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pricelessemotion · 6 months

Text

poltergeists for sidekicks | E.M.

summary: [2.3k] the kids drag eddie to the halloween store where you happen to work.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, pining, eddie being a lovestruck idiot, r wears big prescription glasses and is described as having messy hair

a/n: happy halloween! here’s something i’ve been working on for ages just in time for the end of spooky szn! xoxo

masterlist

Eddie doesn’t hate Halloween.

He used to love Halloween. He likes autumn. He likes watching the leaves change colors. He can appreciate the novelty of a hot apple cider and a hay ride. Hell, ever since he was old enough to go trick or treating, he reveled in it. Free candy and all he had to do was put on a costume and say three magic words? Sign him up.

As he got older, he started to like Halloween for a slightly different reason. Don’t get him wrong, he still liked the free candy, but he liked the excuse to be someone else for a night. He liked how he could throw on a Michael Meyers mask and go door-to-door and be greeted with glee and sweets.

It does a funny thing to a kid’s self-esteem, being treated better when he’s wearing the face of a fictional serial killer.

Now, though, Eddie Munson is decidedly too old for trick or treating. He’s resigned himself to spending the holiday like it was any other day by spending the night in his room, playing guitar, and coming up with new campaign ideas.

Which is exactly what he was doing when three freshmen started pounding down the door of the trailer demanding entry. Within moments, they are practically on their hands and knees asking, nay begging, for the older boy to take them to get last-minute Halloween costumes.

“Aren’t you guys too old to go trick or treating?”

“This is why we need to go to the store! If we wear masks, no one will be able to tell how old we are, hence extending our years of candy collecting.” Dustin explains, matter of factly.

Eddie sighs, leaning back into the sofa, steepling his fingers together. “What’s in it for me?”

The three boys huddle together, conspiring in a manner that is not dissimilar to the way they plan their counterstrikes during Hellfire. They nod in sync, turning around so that Lucas is standing front and center, flanked by the two other boys.

“That one girl you like is working there.”

Eddie remains stone-faced, quipping sarcastically, “That’s very specific.”

Mike lets out an exasperated groan, threading his fingers through his hair before yanking at the ends in frustration. “Y’know, the weird one. Coke bottle glasses, messy hair, always holding a book?”

Lucas’ eyes widen. Dustin smacks Mike on the chest and the hollow sound rings out through the empty trailer. They all start talking over each other, with two of them berating the third for A. being insensitive and B. expecting a good outcome from said insensitivity.

Eddie wants to make a comment that your hair is not messy, it’s actually more voluminous. Besides, his hair is messy and he likes to think it makes him look badass. The glasses comment was a little unfair. Sure, the frames are a similar shade to the iconic green of the bottles of Coca-Cola. But the magnification was endearing, leaning more towards doe-eyed than bug. Unfortunately, Eddie did not consider that while he was observing you, someone might’ve been observing him.

The assurance of your presence is how Eddie ends up here, parked outside of a hardware store turned seasonal shop. He’s helping his friends. He’s supporting a local business and therefore contributing to the local economy! You being here is just a bonus.

A bell rings above them as he swings open the door, the motion setting off a scratchy pre-recorded cackle. He’s gotta hand it to whoever is running the store. They’ve gone out of their way to transform the dingy overhead fluorescents and worn-out linoleum into something that actually resembles an eerie boutique.

“Welcome in! I’ll be right witch you!” Your voice lilts out from the depths.

You appear out of the darkness, expertly weaving under fake cobwebs and pushing aside fanciful drapes that have no doubt been strung up precariously around the store to add to the ambiance. You’ve got a witch’s hat on, tall and black and pointy, which further explains the pun you greeted them with.

“How can I help you?” You smile brightly, adjusting your glasses.

The younger boys barely spare you a glance, just a chorus of we’re good! before running off to the other side of the store, where all of the costumes are located.

You barely blink at their rudeness. Whether that’s indicative of your experience in customer service or due to your generally sunny disposition, Eddie isn’t sure. You turn your smile and magnified gaze at him, “What about you?”

Eddie startles only slightly. He begins to peek over his shoulder as if there’s somebody else in the mostly deserted store that you could be talking to. What about him?

“Oh, I don’t need anything. I just came here with–” He gestures vaguely in the direction that the boys wandered off to. “The little shits that left me in the dust.”

You bark out a laugh, a small smile settling on your lips. “It’s sweet of you to help them out.”

Eddie only blushes in response, murmuring a quiet it’s nothing, scratching the back of his neck like he might find a switch that’ll make him remember how to talk like a normal human being.

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

You pick up a clipboard and a pen and start leisurely strolling down the decor aisle, making inconsequential markings on the paper. Whenever you come across gaps in the shelves you reach back into them, pulling the products to the front edge with a concentration that is quite adorable.

He’s definitely staring by now. Feigning interest in a skull-shaped candy bowl, Eddie scrambles for something, anything to keep the conversation going. “I’m surprised you’re not busier.”

“You just missed the afternoon rush.” You say, straightening a pair of plastic tarantulas that have gone askew. “Not too many people came today, though. I guess they realized that it’s so close to the holiday that the shelves would be picked over.”

“Really?”

You shrug, “I think by October 30th, most people figure if they’re gonna dress up, they’d rather just pull together something from their closets than spend money. We’re actually busier the day after Halloween because everything gets marked down and people want cheap candy.”

“Makes sense.” He nods. “So, I take it you’re a big fan of Halloween?”

Your smile is apprehensive as if you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. Your fingers brush the brim of the witch’s hat. “What gave me away?”

He falls into step beside you, clasping his hands behind his back and puffing out his chest. “I just had a feeling.” Then, feeling much braver than usual, he adds, “I like your outfit.”

You look at him again, clutching the clipboard to your chest. For once, your eyes are leaning more towards bug-eyed. The black velvet dress has draped sleeves and a skirt that swishes with every step. Orange and black striped tights protect your legs from the inevitable chill that comes with October in Indiana. “You do?”

“I do.” He insists, “It totally adds to the magical vibe. If you told me that you were an actual witch and this was just something you do to pass the time I’d one hundred percent believe you.”

All apprehension has slipped off your face, replaced by a genuine smile that cracks open his chest. “Thanks…” You trail off.

“Eddie.” He supplies.

“Well thank you, Eddie. I’d tell you my name but I’m guessing I don’t have to.” You say, rubbing the plastic name plate on your chest.

Eddie does know your name, but it isn’t because of your name tag. He was far too proud to ask around for your name, and far too afraid of rejection to ask you himself. He’d been lucky enough to get a library book right after you. He’d pulled the weathered paper from the slip, seen your name at the bottom of the checkout card, traced the loopy letters with the pad of his fingers. It had definitely been more than a little pathetic.

Eddie coughs, clearing his throat, trying to maintain any semblance of nonchalance. “Do you have any plans for Halloween?”

Your face slowly lifts from the clipboard, twirling your pen between swift fingers polished in a deep burgundy. Directing your gaze at him, you peer through dark lashes and Eddie’s never been more thankful for the inventor of coke bottle glasses. The magnification allows him to see the spark of intrigue dancing across your pupils.

“I was just gonna stay home. Maybe help my mom pass out candy.” The implication of the last sentence seems to hit you. You look down again, scrunching up your nose. Eddie finds it endearing how your first instinct is honesty rather than anything else.

“Cool. That’s cool,” Eddie says in a manner that is decidedly uncool. He fiddles with his rings before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Actually, I was wondering if—”

Suddenly, Eddie feels stupid for getting lost in your eyes and not paying attention to his surroundings. Maybe then he would’ve noticed how the linoleum got ever so slightly softer under the soles of worn-out boots. He would’ve seen the cloaked figure looming in the alcove, waiting for some unwitting soul to step on the pressure plate.

Unfortunately, Eddie did not see any of those things. The poltergeist, or ghost, or whatever the fuck it is swings out. He stumbles backward, releasing a shriek that is so high-pitched, that he wonders if he should start tapping into his upper range. Maybe it would add more texture to Corroded Coffin’s Tuesday night sets.

Instinctively, his arms fly backward, as if to protect you. He stumbles right into you, and he’s sure that if you didn’t grab his waist from behind, you would’ve fallen right over. Unfortunately, the movement has both of you careening back into a shelf, sending bags of overpriced candy and shitty Halloween decorations tumbling to the ground in a cascade of all things creepy and corny. He quickly spins around.

“Shit, are you–”

“I’m so sorry!”

“I should’ve warned you–”

At that moment, chests heaving and hearts racing, you both seem to realize that your hands are still grazing Eddie’s waist. You spring apart, scrambling to clean up the display, haphazardly grabbing the fallen items and placing them back in their rightful places on the shelves. Among them is your hat, another casualty of the calamity.

“I should’ve warned you,” You say again, slightly out of breath. “That thing nearly scares me to death every other day.”

“It’s fine. I should’ve paid attention to where I was walking. It just added to the whole spooktacular experience.” He picks up the hat from the floor, dusting it off. “I think this belongs to you.”

You give a bashful smile, but instead of putting the accessory in your outstretched hand, he gingerly places it on top of your head. Your glasses have slid down your nose from bending over to clean up his mess, and his thumbs gently push the joints of the frames until they’re sitting in their rightful place.

“There,” He punctuates his statement with a resolute tug on your hat, making sure it’s securely on your head. “Perfect.”

You preen at him, eyes sparkling, before you cast them down at the floor. Dustin comes running around the corner, closely followed by Mike and Lucas. All of them are carrying armfuls of miscellaneous Halloween supplies, obviously alarmed at the clamor, but not alarmed enough that they didn’t take their sweet time coming from the opposite end of the store. Eddie takes advantage of your bashfulness and distinctly shoots them a look that says get the hell out of here. Dustin’s eyes dart between the two of you before they widen and his mouth forms a small oh. He sends Eddie an exaggerated wink, walking backward in order to not interrupt the private moment, dragging his two friends along with him.

“Thanks,” You smile at him. “For protecting me. I know who to bring with me if I ever want to walk through a haunted house.”

He gives a lopsided grin, “My pleasure.”

“Ahem.” You clear your throat, “Anyways, what are your plans for Halloween?”

This is it. This is the moment that Eddie has been waiting for since he put down his guitar and his notebook and opened the trailer door.

“That depends.” He clasps his hands behind his back, jutting his chin up in the air. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“I get off at four.”

“The Hawk is doing this continuous horror movie marathon. Maybe you would want to go?” Eddie’s fingers are practically vibrating with excitement. He nearly forgets the most important part. “With me? I mean— Only if you like horror movies, I just figured because I’ve seen you walking around with that Stephen King novel. NOT that I’ve been watching you or anything!”

You let out a small giggle. The fact that you’re laughing and smiling is a good sign, even if it is slightly at his expense. He decides to lean into self-deprecation, hoping it’ll seem more charming than desperate.

“I’d say I don’t scare easily, but I think we’d both know that’s a lie by now.”

You scribble something near the bottom of the paper on the clipboard, delicately folding it and ripping it off before placing it in Eddie’s palm.

“Well, I’ve heard horror movies are less scary if you have someone to hold your hand.”

It doesn’t even matter that a ghost animatronic essentially acted as his wingman. The note with your number on it sits heavily in his pocket, thumb tracing over looped ink. Even though it’s cold as shit, he embarrassed himself, and signs of the spooky season decorate every corner, Eddie has a smile that rivals even the best of jack-o-lanterns.

As Eddie turns off towards the dirt path that leads to Forrest Hills Trailer Park, the smile still hasn’t faded.

For once, the streets of Hawkins seem a little less haunted.

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #mimi wrote ✍️#poltergeists for sidekicks

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lovebugism · 6 months

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Hi! Could I pls request a Steve x shy!reader drabble? Maybe they’re a bit of a bookworm and they have a meet cute at a library or bookstore or something ☺️ I love your fics, and I hope you’re having a good day! 💛

i've been working on this wip for ages but i loved this request too much not to finish! thanks for being patient with me anon!

summary: steve hopeless romantic harrington meets shy!reader at a bookstore and fluffy awkwardness ensues (meet cute, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff, 2.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Five hours go by like minutes, tucked away in the back of the library — your own little corner of the world.

Because all your spare cash went to groceries and good food (and the newest Margaret Atwood novel just dropped), you hide in the back of the bookstore and get lost in the nostalgic earthy scent of the thick pages you’ve been waiting ages to read.

You sit between the dystopian and gothic fiction aisles, back propped against the former with your knees folded to your chest, and speed-read as much as you can before closing.

The in-store café offers complimentary coffee and bagels. It’s lukewarm and a little cardboard-y, but it’s fuel nonetheless. You only get up once to use the bathroom and stretch your stiff limbs. Other than that very brief break, you’re relatively unbothered — until page 196, anyway.

“Where are the porno mags?” a male voice wonders from a few aisles down. It’s not the first voice you’ve heard all day, but it’s certainly the closest.

A feminine voice follows, nearer now. “There’s no porn, dingus. I was just saying that so you’d drive me here.”

“…That’s so fucked up.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“No, actually. I won’t. This might be the end of our friendship, now that I think about it.”

Their conversation draws closer and closer to you in time with their nearing footsteps. You figure they must be looking for a different section — certainly not the one you’ve had to yourself all day — but then they turn the corner of the aisle and stop short when they find you sitting there.

“Oh,” a pretty girl hums as she stares down at you, rouge mouth forming a softly pouted ‘o’ shape.

Her hair is a sandy color, like a beach, and it’s chopped at her shoulders. She wears a pair of slacks and suspenders over an oversized button-up. She looks like a character from a book you wish you could write.

She smiles down at you, a tad bit awkwardly. “Hello…”

“Shit— ” you curse, scrambling to get your legs out of the aisle. Your face burns as you bring your knees back to your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” she shrugs and walks on by you.

A pretty boy follows.

His hair is a really specific shade of brown — like chocolate syrup mixed with honey. It’s pushed back over his forehead, messy with intention. A few strands hang over his thick brows like they’re meant to be there. He’s got a layer of scruff on his chiseled jaw that’s a shade lighter than his actual hair.

His wide eyes are a similar chocolate-syrup-honey color.

He’s almost annoyingly pretty. The kind of pretty that seems unfair.

“Don’t apologize to her,” the pretty boy jokes with a lopsided smile. “She’s a total bully.”

The pretty girl interjects. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. And stop bothering her, dingus— she’s obviously trying to read.”

You breathe out an awkward laugh through your nose.

You don’t want them to think you’re actually annoyed, but you don’t have the words to tell them that. You have no idea what to say to them, actually. They’re obviously far cooler than you are, and the notion almost threatens you.

The pretty boy doesn’t follow his pretty friend. He lets her roam the aisle, obviously in search of something, and leans against the gothic fiction section across from you.

“So, uh… What are you reading?” he asks.

You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, lest the words get stuck in your throat and make you sound like Kermit the Frog. You flash him the dystopic, renaissance painting-esque cover with a tightlipped smile.

“Handmaid’s Tale,” he reads with a squint, then nods. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s not,” the pretty girl scoffs. She thumbs through her own copy of the book that she plucked from the shelf. “It’s the one I was telling you about on the way over.”

The pretty boy’s face screws up in disgust. “Oh. The one with gross men?”

“The one with the gross men.”

He turns back to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I take it back. Not fun.”

You smile wordlessly in response.

“He’s Steve, by the way,” the pretty girl says to you, nodding to the pretty boy. “I figured if he’s gonna keep weirdly hovering over you, you should probably know his name—”

“I’m not hovering!”

“—You can call him dingus if you want. I’m Robin.”

“Hi,” you greet, quiet and mousy.

“Do you come around here often?” the boy — Steve — wonders, bushy brows pinched and burly arms crossed over his chest. “I feel like I’ve seen you before—”

“Ugh. Stop flirting with her.”

“I’m asking a question!”

You purse your lips to the side in attempts to hide your smile and your gaze back to your book.

They argue like a married couple. You wonder how long they’ve been together — six months or six years?

“Sorry about him. He’s not usually this annoying,” Robin quips with a playful twinkle in her deep ocean eye. She slams the book closed with a ringed handand walks back towards you. She pushes Steve ahead and away from you in the process. “Alright, I got the goods. Let’s go before they close.”

Your eyes widen as you look down at your wrist.

Ten minutes until eight o’clock.

You turn to the book once more and find that you’re about a hundred pages shy from the end of it. You tend to read like a maniac if you’re focused enough, but there’s no way you’re finishing it before closing.

“Shit…”

“You okay?” Steve asks, still lingering at the very end of the aisle, though Robin has already left for check-out.

You rise and straighten out your clothes — the very un-special sweatshirt and baggy jeans duo you’d changed into after work. It’s not unlike the navy blue henley and similarly colored denim he’s got on, but you don’t look nearly as pretty as he does.

“Yeah,” you shrug, not quite meeting his gaze as you return the book that feels like it only fits in your hands. “I just— I didn’t realize how late it was.”

You don’t expect to see Steve looking so concerned when you turn back to him. His brows are furrowed, honey eyes glinting in question. “You’re not getting it? You looked like you were almost done.”

“Oh, I don’t— I can’t…” you stammer then trail off, fidgeting awkwardly ahead of him.

You don’t want this pretty boy’s first impression of you to be that you’re completely and utterly broke. Even if this is the last you ever see of him, you’ll only be remembered as that one girl from the bookstore who couldn’t buy herself anything.

“I figured I could just come buy tomorrow and finish it…”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was… it was nice meeting you, then.”

“You, too,” you murmur with a tightlipped smile, eager to get away from a moment you don’t feel very deserving of.

Out of every girl this pretty boy could’ve chosen, why did it have to be the one in the very back of the bookstore who was too poor to get anything other than a free coffee and bagel?

You chuck both in the bin as you head towards the exit.

The sun has almost finished setting when you leave — mostly disappeared over the skyline, but painting the sky a deep lavender shade unique to the twilight hour. You stand at the crosswalk — the man on the speaker shouting “wait!” at your side — as you anticipate the orange hand across the street to turn into a white stick figure.

“I told you she’d still be here,” a familiar voice sounds from a few paces behind you, mostly drowned out by the sounds of passing cars. A louder “hey!” follows. You only think the voice might be calling for you until it comes closer.

“Hey!” It comes again, louder now.

You look over your shoulder and find Steve from the Bookstore striding towards you.

Both happy and confused to see him, your wavering smile is paired with a pair of furrowed brows. “Hey…”

“Sorry, you just— you left this.”

When your eyes manage to flit away from his sculpted face — which you just noticed looks eerily similar to Michelangelo’s David — you find that he’s holding a book in his hands. Handmaid’s Tale. The same copy you were reading, dog-eared just like you left it.

Your contorted features never falter. “I didn’t…” you trail off with the shake of your head, laughing softly. “I didn’t buy that.”

“No, I know,” Steve shrugs with a crooked grin. “I did.”

You think he might be implying he bought it for you, but then you realize that’s crazy, because why would he do that for you? That’s the sort of thing that happens to girls in Brontë novels, not to you.

“Youdid?” you echo like an idiot because it’s all you can think to say.

“Yeah. ‘Cause, you know, you looked pretty interested in it and everything…”

“But you didn’t have to… You didn’t have to buy it for me—”

“It’s not a big deal. Seriously. I mean, it’ll save you the extra trip down here tomorrow, right?”

You meet his confident grin with a trembling one. “I can’t take it…”

“Well, if you don’t take it, that means I have to keep it, and—”

“He’s pretty much illiterate,” Robin calls from a little ways behind him.

She’s waiting by a pretty maroon car. It looks like a luxury model of some kind, shiny like it’s fresh off the lot. She leans against it like it’s hers, but Steve’s got the keys in his hand — the one not holding the book he bought for you.

“…I was gonna say I haven’t read anything since junior year of high school, but sure,” he concedes with a shrug. His eyes sparkle down at you— or maybe it’s just the street lamps flickering on. Either way, you feel your stomach whirling. He waves the book at you. “Take it. You’ll actually read it.”

“But…” you trail off, eyes flickering over to Robin. You step closer to Steve and lean in like you’re about to tell him a secret. “Won’t your girlfriend be upset?”

“Girlfriend?” the boy repeats with pinched brows. He goes soft with realization a second later, then starts to laugh. “No. Robin, she’s— No. She’s not really my type.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer with wide eyes.

If cool, pretty girls aren’t his type, then there’s no way in hell you are.

Slightly comforted by his assurances, when he motions the book to you again, you take it.

“Well, thank you, Steve. That’s… That’s really nice.”

He shrugs again. “’S no big deal. Really.”

“But I feel a little bad,” you confess quietly, peeking at him from beneath your lashes while you fidget with the book in your anxious hands. “I feel like I should give you something in return, or, I don’t know, like—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve assures with the shake of his head. He swipes a hand through the chocolate-honey locks and flashes you a smile that borders on shy. “But if you wanted to go out for coffee or something sometime, then I’d be willing to call it even.”

Your cheeks burn. You don’t know if you’re breathing anymore, or if you even can. A quiet smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you nod. “Coffee sounds good,” you answer sheepishly.

“Cool,” Steve replies coolly, like he isn’t totally beaming down at you. “Then, just… call me whenever you’re free.”

“Oh, I don’t— I don’t have your number.”

His sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as he walks backwards to his car. He just nods at you, smiling gently as he argues, “Yeah, you do.”

Your brows furrow in confusion — because you most certainly don’t. He was a stranger to you a little more than ten minutes ago. You have no reason to have his number.

Realization settles over you like pinpricks down your spine, butterflies in your belly.

You open the front cover of the book and find several numbers written down at the very bottom of the cover page.

Call me when you finish, the note reads in half-legible chicken scratch. I’m not really a book guy, but I could probably hear you talk about them all day.

He signs off with his name, number, and a sloppy smiley face.

You don’t realize you’re beaming until you already are.

When you look back up at Steve, you find him standing at the open driver’s side door, already smiling back at you.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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what-even-is-thiss · 1 year

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What’s interesting to me about the conclusion to the original Percy Jackson books is that it finds an interesting middle ground between the “returning everything to the way it was before” and “upending society entirely” plots you often get in young adult fiction.

Realistically, Percy and his friends know that the overthrow of the Olympians is impossible at this point in time, and that the alternatives to the current people in charge is even worse. So the system can’t or shouldn’t be uprooted, and in this particular case the uprooting of the system would cause irreparable damage to the world as a whole.

But. When the main character is offered as a reward the opportunity to join the current system, he doesn’t take it. Instead he says, the system you have in place right now is unfair. Amend it. And instead of choosing immortality for himself he chooses to use his favor to make a measurable difference in the lives of the other people being directly affected by the gods in charge.

And this, to me, is a more realistic view of change and what kids reading the series will likely witness in their everyday lives as they grow up. The current systems in place are rarely perfect enough to leave unaltered and the people looking to upend the system from its roots are often looking to do so for more selfish reasons than they’re letting on. But a person or group can make a small change for the better, and even small changes can make life measurably better, and that’s something worth striving for.

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neptunes-sol-angel · 3 months

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Pick the picture(s) that you're drawn to the most, then scroll down for its corresponding message for insight on what's next for you in love.

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Pile One ♡

I strongly feel that most people in this pile would be considered as someone who is inexperienced in love, maybe you guys are bookworms, maladaptive daydreamers, and writers yourselves when it comes to visualizing your future, different settings for how the world could be, and breathing life into the people that you haven’t gotten the chance or time to get to know yet. What’s next for you in love, is practice. You’re upgrading from being Bambi by becoming the Great Prince of the Forest by taking risks before you are able to know and find what is right for you. Some of you may believe in holding yourself tightly before you meet “the one” but the message is that you are being unfair to yourself by putting your life on hold to revolve it around someone who is also learning too, but isn’t waiting like you are doing. This doesn’t mean to be reckless or to feel coerced into going along with people you don’t have a good feeling about just for the sake of finally being in a relationship. This stage is about exploration and enjoying yourself before you meet your life partner. If you resonate with being a bookworm, you could be the type to read romantic fictional stories on a platform like wattpad, and while it serves its purpose which is to make you feel good, it could create an irregular perception of love for you, like subconsciously romanticizing traits that are toxic or wouldn’t be something that you would actually like if you were to actually experience it. For some, it could be re-evaluating your attraction to individuals, like when you crush on someone, you could find that they really look good, but do you yearn for more from them? Your path in love could be redirecting you to pay attention to how a person makes you feel than what you get from them on a surface level of interaction.

Pile Two ♡

There was someone in your life that you once felt like you couldn’t live without or took something from you that seemed irretrievable, but you’re being blessed in a way that’s shutting all of those lies down. You’re getting you back, in whichever way that it applies. This could be your motivation to take care of yourself, to do things that made you feel happy and at peace before this dwindle ending happened, like going to the gym, arts & craft, writing, solo trips or going out with friends, and even something simple as such as looking good for yourself, but it’s not limited to what was mentioned. This could even look like getting closer to who your deity or deities and spiritual maintenance. The best way that I can describe this, is that this phase in love is like this big circle of energy, stuff that was taken or borrowed from you, that’s being marinated before it is returned because it isn’t just aspects from the past, it’s also the time for creation. This whole entire time, your rain of tears that were collected from this heartbreak were observed yet not ignored, but transmuted into this empire that you’re building off of the corpses of failures that you’ve experienced with not just people but life circumstances, maybe when that break up happened it just seemed that more tragedies kept following you after that and it drove you into insanity like when does this pain ever end? Although you can’t forget about it, you’re learning how to soften from these things that stung you in the past, so that you can keep moving and consolidate your wishes. For some, this is personal, and an era that you’d like to be selfish with in order to see what else you can create, like developing a strong daily routine, starting that business, or maybe even working on yourself so that you can heal others, while the other side of this collective will open their hearts again to a new love which can be romance, friendship, or even adoption that is just as equally healing.

Pile Three ♡

The next thing in love for you is learning how to stop trying to win. I’m picking up multiple scenarios for this but the premise is that people in this pile are in love situations where there is no winner, and if there is, let the other person be the one to have it so that you can walk away and stop blocking yourself from better to come in. Some of you are in a long battle with a person by competing with them on who has the upperhand in the situationship, this involves the runner and chaser dynamic constantly reversing and both of you keeping tabs on each other when you’re supposed to be in no contact. The second scenario is sticking beside someone who has a wandering eye but trying relentlessly to get this person to choose you the way that you choose them. The third scenario is in general, trying to prove yourself in order to gain love from others by manipulating yourself and even them to win their affection. There is this storm brewing, you can even call this a tower moment, that could happen to finally get you to see the many ways that you are downplaying yourself with people who have stayed in your space and energy for far too long. You’re going to surrender from these situations to know what it means to pick yourself up and see how beautiful and worthy you are to the extent where you’ll be baffled by how much you’ve been settling for people who don’t deserve you. This phase will come with new connections, but what makes it different is realizing your authority in this by realizing how possible and freeing it is to choose people that choose you. Once you realize that you’re the prize in this game, let the winner take pride in being the fumbler, and be proud of yourself for not being the one to fumble you.

#divination #intuitive #psychic #pick a card #tarot #spirituality #pac #tarotblr #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot community #love reading #love readings #valentines day

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saccharineomens · 1 month

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i've been poking at this too long to care how visually appealing it is anymore. My headcanons for the main characters' sexualities, based on canon information! (has no bearing on ships.) Canon speculation below the cut.

marcille (bi): fascinated by romance and loves romance. we only see her show explicit interest in a male (fictional character (General Halleus from the book series she loves)), but i don't think she's fully straight.

falin (aro? ace? lesbian? genderqueer?): falin's only interest in relationships in canon is 'she considered accepting shuro's proposal because she was afraid nobody else would want her, but felt it'd be unfair to him because she had no feelings for him'. i consider whether she's aroace or a lesbian or maybe bi/pan, and she also seems like she might have some genderqueer feelings, based on some of her discomfort with her body and wearing certain types of femme clothing. (Also the fact that she‘s part male dragon.) Since she ends the story going on a journey for herself, it feels like she'll finally get the chance to figure out what she wants.

laios (pan, demi): he hasn't shown explicit interest in men, but similar to marcille, i don't feel he's fully straight. He’s aesthetically attracted to monsters, at the very least, so gender probably doesn’t factor in for him. romance/sex just don’t seem to be much of a high priority to him in general, but he did think his ex-fiance was cute and didn't seem uncomfortable with the idea of marriage (just seemed unhappy with being trapped in his hometown), so i feel like demisexuality fits him well.

About his succubus: He was very noticeably not stopped in his tracks by it like Chilchuck and Marcille, but that could possibly be because it just….looked exactly like Marcille, not an obvious fantasy. He started blushing and stammering heavily when it turned into a monster, which like….this boy is definitely a furry/monsterfucker, if anything, but that doesn’t speak on his attraction to actual humans.

I think it speaks for something that the succubi are able to literally read minds and craft the perfect fantasy for their specific target. And for Laios, it wasn’t just “his friend Marcille”. It was a version of his friend Marcille that wasn’t grossed out by monsters, didn’t think he was weird for wanting to be one, and was able to turn Laios into one. It was a Marcille who understood him at his deepest level that made him become a blushing, stammering mess to rival Chilchuck. Which is why I think he’s Demi, and needs a strong emotional connection with someone before he finds them attractive.

kabru (pan): his special interest is people, and he's bold enough with his sexuality to kiss rin despite not being in a relationship with her. so being pan/bi feels appropriate.

chilchuck (bi): he has a wife, and they were childhood friends, so he's definitely allo. but his comments and behavior towards senshi makes me suspect he might be bi, and just never considered the possibility due to being in a committed relationship.

senshi (gay, ace): this is 90% off of vibes. he keeps to himself in the dungeon and doesn't seem to have any need for social company, he's a complete hermit. Being ace makes sense to me, but so would him just having a low social drive. His succubus was 'a woman he hadn't seen since he was a child', but his journal implies it wasn't a romantic/sexual attraction.

namari (bi/lesbian): she is at the very least attracted to women, given her behavior with kiki, but she does make a point to say that kaka is also attractive to her, and her friends at the bar tease her about Kaka being her “new” boyfriend (implying previous boyfriends).

shuro: the token straight (in love with falin, asked her to marry him). i love you shuro <3 (but i can also see him being into men. there's no evidence to the contrary)

izutsumi: aroace. literally no question. her succubus is her mother.

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l4long-winded · 2 months

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mad carmy with sassy reader that doesn’t take his shit!!! (smut!)

ask and you shall receive (happy valentine's day, love)

o.s. fire in the freezer

summary: it's opening night and you're stuck inside the walk-in with your boss, carmen. can the night get any worse? (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this took me embarrassingly long. i had a lot to get through these past weeks. i still have a busy schedule with college and life, but i want to do more of these. i have about 3 or 4 prompts i need to get to, but i think i'll be able to manage. also, this might be ooc for some people? idk, it's fiction. please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, longwinded descriptions, angry!carmy, angry!reader, takes place during the season 2 finale (pretending claire doesn't exist), implied enemies to lovers, reader's pov, reader is a line cook(?), arguing, surprise kissing, walk-in shenanigans, dirty talk, mention of fridge guy, use of the word "slutty," walk-in p in v, unprotected (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,140

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

“What the fuck did you just say?”

It’s alarming how crimson his face appears considering the walk-in’s cold air biting at both your limbs, how you imagine the rising heat of his breath combats the freezer’s chill, puffs relaying the steam building within him. It’s a miracle it doesn’t fume from his ears. Fifteen minutes have passed, fifteen minutes of remaining silent as Carmen mouthed off about the unfairness of the situation, how his cell phone doesn’t have service, how he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on out there when your coworkers have seemingly abandoned the both of you to fend for yourselves. You don’t blame him. You don’t want to be in here any more than he does, but there’s this wretched thing about Carmen that he does when tensions are high and his temper flies off the handle. He gets mean. He becomes hurtful. You’ve worked with him long enough to see it occur, the venomous speech he mutters at a high volume as a tendon in his neck protrudes and the person being yelled at flinches in shock. Though such poison’s never been doused over your head, he’s never directed that anger towards you.

Until now. He inadvertently called you an idiot along with the coworkers busying themselves outside the walk-in. There’s not much they can do about the freezer’s handle breaking, and you both know that, but he’s not calming himself down, nor is he making this easier on you when you’re stuck in the same situation as him. You two are prideful and confident in your actions in the kitchen. Sure, you’ve butted heads a few times and stared each other down from afar, but your relationship’s been tame for the most part.

“I said, ‘Stop acting like a fucking cunt.’” You bark back. So much for being tame. You couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. Everyone has the grace and privilege of being able to ignore him since he’s locked away here with you, but unfortunately, you’re not as lucky. You don’t appreciate being talked down to and you won’t take it from your boss just because he’s irate and the world is crumbling beneath your feet. You want to head out there and contribute to the restaurant as he does, but you’re also not spewing hateful soliloquies to the one person who could possibly understand what you’re going through. That, and it’s fucking cold in here, you’re irritated by the temperature frosting over your skin. It’s opening night and you’re stuck with your least favorite person in the kitchen—your least favorite person possibly in Chicago. The last thing you’re going to do is sulk near the stored ingredients while he shouts and pounds away at the freezer’s door.

This is his fucking fault. How fucking dare he? Why are you paying for his sin?

Just as it did the first time, the second time renders him, miraculously, speechless. It’s not because he doesn’t have anything to reply back, this is evident in how he purses his lips together and clenches his jaw. You notice it flex as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, previously hidden by the collar he’s now unbuttoned. He stares at you with a pointed gaze, eyebrows ever so slightly knitted inwards. Neither of you has to utter a single word to understand how much you can’t fucking stand each other, how Carmen is purposely holding back since you’ve caught his petulant tantrum and condescended him for it. The absence of sound between you two is grim as if he’s waiting for the apology, but fuck him, you’re not apologizing for shit. Instead, you mimic his facial expression like he’s staring into a mirror, crossing your arms against your chest for good measure to illustrate the guard he won’t be breaking through anytime soon.

Carmen steps forward. It’s a singular step. There’s only backwards to go before you end up meeting the shelves, so you remain where you are. His body heat radiates, prominent not because you’re that close, but because the freezer’s becoming more unforgiving the longer you’re both in here.

“Say it again,” he breathes.

You blink rapidly as if he’s a mirage, as if he’ll disappear, and as if he’s grown two other heads. He wants you to say it again? Is this some kind of a test? It has to be. There aren’t many other options, besides how he steps even closer within your vicinity and away from the locked palisade ahead. The temperature rises, and the fucked part about it is that your body’s instinctual need to survive urges you to collide into his frame to share feverish flames instead of standing in the chilled atmosphere on your lonesome. Carmen’s mandibles buckle, a sign of his bottled intentions, of what he really wants to say. You wish he’d just spit it out rather than goad you into the unemployment line.

“Call me a cunt again,” he dares and confirms your previous thoughts. He’s standing so close, proximity lacking to the point where his hot breath ghosts your nose and cheeks. Again, your instincts urge, and again, you will them to shut the fuck up and let me handle this. How convoluted and capricious you are. Arguing with innate impulses on the inside while arguing with your superior on the outside, fastened to him inside an icy cage as your coworkers take advantage of the kitchen’s liberating space without you. Fuck them too, they haven’t told either of you shit in what feels like forever and Carmen’s acting out of character. He’s not supposed to be with you like this. He’s not supposed to be gazing at you like he’s about to blow up. He’s not supposed to be challenging you into an impossible situation. You’ve called him a cunt twice. Twice. Three times symbolize the three strikes before you’re out.

Well, if you’re going out, you’re going down swinging your bat as hard as you can, spins and all, dirt flying and wind ricocheting. He’s thrown his virulence. Now, it’s your turn.

“Cun—nnnmph,” is not what you expected to utter, but before you could punctuate that final phoneme, Carmen’s mouth swallowed it greedily, and transitioned it into an astonished noise muffled by his lips. Your eyes flutter, searching his face for a way to explain why the hell this is happening, but suddenly, Carmen shifts his head, the kiss he’s sprung on you deepening, and an accidental swipe of his tongue shuts your eyes. All in a matter of two conflicted seconds.

“Thought you,” you murmur between his stifling, repeated connections, “wanted me to,” he’s practically shoving his tongue against yours, “call you a–”

He grunts in frustration. Seemingly towards you. His hands grasp your biceps, forcing your eyes onto his as his breathing shallows out. “Believe me, it won’t be the only time you put a cunt in my mouth tonight,” he says sharply. You don’t know why your thighs tremor. You fault the near-hypothermia.

“Shit, you’re cold,” he states the obvious as his attention turns to his palms on your arms, as if he didn’t just plant such a filthy image in your mind’s eye. His thumbs stroke over your goosebumps, examining your skin with careful scrutiny. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you see worry cross his visage for a moment. His hands aren’t any better, but they’re warmer than your flesh, and skin-to-skin makes this situation a little more bearable. You won’t tell him that, but he seems to have an idea of how you’re not flinching away from his touch. In fact… you’re leaning into it.

“Of course I am. It’s the walk-in,” you say sarcastically. “Wouldn’t be here if you had just called Tommy,” you add, but he exhales a heavy breath through his nose. He shrugs off his jacket to his Chef’s Whites, rolling his eyes, muttering something to himself about Tony, Terry, and Tommy, fucking fuck it all.

“Shut the fuck up, put this on, and turn around,” he hands you the jacket. He had the prerogative of wearing sleeves in here, so he’s not as frigid as you are (temperature-wise, anyway).

“It’ll keep you warm while I fuck you,” he promises, hard gaze on your eyes. You gulp, a desire within you to tell him off for being so presumptive of what’s happening here. Yet, that desire is viciously censored in favor of the desire to do as he says, or more so, the idea of being railed to distract you from how cold you are.

You slip his jacket on, pivoting on your heel, biting your tongue as you lean forward and grasp the metal belonging to the shelves ahead. The inside of his sleeves are already snug and cozy on your arms because of how long he wore it. You hate it. The smug bastard’s not supposed to be right.

You gulp as Carmen’s knuckles graze your lower back, lifting his jacket out of his way for a moment to tug at the waistband of your pants. You hear his breathing stutter, his hand skimming down the sensitive flesh of your ass as his eyes trace over the thin fabric of the panties you chose today.

“Is your underwear always this slutty?” He asks, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. To be fair, you didn’t know this would be happening today.

“Find out tomorrow,” you settle for. It seems to be the appropriate response because he groans and kneads at the flesh gathered at your hip as an appreciative gesture. This won’t be the last time this happens. It can’t be.

There’s rustling behind you. You hear the sound of Carmen’s belt before you feel the cold metal prod at the meat of your posterior, sent forward since he’s not fully tugging the leather material from the loops of his pants. It’s just enough for him to get at his zipper, the noise causing your hands to grip the shelves ahead of you even tighter. Carmen’s thumbnail slides along your skin as he tucks his thumb under your panties to position them to the side. The blunt head of him strokes at your entrance, his opposite hand pushing between your shoulder blades to exacerbate the bend at your hips and the pretty dip in your spine.

“You’re really hard for a man who’s surrounded by this much cold,” you mutter smugly. It’s all your doing, revving up his engine through simply challenging him amid his grizzly attack.

However, the smugness dies on your tongue once Carmen pushes in. He didn’t offer you a smartass response, instead offering you the breach of his length, the swollen head of him prying at your soaked walls up until his hips are flush with yours. Your trembling returns and it’s no longer because of the cool air, but because Carmen begins to thrust the second your cunt gives to him. Wrath fades from your mouth, and a moan replaces it, indicating your lust and enjoyment from this, much to your own dismay.

“M’this hard because I was thinking about how fucking warm you’d be around me,” he grunts, leaning over you and jostling you with his strong movements. His pace isn’t brutal, but the pressure of each of his thrusts is. He pulls back and then buries himself as deep as he could go, the sounds of his effort being in the way his hips collide with the flesh of your ass, a smack every time he hits it just right. And fuck, does he hit it just right. The horrible thing is it’ll stroke his massive ego. The great, amazing, toe-curling thing is that it feels like nirvana. The tip of his cock becomes acquainted with a pivotal point within you that has your vision blurred, unable to make out a single label of the cans and containers in front of your face.

“H-how warm is it?” You manage. Somehow. Conversation isn’t your prerogative while you’re bent over and being receptive, gasping for air every time you attempt to shift your hips back into him and he surpasses another inch inside of you. But you’re curious.

“Like a damn furnace,” he answers quickly, increasing his pace just as fast as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Tighter than I imagined,” he confesses, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. Your feet shuffle apart, legs spreading further for him as you pant and do your best not to whine. You can’t give him that satisfaction.

But it’s no use. His name shoots off your tongue like a prayer, a Freudian slip, his middle finger stroking along your clit in time with his bruising plunges.

“Wet, so, so fucking wet,” he continues, “drenching me and setting me on fire at the same fucking time.”

Fuck, you hope they never open that door.

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #the bear fic #the bear #fire in the freezer #l4l.oneshot

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bbnibini · 6 months

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Random Cocytus Hall Headcanons

Mornings start late. Breakfast is lunch, lunch is dinner and dinner are some random snacks in the middle of the night–small and bite-sized, especially made for one particular sorcerer who has a tendency to forget his meals once he’s deep in his research.

Solomon gained a habit of eating anything that’s put in front of him, your pen? Gone. MC? Why is the steak crunchy? Man’s literally pavloved to do this because he wouldn’t eat otherwise. (Thanks, OG!Timeline, Simeon.)

Your weekends are spent scouring for magical items that will be considered rare in the original timeline/future. An "investment" if you will.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” “Am I also a worm, MC?” “No????” “Can I be one too? 🥺👉👈” (He doesn’t want you to be alone)

“Pretending” to be a couple to get couple’s discounts in everything. Purposely making a scene in public for clout. (Fake proposals, wholesome pranks and polite catcalling). You both like the chaos. Responsibly (because Barbatos is watching). Sometimes, Asmo joins in too!

Every day is a marathon to outrun Solomon to the kitchen. It’s rather unfortunate that most of the time when it’s his turn to do the cooking, something goes wrong and you have to eat out. Not like he minds (a date is a date<3).

This is you everytime you try to wake Solomon in the morning. (He’s a notorious night owl and also a light sleeper, so he made some precautions to get a good rest by casting several layers of sound blocking spells that activate once his brain waves fall into a specific frequency range. And yes. You have to disarm them One.By.One. Every.Morning.) As much as you want him to sleep longer, unfortunately, RAD doesn’t have night class. :’( (What is even “night” in Devildom if it’s always dark? Don’t mind me having an existential crisis over a fictional realm lmao)

Solomon isn’t the type of person who voices out his grievances. He’s the type who endures and always tries to act “maturely”, especially in situations he considers unfair. (Please protect this man. He doesn’t know a thing about receiving compassion nor affection. It’s a very touchy subject to him; he would rather give and get nothing in return. Because that's what always happens. Kindness makes him vulnerable and being vulnerable scares him. )Why would he make his dearest apprentice worry? You are a person meant to be loved(unlike him), and he is painfully aware how he would have to share your attention with everyone else. What you might not know is how much he beats himself up over feeling “petty emotions”. Jealousy? Loneliness? A few swigs of liquid courage would make him forget, even just for the night. He is Solomon the Wise, not Solomon the Fool.

Is the type who answers you in person every time you try to text him in Decommunication:

You Hey, do we still have some bread? seen 1 hour ago

Then when you got tired waiting for him to text back he just: *Teleports behind you* “I bought some now! Did we forget anything else?”“SOLOMON I AM LITERALLY IN THE BATHROOM RIGHT NOW! HOW DID YOU GET HERE? WHY CAN’T YOU ANSWER MY TEXTS LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?!”“But…what about the bread? :( I got it for you.” "GET. OUT." "Do you need toilet pap-" "GET OUT!!!"

Contrary to Solomon’s defeatist beliefs, you crave his presence as much as he does. The little traces of him in Cocytus hall that lingers there even in his absence brings you so much comfort and reassurance. He is the first person you turn to in difficult times. “If Solomon is here, everything will be okay.” is a mantra you like muttering to yourself when you are especially troubled. Perhaps if a certain, depressed and inebriated soul would come to hear it, his own heart’s worries would finally be silenced.

WE GET IT! YOU’RE MARRIED!! <; —----- everyone when you talk about each other

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Happy NB Remix Release! Take this late tribute (AO3 mirror)

#oops forgot to put this as a scheduled post #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me headcanons #obey me solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #shall we date obey me

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izzyliker · 6 months

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it’s fine to love s2 but i wish people would stop acting like this show is like a documentary and not a scripted piece of romantic comedy fiction. like “well many real people don’t even get to have a community before dying so think about that” or “i’m disabled, if i died tomorrow would you say all my healing was for nothing?” is about real people who really die for mundane and unfair reasons. ofmd is a tv show with writers who kill characters for reasons outside of the fictional universe for various reasons and killing off a character who was maimed by the main character to the point of needing to have his leg amputated to bolster ed’s nonexistent character development isn’t a freak accident happening to a real person, it’s a choice made by writers who said that izzy had been put through enough and now needed to die. you are not a fictional character. izzy is. and david jenkins is a showrunner whose reason for killing izzy - the only character whose disability is centered and the heart of his arc towards finding love and community - is because he doesn’t think ed can flourish with izzy in his life & because izzy has “been through enough” and now has to be put down like an elderly dog.

#best wishes gargoyle king #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd negative

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savefiledelta · 2 months

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Hazbin Hotel, The Death of a Misogynist, and The Issue with Aesthetics of Redemption

Now that we have the pretentious psuedo-intellectual caption, let me clarify that I love Hazbin Hotel, Adam is a horrific (fictional) person whos actions shouldn’t be belittled in an actual discussion. I’ve been thinking about this horrible, horrible man alot though!

So, the baseline. The hook and pitch of Hazbin Hotel is that its a show about demons being redeemed and working through their issues while the world dismisses the idea of change. The actual story of Hazbin Hotel is a constant uphill battle against an unfair, fascist bureaucracy and the status quo of complacency its created, while the world dismisses the idea of change. My issue is I don’t think Hazbin Hotel is truly interested in discussions about redemption. I enjoy its discussions on status quo and complacency, but all its shown is that its entirely uninterested in talking about redemption in any meaningful way.

The character of Adam, from his first to near-last moments on screen is consistently characterized as an entitled, misogynistic, dangerous man-child who firmly believes himself above the concept of making mistakes. The first man thinks that he was made perfect and thus acts above those around him. (Despite this he is a delight to have on screen, hes hilarious, don’t @ me). In the final episode of Season 1, Adam is killed in an anticlimactic way after his third act breakdown. Perhaps its the shows own evident pacing issues, but I find it very strange that a show with the aesthetics of rehabilitation portrays Adam as beyond it, and a joke. (Which he very well might be, but it conflicts with the shows aesthetics). Why is a show which claims to be about second chances so disconnected to its pure-evil villains? This critique somewhat extends to Valentino, but I consider him to be more of a plot device for Angel’s own arc (which I love) rather than his own character (it would be extreme tonal whiplash to try to humanize him so soon after Poison) While Adam exists as an extension of heaven and one of the shows many embodiments of an evil status quo.

In the show’s current state, it doesn’t treat the residents of the hotel as “that bad” of people. Which is good for a show supposedly about rehabilitation! But it clashes so hard with how it (and to a worse degree its fandom, but I digress) treat characters who’re meant to be hated.

This post might not be entirely honest, as in Adam’s very last moments he smiles to his lieutenant in an admittedly heartfelt scene, humanizing him in a way the show didn’t care to before. And while I enjoy this, unless Adam and Lute’s possible remnants of humanity are explored in season 2, the show’s aesthetics are hypocritical with how it treats pure-evil.

Also Guitarspear😭

#adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin #guitarspear

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multiwreckedmess · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 1

Prompt: Costume Pairing: San x fem!reader WC: 1,900 Summary: When you and your boyfriend have a minor disagreement on what to do for your halloween costumes, you hatch a plan to have him see your side.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent San or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

TW/CW under the cut

TW/CW: Sort of petplay, reader called “kitty”, “kitten” as well as “babe” and “sweetie”, oral (m. receiving), unprotected intercourse, finishing inside, tail plug mentioned. I think that’s about it.

Staring into the monochrome abyss of San’s closet you huff. “Babe? What are we wearing for Hongjoong’s Halloween party?” He doesn’t turn from his game, frantic clicks of the mouse filing the space where his reply should be. “Babe?” You ask again, foolishly hopeful. More clicking, punctuated by a flood of curses under his breath. You purse your lips and turn to him, the silhouette of his chair blocking him. “San?” His fist slams into the table, “SHIT! Sorry. Dead. I got 1 minute. What? Sorry.” “Costume. Halloween party?” “I was thinking we’d buy a couples-” “BUY?” Your eyes bug incredulously. The thought opens wide a can of childhood trauma. Years of your parents insisting that you create your costumes with clothes either from the second hand store or existing closet pieces with minimal single use articles. While others got to dress as Jesse from Toy Story or Cinderella, you had to figure out your best approximation of what a witch would look like in modern dress. San’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? Yes? How else do you get a costume?” “Where is your spirit of creation?! I might as well dress up like a cat if you’re just going to buy some shitty costume.” San rolls his eyes, exasperated. “You can’t make a cat into a couples costume.” “You go ahead and buy the costumes. I’ll put together mine and show you how much better it is.”

It’s manipulative, you know it is, as you examine yourself in the mirror. You’d probably never wear this ensemble out, but it was about the message. Fuzzy ears clipped to the top of your head matched beautifully with the tail plug tickling the back of your thighs from under your skirt. It was almost unfair, almost.

Leaning against the doorframe you watch him click away, unaware of the treat sitting mere meters away from him. You knock and wait patiently with a small smirk tugging at your lips. “He-holy shit,” San turns and stops in his tracks, eyes racking over your body. Whatever he was doing or going to do long forgotten he launches himself from the computer chair. He whole body throbs for a second as his arms tighten around you and lift, moving you with ease. For a second he considers tossing you fully onto the mattress but decides better, it would be a waste instead placing you in the center of the bedroom. “Such a pretty kitty,” San purrs, pushing your hair behind your ear. Nails scratching lightly at your scalp, his eyes shine as as shiver runs down your body. “So you like it?” You tug slightly at the half gloves covering your wrist, smoothing them taut to you. Small rubber paw prints adorn the palms, soft and squishy and pink. Your stockings have them too, just at the ball of the foot, with matching pretty pink bows at the tops of the thighs. You twirl, tripping lightly as the rubber paws grip the ground more than you’re prepared for. San’s arms wrap around you again and secure you as his chest blocking your tumble. “Maybe a little dangerous to wear out,” he muses, hand trailing your spine. “We’ll have to take care of that, won’t we kitty?” His mind feels hazy as the blood flow redirects southwards. He shouldn’t be as attracted to this outfit as he is. You just look so cute, so so SO cute it makes his head swim.

It’s impossible to hide the pulse of interest in his sweatpants, comfy and breathable grey cotton leaving nothing to the imagination. “Take care of what?” You bat your eyelashes dumbly, prolonging the game. Your hands skim down to the waistband of his pants, feeling the flex of his lower abs as his breath catches. His own hand pushes up the back of your skirt, tugging lightly at the tail, stirring the plug within you just enough to make you whine. “Don’t worry kitty, just follow me,” he smiles, palm cupping your ass. “get on your knees for me, won’t you?” You’ve never dropped to your knees faster, looking up at his toned body with wide eyes. He barely moves his head to look down at you, only his eyes following. Your mouth waters, staring at the tented outline pressing insistently to the fabric. “Be a good kitty and open your mouth for me,” his thumb strokes your cheek, your jaw softening and falling open in his hand. One handed, he pushes the top of his pants down, thick cock springing from the confines. Heavy and musky he taps the head on your outstretched tongue, sucking in air through his teeth. It the eager twinkle in your eye as you patiently wait for his next instruction that stokes the fire in his gut. “That’s it, now just the tip sweetie, just a little lick for me,” he coaxes.

Tongue flicking gently against the underside you listen for his breathy moan, mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You barrage him with sweet kitten licks all over the head of his dick. As much as he can control his body he couldn’t control his expression, fighting to keep his eyes open his eyelids flutter. “Li’e tha’?” You ask, words slurred with your tongue lolling out. “Just like that,” he sighs, “just keep your mouth open babe, let me do the work.” Letting the weight of his member rest heavily on your tongue you hold your head still, eyes fixed upwards, gazing at his face. Gathering your hair into a loose fist at the base of your scalp, his hips press forward into your inviting heat. It’s barely halfway down before he feels the resistant tight ring of your throat against him. Hazily he shallowly thrusts against it, the sound of your soft gags awakening something primal in him. Tears welling in your eyes you work hard to breath through your nose as he loses himself briefly to the rhythm. “Doin’ so well-,” he gasps, “a lil’ more. Such a good obedient kitty. A lil’ more for me.”

Your core throbs impatiently, gut twisting and tightening. His choked back moans and lack of oxygen have you lightheaded, your own hand wandering between your thighs to provide some relief to your unattended sex. Subtle twitches of his thighs and cock tell you he’s close, an unrepressed moan burbling up from your lungs has him retreating quickly, strands of spit and salty precum bridging the gap in your bodies. “Don’ wan’ cum?” You gulp and gasp, wiping your lips on the back of the arm warmers. San shakes his head, eyes unfocused and breathing heavily. You don’t have time to question why before he is pulling you up by your forearms and tossing you face down into the unmade sheets of the bed like you were little more than a misplaced pillow. He’s on you nearly as fast, hand running up the back of your thighs to your slit. “Practically dripping,” he growls and giggles all at once, giddy. You push back on his hand with a moan. “All for you,” your voice is horse and ragged. “Good kitty.”

The blunt pressure of his cock breaching your entrance forces a harsh exhale from you. Your skirt is bunched and balled into his fists at your waist, little more than makeshift handles for him to use as he pushes his way into your tight heat. The slickness of your arousal eases the push as his hips roll against you, deeper and deeper with each stroke until he’s fully seated in your cunt. Elated, you wiggle back at him, shaking the tail still snuggly held in by the plug. San marvels at how your walls stretch and hug to accommodate his thickness. The audio visual experience of your small moans and tight hole eagerly sucking him back dulls his wits. For a moment he drops the skirt to palm your ass, spreading you so he can better watch himself disappear as he shallowly fucks into you, absentmindedly stroking the fur of the tail draped down your back. It’s just enough to jostle the plug, tight ring of muscle flexing to hold it in. Your chest tightens and vision blurs, elbows faltering and falling cheek first into the mattress. “It feels good,” you try to say, only bubbles of spit and moans managing to make their way out of your mouth. “You’re so fucked,” San laughs as his hips snap into you faster. “You’re so hot.” “Fuuuuck,” you groan in agreement. “I’m fuuuuucked.” The words bounce with the shaking of your body, uncontrolled and automatic. San fists your strip of a skirt, using it as leverage to fuck into you harder and faster. You can hardly breathe as your orgasm rolls over you, one after another, walls clenching and spasming around his cock. Fingers claw at the bed, twitching as you pant and groan and swear underneath him. He drops his hold on your skirt, unceremoniously allowing you to crumple to the bed as he pulls from you. “Nooo,” you whine pitifully at the loss of sensation. Exhaustion plagues your muscles but your gut needs more, craves more. You ragdoll as he pushes you to your back, clambering between your thighs again. It’s rougher than he’s every been with you. You stomach flutters and flips and he practically folds you in half, pressing your knees up to your armpits and sliding back into you. “Don’t worry kitty, you’ll get your treat,” he murmurs in your ear, breath tickling your jaw. This angle is a different kind of intense, his body weight heavy on your lungs, restricting your airflow just enough to have you buzzing. His biceps flex as he holds himself and your legs up as best he can, your stockinged feet waving loosely in the air with each thrust. You hold onto him, clinging to his back with all your might. Your ears ring and rush as you lose yourself in his motions. “Cum, please, cum,” you chant into his shoulder. “Fuck your cum into your cute kitten.” Spit and sweat commingling on your lips. You curl up, forehead pressed to the junction as you climax, vision darkening and eyelids fluttering. You’d scream but your lungs are empty and diaphragm clenched. Everything burns from the inside out. Gasping, you bite down on his trapezius, his strangled groan of pleasure and surprise breaking through your haze as his hips stutter and slam as deep as he can go into you. The warmth of his release coats your walls as they work him.

San whimpers and then giggles quietly. “Sorrysorrysorrysorry,” you spew in a whispered prayer. “Don’t apologize to me,” he kisses your cheek. “Intense right?” You don’t answer, eyes closed in bliss. All is quiet except for your breaths and the occasional light smack of lips to skin as you pepper eachother with pecks. You let him lower your legs to the bed, release slightly seeping out around his cock as he moves you. “You like the costume?” You trade an obvious question with a second obvious question. “Skirts ruined, sorry,” he giggles again. “Pussy ruined.””

You glare at him. He shifts slightly, balancing himself on one arm as he grabs an errant ear from between the pillows. “See? Pussy ruined. Besides, not a couples costume so-” it was such a San answer, letting you win the battle but not the war.

I’m really not promising much if anything but I wanna write more frequently sooo here you go. As usual, please let me know if I am missing tags or if you’d like me to add any TW/CW that are sensitive for you to any upcoming fics!

Also i noticed the formatting is a little fucked on mobile i’m so sorry i think it’s that i copy paste in from another doc but like...it’s hard to tell. It’s the first paragraph. Sorry!!

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ateez smut #san smut #choi san smut #atz smut #ateez kinktober

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thenickgirl · 14 days

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NSFW Alphabet: Nick Edition

bf!nick x male!reader

disclaimer: i did not come up with this idea, all credit to owner. this is all fictional and based on my own conclusions.

warnings: not proofread. all nsfw. mentions of slapping, choking, degradation, and spitting. sub and dom nick.

I believe Nick is a switch, so i’m gonna answer these accordingly.

A: Aftercare, how are they like after sex?

✩ will help clean you up, maybe even shower together. will get you water or snacks if you need them, lots of cuddles, soft kisses, and praises.

B: Body part, what's their favorite body part?

✩ his favorite body part on himself is definitely his arms, he loves his tattoos; his favorite part of your body is your hands, he loves having them all over him.

C: Cum, anything to do with cum

✩ no cum shots whatsoever. will swallow it, but doesn’t want it on him; however, if he cums and you lick it off of him he might cum again cause he thinks it’s fucking hot.

D: Dirty secrets/Dirty talk, self explanatory.

✩ a literal slut for dirty talk! he gets so turned on by it, and also love doing it.

E: Experience, how experienced are they?

✩ not very experienced, but knows enough.

F: Favorite position.

✩ doggy for sure, his back arch is better than st. louis! cowgirl or reverse cowgirl are also top contenders. when he tops he loves doggy as well, and missionary, specifically when your legs on his shoulders.

G: Goofy, how goofy are they?

✩ not really, he’s more serious during intimate moments.

H: Hair, are they well groomed?

✩ doesn’t really care too much about it, but will keep it trimmed.

I: Intimacy, are they intimate during sex?

✩ very, loves taking his time with you. there’s lots of eye contact, and passionate kisses.

J: Jack off (masturbation) How much do they do it?

✩ not often, but if you’re away and he can’t fight off the urge, he’ll do it in the shower.

K: Kinks, what are their kinks?

✩ he has a few:

- degrading kink, whether he tops or bottoms, he loves to degrade and be degraded. “you’re such a little slut for me, aren’t you?” “you love having that dirty mouth of yours full of my cock, don’t you?”

- praise kink when he tops, loves to hear how good he’s making you feel. “you’re fucking me so good mm, can feel you so deep”. he’ll make you talk to him while he’s ball deep because he loves to watch you struggle to speak. “you like that, baby? hm? talk to me”. he also loves to be praised when he bottoms, “you’re taking me so well, baby” “you’re such a good boy for me”.

- he loves overstimulation as a top and a bottom. “c’mon pretty boy, i know you can give me one more”.

- he’s also more rough when he tops, might enjoy light slapping, some choking, or even spitting in your mouth.

L: Location, where is his favorite place to have sex.

✩ somewhere private always, not in to public sex at all, might be willing do it the shower with some convincing. or a bathroom stall if it’s a single room and the door is locked.

M: Motivation, what turns them on?

✩ dirty talk, any sensual touches or caressing his body, kissing.

N: No, what they won't do

✩ no public sex, no piss kinks, no cum shots, no filming.

O: Oral, do they enjoy giving or getting?

✩ he loves giving head, he loves the power. he loves how he make you squirm and shake with just his mouth. when receiving he’s a complete mess and loves it when you decide to take it further and eat his ass.

P: Pace, slow or fast?

✩ it really all depends on the mood.

Q: Quickie, how does he feel about them?

✩ not a fan, but isn’t opposed to it. only if it’s somewhere where no one is bound see or catch you.

R: Risk, does he take risks during sex?

✩ not really, but if there’s something you’re wanting to try he’s up for it.

S: Stamina, how long can they go?

✩ 1-2 rounds when he subs, 3 or more when he tops.

T: Toys, do they enjoy using toys

✩ doesn’t own any, never really thought about using them, but is open to trying them.

U: Unfair, how much do they tease?

✩ A LOT, the #1 teaser. will leave open mouth kisses all over your body, so close to where you want him most and then pull away smirking causing you to whine “what? is there something you want, pretty? tell me”.

V: Volume, are they vocal during sex?

✩ yes, especially when he subs, lots of gasps, whining, whimpering, and breathy moans. when he tops not so much, just groans and loads of dirty degrading talk.

X: X-ray, what going on down there?

✩ it’s big, for sure. at least 8 inches and thick.

Y: Yearning, how high is his sex drive?

✩ not high at all, but it doesn’t take much from you to get him all riled up.

Z: Zzz, does he fall asleep quickly after?

✩ when he’s bottoming yes, he falls asleep soon after you cleaned up. when he tops, he’s still so keyed up it takes him a little while to fall asleep.

taglist: @freshloveforthefit @demistyles @muwapsturniolo @guccifrog @luverboychris @mattslolita @moonk1ss3d @orangelala @imsosillygoofylol

#mr stromboli #stromboli hc #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo x male reader #a headcanon #nick sturniolo x reader

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catcake24 · 2 days

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If I see one more post about “Frye’s gonna become a villain” or “Nintendo is racist huh” about splatfest I’m going to explode.

DUDE. THESE ARE FOR FUN. In universe, no one really cares aside from having bragging rights. So just take a chill pill, you’re taking it more seriously than the fictional characters are.

Also, if anything IS to blame, it’s that 3 sided matches and splatfests are flawed. They’ve changed the points system over and over to make it more fair, but it’s never quite worked because of how chaotic turf war is. Not to mention, most of the playerbase are kids or non-online people meaning it’s more of a gamble rather than skill which decides a splatfest. Frye has lost the dice roll so much because her chances went from 50% chance of winning to 33%, while Shiver and Big Man have gotten luckier.

So, I say this again, just relax. You can take pride in that you fought hard and lost, or even just turn the game off for a bit and see that it doesn’t even really matter.

I swear, this toxic attitude around splatfests being so serious drives me nutty. The three sided splatfests are unfair by design, but it isn’t important which silly idol wins more often than others.

#negative #venting #splatfest #splatoon 3 #ughhhhhh #splatoon

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renmorris · 10 months

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you know the problem people are having with Jean isn’t…Jean right? his bigotry fulfills a purpose and important function in the narrative. I’m a Jean fan. I enjoy a well written miserable loser and Jean ticks a lot of my boxes. So it’s frustrating to be singled out by other Jean fans like this

what people have a problem with is the way popular fandom interacts with Jean. and his bigotry. when a character comes into the story to deride the main character's struggles, to insult him, to ask if he’s incontinent and to tell him that he doesn’t deserve a pension because he doesn’t try hard enough…

and then fandom bends over backwards to paint Jean as in the right about Harry. To make him his caregiver (he is not his caregiver, there are no references to this, this a Fanon invention) and to paint Harry as his abuser/rapist? that’s not something that’s in the text.

it’s like, weird. it’s weird, you cannot claim disco elysium is art and in the same breath refuse to interact with what makes it a complicated piece of art. you can’t just ignore the dialogues on ableism and addiction because you want your fav to be a nice guy. he is not a nice guy. he steals mustard from the homeless. very few people in this game are nice guys. Harry is definitely not a nice guy. that’s kind of the point

TLDR folks don’t have a problem with Jean. He’s a fictional character. What people have a problem with is the real life bile that a lot of fans spit out without any self reflection.

Like seriously some of you just seem to hate disabled ppl/addicts and see them as inherently evil. To reduce this to the idea of 'Jean hate' is just unfair and it feels like fandom is having two different conversations at once

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staarri · 2 months

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hello!! could i please req for a drabble w zayne? (they/them) reader is an overachieving hunter, often exhausting themself after every mission, and is v critical w themself and dr. zayne just comes around to confront them abt it since they've also missed an appointment or two with him^^

thank you in advance~ i understand if ever you won't be able to write this!

𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐩 𝐬𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐦 ( 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 )

— character(s) : zayne

— character(s) are in a relationship with reader, gn!reader, overachieving reader with some mentions of/implied self degradation, may trigger negative thoughts, possible,, slight 4th wall breaking for narrating, this is a work of fiction

fluff , hurt / comfort . word count : 0,8k

hi op :(( i hope you're doing okay!! you're doing your best and all your efforts r noticed!! i hope this can cheer you up a bit

Life is certainly unfair when you feel as if you’re the only hunter actually doing the job for the entire city. When you take on missions, day after day, because nobody else wanted to do it themself. It’s unfair because your co-worker, Xavier, gets to spend his time sleeping in instead of helping you because your company decided not to approve of your 2 day break.

What a great way to end the week.

Knowing you’d have to work once again tomorrow, and the day after, and be required to clear harder missions just for that pay raise you wanted made you feel just a bit burdened. As if Linkon, or the world, depended on you to protect the hundreds of civilians just because you were trained to do so. Don’t get me wrong; You like being a hunter, it’s just the fact it's so demanding. Being called for missions day to day, sometimes you’re being brought back to HQ at the most random times of the day, or night just for a silly meeting.

The burnout is inevitable. The stress will always be there, but your determination’s spark will not be as bright as before–leaving you to be lost in the dark tunnels of your mind, your heart.

It doesn’t help that your superiors have noticed you slacking off work as well. You’re an excellent hunter, dealing with things no one else could just because they were scared. You fought, and fought, and fought. Even on the days you felt that you were just going to give up. You were scared too.

But everything feels different today. Like how a usual cup of coffee someone would order was done wrong because of the high amount of customers. How a pastry dish would come out undercooked because the chef let it bake for a much shorter time in the oven. How your boss would just keep forcing you to come in even if you worked overtime for almost a week straight.

This was your breaking point, you knew it.

And it was definitely evident when you came back home.

Zayne had just come back from his shift in the hospital–for once he was shocked you came home much later than him. Quite angry with you too, angry and disappointed, and you’d expect he had another toxic day handling patients and their families. But it was because of you.

It sounds bad, it really does. So when you open the door you hesitate the tiniest bit. Why wouldn’t you? You skipped 3 of your appointments with him the past week because of you working unnecessary overtime. He had 3 appointments with you where he could do something so much better than wasting his time waiting for you. That’s what you thought at least.

Instead of waiting for you to get in, he opens the door for you instead. Greeting you with a “good evening” in a tone you can't decipher. You wait for the conversation–the scolding to start but he doesn’t dare to speak after getting your bag and help you get comfortable. There’s food on the table–your favorites–and you can already hear the tub fill up with water.

You get in once Zayne says you can. The water is warm, not enough to burn you but enough to remove the tension from your body. There are some bubbles slowly forming to calm you down. He knocks on the door, saying something you can’t quite understand. You feel like you can fall asleep.

Zayne is sitting on the couch, his figure relaxed, you still can’t read how he’s feeling.

“You missed your appointments.” He says, sighing towards the end. He shakes his head as he pats a seat beside him. You take a plate and start eating. For the entire week, you didn’t realize you were this hungry.

“Did I? Sorry.” He scoffs, you take another bite of the cookie.

He looks sad, concern and worry written all over his face. Your wellbeing has always become a first to him. You were important to him and Zayne needed to show that to you somehow.

“I care about you, and you know I understand any decision you make, at all.” You nod, putting the food down first to focus on his words.

“Did… Something happen?”

Being a hunter is demanding, you know that. You both know that. Being a doctor is demanding as well, Zayne forgets to take care of himself from time to time, you two aren’t that different from each other. Might as well make this easy for him.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t say a single thing. He nods and looks at you with those bright eyes, attentive, listening to every word that falls from your mouth. And once you’ve been reduced to what you’d call a “mess”, with tears falling onto your cheeks and damp shirt, he pulls you into a hug. His hand on your hair, just holding you in the dim living room.

I’ve got you, he says. You’re perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

characters belong to their respective companies. everything is written by staarri - do not steal, reupload, translate, modify or feed my work to ai.

#🎏 : my works #IM SORRY FOR THE LATE REPLY AGAIN #oracleofstars #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fluff #zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x reader fluff #zayne fluff #love and deepspace x reader #zayne hurt comfort #zayne comfort

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