#every fucking time i sit down to write this it becomes a monster

[hangesbrattyapprentice]

Sleuths & Syndicates

Part 3

Mafia Boss! Shigaraki x fem!reader

art by ichiya1115

˚✧₊⁎ find Part 1 & Part 2 here ⁎⁺˳✧༚

~MDNI~

Being Tomura Shigaraki’s captive becomes easier once you stop fighting it. Before, he’d leave you bound and gagged for hours, days, unconcerned with your wellbeing. Only consumed with having your body available for him whenever the urge struck him. He’d fall asleep nuzzling your breasts, his cold legs entangled with your immobile ones. For weeks, the only people you’d see besides him were the cleaning staff who seemed assiduously oblivious to your existence even as you screamed for help. But you saw how soft he’d get when you were pliant, and your will to survive made you use it to your advantage no matter how much you hated yourself for it.

He was observant. Knew just how to get a reaction out of you. Weeks of having you tied up and unable to stop him or squirm away from his prying fingers and tongue had let him learn exactly what made you tick. Things you hadn’t even known about yourself. He made you feel good. So if you forgot everything about the world outside of that room, about who you were, things weren’t so bad. He kept you fed and made you cum and only hurt you if you displeased him – or if he felt like it.

When you’ve both grown more familiar your situation, he gradually gives you more liberty. You’re allowed to move freely within his mansion, although he’s strengthened the guard. You don’t often ask for things but when you do, Tomura makes sure you get them.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sunny? You just had bubble tea yesterday,” he rolls his eyes. But he doesn’t send one of his men. He gets it himself on his way back home so he can see the stars in your eyes when he hands you the cup. “Whadya say, brat?” And here’s why you have him wrapped around your finger. You know he’d be happy with a sweet “thank you, Don” and a blowjob, but you don’t need him happy. If you are to survive – to escape someday – you need him absolutely enraptured.

So you make sure he reads the sin in your eyes before you ask him if he’d like a taste. And when he takes the bait, quirking an eyebrow, you pop the seal and let the milky liquid pour slowly over your mouth, neck, and breasts, drenching the shirt you’re wearing until the fabric is sheer and stuck to your nipples. It’s almost endearing how his jaw hangs open – or it would be, were he not the devil himself. But you channel your hatred into lust and guide him by the back of his neck to your mouth, letting him lap up the sweet drink. His tongue runs up along the column of your neck before he lowers his head further to suck greedily at your tits through the shirt. The feel of his tongue with the added texture of the wet fabric has you moaning above him, raking your nails against his scalp.

And because he’s feeling extra generous, he turns you around and gives you his solid thigh to ride from behind while he teases your nips, head bent over your shoulder, with slow licks and quick twists between his fingers. Despite yourself, you’re coming undone so quickly, the feel of his hard thigh under pressed trousers somehow giving you what you need. Heel lifted, he pulses his leg up and down in time with the rocking of your hips and you’re so close, already feeling the tiny contractions coming when he suddenly pushes you off of him, making you fall to the floor on all fours.

“No, please!” You wail, hips thrusting uselessly into nothing, chasing your lost orgasm.

“I thought the bubble tea was for you, pet. Not me,” he smirks. His pants are around his ankles when you turn to face him and he’s found the half-empty cup, tilting it over his throbbing erection. “Don’t you want it?”

You give him what he wants – a messy blowjob worthy of a porno, wondering if your little act was all for nothing. He’s seconds away from cumming when you decide to risk your life for some petty revenge. You lift your head, gasping for air, but instead of swallowing him right back down your throat, you stay put, panting on his flushed cock, just out of reach.

“F-fuck! Sunny-nnghh!” Tomura roars, legs quivering. But instead of grabbing your head and violently fucking your face like you expected, he’s whimpering beneath you, begging, and then you’re both gaping at each other in equal surprise. Tentatively, you reach for the restraints that would usually hold your wrists and his ruby eyes follow you, a slew of emotions reflected in them clear as day. He’s a little frightened but also very hopeful.

Straddling his torso, you tie his right hand to the bedpost and then his left, kissing him slow and tender in between. He’s an absolute wreck and you haven’t even started yet. You’ve never done anything like this before, wouldn’t even know what “edging” is but with how responsive Shigaraki is, it comes to you naturally. With kitten licks and slow strokes of your fingertip, you bring him right to the edge of release before backing away and letting him cool off, over and over and over again. And when he moans, you can’t help but moan with him. You’re enjoying this, too. Your pussy aches with need. You want to ride him, and when you ask him if he can hold off his orgasm til you say so, he huffs a drunken laugh.

“Sorry, Sunshine. Don’t think I can hold it if you so much as breathe on my dick right now. What’s wrong?” he adds, seeing the frown on your face. Then he growls. “Fuck, don’t tell me this is turning you on that much, my sick little pet. C’mere.”

When you just look at him confused, he clarifies, “come sit on my face. Use me to get yourself off ’slong as you want, baby.” He’s panting hard, voice raspier than usual, cock twitching helplessly. Something inside you snaps.

You’re bracing yourself with your forearms against the wall, riding Shigaraki’s tongue as he eats you out like his life depends on it. His arms strain against the ropes, corded muscles bulging. You’re cumming for the second time, slick and spit dripping down his face and he’s groaning like he’s in agony but can’t stop lapping you up for even a second, even though you’re whimpering and backing away from the overstimulation.

Suddenly one of the restraints snaps, and in the back your head you’re furious – how often you’d have given anything for one of those ropes to snap when it was you tied up – but you’re somewhat blissed out, mid-orgasm and caught off guard when Shigaraki uses his free arm to topple you so you’re on your back, head hanging off the side of the mattress with his arms now holding both your thighs open for him and his mouth free to continue its assault on your cunt.

His lips close over your swollen clit, suckling on it hard. You scream, hands fisting and tangling in his fluffy, white hair. Two thick fingers stretch you out and pump into you, easily finding your most sensitive spot and you’re cumming all over again, legs shaking uncontrollably and sparks going off in your head. You’re pulled back fully onto the mattress by your throat and his fingers are quickly replaced by his cock and fuck he’s so damn hard you’ve never felt him this thick before. He’s not fucked you so rough since before you became “Sunny” but you love it and you’re so grateful when he spills his seed inside you but still keeps going, fucking it deeper into you. You’re begging him not to stop, and he’s eager to oblige.

It takes a while, but when you’re both worn out, clean and curled up in bed, Tomura is sweet and gentle. He’s got you tucked into his side, head resting on his chest, hand carding through your hair while the tv throws dim, flickering blue light over an otherwise dark room. He kisses the top of your head.

“I love you, Sunny,” he murmurs, and you’re just about far gone enough to almost feel as if this could be a normal relationship. Almost.

“Fuckin’ love you so god damn much. What did I do to deserve you, hm?”  

You curl up further into yourself, and to Shigaraki, it feels like a hug.

#here we go again #every fucking time i sit down to write this it becomes a monster #shigaraki is a switch change my mind #smut #filth #bubble tea will never be the same #shiggy #fucking shiggy ughhh #bratty's work #bnha #mha #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura #mafia au #mafiaboss!shigaraki #mha fanfiction #yandere tomura #kidnapping

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

#uhohitsemmy #opla #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece netflix #one piece fluff #sanji opla #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #opla x reader #opla x you #opla fluff #x reader #floofy floof floof #yall when i say we're whipped i rly do mean WHIPPED #also shoutout to my bf for making that menu for dinner cause i kno nothing about european style cooking #least of all french cooking #scheduled post

[celtic-crossbow]

Since you said you were looking at requests could you please do something with Dom Daryl with overstimulation, breeding, and cockwarming? Maybe after the savior war trying to get pregnant or any later seasons Daryl? It’s almost 6:30 in the morning so those are just the prompts that came to me first, anything you write with them will be wonderful, thank you 🩷

If I get a Little Prettier, Can I be Your Baby?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (post Savior's War)

Warnings: Poorly written smut; p in v; cockwarming; forced orgasms; overstimulation; a hint of breeding, I guess? A/N: This request has been sitting in my inbox for weeks. Gods, I am so sorry for making you wait! I'm even more sorry that I was all over the place with this so I hope it's just good at all. I tried, Anon! I promise!

“S’the matter? Thought ya wanted this?” 

Daryl was sitting against the headboard, just as bare as you. You straddled his hips, stretched around his cock and had been for—well, you weren’t sure. He had kept you there, softening slightly every once in a while only to press a thumb against your swollen clit to quickly bring you to orgasm. Your convulsing walls brought him to fully hard within seconds. You’d lost count of how many times he’d done it, sometimes not even needing the stimulation. He would be throbbing with just as much need inside of you and still worked at you until you came, shuddering and whimpering his name like a mantra. 

“Please, Daryl, I need—”

“Ya need to sit there ‘til I say diff’rent.” His voice was low, gravelly. Stern, even. You felt your cunt clench and his hips jerk. You were so sensitive, yet still craving him. He could work miracles with those fingers but being so full and stretched without feeling him drag along your inner walls was torture. He wasn’t cruel, never. There was a safe word in place, always, no matter who held the reins. Whether out of sheer stubbornness or overwhelming desire, neither of you had ever used it.

“Yes, sir.” You breathed. Your fingers were splayed over his stomach, his muscles twitching with each miniscule movement you made, though you tried to sit stone still. 

The battle with the Saviors had been won. Negan was imprisoned. Alexandria was being rebuilt. Everyone was working together and there was, for at least the time being, a feeling of relative peace and safety. While you had never officially married, you had become Mrs. Dixon in every way except on paper, and that didn’t seem to matter much in those days. You and Daryl had talked about a family before, but always seemed to find some reason to deny yourselves. His worries of becoming his father, Wolves, Saviors, and of course, the dead. There was always something. 

It wasn’t until Daryl had been locked in Negan’s cell that he came to realize that waiting was futile. The world would never be safe. If you wanted to have children with him, he loved you enough to travel that road with you. He’d love his children because they were a part of both of you.

This? This was the first session in what would be many “practice runs.” Or maybe one time would be all it would take. 

“You’re bein’ such a good girl. Wanna cum for me again?” He smirked, tucking your hair behind your ear and letting that finger carve a trail down over your collarbone, circling your left breast before he pinched and rolled your nipple. You gasped and arched your chest toward him, making him hiss when your hips shifted. 

“S—sorry, sir.” You gasped, breathing heavily from just that slight stimulation. If he fucked you now, you feared you’d cum so quickly that it’d be embarrassing. From the twinkle in his eye, it didn’t seem like you were going to have a choice. You let out a squeak as he flipped you to your back, never separating from you but punching a moan from you both with the slight friction. 

“Think I’ve had enough’a toyin’ around. How ‘bout we get to work on puttin’ a baby in that belly?” Pressing his mouth to yours in a sloppy kiss, a dance of tongues and teeth, he hooked the back of your right knee over the crook of his elbow and rolled his hips. You pulled back from him, lest you bite his lip, which he’d honestly probably rather enjoy. Another deep thrust saw your hips rising to meet his. He didn’t stop you or reprimand you, so it was safe to say this was all about the endgame.

“Fuck, you feel good.” You whined with your nails scratching over his shoulders, red marks all the way to where you settled your hands on his ribs.

“Yeah?” He knew the answer, even if he did make the next snap of his hips a little rougher. Raising your head, you nuzzled your cheek against his and placed your mouth against his ear.

“Don’t hold back.” You whispered, licking the lobe and then the spot where his pulse raced. Daryl growled, letting your leg drop. When he reached up to grab the top of the headboard with one hand and then the other, you knew you were about to get absolutely ruined.

And couldn’t have been more turned on by the thought.

With a smirk of your own, you chose to let your legs fall open as wide as they could, almost to the point of painful. You were soon digging your nails right into his buttocks. It started with a cadence of rough snaps, his pelvic bone and the coarse hair above his cock slapping against your oversensitive clit. He chuckled above you, knowing exactly why you were making those sinful little noises. Your humiliatingly slick cunt squelched with each push and pull of his cock, only adding to the debauchery that could potentially be heard by the others in the house.

You only dug your fingers in harder, drawing up your knees but keeping your legs wide open. “Come on, Dixon.” You panted, biting back a cry when the next thrust made you see stars. “I thought you wanted to fuck a baby into me. Put in a little effort.”

It was that moment, you knew you had fucked up. 

Daryl went motionless, looking down at you through that curtain of sweaty, dark hair. He had one brow arched. He never let go of the headboard but leaned down between his arms until he was nose to nose with you, the most deliciously wicked smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. 

“Ya better hold on tight, Sunshine.”

The first thrust shunted you straight up to the headboard, one hand releasing its hold on his ass to slap palm down against the wood and protect the top of your head. And then he was absolutely ruthless. Fucking feral. He used his hold on the headboard as leverage and fucked you at a pace you’d never experienced. Soon, you had let go of him altogether, both palms planted firmly against the smooth surface above you. You couldn’t stop shouting long enough to even let him know you were cumming. Once, twice. A third sparking to life low in your belly. His grunts and groans above you were just fucking delectable and you distantly wished you could focus on the sounds your pussy was coaxing out of him but the feeling of him just absolutely splitting you in two took precedence. 

“‘Nough effort for ya?” He panted, slowing only slightly, just enough for you to see him scanning you for any signs that you wanted to stop, that you needed to use the safeword. You scoffed at him. However, you couldn’t seem to speak, so close to yet another orgasm. You saw his grip loosen, knew he was getting concerned, so you communicated your consent by flattening your feet on the mattress and rolling your hips up to take him deeper, both of you groaning. He worked his way back to the same brutal pace, his cock swelling and twitching inside of you. He was close.

You were closer.

Drawing in enough breath, somehow assembling enough presence of mind, you moaned out “I’m—I’m close—Please—”

Daryl grunted, dropping down from the headboard with a hand on either side of your head. ���Let go, Sunshine.” He commanded through gritted teeth. “Fuck, m’gonna cum.” You had just felt the first tendrils of pleasure rip from your core when he thrust twice more, stilling against you and holding himself deep with a guttural moan, his muscles spasming and body trembling. “Fuck!” You were too lost on whatever cloud he’d sent you to, your eyes rolled back and mouth agape. Your chest was arched into him until you felt the burn in your muscles suddenly dissipate and you collapsed to the mattress, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. 

Daryl was still thrusting into you lazily, dragging out both of your orgasms until you just couldn’t take anymore and twisted your hips to the side with a whine. He let you lie down flat again before gently, slowly pulling out of you, barely moving himself over before he collapsed into a trembling heap. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, burning as it slid across the flesh of your abused cunt.

It never failed that no matter how fucked out he was himself, your well-being came first. Rolling his head toward you, he gave you a once over. “Y’alright? Did I hurtcha? Ya didn’t say—”

“I’m so good that I don’t think I’m ever coming back down to earth, thanks.” You blinked lazily at the ceiling before turning your head, letting it lull toward him to meet his eyes with a lopsided smile. “My god, Daryl Dixon, you just rocked my world.” 

God, you loved it when he blushed. He could be an absolute beast in bed—as he had just proven—and then go red as a tomato—as he currently was. Licking his lips slowly, he turned to admire the ceiling at the same time you did. 

“I’ll get up in a minute an’ get us cleaned up.” He was finally starting to sound like he had found his lungs and put them back in their rightful place. You lazily waved a hand. “Are ya really alright?”

You nodded, smiling stupidly once again. “I may not walk right for a few days.” You moved with a wince. “In fact, when you get up to get that towel, can you grab me a wheelchair? I think you dislocated my vagina.”

Daryl, of course, looked mortified. “Oh, come on. I’m fine. Just a little sore.” Propping up on your elbows, you grinned at him. “Besides, payback’s a bitch and next time, it’s my turn.” He mumbled christ under his breath and rolled off the bed, staggering toward the bathroom while you stared intently at the perfect round of his ass. “I’ll find the blindfold and handcuffs tomorrow!”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon request #anon request #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader

[starry-bi-sky]

i have been unmedicated for the entirety of spring break and thus have had little interest in writing this down, but i have been thinking about this for the entire week (as well as a dpdc clone danny au that resulted in it becoming its entirely separate batman au that includes a teenage vigilante bruce wayne, an ocarina, and me entirely incapable of making a batman au without making bruce dirt poor but we're not talking about that) and so i've finally went 'fuck it' and forcibly grabbed my laptop. I will get this done in one sitting even if it kills me.

BUT. This is about neither clone^2 danny nor about who i am calling Ocarina Batman. This is about my Danyal Al Ghul Au and more SPECIFICALLY it's me thinking about his relationship with Sam and Tucker specifically.

Tucker and Sam? Adore this asshole (affectionate) with every fiber of their being. And it is very much a reciprocated feeling, but Danny's thoughts will not be delved into much other than he would kill for them.

Tucker? The only person currently capable of getting a deep, loud, belly laugh out of Danny. Sam can get him to smile and to laugh, but it's the kind that's a chuckle-under-the-breath. The quiet, looks-down-while-huffing laughter. Snorts once with laughter and then grins stupidly.

But Tucker? Tucker can crack a slew of stupid jokes and Danny will be incapacitated for the next five minutes because he's laughing so hard that he can't breath. He lands one well-timed pun or quip and Danny will be close to tears. His laughter is their favorite sound in the whole world.

Sam is lowkey jealous of this ability, and she's gotten a belly laugh out of Danny a few times. But alas, it is Tucker who wields this power and has gotten it the most times out of the two of them.

-

They're also both physically affectionate with Danny as much as possible. It started roughly around when they were 12-ish, a year since they befriended Danny, and they noticed that he sought after touch but never seemed to initiate (and was in some ways repulsed by it). They started slowly being more touchy with him. Hooking a finger around his to lead him somewhere, tapping his wrist, looping arms. Little touches, grabs, etc, to get him used to it, and once he started doing it back they started increasing it.

It's gotten to a point where he will now just. Lay on them. Like a lizard sunbathing on a rock. Leaning on their backs when they're sitting in class before the bell rings, his chin on their heads. He'll talk about anything with his arms looped around their shoulders.

If they're sitting on a couch at either of their houses, he'll lay his legs on theirs. Him and Tucker will press their feet against the other's and try and push against them (newsflash: Danny always wins, Tucker claims its the ghost strength but Danny's been winning since before his accident)

-

Naturally, both Sam and Tucker know where Danny keeps his weapons on his person, and are allowed to grab them off of him if they need it. His only requirement is that they don't lose his weapons if they take it and forget to return it immediately.

They both understand how big of a thing this is from Danny, and so they do their best to treat his weapons with a lot of respect and care because they know its his way of saying he trusts them.

-

Sam and Tucker are so fond of Danny it's insane. Like fr. That's their goddamn best friend, and they are so protective of him. Emotionally, physically, you name it. They will tear the head off a grown man if they need to, Danny's had scars since he arrived in Amity Park and Sam and Tucker both are going to find the person who put them there and make them pay for it.

One time, Tucker overheard a bunch of upperclass girls speaking nastily about Danny and about the rumors surrounding him, calling him names like 'freak', 'monster', etc. Danny was with him and heard it, and seemingly appeared unbothered by it, even telling Tucker that he was used to such rumors.

Tucker was so furious that hacked into the school system later that night and tanked those girls grades. They were kicked out of their clubs and had to go to mandatory tutoring for the rest of the year. He made sure to leave some way of letting them know it was him who did it.

And Sam doesn't like using her money for things, doesn't like abusing that wealth. So instead, whenever her parents talk bad about Danny, she causes a media incident that has her parents scrambling to deal with. She does something wild, outrageous by her parents' standards.

She heard some boys on the basketball team making fun of Danny once, similar to those girls had. She kicks up a fuss about something eco-unfriendly at school and forcibly holds a protest on the same day of the big home basketball game, forcing them to cancel the event and reschedule to a visiting school.

She anonymously donates money so that there's new uniforms for the team but oops! Looks like she "forgot" to donate enough money for them to get uniforms for all the team members, and strangely enough those boys in particular didn't get them! Looks like they'll have to wait until more money gets donated for the basketball team to get their new, nice uniforms. The old ones look so ratty in comparison, right?

And since the football team gets most of the sport money, that might just take awhile. And if (and when) they kick up a fuss? oops! Off the basketball team you go, :) such unsportsman-like behavior is unfit for the team.

(The only good thing about how corrupt the school system is is that she can use it to her advantage too.)

The both of them know that Danny suspects them for the sudden misfortune falling on these people, but he doesn't call them out on it. He's kinder than he used to be, but not kind enough to vouch for people who speak badly of him. Sometimes, he might just congratulate them on not getting caught.

Because Danny is their wonderful, hurt friend with a "slightly" Blue and Orange Moral code, and enough scars that people have been calling him a criminal (and worse) since he arrived in Amity Park when he was ten. And they'll be damned if he gets hurt anymore.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul #its kinda hard to get my thoughts in order bc i am ✨unmedicated✨ rn BUT #this is the gist of it #i could wax poetic about how much sam and tucker adore danny as their friend but alas. the wax is not waxing. it is stuck to the paper #and i am chipping it off with my nail and its getting stuck under it. #ocarina batman has been in my head since friday someone come sedate me. him and pit fighter batman too. who is ALSO a piss poor teenage #bruce wayne who instead of a vigilante and villains is a PIT FIGHTER. he fights blindfolded thats why he's called the bat #ocarina batman's Look is if you combined punk + assassins creed aesthetic together and then gave it an ocarina #the ocarina is because i thought it'd be cool if its how he and robin communicated across long distances bc they didnt have comms #because they are ✨poor✨ and live in a one room apartment in crime alley. #and also the mental image of him sitting on. rooftop ledge in the rain playing 'song of storms' from LoZ was too fantastic to ignore #like bro imagine hearing that as a criminal. you're off doing shady shit with your gang and in the distance you hear the faint and #haunting melody of an ocarina. two of them in a call and response duet. and its getting closer. and you cannot find where #siren type shit fr fr #look he has the assassins creed hood and a long ass coat that has spikes on the end that when flared out looks like the silhouette of a bat #on fucking GOD i am this 👌 close to finding an artist doing commissions to make this for me. i am frothing at the mouth #he is 17-19 years old with his little brother-son Robin. Logically Robin is Dick but in my heart of hearts the first Robin is Jason #and he has perfected the art of getting his older brother to play songs on the pan flute for him. long pitchy whine on his own ocarina #the familiar childlike 'pleeeaaaaaaase?' and he knows he's won when there is a 10s silence on the other end before his brother plays #a lullaby. #look up 'sailor moon - pan flute (relaxing) on youtube' and when there's the thumbnail of two green skinned aliens with long blue and pink #hair. click on it. THAT is the song Bruce plays. #hhhhhhhhhhh frothing at the mouth over this au sooo fucking badly

[jinkicake]

Needy Touches

You get affected by the gold hellfire newt syrup ((or,,, you get affected by an aphrodisiac kekeke)). 

Barbatos, Lucifer, Mammon x Reader

A/N: this came from a long line of word vomit -hence the double luci mention bc i could not figure out how i wanted to write this-.... i also tried writing a version where the reader eats enchanted pudding but i didnt finish it soooo perhaps ill post that later.... i just desperately needed barbatos smut

WC - 2.2kish

SMUT // NSFW ((reader w a pussy lol))

~~~

Barbatos

“Barbatos,” 

The loyal servant smells you before he sees you. His eyes widen as his entire body flushes with an untamable heat. Why do you smell so sweet? Within his chest, his heart thrashes against the confines of his ribs. The air becomes thick with flavor and Barbatos can barely think under these tense circumstances. 

“Please, I need you,” From where you call just outside his door, Barbatos is quick to invite you inside his room. He slams the wooden door closed before pushing you up against it. His forked tail instantly wraps around both of your ankles and pins you firmly in place. The demon isn’t sure what has affected you like this but he can tell that your hormones must be getting the better of you. 

You’re nearly panting under his touch and he hasn’t even done anything drastic to you yet. 

“It hurts, help me please,” Your begs start to become incoherent as you focus on undressing your lover, you find your way underneath his dress shirt and nearly moan at the feeling of his abdomen under the pads of your fingers. “fuck me-”

Barbatos is a level-headed demon, not much can throw him off track. There is supposedly nothing that can throw him off track. Well, nothing except for you. This shouldn’t, and doesn’t, come as a surprise to him. Of course, a human is the thing to push the obedient demon over the edge. 

He drags you across his room, pushing you until you reach his bed. Barbatos is the first to fall back against the mattress but he quickly pulls you on top of him and into his lap. His sturdy hands rip down your pajama shorts and his finger comes into contact with the thin essence covering your thighs. 

“Use me,” Barbatos orders, he reacts all too quickly as the only thing keeping him from mounting you like an animal is the promise of your cunt on his face. “beloved, please.” He doesn’t have to tell you twice as you move up his body within seconds and don’t hesitate to sit on his face. You don’t have the time to feel embarrassed when your body is burning up inside. 

“Oh!” You squeak as his tongue quickly runs up and down your slit before wiggling into your entrance. Barbatos has a monster of a tongue and he makes use of it to fuck you. He’s trying with his entire being to get as much of your taste on his tongue as he possibly can. His mind is torn between giving you your pleasure and hogging it all for himself. 

Your cunt tightly squeezes around his muscle while your hips rut against his face, perfectly aligning your clit with his nose to get just the right friction. It’s all so messy and sloppy, nothing like what you’re usually used to with Barbatos. But, you can’t get enough of it. His fingers dig into your thighs to help you move against his face, back and forth until you’re squirming and aching all over him. 

He’s determined to see you spent tonight, utterly used with nothing left to give. Barbatos is a greedy demon and he burns with intense pleasure to see you satisfied. 

Lucifer

“You drank the hellfire wine, didn’t you?” Lucifer glares down at your trembling form and his intimidating stance almost makes you start to drool. There is nothing more attractive right now than Lucifer with his large arms crossed over his thick chest. Your thighs press together painfully at the sight. 

The older demon sighs, he can smell your arousal leaking out of you in buckets. It’s affecting him terribly but by some miracle, he has been able to hold it together. 

“I informed you beforehand what that syrup does to humans, must you ignore every warning I provide you?” Lucifer grunts at the headache taking the forefront of his brain, he can’t focus with your scent hanging heavily in the air. All too quickly he comes aware of just how sweet you smell. Despite the lecture on his lips, he gets distracted by the thick tears pooling in your eyes.

The sight nearly causes the old man to coo. 

“My dearest love, you just want to be fucked, don’t you?” He murmurs as he takes you in his arms, his hands grab ahold of your biceps and pull you into his chest. “How badly do you need me?” In this moment of desire, Lucifer needs to hear how you ache for him. His poor, sweet human. 

“So badly, Luci,” You moan the nickname and claw at his abdomen, desperately trying to get rid of the clothes still adorning his body. “fuck me, please.” Begging becomes second nature as you plead and plea with all your might. You might end up succumbing to your knees as you focus all your energy on praying for this one thing. 

Lucifer’s pretty patience snaps at your devotion. 

He can’t decide between fucking you exactly how you need or letting you take what you need.

“Will you ride me until you’re satisfied or do you wish for me to fuck you until you can no longer speak?” His fingers squeeze your hips almost painfully, forcing your hips to grind against his own. Your head falls back with a moan and Lucifer wets his lips at the sight of your bare neck on display. 

“I need you to fuck me, Lucifer.” You plead and before you know it, he has you bent over his table. 

Lucifer makes quick work of finding a pace that satisfies your desires. He thrusts in and out of your tight cunt quickly, but it only makes the burning fire inside of you even hotter. His grunts and the sounds of your skin slapping against each other have you gasping out for air. You pathetically try to meet his thrusts but are unable to keep up with his fierce pace. 

Within the handful of minutes Lucifer has been fucking you, you’ve already convulsed around his cock twice. Your body keeps making work of searching for pleasure, and it seems that with each orgasm your desire for Lucifer only becomes stronger. In the back of your mind, you can hear exactly what you need, you yearn for Lucifer to find his release. You cum again to the mouthwatering idea of the demon finishing inside of you and then licking it out. You need it and you’re determined to get it. 

“Lucifer, cum in me,”

Mammon

Mammon isn’t really sure how his night got like this, you in his lap mewling and begging for his attention. But, he isn’t necessarily complaining about the situation either.

“Hey! Watch where you’re touching!” He squeaks as your wandering hands travel lower and lower across his abdomen, no doubt in search of his belt. “What is up with you today?” Mammon swallows deeply as he takes a closer look at you, there is an intense heat radiating off your body as you practically shake in his lap. The demon would be a fool not to see the flush dusting across your face that spreads to the tips of your ears. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

Concern takes over him as he tightly grabs your shoulders and forces you to face him. He’s your first after all, your wellbeing means more to him than any other demon in Devildom. Mammon nearly kicks himself for not taking note of your current state earlier. In the midst of his mental scolding, you moan at his strong touch. It’s quiet and barely slips past your lips but’s more than enough to catch on Mammon’s ears. 

His entire body twitches with need at the sound. A primal need to take care of his human, to satisfy his human, to please his human. 

Mammon’s mouth runs dry as he looks you over again. This time he notices how you’re subtly grinding on his thigh, he feels the damp patch growing against his thick pants. He’s hard in an instant. 

“You’re-” He pauses, swallowing shortly to rethink his words. “you’re leaking?” You momentarily freeze at this and the demon cringes at himself so hard that his entire body falls back against his sofa. 

Thank god, you’re too far gone in your own pleasure to care.

“Mammon, help me, it burns-” Your cries fill his concerns up sky high and the demon has half a mind to go and grab his older brother because Mammon knows nothing about the human body. The second born hates to see you in pain and harming you even more is the last thing he would ever want. “stop thinking and fuck me!”

“Huh?” Mammon stops in his panic and freezes all over, he doesn’t move an inch as you throw his belt across the room and yank his pants down his muscular thighs. He lets you take what you need, watches with an intense desire as you flip your skirt up and grab ahold of his excited cock. 

The demon ends up moaning louder than you once you start to fuck him, bouncing in his lap to satisfy your own needs. Nothing about this is for Mammon and the demon loves it. 

“More, yeah like that,” His hips squirm under your touch, bucking up to meet your own pace while you dig your nails into his shoulders. 

“This is about me, Mammon,” You breathe into his ear, whimpering at the feeling of his hands migrating down to your ass. The demon finally gets an ounce of control as he helps you bounce in his lap, angling his cock inside of your tight cunt to make you see stars. “you’re here to help me.”

The secondborn wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lucifer (the original thing i wrote for him hehehe,, i didnt think it was smutty enough so i rewrote it -and honestly, i just might write an entire thing for this because lucifer is so hot-)

“What is wrong with you?” Lucifer bites as he glares down at your trembling form. Had this been any other occasion Lucifer would have taken you to the closest private space available to fuck your brains out but, he isn’t blessed with that luck today. The demon castle is currently filled with far too many people and it would be near impossible to sneak away. He can’t understand why you’re acting this way. You’re practically trying to jump him amongst all these demons. 

Lucifer narrows his eyes at you before taking a subtle whiff of your scent and just the slight inhale causes his entire body to stiffen as he instantly feels all the blood in his body rush into his boxers. How on earth did he not notice it before?

“You need to be fucked, don’t you?” He coos into your ear as he tightly wraps his large hand around your wrist. Lucifer drags you out of the ballroom, ignoring every person who tries to stop him. He brings you to an empty hallway before ushering you roughly into an old abandoned room filled with trinkets that haven’t been touched in centuries. You’re not too focused on anything other than the demon in front of you. “Let me guess, you drank the hellfire wine, didn’t you?”

You nod eagerly and try to ignore your guilty conscious, ignore how you messed up the evening. 

“Dearest, you know what that does to humans. I warned you beforehand.” He starts a lecture, one that you know could go on for hours but you don’t have the hours to wait, not when you’re working up a sweat and your thighs have begun to tremble. There’s a wet heat aching between your thighs and you only become more and more uncomfortable as time goes on. 

“I didn’t know what it looked like!” Your eyes pathetically fill up with thick tears and Lucifer nearly awes at the sight. It seems he’s being too hard on you. 

“Calm down, my pet.” He quietly murmurs against your forehead as he steps closer to you, placing either of his hands on your biceps. “You just want to cum, don’t you? You need release so badly, poor thing,” From his words alone, you swear you could cum. All over again your body starts to tremble. “I’ve got you, human, I’ll give you exactly what you need.” 

When Lucifer promises something, he always delivers. 

His clothes are discarded in seconds and you’re sure you zoned out all the way until he pulled you into his lap and lined his cock up with your entrance. You don’t remember your own clothes coming off or how he got to sucking on your breasts so earnestly. All you can focus on is his hard cock now fully inside of you. Your movements are messy and rushed, you take full control as Lucifer leans back in the leather chair. 

You’re bouncing thoughtfully in his lap, loudly mewling and moaning at how full you feel. The entire time since you got your hands on that wine, you’ve been on edge. Lucifer can bring you bliss within seconds but you know that tonight, it won’t be enough. You’ll have to use him the whole night until you’re both utterly spent, until you’re forced to be peeled off of his cock.

Anticipation grows in Lucifer’s stomach with a smile on his lips to match, oh he’s looking forward to this. 

#Barbatos x reader #Lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #obey me x reader #Barbatos smut #Lucifer smut #mammon smut #obey me smut #obey me x you #obey me x y/n #obey me barbatos #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #I need to fuck Lucifer so bad #xiaos spicy almond tofu #rare smut I actually like teehee

[harmonictechnicality]

Memory Log: Day 52

part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 5 here | part 6 here (ao3 link here)

After seeing his ink-smeared biography all over Eddie Munson’s arm, Steve becomes extremely motivated. Obsessed, even.

He assembles a makeshift army. Eddie’s Memory Soldiers, he calls it. Okay - he doesn’t call it that out loud, only to himself (because even Steve is self-aware enough to know how deranged this all sounds).

Steve compiles a ragtag group of Eddie’s friends to nudge his brain along faster. Band mates, theater dweebs, potheads that can carry a tune. All of them bring mixtapes on their visits. After two weekends, there’s already a fuckload of thrashy melodies for Eddie to choose from.

He lets them take the reins on this music-healing plan because there’s no fucking way Steve will be helpful in that department. It means less visits that include his presence, which sort of sucks, but it’s worth it. Worth it to get Eddie back to where he used to be.

Before Steve heads out for one of his morning visits, Robin interrogates him. Asks him the question he’s been ignoring for weeks.

“Steve… not to sound harsh, but why do you care so much?” 

Yeah. Why does he care so much? 

She quickly follows it up with, “I just didn’t know you two were friends now. So I’m just curious, I guess.”

They’re not friends. They’re lukewarm tolerators - tethered together by monster hunting and Dustin Henderson.

They’ve flirted, sure. But who doesn’t? Steve would flirt with half of the leggy cartoon characters that appear on Saturday Mornings if he could. So that’s a weak argument to assume they’re more than just friends. Tolerators. Whatever.

So he lies. To Robin. To himself. Lies so much that it sits in his stomach like motion sickness.

He answers the exact same way he’s been answering since day one:

“I’m just doing this for the kids, Robs.”

He’s pretty sure neither of them are buying that statement. He tries again. Stamps the words onto his confused brain. Considers writing them on his arm just like Eddie might do.

“I’m doing it for them.”

Eddie is always on his Walkman (Steve’s Walkman) now that he has skyscraper of cassettes on his desk. Pretty much every time Steve returns, Eddie is head banging. Won’t stop until the nurses scold him.

Or Steve. He’ll stop if Steve scolds him too.

“You can’t keep jostling up your brain, Munson.” Steve whips the headphones off of Eddie’s ears. “Gonna undo all of our hard work.”

“Our hard work?” Eddie attempts to grab the headphones back. Gives up as soon as their hands make contact. “And who might be included in this our that you speak of?”

“You know…” Me. “The doctors and nurses and your friends.”

“Right.”

This is how things have been going lately. Eddie teases him mercilessly and Steve bats it all away. Doesn’t encourage it for a second.

Which blows so hard because he wants to flirt back. Steve wants to know what Eddie feels like beyond tubes and bandages and hospital gowns. He wants way too much after watching Eddie fall asleep smiling that night. After finding out that Eddie scams his own mind into remembering Steve in technicolor details every day.

But it feels wrong. Deep down, there’s this part of Steve that worries that Eddie only likes the scribbled notes, the good qualities of himself. The non-prickster qualities.

He doesn’t scribble the bad qualities on his arm. Eddie lets himself forget about those every night. 

So it seems wrong. Unfair to let Eddie only remember the good parts of him and take advantage of his weak mind.

Life was a fucking breeze before Steve cared about not taking advantage of people. Shit, he used the world’s biggest advantage-taker before all of this evil wizard nonsense.

“Quiz me, Harrington.” Eddie insists.

So Steve does. Steve goes down the list of questions. Things that Eddie’s memory typically hesitates to recognize. 

Music helps Eddie remember his childhood memories the best.

That’s the biggest discovery they’ve made over the last fourteen days. Tapes that include songs from the early to mid 70’s have the biggest mental impact on his memory skills. Every day, he recalls more moments from his past.

Winter birthday parties. Recess and tire swings. Nineteen chickenpox. A pet hamster named Sterling.

“Can’t believe Wayne trusted you with a living creature.” Steve sneers.

“Never said he did.”

He always gets fuzzy with stuff from the late 70s though. And the early 80s is just a jumbled-up shit show. That’s when Eddie really starts failing his quiz.

“What year did you get the tattoo on your chest?”

“You mean this one?” Eddie pulls down the wrinkly hospital gown, exposing way too much of his collarbone. “Or this one?” He pulls the fabric down even further.

They must’ve finally turned the heat on in this place. Or maybe Steve’s sweater is just extra itchy, scratching his skin all splotchy red. He rubs furiously at the collar, spreads the flush all over by accident. 

His eyes dart up to the fluorescent lights. Away from Eddie’s chest. “Um… the… creepy guy.”

“You’ll sprain your neck looking up like that.”

“Good thing I’m in a hospital then.”

“Okay - seriously, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure.” Eddie snorts. His heart monitor beeps faster. Steve hates that laughing must be a bit painful for him. “And he’s not some creepy guy. He’s a creepy demon. Please respect the body art and get your facts right.”

“Fine.”

Not flirting back makes Steve feel like he could break out into hives. He has a fucking stockpile of pickup lines. He hoards provocative catchphrases like a horny pack rat. Talking is becoming increasingly difficult when he can’t banter back the way he wants to.

“Don’t remember what year I got it.” Eddie admits. “Sorry.”

Steve pulls his focus away from the ceiling and scribbles that down:

Eddie still can’t remember when he got his tattoos.

“Gee mister,” Eddie imitates a very masculine Shirley Temple voice. “Am I failing the pop quiz already?”

Eddie remembers who Shirley Temple is (weird, but okay).

Eddie does a really shitty impression of Shirley Temple.

Steve just keeps writing. Not even writing words anymore, just moving the pen to stay focused. Stay distracted from flirting.

The energy starts to feel swampy and stiff as he continues to give short responses with lifeless enthusiasm. Steve can tell that Eddie is picking up on the weirdness too. 

He’s so fidgety. Drumming his fingers, twisting the one ring he’s allowed to wear on one of his less busted fingers. Bobbing his knees and kicking off his blankets. 

Eventually, Eddie puts his (Steve’s) headphones back on and closes his eyes. A nonverbal surrender. A borrowed Walkman instead of a white flag. Why does it feel so shitty to see that he is just as defeated as Steve?

Once Eddie is asleep, Steve peaks over at his arms.

The notes are still there. Fading, but there.

It shouldn’t jab him in the heart the way that it does every time he checks, but christ. It’s so fucked up.

Slowly but surely, Eddie is gaining pieces of his past, but never his present. Why the fuck is that? Steve is so selfishly pissed about that because he’s a main role in Eddie’s present life. 

He’s the one that’s here most days. He’s the one that listens to Eddie’s rants and incessant complaints. He’s the one that calls the nurses when Eddie is too prideful to admit when he’s in pain.

Steve should be remembered without smudgey reminders and foggy recollections.

Steve should be un-fucking-forgettable.

After an unhealthy amount of moping, he comes up with an idea. Well, Dustin comes up with an idea, actually. Steve bribed him with nougat and R-rated movie rentals to construct a gameplan.

“And you need Eddie to remember your favorite sweater…why?” Dustin’s mouth is full of chewy candy as he asks.

Steve chucks a raisinette at his dumb hat. “I thought we agreed this was a no questions asked request.”

“You suggested that.” Dustin points at Steve. “I never agreed to it though.”

This is the part Steve despises. If he admits it to others, he has to admit it to himself. And while he’s come a long way since that first day with Eddie, he’s not there yet. His pride can only take so much vulnerability before it fractures completely. “Just… I’m testing a theory I have on his newest memories.”

“Right. And what theory would that be?”

That he thinks about me in kissable ways. “That he remembers more than he gives himself credit for.”

Dustin chugs back his soda and scrunches the can in his grasp. “Okay. Well, the mixtape theory is working decently well with older memories, right?

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“So maybe it can work with newer memories too.”

Steve is lost already. “Meaning?”

“Find songs that relate to you.” Dustin shrugs like duh. He must sense Steve’s hesitation, so he sputters back into his brainy explanation. “Think about it: you’re there all the time -”

“Not all the time, but -”

“Shut the hell up. You’re there all the time, so he must remember the essence of Steve Harrington.”

Steve fake gags. “Don’t say essence, that’s fucking gross.”

“Will you stop interrupting? Jesus christ.” Dustin yells, scrunching the soda can even more with his irritation. “Just make a mixtape with stuff that relates to you. Get his current memories to stick with lyrics and shit.”

Steve twists his mouth to one side. Then the other. “That’s…”

“Genius?”

“I was gonna say worth a shot, but sure.” Steve agrees. “We’ll go with your conceited analysis.”

Dustin finally picks up the raisinette from earlier. Throws it back at Steve. “You should be nicer to me. I possibly just solved your dilemma.”

“I should be nicer to you?” Steve tosses the raisinette into his mouth, despite its questionable duration on the floor. “Dude, you’re never nice to me.”

“Yeah, but it’s affectionate hostility.”

“And that makes it better?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Fine.” Steve rolls eyes, offers a hand to Dustin. “Thank you for the hostile affection.”

Dustin accepts the handshake. He’s overly smug about it too. “You’re very welcome.”

Memory Log: Day 53

Right away, Steve determines it’s a Kathy Day. Eddie is a verbal nightmare already, whining about the dead batteries in his tv remote.

“I’ll get Sam to grab some batteries when her shift starts.” Steve reassures the bitchy entity possessing Eddie Munson’s body at the moment.

“Why don’t you just get the damn batteries?” Eddie bites back. “You have legs, don’t you?”

“You have eyes, don’t you? Of course, I have fucking legs.” Steve can play it this game. Doesn’t want to but he can be just as obnoxious if Eddie keeps going with his attitude. “Please don’t pull this Kathy shit today.”

That simultaneously shuts them both up for a while. Steve begins flipping through one of the outdated magazines on Eddie’s desk, avoiding the escalated atmosphere. At this rate, there’s no fucking way Steve is going to bring up his mixtape. Kathy/Eddie will probably smash it. Roll over it with the wheels on his imprisoning hospital bed.

Eddie clears his throat, speaking softer than he did at Steve’s arrival. “You know… you were sort of a Kathy yourself yesterday.”

Eddie remembers Steve’s weird mood from the day before (needs to check Eddie’s arm notes to make sure he didn’t write that down).

“Yeah well… I’m allowed to be the pissy one sometimes.” Steve doesn’t look up. He just keeps pretending to read the fossilized magazine in his hand.

“Whatever you say, Harrington.” There’s another pause. Just as awkward as the last one. Their dynamics today are clashing harder than their music styles. Eddie breaks through the awkwardness once again. “So… what’s on the brain agenda today?”

Eddie remembers their pop quizzes.

Right. The quiz. The quiz that Steve has no intention of administering today because he’s supposed to give Eddie this stupid mixtape. 

And look, Steve is pretty good at avoiding shit - homework and phone calls and extended family members. He’s good at dodging shit too, like the relentless one-night stands that can never seem to take a goddamn hint.

But this situation is different because Steve would clearly like to avoid the potential weirdness of giving Eddie Munson a gift. However, he’s innately aware that this particular gift could be helpful. Maybe more to himself than to Eddie, but who knows? If Eddie gets his memory tank back on track and Steve gets someone that reciprocates his affections? 

The payoff might be worth the weirdness.

“I actually wanted to contribute to your…” Steve gestures apathetically at the stack of tapes.

Eddie looks over at them and then back to Steve. “Oh you mean, Munsonopolis?”

“Boooo.” Steve heckles him immediately for that.

“You think of something better then.”

Steve thinks about this way too hard. “The Ed-pire State Building.”

“Boooo.” Eddie imitates Steve’s heckling.

“Better than yours.”

“Says who?”

“Says anyone with a sense of humor.”

“Brave of you to call that a sense of humor.”

“What can I say?” Steve clicks his mouth twice and does the most douchey finger-gun bit, blowing out the nonexistent smoke from each index finger. “I’m something else.”

Eddie bites down over his lip, hard enough that it goes white for a second. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Steve while he bares down.

“You sure are, Steve.”

Oh shit - did they just mindlessly segue onto Flirtation Boulevard without even trying? Is it really that natural with Eddie? Damnit, Steve needs to get his mind on the task at hand.

“Here.” He walks over, lays the tape on Eddie’s lap.

“Is this another one from Gareth?” Eddie flips the tape over, studies the back. “Cause I already assured him that I remember the concert we went to back in ‘84.”

Eddie remembers one of his closest friends.

“No, this one is actually…” Just fucking own up, Steve. “Well, I made it.”

Eddie’s eyes do that sequin thing again. Almost turn into disco balls. “You made me a mixtape?”

Ugh. “Don’t get too flattered, Munson.” 

“Too late.”

Steve was afraid that might be the case. So he does his damndest to channel Dustin Henderson. Provide a scientific explanation to his crush-driven theory. “It’s just an extension of our little music experiment. Some stuff that will help you remember me.”

“And why exactly do you want me to remember you?” Eddie does the same lip biting thing from before. He bites harder, and the color stays white even longer this time.

Steve involuntarily glances down at Eddie’s arm, giving himself away.

“Oh.” Eddie stops biting his lip, swiftly lifts the blankets over his arms. Hiding what Steve already knows is there. “Look… that’s just -”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, really.”

Eddie looks down, nodding in agreement. “Right. But it’s not-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder because he can’t. He can’t listen to whatever Eddie is about to confirm or deny. “It’s okay. I mean it.”

He’s not ready for it, for whatever barricade that’s between them to come crashing down. Steve didn’t bring the proper tools to shield himself from raw emotions or desperate declarations of true feelings. And from the way Eddie goes breathless and tense under Steve’s shoulder-grip, he doesn’t think Eddie has the proper tools for that either.

“So you uh…” Eddie peers down at Steve’s hand. Catches a glimpse then abruptly looks away again. “Do you want me to listen now or…”

God no. Steve releases his grip at that thought. “Wait till I leave.” 

“Got it.”

The rest of the visit goes both fairly smoothly. There are only a few lingering particles of awkward tension left behind. It doesn’t bother Steve, not necessarily. The whole day has been kind of all over the place, just like Eddie’s Literary Behavioral Scale. So this uneasy atmosphere is to be expected.

They talk about movies while Steve packs up his things to leave. Eddie asks about all the new movies that have come out since he’s been in the hospital. Steve tells him to make a list of the ones he’s interested in seeing. Tells him that they’ll have a marathon at his place once they’re released to vhs. Eddie says he knows a guy that sells bootlegs before the vhs release date, but Steve shoots that idea down so fucking fast.

It’s not their usual banter, but that’s okay. At least they're talking. Getting along. Tolerating one another at a lukewarm temperature again.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve is met with the most anxiety-ridden face. Eddie’s whole forehead is covered in wrinkles, like that one fancy dog breed that his next-door neighbor used to have. There’s no shimmer in Eddie’s eyes, no disco balls. It’s all just dull. Fearful.

“Sorry if the arm thing made you...” Eddie trips over his words. He pinches the skin between his eyes, makes his even more forehead wrinkles. “I don’t know what’s the word I’m looking for.. Uncomfortable, I guess.”

“Don’t worry. It didn’t.” It made Steve a lot of other things: gutted, determined, confused, sulky, smitten. But no. Worried did not make Steve’s grocery list of Feelings.

“Don’t forget to tell Sam about the batteries on your way out.”

Eddie remembers bitching about the batteries.

Yeah, Steve’s memory isn’t the faulty one here. Even so, Steve reassures him:

“I won’t forget, Eds.”

Day 56:

Wayne had a couple days off from work and took over Steve’s Wednesday and Thursday shifts in the hospital. It’s probably for the best - especially since Steve decided to do the most high school shit ever, and gift Eddie a fucking bouquet in the form of radio hits and plastic.

He’s breaking out from the stress, just marinating on what Eddie’s thoughts might be of the mixtape. It can’t be good. None of the songs are his typical riffs of eternal damnation or whatever. But it certainly sounds like Steve Harrington in a Speaker. So it better help him picture Steve dressed in the tackiest, most burnable sweaters imaginable, goddamnit.

But like, why is he breaking out from thinking about Eddie Munson? Absurd. All of it. The feelings and the acne. His weird little crush is making him regress into adolescent woes and it’s pissing him off.

After popping the zit and crossing his fingers that it’s not outrageously noticeable, Steve sucks in a deep breath, and heads into Eddie’s hospital room.

“There’s my favorite Material Girl.” Eddie lowers the headphones, smiles bonus-level wide.

Steve’s gulps. His face feels like a fucking toaster. “I take it you listened to the tape?”

“I didn’t just listen to the tape.” Eddie picks up the Walkman and smacks it against the side of his head. “I practically absorbed that bubblegum bullshit. Think some of it is still stuck in my teeth.”

Steve plays along, hoping that his face will return to its usual complexion. “You should see a dentist about that.”

“With what insurance?”

“That’s fair.” Steve slides his hands into his jean pockets. He’s so rigid. “So?”

“So?”

“Final conclusion?”

“Oh, I hated it.” Eddie says bluntly. “In a very stick-that-syringe-in-my-neck kind of way.”

“Shocker.” Steve actually expected a meaner response than that.

“Why did you put so many songs on there that use Girl in the title?”

“Hey - it’s not my fault that all of the rich poster child songs are about women.” Steve gets defensive about that one. Honestly, it’s true. There needs to be more music about wealthy guys with genetically flawless hair. Somebody needs to get on that shit so Steve can have more songs that apply to him.

“Whatever you say, man.” 

“So did it…” Steve is still standing. Hovering a bit. “Did it help?”

Eddie sticks out both of his arms, flipping to reveal his forearms to Steve.

They’re blank, besides the usual tattoos and contusions. They’re as blank as Eddie’s arms can be at the moment. No more Steve Cheat Sheet to be found.

Steve exhales all of his relief. “And you remember me?”

“Remembering you was never the problem, Steve.”

“It wasn’t?”

Eddie shakes his head. “But if I ever allowed myself to forget, I…” He taps rapidly over the Walkman. Steve’s Walkman. “I just didn’t wanna risk starting over.”

“Oh.”

“With you.”

The metaphorical arrow, the one Steve has alway seen on department store Valentines Day cards, goes straight through his chest. Eddie aims the words with you directly for Steve’s heart. Punctures that wall he built up after Nancy Wheeler.

The monitor connected to Eddie is beeping faster again. It’s not like that day Eddie was writhing in pain. No, it’s a different tempo.

It sounds like his nerves are conducting the pattern. He’s nervous. Steve is making him nervous.

Or Steve’s lack of response is making him nervous.

But how does Steve respond? Is this Eddie giving him permission to flirt back again? To keep driving down the detour of attraction, take the scenic route?

Eddie’s heart monitor is screaming, ‘say something, Steve.’

But Steve’s archive of failed relationships is screaming, back, ‘don’t fuck this up, dickhead.’

Steve tries to meet the two in the middle. Say something inviting yet keep it simple.

“So… do you wanna make fun of the shitty soap operas together?” 

Steve puts a little emphasis on the together part, hoping it’ll tame the monitor. Make the tones evenly paced. He lets his hand tap once against Eddie’s arm. Right over his newly blank wrist. So clean. No more scribbles.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to check my schedule.” Eddie teases with his words, sure. But his hand lifts up. Tapping Steve back. Twice. “I’m a very busy man, you see.”

Steve shoves him away, laughing as he does it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re not wrong.”

His monitor is ballad again.

One of Eddie’s (many) doctors walks into the room during their third hour of mocking the Home Shopping Network. Eddie has developed an elaborate backstory that they’re all cyborgs who are taking civilian money to grow their army of killer robots. Steve is surprisingly on board with this theory after the second hour. Some red headed lady twitches her eyes way too much to be human.

The doctor runs a few tests, looks over Eddie’s chart, the typical procedure. However, at the end of the visit, he decides to put Eddie on a new medication for his headaches. 

Headaches…

Steve flips back to that first day he started visiting Eddie. Finds the note he passive-aggressively took back then:

Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

He fans through the other pages as well. At least two-thirds of them mention Eddie complaining about headaches. How did Steve miss this? How could he be so stupid? He was too busy fantasizing about Eddie’s chest tattoos and making shitty mixtapes, that he glossed over something so significant.

Dustin wouldn’t have missed this. Robin wouldn’t have missed this. Nancy definitely wouldn’t have missed this - hell, she would’ve already cracked the Case of the Missing Memories by now. 

Steve is the wrong man for this job. Not enough brainpower to fix a broken brain.

“Uh oh.” Eddie says. “Where you’d go, Harrington?”

Steve glances up to see Eddie pointing his finger at Steve’s head. “Just.. thinking.”

“Share with the class, please.”

Steve struggles to make his voice sound causal about this. “I should’ve known about the headaches. Paid better attention.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asks. “Because if you are, we need to work on your delivery.”

“Not joking, no.”

Eddie’s tone is mildly annoyed, still gentle though. “Stevie… that guy gets paid a shitload of money to figure out my problems. Truly - the reason there’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is because it’s going straight into that guy’s pocket.”

Steve snorts. It’s even funnier to visualize because the doctor is kind of short.

“What I’m saying is, it’s his job to have a big brain.” Eddie’s eye contact is sharp. Broken bottle to his neck sharp. “And your job is to be my eye candy. Sit there and look cute while I try to not hack up my dinner.”

Steve’s hearing went crackly at all of the compliments. “Eye candy, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

Steve no longer has an excuse not to flirt back. Eddie has his mixtape; his arms are bare. He’s obviously encouraging it, even with the knowledge that Steve is a spoiled brat. He likes Steve, not just the good stuff. Eddie is still willing to pursue this even with Steve’s bad qualities.

So fuck it. Steve is gonna delve into his stockpile of pickup lines. He’s gonna rummage around his hoard of provocative catchprashes. Be the horny pack rat that he was born to be.

“Is the sitting part of my job description mandatory?” Steve leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Oh, I’m very lenient on that detail.” Eddie’s voice drops lower. “The cute part… not so much.”

“So you’re only keeping me around for what? My great hair? My symmetrical bone structure? My biceps, maybe?”

“Definitely not your humility, that’s for damn sure.”

They share a smile as Steve gets up, inches closer to Eddie’s bed. He reaches out and pinches the sleeve of Eddie’s hospital gown between his fingers. He cautiously rubs it over a few times, waiting to see Eddie’s reaction to this droplet of affection.

Eddie catches Steve’s wrist with his other hand. Mirrors the rubbing motion Steve set in place with the material.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Steve nudges Eddie lightly. “Is this okay?”

And before he can even get a response back, Eddie’s face starts turning grayish-green. 

This happens. Eddie throws up biweekly, so it’s not a big deal at all. It’s just that Steve is usually not laying on the moves when Eddie is about to blow chunks. Honestly, it knocks Steve’s astronomical ego down a few notches.

He probably deserves it.

Eddie is really sick. He pukes three more times, and he starts running a fever after the second time. He’s all clammy and curled into a pillow, clutching it with shaky fingers.

It’s all side effects from the new medication apparently. Yeah, Eddie’s head is no longer splitting open, but his body is rejecting all of the cardboard hospital food.

Steve keeps an eye on him, not that he can do much about it. He gets a styrofoam cup of ice chips so Eddie can chew on it whenever his temperature spikes. He wipes the sweat off Eddie’s temples because one - it’s a nice gesture, and two - it gives him an excuse to be nearby.

The shivering is driving Steve crazy though. He’s so on edge just watching Eddie like this. Eddie keeps making jokes like ‘at least I’ll remember your stupid worried face in the morning’ or ‘damn, my past better be worth all of this.’ And Steve will chuckle halfheartedly each time.

The heart monitor is all jumpy now. Even, uneven, even, uneven. If Steve focuses on it for too long, it starts to sound like he’s driving by a highway collision. A pileup of beeps and tones.

He gets another cup of cafeteria coffee. Hopes the bitterness and chalky creamer will be enough to muffle his hearing. Steer his mind to an empty exit lane.

“What? No coffee for me?” Eddie is under an extra blanket now.

Steve scoots his chair even closer to Eddie’s bedside. “What’s the point? You’d just puke it all up.” He’s pretty lousy at supportive words, isn’t he?

“Aren’t visiting hours almost over?”

“You trying to get rid of me, Munson?”

“Never. Just figured you needed to catch the bus or whatever.”

Eddie remembers Steve taking the bus.

“Robin finally gave me my car back.” Steve conveniently leaves out how he demanded  for it to be returned to him. “So, I’ll stay until they kick me out… if that’s cool with you.”

He places his non-coffee holding hand over top of Eddie’s open palm. It’s sort of instinctual. Doesn’t give his mind a moment to wonder if this is crossing a line. 

Holding hands in a hospital doesn’t mean romance. It never has. People do it all time, no one bats an eye at them either. It’s just a gesture of helpless support. It’s what people do to signify, ‘I can’t heal you with medicine, but I can warm your under-circulated skin just a little.’

But when Eddie’s fingers curl around his own, Steve’s stomach swells like its romance. It swells with hot air, helium maybe. It swells and stays swollen. Stays thermal and full.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to pay my eye candy overtime.” Eddie’s face rushes all pinkish-red. Almost as if he’s trying to combat his blush with humor, but it’s not working. He’s all the colors now. And with or without them, he’s attractive.

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“You got me there.” Eddie shakes a frizzy curl in front of his cheek. A poor effort to hide his flushed face. “I’m a terrible employer.”

Steve traces the grooves of Eddie’s palm lines. Pretends that they form a railroad track. “The worst.”

Once his fever finally breaks, Eddie falls asleep. His body unfolds, his fingers uncurl. It’s a heavy sleep, one that makes him all languid and soft. Any traces of bones are questionable now.

And even though Steve is about to pass out from exhaustion, he doesn’t move his hand from Eddie’s. He’d rather give up his whole arm than move it.

Sam peaks in just before Steve nods off. She lets in the bright hallway light, not too much though. Not enough to wake Eddie. Honestly, not a lot of things wake Eddie up these days.

“Sorry.” Steve yawns. “I overstayed my welcome.”

She shrugs, checks the fluids in one of Eddie’s IV bags. “You know, you can stay the night, if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“It’s pretty late… you shouldn’t be driving on the highway at this time of night.”

“Won’t I…” Steve reworks the phrase. Tries to be less selfish about it. “Won’t you get in trouble for letting me stay?”

“Oh no.” She winks. “Because I never saw you here.”

Steve smirks. “Got it.”

“But if I did see you here,” She gestures her head to the door on her right. “I would tell you there’s extra pillows in the linen closet over there.”

Sam deserves a fucking raise. Steve would become a goddamn patron of this hospital just to give her more money. Let the godsend of a woman retire early for christ’s sake.

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve whispers.

“Thank you for keeping him company.” She whispers back. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.”

Steve doesn’t know if that’s true, if Eddie is lucky to have him, but he nods anyway. Gives a gentle wave as Sam heads back out of the room.

He sets the pillow next to Eddie’s leg, keeping their hands connected as he dozes off. Steve falls asleep the same way he used to fall asleep in class. All bent over in his chair, one cheek flattened out on the desk. It’s very reminiscent of that.

Only better because he’s with the guy that makes his chest swell, even when he’s being sarcastic or melodramatic. Even when he’s cobwebbed himself into a maze of cords. Even when he’s bitching about batteries and Steve’s vomit-inducing fashion sense.

Steve thinks maybe he likes the undesirable traits of Eddie Munson just as much as the desirable ones.

And once he’s knocked out entirely, the rhythm of his heart matches the beeping monitor hooked up to Eddie’s chest.

Day 57:

It’s been a long time since Steve has had a decent dream. And this dream he’s in right now? It’s fucking luxurious.

He’s at the hair salon, because of course he is - it’s his home away from home. 

His head is reclining back in that giant sink thing. The one that’s like a soup bowl for hair or whatever. The stylist is shampooing his scalp, scrubbing all of those foamy products into his roots. This is Steve’s favorite part of getting his hair done, he always feels blissed out of his mind afterward.

They keep washing it for the whole dream, digging their nails into his head, dunking water over his hair every so often. It’s downright perfection. A dream he could stay stuck in forever. 

The scenery of the dream flickers out, but the sensations linger as he gains consciousness. His squints both of his eyes open, immediately greeted by too much brightness, too much sunlight. Steve shuts them again, soaking up the remnants of his dream. The hair scratching that’s ongoing even though he’s awake.

Awake.

Steve is awake and can still feel all of that salon paradise. His brain finally wakes up enough to realize it isn’t a dream. It’s Eddie’s hands in his hair, combing it thoroughly.

Fuck, it feels so good too. Steve wonders if Eddie is aware of what he’s doing or if he’s also in that suspended place between awake and asleep.

It doesn’t matter, not really. It all feels way too incredible to care about the logistics. Steve nuzzles deeper into the pillow to hide the happy little hums that keep escaping through his mouth. 

Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps moving his hand around. Twirling strands and releasing them. Ruffling strands and smoothing them. Massaging the pads of his fingers in all the right places. Every bit of it is dreamy. Better than the dream Steve initially believed to be unbeatable.

Being Eddie’s own personal petting zoo is way better. Miles, light years better. Is there any form of measurement longer than lightyears? Because it’s bigger and better than that too.

Eddie tugs a little harder, just once, but once is all it takes to make Steve melt. He open-mouth sighs into the pillow, hoping the fabric mutes the neediness of it. There’s drool on the pillow and it’s unclear if it’s from when he was asleep or if it occurred just from that one hair tug. 

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice still sounds coated in sleep. “Is this weird?”

Steve shakes his head no, still unable to lift his face from the pillow.

“Should I stop?”

Steve shakes his head much faster. Absolutely not. Stopping should be banished from Eddie’s vocabulary. The word ‘stop’ should be homeless as far as Steve is concerned.

Eddie tugs again, more firmly this time. The tug goes straight to Steve’s dick, which yikes. Humiliating. Yeah, it’s morning and this shit happens, but not this kind of boner. Not one brought on by hair salon fantasies and a metalhead with magical fingertips. This can’t be the reality of Steve’s life right now but somehow, it is.

“I think I combed through all of that cake-up hairspray.” Eddie talks as his hand continues to roam around Steve’s scalp. “Feels like cashmere now, so you’re welcome.”

Steve sighs again, pretty sure it’s much more audible this time because Eddie laughs.

“Embarrassing.” Steve mumbles. That’s all he can muster out without becoming a puddle of humiliation.

“The sounds you’re making?”

Steve nods.

“Oh that is not the adjective I would’ve gone with.” Eddie claws his fingers all the way down to Steve’s neck. “Not even close.”

Steve is all hormones now, all slurred speech and thoughtless words. “So good, Eddie.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie whines, sounds breathier than Steve. “You cannot say my name like that when I’m in a tissue-thin gown.”

Steve wants to sneak a peek, see if what Eddie is suggesting holds any truth. He resists, only because he’s trying to sort out his own tent-pitching problems at the moment.

He gradually lifts his head off of the pillow, back cracking as he straightens his spine out after hours of being shaped like fucking tetris piece. It’s the last thing he wants to do because it means Eddie has to take his hand out of Steve’s hair. But as Eddie pulls away, his knuckles brush against Steve’s ear, awakening this newfound urgency to not let this moment fizzle out.

Steve hops up onto the bed, sitting side-saddle next to Eddie. He looks through Eddie’s eyes, the ones that remind him of shimmery dresses and the backseat of his car on prom night. He looks through to find a reason to stop his actions. Stop his need to touch Eddie’s jawline or thumb over his lips. He’s searching for a reason to stop and finding none whatsoever.

“Do you remember me?”

“You’re Steve Harrington.” Eddie kind of stutters as he says it. “Hometown Slut extraordinaire.”

The nerdy bastard is never going to let that one go.

Steve gives a quiet laugh, leaning in to his impulses. He slides his thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip, curving around, mapping invisible outlines. A blueprint for his imagination when they’re apart later. “Am I reading this wrong?”

Eddie’s gaze is glued to Steve’s lips as he shakes his head no.

“Good.”

Steve uses his free hand to lift himself up, get closer. Breathing in the same stale oxygen, sucking up the same early morning courage, existing in the same dizzying climate.

He can feel Eddie exhale softly over his skin when there’s a knock at the door.

Steve has never stood up so fast in his damn life. Gets a head rush that’s so overwhelming that his vision speckles out momentarily. 

It’s Sam. Thank god it’s only Sam. But also, screw god for interrupting what almost happened just now. Not cool, sky man.

“Just a heads up,” she starts, shutting the door behind her. “You have another visitor that just arrived.”

Right. It's the weekend.

Steve and Eddie say it in unison. “Dustin.”

Sam hums in reply. “I can stall him for a couple minutes. Give you time to sneak out the stairs that are tucked in the back hallway.”

“You’re the best.” Steve says. “I’ll be quick.”

She leaves, cracking the door on her way out.

Both of them just look at each other for a moment. There’s no time to even discuss the events that just took place. No time to recover the kiss that is already sneaking out the back hallway stairs.

Steve nervously whistles. “So…”

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday.” 48 hours apart seems insane. “Yeah.”

Steve hurriedly makes his way to the door - refusing his horny impulses the opportunity to kick back in and ruin everything. “See you later, Eds.”

Eddie licks over his bottom lip - the one Steve mapped out with his thumbprint. “Later, sailor.”

Um. What?

Steve’s eyes go large. “What did you just call me?”

“Go.” Eddie flashes the wickedest grin. “We’ll talk all about your ocean of flavor on Monday.”

This can’t be happening. “Ocean of -”

“Get out of here already!”

Steve flings himself out of the room, sprinting down the hall. Does Eddie actually recall Steve working at Starcourt? How can that be possible? Steve doesn’t remember seeing Eddie outside of school ever. 

Plus, they’ve never even talked about his job at Scoops Ahoy. Family Video? Sure, that’s more recent. But Scoops? Steve tries to forget just about everything from his time at that seaside shithole.

Goddamnit, this is confusing. The hair foreplay. The almost-kiss. The nautical nickname. Confusing is an understatement. Steve needs to go back to high school and learn a better word for what this is. Confusing isn’t cutting it anymore.

If Steve can make it till Monday without spiraling into a bucket of nerves, he deserves a fucking trophy.

And a kiss on the lips.

Mostly the second option (although a trophy would be nice too). 

#🎶here comes some contenttttt🎶 #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #sorrrrrrryyyyy these keep getting longer and longer #also - this is as close as I can get to a bed sharing trope in a hospital fic #and I hope this helps y'all feel better after the *last* chapter #and if I missed your tag pls reach out and tell me - I'm trying to keep up but my brain is a cluttered place to be in

[keeksandgigz]

ugh maybe something angsty to fluffy with eddie , like nightmares or a silly argument turned too big leaving both in tears but then resolved

idk baby ugh i love ur writing tho !

aww stop i love u <3

this is literally my first ask ever im so excited!! hope u enjoy :)))

He knows better than to fall asleep.

The world lays still around him, the sound of lone crickets plays as his lullaby while he stares at his banged up ceiling.

Everytime he closes his eyes he feels like he's suffocating, still in the stuffy, dusty and slimy Upside Down, the blood at his throat almost choking him to death.

It's his first night alone back home. Him and Wayne had been cleared to go back earlier that September morning after spending a whole summer in a cramped infirmary on a small cot that made his feet stick out.

Noises of people snoring, talking, moving around. Even people crying and screaming in their sleep. You sleeping in the cot right next to him.

Your shoulders rising and falling. On nights where he couldn't sleep he'd count every breath you took, until his brain grew tired and fell victim to slumber.

But tonight there was just eerie quiet. No breaths to count except his own, shallow and irregular in his chest, as he tried not to focus too much on the way the skin of his naked chest stretched taut by the stitches given to him felt under his hand, casually resting there.

The faint white and red splotches of mangled skin felt funny under the touch of his hands. Even then, he tried to not touch them. He didn't like the way his body would retract from his own touch. Almost as if he was scared of himself.

He hadn't let you see them yet, everytime you hung out and reveled in each other's company never went further than a few risky kisses. Your hands traveling to the hem of his shirt being abruptly stopped by his fingers intertwined in yours, moving away from his waist.

It was silent, the way you understood his limits. He'd never let you know he wasn't comfortable, and you could not have possibly known what lied under the too- big shirt he'd taken from the donation box.

Tonight, though, he finds himself missing counting your breaths, imagining you back at home in the comfort of your bed. Are you awake too?

Sick and tired of thinking, closing his eyes only to see monsters behind his lids, the feeling of the crumpled, rough sheets under his back, he gets up. He slips a shirt on, along with a pair of pants and fishes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pockets of his jacket, perched carelessly on the chair.

He heads to the front porch. He closes the front door behind him, trying to keep quiet. Wayne's at work, but the habit of tiptoeing and whispering around after months of living in a communal space still stuck with him.

He sits on the stairs of his porch, letting the cigarette between his lips as he fights with the yellow lighter his dad had given him to start a spark.

"Fuck" he curses under his breath as the lighter proceeds to not produce a light. His breathing becomes uneven as his cheeks flush with anger. Frustrated, he tosses the lighter in the patch of grass in front of him. Useless fucking thing.

He doesn't even know why he still has it. The last time he'd seen his dad was over two years before. He'd never gone that long without a visit.

He's tempted to go in the kitchen and light up his cigarette with the stove, but Wayne didn't like him smoking inside. Instead he just sits there, unlit cigarette between his lips as he looks at a certain spot in the trailer park.

The same spot he'd almost died at.

He's so entranced by that one patch of dirt that he doesn't notice a car driving into the trailer park. His eyes diverting only when the headlights almost turn him blind.

It's you.

The car turns off and you come out of it, dressed in some cute pyjamas, a jacket that once belonged to Eddie covering you from the late September gale.

"Can't sleep either?" you say, staring at his dumbfounded face as you approach him on the wooden porch stairs.

"Too quiet. Missin' the old man who talked about cake in his sleep" he lets out a breathy laugh.

"My bed was too comfortable. My back is too fucked up from the cot, can't sleep on a soft mattress anymore. Missed having a bed next to yours, Munson" you nudge him, he just gives you a tight- lipped smile.

"Missed watching you breathe" he says, cautiously "Helped me sleep at night. I'd count every breath you took"

"Having any nightmares?" you ask, placing your head on his shoulder.

"Can't have nightmares if I'm awake. Everytime I close my eyes it's like I'm back in there, so I just.... don't sleep" he says, playing with the still unlit cigarette in his mouth.

The air is light between you two, an air of friendship, unweighted by your knowledge of what happened to him. You bring him relief, solace.

"Tell you what" you begin "you can light that cigarette with my car lighter, we split it, and then we go back inside and you can watch me breathe. So you can sleep" you blink up at him. He blinks at you back.

You offering to sleep with him in his bed wasn't something he'd have expected out of his life. Especially at this time of it.

All he does is nod as you take the cigarette from his lips and light it in your car, coming back with it already between your lips.

You're warm when you settle yourself next to him on the bed, under the rough blankets. The pillows smell like him. You inhale.

He doesn't know whether to hold you or leave you alone. He just opts to be a little closer to you as he lets you close your eyes. A weak "G'night, Munson" escapes you as you exhale and close your eyes.

He watches the silhouette of your shoulders rise and fall.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven...

He falls asleep before he can get to fifty.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson angst #keeksgetsasks!

[crushedsweets]

What do the proxies think of each other?

this is gonna be kinda messy and disorganized but i got it HANDLED

again, THIS IS ALL MY AU!!! there is a streamline, detailed plot that intertwines, so these characters mingle and grow in ways they probably wouldnt in canon, since different events follow them here O/S Syndrome = Operator/Slender Syndrome, aka slender sickness

Toby: He thinks of Brian and Tim kinda like shitty uncles who only come around every now and again . they used to taunt him a lot cuz toby was always like. annoying, selfish, sarcastic - so it would piss them off, and they'd piss toby off, and then it would be pretty bad. but as toby gets older and calms the fuck down, it gets better between them . he gets pretty sad when they eventually cut him(and everyone) off to move to like, canada or oregon or something.

he likes kate. theyre both outcasts even in a group of creeps and killers and literal monsters.... so toby's always been nice to her. when she refused to come to the cabin, he ended up dragging a mattress over to the mines for her. brings her food, gallons of water, t shirts. she owns random band t shirts that she doesnt even listen to cuz toby gave it to her LMFAOOO . he's the reason kate starts coming and staying at the cabin

Kate: she hates tim. completely cannot stand him. she hates when slendy makes them work together. he's been a dick to her since he met her, because their first time meeting was um. her dragging tim through the forest while he was unconscious. and she was generally part of what tormented him during the events of marble hornets (IN MY AU OBVIOUSLY). he's also uncomfortable because when she kills people she does it with her bare hands. will lick the blood and dirt and grime off her fingers. generally freaky.

she's better with brian. he doesn't remember her tormenting him so much during MH, but he still knows - but he's better at empathizing with her situation. he kinda pieced together what happened to her, while tims just blinded by like. anger and trauma. dont get me wrong, brian is still uncomfortable around her (again, she acts really scary when working), but when she's not working and she just sits there. she looks so tired, and she's so quiet, and its sad. he feels for her.

she likes toby, too. first person to treat her fully like a person after becoming a proxy without her having to like, beg for it (directly or indirectly). again, he brings her things, he's kind to her, laughs with her. he'll tease her and make fun of her but she can tell it's not with ill intent so she'll do it back - she considers him her best friend for a while.

Tim:

HE'S A HATER HE'S A HATER HE'S A HATER ok i know i call him an asshole and say he's mean a lot but i legit am not mad at him and i think he is within reason (like 60% of the time) since like. kates dragged his unconscious body through the forest and left him covered in scratches/bruises, toby's almost always throwing the first punch, he's had his entire life derailed for so fucking long, and these kids don't make it any easier- he could've been in kates position, which is the one thing that makes him kinda hesitate when he wants to say smth mean. he usually isnt an asshole unprompted, but he'll always take it the second step.

a lot different for brian. he wanted him dead for a while too. blamed him for a lot of stuff, but at this point he........... has nobody else. brian is his friend. i feel like writing too much about the complication of their relationship kinda takes away from it. theyre roommates, they leave together, they'd fight tooth and nail to stay in eachothers lives. despite everything

Brian:

i feel like i dont have a lot to say about brian since I already described everyone else's relationship...

just to sum it all up with him, he cares more about all three of them then he lets on. but he's also a lot better at showing he cares. he brings some basic groceries and beer and shit over to the cabin pretty frequently, he'll hang around toby and if kates there, ask if she needs anything. she usually just shakes her head, but on the off chance she says she wants like. a specific drink. he kinda feels like he got +1 friendship points with her LMFAOOO . and obviously he jokes around and messes with toby when they're not fighting

and again, same thing with tim. that's his friend. he's missing a LOT of memories from the events of MH, but tim hasn't hesitated in telling him how he feels about it... and he feels bad. it all sucks. even now, he says things he doesnt mean, just because all of the guilt and anger and trauma gets him and tim both riled up. then they go get a drink together and move on

overall, the proxies are pretty messy. brian and tim arent very present anymore, toby and kate are sort of taking on their 'in charge' roles. their relationship slowly mends itself over time, since my AU largely focuses on improvement and recovery and redemption (HOWEVER MUCH THEY CAN ALL THINGS CONSIDERED...), but its still pretty bad

#asks #creeped #hcs

[rottenpumpkin13]

SEPHIROTH HEADCANONS

[these are my headcanons, meaning the way I view him in my head and may not follow popular fanon]

↘︎ Sephiroth is a big enjoyer of puzzles of any kind. Mahjong, sudoku, jigsaw puzzles, riddles, you name it. He doesn’t see the allure of video games but will jump at the opportunity to play a multiplayer that has him competing against someone else.

↘︎ He’s generally a calm and intorverted person in his day-to-day life, but when angered he becomes scary as hell. For lack of better words, he shows signs of the in-game callous monster he is.

↘︎ He does have a sense of humor, okay?? It’s just what most people would describe as dark and dry. His kind of humor is saying the most off-hand comments with 0 expression and making people lose their shit. He is also proficient in sarcasm but has to be annoyed beyond measure to use it.

↘︎ He can drive, however friends and people who have previously been driven around by him refuse to do it again. He drives likes he’s playing Mario Kart while maintaining a scarily calm composure. He manages to do this while still abiding by the traffic laws.

↘︎ Sephiroth maintains a healthy diet and prefers not to stray from his strict regimen. Having said that, he will never turn down: a) Angeal’s cooking, b) pasta, c)sweets. 

↘︎ Due to his sheltered childhood, Sephiroth was never allowed to indulge himself in sweets and other junkfood like the other kids. So when he’s old enough to control his own diet, he includes moments of utter gluttony where he inhales candy like a madman. 

↘︎ “Sephiroth why don’t you cut your hair?” With his JENOVA cells? If he cut it shoulder-length one morning, it’d be down to his waist again by the following afternoon. After many attempts at keeping it at a reasonable size during his youth, he gave up. 

↘︎ Now he simply keeps it long because he thinks it looks cool. Vanity spares no one. He also has a habit of sitting on his hair accidentally. 

↘︎ He’s notoriously knows as being cold and unwelcoming toward people. However he does a complete 180° when he’s with his friends, and people have even reported seeing him act extroverted.

↘︎ Unintentionally a cocky bastard. 

↘︎ Sephiroth isn’t a very creative person, which is something he laments greatly. He isn’t apt at drawing, writing or anything that could allow him to express himself artistically

↘︎ Give our boy any mathematical equation though and he can solve it

↘︎ Sephiroth takes joy in fucking with troopers and other SOLDIERs. He loves saying weird and uncharacteristic things and watch the realization that he’s joking dawn on them

↘︎ Big into astronomy and loves reading books about it. And he has a disdain for astrology and thinks it’s nothing but drivel

↘︎ He abhors gossip and thinks it immature and unprofessional. But if you feed him certain tales he’ll become angrossed and not let you leave until you’ve thoroughly recounted every detail of it. 

↘︎ Claustrophobic. It may have everything to do with being given mako showers and being kept in those tight tanks for hours. He developed a certian disdain for being enclosed in tight spaces. He also can’t stand to wear multiple layers of clothing and can only handle one layer at a time. 

↘︎ Yes he likes cats. 

↘︎ People who say he’s humorless don’t know he once laughed so hard, he had to be sedated because he was on the floor unable to breathe. Context? Genesis angered a chocobo and it chased him for an hour. Angeal has it on video.

↘︎ Sephiroth can cook. How? Do you really think a SOLDIER trained to survive in the wilderness wouldn’t know how to hunt, prepare and cook his own food?

↘︎ That being said, he can only cook very basic things.

���︎ He yells at the TV, but only when it’s a nature documentary and the prey is making unwise decisions while running away from the predator. 

↘︎ He makes overexaggerated faces while eating something he doesn’t like, but that’s as far as he’ll go complaining about food-wise

↘︎ Sephiroth’s favorite kind of gifts are the practical and functional ones like socks, blankets and sword oil. 

↘︎ Impulsively buys toys and childish knick knacks. Proceeds to keep them in a secret drawer with a lock and key. Don’t judge him. He’s making up for lost time.

#ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy #sephiroth #ff7r #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #sephiroth headcanons #ff7 rebirth #headcanons

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Actual Snake Boyfriend (Jamil)

Huh, a giant snake? Well, it's not like you can be surprised by whatever this new world throws at you– wait, is that Jamil?

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Naga! Jamil. A bit suggestive at the end?

Just some silliness, really. Prolly OOC.

— (⁠☞ﾟ⁠ヮﾟ⁠)⁠☞

Turning oneself into animals through magic is possible, but terribly taxing. Without proper training, one could overblot almost immediately

So the safest option is to drink a potion to change forms

(or to be Jack and have an Unique Magic that changes you into an ani)

But going back to the potions, they aren't simple to make, but a skilled potionologist can do it fairly easy

And when we're talking potionology, what duo is more qualified than Jamil and Azul?

(well, Vil and Rook, but shhhh)

At least, that's what they thought when Crewel told the class their task for the day

Except there was a slight miscalculation somewhere along the line

And now Jamil is a snake. Literally.

From waist down, he's a snake. Big, long snake, with shiny red, black and gold scales. Some scales also made their way up his back and under his eyes.

A few other things changed too: his nails became sharper, his fingers now a black gradient, his pupils are now slitted, and with his too long forked tongue, he can feel his already sharp canines become actual fangs.

Great. Jamil is very happy. Yay.

Thankfully, Crewel told him the effects of the potion would dissipate soon enough, maybe even later this same day.

So now he has to go through his day with about six feet of snake attached to his waist. At least he learns how to move quickly enough, not thanks to the Leech's terrible "tail advice"

Now, if only his crush the Prefect would stop staring.

— (⁠☞ﾟ⁠ヮﾟ⁠)⁠☞

"Can I help you?"

"Uh? Ah. No... sorry..." (Y/N) quickly looks away, failing to pretend she's interested on the book sitting on the counter in front of her.

It's been a few hours since Jamil turned into a naga, so he's had enough time to get used to the stares. He's never been one for having attention on him—easier to plot and scheme, after all—, but he can ignore most of it easily enough... unless the one staring is the Prefect, the Housewarden of Ramshackle. His heart cannot take being the recipient of her attention, specially when she seems to be drinking in his image with her eyes—if he's allowed to be a bit of a poet.

"You're staring again, Prefect," he points out as soon as he feels her gaze on him again, eyes glued on the food he's preparing in the hopes he won't blush too apparently.

Damn his stupid heart and its need to go in overdrive every time the girl is near. The time before his overblot was so much easier, when she was but a pawn for him to use. Now that he sees her as the incredible person she is, he has nowhere to escape.

"... Jamil, are you familiar with the term 'monster fucker'?"

If Jamil was eating something, he for sure would've died in a coughing fit.

"Pardon me?"

"Monster fucker is someone who is attracted to non-human beings, particularly the, uh, less human looking ones."

"..."

"..."

"... you want to fuck me?" is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, because it's the only thing his brain can process right now. Thankfully, he turned off the fire before she said that, or he'd burn something.

"Jams, you're the prettiest boy in this school, and I really like you, and you look really hot as a naga. Of course I want to fuck you!"

The hoodie is not enough for him to hide. He needs to dig a hole and die there right now. Not only because of his embarrassment over the sudden confession, but also because now that he is giving her 100% of his attention, his now heightened senses are telling him more things than he wants to know. Like the thumping of her heart, or the soft rustling of her rubbing her legs together, probably to alleviate tension.

Tension caused by Jamil.

And don't even get him started on the tantalizing smell of her arousal.

Dammit. The food will have to wait.

#twst imagines #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #x fem reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader

[finniestoncrane]

Hi! Absolutely love your writing and I basically rebinge all your riddler content every now and then.

You've made me fall in love with all of them especially Young Justice! Riddler.

And I was wondering how would the riddlers react to meeting a villain reader during a dangerous situation.

You're like "Oh hey, you're cute." Adding in a compliment, before dashing away and leaving him in the dust without letting him get a word in.

I thought I'd be funny.

If you can't do them all, maybe young justice, dano, and/or Gotham?

Villain!Reader w/Crush

Riddler Headcanons eeeef this is cute!! and thank you so much! yj!eddie has become my babygirl and this prompt suits him so well 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: flirting/suggestive things

zero year

as much as he pretends he's 'all that'

he actually never gets complimented

because he's a pain in the ass monster of a boy

but maybe someone just as villainous as him

someone who is also a pain in the ass

could see the perfect potential within him

enough to develop maybe a little crush on him?

and now he's forgotten what he was even doing out here

maybe that was the plan all along, damn

gotham

he's no stranger to love in the field

this idiot falls in love quick and fast and with anyone

especially if they're also a bit mischievous (or criminal)

so another villain declaring their love... well...

he's kinda 'been there, done that' so to speak

but it wouldn't put him off!

it's just going to take a little bit more than rushed flirting

if you really want him to be knocked off his feet

arkham

a strange thing to say, and he's not reciprocating at all

he has absolutley no time for that kind of distraction in his life

not unless you're willing to give up on your own criminal plans

and dedicate your time to his villanous endeavours

how are you with robots by the way... just out of curiosity...?

not that it matters! because he's not interested... but...

hey, you never know! it could all work out perfectly

living together in the sewers and building robot armies

you could get married standing on top of batman's corpse!

telltale

this is the only relationship he would consider

it helps that he's had his eye on you

from afar of course, just quietly admiring

because heaven forbid he admit that he feels normal things

but you've broken the seal and now it's a full blown crush

he's already planning your criminal endeavours together

sweet memories to be made, first murder, first heist

so many villainous firsts to experience together

unburied

hang on, wait just a fucking minute, get your ass back here

just because he's little doesn't mean he won't run after you

he's not above chasing a compliment, literally or figuratively

and if you have any more of them you'd like to give out

he's here, ready to bask in your adoration

or if you'd rather take this to a more physical level...

no need to rush though! he's happy to sit here and listen

while you tell him what a cute and precious bean he is

twojar

unphased, you think this doesn't happen all. the. time?

he's banged pam, selina and once got some goodies from harley

plus him and harvey have this weird mutual thing going on

ANYWAY

doesn't matter, because while it's not new to him

he's hardly going to turn down someone's advances

so you can run away, but he'll remember

he never forgets a face, or an ass

and he liked both of yours

dano

yeah, it would be easier for everyone involved

if he just pretended he didn't hear anything you said

and you didn't repeat it, or say anything to him ever again

because you're verging into dangerous territory here

so few kind words have been spoken to him ever

that he's just definitely going to latch on to the first kind soul

who shows him any sign of affection

and before you know it, you're getting little greetings cards

from your secret admirer

and no amount of villainy is going to put him off

btaa

so miss tuesday's task for the foreseeable future is research

find out who you are and what you were doing there

was it a ploy to out-heist him? were you there to distract?

because it worked, annoyingly so

but uh... if miss tuesday also happens to find out your name

and your number... mabye what kind of food you're into

then maybe he could let you distract him again

perhaps over dinner at the nicest restuarant around... if you want

young justice

immense confusion here bless him

some idiotic hero or a mindless member of the public

maybe maybe he could see them developing a crush on him

but another criminal genius? and a very attractive one at that

complimenting him? impossible, it must have been a mistake

which explains why you rushed away from him so quickly

better that way anyway, because he's starting to sweat. a lot.

and he's so flustered he can't even think straight, let alone well

#finnie writes #riddler x reader #riddler x you #riddler headcanon #ridler scenario #gotham riddler #arkham riddler #young justice riddler #dano riddler #zero year riddler #batman unburied riddler #bu riddler #telltale riddler #twojar riddler #riddler #the riddler #btaa riddler

[fruit-salad-ship]

@ that mafia au: don't u fucking dare hurt the girls. They're too damn precious. You better save them somehow in the end. 😭😭😭😭

Oh precious one, this is the AU they both die in :’)

Peach gets taken out by a jilted lover, tells her cousins to get plum out of the building they’ve been lured too, she’ll handle this, but fails. they have to dig her out of the building that collapsed on her, plum cries so loudly the whole town can hear. Days it takes them to pry her away. She does not eat, she does not sleep, and she never sings again. She is left in a home that she built with her lover, and sits alone in the confides, surrounded by loss. No one can console her not even grey. She loses all desire to continue.

Plum eventually goes on a revenge driven rampage to kill the woman who took everything from her. She spends days in the house with only one of peach’s revolvers, they’re part of a set, two of a kind, and one was never recovered. She knows who has the other, there’s no one else who would keep it. With peach’s wedding ring on a chain round her neck, and hers still on her hand, she finally makes a direct move forward.

Plum uses that revolver to find the woman with the other half, the missing gun, taken as a souvenir, proof she felled a monster of a woman, plums wife, the only person she’s ever felt true unbridled, immeasurable love from.

In killing the woman who robbed her of her life, she too is shot down, and upon lying on the floor, gets to drift away from reality to a place peach is sat and waiting for her in. The line between life and death, a waiting room. She gets to see her wife once more, not the vision she last had, a cold lifeless body void of anything recognisable, but peach, as she was prior, healthy and well, warm to touch, just as sturdy as she remembered.

THERE IS HOWEVER AN ALTERNATIVE

Because I too couldn’t stand the tragedy of that ending. Every time I try to write it I end up just crying haha!

Peach goes to face the angry ex and the building comes down, plum thinks her dead and is the first one after fighting to get free, sprinting to start digging through the rubble, hurting her hands and not even thinking to stop. And there under a table, unconscious but alive is peach. She’s been shot, but she’s breathing.

The big woman wakes up in a hospital with plum asleep by her side, right there next to her in bed. Her hands in a cast, her arms feel like she’s torn every muscle in them, but she didn’t expect to wake up. Peach lets plum sleep, she’s got a bag there, clearly she’s been here a while based on what’s around the space. Eventually her wife wakes up and sees her just there, looking at her gently. There’s a lot of tears, both of them crack, the singer was so worried, and the mob boss thought she’d met her end. Both just cry, laugh, a euphoria of the reunion. Plum of course hugs her too tight, forgets she’s broken, the recoil and apology that follows something peach just laughs at.

Peach’s family are relieved, they love her to death (mostly), and with her mother standing down after such a display, once healed peach takes up control with plum by her side, criminals in control, both powerful women.

Plum is this overly doting woman who takes up the leg work of the family jobs, she’s the power behind the power, she becomes fury to make sure her wife, dear precious peach has time to recover without the huge stress of her work.

They live a wonderful life full of travel and love, mornings making pancakes, nights sat by the fire, jobs where they’re making deals, killing rivals and sharing the burdens handed to them. It is hard work, but they’d change nothing, they can do this together. Plum carries on with her singing career, the pub is sold, and peach moves her business to the city so that plum can chase her dream and find her fame.

It is a given, she’s got talent, and within a matter of time she sees her name in lights adorning a huge venue, her wife, forever supportive and beside her just smiling. She had no doubt plum would get here, she commands a room, she is a stone cold killer and knows it. Oozing confidence, there was no surprise when the woman got to start recording songs of her own. They truly are perfect for each other, highs and lows, nothing stops them. Despite peach being crime family royalty it is plum, a humble woman from a normal family that is held above everyone, she deserves a crown, a throne, the entire world, and peach would face an army to give it to her if plum asked.

Trust me when I say I don’t know which one to do, both perhaps, one tragic, one happy. Let everyone decide on their favourite outcome.

Heartbreak though hard to stomach makes a story that tugs at the heart, and that’s why I’m leaning towards the tragic ending, but I hate it. This the the AU where they fall madly in love, perfect pair, completely devoted despite the odds going against them. They don’t care. They get it all, the house together, the quiet beautiful wedding, the drama of family, the love of friends, trips to distant towns to enjoy hotels and sight seeing. Peach has her cousins beside her as her best friends, they’re thick as thieves, and there’s even space for the emotional repair, plum never found her people until now, and peach though herself unlovable thanks to her mom. It is all fixed with them finding each other. SO many sweet moments, painfully beautiful little memories made between two women who just couldn’t find their place in the world, when no one really liked who they were, and wanted them to change to fit the mould, they refused and did things their way, and it worked for them.

I think about mafia way WAY too much.

#fruit salad #brainrot #mafia au

[resident-gay-bitch]

Jay's Steddie Fic Recs :)

because i have so many, I needed to make a fresh post of them :)

some of these fics are found on tumblr, some on ao3, maybe some on wattpad? all of them are spectacular. i’ll tag the creators tumblrs if i know them :)

happy reading! <3

Steves First Bruise spiderman!steve x roommate!eddie - eddie has a crush on his roommate steve, who also happens to get into a lot of fights. he also ends up with a crush on spider man. how long will it take for him to figure it out he’s only crushing on one person? please its so adorable

Till I Kissed You steve x eddie - super angsty. eddie doesnt get the big deal about kissing, steve calls him a bad kisser, they kiss to test it out. oh god, now theyre both questioning everything. perfection.

The Boys Of Summer eddie x steve & wayne - for all you wayne lovers out there. steve dreams that eddies alive, he’s so sure that his dreams are real, he tries to break into the upsidedown by himself to get the boy he loved back. wayne tags along for the ride. please, this is so good it has me dying i love it so much.

Not Exactly Nappa Valley eddie x steve - ultimate fake dating scenerio. steve has a family wedding to attend and he wants to piss off his parents, so he brings eddie and they gay it up and… oh my god, plot twist, who wouldda thought they both harboured feelings for eachother?

Needles steve x eddie - eddie gives steve a stick and poke and he kinda gets hard because hes a sadist. steve gives eddie a stick and poke and eddie almost busts in his pants. its pretty funny and has some fabulous smut.

If Your Heart Surrenders steve x eddie - super angst. dates back pre s4 and is very soft and angsty and i loveee it. i binge read the shit out of it. it has a very sweet ending. an alternate version can also be found here on tumblr. @asbealthgn

Recipe For Disaster steve x eddie - princess diaries au?! excuse me, hello. this is everything to me. it is pure perfection. please give this a read because it has me sitting on the edge of my seat, biting my nails and pulling at my hair. everytime a new chapter drops i get so excited. prince steve?!? yes. yes yes yes. @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe

Crashed The Wedding steve x rockstar!eddie - steve is forced into an arranged marriage and eddie comes to save the day after nine years apart. HELLO this is amazing. pure beauty. please take the time to read this because it’s magnificent, makes my heart swell. it’s very very good. makes me feel things. i love them so much. @piratefishmama

Eddie’s Memory Log steve x eddie - eddie is in hospital post vecna and can’t remember anything, steve visits every day and writes down what eddie can remember - hint hint, eddie always remebers steve. this is so good, i love it very very much, please give it a read. @harmonictechnicality

This Love Came Back To Me famous!steve hopper x ‘dead’!eddie munson - steve rescued eddie’s guitar after his death and processed his grief through song writing, pouted his heart out into the lyrics and took the world by surprise. I LOVE THIS SO MUCH okay, just read it. it’s so fucking good. gut wrenching stuff, okay!? have a read. it’s beautiful. so fucking beautiful i was going through every single possible emotion known to man. @strawberryspence

Bad News First steve x eddie - steve grieves for eddie’s death and becomes close with wayne in the process, slowly falling in love with what could have been with eddie. until… I LOVE IT. it’s beautiful. one of my favs. @strangersteddierthings

Melt Me On Your Tongue wounded!sub!eddie x caring!dom!steve - this is a spicy one, basically pure smut, but it’s got a lot of feelings. i love the style, the atmosphere, and the feeling the author has created for this fic and steve & eddie’s dynamic. it honestly feels delicate to read, and i love it very much. highly recommend. very soft but very spicy and hot :) @steddielations

Black Out Days (Fairground Nights) - eddie x steve - no monsters, modern au. nancy and eddie are best friends, robin and steve are best friends. when nancy and robin date, steve and eddie clash… a lot. ‘tis brilliant. this fic is so fucking angsty, it’s got some really fucking heavy themes (please read the warnings before proceeding) but it’s written so effortlessly beautifully. this has easily become one of my favourites now. it’s more than worth the read. @azrielgreen

#jay's fic recs #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst #fluff #smut #spiderman!steve #modern au #no monsters au #post s4 #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steve & wayne #wayne munson #eddie & wayne #fake dating au #roomates au #pre s4 #famous!steve #not really dead!eddie #hurt / comfort #wounded!sub!eddie #caring!dom!steve #dom!eddie #dom!steve #sub!eddie #sub!steve #platonic stobin

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

Julie and Saz Mush

I was gonna draw it. But I'm so fucking tired and I need to get it out of my head so bad. So take our stud beauty Saz be complimented by Julie. And down below is the song I was using as motivation.

Tag list: @outpost51 @nanashi23 @winterandwords @jezifster @kk7-rbs @aether-wasteland-s @dumbthunder @manathen @the-void-writes @liv-is (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!) 

Saz felt like curling in on herself. She was tired. Joints that she didn't think could hurt, cussed at her. If she focused hard enough she swore a bone might just break. She morphed. She did what she was supposed to. But she was scolded regardless.

The elder morphers held the threat over her with no hesitation.

"If you're gonna blow your cover drag yourself down. Not the other soldiers." They'd hiss, so harsh spit sprayed.

"We can't afford to lose good soldiers. We can't lose what we've gained." They'd add, clawed fingers jabbing at Saz.

Elliot hadn't been there to talk them down. Or to dampen the blows of words sharpened twice. He had his own mission. And the morphers had seemed to be separating the two of them more often. Tactical moves on their part. Grating on Saz's part.

Julie though. She slid into the conversation seamlessly. Resting a surprisingly unslimy hand on the bear morpher's shoulder. Maybe to apologize for their bluntness. Maybe in attempt to soothe the rattled bear. Who's eyes had to be squeezed shut by now. Refusing to stare them down as she was reprimanded for breaking cover again.

For being the big scary target instead of the monster of stealth the elder morphers needed her to be.

Saz felt the tears well in her eyes. Refusing to let them fall. Not in front of the elder morphers. They wouldn't understand that they weren't tears of fear or anger. Maybe frustration. But those tears were for the hagfish morpher. Standing unbothered in front of the bear morpher that could peer above her head.

A soft grunt slipped past her lips. Acknowledging Julie, who had decided to sit beside her.

"Drop the gruff. That's for the missions and we're not there anymore." Julie commented unfazed, upping the volume of her music.

She rolled her eyes a bit, having been caught. She scratched at her scruff. Refusing to look at the other morpher just yet.

"Thanks for having my back." Saz spoke up, clearing her throat.

Julie smiled beside her, "Always." She hummed to herself for a minute, Saz knew it was her favorite part of the song, "Thanks for having mine during the mission."

There it was. Saz could feel the tears again. She breathed out slow and let a few slip down her face. She laughed low and soft, relieved.

"I'm going to be looking for you the next time I get in trouble." Saz said finally looking over at Julie.

She instantly looked up, away from Julie's gaze that had already been focused on her. Saz slowly got herself to look back down at the morpher. Who was actually soaked in slime. Saz bit back a snicker at the way it hung from every surface Julie had rubbed it against. It had become a fairly normal sight for Saz.

Yet the bear morpher still asked "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Julie shook her head, dragging a hand down her pants leg, "Nervous."

Saz silently nodded. And was overcome with the idea of leaving. Letting Julie recover. She could still intimidate Julie after this time. She didn't want to push her luck.

"You're fucking pretty." Julie laughed a little placing a braid behind her ear, "So sometimes I'm just nervous around you."

Saz couldn't help but to laugh. Practically beaming. She'd been worried about intimidating the morpher. Forgetting they'd been surrounded by far worse. Though it would never stop Saz from asking. She couldn't recall the last time someone called her pretty. She softly tugged at the hairs on her chin. Toothy grin rising at the compliment. She bit her own tongue not yet wanting to out she thought the same of Julie.

"Really?"

Julie laughed harder now. It melded with her music. Making it's own chorus as it ebbed to the next song.

"Definitely. You've never been complimented in one of those human cities?"

Saz couldn't stop smiling, "Never pretty. Usually 'you're so strong' or I got handsome once or twice. That one was actually really sweet." She laughed a little remembering it had been her adoptive parents that referred to her like that, "The human cities are a shitty place when you're hiding."

Julie reached out, locking pinkies with Saz. "Well I mean it. You're really really pretty. And if you sneak back and decide to stay. You gotta bring me."

Saz snorted at that, "You'd be miserable. You're so comfortable here. And it's nice not having to hide my identity all the time for sure."

Julie chuckled, "But who else will tell you you're pretty? You better not say Elliot."

Saz rested her head against Julie's, "I'd rather tough it out here. Make things right for other morphers. Everything I need's here now."

Saz peered off into the distance. Grinning again at the thought.

'Julie thinks I'm pretty.'

#writeblr #random writes #something cute #I guess a little angsty to start lol it's alright #compliment the masc/studs/butches in your life

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

Hiiii, so I love your Half-Life series so much and as a fat person, it makes me so fucking happy to see my body type written from a view where it yearned and cherished by Leon and I have reread it so many times to the point that I smile just thinking about specific scenarios from it 🥺❤️ You are an amazing writer 🥺❤️❤️❤️

I especially love how you portrayed Leon just restricting himself from going all squish squish against reader's body because it so wonderfully warm and soft because if his senses are dialed up to a nine because of his mutation, he would feel the sensation of reader's soft skin against him at a degree more than humans do. As you mentioned in the fuck, it really does remind me of a big bad wolf being so so gentle and so so cute with a bunny and just stuck between ravaging them (👀) or nuzzling them with kisses 🥺❤️

Oh my god thank you for this 😭

I just saw such a lack of fat!reader with Leon and it hurt my feelings because I’m fat lmao. So I decided to go ahead and write one myself.

On top of that, I really wanted to do a Plaga!Leon fic too because I wanted to delve into his depression and passive suicidality becoming a monster as someone who fought BOWs for six years. He was already depressed and traumatized before becoming a BOW, so I feel this would be a lot worse. But at the same time, he’s scrounging for any way to hold on because he’s a survivor at his core.

For years, it was his dog that gave him a reason to keep going, and now it’s Bunny, in her softness and humor and excitement and compassion and stubbornness. And yes, the urge to take care of her and, ahem, take care of her is definitely a war raging in his head right now 😂 he’s so afraid of hurting her or scaring her off, even though she’s giving him every sign she’s interested in him. But she’s also holding back for her own reasons and worries.

I’m so glad you enjoy it enough to reread it! I’m def trying to get the energy to write chapter 4 but life has been busy and difficult lately 😮‍💨

Thinking about sitting down and trying to finish at least a scene from it tonight or tomorrow. It’s probably gonna be a big chapter because a lot happens in it.

I’d be shocked if it was under 10k by the time I finish it lol.

Talk about a monster of a fic, amirite? (Ba dum tss.)

Also I love getting asks/comments about my fics so this always makes me so happy to see people enjoying it 🥹

#re4r #plaga!leon kennedy x reader #plaga!leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #chubby!reader #half-life

[nyoomfruits]

peppermint smiles

pairing: max verstappen/charles leclrec  word count: 1k a/n: i was going to write this cute little drabble about max asking charles to move in with him but then these boys decided to have feelings about it and then it turned into this thousand word monster, lmao

hope you enjoy!

When Max wakes up that morning, it’s still dark outside, and the alarm clock on his bedside table cheerfully tells him it’s only 5 am. He groans and rolls onto his back, desperately trying to fall back asleep but failing miserably. Next to him, Charles makes a soft snuffling noise and buries himself deeper into the blankets. Max flips him off halfheartedly, but can’t help but smile fondly as Charles softly starts snoring.

He turns to his side, flips back down onto his back, realizes not a single position is going to make him fall back asleep and his tossing and turning is only going to risk waking up Charles, and decides to just give up all together.

So he quietly slides out of bed and puts on a shirt that’s definitely his but a pair of sweatpants that might actually be Charles’s, and makes his way towards the kitchen.

He fiddles with the coffeemaker for a bit, manages to produce a semi decent cup of coffee and then shuffles outside, sitting down on one of the chairs on the balcony to watch the sun rise over Monaco.

It’s the summer break, and they’ve been spending most of their time at Max’s place, which makes sense, because Max’s place is bigger and better located, but it’s not something they’ve really talked about, which is what’s causing Max’s sleeplessness.

When he asked Charles on a date, almost over a year ago at this point, he never thought he would get this far and so he never spend much time worrying about it. He just took it one day at a time, and enjoyed every moment he got to spend with Charles.

But then they became more serious, started becoming exclusive, started calling each other boyfriends, and now here they are, halfway the summer break and they’ve only seen the inside of Charles’s apartment that one time they went to pick up some of his stuff at the beginning of break. And they still haven’t really talked about any of it.

He knows it wouldn’t be weird to ask Charles to move in with him. They’re practically already living together anyway. But it still feels momentous somehow. Everything else with Charles, he’d sort of fell into. This, this is a conscious choice. An easy one, for him, but he’s not sure how Charles is going to feel about it. What if it’s too much too soon? What if he’s been interpreting their relationship completely wrong this whole time?

He doesn’t realize how badly he’s zoned out until he gets shaken from this thoughts by the sound of the balcony door opening, and the sun is already shining brightly in the sky. His coffee in his hand is freezing cold, and he places it on the side table with a sigh.

“Goodmorning, chérie,” Charles says, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the top of Max’s head.

“Hey,” Max says, leaning his head back so he can kiss Charles properly. He tastes like peppermint toothpaste and smells like lavender body wash, and Max’s realizes he really must’ve zoned out terribly if he didn’t even hear Charles puttering around in the bathroom.

“You okay?” Charles asks, handing Max a fresh cup of coffee while sitting down and taking a sip of his own.

“’M fine,” Max mumbles, wrapping his hands around the coffee cup, leaning back into his chair.

Charles raises an eyebrow, glancing at the discarded, cold cup of coffee and Max’s tousled hair. “You sleep well?” He asks, knowingly, and Max hates how observant he is sometimes.

Max avoids the question by taking a sip of coffee, and then decides it’s now or never, fuck dancing around it. Either this goes brilliantly and it makes his day, or it goes terrible and it ruins everything, but there really is no point postponing the inevitable.

“Move in with me.”

Charles who, blissfully unaware of the bombshell heading his way, had just taken a sip of his coffee, chokes on said sip and gets sent into a full on coughing fit. “Christ, Max,” he heaves out between coughs, “warn a guy next time, will you.”

“Right, yes, sorry,” Max says, abruptly standing up from his chair, the coffee from his own cup sloshing over the edge with the force of the movement. “Shouldn’t have sprung that upon you, I’m sorry.” He jerkily moves towards the balcony door, trying so hard not to come across too disappointed.

Charles grabs his wrist before he can properly leave, pulling him back gently. “Hey, no, Max, that’s not what I meant. I was talking about the timing of my coffee sip, it’s… So not the point actually, come on, sit back down,” Max lets himself be manhandled back into his chair, forced to look at Charles, who’s beaming brightly at him.

“I would love to move in with you,” Charles says, and Max narrows his eyes at him.

“But?”

Charles rolls his eyes and groans. “Jesus Christ, Max, you’re impossible. No buts. Except maybe yours.” He throws in one of his terrible winks at the end there, and for the first time since they’ve started this conversation, Max’s chest starts to feel a little looser. “I would love to move in with you, period. I mean, let’s be honest, I pretty much already live here anyway.”

“I know, it’s just, we never really talked about it, and I didn’t want to assume anything,” Max says, with a bashful little shrug, taking another sip of coffee just to give his hands something to do.

Charles looks at him intently, “is that why you were zoning out on the balcony at 6 in the morning? And why you couldn’t sleep? Oh, Max.” He says Max’s name so soft, so fondly, Max feels his heart skip an actual beat. “I’m in this, chérie. Whether you like it or not. For me, there’s no one else, okay? It’s you and me, all the way to the finish line.”

Max, who didn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words until that exact moment, smiles softly. “All the way to the finish line,” he repeats, reaching out to grab Charles’s hand.

Charles squeezes his hand and sends him a fond smile. They don’t talk for a while after that, just sit there in the early morning light of the Monaco sun, drinking their coffee and enjoying each other’s presence.

Later that day, they will look into moving Charles’s stuff, selling the old apartment, all the other things they need to arrange to make this official.

But for now, it’s just them, sharing secret smiles over the rim of their coffee cups as Monaco slowly wakes up around them.

#lestappen #drabble #writing the coffee cup choreography for this fic was insane #HOW MANY SIPS IS TOO MANY SIPS #anyway i thoroughly enjoyed writing this one so i hope y'all enjoy reading it!!