nothing Good Happens After Midnight- Part 1

Pairings: Jack Harlow x Reader

Words: 1,728

Sneak Peek: The next couple of hours were a blur, your vision becoming hazy very quickly, an indicator that you were definitely drunk. But you felt good, not weighed down by your heartbreak anymore. “I’m going to the bathroom.” You motioned to Alma, but she didn’t notice you, enthralled in a conversation with some guy on the other side of the rope.

Warnings: Drunkeness, alcohol consumption, angst, fighting

“$75 for an Uber?!” your friend Alma turned to you with an exasperated look on her face. “Just book it, I’ll pay you back.” You were running in circles on the sidewalk outside of Alma’s apartment, trying to keep warm in the New York winter. A mini dress seemed like a great outfit choice for a sweaty club, but now standing outside, you wished you could just wear sweatpants and a puffer coat. “Just call him.” You rolled your eyes at Alma, jumping up and down while holding your boobs. “No.” She knew better than to ask. “You know he’s in town. He had a show at MSG tonight.” You checked the time on your phone, 11:23PM. He was probably already on the way back to his hotel about to crash. No, you had promised yourself you weren’t going to be that girl who went running back to their ex-boyfriend, even if he was Jack Harlow. “I know”, you turned to Alma, “but I’m not going to call Jack and ask him to be my personal chauffer.”

“Not just chauffer, we could also use him to get into the club for free. Maybe even the VIP section?” Alma shimmied her chest trying to be enticing to you. “He OWES you, the way he broke up with you. This is really the least he could do.” Alma looked back at you while opening the Uber Black that had just arrived. You were suddenly sick to your stomach, thinking about the relationship you and Jack had just ended a couple of months ago. He chocked it up to busy schedules, and just not being on the same “wavelength”, but you knew he was scared to commit. You were all in, and you meant all in. Ready to move to Louisville, marry him and have his babies- in. He broke up with you via a text from his manager, and you were crushed. Two years of a great relationship ended with a couple of words. You had just gotten to the point where you weren’t crying on a daily basis, but all of the brought-up memories were making your eyes sting with tears.

“What about his friend, what was his name, Rual or something?” The shadows and lights of the passing city danced across Alma’s face as you looked at her, her eyes focused on her phone as you rode in the Uber to the club. “Urban?” ‘Yes, that’s it! Maybe he has some connections we can use to get in.” It was worth a try. You found Urban’s contact in your phone and pressed call. He picked up on the third ring. “What up, girl? Am I next in line? I promise I can be a good boyfriend.” You chuckled; Urban was always the comedic relief of the group when you hung out with them. “Hey, love, no, I’m staying single for a while.” Urban let out a huff, “Well, you know where I live.” “Yeah, I do. Hate to bother you, but my friend Alma and I are headed to 1Oak, and we wanted to see if you could possibly use your connections to get us in?” You grimaced at the silence, knowing he was probably going to say no. “You mean use Jack’s connections to get you in. Name drop him.” You were hoping your non-answer was an answer. “You know what fuck it, I’ll call the club, tell them Jack needs a table for tonight. He fucked you over, he owes you compensation.”

A lump in your throat formed at Urban’s comment. “Never thought I would hear that coming from his best friend.” You hoped your shakiness couldn’t be heard over the phone. “Listen, Y/N, Jack has done a lot of fuckin’ stupid things, but breaking up with you takes the cake.” You cleared your throat and looked at Alma who had been listening to your side of the call. You put it on speaker so she could hear. “How is he?” you were hoping he was feeling terrible, just as bad as you were. Possibly even worse. Urban cleared his throat, “Honestly, fuckin’ terrible. We’ve been on the road for the last couple of weeks and he has been hanging on by a thread. I know you saw that video of him on stage.” “No, I haven’t been on social media much lately.” You were lying. Of course, you had seen the video, all of your friends had sent it to you, and it went viral within a couple of hours. Jack was performing in Philly, performing Churchill Downs, your favorite song, when he just left the stage. People were destroying him on twitter, calling him a pussy and a shitty rapper. You knew his ego took a  hit, but you were kind of glad given the circumstances. “You there?” Urban’s voice came over the line. “Yeah” you rubbed your hand over your forehead, “so about the club?” “Already done, just tell them you’re with the Harlow party.” “Thanks, Urb, miss you.” “Miss you too, let’s link up the next time we’re in town.”

1Oak was already packed by the time you arrived a little after midnight, the line to get in down the block. You had no problem getting past security, a club promoter personally escorting you to your private table. It was just you an Alma in a section for at least 20 people, and you felt kind of silly, all eyes on you because people were expecting a celebrity. “Let’s get some drinks, we both have some memories we need to forget tonight.” Alma waived the bartender over, ordering pretty much everything on the menu, knowing it was all going to be on Jack’s card. A wave of sadness rushed over you now that you were here. This is where you had first met Jack after a show years ago. He was always unbelievably charming; you fell for it immediately. All of your New York sensibility went out the window when you were with him. “Hey, enough with the face.” Alma jogged you out of your trance. “We are here to have fun, so drink up.” She shoved an unidentified shot in your face, and you downed it, the liquid burning your throat. “Alright! Another one.” She probably handed you about 5 shots over the next five minutes and the liquor was hitting you hard.

The next couple of hours were a blur, your vision becoming hazy very quickly, an indicator that you were definitely drunk. But you felt good, not weighed down by your heartbreak anymore. “I’m going to the bathroom.” You motioned to Alma, but she didn’t notice you, enthralled in a conversation with some guy on the other side of the rope. You pushed past crowds of people, making it to the bathroom. As you were walking out, you collided with a body, a guy of average height looking at you completely inebriated. “Hey!” “Hey.” “I just wanted to say you are really beautiful, like fuckin’ gorgeous.” You messed with the hem of your dress, pulling it down your thighs. “Thanks, have a good night.” You pushed past him but was stopped by his hand on your arm. “Where are you going?” You could barely make out the features of his face, your vision still blurry. “Can I get you a drink?” It might have been the alcohol talking, or the fact that you hadn’t had sex in over four months, but you were feeling brave. “Actually, I have a private table, wanna come?” you thought you were whispering, but it was more like a shout in his ear.

The guy’s name was Henry, but you weren’t going to remember that in the morning. At some point, after a couple more drinks, your legs felt very heavy. You had a booming headache, and your stomach was churning with bile. Henry had invited a couple of people of his friends to the table, who had invited their friends, and the section was becoming very crowded. Henry sat down next to you, uncomfortably close. He gently placed his hand on your thigh, making his way closer to your pelvis. You tried to look up at him, but the room was spinning. It wasn’t until he leaned in to try to kiss you, that you were conscious of his actions. “Get the fuck off me!” You yelled, standing up and stumbling to get away. He quickly stood up, grabbing your arm with such force, you were sure it would leave bruises. “Get off of me!” he wasn’t much bigger than you, but he had the advantage of having had about four less drinks. He grabbed your face harshly, holding you in place as he tried to slip his hand up your dress. “God, a little slut like you, you sure like to put up a fight.” Tears welled in your eyes. “She said get off of her, bitch.” You both whipped your heads around to see Jack standing there, his fists clenched. Henry waived Jack off. “Fuck off, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Get your fucking hands off of her.” You could barely make it out in the dim lights of the club, but Jack’s face was stone cold, his usually bright blue eyes dark. Jack stood at least a head taller than Henry, but Henry was too drunk to realize he was out of his league. He pushed Jack in the chest, but he barely moved. Jack shoved Henry back, the drunk asshole landing on his back on the ground. He tried to get up, but in a blur of movement Jack was on top of him, wailing on his face, the sound of hard punches audible above the music. “Jack, stop!” you yelled out to him, but he couldn’t hear you as Alma pulled you out of the section away from the commotion. It took at least three people to pull Jack off of him, his security holding him back as he tried to get back to Henry multiple times. You looked around to see that the club had mostly gone quiet, people recording on their phones, the base of the music vibrating your body.

Jack’s security escorted you and Alma out of the club, Jack, and Urban following behind. Once you were in the car, the four of you were silent, shocked from the events that had just occurred.

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jackman thomas harlow #jackharlow #jack harlow concepts #jackman harlow #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic

[sickficideas]

🍫 and 🍎 for tachihara?

Sick or Treat!

thank you anon omg i love tachihara <3<3<3 i hope you like these !!

🍫 (Overindulgence) - Tachihara/Gin (Warnings: emetophilia, suggestive) 🍎 (Food poisoning) - Tachihara + [s4 spoiler] (Warnings: emeto/vomiting, mentions of poisoning, spoilers for s4 of bsd)

🍫 (Overindulgence) - Tachihara/Gin

Michizo lays a hand over his bloated tummy, almost certain this isn't going to stay down. He ate far too much and far too quickly, but admitting any of that would mean a very stern ‘I told you so’ lecture from Higuchi.

It's just him, Higuchi, and Gin. Akutagawa is off somewhere doing work with the Detective Agency at the former executive's request, and Hirotsu is working with the boss on something top secret. Higuchi always seems a little lost when she's not working directly with Akutagawa. She invited the two of them to dinner, on her wallet, and of course, they couldn't refuse even if they wanted to.

But now, he's gotten himself into trouble.

“I'll be right back,” Michizo stammers nervously, waving his phone to the two of them, “important phone call.”

Neither of them question it but he sees a glint of suspicion in Gin’s eyes. She’s far too observant for her own good, he thinks, but he’s in too much of a hurry to try to ward any of it off. As long as Higuchi doesn’t notice, he’s free to go.

He slips away into the front hall of the restaurant where the restroom is, where he lets up a nauseous burp into a closed fist as soon as he’s alone. He’s lucky enough to be the only person in the restroom when he slips inside, so he locks himself into one of the three available stalls and slides down the wall to sit on the ground, arms wrapped around his middle to nurse his aching tummy.

His meal is sitting so heavy in his stomach that he's certain if he bends over, it'll fall right out of his mouth. He leans over the toiler for a second to test his theory, but all he can manage is a pained moan. He lays back against the wall, sneaking a hand under his shirt. His hand feels cold against his too-warm swollen tummy. He tries to rub and press on it, but all that ends up doing is making him burp. He brings a fist up to his mouth to force a few more, hoping maybe that will bring him closer to throwing up.

“Hrrpp - ugh…” he moans, throwing his head back, realizing all this is doing is making him more nauseous. He really doesn’t want to shove his hand down his throat. He’s tried before, he always chickens out.

“Tachihara?”

Gin's voice never fails to scare the crap out of him, even now that he's been hearing it for months. He doesn’t know how he missed hearing her footsteps, or the door opening, but he sees her heels under the stall door.

“Are you okay?” she asks after he had been silent for a bit too long.

“I need to puke. I ate too much,” he groans, deciding that there’s no point in lying to her. “I'd rather get it over with now than deal with it all night…I'm fine, I just…need a minute.”

“Do you want help?”

She offers that so casually. She's offering to shove her fingers down his throat, he's pretty sure, and she’s saying it like she’s just offering to get him a glass of water. The way that thought makes him feel is a whole other story.

“You can say no,” Gin says a little quieter, almost like she's embarrassed about offering, but Michizo is truly in no position to refuse her. He’s already run out of options.

“No, I mean - I, uh. Anything to make it go faster, honestly,” Michizo stammers as nonchalantly as he can, but Gin doesn't seem to notice that he's a little nervous, at least, not as far as he can tell.

She manages to open the stall door from the other side with zero struggle, a skill of hers that has always scared him, but he’s grateful now - he really didn’t want to get up to let her in. She closes the door behind her, and Michizo feels his heart start to hammer in his chest as soon as she turns around. He always has a hard time deciding what she’s thinking when she’s wearing that mask.

She kneels in front of him and he presses himself up flush against the wall. He’s thinking about how hilarious Jouno would think this situation is. He joked about it from the beginning - Michizo having a crush on some high-ranking Port Mafia member, and here he is, letting her make him throw up, and for some reason, he thinks it’s hot.

“Are you ready?” she asks gently, tilting her head. He nods without thinking, and he parts his lips as soon as she lifts up her hand. He huffs out a shaky breath as her fingers brush over his lips.

Gin's cold, slender fingers snake to the back of his throat and Michizo's pissed he has an over-active gag reflex. He finds himself trying to force his stomach to settle for just a few seconds longer. His mouth floods with saliva that surely coats Gin’s hand. He moans against it, not entirely sure why nothing has come up yet, but she shoves her hand back a little further, and he feels it rush up his throat.

Gin manages to take her hand back just before thick, undigested vomit floods over his tongue, nearly splattering over his thighs. He closes his mouth just in time to avoid a disaster, but Gin lays a hand on his back to direct him to the toilet, where he opens his mouth and lets the torrent of vomit splatter into the water.

“That’s good,” she tells him gently. He feels her hand sneak under the front of his shirt to press against his tummy, sending shivers down his spine before he burps up another wave of hot chunks into the toilet water. “Be careful how much you eat next time.”

Michizo’s not sure he wants to follow that advice, if this is how it ends for him.

🍎 (Food poisoning) - Tachihara + Hunting Dogs

“Fuck,” Michizo moans, panting into the trash bin that Tecchou is holding up for him. There’s already quite a bit of vomit in there, and even though his eyes dart down to look only for a second, it’s long enough to make his stomach lurch, and force more of his stomach contents to shoot up to his mouth and hit the rest of it with a sickening splatter.

“It might not be a bad idea to have the nurses check you out,” Tecchou suggests, evidently surprised that Michizo still has something in his stomach to bring up. Michizo is surprised too. He’s lost count of how many times he’s puked.

“I bet those evil Port Mafia dogs tried to poison you…they must know your secret. You should abandon the mission,” Teruko suggests hastily, slamming her fist on the table.

“Okura, we don’t have the authority to suggest that,” Jouno says with a sigh. This certainly isn’t the first time she’s tried to get him to quit - he appreciates the concern, though, she only gets aggressive about it when he’s injured, or sick like this.

“Look at him, Jouno! Obviously he’s been poisoned, I’ve never seen him that sick!” she barks back at him.

Michizo shakes his head, not even bothering to conceal the pained moan. “No, it’s…one of the - hrrRRK - ”

Of course, he’s been having trouble making it through sentences with how sick his tummy is. Another splash of vomit ends up in the trash bin, and he somehow manages to avoid throwing up on Tecchou’s hand - although, Tecchou would be the last person to care.

“As you were saying?” Jouno asks. Michizo sinks back into the couch, and Tecchou stays close beside him. Jouno looks a little scary, standing in front of them with his arms crossed. Michizo wishes that the three of them weren’t all in here, but of course, Michizo is the one who started throwing up in the middle of a briefing.

“The…um, one of my - superiors, she’s sick too. We had…” he somehow manages. He’s truly just too nauseous to think straight, his stomach lurches every ten seconds, at least. “We had the same thing for dinner…last night.”

Michizo was out pretty late at some impromptu hot pot party some lower-ranking Port Mafia members set up, and Higuchi tagged along with him - only to text him several hours later to ask if he was feeling sick, because they both had quite a bit of pork belly. He’d had a few drinks and chalked it up to that, but when he arrived at the Hunting Dogs headquarters this morning, he realized his stomach was going to make sure whatever he had eaten was going to come out.

“We still have to be sure. That doesn’t rule out that you’ve been poisoned,” Tecchou reminds him sternly. Michizo is well aware of that, but if someone from the Port Mafia tried to poison him, they wouldn’t take Higuchi down with him. She’s far too valuable for that. At least, he thinks so.

“He’s right, Tachihara, as much as I hate to agree with him. I’ll call a nurse in here to get some blood tests run on you. Fluids wouldn’t hurt either,” Jouno says. Michizo presses a palm up to his forehead and groans. He feels terrible. They already offered to take him directly to the nurses, but he doesn’t trust himself to walk all the way over there.

Jouno had already vanished, and Teruko marched off behind him. Michizo lays his head on the side of the couch and Tecchou lowers the trash bin onto the ground, which he thinks he’s safe to do for a minute. He takes out the phone he uses for the Port Mafia, and sees a text from Higuchi.

nee-san 05:47 AM Are you home? I have a tea that really helps for things like this. I’ll bring it to you.

Michizo huffs through his nose.

me 05:59 AM aren’t you sick too nee-san?

He personally can’t imagine traveling to anyone in the state he’s in. He’s hoping that Higuchi is simply doing much better than he is right now, but it’s far more likely that she’s too selfless to put her health over anyone else. He’d never dream of making her bring him anything if she feels as sick as he does.

me 06:00 AM i’m at the doctor. stay home and rest for once you crazy broad

A hiccup catches him by surprise and Tecchou brings up the trash bin, but fortunately, Michizo’s stomach seems to be calm for right now.

“Was that the woman you mentioned?” Tecchou asks, evidently snooping on Michizo’s messages. Really, Michizo has nothing to hide.

“Yeah,” Michizo nods, his head swaying a little.

“That was kind of her to offer,” Tecchou says. “If she’s as sick as you are.”

Michizo is surprised to hear that. Jouno or Teruko would certainly never dream of feeling any sort of positive emotion about anyone in the Port Mafia. Michizo struggles to play along sometimes, but he doesn’t know why.

“Yeah, she’s…she’s cool,” Michizo murmurs with a weak nod. “She’s always lookin’ out for us…”

“You know not to get too close with them, though, Tachihara,” Tecchou says. It’s hard to place the emotion in his tone. It’s almost like pity. Michizo’s heart sinks. Their future plans are something he wishes he could ignore. He’d rather be thinking about how much his stomach hurts right now.

His head is too jumbled for him to realize he’s about to throw up again, and it comes hot from the back of his throat and splatters over his lap. He somehow managed to avoid doing that until now. He groans, bringing a hand up to his mouth to burp into it, and Tecchou brings the bucket back up under his chin as is drips saliva and vomit into the bin. He feels so miserable. He screws his eyes shut.

He hopes Higuchi feels better than he does.

#these were fun to write i love these characters #tachihara my love (starts ugly crying) #tachihara #higuchi #gin #tecchou #jouno #teruko #tachigin #vomiting #emeto #emetophilia #sickfic #emeto scenario #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #illness #sick or treat #drabble #fanfic #my drabbles #my fanfictions #suggestive #spoilers #s4 spoilers #ask box #sick #sicknario #food poisoning

[jack-xoxo]

Im being careful, I know what I’m doing…

Cw: 18+ !!

You feel groggy when you first wake up in the morning. Your arm moves lazily to feel the big hairy mammoth that would usually be lying with you, but your senses wake you up in realization and you sit up straight, your eyes move with your head, and you wake up to an empty bed "fuuhhcckk" you groan to yourself, you put on a shirt and walk out the room. The building you stayed in was vast, big enough to fit the number of people in Washington into one building, but you didn't need to look around the whole structure to find Miguel, you knew the one location he would be in, and you would frequently joke as the 'doom cave'.

The bright screens above you caused a slight blindness, and suddenly, a web shot from your arm, launching you onto the floor. Layla, who always brightened up your life, figuratively and literally, glitched on your shoulder. She kept you updated on the job Miguel couldn't do for seven months. "How long has he been up?" you asked her.

“Mmm” the bright yellow fairy tapped on her cheek before snapping her finger “For at least 5 hours, he sneaked out of the room for this”

You nodded slightly and Layla zips out of your view, now wanting to give you two the stage.

Miguel is in a shrimp stance that we can work with, holding a massive red flag and eyes the size of a bloodhound. He acknowledges your presence but chooses to ignore it as his fingers tap dance on the bright dance floors that fade after a minute; he was wearing a baby strap to support his hefty belly bump and couldn't perform work with just one hand. You knew your fetishes were strange, but you never imagined you'd be attracted by your husband in his robe, boxers with his soft package jutting out, pecs growing larger and strangely loaded with milk.

Stress was going to be the death of both him and the baby. He knew better, but the timeline needed to be followed and everyone required a check-up; you saw no reason for him to watch folks he didn't (or barely) know. Your hands glide up to his shoulders and squeeze him; his arms relax but his fingers remain frozen in the holograms; you see the chair you gave him at the beginning of Miguel's pregnancy from your peripheral view and shoot a rope to drag it closer; then you pat his back and whisper to his ear, "You should sit down."

Miguel's gaze never left the screen "Maybe" He kicked the chair out of the way, but you grabbed it swiftly. "Now, Miguel," you said.

"Later…" he said, his tone slightly angry.

You both weren't going to back down; you fired a web at his back and kicked the chair to him before pulling, just in time for him to sit down; he swore under his breath.

"Will you join me in bed and not sneak away again?" You ask, your hands back to firmly squeeze his shoulders, then you proceed to touch and milk his pecs, wetting the robe, "I have work to do" He repeats it, allowing it to stick with you because it is his only reason. Your mind wonders how a man can be so stubborn and independent yet, so loving and so un-independent. "You always have something to do," you remind him. "Take the day or even the week off." He slicks his hair back, brushing the strands away from his face.

Miguel hummed in response, returning to his grim work environment.

If you can't talk out of it with him, you might as well force him.

You keep squeezing his milky pecs; he usually keeps it quiet, but not when his hands slow down and tremble as he tries to do his job, keeping it hard while the warm liquid pours down your hands. Miguel's stern visage quickly softened, and you kept testing the waters, your lips haunting his neck with taunting teases.

Your hands move in a circular manner, and more golden milk flows like a fountain as you continue to squeeze his pecs. Miguel leans and squirms in his seat, while his cock expands and throbs uncomfortably in his underwear. He murmured under his breath, "Shockin' hell my love…" as the pre leaked through the fabric that grew thinner to hold his cock down. Miguel pulled down his boxers and his cock flung free, weeping precum and twitching under the belly.

Gasping for air, he called out her name “Lyla…” His body was drenched in sweat, and his heart was pounding out of his chest, as he collapsed into the chair. With every passing moment, his body temperature kept rising, and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, making him feel hornier than ever before “…Silent mode for 45 minutes”

The room dims to a greater light; you continue to grope his chest and lean in, but he leans forward. His hands grip the desk as you place your hands on his chest, then move them to hold his waist. The head of your cock nudges against Miguel's entrance, teasing him as you pull down your sweatpants and thrust the tip into his entrance, resulting in gentle and low grunts. "Keep holding my waist honey…" he told you, as you kept thrusting slightly "don't stop… shock… shock…" he whispered as you shoved the entire length in "shock!!, Órale güey!!" He moans aloud.

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel 2099 #miguel x you #atsv miguel #miguel x y/n #miguelmawad #breast milk #mpreg #pregnancy kink #preggo kink #boobymilk #mommy milkers

[writer-ish]

insecure

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 2.3k | rating: T+ (maybe higher idk i'm rusty pls lmk) timeline: uhhh somewhere in book 3? when feelings are still relatively uncertain? after the demo scenes though. summary: grace is insecure. mason has a solution. author note: wow the brain rot is so real i guess because here we are??? i can't pretend like i wrote this whole thing in the last few days - half of it had been manifested (lol) after the book 3 demo and i just put some lipstick on it and sent it out into the world. anyway please do not perceive me 😶‍🌫️

Somehow, they manage to sneak away. 

Adam wants to debrief and Nate hopes to ask Grace a question about a specific translation and Felix starts pulling out their favourite board game—

But Mason wants her more. 

Grace, as always, tries her best to accommodate the needs of all the others and almost doesn't see him there in the doorway, gaze searing into her, his eyes conveying a message for her and her alone. 

But when she does, it causes her to stumble on her words as she speaks to Nate. To claim a headache when Felix says she can be the banker this time. To tell Adam she'll meet him later to discuss what needs to be discussed.

At least, that’s what she assumes happens, since her recollection turns fuzzy after seeing Mason waiting for her like that, his intent clear. 

They make it only a few steps away from the meeting room before he has her against the wall, lips on hers in a kiss so heatedly possessive, she thinks maybe she’s imagining the intensity. But no - there's something different about his behaviour, something intentional. The way his mouth moves over hers, stroking and claiming. The way he holds her so close, pressing her body to his. One hand roaming up to her hair, tightening there, while the other moves down to her bottom and secures her in place. 

Lost in the moment, she wraps her arms around his neck, giving in to the tenderness she usually curbs when she’s with him. There’s always that part of her that feels like she needs to protect herself against the inevitable backlash. His words at the bakery still cut deeper than he’ll ever realize - deeper than she'll ever let on - putting a voice to the very fears that plague her about him; about them.

Except now she relents to the ever-present temptation to touch and to stroke. She lets her fingers move into his hair, to scrape against his scalp, her other hand stroking his nape in a soft gesture. He lets out a low rumble, pulling her even closer, tilting his head to open her mouth wider and stroke her with his tongue just so. 

He pulls away and she lets out a soft gasp as his mouth immediately finds her neck, licking her pulse points, biting gently. The soft-sharp touch sends a zing of electricity through her, warming all her limbs and traveling into her lower belly. Tugging on his hair slightly, she makes him look up and meet her gaze. He stops immediately at her unspoken signal, head lifting and hands moving to rest on her hips. 

“Take me to your room,” she whispers, resisting the urge to glance down the hall to see if anyone heard her, caught them. 

His eyes darken and a smirk turns the corner of his lip up, knowing what it took for her to say those words. Wordlessly, he entwines his fingers with hers and practically drags her away from the wall, pulling her in the direction of his room at the Warehouse.

The second his door closes behind them, she’s up against it, his lips on hers once more. His agile hands make quick work of her clothes, unbuttoning her shirt, unzipping the back of her skirt. 

“Did I tell you how good your ass looked in this fucking little skirt?” he growls against her mouth, nipping at her jaw. “I’ve been thinking of this all day, from the second you waltzed in wearing it.” He pushes it off past her thighs and it falls to the ground. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you put it on specifically to torture me.” His head drops and his mouth finds her bare shoulder, kissing on either end of the bra strap there. “But for some reason your silly little head doesn’t think that way.” 

She laughs breathlessly, self-consciously. “The only thing I thought about as I put it on was that it was tighter than it was the last time I wore it,” she admits, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she steps out of the material at her feet.  

“You crazy?” he mutters, running his hands over her until they settle on her bottom, giving it an appreciative squeeze. "Fits perfect."

She doesn't know if she's talking about her skirt or her ass in his hands, but either way, his grip on her tightens and he lifts her up effortlessly, carrying her to his bed and dropping her down unceremoniously. For a moment he just stands there at the foot of his bed, still fully clothed, his eyes running over her half-naked form. 

And she thinks about Bobby.

The unwanted image in that moment feels visceral - like a slap. It’s the last thing she ever wanted to cross her mind, especially here, now, with Mason.

But his presence has been weighing heavily on her lately. His tendency to pop up when she’s at her most vulnerable. His careless dismissal of her devotion to the ethics of her work. 

The kiss he took from her unwillingly. 

It brings to mind other visions of Bobby, intrusive and unsolicited.

Bobby who had always found her lacking, who’d always seemed to have a comment about a dimple on her thigh or a roll in her stomach or the way she couldn’t fill a bra cup. 

Bobby who seemed to master the art of taking, while overlooking the ability to give. 

Bobby who almost fucked up everything standing in front of her right now, because of one unwanted action and a few flippant words. 

She’d touched death more times than she even cared to count in the last six months. And the one lasting traumatic experience for her had been with goddamn Bobby. 

Figures.

She realizes Mason has grown quiet and still, not joining her on the bed like she expected him to, so she looks up. 

He’s staring at her differently now, curious and a tad wary. Something in her face must have given away her thoughts; or, at the very least, the fact that they weren’t pleasant ones. 

Unhappy with this turn of events brought on by her own inability to smother trauma down into the darkest recesses of her brain like a normal person, she sits up and closes the distance between them, pressing her body to his, feeling the folds and fabric of his clothing on her oversensitive skin. 

He allows her to embrace him and she feels his hands gliding over her in return, one reaching the nape of her neck, the other settling on her lower back, long fingers resting on the curve of her round bottom. 

She tilts her head up, prepared to kiss him, relieved that he didn’t mention the weird expression he must have seen, when—

“You going to tell me what you were thinking just now?”

Rats. 

He speaks the words against her lips, then tilts his head back just far enough to keep her from kissing him and force her to answer him. 

“I was—” No. It’s stupid. She shouldn’t even say his name; not here, not now. She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.” 

“Tell me,” he insists, one hand still caressing her lower back. 

She tucks her face under his chin, her nipples puckering under the lace of her bra against the soft leather of his jacket. 

“It’s—I was just thinking about—” She swallows hard. Will he give it up if she says nothing? One look at his face tells her the answer. Sighing, she responds: “I was thinking about Bobby.” 

At her words he pulls away suddenly and she gasps as she lurches forward. His hands are still braced on her arms so she doesn’t fall, but the cool air of his room hits her all at once, the absence of his heat more apparent than ever. She could kill herself for her stupid, abrupt wording, for a brain that fails to connect properly to her mouth right when it matters the most. 

“Why?” he says eventually, his face a mask of disgust and anger and—hurt? Possibly? 

“No, not because of anything—not because—ugghhh,” she groans loudly, burying her face in her hands briefly. “I can’t stand Bobby, okay? It’s just that—I’m still so mad at him for that day in the town square. For thinking he could come up to us - to you - and spew his filth as if what he did to me that night meant a goddamn thing.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, cold and finally self-conscious now, feeling exposed in more ways than one. Mason makes no effort to draw her into his arms again. He lets go of her, in fact, and stands a few steps away now. Instead of any sort of sympathy or concern on his face - two emotions she should have known better than to expect - he eyes her warily. 

“You already explained, sweetheart.” He speaks slowly, as though trying to process something in his own mind; something she isn’t privy to. “I don’t understand why that asshole needs to also be here, right now.” 

“Because—” She folds her legs and sits down on the bed now, clenching her hands together tightly. Mason eyes her hands, but says nothing, waiting for her to continue. “The difference between you and him—the way you make me feel—”

Oh god, why was she talking about this? Why did she bring it up?

She’s horrified with herself, but has no choice except to persevere, considering she’d already instigated the verbal equivalent of missing the bunny hills and going straight down the Black Diamond. Without poles. 

“Bobby was a time in my life that invited a lot of…awful feelings.” She takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands, fingers still wrung together, to avoid looking at Mason. She continues down her expert level ski-hill, hitting every tree on the way. “Feelings about who I am. What I’m...worth. And it took a long time for me to move past that. A long time.” 

She still can’t look at him, although she can feel his eyes on her, piercing and intent. The words are spilling out faster now, in a bid to say them all so then she doesn’t have to say anything else.

“And I hate, so much, that he interfered at all with what—we have. Because, being with you, this ill-defined—thing that we are, regardless of the fact that we don’t have any of the labels or—or whatever. It just feels... better. You feel better. You make me feel better. Than I ever have before.” 

Okay there, you said it. Now, shut up. Just shut up. 

Sufficiently humiliated, certain she has blown the moment to smithereens, she looks up reluctantly and meets his gaze. 

As expected, the intensity in his eyes is enough to make her skin prickle with awareness. His expression is inscrutable, but it’s clear that he’s been listening very carefully to what she’s saying and her words have had some sort of effect on him. She holds her breath, waiting for whatever it is he’s going to say. At this point, it could be anything from a “welp, see ya later” to some sort of declaration of adoration; she truly doesn’t know what to expect from him anymore. Her head is in an absolute tailspin and nothing he says at this point can possibly surprise her. 

“Okay.”

...Except maybe that. 

Okay? Just okay? She pours her guts out and he responds with OKAY?

Before she can even process this lack of response, he’s lifting her up off the bed and into his arms, holding her tightly against him, her feet almost completely off the ground. Strangely, she can feel his heart pounding through his chest.

He releases a noise into her neck, a strange exhale that teeters on the edge of a groan, and he bites her. Actually bites her. Not enough to draw blood - his canines aren’t even extended as far as she can tell - but enough so she feels it. He pulls back to look at her again.

“Let me kill him.” 

It’s a statement, not a question or a plea, and he says it earnestly yet casually. As if he were offering to buy her a coffee. Or put gas in her car. 

And Grace—god help her. She considers it. 

He must see the expression on her face, the quick double blink as she truly contemplates a life without Bobby always lurking around the corner, because he barks out a laugh. 

“You have everyone fooled except me, Detective,” he says, pushing her back down on the bed.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she responds, bordering on indignant, even as she slides back to make room for him.

“Everyone thinks you’re just sweet as pie. Little Gracie. Protector of the town. Miss By-the-Book. Crossing her Ts and dotting those Is on all her little reports.” He grins, flashing white teeth as he puts his knee down on the mattress and moves towards her, over her. “I see you, though. I see that dirty mouth and that mercenary heart. You’d let me do it. Wouldn’t you?”

She waits until he’s full on top of her, his body covering hers, arms braced on either side of her. His long, dark waves fall over his face like a curtain, close enough to almost skim her body, grey eyes flashing as he looks at her, half-amused and half-something else that she can’t define. He makes her feel light - light and free and all the things she never thought she could be. Even amidst the uncertainty, she realizes he brings out a side of her that she didn't even know existed before he came into her life and turned it all upside down.

Bringing her hands up she cups his cheeks, stroking the high cheekbones reverently. Gently she pulls his head down until his ear is near her mouth. She nips it playfully and smiles as he groans, before whispering against his skin:

“Maybe.” 

@ejunkiet and @coldshrugs this is for you 🖤

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #twc fic #specialist agent m #mason x detective #idk what this is tbh #but here you go #twc #twc mason

[bonny-kookoo]

Seokjin: Memory Lane

In which you find an old Journal of Jin's, where his past self has some pretty interesting thoughts about you.

Tags/Warnings: Idol Seokjin, angst, fluff, adult themes mentioned but not in detail

Length: mid

♥━━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You're sorting through old stuff when you find it.

It's really not even a journal- it's more like a very old spiral block, cardboard front decorated in old stickers, torn on the edges and faded. You can't make out the years at all on most pages- but the entries seem old.

It's Jin's. It's definitely his. You'd remember his handwriting even if you're sixty.

You really just skip through some pages. As soon as you see something personal, you attempt to close it, trying to conserve his privacy even though he's put his life basically out there for all to see anyway as an Idol now. But then, you catch your name written in bold letters. A heart accompanying it.

You can't help yourself.

You know that's unhealthy. Relishing in the past is never a good idea, especially when so many now harsh and painful memories accompany it. But with it in your hands now, it's already happened. The first words already have you back in a chockehold because even in writing, Jin had always been nothing but himself.

[Remember to always carry snacks around- she loves snacks, more than big meals]

He'd scribbled that one one page, as if it was an important note.

[How come she can forget to eat but never forgets how I tripped and fell face first into the mud when we went on that fishing trip together?]

You do remember that. He'd asked you to come along multiple times, and every time you'd told him you didn't even know how to fish at all. Even so, he still invited you every time, told you to come watch him at least, and that he would one day figure out how to prepare fish properly to eat it. He's always been like that. If he didn't know how to do something, he'd do everything to figure it out somehow.

[I like the inside of her arms. The skin is so smooth, and warm, and when my hands are cold, I can just sneak them into her way too big sleeves to warm them up (remember to ask for my sweater back)]

Even now you still love wearing too large sized clothing. It gives you comfort, warms you up, steps in for a person that could and maybe even should hold you during cold nights like these.

He never asked for that sweater back.

[She cut her hair and I told her it's weird. I didn't mean weird as in bad?? It's just different, and I don't know how to explain it. It's bad. In the way that I'm jealous. When I have to get my hair cut one day, can I still look as pretty as she does? I'd probably date her if she was bald, too. How unfair.]

It makes you laugh. You really thought he'd hated your short hair when it happened. You'd had to cut it because bleaching and coloring it too much had damaged it beyond any saving- and when Jin had seen it, he'd laughed, called it weird. You never let him explain, just left him standing there in the school's hallways.

[I can't sing well, and I can't play the guitar very well either. Jungkook had sung his girlfriend a song yesterday, and I never felt so bad. I want to impress her too, but honestly, what's so something I can do well apart from bragging?]

You never knew he'd felt that way about himself. If anything, you'd ways taken him for overly confident, sure of himself, both feet steady on the ground below. You had always thought that his insecurities were limited to just being fickle and unsure often. Maybe a bit messy here and there. But not.. This.

No matter if he was an expert at either singing or play g the guitar, that night when you both had drunkenly sang to the tune of the radio will always stay one of your fondest memories.

[I asked her out. I did it. And guess what? She said no.]

You sigh at that. It's clear from the plain sentence and the fact that there's a streak like a pen having been thrown at the paper tells you his frustration in that moment must've been huge. But you couldn't say yes.

He was on the wave of sucess. Their sales had been at an all time high. Suddenly, everyone was talking about the seven guys from south korea. Suddenly, he was finally being seen by millions. He would've given that up in a heartbeat for you, you know this.

It's exactly why you said no.

[I wonder how she's doing. I haven't talked to her mother in ages- would it be weird if I was to send her a present for her birthday this year? Maybe. God, what if she has a boyfriend now? What if she's married? Or has KID'S?!]

Theres a crying face scribbled on the side, together with the phrase 'i don't want to get old alone'.

It hurts to read. But looking at how far he's come now, you know it was for the best. You still checked his social media often, found yourself feeling weird at any dating rumor spread. As if the world was mocking you.

He's fine now, you know he is. He's got his family and friends around him. He's got all the love he could ever need, and someday, he will have his own little family as well.

There's a page littered with old faded images of the two of you. He looks incredibly young, wears glasses in some photos, and you trace the dates on them fondly.

Sometimes memories hurt. Other times they make you sad.

And sometimes, they let you relive what was, and daydream about what could've been.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Yah, that's private you little gremlin, how did you even find that in the first place?! These photos look hideous, they need to be destroyed!" he yells, running after you, your hands still clutching the notebook tightly as you dash upstairs.

"Give that back!" he yells, laughing along with you when he catches you on the bed, your arms securely holding the book whe he leans over you. "you know, with the position we're in I could see myself getting in the mood for some loving my wife." he raises his eyebrows suggestively. You laugh, putting the notebook on the bedside table, his lips eagerly placed on yours as soon as you turn back to him.

Well aware that he cherishes those memories just as much as you do.

He'd never throw them away.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jin x reader #jin imagine #seokjin imagine #seokjin x reader

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 8

Chapter 8 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Steve gets used to working at Scoops Ahoy and time passes by until Dustin returns back to town, pulling Steve back into the bullshit that hides in Hawkins. When he and Robin get taken by Russians, their tentative friendship turns into a bond that will never be broken.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie & buckingham

Warnings: period typical homophobia, torture, f-slur, child abuse mention, internalized homophobia mention

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 8: The Mall

June is steadily passing. Steve is still working with Robin, whom he’s cautiously friends with now. She still sometimes looks at him like she expects him to punch her or like he’s going to explode, but that’s rarely.

Chrissy comes by often too and Robin is starting to be normal around her too. Less anxious rambling and more laughing about stupid shit.

Things with Chrissy have been a bit odd. They’re still friends and she hangs around Scoops Ahoy more often than not, but Steve has to deflect to stop her from finding out he’s still staying at the Byers house.

Still, he maintains that their camping sleep over they had at the lakes was great. They even got to stunt without a back spotter, because they were doing it in the water.

However, Chrissy has been send off to bible camp for a few weeks, which has given Steve a reprieve from keeping up the lie. Hopefully when she gets back Steve will have his own place and he can play it off. If Steve had known then what would happen between now and her getting back, he might not have thought that, but still.

Will has also warmed back up to him, which he is more grateful for than he wants to admit. There is less connection between them than there had been in his kitchen that morning when he came by with Dustin, but still. He’s no longer overtly hurt by Steve not admitting he’s gay.

The kids are annoying him quite regularly at work ever since Will figured out over dinner that Steve can sneak them into the movies with his job. Steve doesn’t mind, though he pretends he does, those little shits make him happier than he’ll ever tell them.

All this to say that he’s been settling in okay at Scoops Ahoy. It’s become a familiar place where he found his groove and though his flirting has gotten him nowhere, something Robin delights in for some reason, he isn’t getting confused looks anymore.

Besides, he doesn’t care that much that the girls don’t take him up on his offer for a date. He can’t really spare the money for it and despite fooling himself that he liked girls for many years, now that he’s aware, he can’t really see the appeal that much. They just don’t do it for him.

Still, he has pick up lines that he can pull out and he knows his hair is well liked, though the latter is covered by his stupid uniform.

He’s getting off topic, the point is that he’s gotten comfortable at Scoops Ahoy, which means he doesn’t expect Eddie Munson to walk into the place, looking like a walking wet dream. The man is still jeans, but he has dropped the leather jacket in favor of just wearing his battle jacket and a cutoff band shirt, which show off his arms in ways that should be illegal. Like, since when does Eddie have tattoos?

Steve shakes himself out of it, trying to be casual, as Eddie rolls up to the register with a: “Stevie, hey, man.”

“Ahoy, are you ready to set sail on an ocean of flavors with me? I’ll be your captain,” Steve finds himself greeting back. His cheeks light up at his own words and he ignores how this is a line he used on some of the girls, because it was honestly instinct and not something he wants to say to Eddie.

Fuck, he wants Eddie to think he’s cool, or at least not a massive looser that got kicked out. So, he aims to make it goofy halfway through. To play it off as a joke, because part of him knows the greeting might make Eddie laugh.

He’s right in that regard and is rewarded by one of Eddie’s deep laughs that make his insides curl up in the best way. “Wow, that is truly something,” Eddie grins. “I can’t believe you’re an ice cream slinging sailor.”

“Shut up, dude,” Steve huffs, the annoyance not landing as anything he means.

“Not judging, not judging,” Eddie assures him. “It’s not like I have the best ways of obtaining some money.”

Steve shrugs in a way that says ‘that’s fair’ because drug dealer indeed isn’t the best occupation to have. He moves on. “So, I’m guessing you came here for ice cream and not to laugh at me? What flavor do you want?”

“Uuuhm,” Eddie replies, tapping his plush lips with one of his long fingers in a way that has Steve fighting not to stare. Then he gets hit by Eddie’s big eyes, now a tad apologetic. “I’m gonna be honest, don’t know, man. I just want to cool down. The heat is killer.”

“We offer samples,” Steve tells him, because he wants Eddie to have a nice treat. It’s clear he doesn’t go out often and Steve want his experience with Steve to be nice. He’s aware that’s slightly pathetic, but he doesn’t care.

Eddie lights up at the offer, which makes it worth it, and asks: “Really? That’s cool, dude. What do you recommend?”

“I don’t know, what do you like?” Steve shoots back.

“Chocolate?” Eddie offers.

“We have peanut butter chocolate swirl,” Steve says, remembering the flavor because it just came in and Robin forced him to carry the heavy tub.

“That’s sounds nice,” Eddie says, eyes lighting up at the name.

A sense of pride and satisfaction rises up at the reaction that Steve attempts to push down as he scoops up a sample for Eddie. He hands it to him with a: “Here you go.”

“Why thank you,” Eddie replies, taking it with a courtesy, which makes Steve roll his eyes, though any snarky response to it dies in his throat as Eddie licks off the ice cream. Steve’s eyes tracking his tongue and his insides lighting up at the small moan Eddie lets out. “This is fucking good.”

“Glad you like it,” Steve squeaks. “Want a whole scoop?”

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie grins. “In a cup, please.”

“So polite,” Steve manages to joke, re-finding his post-puberty voice. He busies himself with scooping Eddie some ice cream, missing how Eddie’s eyes are glued to his arms, as he asks: “So, what brought you to the mall?”

“I have refused here to come on principle. Malls are a capitalistic hellscape that are here to create a monopoly and run local people out of business,” Eddie informs him, like that is a casual thing to say and, for Eddie, it kind of is. “However, even I can’t resist the siren song of a record shop that carries more metal. So alas, I have crumbled under the pressure of The Man. But don’t think I’ll be back here again!” he exclaims at the end.

The statement makes Steve sadder than he wants to be. He reminds himself that keeping his distance for Eddie is smarter, that it is good that Eddie isn’t going to come by every day and lick ice cream obscenely in front of Steve’s face. But that doesn’t squash the disappointment in his chest completely.

“Well, the enjoy ice cream on the house for your hardship,” he says, offering Eddie his cup with a charming smile. Eddie blushes a bit, Steve is almost sure, but he pushes the observation down as far as it will go.

Eddie ignores it too, taking the cup with a dramatic gesture as he proclaims: “My many thanks, kind shop keeper! Your generosity shall not be forgotten.”

“Yeah, yeah, stop making a scene,” Steve laughs. “Just take your ice cream and enjoy it.” Preferably somewhere I can’t see you lick it or I’ll combust, he adds mentally.

“I will. Thank you, Stevie,” Eddie says as he takes a bite from his ice cream using the sample spoon still in his hands. He hums happily, before waving at Steve and skipping out of the store, leaving Steve to stare at the place he occupied earlier.

“Your turn to take a break,” Robin snaps him out of his staring as she comes out of the backroom and Steve is grateful that he has a chance to gather himself, before getting back to work.

A few days later and he is coming out of that same backroom with excitement. Dustin is back in town and he has missed the squirt. He’s missed him so much. Dustin, who hasn’t heard what’s going on, who will never see the bruise that has already faded, who comes with grant tales of his adventures and who still treats Steve like the cooler older brother.

If Steve is honest, he doesn’t believe much of the Russian message story, but it’s a distraction.

Dustin’s excitement is infectious, despite all that has happened to the kid, he hasn’t let that dull his excitement about adventure. Steve doesn’t share much of the sentiment, but goes along with it. This way he can also keep Dustin safe, should it go wrong.

Helping Dustin with his project also means he isn’t out there serving ice cream. It says a lot about how far he and Robin have come from those first awkward days that she lets him bail on her like that to spend time with Dustin.

It also gives him a break from flirting with girls he doesn’t like, which is nice. He’s lost motivation for it pretty quickly, especially after finding out about the changed lock. He still feels the need to do it to protect himself, unable to stop himself from noticing how the targeting has gone down ever since he started flirting with girls again. But he doesn’t want to find a wife just to get back in his father’s good graces again. He’s happy to never see him, if he’s honest.

So, he’s happy to hide in the backroom and even happier to wipe away the fail board Robin made for him. He wants to tell her that he’s failing on purpose, but he can’t so it stands there as a reminder.

The two of them are not really getting anywhere with the translation. Steve honestly isn’t sure why Dustin even asked him, both know he’s not the smartest. But then again, he told Steve something about the others ditching him and Will also mentioned something about everyone getting more distant, busy with their girlfriends. Ahh, shitty old puberty.

Not that Dustin isn’t terrible with how he keeps bringing up Suzie, how amazing she is, how Steve should also find his Suzie. But he manages to ignore that for now.

Steve is sure that when the shine wears off, they’ll all return to how they were before. With what they have shared, it’s impossible not to. So, he just basks in getting to spend time with Dustin and tries not to worry about the kids too much.

However, Robin’s good graces run out at some point and she demands Steve do his job again and let her have a crack at the code. They obviously haven’t been hiding it as well as they thought they were, yet Steve feels the need to deny it and not let her get involved.

They’re not dealing with the Upside Down, just a Russian transmission. It’s not like they’re going to run into trouble in Hawkins over this, but still… Robin is nice. Well, she can be a bitch, but in the best way and Steve doesn’t want to see her get hurt over another one of Dustin’s projects.

But Robin is also stubborn and by the looks of her, he isn’t going to get her to back off. She’s also crazy smart on top of that, so if they actually want to succeed, they need her help.

So, he folds, like he so often does and goes to scoop ice cream again as Robin helps Dustin translate his coded Russian message.

As he scoops, he can’t help but perk up at every head of curly brown hair that walks in. He knows what Eddie told him about not coming back and he also knows he promised himself to keep his distance from Eddie, but still… He can’t help but look. Hope that Eddie will come back and he’ll get to hear more of that banter and watch him eat another scoop of ice cream.

Instead, however, he is stuck with the masses, who are indulging themselves on their outing to the mall or just because the weather is so hot. The most thrilling thing that happens is Robin popping in with the first sentence, which isn’t thrilling at all.

It’s only that evening that things take a turn for the weird. Well, weirder, this is Hawkins after all, it is never truly normal here.

But, things always manage to get weirder and while Steve hasn’t been much help in translating, the music that played still bugs him. And it is not until they’re walking through the mall after closing the shop that he realizes why.

He is naturally teased by both Dustin and Robin as he suddenly stops at the horse and asks for a quarter, however he shuts them up when the music starts playing and they all recognize it. The same music as from the intercepted message.

The Russians aren’t in Russia at all, they’re in Hawkins.

Mentally Steve rearranges what this means. Russians in Hawkins. They probably don’t have an army here, people would notice that, so it’s a small spying operation at best. They can take a small spying operation, right? Can’t be much worse than the demodogs or demogorgon.

For a second, Steve wonders why he ever let himself caught up in this all. He knows he’s going to go along with it again, he can’t bear to let Dustin do this alone, or with Robin, who seems equally excited about the prospect. Though he can forgive Robin, because she hasn’t been nearly gnawed to death a few months prior. Dustin has no excuse though.

They all agree to go on a spy mission tomorrow, assigning tasks to everyone and agreeing on times to meet up. Then Steve drops Dustin off at home, waving at Mrs. Henderson, who has always been nice to him, albeit a little confused, before driving to the Byers House.

When he gets there, it’s already late. And he feels bad about not calling when he sees how relieved Joyce looks that he’s alright. He isn’t used to anyone wondering where he is.

“I saved you some dinner,” Joyce tells him, not mentioning that she worried and Steve doesn’t either.

“Thanks,” he says, then, because he feels the need to apologize, he add: “Sorry, for missing it and not saying.”

“It’s okay,” Joyce immediately assures him. “But it should be criminal they keep you this late.”

“Oh, no, I stayed late, because-” Steve hesitates, not sure if he wants to involve Joyce in this nonsense again. He knows it’s different, it’s not the Upside Down and her boys aren’t involved, with all she’s been through, she probably doesn’t feel the need to go investigating again. Best to leave her be. “Because I was still chatting with Robin,” he decides on.

“You went on a date!” Will suddenly speaks up from his place at the table, managing to sound surprised and betrayed.

“What, I-” Steve reacts, before he can think about it, stopping himself in his tracks. He doesn’t want to confirm anything. He definitely doesn’t want to put Robin in a spot where she has to lie for him or himself in a spot where he has to explain why. But it’s also a good way to continue building his safety net.

So, he stays quiet and blushes when Joyce smiles teasingly and chides Will: “Leave the man be, Will. He can go out if he likes. No need for the yelling.”

Will obviously disagrees with that statement and turns back to his notes, probably a campaign, with a huff.

Great.

Fucked that up again.

Morosely Steve eats his cold dinner as he looks at Will scribbling away. He wants to ask about what he’s doing, but he’s not in the mood for the inevitable attitude. So, he finishes his dinner and gets ready for bed, he has a weird day tomorrow.

The next day, he finds himself hiding behind the potted plants in his stupid uniform with some binoculars and Dustin by his side. He takes back all he’s thought about wanting Eddie to come back, he would probably die with humiliation if Eddie saw him like this.

Still, Dustin seems to be enjoying himself, which is good. However, Steve doesn’t want him to get too caught up in the whole thing when it might end up in disappointment. So he pretends to be annoyed a guy is talking to some girl, which sets Dustin off on a tangent.

He starts regretting it when Dustin starts up about Robin again. It’s a little on him. He should have known that for a straight guy a coworker would have been an obvious person to try and date, but he never even thought about it.

“No, man, she’s not my type,” he says to try and curb the conversation, trying to balance shelving the topic and not saying anything incriminating. “She’s not even in the ballpark of what my type is, all right?”

His plea for Dustin to drop it is not heard as he moves on to constructs of popularity and high school ecosystems.

It reminds Steve of the fact that Dustin has no clue how far he fell and what he faced at school when he became a cheerleader. And that Dustin has no clue how high school works if he thinks Steve didn’t face massive amounts of shit for that. Fuck, he hopes Dustin finds a place next year.

Before he can spiral or Dustin’s rant can get further out of hand, they’re distracted by a possible Russian spy, who turns out to be a jazz aerobics instructor. A very hot jazz aerobics instructor, though Steve is denying that to anyone who asks.

When they get back, Robin has cracked the code. Steve watches her mouth move as fast as her brain as she stands there, explaining her findings.

Starcourt mall is a drop off point for the spy operation they have going on here. They’re going to drop shit off here and then a Russian spy will come in and get it. It takes Steve only one glimpse at Dustin for him to realize that the kid is planning to get to that drop off first.

By now, they’re all too far in for them to stop looking now, besides Steve hasn’t seen any Russians all day. Whatever spy is in Hawkins, it can’t be a dangerous one, or a very big group.

From there it snowballs and it snowballs fast.

They get maps, they plan, they bribe Erica Sinclair to help and get the equipment. Before Steve knows it, he is in the bowels of the earth surrounded by way more Russians than should be there with the possibility of the Upside Down being back.

Panic is beating in his chest as he tries to lead Dustin, Erica and Robin to safety. In his mind all he can think of is how stupid he’s been to go along with Dustin, to underestimate the threat, to let Robin get involved, fuck, to get Erica involved. She’s only ten. Fuck.

He is also starting to realize that they’re not making it out. Not this time. He has to do something if he doesn’t want anyone to die on his watch.

They’re coming up at a door. It’s a room. A dead end. Steve makes the split second decision to throw himself against it, yelling to the others to hide and get out. Behind him, Dustin and Erica go look for an exit, while Robin throws herself against the door as well.

The action surprises Steve, he’s sure she would have run out of here as fast as she can, but instead she helps him. Despite the fact that Robin is less strong than him, her presence helps and Steve is grateful for her and the fact that he’s been spending half a year lifting girls up in the air, which helped with his muscle mass.

Russians are now fully banging against the door. Steve mentally goes through everyone, the number one priority are Dustin and Erica, they’re both children and Dustin knows what adult to go to about this to get help.

So, he and Robin hold the door, watch them go, listen to Dustin promise he won’t forget him. And the only thing Steve can feel is despair, because he knows he isn’t going to make it out.

Once the kids are far enough away that he doesn’t think they’ll get caught, he turns to Robin and says: “You get out now.” He gives her a grin neither of them believe in as the door continues to rattle. “I’ll hold them off.”

Steve expects her to back off, to leave, to maybe look back with an anguished look, or repeat what Dustin told him earlier. He expects her to run.

What he never would have seen coming is for her to shake her head, to try to smile even if she looks as scared as he feels, to square her shoulders and say: “I’m not leaving you, dingus. You can’t keep this door closed without me.”

And Steve laughs a little, because otherwise he’ll cry.

Both of them know, they’re not keeping door closed together either, but it doesn’t matter. They are going to try and then they’re going to fail and then they’re going to die, but they aren’t going to die alone.

Steve never realized how badly he wants someone to be there when the Upside Down nonsense finally takes them out. How badly he wants to be witnessed, even if it is only for his final moment. How glad he is to not be alone right now.

He grabs her hand, like they had on the rooftop and squeezes, giving her a small smile he hopes is reassuring. She squeezes back, managing a watery smile of her own, before silent tears start to slide down her face.

The door swings open, flinging them backwards. Men stream into the tiny room and Steve gets roughly dragged away. He feels Robin’s fingers slip from his own and lets out a loud yell as he struggles, but it isn’t enough.

They get separated.

He’s alone.

Well, not really alone. A man in an intimidating uniform with an equally intimidating entourage is in the room with him and he can only hope Robin doesn’t have the same company he does, especially when they start to lay into him.

The man asks him questions about why he’s here and who he works for. Steve assumes the man is expecting him to confess to being a spy, to infiltrating their base on purpose, ready to face what is happening right now.

But Steve isn’t ready to face this right now. He is scared, alone and cold. His head is racing and all he can manage is the truth.

It quickly becomes clear that the truth isn’t good enough.

They lay into him, heavy hands meeting his head and his ribs. It hurts more than Billy last fall, more than his father laying into him, more than anything Steve has experienced before. Whoever this Russian is, he is a professional and he is good at his job.

Steve is crying, unable to keep a facade of unbothered masculinity. He doesn’t want to pretend right now, he just wants to disappear. It hurts so so bad, his head is swimming and they just keep yelling at him.

In front of his eyes, flashes Eddie when he came into Scoops Ahoy. How he looked in that outfit, his arms that bulged as he moved, his tongue over the sample spoon and the little moan he let out when he tasted the ice cream.

Now Steve wishes that he hadn’t turned his line into a joke. That he’d flirted for real, maybe even made Eddie blush instead of laugh. How he could maybe have scored a date with the guy he’s been crushing on for a while now.

Fuck, he doesn’t want to die scared.

He doesn’t want to die without having kissed a boy.

He doesn’t want to die pretending to be someone he’s not.

He doesn’t want to die in another mask.

At this point Steve is screwing his eyes closed, as if he’s five, playing hide and seek with his mother, who isn’t even searching for him. How he hid behind a plant that couldn't conceal him, but because he closed his own eyes and couldn't see his mother, he was convinced she couldn't see him either. In a way that had been true.

He just hopes they haven’t hurt Robin too. He likes Robin. She’s become a friend in their time working together and he is the reason she’s down here, stuck in a base, likely dying unless Dustin gets back with backup in time.

His ears are already ringing, the hurt a part of his being, so he snaps into focus when after a particularly bad hit, the ringing suddenly stops. Surprised he looks up, then the world spins and he blacks out.

When he comes to, there is still a feint ringing and his skull is pounding, but there are no more screaming men and at his back is a warm presence, an oddly soothing smell of artificial strawberry fills his nose. His peace, however, is broken by Robin, who yells: “Help! Help!”

“Ugh, would you stop yelling,” he murmurs.

Immediately Robin moves behind him and there is relief in her voice that he doesn’t have the brain capacity to tie to his own awaking. She exclaims: “Steve! Oh my god! Steve, are- are you okay?”

With more consciousness also comes the awareness of his own body. Steve takes stock of how he’s feeling, which is pretty terrible, but he doesn’t want to worry Robin more. They’re tied back to back, so it’s not like she can check. He jokes: “My ears are ringing, and I can't really breathe, my eye feels like it's about to pop out of my skull, but, you know, apart from that, I'm doing pretty good.”

“Well, the good news is that they're calling you a doctor,” Robin laughs, sounding on the border of panic and hysteria. Maybe not the best joke.

“Is this his place of work?” Steve asks, trying again to keep her mind of it by turning up the bitchiness. “I love the vibe. Charming.”

This time her chuckle is more normal and her rib cage is no longer going haywire against his own, which had hurt. She seems more level headed and ready to think. In fact, she even thinks of a way they could maybe escape.

Their situation feels pretty hopeless, but Steve is willing to try anything. It’s not like it can get any worse.

So, the two of them hop on their chairs together. The first hop goes good, the second one also works. A bubble of hope starts to build in Steve’s chest that is immediately crushed as they crash to the ground together, more pain shooting through him.

It takes a second before he reorients himself again. Then he becomes aware of the choked noises from behind and how Robin’s shoulders are shaking. His heart hurts for her, how she’s stuck here with him and he tries to soothe her. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Robin.”

Then he hears her giggle. Giggle. She’s not crying at all. Confusion and worry for her sanity go through him as he asks: “Are you laughing?” in an incredulous voice.

“Yeah,” Robin gasps.

“Jesus,” Steve sighs.

“I’m sorry!” Robin exclaims. “I’m so sorry. It’s just- I can’t believe I’m gonna die in a secret Russian base with Steve “The Hair” Harrington. It’s just too trippy, man.”

Steve ignores the call to his earlier persona. His straight persona he realizes now, his shield against eyes that could know something about him. Instead he focuses on Robin thinking she’s going to die down here. He agrees of course, but he’s going to do everything in his power to get her out of here alive, even if that means dying himself.

“We’re not going to die,” he tells her. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? Just- You gotta let me just think for a second.”

He has never been the guy that made the plan and the whole situation looks hopeless. Still, he wracks his pounding brain for anything they can do.

A few seconds later and Robin is breaking their thinking silence again, asking: “Do you remember, uhm, Mrs. Click’s sophomore history class?”

“What?” Steve asks in turn, not sure if she genuinely asked that or if he’s starting to hallucinate her asking about school right now.

“Mrs. Clickity-Clackity. That’s what us band dweebs called her,” Robin goes on as if he never said anything at all. “It was first period, Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you were always late. And you always had the same breakfast. Bacon, egg, and cheese on a sesame bagel.”

Steve remembers none of this and he listens to Robin talk about him, her voice becoming more bitter as she goes on: “I sat behind you two days a week for a year. Mister Funny. Mister Cool. The King of Hawkins High himself.”

At her words Steve hearts starts to plummet and it breaks when she asks: “Do you even remember me from that class?”

She is quiet for a second, waiting for an answer, but Steve can’t bring his mouth to shape any words, doesn’t have any that would communicate how he feels. He can’t tell her how much he hates the guy he used to be, can’t excuse what he did, can’t make it right.

So he sits there, silent, as Robin sighs: “Of course you don’t. You were a real asshole, you know that?”

And all Steve can do is say: “Yeah, I know,” because he does.

After a second, Robin goes on, apparently not done yet. “But it didn’t even matter. It didn’t matter that you were an ass. Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just wanna be popular, accepted, normal.”

Steve thinks back on all the nights he spend alone, wishing he was different, wishing he was normal, wishing his parents would love him, wishing he could be what his father wants him to be, and he gets it. Gets her.

He wants to reach out to her, tell her he understands, connect with her. He wants to tell her about Eddie and what he realized as he was getting his face beat in. But he can’t tell her that yet, they still have to try and make it out of here and he can’t have her be disgusted by him. Or heartbroken and unwilling to listen.

Yeah, Steve isn’t that stupid. Robin used to be obsessed with him, he knows what that means, and it hurts, because she might be one of his best friends now and he doesn’t want to loose her just because she has a crush on him.

Maybe he’ll tell her when they get out of here.

For now, he just says: “If it makes you feel any better, having those things isn’t all that great. Seriously. Everything that people tell you is important, everything that people say you should care about, it’s all just… bullshit. Besides, they turn on you just as easily.”

“Like when you did cheerleading?” Robin asks him softly. It’s the first time she mentioned it ever since she first asked.

“Yeah,” he replies equally soft, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“I thought it was cool you did that,” she tells him. “It really sucked what they did to you, but you never seemed bother my it. Mister Unflappable, you were. For a second, I thought-” Robin cuts herself off. “Doesn’t matter. It was just really messed up.”

“It kind of was,” Steve agrees, then to lighten the mood, he says: “At least it can’t get any more messed up than this.”

Both of them laugh at that, Steve’s ribs hurting at the movement, but neither of them care, because they need to laugh at something at this point.

Once the laughter has died down again, Steve says: “You know, I wish I’d known you in Click’s class.”

“Yeah?” Robin replies, like she doesn’t believe it.

“Really, I do,” he assures her, because he needs her to know how glad he is he knows her. She can be a massive bitch and it wasn’t easy to get along with her at first, but she’s never been fake-nice like so many of the old people he hung around with, or cruel. She means what she says, it just comes out wrong sometimes. She is so weird and he loves her.

The mood is going down again and Steve hates that. The floor is already cold enough and any hope of getting away seems further and further away, they don’t need to be morose on top of that.

“Maybe you could’ve helped me pass the class,” he jokes. “Maybe instead of being here, I’d be on my way to college right now.”

“And I would have no idea that there were evil Russians beneath our feet, and I would be happily slinging ice cream with some other schmuck,” Robin adds.

It sounds crazy to think about. To not be here with Robin. To not have fed Chrissy ice cream every day for weeks. To not have waived Eddie’s ice cream costs, because he had already been through enough having to face the mall for his music. To not have been there when Dustin intercepted the message.

God, he can’t imagine Dustin being here alone, or with one of the other idiots he calls friends. He can’t really picture it. Having to hear how they got hurt, how they might have died, while he wasn’t here to protect them.

But maybe if he had made it into college, his father wouldn’t have been so mad. Maybe Steve would still be living in his old house. Maybe his father wouldn't have cared about the cheerleading and instead would have been proud of Steve.

He tries to imagine that. Tries to picture how his father would have looked, but he can’t. Holy shit, he can’t even imagine how his father would look when proud.

A big part of Steve knows that it wouldn’t have mattered if he got into college. Richard Harrington would never be proud of his son, of Steve. Especially not when Steve joined the cheer squad. When he is thought to be a queer.

Nothing can be good enough to erase the fact that he’s a fag.

And Steve wonders why he can’t let it go like he told Chrissy to do. Why he still keeps looking back and wondering, even if he stopped trying to gain his father’s approval. Why it has to come back in this dark, cold Russian bunker.

His parents might not even hear he’s died here, even if he dies as a hero. They’re not even here and Steve doubts they’ll come back.

He is so tired of trying for them.

He wants to stop.

He knows what he is. He is a fag and he’s proud of it, screw them. He’s gotten too close to death too many times for him to want to die like this. He doesn’t want to work in an office with his father, wearing stuffy suits for the rest of his life.

No, Steve wants to bitch with Robin as they sling ice cream at Scoops Ahoy, wants make Chrissy fly, because she smiles so widely that it must hurt when he does, wants to listen to Dustin talk about Suzie or complain about his friends, unable to hide his fondness under the annoyance.

Fuck, he wants to talk to Will, tell him how queer he is, how scared he is, how it is the reason and that he’s sorry he lied. Wants to see if Joyce’s promise that it was okay still holds. Wants to know what it would be like to kiss a boy.

Wants to know what it would be like to kiss Eddie specifically.

However, instead of saying any of that, he says: “Gotta say, though, I liked being your schmuck. It was fun while it lasted.”

Because he can’t verbalize all the other things. Their fate seems hopeless now and all he wants is for Robin to know that he doesn’t care how fucked up it has all been, he still liked working with her and he wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.

And when Robin says: “It was,” Steve knows she understands and she means the same.

~~

A/N:

My lesbian ass might have underestimated my ability to write a gay man, but I stay strong and I try xp (also pls don’t be mad if I mess up, I’m sensitive)

Also not Steve thinking Joyce wouldn't want to know he’s getting caught up into something again, im weeping, this lady has no chill, Stevie, and she caresssss. Let Her Care! Let Her Solve The Mystery! Let Her Help!

By the way, can you imagine how terrifying those last moments at the door were? How scary it must have been to be taken? I am so emotional about them <3

#rr writing #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stobin #buckingham #st season 3 #dustin henderson #erica sinclair #scoops troop #scoops ahoy #cheerleader steve harrington au #parental joyce byers #joyce byers #tw: f slur #tw: period typical homophobia #tw: torture #tw: child abuse mention #tw: internalized homophobia #steve and robin #steve and dustin #st the party #the party stranger things

[kanamori-kamper-moved]

🎶 aztecshipping?

NO BECAUSE I LOVE THIS ONE?? Alright this is just a thinly veiled excuse to show off my stupid au where Yuma is a prince and Trey is a knight. I WILL MAKE A FULL FLEDGED POST ABOUT IT SOON I SWEAR BUT ANYWAYS HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! This was the only idea I had so I hope you don’t mind </3

As always, transfem Trey, so she uses the feminine pronoun!

Ask game

-

Yuma has never liked his birthday. Sure, the cake and the gifts were nice, but he never liked the huge ball thrown for him every time it happened. It was too loud, too suffocating. Even when surrounded by people, he always felt so alone.

But, this year, Yuma had something to look forward to.

His knight, his protector.

His Trey.

It would be inappropriate to not invite her, after all she's done for him. He snuck out of the castle as he usually did, narrowly avoiding the guards and running off to her humble little cottage.

"Yuma, I like you, but be serious. They wouldn't let me in, no matter how much you fought for it.." She sighs, "What would they think if they saw the prince with a peasant girl? They wouldn't be happy, I'm sure."

"But you aren't a peasant, you're my knight."

"Yes, Yuma, but-"

"Look. Just come to the castle tomorrow night. I'll help you sneak in! And if we get caught, I'd rather spend the night with you than in that place."

She can't argue with Yuma. He's too persistent to even try to change his mind. And so she doesn't try, only left to pick out the nicest dress and a pair of shoes she has (which is, admittedly, just one). She's embarrassed, to be seen in such a thing. She'd much rather wear a suit, but she does it for Yuma. But, honestly, Yuma doesn't mind what she wears.

Trey has always been masculine, in every sense of the word. It was evident, considering she was a knight and only wore the bulky armor she was given. When he first met her, Yuma couldn't quite wrap his head around it. He'd only seen pretty girls wearing flowy dresses and heels, and shiny hairpins paired with earrings.

He couldn't help his curiosity, once asking, "I don't get it, shouldn't you be, like, wearing dresses or something like that?" Questioned Yuma, "You're a lady, after all. No offense, or anything!"

"It's a little complicated. And don't worry, no offense taken." Treys smile is soft, just as she always is. "I was once told that what is most beautiful in a woman, is what is masculine. And what is most beautiful in a man is what is feminine." Yuma's never heard such a thing, anyone else he knew would think it was simply preposterous, "You may be a prince, Yuma, but to me, you're my princess." And just those words alone make his face heat up.

But Yuma's sneaking Trey in, desperately trying to pull her up onto the balcony which is thankfully only occupied by them. There's soft music coming from the inside, which is filled with chatter and laughter and the sweet smell of cake.

"See? I told you I could sneak you in!" Yuma beams, hugging her tight, "Ahah, I guess you were right then!"

"You look gorgeous.." Yuma finally takes a moment to look at her outfit in its full glory. Treys nervous, she only had one dress after all. No one's ever seen her in a dress besides her brothers. "Really? Its kind of awkward.. I barely look like a lady in a dress, and I'm so muscular now..” Trey nervously squeezes her arms that were once frail and soft, but now bear the scars of being a protector.

"Why would you ever say that? You're beautiful." Treys chest is blooming with warmness, no one’s ever told her that she’s beautiful before. “Really, you are!”

Her mouth remains somewhat open with awe, but she doesn’t get to answer right away. Yumas stepped inside to fix himself a peice of cake, which hes come back with, “We could.. share..” Yuma looks away, partly flushed. “.. to take your mind off of it..”

“Sure.” Softly smiles Trey, she was ogling at the heaps of confectionery inside just a moment ago, anyway.

-

“I would’ve settled for something smaller, but at least the cake is nice,” Yuma sighs, stuffing his mouth full of the unreasonably frosted cake that was specially baked for him. “Are you sure? It’s too sweet for me, honestly,” She giggles. He’d just fed her a spoonful a moment ago, and just that was too much. Trey did have a delicate stomach, after all.

Yuma sets down his plate, already finished and sighing again. “I don’t wanna go back in. I would sooner die than dance with a girl in there..”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really! I dunno if I really like girls, or if I just haven’t found the right one..”

“You can worry about it later,” Trey stands up, “I’m sure I’ve gotten something to cheer you up, though.” And Yuma perks up, seeing Trey hold out her gloved hand towards him, “My prince, may I have this dance?” She asks, the moonlight almost makes her look more beautiful than she was a just a moment ago.

“Of course, my lady.” And so they dance. Yuma gets up from the railing, holding his hand in hers. It’s slow and their smiling the entire time. None of the two could be happier, softly smiling.

Yuma thinks to himself that maybe his birthday won’t be so bad.

#anthys asks #Anthys writing #michael arclight #trey zexal #trey arclight #iii zexal #iii yugioh #yuma tsukumo #yugioh #yugioh zexal #aztecshipping #Knight trey au

[ga-yuu]

Finally...!! It's here!!

Anyone missed me? I was having a splitting headache this afternoon and when I have headaches my body stops functioning. I slept and woke 30 mins before the official teaser release, watched the teaser and slept again, and then woke up now. That's why I didn't post immediately. Also I made certain predictions before the official teaser was released like---Victor might have purple eyes.

Still! He's the most beautiful person and if you disagree you are WRONG!!

I like most of their designs...some I need to get used to, but overall I think they all are interesting (Victor is the best!)

Harry---Looks nice. I love that his color is teal.

Liam----When they showed his sneak peek video, I for some reason thought he looked like a cat. Light pink hair, collar...IDK for some reason.

Elbert--- All Hail to Blonde hair blue eye male leads!!

Roger----Another man who is into research and that kind of stuff...why do they all have to have glasses?

Alfonse-----Hmmm...IDK how to put this, but his hairstyle looks so familiar. Is there any other character that has a similar hairstyle to his?

Jude----something is wrong with his nose. I need some time to get used to it.

Ellis----He's cute. He gives me Yoshitsune vibes and for some reason, he looks a lot like Victor. Maybe brothers? Who knows?

And finally, the black-hair---Ahem! The main white-haired male lead, whose route is ofc going to be the first one to release----

When this guy smiles, his face looks like Ayato from Diabolik lovers wearing Riddle's clothes (Twisted wonderland). I hope his personality is interesting. Since he's the page boy of this game, there is a high chance that he would appear friendly and warm toward MC. I don't want that, I want him to be an arrogant little bitch.

Now MC. I'm bummed that they didn't include MC's sprite. Only Yoshino has a separate sprite and profile page on the Ikegen official website(If you can even call it one, but at least she has one) and I thought cybird staffs decided that they are going to take MC seriously. But they didn't do it for Ikemen prince and now for Ikemen villain. No wonder Yoshino is the only well-written MC. The MC in this one has white hair (thank god!), but unfortunately same hairstyle as any other MCs. She's also a postal worker.

#ikemen series #ikemen villian #ikemen mc #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

hewwo gimme some ship answers with ummm 4 7 18 21

Alright, we’re on shuffle mode with this one.

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyways?

Pillby!

Kerri always worries about Willows ungodly sleeping schedule, telling her to stop working so much and give her body some much needed rest, but when Willow has inspiration for a project, they need to do it, and they need to do it now. No rest until her vision is realised, or the whole thing went south and they won’t enter their art room for at least a week in frustration. Kerri tries her best to still make sure Willow gets at least some rest, brewing her some lavender tea or sometimes sneaking up on her in the middle of the night, arms wrapping around her tiny waist and mumbling into her eat to please, just come to bed.

7: Which one constantly wears the others clothes?

Lemyanka!

Lemon loves Priyanka‘s closet. All her clothes smell of her and her signature perfume, and they’re so comfortable and warm … And despite constantly complaining that Lemon is the reason she has nothing to wear, Priyanka adores seeing Lemon wear something of hers.

18: Who‘s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other?

Halldoll!

To everyone‘s surprise, it’s Jaida! The two of them pine hopelessly after the other for almost two years, Nicky swearing to Jan that the next time she sees her, she’ll definitely ask Jaida out, but always chickening out last minute out of fear of rejection or loosing her friendship with Jaida. It takes a night out with their friends, lots of alcohol, and a very tall , attractive blonde stranger flirting with Nicky for Jaida to finally snap, pulling Nicky away from the stranger and out back into the smoker area, where they finally kiss for the first time, Nicky pressed against the brick wall and Jaida pushing up against her, whispering her true feelings against the French woman’s red lips.

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them?

Sashnetra!

One time when they were out at the bar just to relax, some guy crept up to Sasha, clearly pushing into her private space and disregarding any form of politeness. However, before she even realises what’s happening, Anetra is already by her side, his arm sneaking around her waist and pulling her into his side, giving the stranger a sharp look over her head. As long as Netra is around, no one gets to mess with Sasha, and he makes sure everyone knows that.

#berry‘s writings #sandwich cookie <3 #lemyanka #halldoll #Pillby #sashnetra

[sad-brunnettee]

Niragi x reader (One piece x Alice in Borderland crossover)

Word count: 2,234

—-

The moonlight was your only company during this dark and cold night. You cursed to no one in particular about the weather and your poor choice of outfit. Back at the Beach the weather was warm, allowing you to wear your black board shorts with your bikini top. You weren’t sure what kind of sick game the creators had planned for you. There was no time to think, you had to find a way to complete the game before your visa expired.

What was strange is that this was meant to be a game of clubs. So far you haven’t seen or heard anyone nearby. You’ve been walking around this forest trying to find a clue which was getting harder to do by the second. You were starting to doze off and were struggling to keep your eyes open. Not even the sound of twigs snapping under your foot helped you to stay awake.

You were slowly starting to loose hope when you heard water, and people talking. There was fear striking you now, you weren’t sure if this was a good or bad. You took cautious steps and pulled out the gun that your boyfriend, Niragi, gave you once before a game.

The two of you knew you won’t always be put in the same group and he wouldn’t be there to protect you. He would teach you how to use it when neither of you had to play games. Yet after all those practices the cold, heavy object felt strange in your hands.

You kept on walking towards the noise and as you got closer you saw what you believe to be a ship. A huge one, something that pirates would use. Of course there was no way of there being any pirates. Right? You were in Tokyo after all.

There was no other option now but to climb aboard and get answers. You tried to be as quiet as you possibly could or at least you thought you were. But a certain swordsman heard you trying to sneak in.

One moment you were near the entrance of the ship alone and the next you were being held by a strong arm. While the other held a sword on your throat. You heard footsteps running towards the two of you. The airbase getting stuff and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to survive.

You still had to be strong, you were the girlfriend of a militant after all. There was no time for weakness.

“A girl?” You heard various voices ask some looked to be around the same age as you while others looked older.

“A pretty lady that was sent from heaven.” A blond exclaimed and you could see how his eyes turned heart shaped. It was as if he had never seen a girl before even if there were two standing next to him.

It didn’t take long for him to realize the position you were in. His face turned into one of anger as he yelled out to the man holding you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing mosshead?!? That’s no way to treat a lady, let her go.”

This only caused the swordsman to hold onto you tighter. “What no way! She tried to sneak in and look she has a gun!”

The moment those last words left his lips everyone looked down to your hand and sure enough, there was a gun.

While everyone was screaming and running around like maniacs you took this as an opportunity to kick the swordsman on his groin. As he let go of you, you turned around and quickly made him get on his knees while holding both arms behind his back. You had one foot on top of his leg making it harder for him to move.

This was a trick that Aguni taught you, not only were you the girlfriend of his right hand man, but he saw you as his daughter and wanted you to be able to protect yourself.

Nobody else seemed to notice this change of charge, you lifted up the gun aimed to the sky and pulled the trigger. Everyone soon after watched you with wide eyes. You placed the gun on his temple which you could feel was tense.

“There are more bullets from where that came from. If you don’t want me to kill him then I suggest you better tell me. Where the hell I am and who you guys are.”

“Listen lady I don’t know who you think you are but you better let go of Zoro.” A boy with straw hat spoke as he walked closer to you, anger in his eyes but you wouldn’t let that intimidate you.

“Luffy, I say let her kill him.” The blond spoke once more and you were confused as to why he would want this.

“Don’t be stupid Sanji, Zoro is our friend.” You as Luffy raised his arm and saw it stretched almost comically and was ready to hit you. Although you didn’t budge at all, you’ve seen stranger things back at the Beach and the games you were forced to participate in.

Before his arm could reach you, multiple hands appeared and held him in place.

“Robin, let go.” He said whining and dragging out her name for more emphasis.

“I don’t think it’s smart to hurt her when she clearly isn’t from here.”

That’s when everyone took a good look at you, from the clothes you had on to the bracelet on your wrist with the number 20 written on it.

“Come on, let’s get you something warm.” Luffy who you have come to the realization that is the leader led you towards a big room in the ship. The lights were turned off but you could see water and fish swimming around. Thinking that they will throw you overboard you held tightly to your gun but as the lights were turned on you realized it was an aquarium. You couldn’t help but admire it, this is as much life as you have seen since getting thrown in the borderlands.

Everyone took a seat while some sort of reindeer went to get you a jacket. Claiming that he was a doctor and it was his duty to take care of everyone. Unlike chishiya, who before the borderlands was also leaching in the medical field, you saw the care he actually puts on the well-being of others.

While they all spoke about who they are and where they were. The reindeer who you learned is named Chopper, inspected you for any injuries with so much delicacy. Nothing like Chishiya did back when you got a nasty cut to the stomach. He treated you with zero care, when Niragi found out about it he was livid. There was nothing he could do but threaten him for if he touched even one hair from his head he would’ve been in serious trouble. Not just with Aguni but Hatter as well.

After you explained everything to them from what you did before the borderlands, to the games you had to play and why you were about to attack them. You were surprised to look up and not getting any sympathy, something you were glad about. It seemed that they had also been through some hard circumstances and weren’t taken by surprise.

Luffy was the first to speak up “don’t worry, we’ll help you find your friends.”

During your stay with them not everyone was comfortable with you being there. They treated you as if you were a bomb that could go off any moment and kill them all. Honestly, you couldn’t blame them. Yet you tried your best to show your gratitude and help around. Sanji, who also happened to be the cook, flirted aimlessly with you. You tried to explain that you had a boyfriend who you loved and he would be willing to kill him if he sees him like that. After a while you noticed it wasn’t because he had a crush on you, he simply wanted all women to feel loved.

You were now a few hours away from arriving to the next island in hopes that you will find anyone from the Beach.

During those few hours, Sanji prepared you delicious snacks. Some had names you couldn’t even pronounce if you tried, even if your stay with them is expected to be short. You’ll surely miss them. They are the closest friends you’ve had since you were 13. Even if they could be idiots at times you saw how much they cared for one another.

As you finally reached the island everyone, except Franky and Ussop, accompanied you to look for your friends. It occurred to you that you never told them how they looked like. You also weren’t sure who to describe, for all you knew you were the only one who landed in this place.

Deciding on given them straightforward details you said to keep an eye on anyone who wears a bikini, has a weapon practically glued to their hands/backs and has a bracelet similar to yours. You also said that if any of them saw them to be aware of their behavior, any of them would be willing to get into a fight.

It must’ve been two hours of aimlessly walking around that neither of you saw or heard anything. Just when you were about to call it quits you heard screams, it was as if they were being tortured.

Robin, who took the role of taking care of everyone from the crew. Advertised you to not get your hopes up, there were many pirates around. Unlike them, others loved chaos and killing for fun.

Admitting defeat you started your journey back to the ship, the thousand sunny, when you heard it. Faintly, as if the air was dragging it away from reaching your ears, a laugh. A maniac laugh one that you could recognize anywhere.

Without thinking you ran to the source of the sound. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, the group called your name and ran behind you but you paid them no attention. There was no way in hell that you would leave before confirming if the laughter was of your lover.

There was a crowd up ahead, they were all scared of what was in front of them yet they didn’t move. You were stuck, there was no way of getting through. As you stood there trying to squeeze through the group managed to catch up to you.

“Is that them y/n?” Robin asked while looking down at you.

“I can’t see them but there’s no doubt about it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest in order to activate her devil fruit flowers.

“Mille Fleur, gigantesco mano” with that, two giant hands appeared in front of you and she used them to part the crowd that had formed. Allowing you enough room to walk through, which you did after a giving her a quick thanks.

They all followed closely behind, in case they had to fight.

Standing across from you was Niragi and Aguni plus a few other militants who you never bothered to learn their names. The didn’t hear the commotion going on behind them.

“Niragi, she’s not here. Let’s go, now!” Aguni’s deep voice was loud and clear. Even if Niragi wanted to destroy anything that crossed his path he still had to follow his orders.

“Niragi!” You yelled out happily while running towards him.

At hearing his voice being called out he turned around with a smirk only for it to grow in a genuine smile. Aguni only gave you a small one before his face went back to normal and observed the group that stood behind you with arms crossed.

You engulfed Niragi in a tight hug, taking in his smell. He was much taller than you which made it easier to pick you up and spin you around before setting you down and give you a kiss. One that left Sanji heartbroken and Luffy questioning why he was eating your face.

As you two separated Nami noticed the bright smile that adorned your face. It made her realize that she was wrong about you.

You turned to them and thanked them all for their help. You now had a new mission, figure out if you still had to place games or if this was the end of it all.

Niragi stood in front of you and placed his hands on your shoulders. He leaned down to be face to face with you and said, in a not so low voice.

“I missed you but I prefer you with less clothes.” Not allowing you anytime to respond he gripped the sweater you had on and ripped it. Once again leaving you with your bikini top, embarrassed you turned to Nami and Robin.

“Sorry about the sweater.” You smiled sheepishly.

Robin simply smiled and chuckled softly, while Nami screamed saying it was worth so much money (even if she did steal it) and you had to pay her 5,000,000,000 berries for it. From the corner of your eyes you saw as Sanji fell to floor after having a nosebleed to which Chopper started to cry and went for his aid. Zoro simply walked away saying he needed a drink. Luffy only smiled and gave you a big wave.

#sad-brunnettee #alice in boderland x reader #aib niragi #niragi x reader #niragi suguru #niragi imagine #crossover #one piece #dori sakurada #niragi x y/n

[solar-halos]

december prompt #6: snowflakes

mr and mrs everdeen fluff under the cut! mr everdeens name is kolton and mrs everdeen’s name is grace in this btw

Mother Nature was out to get him.

She had to be. The first time Kolton even tried to kiss Grace, it got interrupted by an explosion in the mines and the upheaval of his entire day. And, when she had kissed him, he barely had time to kiss her back before the randomest fuckin’ rainstorm cut it short.

It’s one sided beef. Good thing Kolton is very good at hunting.

Grace never likes watching him hunt—she always wants to heal the animals he pierces with his arrows, which wasn’t very good for (his) business—so he waits until he’s made all his trades before he knocks on her door.

She’s wrapping a scarf around her neck, cheeks already flushed from the cold. He feels better just seeing her—kinda makes him forget that he has nothing but a flimsy jacket to protect him from the biting wind.

Who cares? Grace bites him harder.

If only he wasn’t wearing his hunting clothes. He misses all of her celebratory nibbles on the shoulders, even if he’d never admit it.

Or maybe he would. With Mother Nature conspiring against him, that might be all he’s ever gonna get.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she’s saying, which is something he wholeheartedly agrees with. Mother Nature can’t hate him that much if they get to spend so much uninterrupted time together, so he squeezes her hand and basks in the warmth of her smile.

Snow crunches under his hunting boots. Perfect. It’s not soft enough that it immediately crumbles under their feet, but they can carve out a place to play tic-tac-toe and hopscotch. Drawing was a bit harder, but after Kolton retrieves them a stick to thwack the ground with, they manage to produce something vaguely picture-shaped.

Kolton tilts his head to the side. “A monkey?”

“Squirrel.”

“Close enough,” he decides. “It’s a good drawing either way. It’s the stick that’s fuckin’ defective.”

She laughs as he tosses it to the side, as if it deeply offended him. (And it sorta has. Stupid fuckin’ splinters.) “Wanna play another game of tic-tac-toe?”

Kolton doesn’t usually like the snow—it’s so much harder to sneak up on prey when he’s shivering so hard his bones rattle outside his body—but he can see the appeal when Grace is around. Even if it’s hard as cement under their feet, and especially when Grace lays down a blanket that’s thick enough for them to sit on without getting their pants all wet.

She nestles her icy cold nose into his neck, the gesture oddly soothing against the contrast of her warm breath. He’s still hot from all the running around they did, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s kinda like drawing a bath after being knee-deep in snow, so he presses a kiss to the top of her head and leans into her some more.

“We should go to the lake someday,” he tells her, “when it warms up. I could teach you how to swim, or we could just wade out by the shallows.”

“Yeah,” she replies, even though they both know it’s an empty promise. She hasn’t had much practice with breaking rules—Capitol rules least of all. But the lake’s so pretty during the summertime that it feels more illegal that they can’t go swimming in it. “And maybe I’ll teach you how to use a syringe.”

Kolton’s stomach lurches at the thought. He could handle rabbits and bunnies and arrow-shaped holes. People were a different story.

“Point taken.”

He feels her smile against his shoulder. Now his stomach’s lurching in a completely new way.

He’s not really sure how to handle this whole kissing thing, so he leaves it up to her. Haymitch always swoons over how gentlemanly he is for that (because he’s a fuckin’ asshole), but if Kolton ever thought he needed to worry about anything more than putting food on the table, he would have started practicing this whole kissing thing sooner.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. He can’t imagine kissing anyone else other than Grace.

And, holy shit, does he kiss Grace. Her fingers curl around his shirt and he’s tilting his head to the side and then everything goes all pleasant and fuzzy for a few seconds.

And then, like clockwork, everything goes haywire.

Something cold and jarring lands on his nose, but he ignores it because Grace is parting her lips for him and he can’t believe they’ve made it this far, and it worked for a while. But then his face is practically drenched from the sudden onslaught of snow raining down on them, and so is hers, and they have to pull away before the snowflakes could fuse their faces together or something.

Snowflakes. Add that to his list of enemies.

He lets out a harsh breath through his nose, tilting his face up for proof of Mother Nature’s scorn. A snowflake plops onto his forehead. Grace wipes it away with her index finger, but she’s not any better off, so they get a move on.

They bundle up the blanket and make a break for the Hob. He holds it up over their heads as a shield, both of them giggling the whole way there, because everything is so much funnier when you’re in a relationship with the most dazzling girl in Panem.

He pulls out a stool for her, shaking off his jacket. “After you, m’lady.”

She giggles, dotting a kiss to his cheek. He leans in to kiss her back, ignoring the feeling of his waterlogged boots and snow-coated jacket.

And that’s perfectly okay. Mother Nature can’t follow him to Greasy Sae’s—there’s nothing organic going on behind that kitchen.

#mr everdeen #mrs everdeen #tis the season #cant believe i almost forgot about this! :o #i swear i will explore a plantonic relationship in at least one of these prompts #for example miracle has johanna and finnicks name written all over it