#flake give me your T-shirt!

[gorgeousfawn]

#rammstein #richard kruspe #oliver riedel #flake lorenz #room tour:) #flake give me your T-shirt! #danciiiiing:)

[megu-meow]

bbycakes - gojo satoru

gojo x small.fem.reader

Summary: Satoru has to constantly look out for the crazy stunts his girlfriend keeps pulling.

Gojo adored how much he towered over you. From the moment he met you, he knew he had to protect you with all his power. It didn't matter to him how strong of a sorcerer you were and how willing and able you were to fight, he always felt the urge to be your knight in shining armor. It was his way of showing how much he cared, given that he had no idea how he should be showing his love and affection towards you in a more conventional way.

He was obsessed with the way his clothes looked huge on you, how his sweatshirts fit you like dresses and how his t-shirts could reach down to your knees. He observed with a wide grin every morning while he was getting ready to leave for work how your shoes were half the size of his, which was both because of your small feet and his inhumanely large ones.

Sometimes he was annoying about your size difference, he made a habit of resting his arm on the top of your head, which made you look like a child in front of your colleagues, the higher-ups, and even the kids you were trying to teach how to be responsible, talented sorcerers. He also scolded you every time you tried to take on a more challenging mission on your own, lecturing you about the danger you were facing. Sometimes he would treat you like a kid because, in his eyes, you were fragile and small like one. He had to remind himself how strong you actually were, sometimes he forgot you were a semi-grade one sorcerer, a very talented one in his opinion, but it was easy for him to forget when you were the love of his life, his main source of happiness that he wanted to cherish and keep safe until the end of his days.

He didn't actually realize how challenging keeping you safe was until you moved in with him. All the furniture in his home was custom-made to comfortably fit the freakishly tall sorcerer, meaning that all the cabinets were too high up for you, you could barely reach the top of the kitchen counter, you didn't ever try to get your favorite book off the shelves knowing you could never get to it. Gojo loved how you had to rely on him to get your favorite mug for your morning coffee, how you begged him to get a step-stool so that you can cook dinner comfortably, or how you asked him every time if he could hand you the book you wanted to read next. However, he was not always around and you had to improvise, just the way you did your entire life, making the tall sorcerer freak out.

The first time it happens he's in the shower and your dinner needed a little bit of extra spice. Unfortunately, you ran out of chilly power and you had to refill the container with more pepper flakes, which were on the top shelf of your kitchen cabinet, one that you cannot reach even with the help of your stool. So you hop on the top of the kitchen counter, rummaging through the sweets and other spices Satoru showed in there.

"...smells amazing, baby, what's..." he walks into the kitchen with a joyful tone and a wide grin, but he freezes at the sight in front of him "what the hell are you doing?" he quickly runs up to you, putting his large hands on your waist, getting you off the counter and embracing you close to his chest, like a teddy bear. Your legs instantly lock around his torso and your arms are secured around his neck to keep your balance.

"I was trying to get the extra chilly powder, we ran out and I had to refill the container."

"No, pretty girl, you were trying to give me a heart attack." he murmurs, walking closer to the cabinet and getting the spice you were looking for.

"Well it's not my fault you put it so high up that I couldn't reach it." you tell him, poking his pretty nose with your finger, making him scoff, but he still gives you the thing you were trying to fetch yourself and he leaves a loving kiss on your forehead. "Thank you, 'toru."

"Next time you need anything, just tell me baby and I'll get it for you, okay?"

"What if you're not around?"

"I'll teleport, it's fine, I just don't want you getting hurt."

"I'm not a baby, Satoru, you know I'm not going to get hurt. I've been doing this my whole life, I'll be fine."

"I know, I just worry. Now let's eat before the amazing food you cooked gets cold, okay my mochi?" he kisses your temple lovingly and he slowly puts you down on your own feet, observing with doe eyes as you move around the kitchen plating the food.

The next time it happens you're in the bathroom. You just finished your shower and the fog is thick, given how hot you like the water as you clean your sore body. Satoru is still out with his students and you notice that the vent stopped working, the foggy air getting unbearable in the confines of your shared bathroom. However, the windows are narrow and up high on the wall to give you privacy and you cannot reach the handle to open them. So you step onto the edge of the bathtub, leaning a bit to the side on your tiptoes. That's when you feel a huff and you're suddenly falling into the soft mattress of your comfy bed. You yelp out in shock, Satoru's hands holding you tightly as he is panting, his face contorted in shock.

"What was that, baby?! You could have slipped, are you crazy?!"

"I was fine, Satoru. When did you even get home?"

"Just a few minutes ago, I was looking for you, then I figured you were in the shower, so I teleported so that I could join you, but found you on a death quest."

You roll your eyes at him, you were in no danger whatsoever, but you know he thrives on the feeling of being your "savior". He starts tickling you and you shriek from the feeling of his long fingers dancing around on your sides. He also makes you promise him that you're not gonna pull another one of your stunts ever again in return for him stopping his "brutal torturing" - as you call it.

"You're gonna be the death of me, babycakes." he murmurs into your neck, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive skin between your collarbone and shoulder.

However, besides all of his efforts to stop you from doing stupid stunts, it happens again. This time is the worst. You were playing baseball with the kids, your way of making training a bit more enjoyable for the teenagers you were taking care of. Inumaki was the one that batted the ball into a tree and it got stuck between the branches quite high up. You were used to climbing into tall spaces and you volunteered to get the ball so that you could resume the friendly game you were in the middle of. Satoru was in his office, doing paperwork. He was bored out of his mind, so he started swirling around in his seat, looking outside the tall window. He spotted you straight away, on the top of the oak tree, trying to reach something a bit too far away from you. His heart skipped a beat in fear and he teleported instantly, popping up under the tree. His sudden appearance startled you and you slipped, falling down in an instant. Luckily, he was able to catch you and you were not harmed. The kids rushed to your side, asking whether you were okay, but there was no answer. You were still in shock, looking at the black cloth covering your boyfriend's eyes. His stance was stiff and despite not being able to see his whole face, you knew he was seething with anger.

You felt a huff of air and you found yourself in Shoko's office, the young healer barely bothered by your sudden appearance. She must have been used to Satoru showing up at any given moment without warning.

"Can you please check if she's alright, Shoko? She just fell from a tree."

The brunette nodded and as soon as she started examining you Gojo left, slamming the door behind him.

"Gosh, you must have pissed him off really badly. What happened?"

"Well, he keeps babying me every time I crawl up on something so that I can reach shit, last time it happened he made me promise that I wouldn't do it anymore and today I fell off a tree while trying to get a baseball. I don't understand what the big deal is, though, he was there to catch me." you explain and Shoko looks at you unamused.

"What if he wasn't?"

"What?" you ask in confusion.

"What if he wasn't there to catch you?" she asks as she checks your pupils with a light.

"Well...I've been doing this my whole entire life and I've never gotten hurt..."

"You can't bargain like that with Satoru..." she says curtly and you feel slightly offended.

"What's that supposed to mean, Shoko?"

"I'm gonna explain this to you because I know that you are stubborn and you will ruin what you have with that gigantic asshole because of your pride..." she blurts out the words quickly, you have to lean in closer to her so that you can understand what she's saying "Satoru has witnessed a lot of injuries and deaths in his life, that's why he never lets anyone get too close to him, that's why he doesn't get involved with anything or anyone. You will crush him, if anything bad happens to you. You are important to him, I would even say you are his number one priority, if you get hurt he will not forgive himself in this lifetime, because what's it worth being the strongest if you can't protect what you love most?"

It takes a few minutes to process the information you were just given, but as soon as you do a single tear runs down your cheeks and you're up on your feet, running out of the hospital room yelling a "Thank you, Shoko", trying to find your boyfriend. He is sitting in the waiting room, his head buried in his hands, long legs splayed out lazily. You would laugh at his position, that man doesn't know how to sit properly, but you have other worries at the moment. You walk up to him, putting your arms around him, embracing him lightly. It's funny how he is sitting down and nearly the same height as you standing up. He doesn't say a word, even worse, he doesn't reciprocate your embrace.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I know you worry a lot and I shouldn't be pulling stunts like that, knowing it pisses you off. I know I was being reckless, but I promise I will not do it again, I learned from my mistake." you say, leaving kisses on top of his head. You notice how his blindfold is missing, it is hanging from around his neck, his hair messy from running his hands through it too many times in the last 15 minutes.

"You said that already." he mumbles, it is barely audible, but you catch it and your heartbeat speeds up at his dismissive tone.

"What, Satoru?"

"You promised me once that you're not going to pull any of your crazy stunts again, that you would ask for my help." he says and suddenly he pulls back from your embrace, locking his cerulean eyes with yours "How do I know you won't break your promise again?"

His expression is unrecognizable, he's never looked at you like that since you met him. It's somewhat scary and it causes your tears to multiply. You're also flabbergasted by his question, you don't know how to answer it. He's right. You know it, you broke his trust, his reaction is appropriate.

"I'm sorry, Satoru. Please forgive me, I know you don't believe me right now, but I promise I will not do anything dangerous like that again. I love you and I don't want you to worry about me more than you already have to." you sniffle quietly, trying to wipe away the tears running down your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, one that Gojo put on you before leaving you with Shoko.

He looks at you, his gaze softening, he always hated when you cried. He wanted to blast everyone and everything away with Hollow Purple that caused you to cry, he never thought he would be the reason one day for your tears. His giant hands lock around your waist, pulling you closer to him in his warm embrace.

"I love you, that's why I need you to be safe at all times." he mumbles.

"I know, baby, I know, I understand now. I will be more careful, I promise, Satoru."

"Okay, I forgive you. BUT..." he says a bit more harshly "You will have to bake me a thousand batches of your rhubarb cookies that I like so much if it happens again."

You laugh at his response, the tension leaving your body as his unbothered, childishly loving persona returns. He kisses your tears away, keeping you close to his chest, his embrace strong and safe.

After that, you never climb another cabinet, the bathtub, or any tree. Every time you need something that you can't quite reach, you call your giant boyfriend to get it for you and he does it with a Cheshire smile, lavishing in the feeling of being helpful and always there for you.

#gojo imagine #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #satoru gojo #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x you #gojo fanfic #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the brie

buttercup, chapter two

a/n: i was originally gonna go into more detail and dive into and actually write the traumatic moments, but i decided to go a little bit more easy on myself, just focus mostly on the healing part and regaining the good.

summary: “well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, wingman foggy, reference to croissant theft, alcohol consumption, drunk munching on cheese, kissing, crying, retelling of trauma (if it gets too much for you, then please feel free to just skip the last part of this chapter)

word count: 4978

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Scooping one divided lump of dough closer with the bench scraper in your grasp, you put it down before first folding the bottom of the blob over itself, then the sides and then stretched the top down as well before you rolled it all up to create that much more tension in the loaf. As you plopped the soft mass into one of the nearby dusted bannetons, nippily pinching the seam and giving it a few stitches, the ingrained dance only kept on as your fingers moved on to shape the next loaf of sourdough. 

To your left, not at the central table where you worked, stood your uncle Howard, a piping bag of vanilla-flaked cream in his grasp as his rotund frame bent over rows and rows of delicate, flaky little pastries, filling the sunken centre up before he could top them off with little chunks of crimson berries. 

“Are you alright, cupcake?” you glanced up to see Walter leaning against the doorframe that led directly behind the counter, “you look like you’re about to nosedive into the dough and use it as a pillow.”

“I’m alright, just didn’t sleep much last night,” you blinked back down at your work, noting how your weary eyes stung slightly from the lack of rest, “I had a nightmare that was really, really not fun, and immediately when I woke up I started crying and shaking, like instant panic attack, so I couldn’t really fall asleep again after that,” you glanced back up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t get why it has to feel so real,” you let your hands halt their waltz as you shared, Howard too glancing over in your direction, “why my body needs to remember it so vividly when I fall asleep. It hasn’t forgotten it while I’m awake, so I don’t feel like I need the reminders… sorry…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s–…” instead of uttering the painful truth, Walter instead let a heavy sigh flow and offered, “…do you want me to make you a cup of coffee? Maybe that could be nice, just a little bit?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, “thanks,” before clapping the worst of the flour off your hands, briefly wiping them against the chocolate brown apron that partially covered your t-shirt and jeans, and wandered around the table, shadowing Walter as he fiddled with the espresso machine, making it hum and puff, till he handed you a steaming mug that had a little heart in the frothy foam floating on the top. 

“Here you go.”

Bringing it up to your lips, you offered him a genuine smile, “thank you, Walt.”

Staying behind the counter as Walter disappeared into the back, the chime of the small bell above the door brought your attention to the pair that then strolled in. Setting down your latte and expecting it to be just any other customer, your eyes instead went wide as you saw who it was.  

“Heya, neighbour!” 

“Y/n, hi,” Matthew smiled as both he and the floppy-haired man beside him came to a stop on the other side of the stocked display case, “uh, Y/n, this is my friend Foggy Nelson,” he gestured to the friendly looking fellow, “Foggy, this is my new neighbour Y/n.”

“The pastry goddess!” Foggy exclaimed excitedly, “I bow to the.”

“Goddess?” you giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you glanced over at Matt, secretly in hopes that he’d gotten that nickname from him, “oh, I don’t know about that. My uncle’s the one who oversees most of the pastries. He studied in Paris back in the 70’s, so in other words he’s a bit of a control freak. But, he is getting better! Slowly letting me take care of more things that I’m more than capable of doing… I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?” you sucked in a sharp breath as you noticed 

your rambling, “I’ll shut up. The point was just that he is the one who makes most of the pastries here, not me. He’s the goddess.”

“Well, I tasted one of your croissants the other day–”

“Actually,” Matt raised a hand and interrupted his friend, “you stole it.”

“I did not–”

“You came over and I turned away for two seconds and the next thing I knew you’d obliterated the entire bag.”

“That sounds more like your problem,” Foggy joked, managing to keep a straight face as Matt chuckled, “you’ve known me how many years now? You should know not to trust me with baked goods unless you mean for me to enjoy them,” turning his attention back to you, he leaned his folded arms against the tall section of the counter, “anyways, Y/n, that croissant was properly one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Really?” your face lit up with a bright grin. 

“Yes, it was so buttery and flaky and urgh!”

“Well, if you liked that, you might like today’s special…” your feet began to carry you further to the left to the very far side of the counter. 

“Oh, please do tell me,” he followed along like a magnet.

Pointing down to the pastry row on the other side of the glass, you explained, “it is this rhubarb danish that also has a little base of pastry cream at the bottom to balance out the tart compote.”

“Oh… my… god…” Foggy nearly salivated, his hypnotised gaze never straying from the treat, “you gotta be some angel sent from above.” 

Busting out a laugh, you grabbed a brown paper bag, “should I take that as confirmation?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded as you plucked one up with a set of tongs. 

“Will that be all?”

“I don’t know if it ever can be all, but slowly but surely I’ll get through your spread, and that is a promise,” Foggy accepted the bag into his waiting fingers, “but for now, yeah.”

“Matt, do you want anything?” you asked, feeling the flutter of butterflies wake up within your stomach as you returned your attention to him, “do you want me to describe the options for you?”

“No, I’ll just have the same as Foggy, as well as–, do you sell coffee?”

“Oh,” the scent wafting off your half-empty mug probably caught his attention, “yes, we do.”

“Then I’ll have a cup as well.”

“Oh, one for me too,” Foggy interjected. When you’d packed up another pastry and filled up two to-go cups, the shaggy-haired man pipped up as they were paying, “hey, what are you doing later tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Properly just head home and rewatch some series for the billionth time,” you said, putting the cash they’d handed you away in the register, “why?”

“Well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

A laugh then rumbled within Matt’s chest, “we’re not gonna go dancing, Foggy.”

“You never know,” Foggy sang, “I’ve got moves like you wouldn’t believe!” he snuck a small sip of his steaming coffee before meeting your eye, “so, Y/n! Please tell me you’re coming?”

“…and then Karen was like what’s that? Turns out a giant piece of glass had stabbed my side,” Foggy clutched onto his drink as he told his dramatic tale, “I nearly died.”

Cutting her sip of beer short, the golden-haired woman sitting beside him at the round bar table objected, “you did not nearly die.”

“Oh yeah?” Foggy squinted light-heartedly back at Karen, “says the person who barely got a scratch. I single handily rescued both you and Mrs. C from that building and got a sick ass scar to prove it.”

Their voices faded away like grown-ups in a Saturday morning cartoon as you glanced back down at your drink and let the radiating heat of the man next to you seep into your bones. As your fingers brushed down the sides of the glass and played with the condensation, Matt suddenly reached out for his own, though in his search for the stout glass that stood ever so close to your own, his touch briefly grazed against your skin. But if that wasn’t enough to spike your heart rate, when his long fingers enveloped his short glass, the back of his hand pressed up against yours at the proximity.

You weren’t sure how long it persisted before he raised his dark drink up to his lips, but it didn’t seem like he was in a rush to let the contact fade. Your breath managed to grow ragged in the chunk of time you got to stare down at his hand, it looking so massive up against yours. Though the light in the dingy bar was low, you could still manage to make out the dizzying pattern of prominent veins that cascaded off the back of his hand like a calm rainfall rolling down a windowpane. 

For a moment there, assisted by the few drinks in your system, you let yourself dream, just for a little while, just until Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and stirred you from your fantasy. 

“… I mean, am I right? I’m right. Come on, Y/n, back me up here!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, uhm…” you blinked, in some ways feeling more drunk than you had a minute ago, “wha–what did you say?”

As Foggy then began to explain what you’d missed, Matt leaned down close to your ear and whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin and causing goosebumps to erupt. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed fuzzily. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you glanced down and noticed how rapidly your chest was rising and falling. 

“Do you wanna go home? I can walk with you if you want,” he offered quietly. 

“Uhm…” you blinked up at him before uttering, “sure, but I don’t wanna end your night before you want to.”

“No, you’re not,” he reassured you, “I’m ready to go home myself.”

“Alright then,” you nodded before Matt turned to the others. 

“Guys, we’re gonna head home.”

“No!” Foggy boomed, “really?”

Throwing her hands up, Karen added, “but we haven’t even gone dancing yet!”

“Sorry,” Matt got up from his tall stool, “another night.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you tugged your jacket back on, “I had a lot of fun.”

To your surprise, they both got up and hugged you in return.

“Thank you for coming!” Karen gave you a tight squeeze before Foggy took over. 

“And we’ll be seeing you for the next one, right?”

“Uh, sure,” you gave his back a light pat, “if I have time and stuff the day that it happens, then I’d love to tag along.”

Casting his glance upon the other lawyer, “bye, Matt,” Foggy then yanked him into an embrace, “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Matt chuckled, clapping his friend’s spine, “I know, buddy.”

“You love me too, right?” Foggy pulled back, though still kept his hands fast on Matt’s broad shoulders, “don’t leave me hanging, it’s bad for a man’s health.”

“Foggy, I started a firm with you. Of course, I love you,” Matt smiled back at his sloshed pal, “good night.”

“Night, night,” Foggy patted his scruffy cheek before letting him out of his gasp, though adding as you turned to exit the bar, “night, Y/n! I love you too! I just met you today, but I love you!”

Soft giggles bubbled out of you as the door slammed shut behind you. 

“So, those are your friends...” you smiled into the night, “I like them. They’re nice.”

“Yeah,” the corners of Matt’s lips turned further up till dimples bloomed, “they’re good eggs.”

As the two of you began to move along, the silence didn’t last very long at all. 

“This is really nice of you, walking me home like this,” you uttered, “I know it’s just because we’re neighbours and headed in the same direction, but–”

“It’s not.”

“What?” your eyes found him.

“It’s not because we’re neighbours. It’s just, you know, the decent thing to do.”

“Right,” you exhaled, casting your glance back down onto the sidewalk as you momentarily got your hopes up. 

“And you know how this city can be,” Matt went on, “it’s not smart for anyone to walk alone at night.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, “of course.”

When a street then appeared before you, slicing the path you journeyed on, and even though there wasn’t any traffic in sight, your hand still instinctively shot down to grasp Matt’s forearm before the two of you could cross.

Realising what you’d done, you quietly muttered, “sorry,” though couldn’t find the strength to withdraw your touch just yet. 

“It’s okay,” his low voice slid from his lips like silk. 

“I just didn’t want you to walk straight out into ongoing traffic...” you tore your gaze away from him and forced yourself to look at the road before you, “but there aren’t any right now, so we can cross the street…”

Guiding his palm up to the curve of your elbow, he accepted the gentle aid as you began to cross the lane. 

Once you’d reached the other side and his grasp slowly began to drift back down. When his palm reached the height of your own, you softly caught it before timidly testing, “…do you mind if we–…”

“Hold hands?” with a gentle smile, he filled in before you might wonder if he could even sense your shy touch at all.

“Yeah…”

“No,” you felt him weave his fingers with your own, “not at all.” 

His touch somehow felt even better than you’d imagined. Though surprisingly gruff, with harsh calluses all throughout, he cradled your palm with such care, like he’d held it a thousand times before, occasionally swiping his broad thumb over your knuckles, presumably just a subconscious gesture from his end that still caused shivers to trickle down your spine every time he did so. 

You wanted the latter part of your walk home to last forever, engulfed in the comfortable silence of endless possibilities. But alas, when you did reach your building’s front door and then climbed the steps all the way up to your respective apartments, you couldn’t get yourself to let go just yet. 

“Are you hungry? Because I kinda am,” you weren’t really, but anything to just stretch the night a little longer, “or maybe it’s just my subconscious taking care of me and lessening my hangover by giving me a sudden craving for cheese.”

“I don’t think I have any cheese.”

“I do,” you said maybe a bit too fast, “do you want some?”

Exhaling lowly, a soft smile twitched at his lips as he then uttered, “sure.”

As you unlocked your door, you finally let go of his hand, “make yourself at home!” you placed your keys down on the slender entry table before kicking your shoes off and peeling off your coat, hanging it up on the row of hooks, “oh, do you want me to, uh, describe the layout for you? Or just plant your down on the couch?”

“Just tell me the direction and I think I’ll be fine.”

Facing him, you haphazardly explained, “alright, the hallway goes on for a few steps and then it’s to your right–, no, wait, my right, that’s your left. It’s to your left.”

Whirling around, you delved deeper into your home till you reached the kitchen. Ripping open the fridge, you snatched up a block of half-eaten cheese before seizing a clean butter knife from the dishrack and a roll of seedy crackers from a cupboard. 

Matt was already comfortable on your sage couch as you laid the humble spread out on the coffee table and joined him. 

“I hope you like brie because that’s what I got. Unless you want a single slice of american cheese, then this is all the cheese I have to offer.”

“Brie it is then,” he relaxed into the cushions as you unwrapped the snack. 

“Here, let me make you a bite,” slicing off bits of soft cheese, you spread it both on a cracker for him and one for you. Gently picking up his hand to place his snack in his palm, you then popped your own in your mouth and nearly melted into the couch next to him, “yep… that’s the spot…” you grinned hazily out the tall windows at the night sky as you chewed, “there’s just something about eating cheese when the moon is out that’s just so right in a way I can’t describe…” 

Your murmuring conjured a light chuckle to rumble within Matt, one that swayed your gaze to train on him. Resting your head against the back of the couch, you watched as the moonlight reflected in his tinted glasses. 

When the silence stretched on, Matt eventually cocked his head, “…what?”

Not tearing your eyes off of him, you breathed, “nothing…”

“You’re quiet,” his dark brows furrowed gently, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you repeated, feeling almost like you were floating in a calm sea. 

“You tired? Do you want me to go so that you can go to bed?”

“No, please don’t, I–…” you reached out and grazed his arm, “could–… do you want to go?”

Letting his body relax once more, he breathed, “not particularly…”

Gazing up at him, your bottom lip snuck its way in between your teeth, “Matt…”

“Yeah?”

“You–… you’re–… I–…” your pulse pounded in your ears. 

“Mhm?”

“I really, really wanna kiss you right now…” you uttered thickly before you had the chance to chicken out. Like a wave crashing a shore, you didn’t even think as you let yourself dive in and press your lips to his. The kiss however didn’t last too long as you swiftly drew back as soon as your brain turned back on and you realised what you’d done, an apology hastily rushing out of your lungs, “Oh my god… I am so sorry.”

“Y/n,” hearing your name on his silky tongue did not help matters. 

“I didn’t mean to just–”

“Y/n,” he repeated, trying to cut through your fog. 

“We can just forget any of that ever happened, I totally get it if you don’t–”

As he brought his hands up to cradle the sides of your face, your nervous ramble fell short. When he ghosted his thumb across your cheekbone, you swore that you stopped breathing entirely. 

“…can I kiss you?��� he slowly asked, leaving you utterly dazed. 

“W-what?”

Drawing in a breath, he repeated for you, “can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Blinking back at him, you hazily hummed, “mhm,” before he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own. The kiss was soft, just as your shoddy attempt had been, but it made your limbs feel like they morphed into jelly. When the pecks soon departed, you filled your lungs with a shaky breath as you gazed back at him in total awe, “holy shit…” only staying there a moment before you had to have another taste. 

Slowly growing more confident, the intoxicating kiss gradually grew more hungry. When his fingers then weaved into your hair, you realised that up till now he’d been holding himself back, gatekeeping a kiss that caused your frame to crawl into his lap, starving for more. Your little whimpers vibrated against his tongue as he danced it against yours, growing dizzy as you melted into the heart-stopping sensation. 

But suddenly a tormenting flash stabbed your being, and you abruptly tilted your lips away from his, breathlessly uttering, “wait, wait, there’s-, there’s-, uh…”

“What,” he breathed thickly, nose grazing yours before you retracted further, “are you okay?” 

“I’m…” carefully crawling off his lap, you kept going till you were a safe distance away on your own side of the couch, “Matt, there’s something I need to–, uhm, tell you…”

Staying silent, he patiently waited as you gathered up the courage needed to jump off the cliff and tell him.

Casting your gaze up to the tall and dark ceilings above, you felt your limbs begin to tremble, “okay, alright… I have no idea how to, uh, say this, so I’m just gonna do it,” and like a band-aid, you uttered, “I-, I was raped,” your eyes squeezed shut, not daring to risk glancing at his reaction, “a little over a year ago… and I haven’t–, uhm, done or tried anything with anyone since… so yeah, I just thought that was a good thing for you to know since even though I hope for there not to be any problems, I just don’t know, I don’t know what it will be like for me, if my body will suddenly freak out, but I just wanted to tell you so that in case something does happens, that you know not to automatically take it personally...” drawing in a shaky breath, you fluttered your gaze open and waited for his response, “Matt?”

“Yeah?” he answered carefully. 

“Please don’t say that I’m scaring you away right now…” you shifted your position, turning to face him once more.  

“You’re not, you’re not,” his head softly shook from side to side, “I just–… I really, really sorry.”

“Yeah…” you exhaled slowly, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes, “me too…” staring at him a moment, you then bared your all and uttered, “I really like you, Matt,” a faint smile accompanied the declaration, “I think you might be the only guy in all of New York that I’m not scared of,” every other man you could think of had all had at least a second, a little flicker, of something that over the past year had terrified you, “and I don’t want you to think that I’m made of glass, that’s not what I want, that’s not why I’m telling you this. Please trust me when I say that I want to, I wanna do–…” a weighty exhale flowed from your lungs as your lips remembered his taste, “I wanna do everything with you… if–, if that’s something you’d like as well… but if we do, even though I really, really want to, I think it’s probably smartest to go slow, no pressure, you know, just in case, so that my body doesn’t freak out. Also, I’d really appreciate it if I at any point indicate for you to stop or even just pause a moment, that you’ll do that, that you’ll listen to me,” you briefly glanced down at your fiddling fingers, “and you know, I’m not saying let’s only do PG things, there are so, so many wonderful steps on the way that we can have fun with… I just–, I wanted to let you know now, before, so that we wouldn’t potentially have this conversation when something did happen.”

Only parting his lips when he was sure you were done, he uttered, “thank you for telling me. Are you–… are you okay? Was what happened before too much?”

“No…” you shook your head gently, “no, it wasn’t,” taking his hand in yours, you shared, “and I’m okay, I think… I mean, some days it still feels like it just happened, and others I notice something, something small, that I’ve gotten back, that I’ve regained…” absentmindedly tracing the lines of his palm with your thumb, you asked, “do you–… do you have any questions? Is there anything you wanna know?”

“No, I–… I just want you to tell me however much or little you feel comfortable with sharing.”

“…can I tell you? About it?” you asked slowly and he swiftly offered you a soft nod. Drawing in a deep breath, you began, “It, um, it was a Saturday night… I’d just gotten back from the bakery super late, maybe close to midnight… and when I was getting ready for bed, my roommate came home, he’d been out drinking as he usually spent his weekends. I remember we stayed up a while, just talking about the mundane stuff we always did. It was like any other Saturday, really. That was until I got too tired and went to go to bed, but he didn’t wanna stop talking, so he followed along into my room while I got ready and stuff,” averting your gaze, your bottom lip began to tremble, “we were just talking, it wasn’t anything special and then the next thing I knew, he was kissing me. It just–… it happened so fast… his hands were all over me… I remember he pushed me up against my closet so hard that my back was bruised the next day, and I don’t bruise that easily. He was just so wasted that I don’t think he realised or maybe even cared what he was doing. I tried to say something, tried to make him stop, but he didn’t listen to me. If he heard me, then I don’t think he understood what it was that I was saying… I would have pushed him away, slapped and hit him, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t move my body, not even a little, I just froze…” 

“I can still feel what he felt like… like my skin won’t let go of the memory…” tears rolled down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore how your palm tingled with recollection, “how he forced me to touch him and held his hand over mine, making it move as if he just thought I didn’t know what to do… he was my friend, you know? He wasn’t just some stranger who dragged me into an alley and held a knife to my throat. He was my friend. He would always make offhand jokes about seeing me as just a little sister and how he wasn’t attracted to you at all. Made such a big deal of it that I never thought he’d try anything… I have no idea how long it actually went on… I don’t even remember when it was that I landed on the bed, if it was before or after he–… after he–… did stuff, t-touched me… I just remember I was laying there when it happened. The masked man, the devil of hell’s kitchen, he ripped him off of me…”

“He’d somehow heard… I think maybe if I hadn’t opened the window that night to air out the room, he wouldn’t have saved me… he beat him up... knocked him out… he told me to call the police, but I couldn’t, so I instead asked my uncle to come get me… my body’s never shaked the way it did that night… I remember I was so confused because I wasn’t cold, didn’t get it till the masked man said I was in shock… it didn’t stop till the next night… when he was about to leave, I asked what if Mi–,” you couldn’t get yourself to utter Michael’s name out loud without feeling as if your whole world would crumble around you, “what if he woke up before Howard arrived, and so he just stayed there with me, right till he somehow heard my uncle walking up the stairs and then he slipped out the way he came in, right before I heard the front door unlock.” 

Letting out a long and unsteady breath, you raised a trembling palm up to wipe your cheeks. 

For a while, the silence got to encompass the space completely, your left hand still shaking in Matt’s as you eventually heard him ask. 

“Did you ever go to the police?”

“No. In the small window that I had to do one of those kits, I was just way too overwhelmed and confused and I just couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t do anything but relive that moment over and over again, so I didn’t do anything in time. But the longer time that passes and the more it sinks in what he did and the ways that I’m still paying for it, the things he ruined inside of me that I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back, the more I wish that I had gone to the police. But it’s too late now.”

“No, it’s not,” his fingers squeezed slightly around yours, “I could help you, I’m a lawyer after all.”

“No, Matt,” you said firmly, “it is. I don’t wanna sit there and hear them go oh, it’s your word against his, sorry, and have them think that not enough happened technically for them to take it seriously. Enough happened, trust me. I’m eternally grateful that Daredevil saved me from whatever else he could have done to me that night, but enough happened. Just because he didn’t stick it in me doesn’t mean nothing happened. That is the kind of belief that only belongs to people who think that the only sexual act that counts as sex is when a penis is in a vagina, and that is just so incredibly wrong,” an enraged laugh tumbled out of you as you fumed, “they are the kind of people who think that someone queer, disabled or just someone who isn’t into that sexual act isn’t actually having sex when they are. Sex is about connection, it’s about pleasure and there are endless amounts of things that can give a person pleasure,” clenching your jaw, you let out a heavy sigh, “I wish it could be different, I wish many things, I wish it hadn’t had happened at all, but it did, and I hope that at the very least he learned something from it, that he changed, that he wouldn’t do it again to someone else.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #buttercup series #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #matt murdock series #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock hurt/comfort

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#385

“OK faggot.  I’m surprised to see you.  I thought you would have flaked out.  I told you that you are to bring nothing.  I don’t see your transportation here—no car or bike.  That’s good.  But you fucked up one thing though.  Bringing nothing means nothing.  I see you are wearing a t-shirt, shorts, shoes, probably underwear, and cap.  That’s not nothing.  I told you that if you were to spend time with me that you would be kept naked.  I meant that….

“Look, I live to be naked. 

“I drive… naked. 

“I eat and drink… naked. 

“I sleep… naked.

“I jack off in my bunk… naked.

“I jack off while driving… naked.

“I step out to piss… naked.

“Then with the last few drops of piss hanging on to my cock head, I’ll jack off… naked.

“I fuck faggots… naked.

“I get my ass licked… naked.

“I shove my cock down some faggot’s throat and unleash my piss… naked.

“As you can tell I love being naked.  So much so, that when I bought my own Kenworth, I formed my own trucking company, and I called it ‘Naked Trucking.’  I don’t give a shit who sees me when I’m on the road or stopped at a place like this.

“So when a faggot like you agrees to spend one week with me kept naked shows up, that faggot should be fucking naked.

“No! Don’t strip there.  The only thing I told you that you will have while with me is your ID.  Give it to me.  I told you to leave behind your wallet and phone.  You did to that?...  Good.  It would have been awkward if you hadn’t.

“Now see that dumpster over there on the other side of the parking lot?...  Walk over to it and strip.  Don’t use the dumpster to hide behind.  Strip so I can see you… and either of those other two drivers can too if they are paying attention.  Throw your clothes in the dumpster and walk back.  Don’t hide your dick.  Don’t race back here.  Just walk normally.

“If you can’t do any of that, then keep on walking.  Now go on.  I need to do some quick paperwork before we roll out….

…

“…Faggot, you did good.  You are rock hard.  That’s good to see.  As you can tell, my dick is longer and thicker than yours, as it should be. 

“Oh, should you need to leave my cab, I do have shorts, shirt, and flip-flops for you to wear. 

“Your primary reason for being here is to service my cock—to offer two holes for me to dump my cum and piss into.  The other reason is to get my shithole worshipped.  That’s about it.

“Speaking of which, I need to take a piss.  Get on your knees bitch, I need to see how you drink a load of piss.  I expect you to drink it all.  When we are on the road, I will snap my fingers, and you will drink while I am driving.  All my piss goes through you.  All of it.  I wouldn’t have even considered you if you didn’t have experience. 

“Your piss will go into empty water bottles.  You will set them aside and use them to douche your cunt on the road.  It’s your responsibility to make sure you are cleaned out at all times.  As much of a pig that I am, I am not into shit.  At. All.  You got that?

“Pull off.  I’m done pissing for now; you’ll get the rest in a bit….  You got that?...  Good!  And keep up the not talking.  Nodding is fine.

“Stay on your knees.  Pull apart my cheeks and start eating my hole.  I take lots of psyllium which makes wiping almost not necessary.  I just pull over in a secluded spot and get out.  I squat, wipe up, and move on.  No need to get dressed for that.  A fisting faggot I once used told me this is what he does to clean out without the mess.  It works on me. 

“I will say that I sit on a hand towel as I drive.  If you ever see skid marks on it, it’s your duty to clean it up.  There are extra hand towels behind my seat.  And if you ever encounter me not being clean when I am sitting on your face, keep that knowledge to yourself and clean me up squeaky clean.  I don’t want to ever hear about it.  You got that?

“Good.  You will start on psyllium immediately.  In fact I will be controlling what you eat to make your douching easier to do along the side of the truck.

“Ok.  Your tongue knows it’s way around a shithole.  That’s good.  Get up.  Ok boy.  Pull out.  You will have a lot of time under my rimseat later on.  I have a rimseat in the storage bin under the bunk.

“Yeah, if I can avoid putting on clothes and going into a truck stop, I will.  I dress only when I absolutely have to.

“OK, climb on up.

“I know these runs very well.  I know where to stop so we won’t have to get dressed.  There’s a few rest areas where the layout lends to privacy.  Some lend better when there’s no moon or if it’s raining.

“We are going to this one truck stop in a couple nights.  Hank and I go way back.  We used to drive together, naked of course, until his dad died and left him the family truck stop and garage.  It’s one of the last old school truck stops, you know, with communal showers and a bunkhouse.  It holds about thirty to forty trucks in back.  When the bypass went in, his business dried up.  He started to lose many good customers.  He started messing around with a few drivers as a perk.  Then word got around.  The garage started getting more business.  Drivers would come in, a little bit out of their way, fuel up and get their balls drained or get bred.  Or if the rig needs some work, Hank will work on it and the driver could kick back in the bunkhouse with other drivers or Hank’s fag.

“Years ago after we went our own way, he took on a fag who gave up on a six figure marketing job to be his bitch—kept naked too.  The fag gets gang banged almost daily.  The fag has kept the business running all these years.  At night and in between sucking cock, he got this on-line business up and running to help keep the truck stop afloat.  The money is real good.  It allows Hank to run the truck stop the way he wants to.  He put up a privacy fence and a sign on the inside that this is a clothing optional business.  There’s no advertising, it’s just known to a group of drivers.  Many of them have been jacking off already as they pull in.  Even the delivery drivers know about the place. 

“We are going to spend a night there as well as my day off entirely naked.  They have a tiny convenience store that we can stock up on food.  We can do that naked too.  I can’t imagine a fag like yourself not loving being there.

“Before we get rolling, there’s a black towel for you to your left to throw over your crotch if you need to cover up.  As we drive no one will be able to see in.  Cars and trucks are too low and other drivers will be too focused on passing safely to worry about seeing a naked driver and his fag in a split second.  But should something come up, the towel is there. 

“Also, you can jack off as much as you want.  But know this.  You better not be one of those fags that after cumming you don’t want to do anything sexual.  Because if I need to get my rocks off, I’m using you to get my rocks off.  You refuse me or any man I pass you off to, I will leave you on the side of the road.  I see your dick gets this.  It’s been rock hard. 

“Oh look, that driver over there is ready to pull out as well.  He’s in his driver’s seat.  Here stand up.  Bend over the dash.  We have twenty-five minutes before I’m allowed to pull out of here.  I need to breed you. 

“That glob of spit is all you are getting.  If I find any fag mud on my dick, I will beat the shit out of you and leave you here.  You are a bit loose.  That’s good.  Unless I’m smashing a cherry, I don’t want my cock strangled.  But your pussy feels so good on my cock.  Oh fuck.  I’m gonna enjoy having you to use. 

“Oh look, the other driver is watching us.  Faggot, I hope you like being on display because that’s the way it’s gonna be.  There’s no humiliation too taboo for me to inflict on you.  Fucking you in front of some random driver is only the beginning.

“Oh look, he’s jerking off to us.  Oh fuck yeah!  Oh fuck yeah!  It’s not going to take me long to shoot.  Fag, I’m gonna flood your fucking guts.  Here it cums!  Here it cums!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Jesus!

“Fag.  I love my new cunt.  Quickly clean me off….

“That driver is still pounding his pud.

“You know.  Get out!...  Don’t look confused.  Get out!  Now!  Passenger side.  Go on!

“That’s right.  Take a step back.  Get on your fucking knees and look up at me.  Open your toilet mouth.  I need to finish taking a piss.  I will try to get it in your mouth. 

“Ahhh.  That feels good.  I would have just pissed in your toilet mouth up here, but I wanted him to see you.  And he’s pounding his dick like he really needs to get off.

“Ok stand up.  I want you to walk over to him and I want you to tell him the following: ‘My new owner sent me over to help you empty your balls.  Use me in any nasty way you want.’  Then also tell him that I want to watch you get used. “If you don’t drain his balls in the next 20 minutes, I will pull out of here without you.  This is an easy one.  Now go.”

[miniversse]

⭑ “snowbound” ⭑ pt. 1

╰┈➤ OTHER PARTS

⭑ bang chan x female reader

⭑ content includes: drinking, fwb relationship, mentions of sex, non-idol chan, non-idol reader, established relationship, work relationship, drunk confessions, lots of inner talk

⭑ note: i won’t advise you to skip the build up! i’m planning to create a very small series for this idea i had, probably another part or two. lmk what you think!

⭑ minors dni

⭑——————————————————⭑

your hands are wrapped around his hard chest, and your legs were squeezed up to keep you warm from the winter mornings. before your mind could think of what breakfast to make today or what chans schedule will look like, you’re struck with memories of yesterday night, and that you and chan are no longer friends with benefits…

you progressed from taking shots to consuming full soju bottles, you lined them up with his like trophies and admired the late night snowfall. you and chan met through work, and visit after visit, kiss after kiss, you became each-others stress relievers, and you wouldn’t complain about that until yesterday night.

“have you hooked up with anyone else at work?”

the question has been waiting at the tip of your tongue, and the only thing holding you back from asking it was to be respectful and not invasive, but when your on your 3rd bottle of soju, what’s holding you back?

“nope. why do you ask?”

“oh, i was just wondering, ‘yknow”

“yeah, i never got time to meet anyone outside our office block so it’s just been you”

you nod and rest your lips on the mouth of the soju bottle. you sat close to him on his balcony, admiring the light snowfall that coated the city with white and shiny flakes. this moment reminded you of why you loved chris, it wasn’t really for his sex, it was the way his presence filled you with warmth and the desire to always be next to him. you knew you shouldn’t develop feelings because it doesn’t seem mutual, but your lives were harsh. work was demanding and you only got a few hours between each-other to empty your tension.

fuck it

you turn your gaze to him and watch his adam’s apple move with his hearty chugs.

“chris, you think it’s ok if i talk to you ‘bout something?”

“don’t you wanna wait till your sober?”

“yea but, i’ve had this thought for far too long, and i think this way would be easier for me to confess”

he turns his chair to face you and faces forward, giving you his full attention.

“whats up”

you began to feel nervous, and maybe began regretting this empty confidence you shone on him, but you and chan have seen a lot in your lives, so it wouldn’t hurt to see more.

“i’ve been seeing you in a different lens, not one where we get to fuck and call it a day. one where we are together through thick and thin.”

his expression remains the same and he keeps quiet, expecting to hear more.

“i know that it would be a big jump for us, but it could be a better jump.”

you place the soju bottle on your lips and get past a few sips before your stomach begins to turn and twist and your fingers tremble.

he sighs and leans back in the chair, placing his hands in his pockets. you began to look around for your belongings, preparing to be kicked out of his house.

“i brought you over to tell you that i wanted you for more than your body, but i guess it’s useless now”

you’re muscles relaxed, and you felt warmer at his reassurance. you couldn’t help but give him a big smile, trying to keep your cool. he smiled back, the cold smoke sneaking out the creases of his mouth.

“well, i guess that’s out the way.” you laugh, trying to fill in the silence. you haven’t noticed the increasing intensity of the snowfall, so you grab the bottles, ashtray and head inside to lay by chans fireplace.

he settled for a warm shower, but you settled to lying down on his heated hardwood floors, watching the fire dance and crackle as it soothed your bones. chan had given you one of his hoodies to change into to keep warm. the door of his bedroom creeks open, and he walks out in an black t-shirt, plaid pants and socks.

“you’re gonna freeze to death like that! and you haven’t dried your hair?”

he approaches you and lies down next to you, meeting you at eye level. you couldn’t describe how this moment felt. the orange flames casted on his smooth, relaxed face. his hand was placed over yours, his fingers tracing around yours. your body was physically there, but mentally, you and chan were bound, or rather, snowbound.

“i’m fine babe”

you’re brought back to life with three words that left his lonely mouth.

“babe? i never thought i’d hear you call me that”

“and i never thought i’d be laying down next to you by the fireplace, exchanging looks”

you wiggle closer to him, taking in the soft smell of his shampoo being overridden with his strong cologne. your lips follow the scent, and end up landing on his warm neck. he raises his head, giving you more to work with. his hand was settled on your back, bringing you closer and closer till you could feel the heat of his body against yours.

your mouth seemed to be the star of the show now, but that might change.

⭑ PART 2

#stray kids smut #stray kids #skz smut #bang chan #bangchan x reader #lee know #lee know x reader #changbin #changbin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #han jisung #jisung x reader #lee felix #felix x reader #seungmin #seungmin x reader #jeongin #jeongin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x you #kpop #kpop smut #smut #kpop x reader #stay #skz imagines #skz oneshots

[crappymixtape]

soft sweet sounds

EDIT -> there’s a part II cos 🫠 — okay, well apparently you get this from horny!me at 7:30am on a monday ( idk what my problem is 😵‍💫 ) – roommate!steve comes home from work to hear you in your room upset and he just can't help himself from offering you a shoulder to cry on | ( 958 words – roommates -> something?, tiny fluff, tiny smut, steve x you )

S O F T S W E E T S O U N D S 🎶 touch tank, quinnie

It had seemed silly to Steve at first, living with you. Living with his best friend, but it was cheap and made paying the bills easier because god knew Family Video wasn’t making him rich anytime soon. And you’d figured out a routine, shared your work schedules, told each other when you’d be out late or staying over with your boyfriend — or Steve with someone else. Cooked dinner together and watched movies until 1am and no pressure. Ever.

Until now.

He’d just come home from his shift at Family Video and could hear soft crying coming from behind your door. His stomach twisted with worry as he sat his keys on the counter, wondering what happened, wondering what your asshole boyfriend did this time.

Steve hated him. Your boyfriend. He was a complete douchebag and if it wasn’t him forgetting to pick you up at work it was making plans and flaking out an hour before, so you’d have to excuse Steve for assuming your crying was his fault.

Walking down the hallway Steve pressed a his palm to you door, the other resting on the handle.

“Hey,” he called out, gentle, sympathetic, “Everything okay?” And as he slowly pushed it open, he swore what he saw was going to kill him right there on the spot.

Your cries weren’t cries at all, not even close to sad or upset as his brain worked overtime to process what he’d walked in on.

You.

Laid out all pretty on your bed.

Panties hooked around your knees and your shirt rucked up your stomach. Hand pressed between your thighs as your fingers drew tight, messy circles over your clit. A pinch between your brows with how good it was making you feel, so good you didn’t hear the door at first, but then you did hear Steve.

Heard him asking if you were okay.

Heard him coming into your room without knocking and it was all just a second too late.

“Oh shit–Jesus Christ–oh my god–I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, fuck-“

“Steve??” you gasped, yanking your sheets over your body in a failed attempt to hide as he practically tripped over his own feet and back out into the hallway.

“Fuck. Shit,” he pressed his back into the wall, chest heaving and heart hammering heavy against his ribcage, unable to breathe. What was he thinking??

A huge invasion of privacy. A fucking rookie move. ‘Doesn’t anyone knock anymore??’ he hears a voice mock in his head. There’s no way you’d trust him after that.

Burying his face in his hands he groaned, you idiot! Waited for you to yell at him to get out, to take his things and find somewhere else to live, but then your door slowly opened again revealing a sliver of your face. Cheeks flushed and pink, a lighter tinge than the deep red that had settled on his.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute as he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I just heard crying and–but obviously you weren’t crying—I just thought something bad happened and–and I know how he can get sometimes, so I thought you were upset and maybe I’d try and cheer you up, but I didn’t know you were in there doing that and–“

“Steve,” you said softly, cheeks still pink. Still warm from teasing yourself. Still warm from Steve, “It’s okay.”

He opened his eyes slowly and looked at you through the crack in the door. Your curls perfectly messed. Framing your face. The soft curve of your lips, the long sweep of your lashes, the half smile you were giving him and he exhaled. A small sigh of relief.

“I’m really sorry,” he said again, features still pulled down with concern as he roughed his hands through his hair, still stressed and worried about what you’d think of him now.

“It’s okay, it was really sweet of you to worry about me,” you reassured him, opening the door a little more. Enough for him to see you’d put on a pair of pajama shorts, you shirt half tucked into the waistband in haste.

“Sure, course,” he murmured, the lines of worry on his face melting at the sound of your voice.

“I broke up with him,” you confessed, chewing at your bottom lip. The sting of having an ex now instead of a boyfriend still fresh, but the lack of weight on your shoulders told you you’d made the right decision.

“Oh,” fell from his lips softly, sorry again, his mouth pulling down into a half frown again.

“I know,” a small sigh pushed itself from your lungs as you leaned against the door frame, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Anything I can do?” Steve asked, and he meant it. He’d give you the world and all the stars and galaxies. Give you whatever you asked for. Anything.

“Uhm,” you murmured, a little shy, but feeling bolder as Steve took a step toward you. His hair falling messy across his forehead, big brown eyes edged with long lashes. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your Steve. His lips parted ever so slightly, hanging on your silence. Waiting.

Anticipating.

“Could you help me?” you asked, swallowing down the nerves in your throat as your hand reached out to tangle your fingers up with his.

“H–help you?” Steve’s voice sounded strangled, like he couldn’t quite understand what you were asking of him, and so you decided to show him instead.

“Yeah, please?” and you lifted the hand that was wrapped up in his and pressed his palm against the plush of your waist. Pulled him back into your room. Tugged him down into you and kicked the door shut behind you and asked him to help you forget about things for just a little while.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington stranger things #steve stranger things #steve x you #steve fanfic #steve x reader #steve x fem #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve smut

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober 01 - Blood-Covered Hands

Kyle Garrick x reader

Warnings: blood

There had been so much blood. You’d seen blood before, had bled a substantial amount yourself over the years, but nothing could top the stains that still covered you. You’re covered in it, covered in the life essence of your teammate as the medics quickly usher you out of the way.

They'd had to establish that none of the blood was yours, but given that you were standing you'd been ruled as less important than the man whose guts you'd been holding in for the past 10 minutes.

Time blurred as you blindly walked, eyes unseeing, it isn't until the sound of running water reaches your ears that you realise you've somehow made it to the bathroom.

The blood has long since dried, congealing and flaking where less of the crimson liquid had managed to stain the skin of your arms and shirt. Your hands, still shaking, however, have fared the worst. Clumsily you push your hands under the running water, scrubbing and scratching desperately at your skin.

You scrub and scrub and scrub furiously at your skin with increasing vigour. Yet no matter how hard you try the red won’t fade, and the blood won’t go away.

You can't breathe. Can't see anything except the red.

Suddenly there are hands grasping yours, pulling them from under the stream and stopping you from scrubbing.

"Hey, hey! calm down, look at me." The words only registered distantly, the hands moved to grab your face forcing you to look at them. It takes a few more seconds but eventually, your vision clears.

"Gaz?" it comes out as a sob, your body slumping against his as the fight practically drained from you. Gently he pulled you into his arms, holding up your weight as you cried against his chest.

"Wait, the blood" you gasped, trying to pull away but he hooked one of his hands around the back of your head and pushed you against his collarbone.

"There's no blood. It's gone, I promise." He hushed you, holding you against him until your sobs died down and your breathing evened out.

Slowly, when he felt as if you'd calmed down enough, he took your hands in his all the while making sure your gaze never focused too long on them and led you towards his room.

Handing you some of his clothes he turned to leave in an attempt to give you privacy, instinctively your hand darted out to stop him. "Please don't leave... just... turn around" you begged, tense muscles only relaxing when he nodded.

The shirt smelled like him, the soft cotton sitting comfortably on your skin. "You can turn around now," you whispered to him, clutching at your bloody clothes uncertainly. Gently, he took your clothes and directed you to sit on his bed, telling you to wait for him to return.

The moment he disappeared from your sight your thoughts started to spiral once more. You wondered how many people you’d put in this position. How many loved ones had mourned over the bloody corpses of the people you killed?

Just before you could start to scratch the skin off your hands once more Gaz was there, kneeling before you with a wet cloth. Gently he ran the warm towel over your skin, catching the last bits of flaked blood that you had missed.

"You're ok, everything's going to be ok" he cooed, throwing the cloth somewhere into the corner of his room and rising to sit next to you on the mattress. Gently, because he was always gentle with you, he took your hands in his once more. The action draws your attention down to your entwined fingers, a screech leaving your throat as you saw it.

The blood.

It was still staining your hands, the sticky liquid clinging to your skin and refusing to come off. "No, no, no, it won't come off. Why won't it come off!" you wailed, attempting to pull away from Kyle, but he refused to let go. Leaving you to do nothing but watch as the blood trailed down over your fingers and onto his.

It took multiple calls of your name before Kyle managed to pull your attention towards him once more. "There's no blood. Listen to me," he grasped your face, "do you trust me?" Blinking hazily you slowly nodded, the sounds of your shaky breaths filling the space. "Then trust me when I say there's no blood. There's no blood ok?"

Eventually, you manage to nod, croaking your ascent. The exhaustion of the day finally settled into your bones, a deep weariness that threatened to suffocate you. If not for Gaz, it probably would have. Like a puppet with its strings cut you allowed him to manoeuvre you into his bed, pulling you to rest against him and covering you with his blanket.

Surrounded by his scent and warmth you were finally able to calm down, eyes shuttering as you succumbed to sleep. And every time you awoke with panic in your veins and a scream on your lips Gaz was there to reassure you, keeping your mind off the blood.

#x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #whumptober #cod mw x reader #cod mw gaz #gaz x reader #whumptober 2023

[erosmutt]

In a crowd of cool alt kids that deem you a 'normie' Sam chooses to hang out with you 🥹

EEK the fact that this has happened to me (being deemed a 'normie' and getting kicked out of a friend group lmao. ONLINE TOO.)

it'd totes be because of your music taste. you don't dress the part, but you love metal and goth metal. of course to keep up appearances, in front of your 'friend group', Sam will be like, "yeah, you're pretty lame." but when you two are alone, more than likely because you have the same class, he's just kinda like,

"i think you're pretty cool, fuck those guys." and as soon as you get home you're all giggly and jumping around your room. and you text the groupchat and ask if they want to get coffee in the morning and they all agree.

but everyone flakes except Sam.

and he feels like he got punched when he sees you all normal looking in your jeans and t-shirt and boots, hair back in a low ponytail. he sees you sitting alone at the window of the cafe and your nose is red and your eyes are puffy and you've most definitely been crying, but when he asks you about it you just brush him off.

so he orders like, a black coffee and sits down next to you.

"sorry about them, i know how it feels. sucks." he sips his coffee then makes a face cause it's gross, and you giggle and give him your white mocha and he ends up liking it.

so then everyday after that, you two go for coffee together in the morning and both get white mochas.

whether he wanted to admit it to those other assholes, Sam really could be sweet, as he showed you many times.

#bnuuy answers #₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ bnuuy's drabbles! #anon! #asks! #sam monroe #sam monroe drabble #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe x reader

[sleekervae]

New York Romantic .3

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: hotdogs in central park

word count: 3441

taglist: @watercolorskyy @carolanns-world @alana4610

October was always an exciting period in New York. The brownstones were decorated top to bottom in thick spiderwebs, glowing skeletons and some of the most incredibly carved jack-o-lanterns one could find. The air had picked up a distinctive chill and many people's denim jackets and summer shorts had been traded for thicker-lined coats and scarves.

And of course with the turning of the seasons came midterms, written essays and memorized monologues that had to hit emotion, rhythm, believability, and of course, a time limit. While Tom had spent his evenings memorizing his lines, Noelle was busy practicing her combinations. She wouldn't come home until seven or eight at night as opposed to her usual four-thirty. Dragging herself through the hallway, bleary-eyed and exhausted, she could discern the sound of preaching through the paper-thin walls. Tom's voice stood out distinctly, booming and self-assured, a stark contrast to his usual timid and bashful demeanour.

Because midterms never held back, Tom was curious when one of his professors instructed them to come in loose-fitting, easy-to-move-in clothing. Their next lesson was on movement, and they were to have the honour of having some training from the second year ballerinas.

Tom picked out a simple t-shirt and some baggy, grey joggers, he felt more like he was on his way to the gym than he was school. He found Sunny was already up, munching on a bowl of frosted flakes while he watched some YouTube videos on his phone. He looked up curiously when Tom walked in, noting his baggy attire.

Tom threw his hands out at his sides, giving a listless shrug, "How do I look?" he asked.

Sunny shrugged back, "Like you should be asking for pennies on the street corner," he replied.

Tom glowered at him, "Are you serious?"

"Well, you don't look professional!" Sunny replied honestly, "Unless that's the assignment, today?"

He shook his head, "We're learning about movement with the ballerinas,"

Sunny stifled a laugh, "You're gonna learn ballet dance?"

"Not ballet, just movement. Posture and stuff,"

Sunny shook his head, "Well, you can't go like that," he scoffed.

"Why not?" Tom asked, glancing down at his outfit, "They just said loose and easy to move in,"

His roommate stood from the table and started for the hall, "There's a difference between easy to move in and wearing your pyjamas to school," and he disappeared into his room, "How tall are you?" he called suddenly.

"Six feet. Six one, maybe?" Tom shrugged back.

Not a moment later Sunny returned with a pair of black training pants. He unfolded them before his eyes, the crisp white Adidas logo on the pant immediately catching Tom's attention before he focused in on the rest of the look.

"Here, I wear these for football. Freshly washed," he tossed them to Tom, and he barely caught them at his chest.

"Are you sure?" he gawked back.

"Sure I'm sure. You wanna' make a good impression for the ballerinas, right?" he patted Tom's shoulder before taking his seat again at the table.

Tom's brows furrowed, "I'm not -- I'm not gonna' be scouting for a girlfriend, if that's what you mean," he said.

"I know, but still -- give them a reason to remember you... that's not those trousers, anyway," he replied simply.

"What's wrong with these?" Tom cried, somewhat defiantly.

"You look like a chav who just finished up at his nine-to-five and's about to settle in for a twelve hour GTA marathon," Sunny explained, "Trust me, mate,"

Tom changed into the training pants nonetheless, and he had to admit they made him look way less baggy than before. With that, he grabbed his notes and bag, his jacket, and was out the door in a split.

"Come in! Come in, everyone! Come have a seat!" the professor for the ballet's morning class, an older man with a moderate Eastern European accent, bellowed out to the acting students as they filed into the studio space. It was a gorgeous, large room with wall-to-wall mirrors, all accept for the window space that overlooked the bustling Manhattan streets below.

Jordan, a twenty-year-old first year acting student, had been bellyaching all morning to Tom about how ridiculous this all seemed. He was nice enough, but he had a proclivity for complaining.

"This is so dumb," he grumbled, falling into line with the others, "They're gonna laugh at us,"

Tom glowered at him, "They're not gonna laugh. We're just here to learn," he whispered back.

"Learn to do what, Swan Lake?" he scoffed.

"Would you just relax, please?" Tom grumbled back.

"We could be doing our monologues, right now," Jordan pointed out.

Tom simply shook his head and remained silent, sitting cross-legged against the mirror as the others filed in. The ballerinas were already here, clumped in their groups and sneaking glances at the actors. A handful of girls and guys, statuesque, lithe, adorned in shiny black leotards, tights, and some of them had leg warmers on. Among them was Noelle, sitting in the corner with Bianca and another dancer while she laced up her pointe shoes.

"Oh look, your ramen buddy's here," Bianca muttered. Noelle caught Tom's eyes when she glanced up, that dazzling, gentle smile pulling at her lips and she gave him a wave. Tom smiled and waved back subtly.

Their friend, Iseul, scanned the faces, "Which one?" she asked.

"The one who looks like he's shitting his pants,"

"They all look that way,"

Noelle rolled her eyes, "Would you guys keep it down?" she muttered.

Jordan spotted the small interaction from the corner of his eye, "You two friends?" he asked.

"She's my neighbour," Tom replied simply.

"You lucky bastard,"

Noelle quickly got to her feet as her instructor, Stanis, began to debrief the actors, "You originally came here to learn about acting. How to show character, evoke emotions, but a major part of theatre is how you use your body to show, not tell. Just like in a good book, you become much better story tellers when your body reflects pain, joy, agony," the man paced slowly across the studio, his hands flourishing with every exaggerated word. The dancers stood at the ballet bar behind him, casually leaning, watching, handful of eyes were passing over the doe-eyed first years some with boredom, some with intrigue.

Jordan leaned over to Tom, whispering, "Is he a ballet instructor or a high school teacher?" he was referring to Stanis' moppy jeans, beaten sneakers and band shirt. Tom hushed him.

"Of course it's impossible to exhibit any of these emotions if you're stiff," he straightened his posture but stood as still as a statue, "Or if you look bored," he slouched outwardly, posing like a delinquent teenager outside a convenience shop, "Or you look like a geek --" he hunched his back and pulled his shoulders in, making his limbs stuff.

A couple students tittered behind him.

"Now, obviously I am a ballet teacher, I am not a theatre teacher. But some of the key principles of dance are posture awareness, balance, coordination, spatial awareness, and physically expressing your emotion. These are principles utilized in ballet, and these are principles you will need if you hope to -- quote-on-quote -- break out in the industry," a hand went up from the end of the actors' group, "You there! Kip Dynamite!" Stanis called on him.

The attention turned to 'Kip', a lanky boy with thin hair and glasses, "I just wanted to ask -- are we expected to learn actual dances? Not many of us have any experience," his squeaking voice traversed the room.

Stanis chuckled, "Don't you worry, I don't expect you to performing grand jetes. You will however be learning these principles over the course of your studies," he explained, "Today we will start with the basics. Everyone please take up a position at the bar. Don't be shy!"

The actors took up spots along the bars against the mirrors. Jordan however raised his hand. Stanis nodded to him, "Ichabod Crane! You have a question?"

Jordan's face twisted momentarily, not quite sure how to respond to the nickname as he spoke up, "I don't mean any disrespect -- but why are they here?" he pointed to the ballet students.

Stanis shrugged simply, "To laugh at you, of course," he replied. Whatever little confidence Tom was struggling to hold on to, figuring there was no way in hell he was being serious. Luckily, Stanis began to chuckle, "No, no. They will be helping you. Directing your posture, your form, and I gave them permission to kick you if you're doing it wrong," he smirked.

"He's joking!" one of the dancers called, sensing the fear within some of the actors.

Stanis ignored her comment, instead he turned to his students, skimming them one by one until he settled on, "Bianca! Come be our przykład!"

The acting students glanced between each other, though Bianca didn't bat an eye as she stepped forward. Her expression was different from when Tom first met her, she had a little more get up in her step, more sparkle in her eye. That being said, her smile was a little too stiff.

"Assume first position," he directed, and Bianca did just that; shoulders back and head poised high, "Now, in this position our heels are touching and knees are squeezed together. Your bottom is also squeezed. First position improves awareness and control in your body, imbues confidence; you essentially feel like you have a string pulling you up. For some of you I imagine this may be the first time you've ever held a proper posture like this,"

He then turned to the actors, "Now, keep your right hand on the bar and assume first," and they did as they were told. Some had more poise than the others, some were loose in their arms or hunched in their shoulders, "My little soldier ants will be coming around to silently judge -- I mean help you,"

The ballerinas came around, some shyer at the approach then others, while Stanis continued to have Bianca demonstrate positions and stretches.

"When we warm up on the bar, we bend our knees into a demi plie, really focus on that plumb line being brought down from your crotch and between your heels, making sure your butt's not sticking out like a chicken," he too paced around the room, inspecting his new pupils one by one, "Keep your shoulders stacked over your hips. I'm talking to you, Kip!"

Tom followed along as best he could, he wasn't the worst but he certainly wasn't the best. He kept his eyes focused ahead, following along to Bianca's changing positions, but now and again his vision wandered to the rest of his classmates.

Jordan was two students ahead of him, and he was as stiff as stiff could be. When the female ballerinas walked by especially. It was then Tom realized why he was so opposed to this in the first place: he was trying to look cool in front of them.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Noelle making her rounds. He tried to keep his form as best as he could, realizing that he was suddenly no better than Jordan in the moment. Noelle approached him with curiosity in her eyes, hands clasped behind her back as she inspected.

"Hey,"

"Hi," she admired his dedication to try, but she could tell from his tight grin, his stiff eyes that he was a little uncomfortable, "You doing okay?"

"I'm great," he nodded, "Your instructor seems like fun,"

Noelle simpered, "He's got a zany sense of humour. You get used to it after a while," she said, "You ever do dance before?"

Tom shook his head, "Not as much as I should've," he replied with a sheepish grin, "How bad is it?"

Noelle stood back and looked him over, all in all she thought he wasn't doing too terribly, "Push your chest out," she told him, "And bring your toes in a little more. You'll have better balance when you bend down,"

He did as she told him and she nodded in approval, "Way better. You won't feel as much strain in your arches now,"

"Thanks," he smiled at her.

"No problem. You got any questions?" she asked.

Tom mulled it over, the exercises were the last thing on his mind though. He glanced down at her pointe shoes, the satin a pearly pink and the heels peeking out from under her long leg warmers.

"I have one,"

"Shoot,"

"When you stand in your shoes, are you fully on your toes?" he asked, chuckling, "Sorry -- is that weird?"

"Not at all," she shook her head, stepping before him and placing a hand on the bar, "My feet are fully vertical, no pressing," she pushed herself up on her toes, her long legs perfectly straight and with hardly any shake. It was such a simple move and she made herself look so elegant at the same time. They were just about at eye level.

Tom cocked a brow, "Doesn't that hurt, though?" he asked.

"No. If you stand a long time then they cramp a little but... ya know," Noelle stepped back and forth to make her point, " -- And I gain a couple inches,"

Tom gave a little smirk back, pushing up on his toes and towering over her again. Noelle scoffed and gently smacked his arm as she dropped back on her heels, "Dickhead," to which he only laughed like a rascally child. Her skin tingled at the sound, she picked off how his eyes crinkled and his chest shuddered.

"Noelle!" Stanis suddenly called for her, garnering their and everyone's attention, "Are we giving a pointe lesson today?" he asked, a snide smirk playing at his lips.

Noelle smiled politely, giving a simple shake of the head, "Just previewing what's to come," she replied. Tom simpered beside her.

Another student piped up, "Wait -- are we gonna have to wear those shoes?"

"No, no. It was just a joke," Stanis assured him, "But if anyone slouches or slacks off today, they're going to be laced up and have to work on a solo for next class!" that statement seemed to light a little more fire under Jordan.

Tom's legs burned a little more than what he was expecting, his walk was a little stiffer and his face contorted when he had to go up some stairs. Noelle walked beside him, virtually unscathed by the warm ups and practices from the morning class. She watching him move with a little concern.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she held the door open for him as they exited the campus, eager to get some lunch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, "Haven't done that much bending since... well I don't know," he shrugged listlessly.

"The more you practice the better you'll feel. Like with any workout," she assured him, "What do you want for lunch?"

Some good food was sure to cheer him up, and he hadn't really had a sustaining breakfast either. He wondered it momentarily, glancing around at the plethora of signs for cafes, sandwich shops, and hot dogs stands. In fact there was one right on the corner, vending just a block away from the gates of Central Park.

"Would I be a terrible person for suggesting a hot dog?" he asked.

Noelle's eyes went wide, "Have you not tried an nyc hot dog yet?" he shook his head with a knowing grin, "Well, c'mon then!"

Fifteen minutes later they'd found a little bench to park themselves up, bags disregarded on the cold cement beneath them as they unwrapped their foil-lined lunches. Tom opted to get the typical New York style dog with mustard and onions, while Noelle just stuck with relish on hers.

"Now -- you gotta promise not to tell my dance instructor, or my classmates, or even Bianca. Because I will be strung up for eating this," she looked at him with a point of pure earnest, leading Tom to panic for a moment.

"Wait -- if this is gonna ruin your regimen or anything --" he stumbled over his words, but Noelle began to laugh.

"I'm kidding! Relax," she patted his shoulder and he settled, "Besides, what is the point to life if you deprive yourself of all the good things it has to offer? Like cat-meat hot dogs," she spoke just as Tom was about to take a bite of his, pausing momentarily and side-eyeing her hard. She was trying to stop herself from laughing.

"Eat your fucking hot dog," he grumbled before chowing down. The meat was perfectly salted and the mustard tangy, the sweetness of the onions and bun cut the edge off of the pure sodium bite.

"Sorry," she giggled, taking a bite of her own. This was the first time she'd ever heard him swear and she wasn't mad about it.

Tom simpered back, "Have you ever eaten anything really weird? Like totally weird? No one would ever think it should exist?" he asked.

Noelle mulled it over, her pink lips pursed and her brows furrowed, "Balsamic vinegar on vanilla ice cream," she decided.

Tom gawked at her, "No!"

"Yeah," she nodded bashfully.

"On purpose?"

"... Kinda," she shrugged, "There's this fancy shmancy restaurant in Soho that has it with strawberries for a ridiculous price, and Bianca and I thought -- what's the big deal?"

"... And what was the verdict?" he asked curiously.

"It's actually really good," she admitted with another giggle.

Tom refrained from making a face, "But it's dairy and vinegar! Wouldn't it curdle together?" he asked.

"I don't know, but it's kinda' good," she replied.

"So, we've gone from 'really good' to 'kinda' good'. I'm not convinced," he smirked.

Noelle rolled her eyes, "Okay smart-ass, next time you come over I'll make it for you," she decided.

"I don't eat desserts,"

"Since when?"

"Since forty-five seconds ago,"

"Oh, please," she shook her head, "Alright, what about you: weirdest thing you ever ate?" his lips curled up, menacing and eager to spill what she only could perceive as some sort of harrowing secret, "What?"

"You're not ready," he told her.

"No, no, I'm ready," she assured him, "What was it?"

Tom didn't even have to think about it, "My mum used to make mashed potato sandwiches," he admitted.

She cocked a brow, "Mashed potato sandwiches? Like -- wait, really?" she set her hotdog in her lap and rested her chin in her palm, intrigued to learn more.

"Yeah, she's psychopathic," he nodded, trying not to laugh himself, "Mashed potatoes -- usually from a packet -- scooped between two slices of bread and some butter. And when she was feeling a little fancy, she'd put mayo on it,"

"Nooo, shut up!" Noelle gaped, "Was it good?"

"It was bread and mashed potatoes, of course it was good!" he laughed, "It was her comfort food, believe it or not,"

"That sounds very comforting," she giggled with disbelief, "Oh, bless her heart! Okay -- if I go to England, I'll visit you, I'll meet your mom, and I'll try a mashed potato sandwich,"

"You got a deal, then," he raised his hand and they shook on it, "You can bring her balsamic vinegar and ice cream and have her throw you out of the house,"

"And why would I want to disrespect your mom in her own home?" she teased back.

"Just forewarning you," he smirked back. She liked that he was opening up to her a bit more, his louder side was coming through and his quirky personality was beginning to shine through.

"How gentlemanly of you," she simpered.

Tom knocked her shoulder with his, growing increasingly at ease in her company with each passing moment. He wasn't an idiot, he could recognize that his feelings for her were starting to spark into a small crush. He found himself hanging off every word she spoke, every time she moved her hair behind her ear or she always found something new or intriguing to talk about. His stomach was flipping at every enthusiastic giggle and reaction he got out of her. It was as if her enthusiasm had a magnetic pull, leaving him captivated by her every word and gesture. The way her eyes lit up and her laughter bubbled forth filled him with an intoxicating blend of excitement and nervousness. His heart raced in sync with her infectious energy, and with each positive response he evoked from her, a cascade of warmth flooded through him, leaving an indelible imprint of happiness amidst the fluttering sensations in his stomach.

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the hunger games x reader #original story #original character #original series #imagine blog

[powderblueblood]

Lacy bullying Eddie (affectionately) into having a sleepover (not sexual, initially) with her with facemasks and deep conditioning treatments and nail polish because she can’t look at his dry ends and the clogged pores on his nose or the hair between his brows because he’s unfairly pretty and she misses girly sleepovers a little bit maybe perhaps

THIS IS EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER WANTED UUUUGGHHHH and it starts like this

“so you’re entering me into the witness protection program.”

“what? sh—“

“lace, you came in here with full artillery. look at this thing.” thunk. it’s just a little cosmetics case! a midsized cosmetics case. alright, it’s a decently sized cosmetics case. christ. “i’m expecting, like, reconstructive surgery.”

lacy stares a clean hole right through him.

“you were the one that said you could use a little pampering. stressful times and all that shit.”

“yeah, but i meant—“

“you meant a blowjob.”

“i… maybe.”

“and i’m not ruling that out! just… sit down. let me make you pretty.”

smash cut to like, an hour later and both of them are trying desperately not to smile so as not to crack the facades of the quick hardening mud masks they have on. (lookin’ at her in that little robe, it’s not the only thing in the room that’s quick hardening if you get what i’m say—alright.) eddie, in a bright green concoction designed for extraction and lacy in a ghoulish white version made for maintenance— because she’s on top of this shit, don’cha know.

eddie’s reclined between lacy’s legs, his head resting against her chest. his hand in hers, she’s using those nimble fingers to work lotion into his knuckles and callouses.

(“is this really necessary?” “if you ever wanna put those fingers inside me again, it is.”)

in the background, they’ve got lou reed spinning.

if lacy had to illustrate a perfect moment…

“this feels…”

“say something stupid and i break your fingers.”

“nooo,” the word curls in his mouth like smoke, “it feels… nice.”

lacy struggles against a smile. for the sake of the face mask. of course.

“i was the manicure boss when we’d have sleepovers. me and…” she trails off. eddie blinks. “i’m deceptively good with my hands. for a rich girl.”

“oh, i know that better than anybody— ow!” eddie squirms as she pinches at him lightly; pinches her back on her thigh. “what else did you harlots get up to at those sleepovers? practice kissing?”

“god, you’re such a caricature of a boy sometimes,” lacy tuts. “but… mm. maybe.”

“yeah? who was the best?”

“wouldn’t you like to know.”

“i would, dipshit, s’why i asked.”

“this faux lesbianism better not be titillating you, freak.”

“you’re not even giving me anything to work with, cheerleader.”

lacy sighs, so deep out of her chest that it shifts eddie’s head a little. his curls are wrapped in an old t-shirt on top of his head, y’know, to sop up whatever sauce she put on ‘em when they got out of the shower.

she hadn’t thought about those sleepovers in a minute. powdery perfume and the smell of hair burning from carol’s room when cass would accidentally go too hard with the hot rollers. wild, loud laughter. everyone balancing on the life raft of her canopy bed.

“t is for tina who used too much tongue…” lacy starts and eddie snorts, “h is for heather who sometimes got handsy…”

“oh shit, my mask!” eddie gasps, but she rubs his chest, bare and soft from the lotion she’d slathered on him earlier.

“don’t worry about it, you’re already cooked.”

“oh?” he chirps, hauling up and around to face her. she can’t contain herself, him cast in gill-man green. “so i can take this shit off now?”

“jesus, you’re the creature from the black lagoon!” lacy guffaws, and here eddie comes with those tickling hands, fingers making a rapid crawl up her legs.

“oh yeah? you gonna be my little, uh— whatsername—“

“julia a—hhhahah—julia adams!”

“lemme make you pretty, she says, lemme make you pretty—and look at me now!” eddie rears up on his haunches, arms flung wide, “i’m a monster!”

lacy, face mask flaking, can barely catch a breath from where she lies on his sagging mattress— and before she knows what’s what, she’s being hauled up bridal style, carried to the bathroom to ‘reverse this green-skinned curse you put upon me, witch!’

eddie quietens right down when lacy passes over his pretty features with a warm washcloth, careful and gentle, patting in face cream after she dries his face off. her touch, again, delicate and dedicated. like nothing eddie’s ever felt from another human being.

not since he was little, at least.

he leans forward, clutching at her waist and pressing his face into her belly from his seat on the closed cistern. and squeezes her ass for good measure.

“did heather ever get this handsy?”

lacy, carefully unwrapping his conditioned curls, smiles. the weight of him around her feels so good. so grounding. makes her feel solid.

“just the once. you got big shoes to fill, munson.”

#powder room talk #anonymous #lmao A BLUrb on accident who ME???! #hai brainrot #edlacy #thanks anon ily #l. doevski by powder #e. munson by powder #published by powder

[silentglassbreak]

Please please , write something. Noah and Lily, she is designer and painter, they are working together on design for new album or merch, or something like that. She is redhead, have freckles, have a lot of tattoos, like to wearing skirts and sundresses. thank you! I love your work so so much 💔💔🥲

Bb you are my first ask! So, naturally, you have my undying love and affection for eternity!

Also, this physical description is giving me such inspiration. My best friend has a very similar physical appearance, so this will be fun!! (I just finished this and OMG this got away from me. I did not intend for this to be this long...I really got into this one. I hope you enjoy!)

So let’s get into this, shall we?

Rating: Mature (for language)

Warnings: None.

Into The Ocean

What did I think would happen when I moved to New York City? That I would get here, put a few paintings in some galleries, and suddenly I’d be making millions? How fucking insane am I?

My inner monologue continued as I catatonically stirred my bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes, moping heavily.

It had been six months since I moved here on a whim and a breath of a dream, thinking that with my ‘sparkling personality’, ‘adorably good looks’, and ‘raw talent’ I’d be a success so quick. These days, however, I spent a lot of time wishing I had stayed back home in Hartford, in my Mom’s two bedroom home, with my dog and my normalcy.

No, couldn’t be me. I had to go off with delusions of grandeur, and get myself a full time job as a desk girl at a law firm (which sucked), and had virtually no time to paint like I wanted. My studio apartment in Queens was big enough for me; a bed, a small table, and my paint supplies. I had a clothes rack for my small wardrobe, and a television on the wall adjacent to my bed. My minimal belongings were strewn haphazardly around with no real method. It felt much like my life - off kilter.

Frustrated, I decided to get off the bed, still holding my bowl, and stared at the cereal floating sadly in the milk. It looked so pathetic, the same as I felt.

My eyes wandered to the floor, then the edge of the bed, and eventually to the right of it, where the seven-foot by four-foot canvas sat.

I had that particular canvas since my first day here in New York. I swore that canvas would hold my best work. The piece that would change everything for me. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch it until I was certain I knew what it would be, and was ready.

But now? Staring at it? It mocked me. Day in, day out, it reminded me that I was just another struggling artist in this God forsaken jungle of a city made of concrete and exploitation. It laughed at me. It told me I had failed.

Without realizing it, my arm shot the bowl in my hand clear across the room, the milk and flakes splattering all over my bed, and eventually spraying the canvas. It left a sickly gray hue against the stark white vastness behind it, giving me a sense of anger. A sense of rage.

Climbing up onto my bed, my feet digging into the mattress while I reached for the shelf above it, grabbing random paints from the bowl they lived in. I hastily twisted the caps off of each, my breathing becoming frantic as I felt the sudden anxiety surge through me.

Once the tubes were open, I didn’t bother with my palette, or my brushes, I just squeezed the tubes, three in each hand, until they all sprayed like firehoses over the canvas, all in varying shades of blue and black. I hadn’t even realized I only grabbed blue and black paint.

Finally, after several minutes of raging, smearing paint across the canvas with no structure, using my palms and fingers, I stepped back. The anger and fire in my chest had dulled. I took a step back, and caught a glimpse of myself in my wall-length mirror across the room, and cringed.

Navy blue paint streaked my pale yellow shorts and faded UC t-shirt. I had a large glob of black paint on my face near my hairline, turning that spot of my red waves a midnight color. I needed a shower.

Now that I had thoroughly ruined my clothes, bed, walls, and canvas, I elected to head for the bathroom to clean myself up before the process of cleaning my apartment.

However, as I turned away from the canvas, I caught a sight of it in my peripheral, and something in my brain sparked. The blues and blacks, which turned dark grey when mixed. The lines and swirls they fell in. The non-uniformity of it all.

Waves.

Ocean.

Chaos.

And like that, I was climbing back up on my bed, ready to finish my painting.

It was after 5AM, and I only had three hours before I had to be back at work before I finished. When I did, I gasped at what I saw in front of me.

It was superb.

The waves crashed everywhere as the moon hung low in the sky, storm clouds covering. Amidst the maelstrom that was the ocean, there was one large, beautiful, impossibly sad octopus, thrashing in the waves, bleeding from the eyes.

The octopus was a deep gray, blending but also naturally contrasting the color of the waves, deep crimson blood running from its desperate eyes.

It was painful. It was despondent. It was powerful.

This was it.

-

Forty-two days had passed, and I was struggling to breathe as my hands trembled where they sat in my pockets, watching the droves of people walk by me. I did my best to smooth down the skirt of my lime-green sundress and tugged at the lapels of my denim jacket. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, leaving my waves to cascade down my back loosely, out of my face.

The sun above provided a warmth that was needed, but I had forgotten SPF today, which meant I would likely have a fresh batch of freckles on my cheeks to add to all the others. Today had to be the day. Something in my skin told me it did.

I had been to three art fairs, two open galleries, and a fine arts convention, trying to get something, anything sold.

Three days after I finished my piece, I was told that Burgen & Black no longer needed my position, so this was all I had right now. This, and the three hundred dollars my mom loaned me when I told her I was a little short on rent.

Rent wouldn’t be an issue soon if I didn’t sell anything, as cardboard boxes are real cheap.

This open fair was in Central Park, mid-September, so it was comfortable outside. The sun was getting low, causing a golden sky to reach overhead. I had been here all day, and was beginning to feel defeated.

I hadn’t sold as much as one print. One painting.

After staring at the crowds for another twenty-minutes, I finally decided to start packing up. It was a long bus ride back to Queens, and I would be too cold after dark.

Stuffing a handful of my prints into my portfolio bag, I huffed at myself, shaking my head.

Maybe it was time to go home. Maybe being an artist just wasn’t where I fit. Maybe I did need to reconsider college. It wasn’t too late. Twenty-six was an easy age, right?

“Is this all you?”

A sharp, deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts, making me spin on my heel, to see who was standing at my booth, scanning the pieces set up on the table.

The first thing I noticed was how tall he was. He had at least a foot of height on me. I noticed next that he was covered everywhere in tattoos. The long expanse of his arms that led to the bit of his chest I could see behind his tank top was littered. It made my mouth dry.

His hair was short, hidden under a ball cap, sunglasses perched on his nose.

It took me a moment of staring before I realized he had asked me a question.

“Oh, uh,” I walked back to the table, standing directly in front of him. “yeah these are my works.”

He nodded, looking down at the table and flipping fingers through the prints.

“I like them. They’re different.”

I gave my best ‘please buy this’ smile, and nodded.

“Thank you. I just paint what I feel. It helps me deal.”

He smirked. “I get that.” His eyes came back up to my face. “Not the painting. I can’t do that. But having something to help you deal? I get that.”

That’s interesting. “Yeah? What do you use to deal?”

He flashed his teeth at me. “Music.”

Oh, brother. A musician. Any awe I was feeling was dissolving. I had yet to meet one that was worth his salt in anything, let alone carrying a tune.

“Ah, well, different animal, same results?” I tried not to sound disinterested.

“How much for the prints?”

I felt my lungs tighten. Money?!

“Ten, but it’s two for eighteen.”

He smirked. “What would a hundred get me?”

If I had not caught it quick enough, my eyes would have bugged out of my head. I stifled a cough to cover up my surprise.

“Uh,” I looked around. No one had purchased one hundred dollars of my work before. Not all at once. “Seven prints? Or four prints and a canvas or two? Depends on size.”

I pointed to the side of my table, there I had a cardboard box full of canvases. He glanced over, and turned so he could see better.

With a ‘hmph’, he squatted down and looked through them, nodding at some, disregarding others.

Eventually, he came back up and had two smaller canvases perched in his hands.

A painting I had done of ravens when I was sat in a cemetery one day for inspiration, and one of a dark room that held a single bright red wood chair. That had come to me in a dream.

“Okay, and I’ll take these four prints.” He handed me the laminated copies and gave me a sweet, polite smile.

“Sounds good, it’ll be a hundred even.”

“Can you take card?” My face fell. I couldn’t handle my rent and groceries, let alone a card reader.

He must have noticed, because he raised his eyebrows.

“Got Zelle?”

I nodded, pulling my phone out, a rush of relief washing over me. I gave him my phone number, and he pulled me up, transferring a cool one hundred dollars into my account. My stomach flipped. I was halfway to rent with my borrowed cash, and I still had two weeks before it was due.

It was the first shred of hope I had felt in a while.

“Noah!” A male voice called before a shorter man bounded up, and my eyes popped open.

Nick Folio, the drummer from Bad Omens, stood in front of my table, and I just about fell over with a stroke.

My mouth was hung open, in pure disbelief. It hadn’t even occurred to me who he had called for.

Folio held a plastic bag, having clearly grabbed something else from another table.

“There’s a guy selling homemade lures, dude. I bought six!” His teeth flashed in excitement, and my customer shook his head, smiling.

“You’re going to go broke buying those things.”

It was in that moment it dawned on me. That voice. Those tattoos. Those sinfully long fingers…

“Are you Noah Sebastian?” My words came out rushed, before I could stop them.

A sly grin fell over his lips. “Never heard of him.” He smoothly turned around, preparing to leave. “Thanks for the artwork.”

Folio gave me a small wave before following Noah. I was frozen.

I just met one half of Bad Omens. I had sold artwork to Noah Sebastian. He liked my art. I couldn’t breathe.

It took me a solid ten minutes before I could move, then packing my things and heading for the bus with my bag and box in arms, glancing around the park a few times for a familiar ball cap and forbidden fruit tattoo.

-

Nine days have passed since I unexpectedly met Noah Sebastian and Nick Folio, and it had been heavy on my mind until the stress of my rent became the reason I was laying awake at night.

With no other real resolve, my hunt for another nine-to-five not getting very far, I found myself trekking back to Central Park, ready to set up another table. I had fresh prints, and a dozen new canvasses to hopefully sell.

Now that we had crossed the threshold into October, the air was becoming more brisk. Today, I had elected to wear a floor-length forest green skirt with a white crop top, my black zip hoodie keeping my arms warm.

Today was more lively, giving me the opportunity to sell six prints and four canvasses by noon. I had made my rent, and was working on the power bill next. I had slightly raised my prices, given my circumstances, but I justified it with the need to survive.

Did I expect to run into him again? Not at all. In fact, I had convinced myself that my once in a lifetime chance to meet him had passed, and I should be excited about it. I was a Bad Omens fan, and had been since their second album. Their style of music was absolutely cathartic for me, giving me inspiration on more than one occasion while painting.

So, imagine my surprise, when I heard the same deep, smooth voice while I was reorganizing my canvasses.

“Back again?” This time, he wore a hoodie, beanie over his hair, and no sunglasses. His eyes were so big, so brown. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

I snorted. “Me? I could say the same to you?”

He leaned his hand on the table, smiling down at where I was crouched in front of my box.

“Selling a lot?”

Triumphantly grinning, I stood up, leaning my palms on the table. “Actually, yeah. It’s been weird. Central Park isn’t normally a hot spot for me, but today has been great!”

There was a flash of thirty-two stunning teeth, and I held myself upright.

“Maybe the word is spreading?”

“Maybe. Going to buy anything today?”

Raising a row, he scanned the table, tapping on one print. “This one is nice. How much?”

“Fifteen.”

His head snapped up, bewildered look on his face.

“It was ten last week?”

A sheepish blush crept over my face, and I tried to be sweet, brushing some of my loose hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, uh,” I couldn’t look right at him. “I had to raise the price a little. Living cost’s a bitch.” I shrugged.

He looked absolutely amused. “I see.” He pulled his phone out, and began tapping at something I couldn’t see. Afterwards, he picked up the print he chose, and gave me a two finger salute.

“Thanks a lot, Red.”

I smirked, feeling the phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it for now and approached a young couple who had walked over to my table. I did, however, watch as Noah left, making his way straight out of the park, not stopping at any other tables.

Finally home, I flopped down on my bed, and let my eyes fall closed for just a moment. I had called it early, feeling exuberant and deciding I deserved an afternoon to just relax, not painting, not trying to find a job, just snacking and watching Netflix.

Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I sat up, seeing some missed messages and scrolling through my notifications.

When I came to the last one, I nearly dropped my phone.

Zelle Notification: Noah Davis sent you $100.

My jaw dropped. He only bought one print. Why would he give me so much? He must have done it by mistake.

I bit my lip, bothered. I felt guilty, as if I had stolen the money from him. People were generous, but no one was that generous...right?

Staring at my Zelle account, I took a deep breath, and tapped on the transaction, pulling up the details. My finger hovered over Noah's name, wondering if I'd just get his email. After counting three calculated breaths, I finally tapped it, and a phone number flashed under the name.

Oh God, I had Noah Sebastian's phone number.

It was me being a good samaritan that caused me to pull up a text thread, and begin typing a message. The voice in the back of my head screamed at me that I could just sent eighty-five dollars back, and not invade his privacy by texting him.

But...

Me: Noah?

After hitting send, I physically tossed my phone on the mattress, and pulled my knees up to my chest, breathing erratic. I sat in absolute silence, waiting. Each passing second made my soul fall. What if it wasn't his personal cell he used for Zelle? He was a somewhat celebrity, after all. Would he really just casually give his number out to a random girl in the park?

My phone chimed, and I thought my carotid was going to blow out of my neck. Shaking fingers lifted the phone.

Noah: Who is this?

No confirmation of identity, but the number worked.

I went to type a response, telling him who I was, until I realized I never gave him my name. Sure, I had signed my art, but my signature was decently illegible.

Chewing my lip, I wracked my brain for the right response.

Me: Red.

The text bubbles had turned blue, and I saw he had received and read the message, but his type signal hadn't come up yet.

I was insane, I had to be.

Noah: LOL you mean Lily?

My blood ran cold.

Me: How do you know my name?

Noah: Well, much like my own, your Zelle tells me your first and last name.

I felt like such a moron. Of course it did.

Me: Oh, LOL yeah I didn't think of that.

I typed out another message, before I forgot.

Me: You sent me too much for that print!

Noah: No I didn't.

Me: You did. You sent me $100.

Me: I can send back $85.

Noah: Don't you dare.

This made me pause, already on the Zelle screen, his message flashing as a banner on top, making my fingers halt.

Me: Noah, I can't take that from you for one print.

Noah: ...because...?

Me: Because it's way too much! I appreciate it, but I'm not comfortable with that.

He waited a few minutes, his type bubble appearing and disappearing a few times.

Noah: So I'll buy something else from you, then.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: What would you like?

Noah: You have a portfolio online?

I sighed, embarrassed. My online presence was close to nonexistent. I had an Instagram, with all of five photos on it, and they were all four months old. I didn't have a website, not having the money to create one yet.

Me: I don't, I'm sorry.

Noah: Studio I can check out?

I stared at the screen, and laughed loudly. Oh, I've got a studio alright. Just not what he's thinking of.

Me: Not exactly. I'm a very small artist. I do all of my work out of my apartment.

Noah: Which is where?

My heart sunk. No way. Not letting him in my four hundred square foot, paint covered, disarrayed apartment.

Me: Queens.

I stayed vague.

Noah: Oh yeah, I'm over in Central Park West right now.

I sighed, relieved, and slightly disappointed.

Me: I can send you some pictures of my work? I'll just need a few to take them.

Noah: Can you just FaceTime? Seems faster.

How on Earth did we get here? I was going to FaceTime with a rockstar, and show him my paintings? This couldn't be real life.

Me: Sure. Call when you're ready.

I walked over to the corner of my studio that I kept my completed works in, a sheet thrown over the large canvas in an attempt protect the paint from the sun rays. I had yet to take that one anywhere yet. I hadn't found the right venue to sell.

After about five minutes, my phone began vibrating in my hand, and I looked down to see his name flashing.

My heart was beating so frantically, I was sure it would disconnect and come out of my throat.

I swiped the call open, and held the camera at the most flattering angle I could. Once the call connected, he sat on what appeared to be a staircase, somewhere outside, same beanie on his head from earlier, and was smiling into the camera.

"Hey!"

His enthusiasm surprised me, and I waved nervously, smiling back at him.

"Hi."

"Why do you look so uneasy? Are you being held hostage or something?"

My face fell, wildly confused by his comment. "What?"

His laugh echoed through the receiver, which made this weird jittery thing happen in my stomach.

"I'm just joking. You just look uncomfortable." He pulled his beanie down more, and I swallowed dryly, trying to giggle.

"Oh, yeah. No I'm good."

He sat back, elbow resting on the step behind him. "You sure?"

I felt like we weren't getting past this point. "Can I be honest?"

He didn't respond, just gestured for me to continue.

"I'm a fan. A big fan. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous."

His smile could've illuminated a small town.

"Oh yeah?" He ran a hand over his face. "Don't be. I'm just a guy."

Feeling rebellious, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. A guy who hundreds of thousands of girls would kill to FaceTime with."

This made him blush, so he looked down. "Ah, I don't know about that."

I decided to press my luck. "I do."

He furrowed his brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? So you're just that lucky, huh?"

This made me grin, in near disbelief. "Ah, the great Noah Sebastian. Cocky, huh?"

This made him laugh again, to which I joined.

"Nah. Like, I said, I'm just a guy. Really cool to know you're a fan, though." I nodded in response. "Ever seen us live?"

I shook my head. "Cost of living's a bitch. You think I can afford concert tickets?"

He shrugged. "Fair enough, dude."

"Anyways, you want me to show you the artwork?"

He agreed, and I flipped the camera around, scanning through the various pieces I had out in the corner. At his request, I would get closer to a piece, or pull it up to the camera. I watched as his eyes would get close to the phone, analyzing each canvas.

"I really like the desert painting." He was referring to a painting I had done that was slightly more abstract of a desert with random melted items such as longhorn skulls, cacti, and pieces of driftwood. They melted into the sand below.

"Okay. That would bring your total with the print earlier to fifty, since this one is bigger."

He nodded. "Do you have anything for fifty even?"

Biting my lip, I scanned my eyes, landing on a painting I had of a black cat, perched on the edge of a pond, cleaning it's paw, a skeletal hand reaching out of the water for it. The painting was done in nearly all neon colors, which was different for me.

"This one." I held it up in the camera.

"Oh dude, that's fucking sick." He pulled back from the camera. "I'll take it."

I chuckled. "Okay, do you want me to ship them?"

I flipped the camera back around, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "To Central Park West?"

I shrugged. "I could."

"Nah. I can get them from you. I don't live in New York and I leave back home for LA this weekend."

This made my chest sink only a little. "Right, I can ship them there if you want?"

He shook his head. "Let's meet up and I can get them?" I hesitated to respond, and I swear I saw a flash of concern on his face. "Unless you've got plans or something."

This made me smirk. "We didn't even say when? How would I know if I had plans?"

He huffed out a laugh, grabbing his beanie off of his head and smiling. "Sorry, you're right."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Tonight? I'm busy most of the week, but I'd really like to get my stuff soon."

Pondering this, I sat down on my bed, back to my art corner. "Where?"

"There's an Italian restaurant near my hotel. We can get dinner?"

I'm going to dinner with Noah fucking Sebastian?!

"Sure. Just text me the address?" He nodded in response. "What time?"

"Whatever time works best for you, Red."

I rolled my eyes. "You know my name, Noah."

A small wink, and he smiled. "I know, Lily. I just like your hair."

My face turned a deep shade of crimson, and I felt the urge to pull at my long red waves.

"Well, if that's the plan, I'm going to get ready. I have to leave a while before you to catch the subway."

I stood off the bed and went to turn, but he spoke and stopped me.

"Hey, what's that behind you?"

I turned, scanning. "What?"

"Under the sheet."

It occurred to me what he was referring to, and I waved it off.

"Just another piece."

"Can I see it?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I haven't shown anyone yet."

"So? I can be the first!" He seemed so excited, which made me giggle.

"It's an emotion piece. Not like the others."

He raised a brow. "Still not hearing why I can't see it."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shrugged. "Alright, but don't get too excited. It's not as clean and precise as my other work."

He just shrugged, and I reached over, pulling the sheet off the canvas, and flipped the camera.

I watched his eyes, scanning the screen over and over. He looked so enamored, I was confused. Was the connection bad?

"Noah? You okay?"

He leaned back, blinking. "Lily, that's fucking amazing!"

I laughed, stepping closer to the painting. "It's okay. It's a rage painting. Something I started in a fit, and kind of worked into what it is now."

"I can tell. You can feel the pain in the image. The colors are unbelievable."

"Oh, I don't know. It's okay."

"Okay? Red, that painting is unreal. How much do you want for it?"

His question caught me by surprise, nearly knocking me down. "What?"

"How much? I want it." He was so matter of fact, that the air rushed out of me.

"I haven't priced it. It's a big piece, bigger than anything else I've ever done."

"Okay, well tell me what you think, because I'll pay a lot for it."

My heart began stammering, words not forming on my lips. "Y-You really want it?"

"I don't just want it; I want to use it."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you at dinner. Just do me a favor? Think about a price? I really want that painting."

-

We agreed to meet at 7PM, but I was late. The subway had been packed, and I missed the first one. I didn't come jogging up to the front of the restaurant until fifteen after, seeing Noah stood outside, same outfit on as earlier today. I had to calm my insides at the sight.

I waved when he caught a glimpse of me, earning a smile in my direction.

"Hey, Red!"

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't letting that go.

"Hi, Noah."

When I approached, he put an arm out, and wrapped it around my shoulders casually. I had to take several deep breaths to remind myself that, like he said, he's just a guy.

An attractive guy. With tattoos. And the voice of an angel.

And this wasn't a date...right? This was a transaction...right?!

Trying to shake off the thoughts, I handed him the bag on my arm.

"Your goodies."

He smiled and took the bag, looking inside. "Nice. Thank you."

I followed him into the restaurant, which didn't look too terribly fancy. We were dressed casually, as were most people here. We were sat at a small table, a little dish with butter and rolls already in the middle.

We sat down, and began scanning the menus. The prices jumped out at me as relatively expensive, and I knew I would be taking my work out again tomorrow to make back the money I would be spending tonight.

Noah ordered a beer. I ordered water.

Noah ordered a steak with linguine on the side. I ordered a salad.

This caught his attention. "You don't want more than a salad and water?"

I hid behind my glass, shrugging. "Not the most hungry."

"Hm," He sat back and eyed me. "okay. For now."

The fuck does that mean?

"So have you given any more thought to how much you want for that painting?" He spoke before I could respond.

"I haven't. I really don't know, Noah." I shook my head, thinking. "Three hundred?"

His eyes widened. "No way, man. It's worth way more."

I was dumbstruck. "Are you asking me to charge you more?"

"Fuck yeah I am. That painting is worth ten grand, at the very least."

As badly as I wanted not to, and prayed I hadn't, I spit my water out onto the table, spraying my salad. My face immediately turned bright red, matching my hair.

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed very unfazed. "What?"

"Did you say ten grand? As in ten thousand?" He nodded. "Dollars?!"

He rolled his eyes. "No. Marshmallows."

Without thought, I picked up a cherry tomato and tossed it at him, bouncing it off of his hand on his plate. He glanced up at me, mouth open, amused.

"Did you just throw a tomato at me?"

I pressed my lips together in a very small, devious grin. "Maybe."

He picked up the tomato between two long fingers, considered it for a moment, and popped it in his mouth.

"I've never had that happen. And I'm a singer."

This made me laugh. "Oh God."

He wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Seriously, though, Red. You need to price your stuff fairly. Don't accept less than what you're worth."

I leaned back in my chair, considering this. "So, you want to pay me ten thousand for my painting?"

He shook his head. "I don't." My heart sunk for a second. "My label will, though."

My eyebrows shot up. "Pardon? The label?"

He was chewing some steak, and waited to swallow before he responded. I found myself staring at the apple on his throat bobbing.

"I want that painting to be our next album cover."

I felt my jaw physically hit the floor, break through the table and all. I was hallucinating.

"You...what?"

"I've been looking for months. I had been looking at photography until very recently, because I just wasn't finding anything that worked. I started scouting art fairs and galleries almost a year ago."

My eyes were blinking at an alarming rate.

"So, that's why you came to Central Park twice, then."

He smirked, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. "That's why I came to your table twice, yes."

I was pushing my salad around on the plate, not looking at him. "Ah, and here I was thinking you came back to see me." I looked up and gave him the cheekiest smile I could, joking.

Snorting, he flashed his teeth again. "Well, that too."

My stomach stuttered, and I set my fork down. I folded my arms on the table, looking straight at him.

"You're serious? You really want my painting for the album?"

He put his hands in his sweater pockets and leaned forward, so his face was hovering over the table.

"I'm dead serious." His tongue slipped over his bottom lip, catching my attention. "There's more to it than just buying it. We'd have to purchase rights from you, so you can't sell copies."

I raised a brow, now intrigued. "Oh?"

He leaned back again. "I don't want anyone else having our original piece that you did. We would, of course, credit you on the album, and maybe even ask you to do some additional work for the rest of the art?"

There was a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow. "Rest of the art?"

"Yeah. The back of the album. The vinyl casing and variants. Merch, maybe?"

I couldn't breathe. It was so hot all of a sudden.

Noah could sense my panic. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to overwhelm you."

I gulped down half of my water at once. "No, I just..." I trailed off, staring at the tablecloth. "I've never had anyone want my artwork that bad."

He smiled. "Isn't the point to sell it? Success?"

"Well sure, but to go from selling prints and small canvasses in the parks to doing artwork for a huge band like Bad Omens? That's a bit of a step." I stared at him, trying to mask my anxiety, and failing horribly.

"I don't know if I'd call us huge." His smirk was coy, and I rolled my eyes.

"Wow. Cocky." I echoed my earlier statement, and this made him giggle like a child.

"Listen, think about it? In the meantime, can I ask a favor?" I didn't respond. "Don't sell any copies of that? Once you do, I can't use it."

I shrugged, and nodded, agreeing.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Noah since the night at the restaurant. I had re-covered the canvas, but the question replayed in my mind over and over.

Noah had decided to buy more pieces off of me, bringing my profits up to six hundred, which had my utilities paid this month and a small batch of groceries in the refrigerator. I agreed to ship them as soon as I could, but he kept telling me to take my time.

I knew what he really wanted to ask, but he held back.

I had thought about it over and over, trying hard to not let my bias toward Noah, or the bad, sway me.

This was a big step. Not owning my own art? Being pressured to make more that met a standard? Being under a contract? That wasn't what I got into this for. This wasn't why I became an artist and moved here. One of the best parts about creating something that you love, is that you get to do it freely. Once you have to do it, or do it a certain way, it becomes all too tedious. It's work now. I wasn't sure I'd be happy with it.

But on the flipside, there was a strange thrill at the idea. Someone wants my painting bad enough that they are willing to give me so much leeway financially, I can paint whenever I want. I'll get exposure. This could be what does it.

This painting could change everything.

And that was the point, right? I bought the canvas telling myself that this was the piece that changed it all. This was my ticket to success. And here it was, in front of me...

Ripping the sheet off of the canvas, I stared at it. The waves crashed over one another. The moon, bright, but somehow so ominous, shone through, bouncing off of the water in a way that made them look almost silver. The octopus, tentacles scattered amongst the waves, stared at me, bleeding eyes seeing through my soul.

"Is this what I'm supposed to do?" I asked the creature. I was met with silence. Loud, deafening, overwhelming silence.

"Fuck it."

I picked up my phone from the bed, bringing up my recent text thread with Noah, smiling at the meme he had sent earlier in the day.

I typed out a quick message, and sighed when I saw he read it quickly, and responded even quicker.

Me: I'm in.

Noah: Oh FUCK yeah!

-

Six months ago, I met Noah Sebastian for the first time, and he bought some of my art for a hundred dollars. Five and a half weeks ago, he bought more of my art for a hundred more dollars.

Five months ago exactly, his record label offered me twelve thousand dollars for my painting, and the rights to it, and offered me a contract to complete and provide artwork for all pieces surrounding their upcoming album, with an overall gross value of eighty-two thousand dollars to be paid up front, with the understanding that I would provide the artwork within one year of the contract signing.

Naturally, I was a mess.

Still living in my studio apartment, I had rented a painting studio six blocks from my apartment, and spent near all of my time there. I had completed the entire album artwork, maintaining the theme of the original piece, but adding in major twists in each installment.

So far, the label, the band, and mostly Noah, were pleased.

But today, I was stressed. There was one insert in the vinyl copy of the album that needed artwork. It needed a standalone piece, and I was drawing a vivid blank. I had been staring at the 3 foot by 2 foot canvas for two hours, paintbrush twirling between my paint-stained fingers. My old, ratted jeans were blotched with deep blue paint from my last attempt, which had been scrapped.

I was getting nowhere way too fast, and needed a break. I stood from my stool, and pulled my t-shirt off, standing in only my dark red sports bra to fight against the heat. I kept it warm in the studio to keep the paint from hardening in the palette.

Pacing back and forth, music pumping through my Bluetooth speaker, I sighed. I needed emotion. I needed something to throw at this damn thing, like before.

My phone quieted the music for a moment, and I snatched it to check.

Noah: In town this weekend. Want to get lunch?

As badly as I wanted to, I just couldn't.

Me: I can't. Trying to get this piece done.

Noah: Want me to bring you food? Can't paint on an empty stomach.

Considering this, I pursed my lips. He wasn't wrong.

I responded with the address to the studio.

Forty-five minutes later, and Noah was pushing his way into the small studio, bags of Chinese in his hands. I was sat on the stool, still staring at the blank canvas, twirling my brush, and didn't even look at him.

"Hey!" He set the bags down on the table on the far side of the room. "You haven't started yet?"

A hard, deep growl came out of me, and I chucked my brush at the ground, hearing it clatter. I stood, fingers gripping my hair at the root.

He threw his hands up. "Woah, it's okay! I wasn't trying to say anything to upset you."

I took a deep breath, letting go of my mop of hair. "You didn't. I'm just drawing such a fucking blank! I can't figure out what to paint for this insert!"

He tightened his lips, putting his hands in his jean pockets.

"What usually helps?"

"Anger! And I've got plenty! But I've still got fucking nothing!" My foot kicked the stool, sliding it several feel away.

He took a step forward, toward me, hands coming out in front of him.

"Okay, so anger isn't working. Any other emotions we can use?"

I raised an eyebrow, halting my pacing. "What do you mean?" My words were sharp, and he cracked an amused smile.

"You're a real fireball, clearly, Red. But, do you have other emotions we can channel?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Of course I have other emotions."

"Like?"

Suddenly feeling cornered, I squeezed my eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"I don't know." I looked up at him. "Sadness? Depression?"

He snickered. "Why all negative emotions?"

"What?"

"Why not joy? Enthusiasm? Excitement?" He looked so genuine, it almost hurt my heart, because I was so angry and it wasn't his fault.

I paced over to the stool, coming down with a screech against the floor. "Sorry." I confessed. "This is just hard to do under pressure, you know?"

He nodded, standing next to me, a soft hand coming down on my mid-back, rubbing slow circles on my bare skin.

"I get it. More than most, I think." I looked up at him. "But if what you're used to isn't working, then we have to do something different."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and smiled weakly. "How?"

He pursed his lips, and his hand came under my arm, pulling me up from the stool. "Grab your brush."

Opting for a fresh one, I held it in front of me, and waited for further instruction.

He smiled, and put both hands on my shoulders, pulling me toward the easel and canvas. I followed absently, trying not to focus on my skin tingling where he was touching me.

"Okay," He moved behind me, pushing me closer to the canvas. "pick a color."

I chuckled, and leaned over to the palette to my right, picking up a deep navy on my brush.

Satisfied, he squeezed my biceps for a second before letting his hands fall away.

"Now, close your eyes."

I turned my head to look at him skeptically, but his eyes pleaded with me, so I obeyed, holding my loaded brush and letting my lids fall closed.

The room fell impossibly quiet, and I could feel his presence heavy behind me. The sensation brought goosebumps to my warm skin.

I was nearly startled when I felt his fingers brush my thick hair over my shoulder, and his breath came across my ear.

"Now," His voice was baritone, so raspy and so close to me. "I want you to picture what you're feeling at this very moment."

Feeling? What is feeling? Who am I ?

"Picture your emotions. Picture them as colors. Objects. Lights." He let out a deep exhale that washed over my neck, making me shiver.

"What if I can't?" My voice was small.

A large, strong hand grasped my right hip, pulling me to lean slightly backward, pressing against the front of his body.

"You can. I know you can."

The fingers of his other and were trailing up my hip, tracing patters over the tattoos on my ribcage.

"You know how to do this, Lily. Just see what you feel."

I wanted to push this. I wanted to see how far I could take it.

Eyes still closed, I let my lips turn up ever so slightly. "What if I can't feel enough, yet?"

His chest, pressed against my back, trembled with quiet laughter, "No? You need more stimulation?"

Jesus this guy's is going to murder me.

"Maybe." I smiled slyly.

His lips ghosted over the side of my neck just under my ear, his hand on my hip slipping around the front of my waist and pulling me even closer.

"What if I," His lips trailed up my skin, grazing the flesh so gently. "give you," Up to my chin. My breath was shaking. "something to feel?"

His lips were testing mine, tip of his nose bumping my own.

The lowest, most whispered moan escaped my lips before he dipped even lower, gently pressing his lips against mine. I molded to him, body encased by his arms, lips slotting into place against his, eyes rolling back behind my lids.

The feeling exploded out of me, pouring into his mouth, hands reaching up to grip his hair.

We stood there, mouths fighting for dominance, before I pulled away, pushing his hands off of me frantically, and nearly jumped toward the canvas.

I heard him breathing heavily behind me, a low chuckle erupting from him.

"I guess it worked?"

I stopped my brush strokes, turning my head and letting my hair flip over my shoulder.

"For now. Might need more stimulation later."

#fanfic #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #bad omens cult

[spenzitz]

Clingy toge inumaki? Heh like ever since they were first years he started to just follow the reader everywhere:))

a/n~I'm so sorry this took so long, I hope you like it ╮ (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) ╭

words~1k

t/w~the smallest bit suggestive at the end, I am a filthy sinner, ik..

when the two of you met in your first year, you and toge just kinda clicked with one another instantly.

so of course, when you all took your seats for the first time, toge sat next to you on your left.

he noticed that you looked out the window a lot at the beautiful view of the campus, so whenever you wanted to look outside from your seat and you looked to the left, he would be in your field of vision...

when maki, panda, and yuta figured out his scheme he was met with incessant teasing from maki and panda and "aww"s from yuta, both of which annoyed him to no end.

anytime you have to partner up for training, toge instantly tugs on your shirt and gives you a nervous "tuna?" as his plea for you to partner with him.

how could you say no to that?

so he's always your partner.

the same thing goes for when you all sit down for lunch.

toge strategically lines himself up for the seat next to you as you all walk towards the shady spot you've chosen.

this gives toge a perfect and natural excuse to sit next to you because, despite the fact he is very obviously clingy, he doesn't want other people to notice! especially not you!

unfortunately, maki is a menace.

so right as you sit down and toge places his things next to yours, maki says, "hey y/n, wanna sit with me?"

toge has now reverted back to a child and doesn't care if you think he's clingy.

"bonito flakes!" he says before throwing a mini tantrum that's honestly kinda embarrassing.

or at least you would think so if you didn't have a huge crush on him...

but you happen to be quite fond of the big man child, so through light chuckles, you tell maki "sorry, but i think toge actually wanted to sit next to me."

maki, feeling a little defeated because her plan didn't work, begins to pout before she replaces it with a smirk and says "that's ok, I wouldn't want to separate the two love birds..."

now you are both big blushing toddlers throwing tantrums.

even before you two are dating, toge gravitates towards you in any situation.

he's always standing next to you in a group.

whenever you are doing chores, he asks if he can help and when you decline his offer saying you can handle it, instead of leaving you alone to finish he simply... follows you around the dorms...

not like in a creepy way, more like a little duckling who has no idea what else to do other than follow you around until you finish.

the first thing toge does when he gets done with a mission is shower and then finds you.

like seriously, this man will come to find you and lean on your shoulder while complaining about how hard it was and how much his throat hurts(even when it wasn't that hard of a mission.)

but of course, you love to baby him so you don't mind.

now if you thought he was bad before you were dating??? oh god you've got it coming...

rather than coming up with schemes to make sure he sits next to you he will simply demand that other people move.

even yuta isn't safe from his wrath...

when toge is tired or just bored, he will shut down and lay over you, no matter where you are.

he will lay on your lap, head, or even feet if he's on the ground and you're in a chair.

when all the students(and gojo) have a movie night, there is suspiciously always one less blanket than you all need, so you and toge share a blanket, even when it's waaaayyy too small.

but to toge, the smaller the better, because then you really have no option other than to curl up under his arm.

this gives him the perfect opportunity to carry you back to your dorm when you inevitably fall asleep like you always do...

honestly, toge doesn't watch the movie most of the time, because you are asleep only half an hour into the movie, so he just naps with you, which results in lots of pictures of you two sleeping in each other's arms being sent to the group chat with the caption "@y/n @/toge this u?"

however, when toge is the last one to movie night, there always happens to be no space on either side of you on the couch.

but no worries, your boyfriend will either squeeze himself between you and the other person or sit at your feet.

his personal favorite, sitting at your feet, means that he puts his back up against the couch and puts your legs over his shoulders.

the implications have you blushing immediately, but you don't complain about the perfect opportunity to play with his hair, doing little braids, putting it into tiny pigtails, or even just running your fingers through it.

as for kisses...

if toge had his way, he would be kissing you on the lips every chance he got.

but he respects that you are uncomfortable with doing that in public, so he opts to kiss you on the cheek or side of your head.

this still turns you into a blushing, babbling mess, but it's better than the alternative, and your friends think it's quite cute funny

whenever you greet him in the morning you get a kiss on the head and a sleepy smile.

you may be safe in public, but in private?

if toge hugs you in private, just know it will probably be followed by neck kisses.

especially if you two are laying down, he will go straight to your neck,

this is mainly because he knows how sensitive you are little menace,

if your relationship has gone that far it will definitely initiate something more intimate, but even if not, it still feels very intimate and something he feels can show how much he adores you.

toge is an attention monster and you happen to be the only one who can appease him...

thanks for reading!

requests open

masterlist

#inumaki x reader #toge x reader #toge inumaki x reader #inumaki headcanons #jjk x reader

[headkiss]

for the domestic prompts (perfectly apt and comforting for me as i’m recovering from a nasty trip to the er on a rainy day) - would weep for prompt 27 🥺🥺 so cuteeee

hi! i hope you’re feeling better and that this maybe cheers you up a bit :D | 0.7k words of fluff, gn!reader i believe but please correct me if i’m wrong! (fixing their hair/clothes just before they rush out the door.)

You’re running late.

You and Steve promised to be at Lucas’ game, the last one of the season. And Robin would be playing with the school band as always. You’d say you watched her to support her, but you also really wanted to see how she interacted with Vickie.

You’re about ten minutes behind schedule when you fix up your makeup in the mirror, lipstick smudged and mascara flakes under your eyes.

It’s Steve’s fault, really.

The wandering hands and those eyes he gave you when his mind was going places. He was a menace. It’s why you usually force him to get ready in a separate room. No setbacks.

It’s his fault that when he saw you checking your outfit in the mirror he came up behind you and spoke into your ear about how perfect you looked. How much he wished he could keep you home for the night.

It’s certainly his fault when he started kissing you, ruining the makeup that you’re now fixing.

Your friends are used to your tardiness as a couple, always getting distracted and they never stop giving you shit for it.

Once your makeup is done and you’re almost sure you look presentable, you head down the stairs to meet Steve by the door.

“Finally.”

“You’re the one who made me have to fix everything in the first place, Stevie.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, babe.”

You’re opening the door and walking ahead of him when he notices the mess at the back of your head, the way your shirt is wrinkled because of his hands.

Oops.

“Wait, honey. Here,” he stops you, smoothing your hair with his hands and then doing the same to your shirt, gentle and soft.

His hands have butterflies in your stomach once again, but you do everything you can to ignore them so you’re not any later than you already are.

He tucks the back of your oversized t-shirt into your jeans, his fingers skimming the top of your ass before pulling away. Yeah, he’s such a tease.

When he’s done he kisses the back of your shoulder through the cotton of your shirt, pecking up your neck then to your cheek. You stop him before he can make his way to your mouth.

“Absolutely not. We gotta go.”

“Mmm, I just like kissing you.”

“Me too, but we’re so late, Stevie. I’ll kiss you later, promise.”

He likes what you’re implying with that one, agreeing to get going so that he can get the game over with and get back home with you.

It may be selfish but that’s what you do to him.

When you turn to look at him, you notice his hair is messy, too. Probably due to your hands having been tangled in it not long ago.

“You’re messy too. Let me,” you brush his hair off of his forehead, combing through it to smooth it down the way you know he likes it to look. You wouldn’t want to ruin The Hair’s reputation, after all.

You hold hands in the car and he kisses your knuckles at every red light.

Once you make it to the high school, you both try your best to sneak in without anyone noticing. Maybe this time you’ll get away with it.

The game goes well, Hawkins wins and Lucas is an amazing player. You’re proud of him and you cheer every single time he touches the ball, every time he scores. So does Steve.

Robin talked to Vickie a couple of times and you’re definitely going to ask about that later because you really are rooting for them, for Robin. She deserves to be happy and you hope she’ll find that.

You’re talking to Lucas with Steve by your side now, smiling.

“You were amazing, Lucas! Seriously.”

“Thanks, even though you were late. Again.”

You roll your eyes at him and the laughs of your other friends. You can never get away with anything around them. You won’t admit it, but you love them for it.

“I take responsibility for that,” Steve says from beside you, his head leaning against yours.

“How noble of you, Stevie.”

You leave shortly after, promising to catch up with everyone properly soon. Steve’s tugging you along by your belt loop and you can’t help but giggle because of it. He’s cute when he’s impatient, you think.

As promised, you kiss him plenty when you get home. You let him ruin your makeup all over again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagines #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington request #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington requests #steve harrington story #stevie blurbs

[minisugakoobies]

Swoon | KTH

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, non-Idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: swearing, kissing, Tae's wearing his red leather jacket from his Paris trip, we've also got Disco Jungkook and Harley Quinn Jimin in here

Word Count: 3.6k

Disclaimers: None other than obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” 

A/N: This one's for the amazing @parkdatjimin! Mindy, you picked a great prompt that immediately screamed "TAEHYUNG" and "ENEMIES TO LOVERS" to me. I hope you enjoy!

Also, I don't think this really needs a warning, just a note - Jimin is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns in this fic.

Unbeta’d as usual! Please let me know what you think, I’d love to hear from you! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

“Jimin, come on! Let’s go!” Tapping your foot impatiently, you fidget slightly in your costume. “We’re gonna miss the first panel! What are we waiting for?” 

Your roommate shoots you a “calm down” look that frankly would be a lot more effective if they weren’t currently dressed as Harley Quinn. They look phenomenal in their “Daddy’s Little Monster” crop top, blue and red satin booty shorts, and fishnets, tips of their blond hair dyed in shades to match the ensemble. But their serious expression does not jibe with the wild outfit as they sigh. 

“Not everyone’s here yet. And they won’t let us hold seats in the hall, so… we wait.” 

You frown, glancing at your friends, counting in your head. “Who is missing?”

“Um, well…”

“Oh, please no.” Not him. Not today.

Jimin twirls their baseball bat, not making eye contact, knowing if they look at you, they will instantly disintegrate beneath your fiery expression. “I’m sorry! Kookie invited him, okay?” 

Kookie, aka Jungkook, aka Jimin’s boyfriend, aka the sweetest guy you know, glances up from where he’s propped against the wall, eyes going wide behind his oversized blue sunglasses at the mention of his name. You sigh, bubbling anger instantly bursting at his doe-eyed expression. 

“Sorry, Noona. He asked if I was going to the convention and I said yes without thinking! I was just excited to talk about my costume.” He yanks on the giant lapels of his brightly colored shirt, other hand unconsciously scratching at the fake goatee that adorns his pretty face. Disco Tony Stark is definitely a choice, but damned if he’s not pulling it off. 

“It’s okay, Kookie,” you grumble. Ugh, you’re too soft on him, and he knows it as he flashes you a happy grin. “I just hope he gets here soon, before the hall fills up.” Your favorite film franchise is kicking off the big comic convention today with a sneak peek at the latest sequel, and if you miss a single second, there will be hell to pay. “Or maybe he’ll flake out on this like he flakes out on our game nights.” 

“Who flakes out?” 

Your eyes automatically close in exasperation as you turn slowly to face the devil you’d just accidentally summoned.

Kim Taehyung. Aka Jungkook’s friend. Aka the massive thorn in your side.

The two of you have been at odds since the day you met. He came into your life when Jungkook and Jimin started dating, and from the jump, the two of you have totally clashed. Where you’re easily excitable, he’s subdued, even deadpan. Where you’re constantly raving about the amazing things you love, he’s always complaining, finding fault with those same things. It wouldn’t be so terrible if he didn’t insist on sharing his every thought with you. It’s like he lives to needle you.

Right now, he wears his standard bored expression, gorgeous face completely blank as he gazes at you, waiting for an answer. You don’t give him one, taking a moment to examine his costume. Tight black jeans, tight white t-shirt, bright red leather jacket. An eyebrow cocks beneath his fluffy dark curls. 

“Well? Who flakes out?” 

“Who are you supposed to be? James Dean?” you ask, ignoring his question again. 

“I’m a rebel,” he informs you. 

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes. “Like I said. James Dean.”

“No.” He pulls out a toy lightsaber from behind his back, flipping it on. The blue light illuminates his annoying smirk. “I’m a Rebel.”

“That’s not - you’re not - “ 

“Taehyung-ah!” In their harlequin makeup, Jimin’s normally cherubic smile looks absolutely demented. “Perfect timing, the first panel’s about to kick off.” They reach down and grab Jungkook’s hands, helping him to his feet. “C’mon, Puddin’, let’s go grab our seats.” 

The rest of your friends fall in line as Jimin and Jungkook lead the way. Taehyung unfortunately ends up in lockstep with you. Because of course he does. 

“Nice costume,” he intones quietly, and you smooth several of the verdant leaves trailing from your hips, waiting for him to drop the snarky comment that’s likely hanging on the tip of his tongue. Maybe something about how homemade your costume looks… which it is. You’ve been working for weeks on your Poison Ivy cosplay. Finding a corset in just the right shade of green took the longest amount of time. 

The second longest came this morning, when Jimin had to painstakingly lace you into said corset. You squirm a little, wishing they hadn’t tied you in so damn tight. But as long as you can breathe, you’ll survive.

It’s definitely the most amount of skin you’ve ever shown at a convention, with your curves overflowing both above and below the constricting bodice. At the last minute, you nearly balked, thinking you’d be too much, until Jimin gave you a pep talk that essentially boiled down to “Own your power.” Somehow, it worked. Overall, you’re very pleased with your costume, which is why you’re expecting Taehyung to burst your bubble about it any second now.

But he merely holds the door to the hall open for you with a hint of a smile. Narrowing your eyes, you waltz past him, taking a seat next to Jimin. 

“I have been waiting all year for this day, and I swear to God if he ruins it, I’m taking you out, Minnie,” you declare to your roommate with a deadly serious expression. They don't ask you to clarify who you meant by ‘he.’ They already know.

“Me? But Kookie invited him!” 

“Yes, but Kookie’s a muscle pig! I know my limits!” Jimin just tuts as you glare. “God, he’s the worst. He can’t even mash up a costume properly.”

“I think it’s kinda clever, actually. And you have to admit, he looks fantastic in that outfit.” Jimin tips their head in admiration as Taehyung takes a seat, jeans straining to contain his muscular thighs. Not that you noticed. “I wanna thank his mother for a butt like that.” 

“No, it’s not, and no, I do not,” you hiss back before falling silent as the moderator takes the stage. “And don’t you dare quote ‘Shoop’ when you speak of that man!”

Whatever brief burst of madness prompted Taehyung to actually compliment you before the first panel doesn’t last. As soon as your group filters out to head to the next session, he’s back on his bullshit. You make the mistake of mentioning how you liked the book better than the first movie, and he pounces, dragging you into a debate. He does the same thing after the next panel, saying just the right (obnoxious) thing to pull you into another quarrel, and again after that. By the time your friends scatter for lunch, between the snug corset digging into your skin, and the irritating man trying to get under your skin, you’ve had enough. 

Out of your group, only you, Jimin, and Taehyung want fish skewers, so you queue up in the long line at the kiosk. You’re doing your best to tune Taehyung out as he and Jimin discuss the last event, a Q&A session with one of your favorite authors in which she’d dropped major hints about the identity of the mysterious supervillain from her latest series, to your absolute delight.

Taehyung, naturally, was not impressed. 

“I can’t believe she just said that!” Jimin shakes their head as the line slowly shuffles forward. “She basically confirmed it’s been Dr. Choi all along.” 

“Nope. There’s no way it’s going to be Dr. Choi!” 

Gritting your teeth, you try to focus on the colorful costumes around you. Breathe in, breathe out, ignore the asshole.

“But everything she said lines up with his character! Why else would she say that stuff?”

Taehyung huffs a quick laugh through his nose. You know that sound. It’s his ‘Oh, you sweet summer child’ laugh. So patronizing. Your fingers curl into fists. Forget thorn, he's a giant prick.

“That was clearly just a publicity stunt. In a day, she’ll be all over social media, claiming her comments were taken out of context. Mark my words.” He sniffs. “Her little ploy is as obvious as her plots.” 

“Oh my god, will you just shut up already?”

Jimin and Taehyung both blink in surprise as you round on them. 

“What did I say?” Jimin asks, looking wounded. 

“Not you, Minnie! Him!” You shove your pointer finger directly into Taehyung’s chest. “Just. Shut. Up!”

For once, Taehyung’s impassive expression drops, just as his mouth does as he gapes at you. But you’re too frustrated to bask in the fact that you’ve finally wiped that blasé look off his face, and now that you’ve blown your gasket, you’re going to vent it all.

“I am sick and tired of you always picking on everything! Anything and everything that I like, you just have to come in with your horrible takes and rude comments and just pick, pick, pick! Like some fucking vulture that feeds on joy - you just gotta rip it apart!” 

“I don’t - “ 

“Just let people enjoy things, okay?? You don’t have to like them! Just let them have their fun!” 

You’re vaguely aware of your roommate backing away as you growl at Taehyung, jabbing him again and again with your finger. Jimin’s never seen this side of you. You’ve never seen it either. It’s just the effect Taehyung has on you, making your face warm and your chest heave as you continue to lay into him. 

“Babe, don’t you think - “

“No! Stay out of this, Jimin.” People are giving you a wide berth now, the line for the kiosk having zigzagged around the three of you long ago, but you don’t care. There’s no stopping the head of steam you’ve built up. “God, why are you even here? Nothing makes you happy! You don’t like anything!”

“That’s not true!” Taehyung finally snaps out of his stupor as you break off, panting for breath. “I like plenty of things! I came here because - “ 

“Because you wanted to ruin my day! You can’t let me have one day of fun without fighting with me about something, can you? Well, fine! Let’s fight!” There’s a sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. Is it the heat from the food stands that’s making you feel this hot? And why can’t you catch your damn breath??

“Whoa, okay, let’s just put a pin in that, uh, invitation and go outside. Maybe we should get some fresh air,” Jimin suggests in a soothing tone, gesturing to the entrance to the main atrium, “because I think - hey, babe, are you okay?” 

Those fucking laces.

The world goes black. 

When you reopen your eyes, Taehyung is staring at you. So is Jimin. 

And so is an entire crowd of strangers standing in a ring around the three of you. 

“What the fuhh…” you trail off, looking around. You’re out in the main atrium, but you don’t remember walking out here. The marble tiles are cold under your bare shoulders and barely covered ass. “Why am I on the floor?”

“It’s okay. You just passed out a little,” Jimin says, a gentle hand holding yours. 

“I did?” Your head spins slightly as you sit up. The gawkers begin to start to disperse. 

“The event EMTs checked you out. Said you were probably having trouble breathing.” Jimin looks a little abashed. “Guess I tied your laces too tight. Sorry. I loosened them a little before he laid you down.”

“He? He who? One of the EMTs?” 

Jimin continues to look chagrined.

Taehyung smirks. “‘He’ as in me.” He straightens up, tossing his dark curls out of his eyes. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” 

Heat scorches your neck. “Trust me, you are the last person whose attention I want!” Jimin pulls you to your feet, but you wave them off when they try to help you walk. “I’m okay, Minnie, I can walk on my own!” 

But just as you finish your angry declaration, your knees buckle slightly. Before you can blink, Taehyung’s arm is around you, propping you up. He guides you towards a cluster of chairs by the windows.

“Come on,” he murmurs warmly, voice so unlike his usual aloof tone of superiority. “Why don’t you sit here for a minute? Let me get you a soda. Maybe some sugar would help.” 

“Uh. Sure. Thanks.” You glance at Jimin, who shrugs at your confusion, then nods. 

“Good idea, Tae. Thank you.” 

As soon as Taehyung’s out of earshot, Jimin pinches you. 

“Ow! Why?”

“He likes you!”

“What? No, he doesn’t!” You rub your arm where their fingers tweaked you, flabbergasted by their sudden proclamation. 

“Yes, he does! How did I miss it?” They run their fingers through their hair, letting the shiny locks flop back into place. “It makes sense now! All that bickering was just sexual tension!”

“Uh, nothing makes sense, especially you right now! And why the pinching??”

“Sorry, I just got excited.” Jimin grins, and you roll your eyes. 

“But what the hell makes you think he’s into me? Because he’s buying me a Coke after I told him off?” 

Jimin leans back in their seat, still smiling smugly. “‘Told him off’ is putting it mildly. I know I told you to own your power, but damn! No, I’m referring to the way he reacted when you passed out. I’ve never seen someone look so panicked. If I hadn’t been freaking out myself, I would’ve found it cute.”

You clutch Jimin’s hand, giving them a little squeeze. “Sorry I gave you a scare. I really do feel okay right now. But you’re wrong.” 

“Mmm, I don’t know. You didn’t see his face when the EMTs were checking you over.” Jimin shakes their head. “He was so worried. I’m telling you, he’s got it bad."

Taehyung strolls back out of the food court, effectively ending the conversation. He holds out a can and you take it with a barely audible thank you. 

As if they were waiting for a cue, Jimin jumps up. “If you think you’ll be okay here, I’m gonna go find the others and let them know what they missed,” they announce, barely waiting for your nod before they spin on their heel and skip off towards the main ballroom, baseball bat swinging merrily.

Leaving you and Taehyung sitting in awkward silence. 

You tap the top of the soda can before cracking it open. Taehyung notes the action, eyebrow lifting again. “You afraid I shook that up first?” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you scowl reflexively before noting the soft smile on his face. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Your glare informs him that you don’t believe him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

“Hmm,” you hum, taking a sip. 

“You don’t believe me?” he drawls, looking slightly offended. 

“Taehyung. I never believe anything that comes out of your mouth. What makes you think I’m going to start now?” Setting the can on an empty chair next to you, you try to cross your arms, but the corset’s too stiff, so you let your hands rest on your thighs.

He blinks slowly. “Well, I suppose I could show you instead. Seeing is believing, right?” And one of his hands comes to rest on yours. 

“Uh…” The feel of his fingers tapping lightly on the back of your hand freezes you completely. For once, you’re at a loss for words. However, Taehyung is not. 

“I know we have our… disagreements… but I do enjoy your company,” he states matter-of-factly, as if he’s telling you something mundane like what time it is instead of confessing his true feelings. If you closed your eyes, you’d recognize that tone as his usual detached languor. Except now, staring at his expression, you realize - he’s nervous. And overcompensating by trying to sound as calm and collected as possible. 

But his eyes give him away. 

“I will also admit that I have perhaps fallen into a habit of goading you. A little.”

“A little!”

He frowns, fingers stilling. His hand is so warm, heat leaching into you where his skin touches yours. “Fine. A lot. I can’t help myself. It’s just… you’re so cute when you’re angry.” 

“I’m - what?” 

Taehyung leans forward, seeming rather pleased with himself for shocking you with his statement. There’s that self-satisfied smirk of his again. But that glimmer in his eyes… he looks… fond? 

Oh god, Minnie’s right, aren’t they?

“Do you remember the first time we met? At Kook-ah’s party?” Speechless, you just nod at his question. “I thought you were so pretty that I got a little tongue-tied. You tried to talk to me and asked me what I thought about some movie that you’d just seen, and I kind of shrugged, because I couldn’t speak. You took that to mean I didn’t like it, and immediately launched into a monologue about how misunderstood the film was and so on,” he waves his hand in the air.

Thanks to an intense flip-cup tournament, that night is mostly a blur, but you do somewhat remember getting into an argument with Taehyung as soon as you’d met him. But you definitely don’t remember him being tongue-tied, not that night or any other since you’ve known him. 

“But you’ve never had any problems talking around me! I’d even say you talk too much!” 

He laughs, and suddenly he’s smiling at you, this ridiculously sweet, kinda boxy smile, and your heart leaps in your chest. 

“That’s because I learned that night how you’re even more beautiful when you’re fired up about something. When you speak with passion…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I actually agree with a lot of your opinions, you know. But I can’t resist pretending to disagree, just to watch you light up. It’s addictive.” 

You’ve not noticed until this moment how thick his eyelashes are, as he leans even closer. Or how long and graceful his fingers are as he grasps your hand off the table, cradling it in his lap. 

“I’m sorry. I guess I took it too far. I know how excited you are to be here today, so I’m sorry if I ruined it.”

If you weren’t already stunned, that statement would’ve done it. Kim Taehyung apologizing? The two of you are sitting thigh to thigh now, your hand still between his. 

“Um. Well. Thank you?” 

“You said earlier that you don’t know why I’m here today. Do you really not know?” 

Tearing your gaze away from where you were staring at his hands, you glance at his face. You know, all in all, it’s really not a bad face. 

You must have a funny expression on your own, because he laughs, this low chuckle that makes your chest hum, like he’s hit a frequency that resonates only there. 

“Why are you laughing?” you ask, eyes dropping to his lips.

“Because you make me happy.” He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. “That’s why I’m here. To be near you.”

“Noona!” 

As if pulled sharply by invisible strings, you and Taehyung snap apart, his hands dropping yours. Your head swivels in the direction of Jungkook’s voice to see him bounding towards the cluster of chairs, your other friends in tow. 

He drops to his knees in front of you, cupping your cheek as his worried eyes sweep over your face. “Are you okay?? Minnie told us what happened.” 

Okay, maybe you’re right to be so soft for this kid. “I’m okay, Kookie. I appreciate the concern, though.”

“She’s fine, Kook-ah,” Taehyung mutters, suddenly standing. “Here. Have a seat.”

Dazed once again, you watch as Taehyung ambles off. Jungkook and the rest are asking you questions, but you’re not listening. There’s annoyance roiling in your belly again, but it’s not from anything Taehyung said this time. 

It’s for the interruption. 

In five steps you’ve caught up to Taehyung, who merely raises his eyebrows when you tug on his arm. He doesn’t say a word as you grab him by the nape of his neck. Doesn’t even breathe as you guide his face towards yours.

But as soon as your lips touch his, he comes alive. His arms lock around you, drawing you in. He tilts his head to bring you closer, pressing more of his mouth against yours. There’s an entire room full of strangers around you, but you couldn’t care less. Eyes fluttering shut, you lean into him, fingers lacing through his thick hair. He lets out a little moan as you accidentally tug on the silky strands and the sound, and immediately you repeat the action, drawing another gentle groan. 

He pulls away then, cheeks flushed as he gazes at you. “Probably shouldn’t do too much of that here,” he murmurs in a deep timbre.

“Eh, it’s comic con. I’m sure they’ve seen stranger than a Jedi and a supervillain making out,” you grin as you take his hand, leading him to a quiet corner of the atrium. A glance at your friends finds them all mid-gawk. Jimin in particular looks like they’re having an out-of-body experience.

You know the feeling.

“I thought you were pretty, too,” you admit shyly. 

Taehyung blinks. “What?” 

“When we met. I - I thought you were the prettiest guy I’d ever seen. And I live with Jimin and Kookie.” 

Taehyung’s boxy smile returns. He brushes gentle fingertips over your knuckles. “So, are we okay?”

“We will be. Once you’re made up for all that time wasted arguing.”

The warmth in his gaze overwhelms you. Makes you want to wrap yourself up in it and never leave. “That’s a lot to make up for.”

“Yep. Better get to work,” you whisper before he captures your mouth with his. 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

Taglist: @babycoffeefire; @/parkdatjimin; @reliablemitten; @yuugehn; @ut-dixisti; @hesperantha; @seokjinger-ale; @bangtanintotheroom; ​​@taeshuworld; @nch327; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @7minsuga96; @dvalitaes; @wonieclub; @thatlongspringnight; @miscelunaaa; @acquiescence804; @itsirisz; @velvetskize; @starbtslove; @ajw05; @bruisedscrewedandtattooed; @minesuga; @greezenini; @aznstoner; @jkkkkkay; @xuxibelle; @soeur-de-ame; @boraborabts; @signmybook; @bbl32; @codeinebelle; @here4btsfics; @itbtoblikethatsometimes; @kookprada; @addictedtohobi; @shatzkrinslinzki; @jaiuneamesolitaiire; @joonjulyagust-d; @highly-functioning-mitochondria; @btsgotjams27; @allamericanuniverse

If your URL is italicized, tumblr won’t let me tag you! 😤 Check your settings!

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x y/n #ficscafe #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btscarnivalnet #btshoneyhive #thebtswritersclub #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you #kim taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #kim taehyung #possumswrite #fic: swoon #kim taehyung x y/n #taehyung fanfic

[whorekneecentral]

Size kink - Kevin Magnussen. this has been on my mind a lot lately, and plus mans is taller than me 😫

omg you must be super short then babe 😭 homeboy is only 5′7 but I love him and I will definitely write this for you 

Kevin loved when you came to track with him, you didn’t come with him often so when you did, it was special. 

You were currently sat on the grass between his and Mick’s motorhomes, playing with Angie while Mick was in the shower. Kev thought you were in the hospitality building when he left FP3 but he was shocked to see you outside his motorhome on the ground with Angie. 

“Why are you on the ground?” Kevin asks, standing over you. 

“Hi baby!” You smiled at your boyfriend, Angie was rubbing up on his leg. Kevin leans down to pat Angie’s side and pull you up from the ground. 

“I was cuddling with Angie,” you tell him, brushing the grass of the back of your shirt - well, his shirt. The bright blue t-shirt swallowed you whole, the hem of it sitting on your thighs. 

“I see that,” he hums, picking a piece of grass from your hair. “I like your shirt,” he smiles. 

“Oh,” your cheeks go red. “I uh- Val gave me coffee and when I was walking back, Angie ran into me and I spilt it on my shirt so I borrowed yours. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all, angel. You look cute,” he leans down to give you a kiss. 

Mick had come out of the shower now, thanking you for watching Angie but he was calling her to come in because it was about to rain. You and Kevin head back into his motorhome to wait out the rain until you two were ready to head back to the hotel. 

You were stood in front of the mirror trying to pick the flakes of grass out of your hair when Kevin comes up behind you, his arms around your waist, sliding his hands under your shirt. 

“Your hands are cold.” You mumble, Kevin hums and slips his hands down the front of your pants. You laugh, “that’s one way to warm them up.”

“I like this on you,” he says, moving his hand to tug on the shirt. 

“Yeah? How come?” Your eyes meet his in the mirror. 

“You look so tiny in it, so pretty when you’re on top of me.” 

“You're filthy.” You mumble, letting him pull you over to the couch and letting you stand between his legs when he sits. “You're not complaining, are you angel?” 

You shook your head, Kevin pushing your shorts down and letting them pool around your feet before pulling you into his lap. Knees on either side of him when he lines himself up with you. 

“Kev, I can’t,” “You can baby, I know you can take it.” One of his hands rests on your hip, “nice and slow, okay?” 

Kevin lets you take your time sinking down onto him, your hands gripping on his shoulders, dragging down to his bare chest. Once you’re sitting fully on his lap, he gives you a minute to adjust. 

Your fingers trace across his chest tattoo, he glances down at your hand. “Can I move, sweetheart?” 

“Hold on,” you hum. “Baby, you can trace all you want later. I want to fuck you until you only remember my name if that’s okay with you?” His eyes meet yours when he nudges your chin up with his knuckles. 

“Mhm hm,” you blush, leaning in to kiss him. 

#omg sorry this ran from me lmao #kevin magnussen #kevin magnussen smut #favs <3

[stardropsandrain]

Do you got anymore obey me with trans reader/mc hc or anything like that? Really liked that Lucifer one a lot and would love to see other characters.

Beelzebub HC w/ trans masc MC

TW!!; Mentions of dysphoria, l-bomb, overbinding, period

Warning; Pre surgery and pre t

Please do enjoy

I have to start with dysphoria because this demon is pro at doing everything to try and make you feel better

Brings you your favourite food and lets you steal any shirts, hoodies, etc you want, as long as he gets to steal one of yours back.

Calls you pretty/handsome/lovely etc and gives you all the adoration and love he can

"You're so lovely," A kiss on the nose "I love you."

There's no way you'd be able to over bind with this demon around. You'll get home and he'll immediately coax you out of it

"I'll give you a cookie if you take it off," He'll offer, taking a bite of his offering right after. But how can you deny that face. He'll help you get comfortable and make some snacks

Having a really bad dysphoria day? He's at your beck and call. Anything you need he's there

You've been in your bed all day, ugly intrusive thoughts and lack of motivation keeping you there "Bee can you grab me a water pl-" he's already gone and comes back with two water bottles and a glass of ice all he wants in return is maybe a kiss but he's happy to do it for free

"Bee, can I have a hug?" Oh my gods this man would SMOTHER you "Of course!" And now your trapped in the most bone crushing, heart filling hug ever. What dysphoria? All that's on your mind is this amazing demon (that's a joke I know how bad dysphoria is)

He'll tell anything you want to hear as well. "You're amazing, I love you so much. I know how hard this is but if anyone can make it, you can handsome." Literally has you melting into a puddle of goo in bed

He also has food relating nicknames and pet names. "Hey cupcake," He'll mumbled into your chest, if you allow him to rest there, if not, your stomach while cuddling "I like your cologne."

You call him Bee, Beez, Beebs, Zebby and the normal assortment of love, honey and dear. And a few food themed ones too, but usually they joke names

"Hey frosted flakes," You'll greet Beelzebub as he enters the kitchen. He'll pout and huff "Cupcake that name is stupid..."

He loves cuddles, he loves nuzzling into your stomach if you don't like him on you chest, which he understands completely

If you're on your period he has a burger themed heated bead pillow for your stomach, craving foods at the ready, and lots of affirmations and kisses

Now he definitely struggles, but he does leave you alone if you ask "Beez, I need some alone time." "oh..., okay," He'll be sad, but perk up to not make you feel bad "That's okay! Take as long as you need!" And be on his way. But he'll sulk around when his brother see him "Whats wrong with him," Satan asked Belphegor while Beelzebub sat over a tub of ice cream with a frown "His 'cupcake' asked for some alone time and he's sad."

When you have had enough cool down, or just alone, time and he comes back he immediately "I love you, that was agony," He'll wine and kiss all over your face "are you feeling better?" You'll laugh and kiss his forehead before nodding "Thank you for being understanding Beez."

A/N; I literally love Bee writing for him is so easy he's such a sweetheart. I love doing requests too, so thank you so much anon for requesting!!

Good riddance and stay safe 🖤🖤🖤

#x male reader #beelzebub avatar of gluttony #shall we date beelzebub #beelzebub x mc #om! beelzebub #x transmasc reader #x trans male reader #beelzebub x trans male reader #beelzebub x y/n #beelzebub x reader