#i wrote this in like an hour

[reidingandwriting]

latched on > keigo takami/hawks (mha)

Word Count: 1.3k

Ship: Sub!Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Dom!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut (very loose term), mentions of abuse from the hero commission, mentions of call girls (if you squint), mention of violence (also if you squint), allusion to sub drop

A/N: Baby’s first attempt at writing some attempt at smut, I may try and do a full smut with sub!hawks later, I love my whimpering baby bird <3

how did he go from feeling so, so good to so, so stupid in the matter of minutes?

he was in bliss not even five minutes ago, whining out mixes of your name and high keens of mommy! as you worked him through another orgasm.

bottoming was new for keigo. he had never had anyone he trusted enough to tell about his desires, with the commissions grip on him. his list of ‘approved partners’ who were vetted by the commission and could (would) be… handled properly if they were to spill any details about the number two pro hero. keigo rarely ever called them, never satisfied from the basic hookups they provided, wanting so much more from his partner that he was terrified to vocalize. hero work was so demanding, he wanted to turn his mind off and just. let someone else make the decisions for him. but that required trust, and he never had that with anyone. and then he met you.

you were a PA at his agency, and as time passed, keigo found himself captivated by you. drawn to the way you treated him as if he was any other civilian. like yeah, you recognized him as a hero and what he did. you knew your work hours would be hectic due to his hours, yet you never complained. never seemed to mind really, always greeting him with a soft smile and some form of jab about him ‘messing up your beauty sleep’. which would turn into flirty banter, little jokes, and during late nights, sleepy giggles and conversations keigo would remember forever.

the shift happened when you were a plus one to a gala with him.

‘i’m not your boss right now, stop looking so tense,’ keigo teased as he rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. ‘just think of me as your smoking hot arm candy’ you laughed at his comment and rolled your eyes.

‘okay, pretty bird’ you cooed to the hero and you bit back a grin at the way his wings puffed up from the nickname. your hand met his cheek, and you turned his head to face you. golden eyes seemed to be darker, pupils dilated as he focused on the sparkling necklace you wore. ‘if only my arm candy would pay attention to me’ you pouted and keigo’s gaze met yours.

‘how could i look away?’

from there, there had been an obvious shift in your relationship with the hero. casual touches turned into lingering, intentional touches. behind the safety of his office doors, “hawks” was occasionally replaced by ‘pretty boy/bird’ and keigo had to keep from whining every time the teasing nickname left your upturned lips.

he wasn’t sure exactly what shifted that got keigo in this situation. but he found himself pinned under you, writhing under your touch. gentle touches, firm grabs. feather light touches that left him begging for more, hard grips that had him squirming and thrashing, threats of tying him down only exciting him more.

he was beautiful, you kept telling him. which he heard from fans every day, he knew he was attractive. but hearing it from you? a whole other feeling. whimpering each time ‘look so pretty, birdie’ or ‘my beautiful boy, gonna cry for me?’ and ‘my good boy, so good for me’ slipped from your lips. his breaking point? your fingers gently lifting his chin up so his teary gaze met yours, peppering his face with kisses and whispering in his ear ‘wanna see you cum, songbird. deserve it, pretty boy, i’ll take care of you. just let go’

and god did he let go. strings of white spurted from his cock, over your hands, over his stomach, but keigo was too spent to care. he was truly fucked Stupid, basking from your coos as you talked him down, your hands petting him as he calmed down. suddenly, there was a shift in the mattress and keigo couldn’t stop himself from grabbing your arm, panic filling his body as he begged you not to leave him, he’ll be good, please stay, please let him stay, and he felt his grip on you tighten. and there’s where he made his biggest mistake. he couldn’t let go.

“it’s okay, birdie. i’ll be right back, just gonna get something to clean you up.” you soothed and you frowned lightly as his grip didn’t relent. “hawks?”

keigo flinched from the use of his hero name, missing the nicknames that you called him just a minute ago. “i-i’m sorry. ‘m so sorry, i can’t-“ keigo started to hyperventilate and you were on him in a second, by his side and pulling him closer to you. keigo curled into your body, face buried in the crook of your neck, and tears burned in his eyes. moments of silence passed until it dawned on you.

“you can’t let go, can you, bub?” you asked and keigo shook his head.

“it, it will stop in a little bit. i just… i thought you were leaving me and. i panicked, i lost control. ‘m so sorry,” keigo whispered and you carded your fingers through his messy hair, smiling as you felt the tension start to leave his body.

“not going anywhere, promise. just wanted to get you a washcloth so we could clean you up a little bit. but i can wait. however long you need, love.” you pressed a kiss to keigo’s head, humming as you slowly rocked him. you figured this could happen, but you thought it was such a small chance, you didn’t really prepare for it. but it was hawks. your hawks, your birdie. you could adapt. you’d take care of him.

a while later, keigo’s grip started to release, and as soon as he was able, keigo pulled his hand away. you tutted at him and took his hand in yours, and you started to massage the hand that had been gripping your arm. keigo found himself staring at the spot he had grasped you, hurt you he’s sure, and you called his name.

“are you okay now?” keigo blinked at the question. “feel up for a shower to clean up?”

“you.. you’re worried about me still? i hurt you.”

“and i just spent god knows how long overstimulating you. probably a little painful, even if it felt good.” you tilted keigo’s head up and pressed a lingering kiss to his plush lips. “i told you, hawks. i care about you, i’m here to take care of you. as long as you’ll let me.” it was your turn to blush, your cheeks burning but you kept keigo’s gaze.

“keigo.” he found himself whispering. “name’s keigo.” you mouthed his name, whispered it to yourself and the prettiest shade of pink covered keigo’s cheeks. “if it’s not gonna be any of your little nicknames, i.. i’d prefer keigo outside of work.”

“well, keigo,” you smiled as you pulled his hand to your lips, kissing over every knuckle. “why don’t we get you cleaned up? then we can come back to bed, order some takeout for dinner? i can make breakfast for us in the morning,” you offered and keigo felt his heart flip in his chest at your offer.

“that sounds perfect.”

an hour later, you were cuddled in bed, keigo on his stomach, head on your stomach as his wing draped over you. his breath hit your stomach, soft puffs leaving his lips as he slept peacefully. you combed through his damp hair, occasionally running your hand down between his shoulder blades just to see his wings flutter and his breathing shake a little. a small smile graced his lips as he slept and you let your eyes close, a matching smile on your lips as you dozed off into the best sleep of your life. you could get used to this…

#mha #bnha #mha fic #bnha fic #bnha hawks #mha hawks #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami #sub!hawks #bottom!hawks #hawks smut #smut #mha smut #bnha smut #baby’s first smut fic #smut is a very loose term in this fic #i wrote this in like an hour

[imagine-darksiders]

This might be one dark af/angsty ask but here we go. How do you think a y/n would react to Death having nightmares in front of them? Specifically any about Lilith, flashback type nightmares about the past, & Absalom. Hell how would Death react to them in your opinion? I personally believe after nightmares about Lilith the first thing he may do depending on severity is bolt in panic like he's just escaped her all over again. If you know you know.

Me? Actually getting around to answering your lovely asks?? It's more likely than you think ;)

--------

What does Death fear?

What could a creature so ancient and stoic and courageous possibly have to be afraid of?

Before tonight, you'd have argued, 'probably nothing outside of losing his siblings.'

But as you lay here in the dying glow of a campfire with your eyes wide open and painfully alert, you're coming to the dawning realisation that your grim and grouchy companion might be afraid of more than he lets on.

The mutterings had begun about ten minutes ago, and you'd snapped awake almost immediately, perhaps having grown accustomed to sleeping with one ear perked to detect any approaching threat.

Dust is roosting quite comfortably on your sternum, a reassuring presence in the night, but when you jolt awake, he cracks open a single, beady eye and squints down at you, his feathered throat bobbing with a lazy croon.

“War...”

Blearily, you stare up at the crow for a few seconds before your sleep-addled brain sharpens and you realise that, no, Dust has not suddenly and inexplicably become capable of speech.

But then... who..?

“War... Run... Nnngh...”

Admittedly wary of what you're about to witness, you roll your head over to the right, away from the little firepit you've dug and search the darkness for your travelling companion, finding him resting on his side with his protruding spine to you, just out reach of the fire's illuminating flames.

“Death?” you croak wearily, propping yourself up ever so slightly so as not to dislodge the crow nestled on your chest.

Even in the meagre light, you can make out that the Horseman is... twitching. He doesn't stir or acknowledge your call, and it's with a sudden and jarring realisation that you come to the conclusion that Death is... asleep.

You never even knew Death could sleep. He certainly hasn't in the weeks you've already journeyed with him, that you know of, at least.

“Let... him go...” he growls out with a dangerous rattle in his throat, kicking his leg out before settling again.

More to the point, you never knew the ancient Nephilim could dream.

'Right,' you decide, 'This is weird.'

Whispering a soft apology to Dust, you cup your hands beneath him and lift the bird off your chest, lowering the warbling ball of ebony feathers down onto the rolled-up cowl that Death has been lending you for use as a pillow.

The crow's sharp gaze tracks you steadily as you make your way across the campsite and lower yourself to your knees behind Death, lifting your hands to hover just above his shoulder.

“Death?” you call softly, only to flinch away when the Horseman abruptly rolls onto his back and hisses something ancient and untranslatable through his teeth.

You stare down into the sockets of his bone mask, noting that although his eyes are squeezed firmly shut, they seem to be darting back and forth underneath his lids.

You're still stunned at the revelation that the Horseman is actually asleep for once in his life.

But then, he'd had quite the eventful day yesterday. Ever since he climbed that bleak, crumbling tower in Shadow's Edge, he's been quiet and standoffish, more-so than he usually is. A lot more.

That tower... he'd fearsomely forbidden you to follow him up it. He'd even threatened to leave you hogtied at the bottom of the stairs if you tried to accompany him...

He hadn't spoken a word to you once he eventually descended several minutes later, he'd simply taken you by the wrist and dragged you roughly and hastily away from the ruins.

It took several hours of sitting in the shade of a dead, whispering tree before he deigned to speak to you again, and even then, it was only to tell you that he would be setting up camp for the night.

You stopped trying to get him to talk after that, but the whole evening, you felt the hairs on your arms prickle and stand on end.

Magic...

Death's expression was unreadable, yet his inner turmoil was all-too apparent by the amount of dark energy fracturing the air around you like an invisible lightening storm.

“Let them GO!”

You jump at the Horseman sudden shout, lowering your eyes to watch his skeletal hands ball into fists at his sides. From behind clenched teeth, he bites out, “Me.. You want me. Not them.”

And then, in the midst of his unconscious turmoil, he murmurs your name.

Without thinking, you finally stretch out your fingers. Determined to wake your friend from his nightmare., you grip his broad, cold shoulder and give it a tiny shake. “Wake up, Death!” you croak, “You're having a nightm- ack!”

Bruising fingers snap shut around your neck at a devastating speed and immediately begin to squeeze, cruelly choking the end of your sentence from your throat and cutting off your supply of oxygen.

Death's eyes have burst open and are now pointed straight at you, burning with a ferocious madness as they bore through your skull like a drill.

Frightened, you try to jerk yourself back, but the pressure increases as you do, so you resort to opening your mouth to try and tell the Horseman to let you go. Yet all you can utter is a soundless wheeze, losing yourself precious millimetres of lung capacity.

Lifting your hands, you scrabble fruitlessly at his rigid wrist. “Death!” you manage to gargle out, “S'me!”

You should have known better than to try and wake a sleeping lion. You should have left well-enough alone! How could you be so stupid!?

You can only hope that when this is over, Death won't blame himself.

The very instant the Horseman's hand met your throat, Dust had flapped into the air and is now zipping in low circles around his master's head, squawking like a creature possessed.

For several, excruciating seconds, Death glares up at you blindly, sending a cold, painful spike of dread sliding down the back of your neck from the point were his nails dig into your delicate flesh.

His eyelids flicker once, you hear your name leave the tip of his tongue, and then, just as suddenly as his hand snatched you, the appendage is wrenched away, leaving your throat exposed and cold, but free once more.

In an instant, you collapse backwards onto your rear, spluttering and heaving in a great lungful of air as you frantically push yourself away from the Horseman and raise a hand to cover your neck in some pathetic illusion of protection.

With a rustle of black feathers, Dust lands on the ground between you and Death, clacking his beak and puffing himself up like an absolutely livid cat.

The Nephilim doesn't even acknowledge his crow. He only stares down at you, one arm subconsciously stretching out in your direction. “Human?” he utters, and the uncertainty in his voice is so unlike him that it stops you from scrabbling away at once.

Still, you maintain your distance, leaning back on one hand and eyeing him warily as you catch your breath, wheezing through a throat that is slowly reshaping itself to its original width. Slowly, your galloping heart eases its way back down your neck to sit safely behind your ribs from which it had leapt.

The Horseman takes in your heaving chest and his eyes land upon the trembling hand that you're using to protect your vulnerable little neck.

He must put two and two together, because one moment he's laying on the ground, and the next, he's on his feet, inexplicably fast, backing away from you with a gentle frown collapsing over his eyes.

“Dea-!” In attempting to call out, your oesophagus suddenly clenches and you lurch forwards, hacking out a series of ragged coughs that only seem to irritate your tender throat even more.

You blink through a haze of tears and raise your head to see the Nephilim's retreating back as he disappears swiftly into the night.

Swallowing roughly, you clamber up onto your feet and choke out, “Wait!” before stumbling after him.

He isn't running, but with the length of his stride, he might as well be.

Even at a jog, you struggle to gain any ground on him whilst breathing through your sore windpipe at the same time. Tears spring to your eyes as you cough yet again. “Death!” you croak, “Stop! Wasn't your fault!”

And to your surprise, the Horseman actually slows his pace.

Your legs begin to wobble with hesitant relief, grateful that he's willing to let you catch up so you can apologise to him.

But just as you start to draw near, Death suddenly flings a hand up through the air and curls his fingers into a fist as it reaches the top of its swing.

Momentarily bewildered, your steps falter.

Without warning, the ground all around you begins to tremble and quake, and before you can take another step forwards, several, sun-bleached hands burst out of the dirt near your feet, startling a hoarse yelp out of you.

One by one, Death's undead ghouls claw their way past crumbling soil and heave themselves straight out of the ground, rising to their feet and shaking themselves free of dust and muck before swinging their empty skulls about, likely searching for the threat that their master has summoned them to deal with.

Their sunken, skeletal heads perk up when Death speaks, his voice tight as a coiled spring. “Take the human back to camp,” he commands them, never once turning to meet your eye, “Keep them there... Keep them safe.”

And just like that, he's gone, striding away into the darkness to who knows where.

“Death!” you bark, trying to follow, but a sudden, clammy grasp around your wrist keeps you from venturing any further.

“Oh, come on, guys,” you groan and stomp a foot as two of the ghouls take up each of your arms, leaving their three, remaining brethren to fan out around you in a loose circle.

Together, with single-minded focus, they herd you back to the camp where you soon find that Dust has reclaimed his spot on Death's cowl, cawing at you lazily upon your return.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm okay,” you grumble when the ghouls coax you down beside the fire, chittering away to one another with an unknowable urgency. You know it's pointless to try and protest. Once Death has given them an objective, they'll carry it out until they're either destroyed, or until their master releases his grip on their souls and allows them to slip back into the ether, returning to an eternal slumber.

You sigh, letting one of the skeletal beasts card its rawboned fingers through your hair, crooning at the texture beneath its skin. The others meanwhile, gather around you, keeping their sallow eyes pointed out towards the darkness of Shadow's Edge.

-----

By the time Death has gathered his wits and dragged himself back to the campsite, now with a much more solid grasp on his fluctuating emotions, you've fallen asleep on his cowl with Dust perched in the dip of your back, soaking up your body's heat.

The ghouls, meanwhile, are pressed in all around you, their heads on a constant, vigilant swivel.

Death hasn't even come within fifty feet of you before their skulls all snap in his direction and the soft, rumbling growls of an angry pack disturbs the silence of the air. They're quick to recognise him though, falling quiet again almost at once.

The Horseman merely gives his hand a wave and all five of them stiffen with the slightest shudder. In total silence, their bodies crumple and fall, turning to ash before they even hit the ground. Gently, they drift away from the camp on a warm, steady breeze.

Death's chest rises and falls with a quiet sigh and he trudges closer to you until his shadow falls across your face.

In the early morning light, his eyes find your neck and he can't stop himself from digging his nails into the skin of his palms at the sight of the bruises that are blossoming to life across your flesh. Why do humans have to be so damnably fragile?

He can remember his nightmare in vivid detail. It had, after all, been more of a memory than a fabrication.

It's one of the many curses that sits upon his shoulders like a lead weight, the knowledge of what that... that demon had done to him all those years ago – what she would have done to his siblings if he hadn't stepped in and offered himself up to her as some kind of sick, consolation prize.

He recalls what she said to him yesterday when he met her at the top of her dark, gloomy tower. In his mind's eye, he can still picture her rancid but alluring face twist with wanton pleasure as she described what she'd do to you.

“You stink of that filthy Earth rat,” she'd hummed, her tone sultry and pleasant despite her cruel words, “You can't hide it from your mother forever...”

With a rough shake of his head, Death banishes the memory and drops smoothly to the ground, sitting cross-legged at your side.

You'd caught him off guard last night. And you'd paid the terrible price for his lack of control.

His gaze drifts again to your throat, to the stains he's left behind in the shape of his treacherous fingers. Another sin to his ever-growing list.

He'd let his psyche slip... he'd let his mind go spiralling deep down a suffocating rabbit hole and you're the one who has been hurt as a result.

No doubt you'll forgive him when you wake, if you haven't already. You'll probably be quick to blame yourself, and though he appreciates the effort you'd go to spare his feelings, he wishes you wouldn't.

This is on him alone.

“Never again, he murmurs, bending over a little as if to shelter you beneath his bulk from the world around you, “Never again.”

#darksiders #I wrote this in like an hour #sorry

[citrenecult]

How does reincarnation work?

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl fanfic #cotl haro #cotl shamura #my headcannons for haro yay #very spur of the moment fanfic #I wrote this in like an hour #my stuff #fanfic

[bookishbrigitta]

What did Bail really mean when he said, “My wife and I will take the girl. We've always talked of adopting a baby girl. She will be loved with us.”

AKA I find it hard to believe Bail Organa would just be like "Whelp, we only want a baby girl, see you later!" I also find it hard to believe Luke and Leia were just totally fine as babies following an emergency, preterm, trauma-induced birth with no discernible prenatal care, and a history of extreme maternal stress.

#leia organa #luke skywalker #bail organa #obi-wan kenobi #preemies #fixing George Lucas's shitty research #star wars #revenge of the sith #fanfiction #missing moment-ish #adoption #i wrote this in like an hour #it's a shower thoughts fic

[bluebloodedbug]

Day One of my 30 Days of Domestic Fluff challenge and it’s a rarepair <3

#bumblebee #idw transformers #transformers #barricade #barricade x bumblebee #bumblecade #domestic fluff #oneshot #they're so precious #precious idiots #brushing their teeth together #legit crying #i wrote this in like an hour #but thats irrelevant

[coffeeshub]

Saw this and couldn't help it. Would prefer if you watch it when the reader does in the story! Thank you and enjoy!!

Here's a Sebastian Stan x Reader inspired by the above real. It's the reader's (Rhea, here. Sorry!?) first ever movie WITH Sebastian Stan, luckily(😮‍💨). I've scratched my head over this for one hour so it shouldn't be THAT bad. You are warned.

Warnings - Swearing and Sebastian Stan

((ughhh he's so fine I can't)

I absentmindedly scrolled through the explore page on my personal account. A few months ago, I wouldn't have done that while working on set with everyone around me. Why would I? The last thing I needed was anyone catching me with a explore page full of my co-star.

Now, don't get me wrong. That was before I got cast with him, on my very first gig, and we became friends for real. So naturally, I had to stop fangirling over him. Even though actually working with him did not help with that in the slightest.

I had tried to trick my algorithm into thinking I hated him. I disliked ALL the Sebastian Stan posts I had liked— and I'm not exaggerating when I say it took hours— and liked every non-Sebastian thing I could find. It did the trick, kind of. After a good 3 months, Instagram forgot that I was (am?) a Sebastian Stan obsess.

And yet there were a few times some reels dropped by, like now. I usually ignore them or scroll past, but this one caught my eye. The cover said 'Sexy Sebass' with Sebastian in a interview in the background. I couldn't help myself. I clicked on it and the real started playing with no sound and captions.

...

I burst out laughing. Literally. I knew Sebastian got embarrassed and hence annoyed at being called any variation of 'hot' or 'sexy'. I couldn't have imagined him saying that with such a straight face without having already unalived the person.

"What's so funny?" A voice whispered in my ear. I got as startled I could in my laughter haze, instinctively trying to back away from him. I'd already realised halfway that it was just Sebastian messing with me, but I felt a hand around my waist, pulling me back, closer to him where he could see my phone and what made me laugh so hard.

"Oyyy what?" I croak out, still laughing.

"So, what's so funny?" I only half registered the consequences as I extended my phone towards him, the reel being replayed on it trying to hold back my laugh.

As soon as he realized what it was about, I see half annoyance half amusement pass his face. He turned to me, his hand somehow still rested around my waist. "What the fuck do you watch in your free time?" He had a cute smile on, red in the face, trying to hide his embarrassed face.

I was so close to him, I could see the dimples forming on his cheeks, the way his face scrunched up slightly, the slight red across his face and couldn't stop the giggle. Given the laughter attack I was in just twenty seconds ago, I wouldn't say I was surprised as I dissolved into laughter again, but this time his arms around me, holding me upright.

"Shut up." I heard Sebastian mutter slowly, which didn't help except I laughed harder.

"Se-sexy Sexy Sebass?" I managed to grind out.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure you don't."

"Shut up, Ray."

"Now, vanilla ice, that's not a very nice thing to say to someone." God, I should stop laughing.

He groaned, throwing his head back in frustration, subconsciously pulling me closer.

I faltered. Too less air, I knew shooting at higher altitudes was a bad idea. Sebastian recollected himself and looked back at me. His eyes gleeming with something I had never seen with him before.

Closer than ever. Too close.

That stopped my laughing.

We were almost touching everywhere, with his one hand still on my waist, that had gotten higher, and mine awkwardly fitted between us, because the only other spot was his chest.

A small smug smile tugged on his face, eyes flickered with mischief and something else, and holy shit, I tried not to melt on the spot.

"Should I be worried about the fact that you were watching reels from a Sebastian Stan fanpage?"

Fuck.

Dumbfuck.

Dumbfuckingfuck.

D—

"Sebastian, Rhea, it's the next shot! Are you guys ready? "

Talk about saviours. I love you Mack.

"I– uh we should go. I've– uh– I gotta get ready."

I not-so-gratefully pulled myself away from him and rushed towards Mahia, my makeup artist, almost sure that my cheeks were burning red.

#i was gonna make this all fluff first then decided on smut but gave up halfway in between and that's the result #i wrote this in like an hour #so bear with me please #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

Girls, Sex, and Drugs

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Genre: smut, purely smut, and lil bit of fluff

Warnings: sex, hookups, drug use (weed, cigarettes), lil bit of exhibition kink, lil bit of dumbification at the end, protected sex, p in v sex, squirting, let me know if I missed anything

———

Sex just wasn't it for Eddie. Not anymore. Sex was just another activity that someone did when they had nothing else to do. Like the girls that came to Eddie for weed, but forgot their wallets. Or the girls that just came to him for sex when their boyfriends weren't enough.

Eddie would fuck these girls anywhere they pleased, the bathrooms that no one went into anymore, the abandoned classrooms on that one side of school, the picnic benches in the forest beside the school, or for his "special" customers he'd fuck them in his van over by Lover's Lake.

He'd never let these girls get too close though. Not like they wanted it. It was always a pump and dump, except he's the one getting dumped. And it sucked, this poor man just wanted some affection in his life. He wanted someone to stay afterwards with him for a little bit and talk, and maybe smoke a joint if they wanted. But no one would do that, not until you.

Eddie and you had English together, but he never really noticed until you walked up on Eddie balls deep in some chick that was in your shared English class.

The poor girl shrieked, pushing herself away from Eddie and shuffling her clothes back into their rightful places.

"Oh my god. Please," She begged. "Please don't tell anyone about this."

"Lips are sealed, princess," You only smiled down at her, moving aside as she scurried up and over the trail.

"Her loss," Eddie shrugged, turned towards the table, closing his black lunch box.

"So the rumors are true," You settled on the same table but the opposite bench of where the girl was bent over.

"Yes ma'am," Eddie smiled as he settled across from you. "These poor lambs come to me for pleasure because no one else can do it for them."

You only hummed, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from your back pocket and a lighter from your front.

“What about you?” The boy asked, staring at the way you lite them cigarette. “Lost, Little Lamb?”

“Far from it, Munson,” You smiled, exhaling the smoke from your lungs, being nice enough to blow it away from the metalhead.

That’s how your friendship started, bonding over the translucent wall of smoke you’d created. And it only blossomed from there. You’d meet at the benches during lunch and after his dealings, making sure the girls were gone before you headed down the trail. And then you’d started talking in your shared english class. Which escalated to taking turns to walk each other to your next class. Which then also escalated to taking turns to walk each other to your respective cars down in the student parking lot. And finally, you’d gotten the upmost highest privilege you could get in your friendship with Eddie Munson, hanging out at his house. Which had also allowed you to become aquatinted with his uncle. And eventually, you two got close enough for Eddie to come to you with secret stories of his sex endeavors of that day. Sometimes he’d catch you in the hallway right after it happened, a light flush to his cheeks and a light sheen of sweat across the bridge of his nose and settled in the shallow bags under his eyes. And other times, he’d pop by your window after a trip to Lover’s Lake.

Eventually, during one of his stories, you’d found this sick feeling swimming in your stomach and a growing pressure on your sternum. And sometimes you found yourself in a breathless state of jealousy. But where did it come from? Perhaps your evergrowing crush on Eddie? No. No it couldn’t be.

Yes it could.

You’d found that out one late night after a particular exciting session with yourself. And your caught yourself moaning your best friend’s name as you came. A couple times, might I add, as you came down from the full body high.

Little did you know, Eddie had done that same exactly thing only two nights before. He felt bad for looking at you that way, the post-nut guilt settling in his chest. And for a few weeks afterwards, you’d only dance around each other. Aware of the side eyed stares and the lingering touches.

You couldn’t help but think of him on your late nights up. And Eddie couldn’t help but think of you when he was balls deep in some chick from his science class.

It was only after a late night call that Eddie decided to take a risky step in your friendship. Friends with Benefits. He thought that was the next best thing. It was all he knew. You couldn’t blame the boy. And you could only agree, not brave enough to take an official step towards a relationship. But it’s not like anything would change much, you were touchy already. Holding hands between classes, touching some part of each other’s body, and even as going as far as sitting on Eddie’s lap when the opportunity arose. And you two may or may not have kissed each other with you got a little too high. And you may or may not have touched each other during those moments either. So it’s not like much would change. Except much did change.

Eddie found himself turning down sex with his classmates, saying he was too tired or he didn’t have the time. He even turned down the girls that offered sex for free weed. The boy only shook his head and asked them to buy as much as they could at the moment if they could, if not then they could go find another dealer to fulfill their desires. He even told some that he wasn’t that interested in sex anymore. Except he was, just not with them. But with you.

Instead of fucking girls out in the woods or in abandoned classrooms, he’d fuck you there instead. There was just something different about you, a warmth built in his chest at the sight of your dripping pussy and he dick grew impossibly harder at the whimpers and moans that spilt from your mouth. Maybe it was the fact that you stuck around after sex, wiping the sweat from under his eyes and helping settle his jeans back up around his hips. And if you fucked in his van over by Lover’s Lake, perhaps his favorite spot with you, your drag him out to the sandy shore and talk to him about the stars above your heads. He’d listen, yeah. But all he’d be looking at is you. But he couldn’t help it. You looked so pretty wrapped up in the post-sex afterglow.

Eddie got from you what he’d never gotten from no other girl, aftercare. Eddie was an affectionate man, so when you’d insisted you’d stick around to cuddle up with him and give him forehead kisses, he knew he was too far gone.

You two had only been caught fucking just a few times. The first by a group of his “loyal customers” who’d decided to gang up on him and ask him as to what happened between them. The barged into one of the classrooms on the abandoned side of school, crowding the doorway as gasping at the sight in front of them.

The metalhead had you bent over the tall teacher’s desk in the room, his jeans pulled down just enough to whip his cock out and your skirt, that you decided to wear that day, pulled up over your ass. Eddie had a hand gripping the fleshy skin on your hip and the other placed between your shoulder blades so he could keep you pressed against the polished wood as he fucked the ever living daylights out of you.

“You like this, don’t you, little lamb?” Eddie growled, fucking into you harder.

But the barging of about five girls into the room didn’t allow Eddie to hear the answer you whined out. He stopped mid-thrust, about halfway out of you.

“What?” Eddie snapped, not ready to give his time of day to these poor, desperate girls while he was stuffing his favorite girl full of his thick cock.

The group only stared before one spoke up.

“Well, Eddie-“

“Hurry up. You know I don’t have all day,” Sure, Eddie didn’t have all day for girls that only wanted a pump and dump, but for you, he’d give you all day and even more.

Oblivious to your audience, you whined against the table, wordlessly begging Eddie to start moving again.

Eddie only pressed himself plush against your ass, his cock pressing against your cervix in the most delicious, but painless, way.

“We we’re just wondering where you went,” One of the girls started up.

“You never pay attention to us anymore,” Another added on.

“And now you’ve left us for a girl that spends more time in the library than she does in a classroom,” A third snapped, hands on her hips.

“I know at least three of you in this little group here have a boyfriend that you can run along to,” Eddie told them, his already thin patience running even thinner.

“But, Eddie, we-“

“There’s no we anymore,” Eddie snapped. “You either accept that I don’t want you anymore and stop coming to me or go find someone else. Same goes for the weed. I will not be exchanging weed for sex anymore, I don’t have the time.”

Still not even close to full aware, you reached a hand back to push against Eddie’s thigh, begging him to start fucking you again. Eddie’s involuntary twitches of his cock almost made you drip onto the cheap tile below. Eddie ignored your small hand, staring down the group of girls still in the doorway.

“You’re just like every other guy in this school!!” One of the girls cried out, turning around and leading the way into the hallway. They left the door wide open, guaranteeing anyone to walk by to see you get fucked into the wood you’re laid on.

To make sure neither of you were caught, Eddie covered your mouth with the hand that was previously pressed between your shoulder blades. The other stayed on your hip as he fucked you through the rest of lunch.

Another time you’d guys gotten caught was in one of the bathrooms after school. No one else was in the school except you two, and the basketball team.

Earlier that day, some of the basketball players had gotten a little too handsy with you earlier for Eddie’s liking. So due to Eddie jealousy, Eddie decided to fuck you in one of the bathrooms next to the basketball boy’s locker room, so all the ball boys could hear your pretty little moans. And of course, the ball boys couldn’t help be curious.

“Oh fuck! Fuck!!”

Eddie had you bent over one of the sinks and had you facing the mirror. One hand was in your hair to keep your head up so he could keep eye contact with you in the mirror.

“You feel so good, Little Lamb,” Eddie purred, fucking into your harshly. “Squeezing on my cock. You can moan a little louder for me, yeah? Let those dumb jocks know that your Master is fucking you oh so good. They’d never be able to fuck you this good, you know that?”

“Y-yes, Master,” You barely got out, eyes flicking to the side as the door to the bathroom opened.

Eddie smiled to himself, knowing exactly what group of kids it was.

“What? Munson??” One of the boys in the doorway sputtered. “I thought it was-“

“One of your own?” Eddie sneered. “We both know she’d never get this loud if it was one of you.”

The basketball boys grimaced, backing out of the doorway to go spread the news to the others.

“Eddie- I-,” You were choked up, embarrassed at being caught.

“What’s wrong, Little Lamb?” Eddie’s voice was laced with lust and his brutal thrusts came to a slow. He worried that you knowing that you’d been caught was too much for your dumb, little brain.

“Nonono,” You begged, eyes getting a little watery as the pressure in your lower stomach began to build. “Eddie, I-I’m gonna cum. Please please, please go faster. Faster please.”

“Oh?” The metalhead quirked a brow, building up speed again as he slipped a hand between your thighs to rub on your clit. “Gonna cum for your Master, Little Lamb?”

“Yesyesyes,” You nodded the best you could with Eddie grip on your hair. Tears began to spring from the corner of your eyes the closer to release you got. “Pleasepleaseplease. Please Master, fuck me. Fuck me!”

Eddie could only fuck you harder and move his hand between your thighs faster as your whines and moans picked up in volume the closer you got to your release.

“Oh my- Fuck!” The knot in your lower stomach snapped violently and your thighs shook as your gripped the porcelain sink to the best of your ability. “Master- Master! Oh my god! Eddie! Eddie!!”

Your metalhead fucked you through your orgasm, and unbeknownst to you, you squirted. All over him. Well, that’s more of an exaggeration. His upper thighs were soaked, and his boxers and jeans were wet. Arousal ran down your thighs and over his hand, coating his silver rings in the wetness.

This seemed to set off Eddie’s own orgasm. His hand hand flew from between your thighs to your hip, gripping at the flesh, and the hand in your hair pulled you back as Eddie fucked into you sloppily, spilling into the latex that kept you both from being as close to each other as humanly possible. Eddie let your hair go, jerking into you as waves of aftershock ran through his body.

Your head fell and you did your best to keep your upper body up with shakey arms.

“You okay?” Eddie breathed down, his first priority being to check up on you. “I didn’t pull too hard, did I?”

You shook your head no, too fucked own to use your vocal chords for words. And you could only whine as Eddie slowly pulled out, the empty feeling making your legs feel like jello. And you rest your forehead against the cold sink.

The shuffling of jeans and the clinking of a belt was heard and then soft hands were touching you, pulling your panties and then your jeans back over your ass and around your hips. Then Eddie pulled you upright and turned you around. He held your face with a lovesick smile on his face, and then leaned into you to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You okay, Little Lamb?” Your metalhead asked, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Don’t-“ You sighed out, finding words difficult. “Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what?” Eddie’s smile only got bigger.

“Little Lamb.”

“Why not?“ Eddie asked.

“I’m not ready for round two yet,” You told him, leaning forward to put your head in his chest so you could listen to his heartbeat.

“You will be when we get home, yeah?” He pulled you closer, breathing in your sweet after-sex smell before helping you move so you two could finally leave school.

You whined in response, letting him pull you along by your hand to his van.

#aj posts #I wrote this in like an hour #but I hope you guys like it #:) #stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagines #stranger things smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson smut

[thinkingfandoms]

"Photograph" is Buck's song

Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes, but it's the only thing that I know. | This is literally how Buck perceives "love", at least in the first seasons. He hurt himself when he was younger to be noticed and "loved" by his shitty parents. And don't get me started with his "girlfriends".

When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes, it is the only thing makes us feel alive. | Remind me of SOMEONE who was holding Buck's hand during the whole truck-crash-and-save-buck thing.

We keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves. | We know, thanks to our queen Marjan, that Eddie's insta has Buck's photo in it. Now, you can't tell me that Buck's insta isn't the same. And you can't tell me these two don't have photos of each other at their house, especially Diaz's house.

Where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken, and time's forever frozen, still. | Yeah I know he's talking about photos but "time's forever frozen" doesn't remember how time froze and then restart after Eddie saw Buck's body hang up on the ladder?

So you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans, holding me closer 'til our eyes meet. | These two eyes f*ck each other most of the time come on.

You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home. | This sentence especially reminds me of when Buck broke into Eddie's house after Chris called him in panic. Buck was there for Eddie, always not leaving him alone, and always coming home. 

Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul, and it's the only thing that I know (know). | Do I need to explain this? We all know how these two love each other and help to heal the other.

I swear it will get easier, remember that with every piece of ya. | GOD. I know this is Buck's pov but Eddie saying this to Buck? That scene is engraved in my heart. Also it always comes back to "Buck helping Eddie with his therapy."

And it's the only thing we take with us when we die. | Buck's first thought after entering coma? Eddie. Probably the very last memory of Eddie after he got shot? Buck.

(chorus)

And if you hurt me, that's okay, baby, only words bleed. Inside these pages, you just hold me and I won't ever let you go. | Lawsuit arc: Buck was hurt because Eddie didn't understand him and they got into an only-words-fight. Eventually, they reapacified and hugged.

(Wait for me to come home x4)

Oh, you can fit me inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen, next to your heartbeat where I should be keep it deep within your soul. | I think Eddie was a little older when he got his necklace but we all know this IS Buck asking Eddie to let him stay inside his heart (yeah all the heart theory).

(chorus)

When I'm away, I will remember how you kissed me under the lamppost back on Sixth Street. | Future happenings? IF Buck really goes to Italy (I don't believe that Oliver posted this story just to make fun of us) is going to happen after they got together? And went on a date or something were they kissed in a street?

Hearing you whisper through the phone "Wait for me to come home." | In the end, Buck goes to live with the Diazs and this is Eddie's line he says every day to Buck before going home.

#i wrote this in like an hour #i will not be sorry #this is just my rumbling about the song #english is ugly here #911 on fox #911 #buck #911 s6 #911 spoilers #buddie #eddie #911 fox #photograph #ed sheeren #911 s3 #leo talks

[nico-di-genova]

Illusions of Perfection

I’m processing how to feel about my favorite siblings, so have this messy thing that might not make any sense. 

Content warning: mentions of child abuse

Max doesn’t see the headstone until the day of his funeral. The funeral that, in all honesty, she hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place.  It was easier to pretend – to look at the simple black dress that had hung on her closet for a week and imagine it was for anything other than burying her brother. If she closed her eyes, covered her ears, and willed herself to ignore everything around her, then maybe she wouldn’t have to face the reality of the situation.

  Maybe she could pretend she was anywhere other than the sprawling Hawkins cemetery., the stench of damp earth and decay surrounding her.

  “Max,” Her mom’s hand is light when it rests on her back, careful, in a way that makes Max feel very fragile. She’s reminded of a blue porcelain teacup shattered on the linoleum of their old home. A million tiny pieces scattered across the floor. 

“Come on, sweetie,” she nudges Max forward slightly, but Max’s shoes have seemingly sunk into the soft earth beneath her.

  She shakes her head, a small sound escaping her.

  The coffin is a simple deep blue, sleek and shiny, not unlike Billy’s car. It lacks the dents his vehicle carried though, the scuff of paint from where she’d accidentally slammed the passenger side door into a pole. Billy, after screaming at her with enough ferocity that his face had gone red, had seethed at her for a month. The coffin is clean, perfect, and nothing like the boy who lays inside of it. The boy who will never rise from it again, who will forever sleep in this perfect thing that he would have hated. Max knows, because Billy never tried to fix the scratched paint, not in the way he did other dents and dings in the Camaro, and when people would point out the considerable scuff he would simply huff and say, ‘my idiot sister’, as a way of explanation. Max would hear the fondness in his voice sometimes, the easy way he would call her his sister, and know. The car had character; this coffin had nothing but the cold illusion of peace. And Max hated it.

  “Come on, Max,” her mom tries again, “Just a little bit longer.”

  Max knows she’s talking about the funeral, as if once Billy’s in the ground, this cavernous feeling inside her will be laid to rest beside him. Max knows it’s not that simple, things in her life rarely are.

  She takes small steps forward, eyes never once straying from the black box before her, so she doesn’t see the headstone until she comes to a stop inches from the grave’s edge. Neil stands beside her, a solid block of a man, face unreadable. She looks from him to the chiseled stone that will forever mark her brothers end.

  ‘William Hargrove’.

  The pit inside her grows wider, along with the sour taste at the back of her throat.

  “It’s wrong,” she days to no one in particular, the words escaping her before she had a chance to even realize she’s speaking.

  Beside her, Neil with his red rimmed eyes and week-old stubble, turns to look down at her. When he speaks, his voice is rough from disuse, “What?”

Max motions to the headstone, “They put the wrong name.”

  Max’s mom stiffens slightly.

  “It’s wrong,” Max repeats, and glares daggers at the offending stone, as if the carving will rearrange itself if she stares hard enough.

  Neil breathes deeply, and when he speaks again Max can hear his voice is heavy with weight of unshed tears. “It’s his full name. His, um, his birth name.”

  Around them people are still gathering, a slow procession from their cars and up the hill. Max feels the tension in her shoulders worsen as they crowd behind her, whispering amongst themselves in hushed tones. Max wonders how many of these people actually knew Billy. No one else says anything about the headstone, or the perfect coffin, for the fact that it was a closed casket service because Billy’s body is riddled with holes that wouldn’t be easily explained by a mall fire. Max wonders if they’d cleaned the black blood from him, or if it’s still staining his marred skin.

  She shakes her head and rubs furiously at the tears that are starting to spill down her cheeks. “It’s not his name.”

  “Max-.”

  “Billy. His name is Billy.”

  “Max, it’s not-” her mom tries again.

  Max bunches her hands in fists around the fabric of her dress and insists, “It should say Billy. That was his name. It should be right. His name is Billy.”

  Before, in San Diego, Max had first met Billy under the neon glow of a minigolf sign. She’d stubbornly shook his hand as Neil had said, “This is my son, William.”

  And Billy’s face had twisted into a sneer as he corrected, “Billy. It’s Billy.”

  Max, who Neil still insisted on calling Maxine, had smiled a small thing at him and replied, “I’m Max.”

  She looks at Neil now, in his fresh pressed suit and perfectly knotted tie, and tries not to picture how Billy had looked the night he lay in a pool of his own blood at Starcourt. Dirty, scared, pained expression meeting hers as he spoke his last words: ‘I’m sorry.’

“His name was Billy,” Max repeats, meeting Neil’s hard stare with her own. There’s a flash of something in his eyes, something she’d only ever seen directed at Billy before, and it scares her. It reminds her of blood of linoleum and the sound of Billy’s bitten off cries. She cowers under that look for only a second, before squaring her shoulders and swallowing deeply.

  “This isn’t the time, Maxine,” he growls, soft, so as not to alert the guests around them. Neil and his obsession with the picture perfect family, the properly grieving parents, and the sister who mourns her lost brother in silence. Max doesn’t want to play that game. She doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

Maybe it’s Billy’s insolence that has rubbed off on her, his insistence in smearing the Hargrove name at every turn. Like the scuffed paint on his Camaro, the hole he punched in his bedroom wall, the teacup that shattered at his feet when Neil hit him so hard he went crashing into her mother’s dishes. Like the handprint he left around her wrist so many times, pulling her from one place to the next, a stamp of how imperfect he really was. Max had lied for him, smiled in family photos, and told people Neil was only tired when he shouted at her in irritation. She had pretended, up until Billy was laying on the floor with blood spilling from his mouth and a terrified expression in his eyes.

  Pretending everything was perfect hadn’t gotten her anything but a dead brother and a hole in her chest that ached every time she thought about the boy who had once taken her for a joyride in his car simply because she’d asked. The boy who had hurt her. The boy who had once stepped between her and Neil once when Max had deigned to speak back to him. The boy whose body lay before her now, and who’s headstone was wrong.

  “His name was Billy.” She states once more, before turning on her heel and storming back down the hill.

  No more pretending. No more.

#max mayfield #billy hargrove #stranger things #my fic #i wrote this in like an hour #and didn't have time to check for grammar or spelling #because I gotta go to work now #but hopefully someone will like this

[shadowsholdsecrets]

Wildlife Rescue

((Titles will be the absolute death of me. anyway, please enjoy this little drabble of Dream rescuing Matthew from a wildlife centre inspired by a tiktok video sent to me by a friend.))

Matthew sits on a wooden stick strung through the bars of a cage, looking at the other birds around him. his wing is wrapped in bandages very tightly and looks up slightly at the person walking past the cage. he caws trying to get their attention and when it doesn't work he wishes he could scowl. he feels Lord Morpheus looking through his eyes and hears his voice "Matthew. Where are you?" he ducks his head, thinking in response "i have no idea. these people picked me up when i fell out of a tree" He hears him chuckles lightly "you did what?" "Shut up, can you get me out of here?"  "yes, give me a moment" "good cause these bandages are quite annoying" "you'll need to deal with them just a few moments longer." "Fine, just hurry up, the other birds are staring at me." Matthew looks up, watching the people pass and sighs in relief as he sees his lord appear just down a hallway and begin to approach, but is stopped by the same lady that had patched up Matthew's wing. "I'm sorry, you can't be in here" Morpheus looks towards the cage "you have my raven." he says, folding his arms and nodding towards the cage containing Matthew "Your raven? I'm fairly certain there's rules against keeping Ravens as pets."  the woman says raising an eyebrow "He is not my pet. he's my companion." Matthew caws loudly in the direction of the two and it draws the woman's eyes, to which Matthew lets out another loud noise, she walks over and eyes Matthew cautiously "Do you know him?" she asks softly and Matthew bobs his head and she blinks in surprise before looking at Morpheus "we found him when he fell out of a tree" "I know, he told me." Morpheus says, standing at her side  "His wing was severely broken, I'm surprised he's not in pain right now" "he's a rather resilient bird." The woman sighs and opens the cage, reaching for Matthew and he bites down the urge to snap his beak at her and she picks him up "let me take one last peek at this wing and then i'll send him home with you okay?" she says looking at Morpheus who nods "thank you." she takes the two to a back room, a vet's station and she settles Matthew on a table, giving him a last once over "You'll have to be quick getting him out, its against the centre's rules what I'm doing." "then why are you doing it?" Morpheus asks and the woman sighs "Because I know what it's like to lose a companion, I don't want anyone else to lose theirs." she frowns as she looks over Matthews wing "Healed already? what the hell" "he is not a normal Raven do not concern yourself with it. may i take him home?" "i suppose so, yes" the woman is watching the pair cautiously, Matthew moves and flies to settle on Morpheus' shoulder as his lord takes a handful of sand to return the two to the dreaming, ignoring the woman's visible confusion.  

#dream of the endless #morpheus #matthew the raven #the sandman drabble #the sandman #i wrote this in like an hour

[femme-malewife]

Growing up isn’t easy, especially when you’re a child soldier...

#parental royed #parental rizaed #fma #i wrote this in like an hour #lisians fanfics

[afoggymirror]

:･ﾟ✧ ｡･::･ﾟ☆,｡･:*:･ﾟ✧

Jihan is a Restless Leg Syndrome girlie. Most of the time it’s not too annoying, but some times you’ll be cuddling and she starts making the whole couch shake. She knows she does it, you can just poke her on the knee and she’ll stop, at worst she’ll pout back at you. You guess it’s only natural, with how much energy she has.

The problem is, that energy carries over to her sleep too. Very often, as she’s drifting off at night, she’ll twitch, like a bunny dreaming that it’s running. She likes to sleep very close, too. More than once you woke up with a headbutt, or a kick to the shin.

At first it was alarming, you wondered if you should wake her up, whether she was having a nightmare. It never looks like she is, really. You think it’s just a quirk of how she falls asleep. Maybe, you thought one night, it’s her body getting used to being vulnerable around you.

Regardless, you can never bring yourself to wake her up. She just seems so peaceful next to you. You flip softly to face her, fitting your arms carefully to the space between you two, and feel a peace knowing that the loss of sleep means nothing, if she’s resting easy by your side.

The next morning you wake late and cranky, to see Jihan already up and energized and zooming all over the apartment. “Hey baby,” she says, coffee in hand, “did you sleep well?”

“Sure did!” you can’t help but say, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

#drabble #oh shit! it's a drabble #i wrote this in like an hour #maybe i should invest in drabbles to actually become productive #get the creative juices flowing in the morning you know #it's not evil like usual #but it might help write the evil shit #does anyone like this? #also do the images work? #just had some jihan thoughts #jihan thoughts #jihan x reader #jihan fluff #fluff #weeekly fluff #weeekly

[m-ozze]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Kevin Day/Jean Moreau Characters: Kevin Day, Jean Moreau, David Wymack, Riko Moriyama, Tetsuji Moriyama Additional Tags: Gun Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, i think, off screen abuse, Revenge, no beta we die like riko moriyama, Not Serious, One Shot, pushing the kevjean agenda, character injuries, Character Death, but its deserved so, Unrealistic shooting Summary:

You don't grow up alongside the son of a mafia boss without meeting some… interesting people.

Which is to say: Kevin knows a guy.

A guy with a shitton of guns.

Or

I gave Kevin a gun and Jean isn't going to be left behind this time.

#kevjean #aftg fic #please don't take this too seriously #I wrote this in like an hour #I promise I'm still working on more serious fics #I wanted to get something out before new years

[acorviart]

everyone should attempt an artisan craft at some point in their life because it would cut down the number of comments questioning why handmade goods like ceramics or textile craft or woodworking are so expensive

and this is an unrealistic expectation, but I think the attempt should include seeing through to the end at least one "finished" item, no matter how clumsy or lumpy your first attempts might be. like to me, there's a huge difference in perspective between attempting to learn how to crochet or throw a pot for a few days, acknowledging that it's harder than it looks and giving up, versus committing to finishing that scarf or clay pot you started and working on it for weeks while you painstakingly learn from your mistakes and grow attached to your project while also simultaneously hating it.

once you finish the latter, your perspective changes from "why does this crocheted blanket cost $200" to "holy shit I can't believe they're charging $200 for this crocheted blanket instead of $2000" because you may have known crocheting is hard, you may have easily agreed with the idea that "handmade goods take time and effort" even before attempting a craft, but now you know firsthand the absolute time sink it takes to make things. like yeah dude, that one item took you 2 months to make and probably wasn't even an ultra complex item if it was the first thing you made, now imagine attaching an hourly wage to that time to calculate the cost (and this is ignoring every nuance of the artistic element and master crafters being able to work faster/charge higher because of their years and years of experience)

anyway this rant has been motivated by a comment I saw on someone else's ceramic post asking why a mug was $60 and they understand it's handmade but $60 just seems overpriced, and bro do you know how long ceramics take to make. that mug probably took at minimum 3 weeks between how long it takes to throw the mug, dry partially, trim the mug, dry fully, bisque fire, wait a day for the kiln to cool, sand and paint and glaze, glaze fire, wait a day for the kiln to cool, take product photography of the mug, write description and list the mug online for sale, im not even including the skill needed to complete all these steps without the mug literally exploding or collapsing while also making it an appealing piece of art, aaaaaaaaaaaaa

#$60 is overpriced my ass #if I priced my ceramics by the exact number of hours they took literally no one would buy anything #holding up a plate like oh yeah I started this in uhhhhhhhhhhh august and it finished in december #wrote this intending it to be a rant and delete post but im sending it out into the world

[stevebabey]

have sum steddie! maybe modern!au, no upside down!au & a meet cute <3

Steve sits in the booth, his foot tapping away mindlessly under the table, with half a mind to abandon the table entirely.

In fact, the only reason he hadn’t yet was because of the $20 he was hanging out for at the end. And the bragging rights, of course.

Robin had set him up on this blind date, plied him with all the promises in the world that he would enjoy it — said she’d spent a decent amount of time hunting for the right first gay date for Steve.

She also conceded that if he, for whatever reason, didn’t enjoy it, she would cough up 20 whole bucks for his wasted time. But he had to actually see the date through for the prize to be claimed.

And the bragging rights were so that Robin — with her uppity, healthy, and happy relationship that Steve was only a little bit envious of — could ease onto the breaks when it came to Steve’s love life.

So it was looking a little bleak at the moment, so what? Every stallion or… lion or whatever had their moments, right? Moments where their mane is a little uncouth and food is low and…. Where was he going with this?

The point was, that Robin got into one relationship and suddenly decided she was fit to become a high and mighty matchmaker. Never mind that Steve had reminded her numerous times that he had dated a lot more than she had.

So, for 20 bucks and the right to stick his tongue out at his best friend when she tried to meddle, Steve could stick one night out.

Besides, she was right about one thing. They weren’t in Hawkins anymore — and San Francisco had a hell of a larger dating pool than his hometown.

Still, that didn’t make people anymore for prompt for dates though, apparently. Steve’s foot taps incessantly under the table, his knee bouncing up and down in his nerves. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch again.

7 o’clock, Harvey’s Diner, a cute little Italian place that Steve had begun to frequent since they moved to the city, and a date with a dude called Daniel whom Steve had no idea what he looked like.

This was his Friday night plans.

His watch reads 7:12pm and Steve sighs, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch just for something to do. Great. He had gotten all dressed up for this? To be stood up? How was this any better than his usual Friday night plans that Robin claimed were so pathe—

“Hi.”

Someone sits down in the booth across from Steve, landing with a thump loud enough to give him a fright.

Steve’s head whips up from its focus on fiddling with his watch and— woah. Steve blinks once, twice, and feels his jaw unhinge a little, his lips parting an inch as he gazes at the stranger across from him.

Holy shit, this dude was hot.

He’s got curls for days, dark chocolate ringlets all messy and unkept spilling over his shoulders— long and probably perfect for burying your hands into. Steve flushes a little at the unexpected thought.

He has beautiful brown eyes, widened with a smudge of eyeliner and framed with long lashes. Steve thinks he can spy a smattering of freckles across his forehead. His nose is long and his lips are plush and pink and holy shit, this dude was pretty.

“Oh— hi.” Steve manages to remember his manners. Only after he fully checked this dude out, of course.

God, couldn’t Robin have given him a better warning than just ‘he’s probably your type’? Couldn’t she have warned him that this dude was ‘do-a-double-take-on-the-street type hot?’ What the fuck Robin?

The man across from him grins, wicked and alluring all at once, and shucks off his heavy leather jacket. His eyes do a once-over on Steve, taking his time to check him out— which is great because Steve is stuck on all the glorious tattoos that have just been revealed. So much skin shown in his roughly chopped muscle-tee, swirling ink all down his arms. This dude is hot.

Silently, Steve curses Robin and the 20 dollars that is totally slipping away from him. Why did she have to be right all the time?

“Been waiting long?” The man, Daniel, asks as he makes himself comfortable across the table. He pushes his hair back with both hands, using one hand to gather it into a ponytail, holding it up to air out his neck and Steve now realises he is slightly puffed.

He must’ve run part of the way here, to avoid being later than he was. Steve can’t help but be slightly endeared by that fact.

The man grins again, “Promise I was trying to be on time but, you know how the subway is.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, any annoyance at being kept waiting melting away at his date’s sincerity.

“Not too long,” Steve admits, smiling to ease Daniel’s apparent concern. Across the table, Daniel slumps a little and releases his hair, his curls pooling back around his shoulders. Steve watches, entranced.

“Well, that’s good,” Daniel smiles, eyes bright like he really means it, and his hand darts out to steal the drinks menu from the edge of the table. He looks back over to Steve, a furrow in his brows. “You didn’t order anything?”

“I thought I should wait,” Steve says with a shrug. No point paying for food if your date never shows up.

Daniel looks up from the menu through his lashes and smiles, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, you’re sweet.”

Steve is a little embarrassed by how easily the compliment makes him blush, feeling his cheeks glow lightly. Across the table, Daniel seems to revel in it, drinking in the way Steve’s face filled with colour with a cheeky smile. His eyes flick back down to the menu.

“You know,” Daniel begins, keeping his eyes on the menu, scanning it with a hum. “Chrissy said you were good looking but I think she seriously undersold you.”

He takes his eyes off the menu to trail up Steve’s body, his gaze heavy. Steve feels a delighted zing go up his spine, feels the way he preens at Daniel’s attraction. Steve opens his mouth to respond, more than ready to return the flirt when—

“Can I get you two started with anything?”

The waitress interrupts. She’s poised with her notepad, standing at the edge of the booth. Daniel perks up and nods.

“Can I get a chocolate milkshake please?” He asks with a polite smile. Steve laughs lightly at his selection and Daniel’s gaze cuts from the waitress to Steve.

“What? Not a milkshake man?”

Steve tries to contain his grin, all too endeared by the man before him. He shakes his head and raises his hand in defense. “Nothing against milkshakes just… for dinner?”

Daniel gasps theatrically and his head snaps back to the waitress. “This man has never had the delight of a Harvey’s milkshake with his dinner. Please bring us two chocolate milkshakes!”

Steve watches as the waitress dutifully writes down the order and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen. He turns back to his date and gapes, taken aback by the forwardness.

“Did you just order for me?”

“Did you just diss milkshakes?”

Steve scoffs, but even then he can’t stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He can’t believe it but he’s genuinely glad he waited this date out. It's not at all like he was expecting. Even Robin's short description of this dude pales in comparison to the real thing. Steve nudges his foot forward into Daniel’s shin lightly.

“I did not diss milkshakes,” Steve argues, his smile widening at how Daniel’s eyes dart to the table before back up at Steve with a grin.

“Uh huh,” Daniel nods, his voice sarcastic and 100% unbelieving of Steve’s insistence. “Just wait, okay? You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Harvey’s milkshakes are class. I’ve had a thousand of my best ideas in here, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.”

Steve grins and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Under the table, he feels Daniel’s boot nudge against his leg gently— and he laughs to himself. This has gotta be the most teenage way of flirting and he’s fucking loving it.

“You know,” Steve begins hesitantly, letting his forearms lean up against the table. “You’re not quite what I expected, Daniel.”

Across the table, Daniel scrunches up his face, his expression one of pure befuddlement. He puts his hands flat on the table and leans forward.

“Wait, you think my name is Daniel?”

Steve splutters for a moment because even though the answer is duh, yes, it’s become increasingly apparent that the man across from him is not who he was expecting. But if he’s not Daniel, who is he?

Suddenly, the door chimes and someone else is entering the diner. It’s a man dressed like Steve — on the preppy side with hair that must’ve taken at least an hour. He scans the booth and spots Steve’s booth, wandering over, his eyes fixed on the man across from Steve.

“Hey, are you Eddie?” He asks confidently, ignoring Steve’s presence on the other side of the booth.

The man — Eddie — freezes as he glances up at the newcomer and then back down to Steve ahead of him. Steve deflates a little inside as he realises abruptly what’s happened— a mix-up of wrong dates that was completely warranted because this dude dresses exactly like Steve. Steve doesn't stare too long to see if he's any hotter.

Instead, he tries to give Eddie the all-clear with his eyes. He smiles polite as he can and gives a little nod to let him know it was alright to abandon him for the date he was supposed to go on. Not to get stuck with Steve.

Eddie clears his throat and smiles, not cheeky like he had with Steve, but stiff and polite. “Ah sorry man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. My name's Daniel.”

Huh? Steve takes his eyes off the table to steal a glimpse at Eddie (is his name even Eddie?) and something inside him burns hotly when the man glances across at Steve and winks.

The man standing by the booth wavers for a moment, glancing between them in the booth as Steve schools his expression to neutral. After a moment of silence, there's a half-assed apology as the man retreats, heading back out the door he had just come through. The door chimes again on his way out.

Steve straightens up and peers over his shoulder, watching the door slowly swing shut. He turns back to the man across the booth and squints at him. The waitress returns briefly, dropping two large chocolate shakes onto the table, topped with a mountain of cream. She murmurs something about coming back to take their order in a moment.

"Wait, so who are you?" Steve asks, gently sliding his shake closer to him. "Daniel or Eddie?"

His date —well, his new date— has already begun taking a big long sip from his own milkshake, so enamored with it that when he pulls away there's a dot of cream on the end of his nose. He swallows with a satisfied ah and grins across the table at Steve, not noticing the dairy on his face.

"I'm whoever gets me talking with you a little bit longer."

Steve grins, an endeared roll of his eye at the blatant flirting but he can't deny how it makes his chest warm. He grabs one of the napkins and reaches forward, adoring how Eddie goes cross-eyed as he watches Steve smudge away the cream on his nose. He laughs sheepishly, giving his nose a little wipe with his own hand.

"I'm Eddie." He says, finally introducing himself. He doesn't offer his hand, just gives Steve a little nudge under the table and a grin over his milkshake. "And I think you just saved me from a terrible date."

Steve laughs, giving a little shake of his head. He finally goes in for a sip of his own milkshake— and it's just as heavenly as Eddie had promised, glorious chocolate dancing over his taste buds.

Steve groans quietly, eyes bright when he glances at the other man over his glass, entirely amused by how wide-eyed Eddie has become. He releases the straw and sits back, more invested in this date than he has been in... years. Stallion's got its mojo back. Or lion. Whatever.

"I'm Steve," He responds, giving a little nudge back under the table and a grin of his own. "And I think you saved me from being stood up."

#what..... is this???? #i haven't really written modern au for them #and i wrote it in about 2 hours so hopefully its like. not terrible #wahoo ! #i luv a little meet cute #meet cute #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie blurb #ummmm i haven't posted in literal eons ive forgotten all my tags oh well #enjoy ?

[forlix]

· . ˚ 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

— the moments in which the members of stray kids realize how they truly feel about you.

words・1.4k / pairings・ot8 x gn!reader / warnings・depictions of conflict and anxiety in hyunjin's and han's / genres・domestic fluff, smidges of hurt/comfort, established relationships

a/n・thought i'd try out a new fic format :-) i had so much fun writing these and hope you like reading them just as much. any and all feedback is appreciated, as always!

chan is in a heated staring contest with his notepad when the door opens, and he knows that it’s you who comes in, but his head is miles away, tangled in an amalgamation of syllables and rhythms. he goes on to forget that you’re here for a short while, poring over the unfinished lyrics in front of him with undivided focus. that is, until he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder.

you’ve just pulled a chair up next to his desk. “lemme see,” you say, gesturing to the notepad. there’s a surprised pause, and then chan places it in your hand, scoots closer to you.

you spend the next two hours talking him through his block, but there are periods when you fall silent to brainstorm or to write something down, and chan takes those quiet opportunities just to look at you: wearing one of his old t-shirts, your hair still damp from your shower, completely concentrated. and he knows, then, that he wants to marry you.

minho doesn’t realize he loves you in a singular moment. rather, he has a faint inkling for some time, and then the rug is randomly pulled from beneath his feet, and all of a sudden he can’t remember a version of his world that didn't have you at its center.

there are times when he’s especially aware of his feelings, though. like when he throws a witty remark in your direction and your retort comes back twice as sharp. when your eyes and smile light up like lanterns as you talk to him about your passions. when one (or all) of his cats hover at your side as you go about your day. when he returns home after a grueling practice and you’re there to offer him your comfort, no matter his withdrawn demeanor or sweaty skin.

he is a quiet lover, and sometimes he worries that he’s too quiet, that you have no idea what’s going on inside him every time he looks at you. but words have never really been necessary with minho. you know. you just do.

changbin is greeted by a chilly breeze when he emerges from the gym, and he silently chastizes himself for forgetting to bring an outer layer yet again. but the temperature moves to the back of his mind when he spots you, waiting on the sidewalk, as you said you would. a familiar grin breaks across your face when you see him, and he feels its shape against his lips when he runs over and kisses you, in lieu of hello.

“what are you feeling for dinner?” you ask once he’s pulled away, and he realizes that you’ve pressed something to his chest: one of the hoodies that he keeps at your place, still soft and warm from just coming out of the dryer. and boom—the epiphany hits him, instantly and unequivocally.

he is dumbfounded for a moment, just processing the newfound discovery; and then, out of nowhere, the two of you say the name of the same restaurant at the same time. he swears he never believed in soulmates until he met you.

hyunjin has always held so many emotions in his heart so fervently, to the point that they sometimes overflow in the form of words that he doesn’t believe, in a tone that he doesn’t intend. and it happened again today, when he spoke to you the wrong way in a moment of pure impulse, and the surprise on your face morphed into poorly-disguised hurt.

a few hours later, the weight of his actions sits heavily on his shoulders. when he lifts his phone to call you, his hands are shaking a little, and a breathy apology spills from his lips the moment he hears you on the other end: “i’m sorry, angel. i’m trying, i promise. i really am.” to which you answer, “i know, hyune. i forgive you. we’ll keep trying together, okay?” and your words pull his heartstrings in a new direction entirely.

he asks if he can come over, you say yes, and he tells you he loves you as soon as you open the door. he’s done hiding his heart from you.

jisung’s contagious grin and raucous cackle come easily to him for the most part, but there are times when he forgets how it feels to laugh or to breathe, times when he wants only to hide from the world and all of its scariest parts. and when you see his figure in the doorway tonight, his face cast in a nameless shadow, his shoulders sunken in quiet defeat, you understand immediately that this is one of those times.

“do you wanna talk about it?” you ask as he approaches you. silently, he shakes his head: not tonight. but his body language asks for what he cannot verbalize. you extend your arms toward him, and he buries himself in them the second he’s close enough to, his face nestling the crook of your neck, the tension in his limbs melting at your gentle touch. you stay there for a long time, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, coaxing him back to the ground, back to you.

wherever he chooses to hide, he thinks he’d like to take you with him.

when felix opens his eyes, the space in the bed next to him is empty, and the faint scent of flour and sugar wafts through the gap beneath his door.

he gets to his feet, throws on some clothes, and wanders in the direction of the smell, rubbing the sleep from his eyes—and the sight that awaits him makes him wonder if he’s still dreaming. you’re standing at the stove, still in your pajamas, hair slightly disheveled from your rest, and there are pancakes in the frying pan before you; sliced strawberries on the cutting board next to the stove. and the look of sheer focus on your face, as if staring at the pancakes will cook them faster, absolutely destroys him. (and he knows in that moment that he wants to wake up to you for the rest of his life.)

with an enamored smile, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulls your back to his chest, and presses a light kiss to the nape of your neck. “morning, beautiful,” he mumbles sweetly. “how fucking lucky am i?”

being around you makes seungmin feel like a kid with a crush. he smiles brighter and laughs louder. he opens like a lotus in bloom when you say his name. the floaty sensation he gets when you kiss his cheek or hold his hand persists for hours afterward—and none of it makes any fucking sense to him. it’s not that he doesn’t believe in love, but he’s never believed that love could feel like this, straight out of a sonnet.

now, your head is on his shoulder, your body rising and falling in your slumber. seungmin looks at your interlocked hands where they rest on his knee, and at the current track displayed on his lockscreen: “still” by day6, a song about losing and loving, about regret and reminiscence. those bright days between us are over, the lyrics go, and he makes a silent promise to your sleeping form that the bright days between the two of you will never end.

the word "love" still doesn't cross his mind, but it is etched all over his face, and carved into his soul.

you and jeongin are telling each other about your days over dinner when your phone lights up with an incoming call, and he nearly spits out his mouthful when he sees who it’s from. for a few seconds, the two of you just stare at each other in flabbergasted silence. but then, you raise your phone to your ear: “hi, grandma! to what do i owe this pleasure?”

and the voice of his grandmother comes back through the receiver. she tells you that she’s just gone on an evening walk and found herself thinking of you, so she wanted to see how you’re doing; if you’re taking care of yourself. you rush to thank her, looking entirely flustered, and a bit like you’re about to burst into tears.

with that, the two of you launch into chatter about everything under the sun: grocery store discounts, the recent humidity, jeongin’s bad habits, you name it. and it finally dawns on jeongin how inextricably embedded in his life you have become—and that he doesn’t want it any other way.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #k-labels #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #lee felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #*writing #*headcanons #i wrote this whole thing in under three hours it's like i'm on a roll or wtv #need to go lie down this destroyed me #sorry i made hyunjin’s so sad for no reason #he is too too fun to write angst for