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chuuyasheaven · 3 days

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“ ➸ Nothing matches your touch !! ”

SCENARIO. Chuuya was on a week long mission, and you missed him and his touch very dearly. You tried to wait for him but couldn’t, even hearing his voice through the other end of the line was turning you on. You tried touching yourself but he does it the best, so once he’s back, he gonna make up for those touches you were longing for.

TAGS. C. NAKAHARA / FEM! READER, husband! Chuuya, wife! Reader, pet names, masturbation mentioned, eating out, p in v, praise, overstimulation, slight teasing?, they are fucking but making love at the same time (if it makes sense), short probably, grammar, etc.

NOTES. This was started on the morning of my math final, idk when I’ll finish it (I FINISHED IT ON SATURDAY!!’) .. enjoy! And were are JUMPING into the story :3

Your fingers were running through his ginger locks as he grabbed onto your waist, never letting you go while his lips were on yours. It’s been only a week but it felt like several weeks going by slowly. Chuuya couldn’t admit how much he missed you, how much he missed your touch on his body. But you had no problem to, you were telling him that as soon as he went through that door.

“Missed me that much, sweetheart?”, he asked in a teasing tone as he placed you on the bed. He knew you did, way more than he probably did. You nodded as you leaned back, waiting for his next move. Chuuya got his knee between your thighs when he also got on the bed, hovering over you with a smirk. “Want me to make up for every night I wasn’t here?”, Chuuya didn’t really give you a chance to answer that, he simply just kissed you again, god how much he missed those soft lips of yours. When he pulled away once more, he shoved his knee against your cunt slightly, you let out a strained whimper at that. “Fuck, you’re probably wet right now, aren’t you?”, you nodded desperately, getting more worked up as more time passed. “Please, Chuuya, I missed you.”, the lust in your voice made his dick twitch in his pants. “Don’t worry, I got you, baby.”, he cooed.

The shorts you were wearing gave him easy access to remove them quickly along your panties. “Did you try to touch yourself while I was gone, doll?”, you nodded slowly, waiting for him to finally touch your wet cunt. “It didn’t feel as good as you do.”, Chuuya placed a quick kiss on your lips before slowly going lower to sit between your thighs. “Yeah?”, you nodded again as you felt Chuuya caressing your thighs while spreading them to get closer to your cunt. “Can’t wait to taste you again.”, he admitted with slight excitement, digging into your cunt immediately. Once he started to eat you out, your head threw itself back in pleasure. Chuuya ate you out like a starved man, god, he didn’t know how he survived so long without tasing you for about a week. Your fingers found themselves tangled up in Chuuya’s red locks again, unintentionally pushing him in deeper. His hands found themselves on your thighs and held onto them for more stability. “Ah– Chuuya, I’m close!”, you moaned out, this only made him eat you out sloppier, his tongue knowing which places to hit to make you see stars. Your thighs began to slightly shake, the knot in your gut was close to snapping, and Chuuya kept on giving you more pleasure until you cum undone on his tongue. “Fuck, c’mon, cum on my tongue, doll. Let me taste you more.”, his words rather muffled as he was still between your thighs, still very close to your cunt. The vibrations from his words sent you over the edge, making you cum almost instantly. When Chuuya got back up from between your legs, he was smirking, licking up any of your essence that was trying to escape. “Good girl,”, he praised you, walking towards you slowly while undoing his belt. “Ready for the rest? Or are you already tired?”, Chuuya knew the answer to that one, and his guess was confirmed when you gave him a short response on it. “N–no. Please, I need you so bad.”, all he could do was chuckle low as he was staring down at you, his cock hard and excited. “Yeah? You need me this bad, sweetheart?”, Chuuya bent halfway down to get close to your face, stroking his cock slowly before lining it up. “Want me to fuck you as good as I can, hm? You want me to make you scream my name as loud as you can?”, Chuuya whispered against your lips as his tip was teasing your now sensitive cunt while he was talking dirty to you, slowly letting it drag itself up and down your folds. His teasing got you even wetter than before, you were whimpering from the stimulation he was putting you through. “Chuuya. . please.”, you begged him in a desperate whisper, making him smirk.

“Please what, baby? Can’t wait any longer?”, you shook your head, he chuckled low once again, pressing his tip on your cunt, not pushing it in just yet. “So desperate f’me. . I can feel how wet you are, baby. Who am I to make you wait any longer?”, and with that, he pushed himself in slowly, capturing your lips into a kiss quickly before cursing under his breath. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight for me, you might squeeze me dry, doll.”, Chuuya started to move, starting off slow so you would get used to the feeling. Soon enough, he started to get faster, chasing after your orgasms. You had to grip the sheets from how fast he was getting, his tip continuously hitting your sweet spot. God, you might never get over how big he actually is. “You’re doin’ so good, princess.”, he praises in between grunts and thrusts, his grip on your waist tightening. All you managed to do was to scream out his name in between moans, locking your legs around his waist to get a better angle. It didn’t take long for you to feel your second climax nearing itself, clenching down on his cock at least twice. “Chuuya!”, was all you managed to say that wasn’t slurred. Chuuya, on the other hand, was grunting from all this, he wasn’t able to fuck you this good for a week! His cock started to twitch inside your overstimulated cunt, letting him know that he was growing close too. “Chuuya, g–gonna cum!”, you warned him again, Chuuya was speeding up even more. “Can you hold on f’me, princess? Promise I’ll make this fast.”, you nodded, trying your best to wait for him. After a couple of fast thrusts, which hit your sweet spot way too good, he felt himself starting to cum. “Cum, sweetheart! Fuckin’ cum for me.”, his cock was twitching inside you again as you finally came over it. While Chuuya was emptying his load into you, the last couple of curses fell under his breath. “Fuh–huck. .”, your tight grip on the sheets got loose again, both of your chests falling up and down from breathing heavily after the session you both had.

“ You did so good for me, baby. Let’s just stay like this for a little, yeah? ” ♥

#chuuya'sheaven ♡#chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara smut #chuuya smut #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut

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dira333 · 3 days

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Care too much - Tsukishima x Reader

If you ever dare to ask me about the lore behind this, better be prepared.

Tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain @fuzztacular @melfromwonderland @qardasngan @xangel-8 @lemurzsquad

“Toss to me Senpai?” Hinata’s voice cuts through the usual after-training chatter like a hot knife through butter. Tsukishima wishes for his headphones, but those are out of reach.

“Your enthusiasm is admirable, Hinata-” Ennoshita starts, clearly trying to help.

“I’d love to,” you say, “but we have to keep the others in mind. Surely everyone else wants to go home.”

Tsukishima does. They are training more than hard enough and he’s still got homework to get to, not to mention the math exam he needs to prepare for. He only realizes that he’s still looking in your direction when you turn your head and catch his eye, sending him one of those calm smiles he’s learned to expect from you.

He turns away, but not fast enough. Yamaguchi sends him a questioning look.

At least his best friend is smart enough not to ask about it when others are present.

“How are you keeping up?” You ask, falling into step alongside him. Yamaguchi tenses to his right, but no one else seems to think it weird that you’re talking to them.

You’re friendly to everyone, but Hinata quickly claimed your attention. He was the one who found out you played Volleyball before you moved and even though he lacked the brain, he did not miss the fact that you’re talented.

Ennoshita and the more sensible second-years are never far from you and are most likely the reason you joined their team as assistant Coach instead of the girls.

“Tsukishima?” Your voice cuts through his musings. He flinches and turns, surprised to hear Yamaguchi muffle a snort behind his hand.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“I’ve noticed. Is the training regimen too much?”

“No,” he sounds a little too defensive, he thinks, but he doesn’t want you to think he’s lacking. “No, it’s just… I was thinking about the upcoming math exam.”

You nod. “I understand. How are you doing in that subject?”

It’s easy to talk to you, Tsukishima realizes. He might not like spending so much time with hotheads like Hinata and Kageyama, but Volleyball Club isn’t all that bad if it means spending time with sensible people like you. And the others, he immediately follows up, as if to defend his thoughts to himself. You’re not the only sensible person on the team.

“Here,” you hand him a bottle, “drink this.”

“What is it?” Tsukishima asks, a little annoyed. He doesn’t like admitting it, but he’s thankful for all the tips he’s gotten from Kuroo, even though he still hasn’t figured out why he does it. Is he trying to fool him, teach him something he can exploit later? Whatever the reason, he’s started butting into things that don’t concern him. And if you’re now digging into his small appetite as well, he’s going to-

“It helps,” you explain calmly, “my Dad showed me. I don’t have that much of an appetite but I need, I mean, needed the calories. It’s a little trick. Try it, see if you like it.”

It tastes like strawberries and cream, has the consistency of a milkshake.

“Thanks,” he mutters, a little lost in his feelings.

Your hand is warm on his shoulder, the grip strong. It sends a strange flutter through his body that he likes as much as he despises it.

“Do you have a minute?” You ask, meeting him in the darkness. Behind him the warm light of a now deserted Gym, behind you the dimly lit hallways that lead to the bathrooms.

“Sure,” Tsukishima agrees because it’s you. His feet follow your direction as you lead him down the path, away from the bathrooms and the Gyms. You don’t speak for a while and even though he’s tired and sweaty, he can’t argue about the calmness of the moment.

That is, until you turn at the sound of an animal and your hand brushes his, knuckles over knuckles, skin slick with sweat.

It’s only for a second, maybe even less, but he can feel himself moving, grasping for your hand as if to hold it. And isn’t that ridiculous?

“You wanted to talk about something?” Tsukishima says, heart in his throat as he balls his hands to fists, fighting against something in him he cannot begin to explain, to understand.

“Yes.” You nod, look at the ground first, then up at him. “I wanted to ask what you think of yourself.”

His tongue feels too large for his mouth. Do you know what he’s been thinking about lately?

“I know Yamaguchi already talked to you, he told me bits and pieces of it. I wanted to talk to you too, but I…” you laugh abruptly, “well, it seems he was faster. Tsukishima, do you think you’re less than… than the others?”

“Never,” his mouth says when his heart screams Of course!

You smile in a way that tells him that you’ve already seen through him.

“This is a training camp,” you tell him and he can’t help but admire how you brush against the topic with such a gentle hand, “I won’t take too much of your attention. I’m gonna give you my number, okay, and we can talk about this some more when we’re home and have a bit of free time to our hands.”

He laughs. The idea of free time has long turned unfamiliar.

“Poor Tsukishima,” you smile with a smile that has his heart bubbling, “it seems I’m going to have to help you.”

“Tsukishima-Senpai?” One of the new first-years asks and it’s so weird, isn’t it, to be in the middle like that. Still looking up to the Third-Years, but well aware of the example you’re supposed to be giving.

“Yes?”

“I was told- uh, I was told to take this form to the Coach, but I can’t find them anywhere and I don’t know- uh, Hinata-Senpai said I should ask you or, or the Captain, but I’m-”

“Look,” he grabs the boy’s shoulder and turns him a little until he can see you, sitting next to Takeda-Sensei, smiling a little at Nishinoya’s and Tanaka’s antics, “You can go and ask our assistant Coach.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m one hundred percent positive that she’s not going to bite off your head if you ask her something. I might, however.”

Yamaguchi sidles up to him the moment the younger boy runs off, grinning in a way that tells Tsukishima he heard every word.

“Hush,” he tells his best friend, “you heard nothing.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell on you. It’s weird to have our Third-Years missing, isn’t it? I miss Suga’s gentle hand.”

Tsukishima sighs. Yes. Ennoshita’s a good Captain, but he’s still a little unsure of himself. His eyes find you without meaning too, catch the smile you share with the shy First-Year.

“We still have a gentle hand. If we do our best we might even be able to show it ourselves next year.”

Yamaguchi laughs, clearly surprised. But he’s still his best friend, dropping the topic when it becomes clear he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Is that seat taken?” You ask, voice barely audible. He takes his backpack off the chair and watches you slide in, the mountain of books in your arms a clear sign of the upcoming exams.

Tsukishima doesn’t want you to leave. Not this school, not this team. Not- no, he’s not going to go there.

You catch him looking, send him the calm smile he’s grown fond of, maybe even addicted.

There’s the sound of paper ripping and a little folded up note lands in his lap.

His hands shake a little when he opens it up, your handwriting is neat, the ink not yet dried, smudging as he smoothes the paper.

Can we go for a drink later? I need to tell you something.

His heart thumbs uncomfortably in his throat when he looks up, your smile is bittersweet.

Whatever his heart is wishing for, his head already knows that it won’t be the topic you’ve chosen today.

And he’s right.

You’re not confessing to him, nor are you addressing his own, deep seated, carefully hidden feelings for you.

The truth is worse and better at the same time.

You’re leaving, right after graduation.

And though you promise to keep in contact, a part of him sighs in relief.

Maybe, through distance, his heart will let go of this ridiculous idea.

After all, there are not many people he admires in this world, but he’s not dumb enough to think he could be a match for one of them.

His throat is dry, his nose clogged and he can barely see but his blaring phone does not care about that at all.

It takes him a moment to find it amongst the used tissues, one more to figure out how to pick up the call.

“I’m not sick,” he grunts into the little device, expecting yet another one of Yamaguchi’s worried Check-Ins.

“You do sound like it though,” your voice answers and the shiver it sends all over his body is most definitely not from the fever he’s been fighting.

“W-well, I’m not,” he stutters, looking for his glasses. He feels vulnerable without them, even more so with you on the phone.

How long has it been that he’s heard your voice?

“Well, if you’re not sick, how come that Yamaguchi asked me to check in on you?”

“He did? He’s worried for nothing, that’s all.”

“Mhm,” the little sound you make in the back of your throat does weird things to his stomach, “So you did not not pick up the phone yesterday after he brought you home with a high fever the day before that?”

“What are you, our mother?” He asks, words slipping from his raw throat. He regrets them the moment he hears them, even more when your answer is silence.

“Do you see me as a mother figure?” You ask and there’s a new feeling in his stomach, one that’s asking him to find the nearest bathroom before he’s starting to heave.

“No, I-” Tsukishima doesn’t know how to explain himself, or what to say without giving himself away. So he says nothing and neither do you.

Eventually though, he has to make a sound, mainly because he can’t keep from coughing for more than a few minutes.

“Tsukishima,” you ask, voice grown up and small at the same time, “tell me, how are you? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

If your conversation only grazes the surface of what he wants to talk about it’s his fault and his fault alone.

“I really like you,” the girl tells him, a little box of chocolates in her hands. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

She’s brave, to ask like this. Just this morning another girl from his class confessed to him. He’s forgotten her name on purpose but he’s not blind to how well-liked she was among her peers.

This girl, however, isn’t. She’s too tall for a girl, some say, too shy to be class president, too lanky to be good in sports. But she’s got a calm smile that reminds him of you and maybe that’s the reason he accepts, with a guilty heart and a knot in his stomach.

Maybe all he needs is someone else to fall in love with.

He knows it’s stupid, but he’s never been smart when it came to his heart.

“It’s a clean break.”

“It will heal fast, no lasting damages.”

“At least now you’ll have time to focus on your schoolwork. College is no joke.”

“Do you need my help, Tsukki? I can take a few days off work until you’re settled.”

He doesn’t want help. He might need it, but he doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t want company either, because none of them know what to do with him.

He’s miserable company on his best days but breaking his finger will leave even someone as cheerful as Hinata in a slump.

But, he thinks bitterly, things like that don’t happen to Hinata. Or Kageyama.

No, those things happen to him, right when he’s finally got a starter position in his College team. Right when he feels almost comfortable in his life.

So it’s not unreasonable for him not to want to talk to people.

If only the people would realize that and leave him alone.

First, it was the doorbell. Then came the knocking. Now someone’s calling his name.

“I’m coming!” Tsukishima’s not expecting anyone but if he had to guess, he’d say his brother made his way over. Akiteru has yet to learn when to keep away.

He fumbles with the keys, his cast as usual in the way.

The door opens wide and he stills, too aware of you to be aware of himself.

You look gorgeous. Your hair’s a mess, your eyes red and overshadowed by exhaustion, your shirt looks like you slept in it. His hand reaches out, faster than his brain can keep up, tapping your shoulder to make sure you’re real.

“Yes, it’s me,” you tell him, half a grin on your face, “let me in?”

Tsukishima steps aside, only now realizing he’s wearing boxer shorts and socks and nothing more. Heat crawls up his throat and he thunders down the hallway and into his bedroom to get dressed the best he can.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, anger lacing his voice to hide his shame. “Last time we talked you were-”

“Halfway back to Japan,” you interrupt him from the doorway. “It’s not official yet, but I’m starting as Assistant Coach for the Sendai Frogs next month. It’s just a Division 2 team, but it’s a start.”

He stills, not just because his arm is stuck in his shirt.

“You’re moving back to Japan?”

“Well, I was planning to,” you joke, “kinda hard to Coach a Japanese Team when you’re living in Argentina. Can I help you with that?”

“I’m fine,” he argues.

“That you are.” There’s a teasing lilt to your words that has his ears burning.

He’s twenty years old, not fifteen.

“When did you arrive?” He’s trying his best but his arm is stuck. You’re halfway through the room before he can speak up, hands warm as you help him out of his misery.

“Half an hour ago.”

You’re too close, but too far away. This is not- Can he still blame it on the painkillers if he took the last one this morning? He opens his mouth to ask you when he realizes that you’re the last person he should ask about this. But-

“Tsukishima?” You ask, voice soft, smile calm like he’s grown to love. “You’re in your head again.”

“Yeah, sure,” he nods, “How did you know?”

“You mumble your thoughts when you’re like that,” you point out and he might have caught it, the meaning those words carry, if your hand hadn’t reached up to cradle his cheek.

His eyes close for a brief second. In that darkness, there’s just your touch, the warmth of your hand.

His eyes flicker open again. You’re closer now and though he shouldn’t his eyes flicker to your lips, dry and chapped from a long flight.

“Do you love me, Tsukishima?” You ask. He leans in to kiss you. He’ll just blame it on the painkillers later.

“You had a crush on me,” Tsukishima points out, half dumbfounded, half giddy about the revelation.

“We just became a couple,” you point out, drawing your finger through the air to literally point at the way you’re sitting, your legs over his, ankles crossed, your face smushed against his shoulder. Your jetlag and his exhaustion do not mix well. Or maybe they mix perfectly, who knows at this point?

“Still,” he lets the truth linger on his tongue. It tastes delicious, like victory.

“But I think you were crushing on me first.”

“Well, we could fight about that,” he says with the air of someone who’s already won.

You snicker. “I am sure we will. But, Kei-” You stop when he shivers, the sound of his first name on your tongue still a little too indecent for this early hour. “I wanna talk some more about this. I had this big speech planned and-”

He leans in, presses his lips against yours. Once, twice, some more because he can, because he’s allowed to, one more just because.

“I think we should sleep first, talk later,” he can feel you smile, lips against lips, nose bumping his, “we’ve got all the time to talk about it in the morning.”

“Look at you, trying to be reasonable,” you coo, “You’ve grown so fast.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Hinata says, clearly a little miffed that his favorite Senpai picked Tsukishima over him. “He’s so mean all the time. Are you being held captive?”

You laugh easily. “No, but better make sure Kei’s here on his own free will. He might be the one being blackmailed.”

“Well, I can see it,” Sugawara declares friendly, “Tsukishima and you always got along. Two pees in a pod, really.” He winks.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Tsukishima declares with the air of someone who could care less. Your hand squeezes his and he knows he’s been found out. You know he cares. A little too much most of the time.

Buy me a Coffee?

#my writing #tsukishima x reader #tsukki x reader #tsukishima kei #Tsukki #Tsukishima fluff #tsukishima #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu drabbles

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team-avia · 16 hours

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First off I love this game. I am extremely grateful to all of you for making it❤️. I have played all the routes in a row(with the guide cause I sure as 💩 wasn’t going to hurt any of our girlies feelings or mine) and loved the romance and mystery/Horror in all of them. Lost sleep but it was totally worth it😌.

Second: I reject the time loop cause I want more than 2 years you guys give to the canon. I will live in the delulu till further notice.

Thirdly my question: I have read all the lore sheets and read the routes as carefully as I possibly could, but a reason was never given as to why Donna and Bela were the only ones to have the ability to regain their memories of past time loops, so my question is how could they remember? 🧐

Btw send my appreciation to your artist for drawing Dani, Donna, and Bela like THAT 😳🫡🫣. Gives me butterflies, damn.

Actually, I answered (or well...hinted) this in an ask, but essentially, it all comes down to simple math. Whose is greater?

In the case of Donna, her will is stronger than Miranda's will because hers isn't shaken by failure and impending insanity but rather strengthened by the pain. The trauma is dealt with reinforcingly rather than debilitatingly. She is literally willing herself to not forget like my girl is straight up manifesting it for herself. She wills it so hard that it's practically impossible to manually make her forget

For Bela, her soul is stronger than Miranda's because her soul is technically new. It doesn't hold all the breaks that the 19th Miranda's does, because 19th has lived far longer than intended, and it has withered through her Illicit deals. As well as this, I also pointed out previously (a loooooong time ago) that I had gone through outlining the reincarnation lore with the intent that Bela was supposed to be 20th- or MCs soulmate. So, her soul is literally incapable of forgetting MC without severe outside interference, which only works because, on a fundamental level, Bela does not want to remember the cycles of violence and pain because it hurts her.

Cinder

#mail 💌#resident lover spoilers #cindermod🔪#I'm so mean to them and for what #bela in particular ive been torturing her since day 1

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annwrites · 2 days

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i think you needed me.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (part of a series)

— summary: billy helps you with homework, you realize you have a crush, & yet another man enters the fold

— tags: billy trying to learn more about you, billy opening up about who he used to be

— tw: references to past sexual abuse/grooming of a minor, mentions of drugs, infidelity, implied abortion

— word count: 4,458

— a/n: going forward, this fic will be dealing in heavy material, like those referenced in the tw & more. sex scenes will be graphic & potentially triggering to some readers. putting it out there now, so some know to stop before following along any further with this post/series.

i hope this post seems okay. idk how i feel about writing billy this way. it feels ooc, bc he's so nice & mature, but he's supposed to be for this story, bc that's the kind of man reader desperately needs to lean on. idk. i think i just need to get more comfortable with characterizing him so differently than i did in my thoroughfare series.

When Billy enters the house, he finds you to his left in the living room. Or, what is now serving as a poor excuse for one. You’re on the floor, lying on your stomach atop a light blue blanket, legs in the air behind you, waving back and forth as you work on what he assumes is homework.

You glance up to him for a moment, a pencil balanced atop your upper lip which is in a pout to keep it in-place and he smirks at the sight.

He holds up a plastic bag from a hardware store. “Brought you a new doorknob.”

You drop the writing utensil. “Does that one have a lock, too?”

“It does.”

You turn back to the textbook in front of you. “Good. Now you can replace the other one that you broke.”

His lip twitches. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

He repeats the statement yet again before heading up.

A handful of minutes later, he comes back downstairs, seating himself on the cushion-less couch. “Done.”

You look back at him over your shoulder.

He lays an arm across the back of the couch. “What? Do you want to inspect my handiwork?”

You go back to your homework. “Not really. And you’re not getting paid, either.”

He chuckles. “I’d say that’s only fair, since it needing to be replaced at all is my fault to begin with.”

Both of you grow silent then and he leans forward, squinting, trying to get a look at whatever you’re working on. “Number four is wrong.”

He leans back again.

You don’t initially respond, telling yourself that he’s just picking on you. Or that you don’t really care if your decimal is in the wrong place, but you keep glancing back to the question. You sigh loudly then and he smiles in response. “So what’s the right answer, then?”

He shrugs. “You tell me, sweetheart.”

You don’t like him calling you that yet again. Scott is the only one who gets to call you by that term of endearment. Joe had tried it once—twice, maybe—and even if he scared the shit out of you, you made it clear that he could call you by anything else but that. He’d agreed easily, since his cock had just been buried in your warm, wet mouth—close to finishing. His mind was occupied with other things at the time than arguing over meaningless nicknames. He’d given you what you wanted—agreement—and then you’d given him the same: an orgasm, which included swallowing, before his wife came home.

You look at him over your shoulder again. “Don’t ever call me that again. Got it?”

He blinks down at you for a moment, the air in the room shifting as he wonders whether you disliked that specific pet name, or pet names in general. And much more: why? “Sure.” He clears his throat. “It’s four point six seven, by the way. Your decimal is in the wrong place.”

You turn back to your paper, erasing and then correcting. You’d known you had screwed up, but had gotten so frustrated that you’d chosen to eventually move onto the next question.

“I hate math,” you mutter.

He props his other elbow up against the arm of the couch, resting his head against his fist. “It was my favorite subject, actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you say, filling in number five, hoping you’ve at least gotten it right. You’re sure Billy will tell you if you haven’t.

“What’s your favorite subject? You like to read, so I assume English?”

You bob your head from side-to-side for a moment. “It’s a tie between that and science.”

Ironic, he thinks. The daughter of a meth manufacturer who loves science.

Speaking of, you’d spent last night on-edge, wondering what the hell had gone through your head to think sharing such a secret with a complete stranger to be a good idea. If any of the men found out…‘being in trouble’ wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

You didn’t want to think what Joe would do to you if he found out you’d ran your mouth off to some random that wasn’t even from here, and clearly not a customer, either.

You weren’t sure that the prospect of him never getting to use you for his own personal sexual satisfaction again would be enough to save you.

Thankfully, however, the only cruiser that had shown up last night—which had still made your heart jump into your throat when you’d glanced out the screen door as your dad went out and you saw it—was Travis’. He’d just been bringing his weekly earnings by to be divvied up.

As your dad stood there counting; ensuring that everything was in-order, he’d stared at you, eyes trailing along your body.

You’d not reacted. You hardly did anymore. They all liked to look. But only a select few were allowed to touch. And he had. Twice now. Even if he was engaged. Not that being spoken-for seemed to matter much to any of them.

Joe had been married now for twenty-five years. Longer than you’d even been alive. But whenever his wife went off to visit her sister, or was to be gone majority of the day and the urge hit him…

Travis was different than him in bed, though.

Then again, they all had their own personal…styles.

Joe really liked blowjobs and demeaning dirty-talk, or taking you from behind—honestly, so long as he was fucking you in some form, he was pleased.

Travis, in the two times you’d now been together, had been more on the gentle side, almost like he was afraid of hurting you—it often made you wonder if that was how his fiancée liked it.

Rhett—in the one time you had been together a year ago—had been tender. You tried not to think about the way he had looked at you that night too much. Or the way he looked at you literally each time he was around you after. With longing, and something else you didn’t want to think about.

He knew what it had been going into it. It wasn’t your problem if he’d hoped for more. You’d been clear from the start.

Sometimes, though, you still felt guilty, knowing that it hurt him each time you slept with one of the other men, or they shared you between them, touching you right in front of him.

And then there was Scott. With him it was just…familiarity. Your bodies simply understanding one another. Wants, needs—they no longer even needed to be talked about. Once your naked skin was pressed against each other—in bed, against the wall, on the bench seat in his pickup, in his garage—it was almost like routine. A pleasant one. Like an old habit that both of you refused to kick. Not that you had any reason to.

Even if, when you fought, it left both of you fuming for days. But the making up was the good part. So, the thought of cutting things off never occurred to either of you. Not that it would last long if you even tried.

You were the only girl he’d bothered to continue carrying on with for so long.

And he was the only man you allowed to kiss you on the mouth.

That was your only rule with the rest of them: they could do, and have you do whatever they desired, but no kissing on the lips. Period.

And then you think of you breaking that rule just yesterday for someone else. But he’d been asleep, so that instance had been different. Or, that’s what you’d told yourself, at least.

You don’t even know why you had done it. Maybe to have a secret of your very own. A new one, that is. Because this house had been that, until he’d showed up.

And now you were back to pretending to be someone else for yet one more man in your life. No more letting your walls down for a few hours and just being a teenage girl with hopes and dreams—playing pretend—even if they dwindled little-by-little as time went on, and you warmed yet one more man’s bed.

He’d ripped that away from you.

You’re broken from your thoughts by Billy speaking again. “I can check your answers once you’re done. If you want.”

“Okay.”

You glance back to him over your shoulder and he meets your gaze with a raised brow. “Need help?”

You study him for a moment, then, “No.”

You turn back around. You’d just been curious as to where his eyes were currently trained at at-present. Because this moment reminds you of a similar one from three years ago, when you’d been fourteen, lying on your stomach on the living room floor, watching TV—you couldn’t even remember what had been on now.

The thing you could recall, however, was Joe sitting on the couch behind you, watching you with hooded lids. When you had turned back to him—feeling suddenly uneasy—you’d watched as he’d adjusted himself over his jeans, making sure you’d seen.

You’d felt sickly after, and hadn’t understood why.

Out of all of them, he’d always been your least-favorite. You had many reasons for that. Perhaps because he was the worst, even if he thought he was the best.

Once you’ve finished, you stand, coming to sit beside Billy, resting back on your calves as you watch him look over your paper.

You study him for a moment, noticing a bit of oil near his brow, and you lick your thumb, then reach toward him to wipe it away.

He pulls back, staring at you. “What’re you doing?”

You don’t reply. You simply clean him up, resting your palm back against your thigh. You wonder if he likes you touching him.

They usually do.

He stares at you for just a moment longer—you can swear that he blushes—before looking back to your paper. “Nine is wrong. Like, way off, kiddo.”

He hands it back to you.

You snort at the nickname, taking it from him. “What is it, then?”

He crosses his arms. “You tell me.”

This again.

You shrug, standing, bending over to put it back in your backpack—you can feel his eyes on your rear. “I can live with one wrong answer.”

He lays his head back against the couch, rolling his eyes. “The correct answer was B, not D.”

You smirk then, pulling the paper back out, quickly correcting it, then putting it away again.

“Never going to learn if I just keep telling you all the right answers.”

You turn back to him then, shrugging. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

He shakes his head lightly.

You sit down again, back pressed against the couch’s other arm, knees bent, feet pressed together in front of you. You break the silence this time.

“So, you went to Hawkins High, too?”

He nods. “Mhm.”

“What were you like? The way you are now?” It seemed to you that most men never grew out of being boys.

He smirks. “No. I was a completely different person.” He rolls his head to the side, looking at you. “Honestly, and this is just going off of a hunch, but I think you would’ve fuckin’ hated me.”

That surprises you. “Really? Why?”

He shrugs, looking up to the ceiling. “I was King Bad-Boy-Asshole. Smoking, drinking, partying, fighting, getting laid and driving a cool car. Generally acting like I didn’t give a shit about anything. Maybe a bit too concerned with my good looks. I had one hell of an ego, too; easily bruised.”

You try to picture this version of him, and for some reason, find it quite difficult to do. You’re not entirely sure that you believe him. But he seems the honest type.

“You’re right. I would’ve.”

And you would. All the guys could get cocky at times. You were used to such behavior. But when it came down to it, especially in regards to business—in whatever capacity—they all pulled their weight; did what was needed—necessary. They looked out for one another.

He smirks again. “You would’ve definitely been my type, though.”

This statement interests you. You lean in toward him. “How so?”

“Attractive, quiet, mysterious. You don’t seem to care much about what other people think. All around hard-to-get. I loved a good chase. As long as I got to break her in like a wild horse in bed at the end of it all.”

He looks at you then.

He’s only half-right about not caring for others’ opinions. Unless they were in your immediate circle, you didn’t. But if they were? You had no choice but to. They expected that from you—you caring about what they do, say, and think. Men like to feel good about themselves, and a supportive young woman is one way to get that validation that they all seem to crave, even if they’d never admit it.

You’d learned long ago to never emasculate them. Any of them. In any form.

“You’re not breaking anything.” You only half mean it. You still think him quite attractive, if nothing else.

It pleases you to hear that he thinks the same of you. Even if you’re not surprised by it.

“Didn’t say I was,” he replies, crossing his arms.

You cock your head to the side. “So, why change?”

“Once my dad kicked me out, real-life hit, and I knew it was time to grow the hell up; the time for games was over. The attitude I had was never going to get me very far.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he speaks again. “What do you think of me as I am now?”

You shrug. “You’re okay so far. Definitely still a pretty boy, though.”

He scoffs. “Would a pretty boy have hands like these?” He asks, holding his palms up briefly, before settling them against his thighs.

“I was referring to your face, not your hands.”

He chews the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, I’m not that.”

Seems like your comment, for whatever reason, has hit a nerve. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

He reaches over, grabbing one of your feet, like yesterday, and tugging your sock off, balling it up, and tossing it across the room before massaging the sole.

“Do you have a foot fetish or something?”

His lip twitches in amusement. “No reason why it can’t benefit you.”

You raise a questioning brow.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t. It’s called being nice. You should try it some time.”

You slide down the couch, settling your other foot in his lap as well. “Oh, I can be very nice. To the right people. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t even recognize me if you saw me with them.”

You stare down at your hands in your lap then.

The latter-most statement had come off as a tad…sad to him. “Why?”

You look at him. “It’s a long story.”

He shrugs, taking your other foot in his rough hands. “No place else to be.”

You glance to the watch on your wrist, knowing Travis is apparently bringing by another cop today to get him dealt-in on the business. He’d asked last night if you’d be there today. You’d said maybe. Meaning that you don’t have to leave.

He looks at your watch as well, then at you. “Do you?”

Your eyes meet his. “Not technically.”

Ever the enigma to him. Never a straight-forward answer with you. You kept him on his toes and guessing, that much was for certain.

“Are you always this cryptic?”

You shrug. “Trust is earned.”

“Trusted me well enough yesterday.”

You glance to him from under your lashes. “I should’ve never told you any of that. It was a mistake. A stupid thing to do.”

His thumbs move to the ball of your foot. “You don’t need to worry. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, I already told you I don’t have any friends. So, who would I have to tell?”

It’s just a general feeling—same as it was yesterday—that he can be trusted. And that’s an unusual occurrence for you. To meet someone like that.

Like him.

He rolls his head to the side, looking at you.

The warmth in his eyes…it’s not often you see such a sight.

“So, who are ‘the right people’, then? Classmates? Boyfriend?”

You cross your arms, shifting uncomfortably. “Family friends.”

He hums, moving his hands back to your other foot. “Why aren’t you with them now?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

He smirks, moving his fingers to your ankle. “Told you yesterday that I only have a few dozen questions to ask. That I find you fascinating.”

“And what do I get for answering?”

His lip twitches. “Helped you with your homework, didn’t I? Sounds like a give-and-take to me.”

“I was doing just fine before you came along.”

He rests the crook of his neck back against the couch. “I think you needed me.”

“Sounds to me like you still have one hell of an ego.”

He chuckles. “Never said I didn’t, honey.”

You glance to your watch again and sigh.

He looks at you, moving his fingers back to your foot, which you then remove from his lap, standing.

You head across the room to retrieve your sock.

He sits up. “Are you leaving?”

You pad back over to your shoes. “Mhm.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Want me to give you a ride home?”

You look up to him after slipping them both on. A strange man bringing you home—especially if Scott or Joe were there, or your dad was in a mood—is most certainly a bad idea.

Even at that, with Travis…things were still new and blooming. You knew he felt special—since the rest of them you’d known for years and years—and taking a new guy to bed so soon had made him believe there was something different about him for you. Seeing you with an unfamiliar, like Billy, would only give him doubt.

“No, thanks. I like walking.”

You pull your backpack on and he stands then.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

You shrug. Normally, you didn’t come here on the weekends to begin with. But you’d procrastinated your math homework yesterday in favor of reading instead. And then had used the unfinished assignment as an excuse to come back today.

You wonder if he always works weekends as well.

He takes a step closer to you, floorboards creaking.

You stare up at him. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

He smiles. “If you want me to be.”

You don’t entirely know what to say to that. “Do you not have work?”

“I don’t work Sundays. And I only work every-other Saturday. It’s the only reason I’m out here today.”

So next weekend you’d have this place all to yourself from the sounds of it. You now had something to look forward to.

You step past him. “And here I thought you came for me.”

He laughs. “Now who has an ego?”

Once the two of you are on the front porch—you really wanted to begin trying to fix this place up, even just a little; perhaps the furniture upstairs could be put to use—you turn back to him. “What I’m doing tomorrow depends on today. Make of that what you will.”

If Travis’ fiancée was to be at work all night, you knew where you’d be this evening. And if you felt wore-out from it come tomorrow, you most likely would hold off on coming back until Monday after school.

Billy raises a brow. “Think I need more details to make anything of it.”

You stand on tiptoes then and press a soft kiss to his cheek, just like yesterday. Once you’re standing on flat feet again, you look up to him with a smile. “Bye.”

He’s blushing again now—you think it sweet that he’s still capable of doing so; the last man who you’d made blush was Rhett, and that was quite some time ago—and you turn, heading through the field to your right without another word.

Billy shakes his head. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

When you come into the yard, you don’t falter in your steps when you catch sight of Travis and his friend leaned back against Travis’ cruiser—another parked behind it—as they speak to your dad.

You merely glance to them, and the new one—he’s perhaps forty, tall, with dark hair and tanned skin, his strong jawline covered in stubble—looks to you with dark eyes for just a moment. His demeanor is cold, hard, distant. Already he unsettles you.

He breaks the staring contest when he looks back to your dad as you head up the front steps, going inside.

You head to your room, softly shutting the door behind you and slipping off your backpack, setting it on the floor before flopping down face-first on your bed. You smile softly to yourself when you think of Billy’s hands on your feet—such an un-intimate part of the body that he’d made feel the very opposite—and the way he’d blushed when your lips pressed against his warm skin.

You had a crush.

The last time you’d felt such a thing was when you first set eyes upon Scott at eight-years-old. It was now a foreign feeling to you, but nevertheless felt…good. It made you giddy, warm, excited. You bury your face in your pillow and softly squeal, kicking your feet. You should’ve told him yes to tomorrow. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to see him every day.

At what was now your place. You still somewhat wish he’d never found it, but he seemed nice enough so far. Different. And he clearly likes you.

But he liked hard-to-get, had said as much out loud. Most men did.

It was always a careful, delicate balancing act upon a high tightrope you were forced to walk day-in and day-out. Glances and soft touches, giggles and flirtatious comments, precise body-language that could be easily construed one way or the other. But never so distant that it left them frustrated or wholly uncertain of your feelings toward them.

They always needed to believe they were the ones in control. That you might think you know what you’re doing, but in reality, they always have the upper-hand. That they know how to play the game far better than you ever could. Because you’re just a girl. Some pretty, empty-headed doll or sex-toy, while they rule the world. That you need them.

You’re broken from thoughts of golden curls, pretty eyes, and handsome smiles by a knock at your bedroom door.

You groan. Travis. You’re sure it’s him.

You turn onto your side, snuggling the pillow under your head. “Yes?”

When the door opens, you’re proven correct. He leans his tall, broad form against the doorway, crossing his arms. You notice his typically short dirty-blond hair is just a tad shorter today—he’d gotten a haircut. He’s wearing a gray t-shirt, which just says ‘HPD’ on the front, and jeans. At least he’d bothered taking his shoes off first—they all know how you hate them walking through the house with them on.

He gives you a small, soft smile. “Where you been all day?”

You shrug.

He hangs his head, shaking it with a smirk and a small chuckle before looking to you again. “Should come outside and meet Cyrus. I’ve told him a lot about you.”

That translated to: I tell him the things we do when Amy is away at work, and he’s interested in also getting to know you on such a level.

Honestly, you’re a bit surprised he would do so. He’d made a ‘joke’ the last time you two had had sex last week, asking ‘how to get you all to himself’. You’d told him that that’s not how things work around here. If some newbie—a cop in particular—came along and demanded you all to himself suddenly…it would not end well for him.

You sit up then, on the edge of the bed, and just stare up at him.

He glances around your room, then back to you. “She’s out tonight, pulling a double at the hospital. You could come over. I’ll even make you dinner. Spaghetti?”

Having dinner made for you was also different. It was the other way around with the rest of them. But he’s still new at this. Trying to woo you, even if it’s completely unnecessary. You don’t need presents to get you to spread your legs for him.

You doing so easily and willingly is a pivotal part in all of this—your role to play; cross to bear. It was one more thing that kept them all coming back—kept them working with your dad, even if he’s unaware of it. You think sometimes he suspects—he’d nearly caught you and Scott once on your bedroom floor—but he says nothing of it if he does indeed know anything.

If you ever stopped—decided to start telling any of them no—they wouldn’t take kindly to it. They saw you as something they were entitled to, something that belonged to them. And even if they accepted that: you wanting to stop—albeit reluctantly—the business would fall apart.

Having an attractive young woman to fuck whenever, and however they pleased for free with minimal effort put into your so-called ‘relationship’ was something they wouldn’t be getting anywhere else.

You don’t come home covered in bruises or crying, and haven’t gotten…well, as of two weeks ago you could no longer say that. That was the day you’d found the house. You’d never needed it more than in that moment after getting out of Joe’s truck a nervous wreck after leaving the clinic.

But because you always seemed fine, your dad let it go. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t.

You cock your head to the side. “It’ll be just us?” Will your buddy be there, too? You’re asking.

He smiles again, nodding. “Yeah, baby, just us.”

“Okay.”

He grins. “I can take you home with me when I’m getting ready to leave?”

You stand, readying an overnight bag, incase you need it. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

He comes closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his other hand tugging gently at the hair at the nape of your neck, easing your head back, his lips coming down to settle over your pulse. He kisses, other hand squeezing your rear and he groans. You feel him pressing into your stomach then, hard and firm.

“I will,” he mutters against your skin, sucking on it for just a moment before stepping back. He winks at you before heading back outside.

You simply roll your eyes once he’s out-of-sight.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you

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d1gitald0ggy · 1 day

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Hello! Can you do a headcannons dump? Say headcannons you want and honestly make it as long as you want! It can even be majority about a ship or a creep

I love having free reign to just talk about whatever I like. Here’s a few random headcanons for my fav creeps and my fave ship :3

Ticci Toby

- Had BPD, I’m not going to elaborate, he just does.

- Aside from his verbal tics he also has a stutter, it’s gotten better since he’s grown up with the help of Tim but some things like getting nervous or having an episode make it flare up again.

- This guy plays fortnite and tries to rope everyone into it, he plays it religiously with Nina and Ben.

- I feel like because he was homeschooled he had a lot of times to learn about random things and develop skills in different aspects. For example helpful things like fixing car parts or more useless knowledge about animals.

- I feel like Toby would be a little shorter than a lot of people portray him, maybe 5ft 6? His neglectful childhood plus his inability to feel hunger would definitely be the cause of this.

- Only wears one pair of shoes and that’s black high top converse, he will absolutely refuse to put on anything else. Odd socks too.

- As he got older he stopped wearing his mouth guard as much around the other creeps.

Nina The Killer

- Nina has a very mixed fashion sense the only way I can describe it is a mix of Scene, McBling and old school emo. She doesn’t care much for sticking to one aesthetic.

- Despite what a lot of people think at first glance this girl is smart. I’d like to imagine that before she started obsessing over Jeff she was very gifted in school.

- Nina and Ben are responsible for most of the creeps having phones or other devices behind slenders back.

- She most definitely has the most over the top bedroom at the manor, posters everywhere, dramatic pink animal print bedsheets, the works.

- I feel like she’d have some sort of dart board with a picture of Jeff on it, probably with his eyes crossed out.

- She bakes! She loves to bake different breads and challenging pastries for the other creeps that she’s close with, it’s how she shows she cares.

- Her love language is definitely gift giving, she’s just a sweet girl honestly.

- Weed enjoyer.

Clockwork

- I can’t believe I’ve never written anything about clocky.

- She tends to be very reserved when she meets new people and only keeps a small circle of “friends”

- Even then she can’t fully bring herself to trust them, she struggles a lot with letting people close.

- Surprisingly good friends with Jane. I’ve got no reasoning for this it just feels right.

- Jane teaches Clockwork a lot about the other creeps and how to be a bit more friendly towards them.

- Your honour she plays bass and drums.

- Always dressed like she’s ready to run away at any given point (she is).

- Prefers to stay outside of the manor, she spends most of her time travelling around the forest wishing for freedom She’s rarely ever seen these days

- Definitely has a very short but intense relationship with Toby back when she used to spend time at the manor before disappearing into the woods in attempt to cut off any ties she had to bring a creep. (I’m working on a whole storyline about this)

BEN Drowned

- I feel like Ben would spend a lot of his time trying to scare other creeps.

- Oh you’ve got a phone? Guess who’s possessing it to scare you.

- He’s just a little guy.

- Ben and Toby are both banned from using the kitchen at the same time, they tend to get carried away.

- I feel like he used to be friends with Jeff before growing up and realising how cringe the guy actually is.

- He likes Nina though, those two could talk for hours about absolutely nothing.

- Despite being a trouble maker and absolutely brain rotted he’s super smart.

- Not only with technology but I feel like he’d be really good at math, I’d even go as far to say he enjoys math.

- He just likes using his brain to figure out a challenge.

NinaToby

- Can you tell this is my fave ship?

- Nina likes Toby to pick out her outfits, she struggles a little with her self image after Jeff so she values a second opinion.

- Rarely ever seen apart, either always in Ninas room or out in the woods doing stupid shit like lighting things on fire or getting stuck in trees.

- Nina bakes for Toby, Toby carves Nina little creatures out of wood or makes her little drawings.

- She always sticks those little drawing up on the side of her bedroom mirror.

- Took Toby a while to get used to physical touch, not only because of trauma but also because he’d get nervous if a girl even talked to him.

- I mean despite having exs in the past this guy is a nervous wreck when it comes to a pretty girl. Especially when Nina so much as holds his hand.

- Speaking of physical touch Nina is all over him at any given moment, holding his arm, hand, leaning on him the works.

- Toby doesn’t really like PDA, mostly because it makes him nervous, he prefers to hold Ninas hand or put an arm around her.

- They’re stupid and in love, I have so much to write about them.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #creepypastaheadcanons #ticci toby headcanons #toby rodgers #nina the killer #nina the killer headcanons #ben drowned #ben drowned headcanons #tobynina #ninatoby

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candyskiez · 3 days

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God what really gets me about mp100 is it feels like the story could've started any day. Mob could've had that crisis about wasting his youth and not having any idea what his wants or interests are anytime, we just happened to stumble in on it. Even when Mob does some crazy heroics, it doesn't feel like he's The Chosen One or everything hinges solely on him. The other characters are actively participating in saving shit too. It's never a thing of "only MOB can save the world", it just feels like Mob was the guy there and because he's grown so much he goes "I should do something". It feels like you just randomly started watching some kid grow up. So many stories will go "the protagonist is just like everyone else" but it doesn't really, idk, feel like that. But mp100 commits to "no, seriously, psychic powers do not make you in any way shape or form better than other people and are literally just a characteristic you can have, they are inherently neutral and no different from having freckles or being good at math or having orange hair" SO hard it's actually insane. I'm taking so many notes for when I write my stories.

#mp100

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jamm0 · 22 hours

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Fun facts Abt Goldie in aga reborn:

Goldie doesn't sleep very well, so when it's day, sometimes he opens the backdoor slightly to stare at the show

Goldie listens to Micheal Jackson with a stolen mp3 player he found that was lost after a show, his favorite song being heaven can wait.

Goldie doesn't know how to count above 10 because he needs extra fingers to count

Goldie wasn't always called Goldie, originally called golden Freddy until a child called him Goldie once and he stuck with it ever since.

Goldie is incredulous

Goldie sometimes draw in the backroom, drawing himself with friends

Goldie has a pranks 101 book.

Goldie has a diary of his day to day life and it is mostly the same, he also vents in the diary too, and writes about his feelings to... I'll let y'all guess

Goldie is 5'1 and 219 pounds

Goldie sleeps for approximately 14 hours, he lives his beauty sleep, even though he hears performances every damn time he sleeps.

Goldie still likes hamburgers and hate pizza

Goldie does frog blinks when Freddy yells at him

Goldie hates foxy more than Freddy because foxy gets more physical than Freddy and Freddy mostly regrets when he touches Goldie while foxy never regrets it.

Goldie can still float, teleport, and take his head off in aga reborn.

Even though Goldie stays in a backroom for 70% of his day, he has arachnophobia, and usually asks bonnie or Finn to kill the spiders for him.

Goldie struggles with basic math

Goldie and Toy Bonnie secretly gossip about people at the party tables.

Goldie steals Freddy's hat atleast twice a week. Freddy constantly worries about it

Goldie never double thinks about a situation, that's why his plans suck.

His plans are spontaneous

Goldie thinks he looks better than every animatronic.

Goldie gives bad advice to Finn while Bonnie gives Finn good advice

Goldie cleans himself everyday.

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amayanott · 2 days

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Damian Wayne's Eyes + Lazarus Pit Genes Headcanon

Okay, so I was writing a chapter for my fanfic (the plot does not have much to do with the headcanon tho), and I was making a point on how all of Bruce's sons had black hair and blue eyes.

However, there's this issue in the fandom you all know about Damian's eyes being either blue like Bruce's or green like Talia's. You know the drill, ethnic representation and etc.

(Before we continue, I'm Arab myself, okay? So I DO know what I'm talking about).

So we all know Damian's eye color is inconsistent through DC Comics and Cartoons.

In the Wayne Family adventures he has brown eyes, in Son of Batman green eyes and in Outlaws he has blue eyes. Then he got green eyes in his own Robin (2021) series, but had blue eyes in Supersons.

My point is, I had trouble depicting his eyes, and then I decided to throw some imagination in it.

So, Ra's must have taken a few Lazarus Pit baths before he conceived Talia. And then his genes must have been affected by it. That's why Talia has both brown and green eyes, because when she experiences strong emotions (not necessarily anger) they turn green. Like, just the feeling of adrenaline could change the color of her eyes, for example.

And I mean, Talia's mom was Chinese after all. It was more probable that she got brown eyes or black ones rather than green. But we could say she's always on edge, mad, etc. and that's why they are green.

With Damian it's similar. His eyes when he first opened his eyes at birth were like Bruce's: dark blue. Sapphire. Then, as he grew up and Talia's genes (from Ra's) kicked in, he got green-eyed whenever angry. And the guy is almost always angry. So when he first arrived to the BatFam, his eyes almost always looked green, especially around Tim, for example. But Bruce and Dick are always sure they are blue despite that. So they do the math and voilà, his eyes' color fluctuates depending on his mood. And the longer he lives with Bruce and the others, the longer his eyes stay blue.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Bonus: if Jason had kids, no matter the eye color they get (let's say blue), they will also get green-eyed when they get angry, although they wouldn't get the Pit's Madness TM.

Honestly, there's so much potential with anything related to the Lazarus Pit and its effects on genetics, it's a shame no one bothers to play with it a bit.

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2knightt · 2 days

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HI I SAW UR REQUESTS OPEN AND IMMEDIAYELY SCRAMBLED TO WRITE THIS

idk if this makes sense, but smth like ponyboy x academic-rival!soc!reader? like they’re compared to each other a lot. they have quiet passive aggressive arguments. and they’re always on each other’s mind.. “for some reason.”

i was thinking like maybe ponyboy finds reader in some compromising position. like, maybe they’re getting bothered at the drive-in and he steps in (he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he does it) and sticks up for reader— and it leads to them learning more about each other in the process?

loll idk if this makes sense but your writing’s actually great can’t wait to see what u put out next ^^

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ and you can’t think of anyone else.⋄ 𓍯

REQUESTED: you and ponyboy ‘dislike’ each other.

tags/warnings: story focused, long/on the longer side, gn!reader, reader gets harassed by a creep, ponyboy nearly gets into a fistfight, reader has a brother,

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ anon i think you’re magic because i was JUST thinking about writing academic rivals with ponyboy

—

“wow, pony. only 89%? i thought you were good at math.”

“i am.”

“you sure?”

ponyboy gritted his teeth as he huffed, pulling his paper out of your hands as he went back to his seat. right behind you.

if ponyboy didn’t know better, he’d thought that mr. lizweski was out for him. he glared daggers at the back of your head, his jaw still clenched.

99%. that’s such bullshit. you had to be bribing all the teachers to keep on getting first place, right? there’s no way in hell he’d ever come in second.

ponyboy wasn’t even second in track.

89% was all he thought about. in his remaining classes, he pressed down on the paper a little too hard when writing, he was oddly silent around his school friends, and he walked faster—with more of a purpose than anything.

it was clear to his friends that he was agitated, but they didn’t bother asking. each time the topic of you, the reason of his annoyance, was brought up ponyboy went on what seemed like an hour long rant.

“they’re bribing the teachers, right? they have to be! how else would they be getting these stupid marks when they’re busy parting their hair in class, or they’re too busy talking to their friends about, “what’s for lunch?” i am so goddamn tired of it!”

“….you seem to know an awful lot ‘bout y/n for someone who hates ‘em.”

“i do hate them! did you not just hear what i said?”

the rest of the day, ponyboy was in a bad mood. it felt like nothing could pull him out of it, not even when soda grabbed some change to treat him to go get snacks.

you stood out there gas station, head down to look at ground to avoid the random, rather ugly, dude standing above you.

“c’mon, pretty. gimme a smile, why don’t you?”

you stayed silent, turning your head away from him. he reeked of booze, the scent making your skin crawl.

ponyboy seen this, a slight anger bubbling inside him. it was different than what he felt all through today. this was real, genuine anger rather than annoyance.

ignoring soda calling for him and ignoring his subconscious yelling at him, ponyboy stomped toward you and the guy.

he got between the two of you, shoving the guy back slightly.

“they ain’t interested.”

“what’re you? their boyfriend?”

“just lay off.”

“or what?”

the guy pressed, taking a step closer to pony. neither of their glares wavered. pony’s knuckles were almost white with how hard he was clenching his hand.

you fully believe he wouldn’t socked him right then and there if soda hadn’t stepped in and talked the guy away, calming the drunkard a few feet away.

“you didn’t need to step in.”

“it’s not like you were gonna be anything.”

“you don’t know that.”

“i do know that, y/n.”

ponyboy spoke with such a stern tone, you almost believed him against your own will. but, as the whole situation set in, you couldn’t help but feel thankful.

“whatever.”

“whatever?”

he asked, sounding almost offended. pony almost fought a guy for you and all he gets is a goddamn, ‘whatever’?

“..thank you.”

you mumbled quietly, crossing your arms as you leaned back onto the gas station wall, looking down at the gravel below.

“you’re welcome.”

the silence that hung between the two of you was palpable. you shifted your weight from side to side until ponyboy broke the awkwardness.

“so, you come ‘round here often?”

“yeah. my brother works here so i get things for cheap.”

“you got a brother?”

“mhm. soda’s age.”

you confirmed, silence falling between the two of you once more. ponyboy glanced inside the store, seeing your brother work the register.

well, he should be, at least. he was currently being held back from going outside to kick some sense into the creep from earlier.

“you two look alike.”

ponyboy muttered under his breath, a small part of him hoping you wouldn’t hear. his ears went hot with embarrassment when he heard you snicker.

“don’t insult me like that.”

he always knew you were quick witted, but hearing it happen when pony wasn’t the one being made fun of was rare. but, rather funny.

ponyboy understands why your friends are always giggling around you now, as he’s begun to catch himself let out a small chuckle at your words.

“it ain’t a bad thing.”

“it totally is. you just haven’t met ‘em.”

you, yourself, were laughing at your own words. the two of you quickly laughing amongst yourselves, the conversation making 0 sense to anyone but to you guys.

time seemed to tick by faster and faster the more ponyboy got invested into the conversation. you carried yourself with a confidence he couldn’t comprehend.

the way you spoke, the way you stood, the way you looked—it was all so confusing for pony.

soda walked out of the gas station, a plastic bag full of all kinds of snacks as he shouted at his younger brother.

“ponyboy, let’s go!”

“alright, soda!”

the wind was the only thing filling your guys’ ears as he kicked the gravel you two stood on. until you, as always, broke the ice.

“i’ll see you ‘round, 89%.”

“yea. see you at school, 82%.”

you two teased, narrowing your eyes at each other one last time for the night.

even on the car ride home with soda, who calmed down the drunkard and even got close with your brother, ponyboy was still confused.

despite being the best, number one, in english—he couldn’t find the words to describe how he felt about you.

so, he’ll just say he’a neutral on you. until you get a higher grade than him, of course.

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis blurb #ponyboy curtis imagine

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