#I purposely wanted to keep this sketchy

[grand-line-shenanigans]

Yippee!!

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Valicer In The Dark -- Duskwall Slang

Since we did a VITD lookbook yesterday, I figured we might as well keep the train going today and talk a little bit about some of the worldbuilding I've done for the Valicer In The Dark version of Duskwall (the main setting of Blades In The Dark). Specifically, I've decided to share the short list of slang that I've come up with for people to use! Because that's always fun, right? :) The first entry on this list is taken from the book itself (page 42, specifically) and adapted a little bit, but all the rest are purely my own invention:

-->“Flashing a/their/your Coin” and variants – making an ostentatious display of wealth, to the disgust of everyone around them (the term "Coin" itself is in fact slang for a large sum of money, taken from the days when the Imperial treasury would actually mint large solid gold coins intended to cover major transactions; most people these days rely on small silver pieces called "slugs"). Example: “You spent all that money on THAT outfit? Really flashing your Coin, huh?”

-->“Moving to Six Towers” – indicates that the person said to be moving was previously rich and important, but has fallen on extremely hard times and is on the verge of ruin (referencing the fact that Six Towers USED to be one of the richest neighborhoods in the city, but has turned into a bit of a slum with most of the nobility previously living there moving into Brightstone). Example: “The Everglots’ leviathan ship hasn’t had a good haul in six months. Think they’ll be moving to Six Towers soon.”

-->“Scavenging in the Lost District” – indicates that the person said to be scavenging is taking an INCREDIBLE risk in the hopes of getting a high reward (due to the Lost District being an abandoned neighborhood outside the lightning barrier keeping the city safe and guarded by the Spirit Wardens...but also having many lost riches within its bounds). Example: “You want to rob Lord Mayor Powerwallet? Talk about scavenging in the Lost District!”

-->“Living Coin to Coin” – living paycheck to paycheck, as the average weekly wage in Duskwall is equivalent to a Coin’s worth of money. Example: “Poor old Tom – what with his sick mother and five children needing feeding, he’s living Coin to Coin.”

-->“Only good for mushrooms” – indicates that the thing being talked about is absolute shit. Example: “Don’t order the ‘special ale’ at the Withered Talon, it’s only good for mushrooms.”

-->“You want to call the crows?” – equivalent of “You want to get us killed?” in response to a risky course of action (referencing the Deathseeker crows that find corpses for the Spirit Wardens). Example: “You want to FIGHT Lord Mayor Powerwallet’s bodyguards? You want to call the crows?!”

-->“Barrowcleft approved” – indicates the item in question is homemade but of very high quality (Barrowcleft being a poor, rural neighborhood with one of the best, and fairest, markets in the city). Example – “You carved this yourself? Why, this is Barrowcleft approved work and no mistake!”

-->“Dust Day fare” – an extremely meager meal made from poor-quality ingredients, referencing the popular nickname for the fifth day of the week from Charhollow, which itself references the fact that poor people’s food stores are the thinnest on this day. Example – “Canal water soup with potato peelings. This is Dust Day fare, all right.”

-->“Crit Six/rolled a crit six” – means that something is exceedingly good, or that something that you have done has succeeded beyond your wildest dreams; references the most popular dice game in Duskwall, where rolling double sixes is an automatic win. Example – “I went to open the safe, and I rolled a crit six – the door practically came off in my hands!”

-->“Welcher” – a term for someone who hires a criminal or crew for a job, and then not only refuses to pay them, but actively tries to murder them (directly or otherwise) to avoid doing so. Only one of the highest leaders of the most well-known crews may declare someone a Welcher, and then only after receiving sufficient proof, as the term is a death sentence – the scoundrels of Duskwall do not take kindly to their clients trying to stiff them, in both senses of the word. Example: “All right, I’ve seen enough – I’m ready to declare that Lord E.A. Bethesda is a Welcher. Hope he’s prepared for every scoundrel in the city coming for his ass...”

Further updates to come if and when I think of more stuff! Which I probably will, as this is fun. :)

[scarletiswailing347]

need to find a fanfic writer bestie or something cause im in the mood (always in the mood) to draw for fanfics but i have a Lot of trouble doing so without being told first (mostly cause i have a lot of trouble reading fanfics period lol)

[tallix09]

Deliver us from evil

Namgyu x female reader

Your junkie ex-boyfriend pays you an unexpected visit. warnings: graphic depictions of emotional abuse, drug addiction, verbal degradation, non-consensual themes, and toxic, sexually explicit content.

  

The apartment felt hollow without his presence, though you’d never admit that out loud. Not to your parents, not to your pastor, and certainly not to yourself during those late-night conversations with God. The silence was different now, not the comfortable quiet of solitude, but the oppressive kind that seemed to press against your chest and remind you of everything that used to fill this space.

  You knelt beside your bed, the same worn carpet beneath your knees that had cushioned countless prayers over the past three years. The rosary beads felt familiar between your fingers, smooth from use, each one a small anchor in the storm that had become your life. Your parents had given you this rosary back when your biggest worry was whether you’d remember all the prayers correctly.

  That felt like a lifetime ago.

  “Heavenly Father,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. The words came automatically, a rhythm you’d learned before you could properly tie your shoes. “I come before you tonight with a heavy heart.”

  The prayer felt different now. Before Namgyu, your conversations with God had been simple, gratitude for your family, pleas for good grades, hopes for a future husband who would love you and lead you closer to faith. Now your prayers were messy, complicated things full of contradictions that would make your youth pastor’s head spin.

  You remember you’d met him outside a coffee shop near campus, of all places. He was leaning against the glass door, chain-smoking and handing out glossy flyers for some sketchy club downtown. And your parents had been suspicious from the start. “There’s something about him,” your mother had said after their first meeting, her lips pressed into that thin line that appeared whenever she disapproved of something. “He seems… troubled.”

  But you’d seen something else. Beneath the tired eyes and the way he sometimes fidgeted when he thought no one was looking, you’d seen someone who was searching. Someone who asked the right questions, even if he didn’t have the answers. You’d convinced yourself that was enough, that love could bridge the gap between his searching and your certainty.

“Watch over him tonight, Lord,” you continued, your forehead pressed against your clasped hands. “Keep him safe from harm, from himself, from the darkness that seems to follow him.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on you. Even now, even after everything, you were still praying for him. Still hoping that somehow, some way, he would find his way back to the light you’d tried so desperately to show him.

  The first time you’d seen him use, you’d told yourself it was just marijuana. Everyone experimented in college, right? Even some of the kids from your youth group had tried it, though they’d never admit. You’d prayed about it, asked God to help you guide Namgyu away from substances that clouded his judgment and separated him from divine purpose.

  But marijuana had been just the beginning.

  “I don’t understand,” you’d said to him one night, maybe six months into your relationship. You’d found the small baggie in his jacket pocket while looking for his keys. The white powder inside had made your stomach drop. “Why do you need this?”

  He’d gotten defensive, the way he always did when you asked questions he didn’t want to answer. “You wouldn’t understand,” he’d said, snatching the baggie from your hands. “Your life is perfect. You have your little prayers and your perfect family and your perfect faith. Some of us aren’t so lucky.”

  You’d tried to explain that faith wasn’t about luck, that it was about choice, about opening your heart to God’s love. But Namgyu had looked at you like you were speaking a foreign language, like the words coming out of your mouth were incomprehensible.

  That should have been your first warning. Maybe it was, and you’d just chosen to ignore it.

   “Please, God,” you whispered now, your voice cracking slightly.        

  “Please help me understand why loving him wasn’t enough. Help me understand what I could have done differently.”

  The guilt was the worst part. Your pastor had told you that addiction was a disease, that you couldn’t love someone into recovery. But late at night, when the apartment was too quiet and the absence of his presence felt like a physical ache, you wondered if you’d given up too easily. If you’d prayed harder, loved stronger, been more patient…

  But then you’d remember the last night, the night that had finally broken something inside you that you weren’t sure could be repaired.

  He’d been gone for three days. Three days of unanswered calls and texts, of driving by his usual spots, of calling his few friends who still spoke to him. You’d been sick with worry, imagining him overdosed in some alley or arrested or worse. Your parents had begged you to stay with them, but you’d insisted on staying at the apartment in case he came back.

  When he’d finally stumbled through the door at two in the morning, you’d been so relieved you’d almost cried. Until you’d seen his eyes. Pupils dilated, movements erratic, words slurred and aggressive.

  “Where have you been?” you’d asked, and he’d laughed, a sound devoid of any humor.

  “That’s none of your fucking business,” he’d said, his voice dripping with contempt. “Is there anything to eat in this shithole?”

  You’d smelled the alcohol on his breath, seen the way his hands shook. But what had terrified you most was the stranger looking back at you from his eyes. The Namgyu you’d fallen in love with, the one who’d quoted scripture ironically but with somewhat curiosity, who’d listened to your stories about youth group with affectionate amusement, was gone.

  “I was worried about you,” you’d said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I thought something had happened.”

  “Something did happen,” he’d said, moving closer to you in a way that made your skin crawl. “I realized what a fucking joke this all is. You, me, this whole thing. You think you’re saving me? You think your little prayers and your innocent act make you better than me?”

  The words had stung, but you’d heard them before. What was new was the way he’d grabbed your arm when you’d tried to walk away, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks.

  “Let go of me,” you’d said, your voice barely above a whisper.

  “Why?” he’d asked, his grip tightening. “Afraid I’ll corrupt your precious purity? Afraid I’ll drag you down to my level?”

  For a moment, you’d seen something in his eyes that had made your blood run cold. A potential for violence that you’d never seen before, a willingness to hurt you that went beyond words. Your heart had hammered against your ribs as you’d realized how alone you were, how far you’d let yourself drift from the people who actually cared about your wellbeing.

  “Please,” you’d whispered, and something in your voice must have gotten through to him because he’d released you suddenly, stumbling backward like he’d been burned.

  “Shit,” he’d said, staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I would never…”

  But you’d already seen the truth. You’d seen what he was capable of, what the drugs were turning him into. And you’d realized that all your prayers, all your love, all your desperate attempts to save him had only enabled him to sink deeper into a darkness that was consuming him from the inside out.

  The next morning, you’d found your jewelry box empty and several bills missing from your purse. He’d been gone when you’d woken up, and you’d known with crystal clarity that you couldn’t do this anymore.

  “Give me strength,” you prayed now, your voice steadier than it had been in weeks. “Help me forgive him, and help me forgive myself.”

  The breakup had been messy, painful in ways you hadn’t expected. Not because he’d fought for you, he’d barely seemed to register that you were serious when you’d told him it was over. But because cutting him out of your life had felt like amputating a part of yourself.

  Your parents had been relieved, though they’d tried to hide it. Your mother had made your favorite dinner and sat with you while you’d cried, stroking your hair and whispering that it was for the best. Your father had simply hugged you and said that sometimes loving someone meant letting them go.

  But letting go was easier said than done.

  The apartment still smelled like him sometimes. Cigarettes and that cologne he’d worn, the one that had been too expensive for his budget but that he’d insisted on buying anyway. His comics were still on the shelf, the ones he’d left behind in his hasty departure. You’d thought about packing them up, donating them or throwing them away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

  Maybe some part of you was still hoping he’d come back for them. Maybe some part of you was still hoping he’d come back for you.

  “Help him find peace,” you whispered, finishing your prayer. “Help him find his way back to you, even if it’s not through me.”

  You crossed yourself and rose from your knees, your legs stiff from kneeling. The apartment felt even quieter now, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.

  Coffee. You needed coffee, or maybe tea. Something warm to chase away the chill that seemed to have settled in your bones.

  You padded to the kitchen in your bare feet, your pajamas soft against your skin. The routine of making coffee was comforting, measuring out the grounds, filling the pot with water, pressing the button and listening to the familiar gurgle as the machine came to life.

  It was then that you heard it.

  The knocking started soft, almost tentative, like whoever was on the other side of the door wasn’t sure they wanted to be there. But it grew more insistent, more desperate, until it became a pounding that echoed through the small apartment.

  Your heart stopped.

  You knew that knock. You’d heard it a thousand times before. When he’d forgotten his keys, when he’d come home late and didn’t want to wake you, when he’d been too high to figure out how to use his key properly.

  “I know you’re in there,” his voice came through the door, muffled but unmistakable. “I can see the light. Just… just open the door, okay? I forgot something. I need to get something.”

  You stood frozen in the kitchen, your hand still on the coffee maker. This was not happening. This could not be happening. Not tonight, not after you’d finally started to feel like you were healing.

  “Please,” he said, and his voice cracked on the word. “I just need five minutes. I forgot something important.”

  The rational part of your mind, the part that sounded like your mother and your pastor and every self-help book you’d ever read, told you to ignore him. To let him knock until he got tired and went away. To protect yourself from whatever chaos he was bringing to your door.

  But the part of you that had loved him, that maybe still loved him despite everything, wanted to know what he’d forgotten. Wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay, to convince yourself that he was someone else’s problem now.

  “Go away, Namgyu,” you called out, your voice stronger than you felt. “You don’t live here anymore.”

  The knocking stopped for a moment, and you thought maybe he’d listened. Maybe he’d finally developed enough respect for your boundaries to leave you alone.

  Then it started again, harder this time.

  “Don’t be like this,” he said, his voice taking on an edge you recognized. “I’m not asking for much. Just let me get my stuff and I’ll leave. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  “You already got your stuff,” you said, moving closer to the door despite yourself. “You took everything when you left.”

  “I fucking missed something,” he said. “Something important. Something I can’t replace.”

  You pressed your forehead against the door, trying to steady your breathing. Through the peephole, you could see him swaying slightly, his hair disheveled, his clothes wrinkled like he’d been sleeping in them. Even in the dim hallway light, you could see the familiar signs, the restless energy, the way he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, the slight tremor in his hands.

  He was high.

  “What did you forget?” you asked, though you weren’t sure why you were engaging with him at all.

  “Just… something,” he said, and you could hear the desperation creeping into his voice. “Look, I know you hate me, okay? I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But I’m not asking for forgiveness here. I’m just asking for five minutes to get something that belongs to me.”

  “Everything that belongs to you is already gone,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction. “I don’t have anything of yours.”

 “You’re lying,” he said, and his voice was getting louder now, more agitated. “You’re fucking lying and you know it. Just open the goddamn door!”

  The coffee maker beeped behind you, signaling that your coffee was ready. The sound seemed obscenely normal, ridiculously domestic, in the face of the chaos brewing outside your door.

  “Stop yelling,” you said. “You’re going to wake up the neighbors.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the neighbors,” he said, and you could hear him pacing now, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. “I don’t give a shit about anything except getting what’s mine.”

  This was the Namgyu you’d learned to fear, the one who emerged when the drugs took hold and stripped away everything that had made him human. The one who’d grabbed your arm that last night, who’d looked at you like you were an obstacle to be removed rather than a person he’d claimed to love.

  “Please don’t make me call the police,” you said, though you weren’t sure you’d actually do it.

  “Call them,” he said, and you could hear the bitter laugh in his voice. “Call them and tell them what? That your junkie ex-boyfriend is asking for his stuff back? That’ll go over real well.”

  You closed your eyes, trying to think. Every instinct you had was screaming at you to keep the door closed, to wait until he got tired and left. But you also knew Namgyu well enough to know that he could be incredibly persistent when he wanted something. He’d stand out there all night if he had to, pounding on the door and yelling until someone called the police anyway.

  “What did you forget?” you asked again.

  “Just… let me in and I’ll show you,” he said. “I promise I’ll be quick. I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”

  His promises had been worthless for months now, but there was something different in his voice. Something that sounded almost like the old Namgyu, the one who’d listened to your dreams about the future.

  “You’re high,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I’m fine,” he said, but you could hear the lie in his voice. “I’m totally fine. Just let me in.”

  The pounding started again, more desperate now. You could hear him pressing his whole body against the door, could feel the vibration through the wood.

  “Please,” he said, and his voice broke completely. “Please, I’m begging you. I know I don’t deserve it, I know I fucked everything up, but I’m begging you. Just five minutes.”

  And then, to your horror, you heard something that made your resolve crumble completely.

  He was crying.

  Not the angry, frustrated tears of someone who wasn’t getting their way, but the broken, desperate sobs of someone who had reached the end of their rope. Through the door, you could hear him slide down to the floor, could hear the way his breathing hitched between sobs.

  “I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over. “I’m so fucking sorry. I know I ruined everything. I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve anything from you. But please, please just let me get this one thing.”

  Your hand was on the deadbolt before you’d consciously decided to move. Every rational thought in your head was screaming at you to stop, to think about what you were doing, to remember why you’d ended things in the first place.

  But the sound of his crying was breaking something inside you, cracking open the careful walls you’d built around your heart over the past month.

  The deadbolt clicked open, and you heard him scramble to his feet. You undid the chain lock with shaking hands, your mind still not quite believing what you were doing.

  When you opened the door, the sight of him nearly brought you to your knees.

  He looked terrible. Worse than you’d ever seen him. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, his hair greasy and unkempt. But it was his eyes that made your breath catch. They were hollow, desperate, with the glassy shine that meant he was definitely under the influence of something stronger than alcohol.

  He’d lost weight, you realized. His cheekbones were more prominent, his clothes hanging loose on his frame. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a cut on his lip that looked recent.

  “Jesus, Namgyu,” you whispered, and he flinched at the sound of his name.

  “Thank you,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from crying. “Thank you for letting me in.”

  He stepped past you into the apartment, and you caught a whiff of his scent, unwashed clothes, cigarettes, and something chemical that made your stomach turn. This wasn’t the Namgyu you’d fallen in love with. This wasn’t even the Namgyu you’d broken up with.

  This was someone else entirely.

  “What did you forget?” you asked, closing the door behind him but leaving it unlocked. You needed to be able to get him out quickly if things went south.

  “I’ll know it when I see it,” he said, already moving toward the bedroom. “Just… just give me a minute to look around.”

  “Namgyu, wait,” you said, but he was already disappearing down the hallway.

  You stood in the living room, your heart hammering against your ribs, listening to the sounds of him moving around in what used to be your shared bedroom. You could hear drawers opening and closing, the sound of things being moved around.

  What could he have possibly forgotten? You’d been meticulous when he’d moved out, making sure every item of his clothing, every book, every random possession had been packed up and removed. You’d even found things you’d forgotten were his, a phone charger, a coffee mug, a book of poetry that had been tucked behind your dresser.

  The coffee maker beeped again, reminding you that your coffee was getting cold. Almost without thinking, you moved to the kitchen and poured two cups, one for you, one for him. It was automatic, muscle memory from hundreds of mornings spent sharing coffee before he’d started his downward spiral.

  You’d just finished adding cream to his cup the way he liked it when you heard him coming back down the hallway. You turned to face him, the two mugs in your hands, and immediately knew that something had changed.

  His eyes were different now. Not just high, but dark in a way that made your skin crawl. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that hadn’t been there when he’d been begging at your door just minutes ago.

  “Find what you were looking for?” you asked, your voice carefully neutral.

  He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze flicking between your face and the coffee mugs in your hands. Then, slowly, he smiled.

But it wasn’t a nice smile.

  He didn’t answer your question. Instead, he moved toward you with that predatory grace you’d seen before, when the drugs made him feel invincible and dangerous. The space between you seemed to shrink as he approached, his movements deliberate and unsettling.

  Without warning, he reached out and grabbed one of the coffee mugs from your hands, his fingers deliberately brushing against yours. His skin was clammy and cold, and you instinctively pulled back from the contact.

  You watched in growing alarm as he lifted the mug to his lips, took a long sip, and then immediately spat the hot liquid across your kitchen floor. Coffee splattered against the cabinets, dark stains spreading across the white surfaces you’d scrubbed clean just yesterday.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, staring at the mess he’d created.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, that unsettling smile never leaving his face. “Tastes like shit,” he said, dropping the mug carelessly onto the counter. “When did you start making coffee this shitty? You used to make it strong, the way I liked it.”

  “It’s late, and I don’t make coffee for you anymore,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I make it for me.”

  “Right,” he said, drawing out the word like it tasted bitter. “Of course you do.”

  He was already reaching into his jacket pocket, and you felt your stomach drop as you saw what he was pulling out. A crumpled pack of cigarettes, the kind he’d smoked constantly toward the end of your relationship. The kind that had made your apartment reek of smoke and reminded you daily of his deteriorating condition.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” you said immediately, panic rising in your voice. “This is my apartment now, Namgyu. You can’t just—”

  He laughed, the sound harsh and grating in the small space. The cigarette was already between his lips, and he was flicking his lighter with practiced ease. The flame cast dancing shadows across his gaunt face, making him look almost demonic in the dim kitchen light.

  “Can’t I?” he said around the cigarette, his words slightly muffled. 

“Since when do you make the rules?”

  “Since you moved out,” you said, your voice rising. “Since you decided to throw away everything we had for whatever poison you’re putting in your body now.”

  The cigarette was lit now, and he took a long drag, the tip glowing orange in the darkness. When he exhaled, the smoke hit you directly in the face, making you cough and step backward.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” you repeated, more desperately now. “The lease says no smoking. I could get evicted. Please, just—”

  “Shut up, you fucking bitch ” he said, his voice suddenly cold and sharp. “Just shut the fuck up for five seconds.”

  He held up his free hand, palm facing you, and before you could process what he was doing, he pressed the lit end of the cigarette directly into his skin.

  The sizzle was immediate and horrifying. The smell of burning flesh hit you like a physical blow, acrid and nauseating. You watched in horror as his skin blistered and burned, the cigarette tip eating through his palm like it was paper. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction with something that looked almost like satisfaction. The pain should have been excruciating, but he might as well have been pressing the cigarette into a piece of wood for all the reaction he showed.

  “You’re insane,” you whispered, backing away from him until your back hit the refrigerator. “You’re absolutely fucking insane.”

  He dropped the cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his heel without breaking eye contact. The burn on his palm was already turning an angry red, the skin raised and blistered in a perfect circle.

  “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “Maybe that’s what happens when an ungrateful bitch like you decides I’m not worth saving.”

  “You need to leave,” you said, your voice shaking so badly you could barely get the words out. “Right now. Get whatever you came for and get out, or I swear to God I’ll scream loud enough for the whole building to hear.”

  “Oh, you’ll scream for your neighbors,” he said, tilting his head like he was genuinely curious. “But you won’t scream for your precious God? What happened to all that faith, sweetheart? What happened to loving your enemies and turning the other cheek?”

  The way he said ‘sweetheart’ made bile rise in your throat. It was the same endearment he’d used when you’d first started dating, when he’d whisper it against your ear. Now it sounded like a mockery, like he was throwing your shared intimacy back in your face.

  “Don’t call me that,” you warned, but he was already moving again.

He reached into his pocket with his uninjured hand, his movements deliberate and slow, like he was savoring whatever moment was about to come. When he pulled his hand back out, your world tilted sideways.

  Dangling from his fingers was a pair of underwear. Your underwear. But not just any pair, these were new, delicate, nothing like the practical cotton ones you’d always worn when you were together. These were black lace, with tiny ribbons at the sides, the kind of thing you’d bought after the breakup in some desperate attempt to feel beautiful again.

“Found what I was looking for,” he said, his voice thick with something that made your skin crawl.

  The coffee mug you’d been holding slipped from your numb fingers, shattering against the kitchen floor. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden silence, ceramic shards scattering across the linoleum like broken promises.

  “Where did you—” you started, but the words died in your throat.

  The violation of it hit you like a physical blow. He’d been in your bedroom, going through your drawers, touching your most intimate belongings. The thought of his hands on your things, searching through your underwear drawer like he had some right to be there, made you feel sick.

  “Why were you going through my things?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

  His expression changed instantly, the predatory smile vanishing and being replaced by something much darker. His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his voice was full of rage.

  “You want to know why?” he snarled, his grip tightening on the underwear. “Because when you were with me, you always wore those fucking granny panties. Those ugly, beige, cotton pieces of shit that covered everything. And now I’m gone and you’re pulling out this sexy lingerie bullshit?”

  He threw the underwear at you, the fabric hitting your chest before falling to the floor among the broken ceramic. You flinched as if he’d struck you, the violation of the gesture making you feel dirty and exposed.

  “Who are you fucking?” he demanded, taking a step closer to you. 

  “Huh? Who’s the bastard who gets to see you in that shit? Some clean-cut Christian boy from your church? Someone your parents would actually approve of?”

  “Nobody,” you said, but your voice came out weak and unconvincing.

  “Bullshit,” he spat. “You don’t buy underwear like that for nobody. You don’t start dressing like a whore unless someone’s paying attention.”

  The word hit you like a slap, and you felt tears starting to burn behind your eyes. This wasn’t the Namgyu you’d fallen in love with. This wasn’t even the broken, desperate man who’d been destroying himself with drugs. This was something else entirely, something cruel and vicious that had taken up residence in his body.

  “Get out,” you said, your voice stronger now. “Get out of my apartment right now.”

  “Or what?” he sneered, kicking at the broken ceramic on the floor. “You’ll call your daddy? Tell him the big bad junkie is being mean to his precious little angel?”

  “Fuck you,” you spat, the words tearing out of your throat before you could stop them. You never cursed, your parents had raised you better than that, but something about his presence in your space was bringing out a side of you that you didn’t recognize.

  “There she is,” he said, his eyes lighting up with sick satisfaction. “There’s the real you. Not the perfect little church girl act you put on for everyone else.”

  “You don’t know shit about the real me,” you shot back, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “The real me got tired of watching you destroy yourself. The real me got tired of making excuses for a pathetic loser who chose drugs over everything else.”

  His face twisted with rage, and before you could react, he grabbed the remaining coffee mug from the counter and hurled it at the wall next to your head. You ducked instinctively as ceramic exploded against the drywall, shards raining down around you.

  “Pathetic loser?” he screamed. “I’m a pathetic loser? You’re the one who’s so desperate for attention that you’re buying slutty underwear the second I’m gone!”

  Without thinking, you grabbed the sugar bowl from the counter and threw it at him. It caught him in the shoulder, white granules scattering across the floor as the bowl shattered.

  “I bought them for me!” you screamed back. “Because for the first time in months, I wanted to feel like a woman instead of a fucking babysitter!”

  “Bullshit!” He was advancing on you now, his burned hand leaving bloody smears on whatever he touched. “You bought them for whoever you’re spreading your legs for now. Some clean-cut asshole who doesn’t know what a manipulative bitch you really are.”

  “You’re insane!” You grabbed a dinner plate from the drying rack and hurled it at his head. He dodged, and it smashed against the refrigerator. “You’re a paranoid, delusional piece of shit who can’t stand the thought that someone might actually be happy without you!”

  “Happy?” he laughed, the sound completely unhinged. “You call this happy? Living alone in this shithole, buying fancy underwear for nobody, pretending like you don’t miss what we had?”

  “What we had was toxic!” you screamed, throwing a fork at him that clattered harmlessly against the wall. “What we had was me enabling your addiction while you stole from me and treated me like garbage!”

  “I never treated you like garbage,” he snarled, grabbing a coffee mug from the counter and slamming it down so hard the handle broke off. “I fucking loved you!”

  “You loved having someone to take care of you!” You were both circling each other now like animals, the kitchen floor littered with broken dishes and spilled coffee. “You loved having someone to clean up your messes and make excuses for you and pretend like everything was fine while you flushed your life down the drain!”

  “That’s not true,” he said, but his voice was less certain now, more desperate. “That’s not fucking true and you know it.”

  “It is true!” you shouted. “And you know what the worst part is? I actually thought I could save you. I thought if I just loved you enough, prayed hard enough, you’d get clean. But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved!”

  “I never asked you to save me!” he screamed, his face contorted with rage and pain. “I never asked for your prayers or your judgment or your perfect little Christian conscience!”

  “Then what did you ask for?” you demanded. “What did you want from me, Namgyu?”

  “I wanted you to love me!” he roared. “I wanted you to fucking love me without trying to fix me! I wanted you to accept me the way I am instead of constantly trying to turn me into someone else!”

  “The way you are is broken!” you screamed back. “The way you are is sick and destructive and—”

  You never got to finish the sentence because suddenly he was across the kitchen, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling your face toward his. His mouth crashed against yours with desperate violence, all teeth and desperation and the taste of cigarettes and something chemical that made you gag.

  You tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong, his fingers twisted in your hair so tightly that moving sent shooting pains across your scalp. His kiss was nothing like the gentle, hesitant kisses from when you’d first started dating. This was possession, domination, an attempt to reclaim something that had never really belonged to him.

When he finally released you, you stumbled backward, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You could taste blood. Whether his or yours, you couldn’t tell.

  The look on his face made your blood run cold. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated, but there was something else there now. Something calculating and dangerous that made every instinct in your body scream at you to run.

  “You still taste the same,” he said softly, and the quiet tone was somehow more terrifying than all his screaming had been.

  You stared at him, wide-eyed, stunned into stillness. The world felt off-kilter, your breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts as your back pressed into the edge of the fridge. The ache in your scalp from where he’d yanked your hair hadn’t faded, but it was the look in his eyes that left you shaking, like he’d seen straight through your defenses and found the part of you that still wanted something from him.

  You hated yourself for it.

  “Don’t touch me,” you managed to whisper, your voice cracking mid-sentence. “Please, just—just go.”

  But the tears were already falling, hot and heavy and ugly, streaming down your cheeks in uneven lines. You weren’t crying pretty, and you didn’t care. Your nose was running, your lips trembling, your whole body shuddering from the aftermath of the argument and that violent kiss. You could taste him in your mouth, and it made you want to crawl out of your own skin.

  He didn’t back away.

  He watched you like you were a movie he’d seen a dozen times, like he already knew how this scene ended. When he stepped closer, you flinched, your hands curling into fists at your sides like you could punch the pain out of the air.

  But you didn’t move. You didn’t stop him.

  Because some sick, buried part of you still remembered what it felt like to be touched by him when things were good. Before the lies. Before the drugs. Before the nights you sat by the window waiting, praying, begging God to bring him home alive.

  That part of you still lived somewhere inside your ribcage. And she wasn’t gone yet.

  “Don’t cry like that,” he said, his voice low, rough, familiar in the way poison is familiar to someone dying slow. He reached up and wiped your cheek with his burned hand, the smell of scorched skin still thick in the air. “It makes me hard.”

  You choked on a sob, horrified at yourself for the way your thighs clenched at his words. Your whole body was betraying you, rewiring itself around him like muscle memory.

  “I hate you,” you breathed, but even you weren’t sure if it was the truth.

  “I know,” he said, stepping even closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You hate me. You miss me. You fucking need me.”

  Before you could protest, before you could gather any coherent thought, he spun you around and shoved you forward until your hips slammed against the kitchen counter. You gasped, your palms bracing against the cool surface, your chest rising and falling with shallow, frantic breaths.

  “I said no—” you started, but the words died the moment you felt his hand between your thighs, bold and possessive like he had every right to touch you. You should’ve stopped him. You should’ve screamed. But instead, you bucked into his hand like your body remembered something your soul wanted to forget.

  “You wore this for someone else?” he growled against your ear, yanking the lace panties down your thighs in one rough motion. “Some loser church boy with?”

  “No,” you whispered, tears falling anew as his fingers traced over your folds with slow, humiliating familiarity. “I wore them for me…”

  “Liar,” he hissed, slapping the inside of your thigh. “Fucking liar. You wore them for attention. You wanted someone to look at you and think, ‘I bet she fucks like a whore when the lights are off.’ Isn’t that right?”

  Your breath hitched. His fingers slipped inside you, two at once, deep and practiced, curling just right as your knees buckled.

  “Namgyu—”

  He growled low in his throat, grabbing a fistful of your hair again and yanking your head back. “Say my name again. Go on. You’re already dripping down my fingers, might as well admit how much you missed this cock.”

  You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood. And still, you didn’t tell him to stop.

  He shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself, and a second later, he was pushing into you hard and fast, with no preamble, no mercy, no illusion of tenderness. You gasped, the stretch sharp and unrelenting, your cheek pressed against the cool countertop as he buried himself to the hilt.

  “Still so tight,” he groaned, one hand gripping your waist, the other pressing down on your back to keep you bent for him. “Like your pussy knows it belongs to me.”

  You sobbed again, the shame and arousal mixing in a sickening cocktail that flooded your veins. His thrusts were brutal, punishing, fast. His hips slamming into the backs of your thighs as he used you like a thing, like a possession he’d left behind and come back to reclaim.

  “You think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he sneered, pounding into you harder. “You think some little church boy could make you moan like a slut while crying on your knees?”

  Your mouth opened but no sound came out. He had you folded over the counter like a doll, your hands slipping on the surface as he drilled into you, as he took and took like you owed him every last drop of what was left.

  “Who does this pussy belong to?” he growled, his hand wrapping around your throat as he fucked into you deeper.

  You couldn’t answer.

  He squeezed just enough to make your head swim.

  “Say it.”

  “Y-You,” you sobbed, your voice cracked and broken. “It’s yours. It’s always been yours.”

  “Damn right it is.” His voice was like gravel, low and victorious. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck the faith out of you.”

  You came with a violent shudder, biting down on your forearm to muffle the sounds you couldn’t control. The heat, the pain, the degradation, it all blurred into one humiliating wave that crested and crashed over you while he rutted into you from behind like an animal.

  He followed seconds later with a loud, guttural groan, spilling into you with no protection, no hesitation. You felt it. Hot, thick, invasive, and the aftershocks left your body trembling, hollow, used.

  He pulled out slowly, with a satisfied grunt, and you collapsed against the counter like your bones had given out.

  There was silence after that.

  The kind that made you want to rip your own skin off. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

  You heard him adjust his clothes, zip up. Then footsteps. Then the sound of him crouching beside you.

  Something warm brushed your temple.

  A kiss.

  Soft.

  Gentle.

  Mocking.

  “You may not take me back today,” he murmured, his lips ghosting against your skin, “or tomorrow. But I’ll wait. I know you’re too smart to go for someone else…” He paused, and then added, almost sweetly, “Or I’ll end you both.”

  Your breath caught, your body still trembling from everything. Fear, anger, disgust, and something darker still. Something shameful that lived deep inside you, refusing to die.

  When you finally turned to look at him, he was already at the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black lace underwear, dangling it between two fingers.

  “I’ll take this as a souvenir,” he said with a smirk. “Good night, beautiful. Lock up after me.”

  Then he was gone.

  And you were alone again.

  Broken prayers, shattered dignity, and the smell of smoke still hanging in the air.

[melancholicstation]

FRAT!JACK SCHLOSSBERG SFW AND NSFW HEADCANONS

imagining COLLEGE SWEETHEART!READER who loves the outdoors, is the best in her harvard polo team, is a criterion channel SNOB, spencer hasting's archetype, vacations in miami, aspen, ibiza and saint tropez, is the president of many student clubs, buys hermēs blankets for the dogs kennel blanket and keeps an elegant stack of erotic, cheesy novellas under her .

tags: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl

fyi: I have not edited this nor looked over it too closely so if there's spelling/grammar mistakes je m'excuse please!!

you cross each other's paths at institut le rosey in year 13 because you guys are unfortunately wealthy teenagers of highly successful family dynasties so it'd be sacrilegious to go anywhere else... where else would they go to get their educational chops that they can brag about at dinner parties?

super rich kids by frank ocean is both of your respective spotify wrapped no.1 song

you guys don't formally meet until harvard law school

always immediately goes to you for any fraternity parties where they need to be all gussied up for it and whines until you do his makeup... and of course he wants you to use your expensive chanel, byredo, chantecaille make up

jack uses your own la perla thongs as bookmarks to keep track of a certain page in a law textbook when studying at your place cause he left all his stationary at home

when you both found each other you guys were both in your slut era and weren't looking for anything serious

tries to make you beef tartar in the confines of your tiny dorm like this one chick on tiktok does in her bed

after a couple days of not seeing each other jack comes back with little gifts and trinkets cause he has the instinct to gather in his bones, baby!

you both eat like a 17th century king despite being college students

classes were cancelled for a day due to a particularly aggressive blizzard that sought to reek havoc on anyone in its path--or in this instance trying to get to their econ major on time for once so you two are held up in your dorm end up watching 'secretary' (2002), one thing leads to another and you and jack's have ended up recreating this scene except jack is lee... and the saddle is an old hermēs vivace jumping saddle that you got for an early christmas present one year back (something like this) and the carrot is slightly dirty cause its been in your farmers market tote since your last run to whole foods... but you both enjoy it all the same cause you guys are F.R.E.A.K.I.S.H.

he has a very intense samurai sword obsession to the point where his dorm closet holds all the medals he won for the best sword in local competitions... and gets extremely territorial if you want a drawer in his closet cause where are the synthetic fabric medals supposed to go??

always buys you lingerie whenever ssense has a sale

you both buy each other maison margiela shoes for a joint graduation present from law school

you both always have a ritual of buying mint and lavender lemonade at different harvard athletic games

you guys broke up briefly during mid term hell-week and you genuinely observed him re-connecting with nature in the harvard yard to ease his anguish

you guys practice parenthood by adopting a few sylvanian families and putting them in a house

your matching boat n' totes (top: yours bottom: jack)

on holiday break from college you guys go on so many sketchy facebook marketplace hunts to the point where jack films with his phone just for evidence purposes

your dream that makes you crash out over imessage to jack:

NSFW UNDER THIS CUT 🧵✂️

he definitely wears a hat while you guys are fucking making beautiful sensual love

foreplay is stimulating conversations with jack

as foreplay you make jack recreate that one cmbyn timothee chalamet scene with the peach

eroticising studying and giving each other orgasms when you've memorised a topic correctly

two beers at a beer garden and you guys are in each others pants immediately. stat!

they are delicately perverted

he loves giving you some clavicle kisses... like that is his shit!

jack loves to be lightly tapped with the hermēs crop but he'd never admit it what?? who said that??

[lambcow]

Ok but imagine young Clark coming into his super-hypnotism powers as a young kid and Martha Kent is not having it because you can only argue with your two-year-old so much if they can sweet talk you into anything they want.

She figures out really fast that it's all in the inhuman eyes - and really, she should've known that gorgeous shade of blue was too good to be true - so when Clark gets in a fit and she just knows he's going to make a demand, she avoids direct eye contact with her sweet little angel. She knows he's not doing it on purpose, he's just a little kid, after all.

But then, he has to go to school, and Martha knows Clark won't do it on purpose, but her little baby is a charmspeaker and is accidentally going to manipulate the entire world around him into whatever he thinks he wants and that's just not going to fly!

So, Martha experiments a little. The next time they go into town for the day, Martha hands Clark a tiny pair of sunglasses to wear all day to see if lenses even make a difference. It's not that he's never worn them before, but she needs to know if he can influence anyone if he's not looking directly into their eyes. After a day of errands and several pleading looks and what are certainly puppy eyes from Clark from behind tinted lenses to no avail, Martha has her answer.

Their last stop of the day is an antique shop on Main. Martha greets the man at the counter like you only can in a small town and asks if he has any supplies of old glasses they can rifle through for Clark, just in the meantime until they can get his eyes checked. Just to limp along. It's a lie, Clark doesn't need a prescription. But in a box of used glasses, there's always the chance Martha will find what she needs.

Gary (that's his name) points her toward a dresser down the room and tells her there's a drawer filled with costume glasses and the like. They find a tiny pair of glasses for Clark and he complains at first that the world "looks funny" but then he blinks twice and looks around again and, with a grin, says "Never mind - I like them, can I keep them?"

And that's how Clark Kent starts wearing glasses.

As he gets older, continuing to grow up and especially while he's still shorter than his ma he'll occasionally glare up at her from over his lenses petulantly as he tries to get his way and it brings a whole new weight to the phrase "Don't give me that look, now, son," because Clark knows that she means not to use his Kryptonian eyes on her to get his way. It's not a secret any more than Clark being an alien is a secret that Clark can get people to do what he wants. But the few times he's done it have resulted in the biggest groundings of his entire life and more chores than he's ever wanted to do. And not just manual labor chores, but the kind of chores ma knows he doesn't like, because a ma always knows how to make a chore a chore.

In high school, for all that Clark is not very popular and has that whole quiet nerd persona going for him, he has that cute kid with the glasses Kryptonian Gaze™ down to a seductive art and he's not even trying. Because. Hello? B-i-o-l-o-g-y. So, yeah. That over-the-glasses glance from across the room? It's a whole thing and lots of girls (and guys?) are super confused by why they suddenly think Clark Kent might be super hot. Then when they look again but it's just Clark sitting there with his normal glasses again? They're not so sure...

He doesn't like to use his super-hypnotism because it feels like cheating, but depending on the circumstance he will. It's not that different than using his other abilities after all, right? If it's for the right reasons, is it?

While he's working at the Daily Planet, he'll use it on occasion to push his advantage for a story for that one extra detail, to get access to a room he might not have otherwise, to sneak into places he might not have, to make people forget his face, his name, their conversation if it was a particularly sketchy place... it's all a simple tilt down of the chin so he can look people straight in the eyes over the rim of his glasses and ask a pointed question or say something or suggest something and then....

As Superman it's different. As Superman, he never wears his glasses. He's all heat vision and x-ray vision, micro and macro vision. As Superman, he does what he needs to to save people. Sometimes that's telling someone to get to safety or go home, call 9-1-1, run, stay here, be quiet.. it's a hundred things as Superman. Sometimes it's asking guards for passcodes or entrance, sometimes it's to turn off surveillance altogether. Superman does what he has to do.

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Never Took The Time (To Forget) part 4.2: Robin's Boy

A.N: Life is kinda sucky right now with job hunting, surviving at my current job, the strains that come with being a caregiver to a family member while maintaining a long distance relationship and just dealing with mental and emotional self-care. So here's this, super late and not beta-read but at least I wrote it.

As always, feel free to yell at/with me in the comments, tags and/or ask box.

Part 1 (Hop fucks up), Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce's Edition), Part 3 (One of Us), Part 4.1 (With a Capital 'P'), Part 5 (Man Of The Hour)

There's not much that surprises Robin Buckley these days. She gets queasy at the sight of ground beef, the big friendly dogs a few doors down at the O'Reilly place make her blood run cold, she can't watch the old Russian movies her dad loves without having nightmares after and she's sleeping with a nightlight for the first time since she was six. But it takes a lot to surprise her.

Seeing the declared dead Chief of Police step out of a sleek black, obviously-secret-government-bullshit car flanked by an agent she recognizes as one of Owens' lackeys from last July when they were making the rounds with Government funded medical care contingent on signing sketchy NDAs? Just par for the course at this point.

Steve's face when Eleven-Jane rushes into the not-dead Chief's arms and it turns into a whole 'Moment'? Said Chief's look of barely interested confusion followed by tired annoyance when Steve drags her in front of him, rambling about Starcourt and new additions to The Party and finally getting to meet 'My Hop'? Yeah, none of that surprises her either. She plays along for Steve, doesn't give Hopper any time to say anything that would take that happy smile off his face or get rid of the way he's practically glowing he's smiling bigger than she's ever seen directed at anyone other than the kids. Tries not to think about the way it makes something in her clench and crouch like a cat getting ready to pounce and bare fangs she didn't realize she had outside of a life and death situation. She introduces herself, maintains eye contact and drags Steve off as fast as she can to do something, anything, that will distract him from trying to catch up like the Byers clan is with the kids and assembled assorted monster fighters.

She's not surprised when she can't stop Steve from stepping up every time Hopper or Joyce or anyone with a badge says they need anything despite his own still healing wounds. She's not surprised when Hop takes it a step too far.

They're at the Hopper Cabin that is steadily becoming the Hopper-Byers Cottage when Hop tells his and Joyce's shared custody bald parasite that Steve is little more than an annoyance he puts up with for the free babysitting service and manual labor and cause he can go up against shit that would give anyone else nightmares while keeping the kids safe and mostly in-check. She's sitting with Eleven-Jane, sewing patches onto one of Hop's old army jackets, (the kid had seen Eddie's battle vest in Steve's car and it had reminded her of her sister Kali and she'd decided she wanted one of her own for the war ahead and then all of the other rugrats had decided they did too so she and Argyle had taken to giving sporadic sewing lessons whenever the kids had the materials to start their own battle attire) when Steve comes round the corner to the back of the property striding with purpose she rarely saw when he was around his kids.

She leaves her unfinished project on the stump she'd been using as a stool and chases after him. She shooes off curious and worried kids, promising to stick with him, keep the walkie close and on, make sure he was safe and didn't run afoul of any demo-beasts or trigger-happy government goons as he made his way to his car and then wherever else he was marching his happy ass.

She hates the fact that when they're both finally back at the little apartment that Owens' yes-men had acquired for Steve when Harrington Sr. decided to be an opportunist prick and kick Steve out for 'not taking care of the house' in the middle of the 'earthquake', that Steve hasn't shed a single tear. She hates that she's not surprised.

He doesn't say anything as he kicks off his Nikes and shuffles over to the 'second-hand' couch they'd gotten from Mrs. Henderson (Steve and Robin were both fully aware she'd just gotten it shortly before Spring break and was in no way in need of a new one so soon, but they both also knew better than to call her out on her kindness). He doesn't look up at her from his spot curled in amongst the throw pillows and blankets they'd been gifted by parents of various members of the party after Hopper and Owens' story that the two of them had saved the kids again from some freak incident like last year with Starcourt. She pulls out the thick quilt they had found in the latest donations bins when Hawkin's government supervised relief force started outsourcing for supplies and basic comforts. He stares at the wall where they'd hung an oversized corkboard dedicated to polaroids and photo booth strips and even some properly printed pictures of the little monster fighting family they'd put together.

She can't pull him out of this, no matter how much she may want to. There's some places his mind goes only Eleven-Jane would be able to reach and neither of them were going to put more on that girl's plate. So she puts on a Bruce Springsteen record she used to hate and curls up as close as she can to him through the quilt and pillows. Every now and then she gets up to get them both water, to grab some crackers to try and coax him into eating and to switch over to a new record or just flip the one on the player but she always comes back to her spot next to her Steve.

"Whatever he said to you, you know it's not true. Right? You're worth more than a dozen undead cops on a power trip." That gets an amused huff.

"Seriously Stevie, the kids adore you, I swear all the moms in Hawkins think you're the best thing since sliced bread and I don't know what I'd do without my personal chump. We're soulmates, remember? One of these days we're gonna mind meld like Spock and McCoy and we'll be unstoppable. I can't make it without my McCoy, Bones."

"I can't make it without you either, you hobgoblin. Thanks Bobby."

The next day is better. Steve is still a little quiet, a little droopy. But he's present and there's a simmering anger underneath his smile that Robin is proud to see him acknowledging but makes her worry about him as he ushers her into his car to drop her off on her rare lone shift at Family Video before he heads out to a quick 'consultation patrol' with some military special operatives to check out something weird by one of the new cracks.

No one had told any of the kids yet, about the cracks starting to spread out in smaller fissures like a slowly spreading infection. Hadn't thought it necessary with Steve and Nancy (both now legal adults and wasn't the government taking full advantage of that) there as a first line of communication while Joyce wrangled a restless Hop as he settles back in and heals and spars with Owens over payouts and government aide for the town and what the growing military presence was and wasn't allowed to do. With the parents occupied the kids had come together tighter than ever, focusing on their injured and recovering from the nightmare fuel that was their spring break. No one noticed.

She can't help the rant she falls into as they drive through checkpoints and past regular civilians being escorted through areas a little too close to a Gate for comfort. She goes on about how half of the soldiers act like Steve is just one of them and the other half treat him with the same cautious curiosity they do Eleven-Jane whenever she makes her way to the 'front lines' these days. She wants to get the weird boy-speak head nods too! Even Nancy gets them, especially when she's walking around with her sawed-off strapped to a jerry-rigged hip-holster. Robin has used Darlin' before, she's speed poured Molotov Cocktails to hand to soldier boys trying not to piss their pants as Steve and Nancy barked orders as they tried to down a demogorgon fresh from the Upside-Down. Where's her battlefield camaraderie?

It makes him laugh and shake his head fondly as he calls her crazy and weird with that soft smile on his face that makes her chest feel warm and fuzzy like her parents' hugs used to when she was 10 and crawled into their bed after having a nightmare. She doesn't tell him to be careful as they turn down onto Main street or to make sure he comes back in one piece as he rolls to a stop in front of the dark storefront. She starts on another tangent about him abandoning her to the drudgery of Capitalism as he gets to frolic in the woods with a bunch of burly men with their toys before he laughingly reaches over her to open her door to start pushing her out of the car. He smiles big and dopey as she practically spills onto the asphalt, still rambling away about neglectful soulmates and abuses of driving power with smatterings of claims that she'll take over his apartment if he dies and use his ashes as fertilizer for the plants he's taken to keeping on the fire-escape outside the living room window if he dares to leave her alone to babysit his hellions.

He shoots back a final, "Love you too Bobby!" before taking off towards where he's meeting the scientists and soldiers he's supposed to lead through Upside Down infected woods. As he leaves her standing on the sidewalk he doesn't make any sort of promise to be safe, to let the government goons just do their job, to make it back to her alive or in one piece. Not even to make it back to her. She plays with the locket she's taken to wearing that holds a curled up braid of hair shades darker than hers or anyone's in her family.

She doesn't watch his car to the end of the street like she might have before Spring Break, after their Starcourt 'adventure', instead she takes a deep breath and unlocks the dumb video store in this dumb town full of dumb people who don't know when to call it quits and just get the hell out of Dodge. She boots up the computer leaving it to warm up while she starts sorting through whatever mess the new shmucks Steve insisted they hire to cover what times the two of them couldn't because of the Arcade (which they had also gone and hired more staff for now that people weren't one tremor away from rioting in the streets) and Upside Down/ government related shenanigans they ended up getting dragged into.

The bell above the door jingles and she has to bite back a groan. "Welcome to Family Video, I literally just got here so you're gonna have to give me a minute before I can help you."

"Afraid we've only got movies round here, officer. You want any other medium of entertainment I'd suggest the arcade or the distribution yard." She won't turn to face him, not sure she can keep her cool if she does right now. Her hands move on muscle memory, shuffling papers into their proper piles and flipping open VHS cases to check if they need to be rewound. "Sorry, guess we'll have to catch up another time."

"I'm uh, I'm not here for a movie." She may have only heard his voice a couple of times and in passing but she didn't call her ears little geniuses for nothing. She forces her body to relax, lowering her shoulders the way Steve taught her to and keeping her voice light like Eddie walked her through, calling on his Theatre Kid skill set to teach the Party how to convincingly lie improvise when being questioned by people who really did not need to know just what was going on in good old Hawkins.

She can hear him sigh and can't help but picture his hand running over the fuzz on his head the way Steve runs his hands through his coif more and more nowadays in a way he never did before Nancy, before he got pulled into this bullshit and Hopper was rumored to be the one signing his paperwork and taking responsibility for him when his parents didn't show up after an almost week long stay at the hospital. "Look, I know you don't like me. And it has been brought to my attention just how much I fucking earned that. But I- I need your help here. To fix it."

There's not much that surprises Robin Buckley these days. She gets queasy at the sight of ground beef and meatloaf covered in ketchup, the big friendly dogs a few doors down at the O'Reilly place she used to pet and give snacks to on her way to and from school make her blood run cold, she can't watch the old Russian movies she and her dad used to stay up late watching together without having nightmares after and she's sleeping with a nightlight by her bed for the first time since she was six. But it takes a lot to surprise her. Jim Hopper might have just done it.

She doesn't stop moving, doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of throwing her off. She fiddles with the sharp little knife she has tucked up her shirt sleeve in the little sheath she and Steve put together between shuffling papers, taps at the button on her vest hiding the mic attached to the walkie talkie that never leaves her pocket these days. When she finally turns to look at him she's not surprised by the thinness of his frame or the way his eyes and cheeks still look a little sunken in. She sees the tired father worried for his kids and his people and his town, angry at the government for their involvment and their stupidity that she had come to expect. She is not expecting the remorse, the fear, she sees looking back at her. She wonders for a moment what he sees when he looks at her, at any of the teens and kids and young adults he's fought alongside trying to stop the end of the world.

"Fine. He'll be back from his patrol-" He looks mildly confused for a moment, meaning Joyce hadn't been passing along even the minimal information Nancy and Steve had been giving her to relay to Hop and the rest of the Party. That would have to be it's own discussion at some point probably. "-in about twenty minutes. You have fifteen. Now why should I help you?"

"You care about Harringt- Steve. You're close, the two of you have been basically Siamese Twins since Starcourt from what I hear. I- I realize that I made a mistake dumb enough shitting Mike Wheeler is making more sense than me, that I fucked up in a way I don't fucking know how to fix. And I am asking. Politely. For your help."

Honestly she's not sure she believes him. Honestly he's surprised her more times in the last five minutes than most anything or anyone else has in the last year. The man has a lot to unpack and the situation with Steve is just a drop in the man's pile of shit he's managed to bury himself under but maybe there's some hope yet.

She checks the watch on her wrist (an obscenely expensive piece Steve got from one of his parents' rich friends at a holiday party he was too young to remember on a leather band that he had outgrown and never got around to replacing) and looks back at Hop. Ten more minutes. "Why are you here?"

Hop groans in that growly sort of way that makes her think of her grandpa Dale, a great bear of a man who had given the best hugs with shoulders to put Jim Hopper to shame. The no-longer-chief runs his hand over his fuzz again, one hand propped on his hip as he shifts his weight to one side and she tamps down the flicker of biting anger at another example of the ways Steve had shaped himself after a man who never gave him the respect or care he deserved.

"I don't know how to fix what I fucked up. Steve's a good kid, I can admit that now. And he didn't deserve my bullshit just cause I couldn't get past old highschool biases. I wasn't there for him like I should have been- like I told him I would be when I signed those papers. But he's not the kid I thought he was, he's nothing like his folks or the other trust fund brats who think they run this shithole town. I don't know what I'm doing. I just know that kid deserves better than I've been doing."

She hums like she's mulling over his little speech to hide the way she's freaking out a little over what to say to all that. Even she doesn't know how she and Steve got to where they are beyond being tortured by Russians for information they didn't have then being drugged out of their minds while fighting inter-dimensional flesh monsters. But she doesn't think that would help Hop much in this situation.

But she thinks she believes him. At least for now.

"Alright, I'll help you with Steve." Hop sighs, his shoulders dropping as he seems to unclench slightly. Seriously, that much tension cannot be good for him after being in a Russian gulag for almost a year. "But not because I think you deserve it. You were right, Steve deserves better, but he wants you and Joyce and the kids to be in his life. Be a part of it. That is the only reason I will help you. He deserves a better dad than the one he's had and for some reason he thinks you're like super-dad."

"I- How the fuck did I not- What the hell?"

Robin shrugs, "The human brain is good at weeding out what it doesn't want to see. You didn't want to see Steve until you had to and that realization brought you to me. So. Ignorance is bliss and all that."

"So what do I do?"

She checks her watch again. "He'll be running late, especially if the fissure he's checking out is as bad as we think it is. So you have time to run back home, get Joyce to make extra of whatever monstrosity of a casserole she's trying to make this week and you get your rugrats to figure out a way to be the last drop off after Steve takes the brats to the arcade later instead of sleeping off whatever knocks he gets on patrol today. Then instead of letting him head home you make him come inside for dinner. Use the excuse of finding out he's been doing patrols if you have to. But you make him go inside and sit his ass down and eat something and you let him just- let him just be, Hop." She's running out of time but there is just so much she wants to get through to him. "Just make him feel like you see him."

"I- I'll try."

"Yeah, sure. Just-" She bites back the vitriol she wants to projectile vomit in his direction. "Just don't hurt him again. He's more than just a babysitter or front lines muscle. And I will make you wish you were back with the Russians if you make him forget that."

"I believe you."

"Good." The bell over the door jingles again and she looks past Hop to see a group of teenagers making their way to the comedies. "Now I have to get to work and you need to not be here by the time Steve comes to check on me. So talk to you later, Chief."

"Right. Thanks for your help, kid."

She shrugs him off as he turns to head out. The teens are watching him not-so-discreetly as they try to act like they're looking through the latest releases. She forgets that the man is as much a mystery as the heavy-duty military forces that have taken over their small town.

"Alright, folks. What are we looking for today?" She still technically has a job to do even if the kids keep their distance from her like they do the rest of the Party who at this point have all been seen either spending time with said heavy-duty military forces or chasing something into the dark of the forest wielding weapons smeared in monster blood, or both. It's going to be a long day.

Tag list (I think this is everyone?)(if your tag didn't work let me know cause they don't always work for me Idk why):

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth @dead-cherry-bitch @irethsune @ink777 @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner @ledleaf @pansexuality-activated @paintsplatteredandimperfect @kinryuuki @yikes-a-bee @altocumulustranslucidus @ohimamarigold @samsoble @sensationalsunburst @xxbottlecapx @y4r3luv @swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @rootbeerandmusic @vinteraltus @wonderland-girl143-blog @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @steddie-as-they-go @steveshairspray86 @youdrewstarsxaroundmyscars @i-amthepizzaman @wormapothacary @croatoan-like-its-hot @maya-custodios-dionach @ineffable-monster-romancer @asquareinverona @ellietheasexylibrarian @pukner @bookworm0690 @nightmareglitter @joekeerysmoles @salchica @lawrencebshoggoth @iheartjennaaa @child-of-cthulhu @anaibis @rocochen20 @katdeerly @samcoxramblings

[koolades-world]

One bed troupe w/ Lucifer

You were out on a tour of the Devildom with Diavolo, Lucifer, Solomon, Luke, and Simeon. Diavolo wanted to promote the exchange program further, and let the Devildom see the faces of the wonderful angels and humans that had come to stay with them. They would be out with the group for about a week in order to tour the entire realm. It really wasn’t necessary for Lucifer to be there. In fact, it would have been better for him to stay behind to keep his brothers in check and run the school, but, he had insisted on coming along. His brothers joked it was to stay with Diavolo, but they were secretly mad that Lucifer got to go and they had to stay, jealous about the quality time he would get with you.

It was day four in the trip, which was about halfway through. The day was finally over, and the group was finally returning to the hotel. They hadn’t been the one to move their luggage into the rooms. The room arrangements were as following: Luke and Simeon, of course, Diavolo and Solomon, and finally you and Lucifer. Simeon didn't want to leave Luke alone, and Diavolo enjoyed sharing a room with someone. Lucifer was definitely torn between who to bunk with. It was clear he wanted to keep both you and Diavolo safe from the sketchy sorcerer, but Diavolo insisted he would be just fine with Solomon, and even saw it as a bonding experience. He was rich enough to avoid this altogether, but found the experience novel and once-in-a-lifetime. It was typical of Diavolo to look at the situation that way, which left you and Lucifer together. Dia and Solomon got along surprisingly well, much to Lucifer's dismay, and on the first night alone they painted each others nails and ordered three hundred grim worth of food.

Once reaching your room, you kicked off your shoes and sat at the small kitchen in the hotel room. Lucifer followed behind them, moving their shoes out of the way of the door. He shut the door behind himself, and took off his own shoes more carefully to set them beside theirs. He saw both sets of luggage propped up beside each other, one set black and one set pink. The cute bag tag that Mc had made him adorned his own, complete with his name and bedazzlement.

“Luci, my feet hurt.” You whined to him. He chuckled at your behavior.

“Go and take a warm shower, or bath if you see fit. That will help. We have a few hours before dinner.” You nodded, agreeing and promise to be quick. He opened his suitcase and began looking for a new outfit to wear the evening. You took your own suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom. He turned around to lay out the outfit on whichever bed he should call his, but to his surprise, there was only one. He stopped for a moment, holding the suit. Did Diavolo do this on purpose? Was this a mistake? He found himself thinking for a good moment. He knew he wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with his beloved Mc, but he didn’t want to make you do anything they didn’t want to. He decided to lay out his outfit on a nearby chair instead, leaving the bed untouched. He busied himself in the kitchen instead, poking around for anything that could be his saving grace. He was only able to find some dishes and dishwasher soap.

You finally emerged from the bathroom, with damp hair and wearing a robe, suitcase in tow. “Luci! The robes at this hotel are so nice. I should get one for home.” The way you were affectionately enamored with every small thing in the Devildom warmed his heart. He would have to buy one for you. In any other situation, he hated that damned nickname, but he could never bring himself to stop you from using it.

“Can we talk for a moment?” He decided to bring this up sooner than later. He was a grown demon and running from his problems would not help.

“Sure thing! What’s up?” You set your suitcase down, right back next to his.

It took him a moment to say what he wanted to. Having you in front of him made it much more difficult then he initially thought. "I believe there has been a mistake. We only have one bed." He studied your face for any negative changes. To his surprise, there wasn't one.

"I thought it was going to be much worse that that with the face you were making. I don't mind if you don't." You smiled at him. He found his face heating up and he glanced away. "No need to be shy! This way, one of us won't be super far from the TV. My favorite part about staying in hotels is watching TV in bed and now I get to do it with my favorite demon. Don’t tell Mammon I said that." You giggled.

Lucifer covered his face with his hand. He got up and turned his back to you. "I'm off to shower. See that you are ready to go in an hour." He blindly tried to walk into the bathroom and instead hit his head on the wall before walking through the doorway. You laughed at how flustered he was. Since he was busy, you decided to snuggle up on the side of the bed with the outlet closest so you could charge their D.D.D. They turned on the TV and watched the Devildom cooking show intently. If anyone asked, it was to "acclimate to Devildom culture" but really it was because they enjoyed watching cooking and yelling at the screen. Solomon called you at some point, so the two of you began amiably chatting about the hotel rooms.

Lucifer emerged from the shower pretty quickly and saw you under the sheets, watching TV and talking to Solomon. He picked up on context clues and quickly asked if he could talk to Diavolo. His mood was slightly soured when you rejected his request because you were having a great conversation about the TV show and because Diavolo would not help him get a different room. He decided to get changed while you talked with his least favorite human. Time passed quickly and before he knew it, dinner was over.

You could tell Lucifer had drank a little more than he usually would and was tipsy. He was much taller than you, yet you were the one dragging him in the right direction. You told him to go get changed, and he came back with his clothes folded. He was in a pair of simple black pajamas. You almost preferred him this way, actually. He didn’t try to hide how he felt or anything, but you still felt guilty about it.

He flopped down on the bed, sprawled out, leaving the bathroom open. The pajamas Mc had were long sleeves and long pants. During the day, the Devildom was scorching. However, at night, it was freezing. It rarely snowed or iced over, and most demons barely noticed it. But you for sure as hell did. You learned there was barely a day where you could wear something light, unless you knew one of the brothers would be in your bed since they made nice heaters. Belphie gifted you a heating pad, which quickly made him your favorite for that week, much to the dismay of his brothers. Once you changed, you entered the main room again. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you pushed at Lucifer’s side until he finally rolled over.

“Luci! You’re laying on the remote.” The TV was going wild. Flickers of your cooking show came and went as Lucifer cycled through the many channels at an extreme speed. He dug around underneath himself until he found it and passed it to you. As you began looking for your channel again, you felt a pair of crimson eyes on you.

“I don’t tell you you’re gorgeous enough.” His words caught you by surprise. “You’re gorgeous.” He would never usually say that. Everything always went unsaid or physically communicated. You stared at him for a moment. His face was half illuminated by the flickering TV screen and was nestled under the sheets, like a bird would. You followed suit soon as the room began to grow colder and colder, indicating nightfall. You began to shiver, pressing your hand against your face for warmth.

You felt hands over yours. They were very warm. You turned and caught Lucifer staring right into your eyes. "Next time, tell me if you're cold." He pulled you close, granting you the well needed warmth. He wrapped himself around you. Usually, he was never this cuddly, but you didn't complain. Without him, you might literally freeze to death. The past few hotels had compensated, and given you warmer sheets, and whatever else they could to make you comfortable. This one had not. Lucifer tucked your head under his chin. Your hands were still half frozen, so to keep them intact, he placed them on Lucifer's hips. With you in his arms, Lucifer passed out pretty quickly. You continued watching their show.

Half asleep, you tried to continue watching the TV, your eyes fluttering shut occasionally. You awoke with a startle every time. Your D.D.D. lit up after a while, to which it took you a moment to register. It was a text from Solomon, which read: "Hope you're having a good night. Thank Diavolo and I later ;)" You definitely had some opinions about this since if it didn't work out, you might have actually frozen to death. They would be getting an earful tomorrow.

You sighed, not upset nor happy. Of course Solomon did this. Oh well. It gave you the opportunity to see the other side of Lucifer and gave you something to tease him about. Plus, he was really cute cuddly and without it they might actually freeze. (Note to self: Lucifer is the best personal heater!)

The next morning, Lucifer seemed embarrassed with himself. Lucifer stirring had waken you up, so you got to see his initial reaction. He didn't say anything, and got up pretty quickly.

"You're very warm. I might need to borrow you during winters." You laughed as he hurried off to the bathroom without a word. You would never get tired of his charming antics.

[spartanseagoat]

Pick a gif intuitive Reading- What to expect during this Uranus Gemini transit?

Disclaimer: this reading is for entertainment purposes only. You have free will to make your life choices. Take what resonates and leave the rest. Thank you and enjoy your reading!

There are 4 piles to choose from. Take a deep breath and whatever number 1-4 pops in your head is your pile. You can also choose by seeing which gif resonates with you more.

Pile 1

Pile 2

Pile 3

Pile 4

Pile 1

- oh! I heard “getting shit done” you all are not playing at all when it comes to living the life you want. You all cut so many ppl out your life. You don’t even miss them either lol, it giving “we’re just strangers with shared memories now.” Lol. I keep seeing a bee so you are on the move constantly. Are some of you all business owners or thinking about owning one? I just get this vibe that you’re trying to build something that has an impact on your community. Your energy is very business oriented. If not owning a business then you’re just making serious life decisions. You might’ve had a go with the flow attitude, now you’re being more practical with your decisions. Yeah, I don’t even know have much to say because you’re so focused on getting yourself together, you’re not really focused on anything much. I am getting you will have 2 prominent relationships(platonic and romantic) during this transit.

Pile 2

- I love this energy so much lol. Y’all are about to have a time!! I hear ���celebrate the fruits of your labor” okay so, this entire decade has been trash for you lol. It’s been one thing after another but you kept on going. The universe has seen your efforts and things will get better for you starting in 1-2 yaers. The rewards will be small that leads to bigger ones. I’m hearing you need to let that one toxic person that you know is toxic go. I feel this is a long time friend but their energy is sketchy. Very much have a Love-hate thing for you. They energetically block your blessings. Romance and fun dates will also be a theme. This is very much 5th house/leo energy. Also Libra vibes as well.

Pile 3

-not you all beefing with your family members😭😅. See, you’re older and wiser and have gotten fed up with toxic family members. They smile in your face but talk shit behind your back. You tried to be cordial but it’s driving you crazy. Speak your peace but I advise not to lose yourself in the anger. Channel it into a creative project. Your inner child is angry but your inner teen is feeling rebellious. For you, these next few years is doing the things you felt restricted to do when you were a child. Some of you grew up in deeply religious homes and you outgrew those beliefs. For others, I’m hearing different political beliefs with family as well. Yeah you’re changing your appearance too, I’m seeing you embrace this 90s grunge era lol. I just feel this fed tf up energy from you all

Pile 4

- similar to pile 3 with this teenage angst energy coming from you but it’s not as loud as pile 3. You guys are giving me to cool for school vibes. Yall are kind of petty but you like it 😭. Very sarcastic group. You all have this “whatever.” Attitude that you’re developing but it’s making ppl feel 2 types of ways:

-they think you’re dope asf and love this nonchalant attitude of yours. May unintentionally attract ppl to you. This is the energy of how new the people will view you.

-people who’ve known you for years will be shocked by this vibe from you. I sense you’re the type to overthink and worry about everything but now you’re going more with the flow. Very few will embrace this new you, others think you’re being lazy or going through a phase.

Either way, you’re not carrying what ppl think anymore and will start to have tho sarcastic ass energy about you lol. You do care though, just not letting it overwhelm you every 2 seconds.

Thank you! I hope you enjoy your reading! Follow, like, reblog if you want to see more of my content.

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader | p. 8

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

a/n I'm so sorry for the hiatus. My mental health isn't where it should be, and my brain isn't in writing mode. I finally got this written down, and I left it alone for a while until I felt a bit more creative again. Hopefully, this chapter is good enough. Love you all!

-> <-

June 1983 . . . again

It’s so silly to be upset about something as ridiculous as a birthday. Big deal! You’ve had plenty of those in the past.

This morning you crumpled up a piece of paper taped to your fridge into a tight enough ball that your fingers began to pierce the flesh of your hands. Then, you toss the stupid note into the trash. Your mom left again. This time she and Brad are going to his vacation house.

Brad is yet another nobody she met after her shift at the strip joint in the sketchy part of town. Rich men flock to escape unhappy marriages, and pray on the poor sad strippers. Your mom keeps having too much hope that one of these men will pay-out and he will buy her a big fancy house. Unfortunately for her, their ruse will always draw her in. She does a few lines with them, and lays on her back for less than she’s worth. How could she even bring herself to this?

Eddie does try to cheer you up when he shows up to your house for the annual birthday celebration and the lights are dim throughout the house, and you’re slumped over your sofa like a deflated balloon. Somehow he coaxes you to get off of that couch. He encourages you to get yourself dressed by handing you shirts and handing you pants until he gets a grunt of approval out of you.

After you put on your clothes, you’re practically carried out to his van. You hesitate. After your mom swore something bad would happen if you get into his van, you’ve been sneaking rides now and again. Eddie’s also been giving you lessons when she’s not around. You frown. Gripping the handle tight, and with purpose, you swing open the passenger side door.

“Yes!” Eddie pats the seat next to him. Your boldened confidence sparks joy in him. That is until you give him the meanest mug known to man. And, you don’t mean to be harsh. You actually don’t realize that Eddie’s heart sinks when you grouch like this.

Rubber hitting gravel tunes out your huffing and puffing. When you hit the pavement, the shocks thud underneath you. Eddie says he’ll fix those eventually. He can’t fix the band equipment rolling in the back though. That’s something that just happens because he’s the only one in the band with a big enough rig to store all of this junk.

“I forgot to ask if you’re hungry,” Eddie says over the gray cloud covering your head.

You thunk your head against the window. It’s nearly eleven in the morning, and you haven’t had anything to eat. You’re not hungry. But, your stomach disagrees letting out the most aggravating groan. Why do bodies do that? The moment that someone mentions food, or when the room gets quiet - your stomach growls. It’s humiliating!

“I could eat,” you hold your stomach.

The way through to you is almost always food, or a brand new book. Eddie doesn’t have the time to drive all the way to Indianapolis to get you books from The Bookshelf, which is your favorite place to receive books from (or so Eddie can guess because he hasn’t gotten you anything you hate yet). So, he instead takes you to the next best place; Benny’s Diner.

It’s a hot spot. That’s mostly because it has been almost the only spot since ‘53. Yes, you’ve heard enough of Wayne’s stories from his younger years. He and his brother, Al, spent enough time downing milkshakes and getting brain freezes there. A part of you wants to ask Eddie more about his father, and if he is truly as bad as this town says he is. Eddie pretends not to recall a lot of his youth that was spent with his father, but behind those big brown eyes he’s got stories he could tell if he wanted too.

You slide your way into a booth across from Eddie after being seated by a snooty waitress with low hanging jowls and no patience for the teenagers, who, arguably, gives Benny’s the most buisness.

Some jock from the basketball team clambers over the back of the booth like a monkey to scoop fries off an innocent girl’s plate. Rightfully so, she swats at him, then aims a bottle of ketchup at his nose.

“Hey Wheeler,” the man dubbed ‘King Steve Harrington’ cups his hands around his mouth like a bird call to get the attention of Nancy Wheeler, who is just a booth and a half away with a thick chapter book between her fingertips.

Nancy meekly looks up without saying a word.

“It’s summer time,” he snorts. “What are you reading for?”

Tommy, another bone-head, clocks Steve in the shoulder with an open palm. This seems to encourage Steve’s prepubescent behavior. And, Steve jogs over to the table to bother Nancy some more.

What more is there to say about Steve? Steve Harrington. The man had enough brain cells to form one thought, and that was usually “party at my house!” Yes, after every basketball game that the Tigers won (which is a lot of games to be fair), you could find almost every member of the student body at his house.

It seems that Steve doesn’t care that his parents are never home. You wonder what they do to live in such a cushy house that’s bigger than most of the houses combined in Hawkins. Maybe you wouldn’t mind living like this if your family was rich too.

“What can I get you?” The waitress holds her pad of paper in one hand, and a sparkling red pen in the other. She puts all of her weight on one hip, so she can tap the other foot on the tile below. Her patience is running thin, and those kids on the other side of the restaurant are really starting to make her angry.

You speed through the menu, “strawberry milkshake and fries.”

Eddie orders a burger that he asks to be left a little bloody. When she glares at him, he moves on to order a vanilla milkshake without a wince when she snatches his menu from his hands.

Usually, Eddie will order some kind of burger that he has to add extra bacon and extra onions on top of. His favorite line is usually “bloody and stinky.”

If you weren’t feeling so bummed about your birthday, you might ask him if he’s on a diet. That always revs him up to push his stomach out and to talk with his belly button. Sometimes Eddie can be so childish - and really, you find him funny.

Today you wanted to be under five feet of dirt. You could finally get some peace and quiet after all that humming and worrying that goes on in between your ears. Your mom should be worried about you - not the other way around.

Eddie watches you become the booth behind you. Someone might as well have thrown water on you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you started sobbing ‘I’m melting!’ right about now. Not like he’s seen the Wizard of Oz or anything. It’s not important enough to ever be mentioned out loud.

“Happy birthday?” Eddie tries to cheer you up. “Look, I know it’s not a cake and some candles. I don’t know. My dad and I never celebrated my birthday, and look how I turned out.”

You try not to be mean, so you let a sarcastic comment slide off your tongue. “You have tobacco in your teeth.”

The habit Eddie promises himself to quit. It’s just cigarettes, weed and the occasional sip of beer or two (or downing half a case by himself) for him. He’s got to stay healthy if he wants to make it to fifty. That’s high balling his life span. Okay, let’s say Corroded Coffin makes the big leagues in a couple of years, and Eddie at least wants ten good years with them - thirty. Thirty years is well enough for Eddie Munson. Er- that math isn’t right. Is it?

Eddie sucks the tobacco leaves out from his teeth, while you pick at the napkin in front of you. Seeing you so down nearly tears him in two. Having an absent parent himself, he knows the disappointment that’s eating you from the inside out. For years, Eddie would wake up in hopes that his dad would just show up completely sober. If he’s really optimistic that day, then his mom would come too. They’d be a big happy family and live in the suburbs. There would even be space for uncle Wayne.

Eddie knows the fantasy is just that. But, it isn’t about him. Your head is nearly touching the table, and he’s not so sure how to fix this. There isn’t really a way to fix this, is there?

The waitress returns with two shakes that she places down in front of you. A straw emerges from her apron pocket. She leaves you.

Your milkshake is questionably pink, but the real chunks of strawberries pressing against the glass make you forget what you’re about to consume. A glass of whatever the chefs get in those prepackaged containers that come in powdery. With a little mix of some milk, you’ll hardly taste the chemicals. with chunks of strawberries pressing against the glass. A wedge of whipped cream towers atop the shake with a strawberry dipped right on top.

Something that Eddie realized recently is how bright your eyes get when you’re excited. Inflating like a balloon, you sit straight up to stick the straw into the thick shake. Your lips kiss the straw without much thought, as Eddie begins to drift away from the restaurant.

In front of him, Eddie could dive deep into why he’s chosen you as his best friend. Because at first Wayne was just babysitting the neighbor kid and you could have easily been ignored from the next day after. Eddie finds you interesting.

Your lashes flutter away from him to the space behind him. As though in slow motion, his fantasy snaps.

“Jeff!” The sugar has already rushed to your brain in the absence of food, and in a fog you hiccup, “Hi, Gareth!”

Eddie whips around in time, before the two boys get too close to the booth. Their clothes are sticking to their bodies, and a fair amount of sweat graces their foreheads. Aside from being sticky, their mood is pleasant. Jeff tucks a helmet under his arm, as he approaches in a cool step.

Gareth swipes the sweat from his brow because really the hair sticking to him makes him itch, before causing a rash due to him mindlessly scratching his forehead off. He resists the tempting sting.

Meanwhile, Gareth also refuses to admit that the reason he stopped Jeff on their bike ride into town is because you’re sitting at a booth across from Eddie. Despite knowing how close you are as friends, there’s a grumpy troll deep in his belly that’s stomping on his gut that tells him to ‘just make sure.’ He rolls his shoulders back, and begs his face to quit frowning.

“Who knew the circus was in town?” Jason Carver cups his hands around his mouth. “Freaks!”

Chrissy Cunningham whacks him across the chest for being rude. As much as she likes Jason, his attitude towards the nerdy group that they all share the same high school with does really bother her. She puts up with him because she’s already introduced him to her parents, and maybe in a few years he’ll calm down.

While Jeff, Eddie and Gareth are more or less used to the treatment they receive from the goon squad, you can’t help but notice the way Gareth shoots a glare behind himself. This goes ignored by Jason, as one of the girls at the table has a spilled her soda. Surely, Jason would have caught the venomous stare and thrown Gareth halfway across the room. You don’t go looking for that sorry of trouble.

“‘Sup!” Jeff greats Eddie and yourself. “What are you two up too?”

“It’s her birthday,” even though he does like Jeff and Gareth, Eddie wishes the boys could take a hint and scram. Jeff has other intentions and does the polar opposite by plopping down nearly on Eddie’s lap.

“Happy birthday, girl!” Jeff wishes. “Got any big plans for the day?”

You shrug, “my mom is out of town, so I don’t really have anything going on.”

“What’s she out of town for?” The boy scrunches his nose up, and Eddie elbows him in the side. A desperate attempt on his part to get Jeff to shut-the-hell-up. “Business?”

“Sort of,” if only the business your mom conducted brought more money back to the house, instead of drugs.

A tickle lifts inside your throat that you swallow down. Perhaps the glossiness in your eyes could be hidden behind your lashes, and suddenly your drink becomes a lot more interesting. Flicking the condensation on the glass, Jeff leans over to whisper to Eddie about something.

“Gareth,” Jeff turns to the boy standing awkwardly at the head of the table. He hasn’t dared sit next to you, yet. “Can you entertain the birthday girl? I gotta talk to Eddie about something out back.”

Gareth opens his mouth to protest, but the words die flat on his tongue because Jeff and Eddie have already scooted from the booths. Their “business” is a classic exchange. Gareth’s been apart of a few of these dealings. In some ways, Eddie’s a bit of a douche come pricing on his supplies.

Everyone at Hawkins has bitten into the apple per se. It’s only when they need him that Eddie’s treated decent. So, Gareth supposes Eddie has his reasons to up-charge certain clientele.

There’s no word as to why Gareth gets the treatment, but he supposes there’s a reason or two.

Someone loudly clears their throat behind Gareth. It’s the waitress from earlier holding two hot and heavy plates of food. Gareth apologizes to her rolling eyes, before sliding into the booth across from you without much thought. The waitress drops the food off, then without another word she scurries off back to the kitchen.

“Jesus,” Gareth stares at the grease pile in front of him. “What did Eddie order this time?”

“They definitely spat on that,” you question your fries. “You know Eddie.”

“Oh, yeah,” treating society like they treat him, as always.

Gareth pushes the plate to the right where the sun kisses the burger through the window. It doesn’t look any more appealing in the light than the shadows in front of him. The silence between you and he is filled with drumming that comes from Gareth tapping the table.

You offer him your fries just to get him to knock it off. It’s not annoying, but his fidgeting is making you just as anxious. The tension subsides when Gareth pops a fry into his mouth.

“Can I ask?” He swallows, before speaking.

You raise and drop your shoulders unsure you want to answer. But, Gareth takes this as permission.

“Your mom has been out of town for a while?” It slips as more of a question, but the statement is put out there. Your mom is an absent parent. The only one you have.

“She came home for a short time with-,” you don’t know why you’re still defending her. Maybe she’ll come around one day and she’ll realize how great having a child has been. Doubtfully, “her coworkers. Er- but she suddenly had to go out of town. Meetings.”

The coworkers in question are the bums that stay after hours to give her a reason to party. Lately, the parties have bled into the living room. You’re stuck holding out in your room until they sober up enough to slobber out onto the street like a pack of dogs on the loose.

Dogs behave better than them.

“Meetings,” Gareth repeats as a mutual agreement not to press anymore questions, then quickly pops another fry into this mouth. This time he misses the landing, and the fry darts off of his cheek.

It’s hard to remember when the two of you hardly got along. That Gareth had been stubborn enough to decide that you would become a distraction for Eddie and the band would suffer. It now seems that there’s a different storm brewing instead of the one before it.

You cover your mouth, but the sweet melody brushes past your lips. Gareth goes a bit pink in the face, as he covers up the glee that he has at least amused you today.

The diner has quieted by the large group of teenagers getting up, and leaving through the front door. Nancy stays at her table reading a chapter book, and is most certainly grateful they’ve all gone. She won’t admit to keeping Steve Harrington’s phone number, but she will tuck the napkin tight in her pocket.

Music plays overhead that you hadn’t heard when you first came in. It’s fifties. An appropriate theme for how old the diner looks. Bright red booths. Checkered floor. Stainless steel instead of gold metal. It’s classic.

Gareth watches your eye wander away from him, as he decides how he wants to pull your attention back in. If he didn’t know any better, Jeff and Eddie were taking a suspicious amount of time to get back. That’s not to say he’s complaining. Any time getting you away from Eddie is getting Gareth that much closer to becoming bolder about his intentions with you.

Your heart skips inside your chest when Gareth’s knee knock into yours underneath the table. In not so many words, you hear him out and you understand him. A bit of relief settles your belly, but not before another aggravated weight of tension.

Pavlov and his damn dogs! That familiar jingle of the front door has both Gareth and you scooting back in your chairs. The heat from his body fades away from you.

Eddie and Jeff return.

“I told you they wouldn’t kill each other,” Jeff snorts.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Actually,” Gareth stands, so Eddie could have his place in the booth again. “We should get going.”

“I got something to do later,” Jeff pats his left pocket at his hip. No one is as amused as he is by his joke, but you pity him a laugh.

Before they can leave, a hand swings out to grab Gareth by the wrist. Eddie’s got wild eyes and a goofy grin. The boy is devilish, but he’s not the devil.

“What?” Gareth raises his brow.

Eddie retracts his grasp, and instead replaces it for an open palm reaching towards Gareth. “You owe me ten.”

“Eddie,” you scold. “He didn’t even touch your burger and he only ate a bite off of my food.”

Over the last couple years, Eddie has gotten better and better at the theatrics. When your at school together, he has this little habit of standing on top of lunch tables. You’ve gotten cautious now, and you’ll move your lunch before he kicks goalie kicks it across the room. Does he practice these monologues? One will never know with him.

“Not for breakfast, sweetheart,” his tone is firm. You’ve never been ‘sweatheart’ before. Sure, you have nicknames for each other. That’s just - weird. “I saw you with Jeff the other day. Ten bucks, big boy.”

Jeff and Gareth smoke sometimes from the stash that Eddie gives Jeff. After upping the charge for Gareth, they have a method that outsmarts Eddie. Or, at least their method used to outsmart him. Despite flunking a few classes, Eddie’s quick as a whip in his street smarts. There’s no getting around him!

“Come on,” Gareth protests, but reaches around for his wallet. “You can’t share amongst your good friends?”

“There’s nothing in the rules that says you can’t,” Eddie explains, “but, when you’re explicitly smoking from him to snag a free deal - Gareth, I feel duped!”

“Eddie,” you scold with open palms face down on the table. “It’s my birthday, and you can’t torture my friends on my birthday.”

Eddie snorts in disbelief, “it’s Gareth.”

You’re stone cold. That look might just pop Eddie’s head clear off. When did you give a shit about Gareth?

There hasn’t been a time yet that you’ve expressed any concern over Gareth. Jeff - yes. There was the time that Jeff had a paper due, you went through his mistakes in red ink, so that he could make corrections. You’re really good at writing. You should be with all the time you’re stuck in those notebooks writing away, and never letting anyone take a peak. Or, when Jeff needed to learn how to bake cookies for his Home Ec final. You were there too. But Gareth? Were you ill?

Eddie’s expression softens as he releases Gareth.

“Fine,” he sighs, “I’ll let it go.”

Gareth isn’t quite sure if he should thank you in front of Jeff and Eddie. Mostly because Eddie keeps one-eyeing him over his burger. Jeff wants to ask how you learned that trick on Eddie, as he can be quite persistent when he wants something done his own. Meanwhile, you’re snacking on another fry like it was nothing.

Before Eddie wants to start any more trouble, Jeff whisks Gareth away in a flash. They’ll probably smoke together, while digging an even bigger trench that they’re in with Eddie.

You’re left to enjoy a quiet meal with your best friend. Occasionally, you beg him to chew the food in his mouth with his lips shut. You’ll give up sometime when the burger is halfway down and done with.

Eddie won’t let you pay even though he’s practically down to dimes, quarters and dollar bills. It’s your birthday, and you’re going to be treated like the golden princess you are. Anything to let Eddie see your gleaming white smile is a win to him.

You don’t have a chance to spend much time with Eddie because he’s got an unspecified “something” to do today. It’s probably the band. They’re practicing this afternoon.

With that, you hop back into the passenger seat of his van. Eddie takes the long way around to your house, so you can practice your drum solo on his dash board. Slowly, you’ve picked up on a few of Eddie’s favorite songs. One day you might out-drum Gareth, and you could join the band.

Only in Eddie’s fantasies - not that he has a lot of fantasies about you. There’s an occasional rip in his friendship with you, as he likes to put it. A fluke. You’re not a fluke. It’s all him.

Anyway, you’re landing flat foot in the dirt right in front of your abode. Eddie wouldn’t let you walk the few steps across from his trailer. It’s silly how he does that. You wave like he’s going to be leaving for a journey to a far away land, instead of driving a couple feet and parking his van in front of his trailer.

You’ve got plenty of clean-up left to do inside of your home. There’s dirty dishes piled in the sink, the counters are covered in food and you might as well sweep the floor since you’re in there. The bathroom could also use a mop. Oh, but you might as well clean the entire bathroom. Because what’s the point in mopping if the bathroom isn’t clean?

The clock on your mother’s bed stand reads close to four in the afternoon when you finally finish making her bed with freshly washed sheets. It’s taken you hours, but the home is just starting to smell less like dread and a little more like hope - and lavender. You got a deal on room spray from the bargain store in town.

Stretching your arms way above your head, you decide to celebrate with a hot shower. The water running over your aching shoulders would feel good right about now. Plus, the towels are fresh from the wash as well.

Clean.

It’s such a simple, yet rewarding feeling. You don’t get to experience it all that often.

Cigarettes have stained the walls of your home, and buried themselves deep into your carpet fibers. There’s even a few burns here and there from your mother’s habit of falling asleep with a cigarette between her fingers.

You wrap yourself in a towel and forget about that for a moment. It’s just you and a bottle of lotion across your skin.

From your bedroom window, you can see Eddie pulling into his trailer once again. Back from band practice, Eddie skips up the steps to his trailer. You stop in the moment when Gareth jumps out of the passenger side. A dark t-shirt with missing sleeves and a pair of worn down denim shorts differ from this morning’s sweats. You don’t mean to stare, but really is it that awful to look over the menu? You’re not even ordering anything.

Snorting at yourself, you close the curtain for your own privacy to change and to loosen the thoughts bleeding your innocence. You throw a shirt over your head, and suddenly hear a single knock at your front door. It’s loud like a knock anyways.

Dressing yourself decently in a comfortable pair of pajamas (you have no plans to go anywhere), you head straight to the front door to figure out what the noise could be. Maybe your mom had come back, and she drunkenly forgot her keys.

Actually, the knock is a much prettier sight. There’s a bouquet of flowers in bright rich purples. You wonder who remembered your favorite flowers are these little orchards with the white center. There’s a card poking from the center of the bundle with Eddie, Jeff and Gareth’s nearly illegible handwriting. You hate to call their new band-mate ‘Freak,’ but he has signed the card as well. It says ‘Happy Birthday,’ and you coo.

You pick the bouquet off the porch by the glass vase the flowers are displayed in. Inhaling sweet aromas of warm days reading a good book in a field, you could cry.

“Thank you!” You wave to Gareth and Eddie, who are hiding neck deep in the engine of Eddie’s van pretending not to watch your reaction. They don’t really know much about girls, but you are one and so they try to make you feel different than them. They want you to feel special.

Eddie half waves like he’s too cool to admit what he’s done, but Gareth pops his head from the van and spins around to get a good look at you.

You hardly notice Gareth’s lingering gaze, as you’ve already closed the front door of your house with you inside.

It doesn’t take long for the phone to ring.

“Hello?”

“Are you ready?” Robin’s voice comes through clear and bouncing with energy.

You snicker. “Ready for what?”

“My mom is on her way to pick you up, you’re sleeping over at mine tonight,” she says as a matter-of-fact.

“Am I?”

“Eddie called me,” she explains, “Happy birthday by the way - oh! Your mom is a bitch.”

Robin begins rambling about the times your mom has irritated her because that’s what you two do. Among all things, Robin is your sibling by terms of the longevity of your friendship. She’s the only person to get away with calling out your mom directly to you.

“Robin,” you pause her rant. “If you want me over, I need to get an overnight bag ready.”

“Oh, right,” she clears her throat. “Five minutes.”

“Five?!” You exclaim. The line goes dead.

Oh, Robin. How you love her.

-> <-

[July 1983]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax

[sobbingscripter]

Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader (mdni)

Tags: [adult content][tittyfucking][smaller tiddies][they were roommates][scammerxscammer]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~✧⁠*°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~✧*°

For the first time in his life, Toji's met someone just as skeezy and as sketchy as him.

It's not above you to make bets that you have no intention of fulfilling, making promises that mean nothing because breaking them, was as easy as taking candy from a baby.

Only this time, the baby was a 6 foot 4 man, with broad shoulders, familial trauma and a scar on his upper lip that stood out in the best way imaginable whenever he curled his lip in distaste at whatever smartass comment slipped from your lips across the pinewood dinner table.

"Awww, you disappointed?" You goad Toji, hands resting on your hips, just above the waistband of your sweatpants and you snort at the narrowing of his emerald pools.

You had promised him a titty-fuck if he made dinner, and it was... a feat. Toji had actually read a WikiHow article on how to make pasta, from start to finish, not missing over a single detail and here you were, tiny-titted and mocking him.

"Why don't you... get some bitches?" You snicker, before reaching over for your hoodie once again, the cotton promising warmth that the lack of an air conditioner in winter couldn't even fathom.

"Get on your knees." Toji grits out, hands tugging roughly on the frayed drawstring of his sweatpants, and he shifts, resting back against the sofa, thick muscular thighs parted to give you more access to the visible bulge in his pants.

"Huh?" Your brows furrow.

You weren't expecting that.

"You don't listen for shit but I know you're not deaf." Toji scoffs. "Get on your knees, brat."

He tugs the drawstring, undoing that knot he somehow managed to do with one very talented hand while his other had clutched his phone (you watched because the muscles in his forearm flexed).

"Titties are titties. Even..." Toji's eyes lower to your chest, gaze travelling over the swells, perky mounds that would fill his hands perfectly and he can feel his cock twitch at the mere thought. Pretty nipples that were pulled taut from the chill wind that crept in through the windows, and a low groan left his lips at the way you crossed your arms, your cleavage appearing out of hiding and that pendant dangles just between your breasts, nestled in the crease.

"Even tits that are attached to smart-mouthed, lazy, perverted, sick fucks like you."

Toji finishes what *could* be a compliment, in a mean way.

"Is this because I signed you up for that thing?" You frown, but you don't argue over anything, not that you'd really want to.

Your roommate's... pretty hot.

Especially when he wears those tight compression shirts that have you biting your knuckles, when he leans on the doorframe in that way that makes your throat bulge like a bullfrog, ready to take whatever he's willing to give.

"No." Toji grunts. "I don't give a shit about the missionaries who keep trying to give my life purpose."

Toji grabs you by the front of your pendant, pulling you towards him (forcing you to walk because you don't want to break the necklace).

And strong hands move to brace your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees and he shifts, lowering the ribbed waistband of his pants, just enough to free his thick cock.

Veiny, almost the size of your forearm, with a fiery tip leaking beads of precum and he wraps a scarred hand around the base of himself, before tapping his cock on your plump bottom lip.

"Put your tits together."

Toji's instructions leave no room for arguing and you shift closer, hands cupping the underside of your chest and pushing your breasts together, and Toji gives himself a few lazy strokes, spreading the slick of his precum all along his thick shaft. And he runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

"Do you have a condom?" You question, head tilted as you remain, hands cupping your breasts.

"No, I'm clean." He dismisses.

"But what if I'm not?"

Toji stares at you, before snorting.

"*Right*." He scoffs. "Like you could get a sexually transmitted disease, keyword, sexual."

It's a jab at your inactive sex life, only consisting of audio porn and a vibrator with batteries that you snatched from the TV remote. And Toji shifts, making himself more comfortable.

"Come on, get to it." Toji hums, his broad chest heaving with a heavy exhale.

"I can't reach."

Your words make his jaw clench, and he shifts, grabbing a few pillows and lifting you just enough for him to kick the layered pillows beneath your knees, giving you enough leverage.

And he's nestled between the small mounds, bows knitting as he watches the way you move clumsily, your hands slipping frequently, brows knitted in concentration, and he rests his head back against the sofa.

Watching you through half-lidded eyes.

"You've never done this, huh." Toji mocks, before he pulls away.

"Lie down."

"On the sofa, or on the floor?" You question and you're only met with a shrug, before you lie on the carpeted floor, a pillow beneath your head and your eyes widen momentarily when Toji straddles your waist.

"Push them together." He instructs and resting one hand above your head, broad fingers splayed on the carpet as he begins to thrust against and between your tits.

The sensation is lewd, the slippery precum making a lewd sound each time his veiny cock pushes through your cleavage, leaky tip poking out from between the soft mounds.

"If you could talk to me, it would be nice."

You break through his reverie and Toji narrows his eyes at you.

"You ain't doing shit. You're just lying there like a dead fish." He snickers, mocking you even as his speed picks up, his orgasm nearing at a speed that would be embarassing, if it wasn't for the fact that he knows his second round is always longer than his first.

"Wow, so you're titty-fucking a dead fish? Pervert." You retort, and your words are only met with a scoff, before Toji sits up, beginning to roughly and unceremoniously tug at his leaky, throbbing cock.

"Barely counts as titty-fucking." Toji insults, to which you reach a hand up, smacking him in the face. Not harder than you've done it before, but definitely not giving you the same, annoyed reaction, instead, it earns you creamy ribbons, strewn across your face and chest.

Toji's hips buck, vigorously fucking his fist as the last few spurts drip down to his fist, trickling alongside his precum and he lets out a relaxed groan, before looking down at you.

H gives you a shit-eating, lopsided grin, before his rough hands palm your chest, pushing your tits together and the lewd sound of rubbing them together, covered in cum, rings in your ears.

You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, simply from the way he looks at your chest like it's something to be revered, and worshipped.

And he brushes rough thumbs acros your sensitive buds, feeling the way your stomach clenches below him.

Toji grins, head cocking as he watches you stare up at him, opulent strings across your pretty face.

"Sensitive nipples..." He mumbles. "Good to know."

A/N: shoutout to me completing high school and writing 🌽 immediately afterwards

[fridgemissionmaster]

Mephistopheles Demon Form Headcannon/Reference sheet

@ me/give credit if you use this design, I'd love to see someone who isn't stupid rusty draw Mephisto in this.

A Mephistopheles demon form far all your drawing/ fan fic needs cause who knows if/whenever we'll get an official one.

I was thinking of making fanart but just making this took all my drawing energy for the next 20 years.

WHY I designed him this way/breaking down of the character design and what exactly is everything is +close-ups under the 'read more'

Also I haven't drawn in a long time so if things look off that's why.

Sorry that it may be hard to tell but Mephisto's tail is furred and scaled. Scales black with a purple sheen, and fur his hair color.

(and sorry but lighting may make it hard to see the scales. The scale patches to note that, no matter how hard I tried just refused to be captured on camera, but I swear in-person you can see them just fine.)

Warning, back references are stupid sketchy, just enough to understand how the layering works.

First Outer Coat -Tail

(Text says: back strap thing keeps outer coat from enveloping)

Next Inner Coat

(Top text: collar of top under inner coat)

(Middle text: outline of tail hole strap thing under corset)

Also inner coat and top under inner coat don't have references since are just back and hug the body so I felt no need to make that since very simple. If however someone were to want that, you could ask and I'll make it.

(Last text is not a real note, just sillies)

And finally Outer Coat +Tail

(Text says: no tail hole for outer coat strap over where hole strap is)

I Warned ya they were very sketchy!

If you have any questions about the design like if something isn't clear feel free to ask.

And if you care to stay a little longer, under the 'read more' I'll explain why I designed him the way I did and the references to other characters like the triangles and horn jewelry.

Okay let's go from the top down shall we!

But before anything else. I do wish to explain that I loosely based Mephisto's demon features after the Kirin, this deer/ox/dragon creature. I felt something more mythical would fit him being born a demon like Barbatos and Diavolo who's demon features can't exactly be pinned down unlike most of the brothers who later in life became demons and who mostly have an obvious human animal they are based off of.

So first would be his horns!

I wanted something slightly branchy like a tree but not too much so lest they end up too similar to Barbatos or Leviathan's so I settled on this, and this is a more solid and less delicate fitting the more militaristic vibe I gave to his demon form as a whole.

Now with him being nobility I thought it fitting to give him some jewelry on his horns like Diavolo, however his are not gold as he's not royalty.

As for the colorful gems... I have no real reason other than tree horns that looked vaguely like there was rain, what with them hanging, was cool.

Next we have the jabot/green scarf thing.

I wanted his design to look like it could fit in the game, but generally the characters are mostly monochrome with 1 pop color, which I went for a berry purple except for here. Asmodeus' is pink and Belphie's is light blue, however both have and additional red or reddish orange out of nowhere, Asmo in the heart gem and Belphie on his belt. I felt the contrasting color was needed for the design as a whole to look better (and match his eyes/let them tie in and not look out of place), and, this guy is nobility, and with that I feel affords the use of extra little gems or flares to help tie things together.

Okay! Now for the outer coat!

I felt it was fitting he have an outer coat. Maybe it fits Diavolo, after all Mephisto's life's purpose is to be dedicated to the man so having a something that could fit him felt, well, fitting. The outer coat is also a kinda reference to Lucifer, both characters are alike and polar opposite at the same time.

When making his design I KNEW immediately other than the look of horns and tail, that I wanted him to be more covered up. Despite the man's loud personality, he's not one for being center stage, he has shown time and time again he's A. not used to being the center of attention, and B. is a nosy busy body so being more hidden makes that easier, so I felt something more covering and conservative worked for him. It's also why I gave him a military vibe, he's meant to protect Diavolo/right hand like Lucifer is now, blah, blah, blah, repeat points I just made.

Now... for the big block of white. I will admit, little odd for demon design, BUT A. the contrast to the black of the rest of the inner coat and grey of the outer coat looks good and B. I decided it's another reference to Diavolo who also has a big block of white in his design, it's just hard to see cause it normally off screen.

As for the body shape of the inner-coat and specifically having a panel thing in the middle. Going the military vibe just fits SO WELL for him, like riding horses, cause I wanted him to easily be able to do so in this form, BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY FOR THE MOMENT is how it's a similar shape to Barbatos' outfit someone who also is exceedingly loyal to Diavolo, so I felt thing having similar outfits works.

They also have frills, but honestly, that's more so because frills felt like they'd be SO FITTING for Mephisto, but it happening to also match Barbatos is a fun coincidence. And looking back I just noticed I gave Mephisto frills on the one leg cause I wanted to add Devildom funkyness to his design but it actually it perfectly reflects Barbatos' shoulder frills from being on the other side and lower.

The corset, nothing special, just another thing I felt could be fitting for him and made for a good break in the white so it didn't become too much and distract from the rest of the design.

And now for the inside of his inner coat.

I gave him triangles because I noticed that triangles were actually a big motif in both Diavolo's and Barbatos' designs. Barbatos' on his panel and Dia on his arms and pants, there even bigger triangles on the tips of his horns, but with horns being pointed that could just be a coincidence. But still. This gave birth to my newest headcannon that triangles serve as some sort of symbol as fidelity to Devildom Royalty (Yes, that includes Dia cause Dia is loyal to his bloodline's work, and it not it strictly representing royalty seems more interesting (ooh and with them on Dia's arms you could say they're like shackles oohhhh~))

And I guess lastly we reach the boots.

I HAD TO KEEP THEM, THE HIGH HEELES OF HIS OG DESIGN!? CHEF'S KISS!

However there is a reason I made one shorter than the other, other than Devildom funkyness.

I headcannon that Mephisto has some sort of injury or condition so his cane is not for show or a hidden sword, he NEEDS it. And since one uses their cane on the opposite side of the leg that's hurt, I made his hurt one shorter, cause it'd probably be a bit of a pain to get the boot off otherwise. I also loosely based them off of riding boots so... there's that for a little note.

And that's that! I know some of the close ups can be a little hard to look at but I couldn't so a thing about the high contrast and this was the only way to get close ups without them being blurry. Scrolling back up and looking at the full body shot should help.

And if you got here, thank you for hearing me rant about character design. I more so made this for myself for my own fanfic needs but if someone actually read this far, well, then I hope my ranting was entertaining for ya!

@penappal I know you wanted @ for fanfic but... I thought ya might like this

[icycoldninja]

Do you know how in every Soulsborne games, there is almost always one maiden present in the game

For example in Elden Ring there’s Tarnished (the player) and Melina:

In Bloodborne, it’s The Hunter (the player) and the Plain Doll:

Another example is the Ashen one (the player) and the Firekeeper:

Can you write a maiden reader and the DMC boys following this relationship archetype, basically a knight and a maiden but here’s a catch:

The boys venture to an abandoned castle on Mallet Island to find Mundus and then that’s where they find an awkward young woman, who seems pretty sketchy at first due to how awkward she is (can’t really blame her since she’s been kidnapped and locked away by Mundus ever since she was a young teenager till now so her communication skills are rather f-ed up)

So naturally they keep their guards up around her…and her, although very wary around them, has to do her job as a maiden which is to serve them in every possible way regardless of their offer even if she may feel uncomfortable doing so like trying to offer them help like bringing them warm water, medication, letting them vent to her, bringing them books to cure their boredom, etc…Much to her surprise, even though they do generally accept her care from time to time, they would never force her to do something that genuinely makes her feel uncomfortable a.k.a prostitution which is something a lot of men who came to the castle request her to do it after a certain period of time

Time after time, they gradually grow close with each other, sharing their thoughts and insecurities and in return offers comfort for one and another (usually it’s the reader letting them sleep on her lap and patting their back in a nurturing way). It really is a fresh breathe of air for the reader because for so long she has yet to form such a close bond with someone else that is not in an unhelpful or abusive way (she fell first but he fell harder trope)

When the boys finished their goals, they no longer need to stay on the island and when the news arrive, the reader was scared because they’ll leave her just like many others do when she already so attached to them. Originally, she was tasked by Mundus to pry out any information from them but she can’t bring herself to do it because of how nice they are to her and now she can’t bring herself to confront them abt her original purpose because that would mean they would have more of a reason to hate her and that’s the last thing she wants, to be hated by the only person who have shown you kindness throughout the abuse and manipulation you have undergone your entire life

So she begs them to forgive and at the same time, if they can’t do that then at least dispatch her so that she no longer has to suffer under the hands of Mundus

——————————————————————————————————————-————————————————————————————————————————————

P/S: if you can, pls write a reader with a poor posture and just generally not really attractive like Rya from Elden Ring. I can’t find any good pictures of Rya without her being goonified so I use my oc as an example (It’s not an OC x DMC boys)

Sure, sure. Sorry this took so long to get to.

Sparda boys + V x Maiden!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante ended up traveling to some abandoned castle on Mallet Island during his search for Mundus, where they find this...odd young lady.

-See, she wasn't conventionally attractive and had very poor posture, making her appear a bit...lifeless.

-He didn't trust someone as sketchy as you, and kept his guard up even as you followed him around, offering advice about the castle, bringing him water and things, though where these items came from was questionable.

-Time passes, and Dante gets used to you, growing comfortable enough to let you sleep on his lap and such. You might be a bit weird looking, but you're a sweet soul whom he's starting to really bond with.

-When Dante finished his business on Mallet Island, he had to leave, which disheartened you because you were afraid he would abandon you. What made things worse was, you didn't want to reveal your true reasons for befriending him, because if you did, he might be even more inclined to just disappear without a trace, and that was the last thing you wanted.

-Turns out, Dante planned to take you with him all along, and now that you're free from Mallet Island, you don't have to worry about your original mission, though there is the threat of demons coming to look for you.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil was searching for Mundus to get revenge for all that had happened to him, when he discovered this bizarre woman.

-You were an stooped lady who looked unhealthily pale, carrying an eerie aura and generally seeming like someone who would work with demons--or is a demon.

-This didn't stop you from guiding him through the castle, bringing him food, water, and books when he needed to rest, and keeping him company despite his blatant hatred of human interaction.

-After some time, Vergil felt himself warming up to you, even letting you use his lap as a pillow while he read from the books you brought him. You were an odd looking person, but he liked you.

-When he finished his business and prepared to depart, you started panicking, trying so hard to keep him in the castle that it became extremely suspicious. Vergil asked you why you didn't want him to leave, and you confessed your true intentions, telling him how Mundus wanted to use you as a spy, but you just didn't have the heart to.

-Vergil scoffed at that and told you that if you hated being abandoned, just come with him. He was sure there was an extra room at Devil May Cry anyway.

□ Nero □

-Nero didn't really know what he was doing on Mallet Island, but he saw this big spooky castle and figured that's where the bad guys would be.

-Instead, he found you, this strange, slouched woman with a horrible complexion and a strange, ominous aura.

-He let's you guide him through the castle, telling him about its history, bringing him supplies when he takes breaks, and generally keeping him company.

-Nero thought you were pretty weird, but in a good way. He was really growing to like you, and after a bit, he let you lie on his lap while you talked about your insecurities, your lives, and everything else in between.

-Eventually, he had to leave, and in your panic, you told him everything; how Mundus intended to use you as a spy, and how you just didn't have the heart to.

-Nero was understandably shocked, but got over it quickly. Since you never betrayed him, why should he be mad? Come with him!

● V ●

-V was looking for Mundus at the behest of his fellow devil hunters, and in doing do, stumbled across this odd castle.

-Within this castle lived a very odd woman with horrible posture and a face that screamed potential danger.

-While a tad bit worried about his wellbeing and your intentions, V didn't mind it if you followed him around, acting as his assistant of sorts.

-You guys end up getting closer and closer with each passing day. You liked V because he was kind to you and didn't try to take advantage of you, while V enjoyed your presence because you were endearingly sweet to him.

-Alas, all things must come to an end. V had finished his business and was about to leave, worrying you because the last thing you wanted was to be abandoned again.

-V noticed this and offered you a place at Devil May Cry. You accepted, not telling him of your troubled past, though it seemed to be for the best. Some things are better left unsaid.

[nerevarswritingstuff]

Yes, I would love to see your icks🙏

HOOOOO BOY OKAY THEN buckle up kids this is gonna be a LONG ONE. Probably. We'll see by the end of this just how long this list actually is.

For the sake of everyone's sanity, I will be putting it under a read more just to be safe, because I have so many words to say about these things I hate reading. :)

AND just to note, most of these will revolve around LMK fics, or reader-insert fics in general. Just... things that make me drop a fic entirely and never finish it.

HERE WE GO!

Isekai

I cannot, and I mean cannot stand isekai fics. I can't stand isekai stories in general, but in my opinion, they're worse in fics. Nine times out of ten, the character just thinks the new world is better than their old one and forgets about their home. OR, they're panicking and worrying about their family and friends back home and how they're going to get back. Spoiler: This is forgotten after like maybe three or four chapters.

Isekai fics, in my opinion, are just lazy and boring. I've given too many of those kinds of fics a chance only to be sorely disappointed. In an isekai story, I'd like to see more of the plot line where our MC's sole purpose is to go home, no matter how much more colorful and whatnot the new world is. OR they slowly but surely accept the fact that they're not going to return home, and start to just rebuild their life in the new world.

Sadly, I've yet to even find a story like this, and I won't waste my time trying to look for one.

Awful Grammar

AS A DISCLAIMER: If English is not someone's first language and they struggle with grammar, that's fine. The same is said for people who suck at grammar but are trying. Grammar is a nightmare even for native English speakers, I can attest to this.

The reason why this is an "ick" for me mainly because of this: if the grammar is bad but I can still get an idea of what's going on even if there's a few mistakes here and there? I'll still read it. It's fine. But if I can't make heads or tails because the grammar is so fucking bad I'm unable to understand what's going on? I'm clicking off that fic RIGHT QUICK.

This is where I beg. On my hands and knees. PLEASE get a beta-reader. If English isn't your first language, then get a beta-reader who DOES understand English grammar. GET SOMEONE ELSE TO HELP YOU READ THROUGH IT AND FIX THE GRAMMAR. P L E A S E.

Dog Shit Pacing

The plot either goes too fast or too slow. You already know I'm a slow-burn mother fucker over here and I'll die on this hill. But I also like to keep the plot moving forward slowly but surely.

(Which, don't worry, now that the Big Reveal has happened, the pacing for the Show Plot™ will be a BIT faster, but we're focusing on Wukong and Macaque rn)

I'll give a TINY bit of leniency because pacing is hard to master, and even I'm still trying to find a nice point for it, but I don't like pacing that's so fast I get worse whiplash than riding a rollercoaster at a sketchy carnival.

When it comes to slower pacing, I need to stay interested. Give me some hints, some teasers, a few cliffhangers! I dunno man, it just bores me if I'm 15 chapters in and still see no end to the horizon besides Hatsune Miku.

In all seriousness, if you want your pacing slow, then that's fine, but you have to make every word count to keep your readers interested.

MC With No Backbone

I. Hate. This. Trope. I hate reading about OCs or Reader-Inserts that have little to no spine, and just get treated as a doormat. It's not interesting, and it's not fun to just read about a character that's constantly dogged on (9 times out of 10 for NO FUCKING REASON) by the other characters.

I will only like this trope if it's used in a way as character development where the OC/Reader-Insert learns to stand up for themselves in the end. I'm fine with that. Otherwise, kill this trope with fire.

The next point goes off of this point into...

The No-Backbone Character Snaps

This trope makes me mad for one specific reason: EVERYONE MAKES IT INTO SUCH A BIG DEAL. First, it's out of place, and second, every single character is just SOOOOO SHOOOOOCKED THAT THE DOORMAT ACTUALLY TALKS BACK. LIKE HOLY SHIT IT'S NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL SHUT UP AND MOVE ON.

And the FINAL POINT FOR THIS...

"Strong" Characters

Allow me to elaborate on this. You read about a character that's supposed to be strong-willed, sassy, and have a backbone. The complete opposite of the one I was complaining about earlier. Sounds great, right?

WRONG.

Because every FUCKING story I've ever read, these "strong" characters are just badly written. Period. The "sass" is quite literally just being a jerk. The strong-willed goes into that bit, too. They just literally act like a dick. There is a difference.

The most frustrating thing I see is when reading ANY kind of story, any "strong" character, and this is for ANY gender but ESPECIALLY female characters (OC or Reader-Inster), suddenly just... lose any sense of fight in them when around their love interest. They're submissive, they're a doormat, and just let their LI do whatever they want. I hate it.

I'm tired of this, grandpa. I'm so god-damn tired of seeing characters who are portrayed as strong, and out of nowhere when their love interest shows up, deciding to be more aggressive, the MC just crumbles. Stop that. Just stop. Seriously.

(The "no backbone character suddenly snaps" bit also applies to this.)

MC Can Do NO WRONG, APPARENTLY?

This is especially bad in LMK, but holy shit, guys. Calm down with this bullshit of "MC is the perfect person and everything they do is perfectly fine but the second someone does it to THEM suddenly THAT PERSON IS WRONG AND DUMB AND AWFUL!! >:("

Why do you think I make Nibby the way they are? They're right a lot of the times, sure, but they're equally WRONG a lot of the times, too. They make mistakes, and they own up to it. They fuck up. They do good, and bad. They. Are. Not. Perfect.

I'm so fucking done with seeing MC's (Reader-Insert or OCs) being treated like they know everything better than everyone. I'm so FUCKING done with MC's being treated like perfect demure little princesses even when they're the ones who are wrecking shit. They can do no wrong? Shut the fuck up and get out of my face with that.

CONSTANT, and I Mean C O N S T A N T POV Switches

This is mostly for writing and not really in any kind of comic or drawing aspect, but holy shit.

I've said this before in my little writer tips thing, but oh my actual lord, I cannot stand when we can't stay with just one character's POV for more than two paragraphs. I'm begging on my hands and knees, just stay with one character for at least half a chapter or an entire chapter. We do NOT need to know what everyone is thinking immediately. Just. Stop. STOP. AAAAAAAUGH.

ENDLESS. ANGST. TRAIN.

Oh my god I talked about it in my writing tips ask before but let me tell you something, guys. I genuinely hate it when angst doesn't stop. THE BEACH EPISODE IN ANIME EXISTS FOR A REASON. IT'S A BREAK FROM ALL THE BULLSHIT THE CHARACTERS GO THROUGH. PLEASE JUST STOP. LET THEM HEAL.

Before y'all try to be all "oh but Nerevar, you've written angst!" Yeah but did you forget I also write the healing that comes after? The growth of the characters that come AFTER their angst episode? Yeah, didn't think so.

I've read so, so, SO many fics that have had just... non-stop angst and it gets so tiring and beyond boring reading it. We get it, they're suffering. Can we please get to the healing, now? P L E A S E?

Hating Wukong for NO FUCKING REASON

This is mostly because of those annoying ass Macaque stans who will blame Wukong for everything that happened to Mac and call him horrible. Need I remind you Mac was willing to kill MK in episode 9 just to get Wukong to fight properly? Mhm, yeah, now sit back down and shut up.

I cannot stand this unnecessary hatred for a character that's actually morally grey and complicated with complex emotions, thoughts, and feelings. And it's always, always for the dumbest fucking reasons. Has he made mistakes? Yes, but who the fuck hasn't. He, just like everyone in the show, grew as characters.

And speaking OF Wukong...

Making Wukong Stupid For EQUALLY NO REASON

Oh my actual LORD I hate this so fucking much. One little joke between MK and Wukong has given birth to my least favorite headcanon in this fucking fandom.

MK: Can't read? Wukong: Uh... I get stage fright.

And now everyone's pointing and laughing at Wukong like "LOL HE'S SO ILLITERATE HE'S DUMB HE'S A BIG STUPID IDIOT"

We're not even going to go into the actual JTTW Wukong, this is SOLELY on the LMK version.

Ok, so, if he's illiterate and can't read or write, then how in the fuck did he write that letter to MK in episode 3 of season 2?

PROOF INSIDE THE PUDDING.

WOW SO ILLITERATE. SO DUMB. VERY LOL.

Like, have we watched the same show? Wukong acts stupid to lighten the mood. He knows how to take shit seriously, he knows how to turn off "funny guy" mode and enter serious mode.

I am the number one Wukong defender and I will NEVER STOP DEFENDING HIM NONE OF YOU CAN KILL ME IN A WAY THAT MATTERS.

Anyway, yeah, I hate that headcanon and y'all can keep that shit far, far away from me.

Six-Eared Macaque's Six Ears

Hoo boy here's the fun one. I have lost count on how many times I've seen this dog shit trope, and every time I see it another one of my brain cells die. If you're caught up with my fic, and have read chapter 35, then you already know that my version of Macaque is not bothered by loud noises such as thunder or fireworks or the like.

Why?

BECAUSE HE'S NOT A FUCKING CHILD.

"Oh, but Nerevar!" I hear you cry as I sit in my rocking chair. "He has six ears! He hears so much more than the normal human! Wouldn't that mean he'd hate loud noises?"

I'm sorry, are we seriously debating if the several thousand year old monkey can handle a little bit of thunder or fireworks? Are we seriously going to baby this actual adult?

Whether we go down the route of "muffle magic" or not, this man has had SEVERAL MILLENNIA to train his ears to handle such noises. Would some still annoy him/bug him? Sure. Yeah. But to render him completely inconsolable and lying on the ground clutching his ears and crying out in agony? Yeah, no. No. Get off my lawn and stay off my property.

(I also hate the follow-up trope of Macaque suddenly getting noise-cancelling earphones from the MCs. I seriously just don't get it. It's happened in every single fic I've read before. I don't get it and I don't want to because I hate it it's stupid.)

The Infantilizing of Literal Adult Characters

This is where some of y'all really start to piss me off. The only characters who are the youngest in this god-damn show (and are STILL LEGAL ADULTS) are Mei and MK. Before you try to come at me like "oh but on [insert unreliable website here] it says they're this age!" That's not confirmed.

Their ages are never fucking confirmed, that was just a fan-thing.

More fucking proof before you try to "UHM--ACTUALLY" in my dm's. Try me. You will lose this battle. Fuck off.

AND YET Y'ALL STILL WANNA INFANTILIZE THE LITERAL ADULTS. I will not give any leniency here. I hate this. I hate it so much that the minute I see any motherfucker treating the characters (Wukong and Macaque ESPECIALLY) like literal children, the desire to commit violence rises. They are not your precious little uwu babies you can coddle. They're actual adults. Please go touch grass and learn how to interact with society. I would LOVE to watch you talk to a real life adult the way you would to Wukong and/or Macaque in your dumb ass baby talk and see what happens.

Wukong, as goofy as he is, would hate to be treated like that.

Macaque would despise it.

Stop fucking infantilizing them. They're adults.

This is also especially bad with MK just because he acts more like a kid than the rest. Almost like he is, but he's still a legal adult (at the very least 18 bc that's the legal driving age in China) and should not be treated as such. He wouldn't mind people caring about him, but there's a difference between caring and coddling.

Allowing Macaque To Be The Asshole But Not Wukong

Get out of my house. Right now. I love Macaque and Wukong so much, you know this. I have a whole damn fic about how much I love them both. But what I will not stand for is this DISRESPECT TOWARDS MY MEN. Oh, little Macaque can do no wrong because he was ~*~twaumatized~*~ but Wukong is the awful person for saying a few things wrong?

Fuck off. :) Don't ever talk to me. :))

Macaque is an asshole. So is Wukong. They're both complex characters with complicated ass stories interwoven with one-another and y'all playing this "X is better than Y" bullshit annoys me. This is half the reason why I hardly ever interact with the fandom at all. Because some of y'all try to force these head canons down my throat and it makes me want to beat you with a broomstick.

Conclusion

This is honestly all I can think of off the top of my head. But yeah. These are all the things that make me never want to read a fic. In all honestly, it's half the reason why I stopped reading fanfics entirely, not just from LMK but other places. They're just so bad and each one is worst than the last.

I will never say no to fic recommendations, nor will I hate on anyone who LIKES the fics that I don't like, or even hate with every fiber of my being. You do you, my word is not law. We can enjoy our shit and still be chill with each other. Just don't try to force me to like something I hate. Please and thank you. <3

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 9 - Say goodnight

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Some smut…insecurities in reader

I’m back! I’ve been a bit caught up with work and parenting so things have been a little crazy. Hoping I should have more time coming up to dedicate to this! Apologies in advance…this is a little smut/fluff to warm us up before we get into the angst next chapter (I’m sorry) As always, your reblogs and comments mean the world – it’s lovely to see people engaging with his story!

You slugged him hard on the shoulder, something you seemed to be doing a lot lately.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” you scolded, still slightly breathless.

Annoyed, you tensed up and began pushing against his chest to prise yourself off him. You saw the slight look of fear on his face as he wrapped his arms around you in what was essentially a bear hug – keeping himself inside of you.

“Hey, whoa! It was a joke. I’m sorry…I guess that was all kinda intense and I didn’t really know what to say,” he admitted, looking a little sheepish. “I meant to lighten the mood, not piss you off, believe it or not. That’s the last thing I want, okay?”

You softened a little as he kissed you again. It was true, despite his charm he was often clumsy with his words and misread the room. He didn’t seem to do it on purpose…so you let it go. This time, anyway.

“Alright…fine,” you relented as your muscles relaxed again. “But you don’t always have to…fill the silence, y’know? Sometimes…you can just be”.

He nodded. “I know, I’m trying,” he said gently as he moved a strand of hair from your face. “But look…that was…amazing. Just…wow”.

He laughed and you laughed too. “Wow is much better,” you giggled. “I can work with wow…”

*

The two of you continued to ‘wow’ one another over the upcoming weeks. Your place. His place. Once or twice in the back office at the bar (dangerously close to being caught when Peter knocked that second time…and Bucky angrily told him he was too busy doing the books when actually you were on your knees in front of him…)

His touch was addictive. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough. Even little things like him subtly brushing a finger over your lower back as he passed, or leaning over and pressing himself into you as he went to grab a drink from the bar, seemed to get you going. He knew exactly what he was doing too, shooting you a little wink or smirk each time. He liked to keep you on edge.

Neither of you had raised if you were going to go ‘public’ with your little arrangement. You didn’t want to bring it up, not wanting to appear needy or to want a ‘what are we?’ type conversation. You did tell Wanda and Vis, there were your only real friends here outside of the MC and you didn’t like the idea of lying to them about how you were spending your evenings. They had been surprised, and Wanda had warned you to be careful – she told you Bucky’s reputation was based on two things – whatever sketchy shit he had going on behind the front of his businesses, and the copious amounts of women he landed. Neither of which was a shock to you, but you were grateful for her cautioning.

If you were honest, the secret nature of your relationship with Bucky was welcomed by you. Part of you felt a little self-conscious – like the MC would all think ‘oh, there goes another one…’ or view you differently because of it. Another silly girl getting entangled with Bucky…What else is new? Keeping things quiet meant you wouldn’t embarrass yourself when it unavoidably started to go wrong…

Plus, you didn’t really want to have to deal with any other women who had him on their radar, particularly Amber…

…Who wasn’t really around as much. Her friends still came by the bar, and she did too sometimes. But less and less so. Bucky hadn’t mentioned her, you weren’t sure if he had spoken to her or if she’d just moved on elsewhere. You didn’t think he would’ve brought you up with her, but maybe she sensed he was either pulling away or spending time with another girl.

You’d hoped she had just met a nice guy and had moved on from the MC…but there was a moment one evening where you were pouring a beer at the bar and Bucky had leaned over under the guise of picking up a box at your feet, only to whisper something salacious in your ear as he passed. You’d giggled and grinned, elbowing him away playfully, and as you looked back up you had locked eyes with Amber from across the room. You’d given her a small smile, but she just stared right back. You felt oddly under fire, as if caught out, despite the fact anyone watching the same interaction most likely wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. It was as if Amber was in tune with Bucky in a way the others weren’t, especially when a rival was concerned, and she saw through your bullshit immediately.

You’d barely seen her since that night, but maybe that was for the best. You weren’t interested in beefing with another woman over a man, especially not that woman. And that man…

Aside from Amber, the only other person you wondered who might not be fooled was Steve. He and Bucky were best friends, after all. More like brothers, as Bucky had explained to you. They had grown up together. Steve had been with Bucky through it all, been dutifully by his side when he recovered from losing his arm, ran the MC with him and stuck with him no matter what.

Even if Bucky hadn’t told Steve about you, he seemed to be more aware than some of the others. His stoic silence often was down to him surveying the scene, taking everything in. A mouse couldn’t fart in the bar without Steve knowing about it. He was the eyes and ears of the MC. He had never said anything directly to you, but there had been a few looks he gave you and Bucky that seemed pointed. His sky blue eyes said much more than he did. But maybe you were just projecting…

Thankfully, everyone else was as oblivious as you needed them to be.

Once, as you sat with a few club members to wind down after closing, Bucky had brazenly dragged his hand over your bare thigh under the table. It had been a warm and stuffy night, so you’d done your shift in a pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt. You’d discreetly raised an eyebrow at him, which quickly evolved into an expression of controlled panic as he trailed his finger across your skin before casually unzipping your fly and making his way in, moving past your underwear. You’d bitten your lip to stay quiet as he found your clit and began working you over, all the while chatting away to Bruce like nothing was happening. You tried to bat him away, but he kept coming back, and you soon caught on that people would notice if you tried any harder and made a scene as a result. You quickly understood he was counting on using your embarrassment to silence you.

And, well, damn him - it did feel good…

He didn’t look over at you once as he continued, but his fingers didn’t let up as you began to feel the familiar heat build within. You hated to admit to yourself how much it excited you. You knew how wet you were, how close you were. He knew it too, based on how he began to adjust his pace and pressure. Your entire body tensed as you realised to your horror, that in spite your discomfort, your body was about to betray you and give you a very public orgasm. As the feeling bloomed and the heat swelled, you took a large sip of your water and glanced downwards in an attempt to cover up any potential facial expressions that might give you away. You choked on the mouthful, spitting a little out down your chin as your climax hit, your shoulders shuddering.

“You okay?” Sam asked from across the table as he looked at you with concern.

You nodded bashfully, “Uh, yeah, sorry,” you croaked – still dazed and a little out of it, “Choked on my water”.

“You gotta go easy, doll,” Bucky chimed in smugly as he withdrew his hand and subtly zipped up your shorts.

You glared at him with an expressionless face, but your eyes told him all he needed to know as he defiantly smirked back at you. He then retained eye contact as he appeared to ‘absent-mindedly’ suck on the tip of his finger and pretended to listen to Nat’s conversation with Sam. You managed to suppress a squeak as you felt the warmth rush to your cheeks.

Later, to pay him back for his little stunt, you angrily rode him back at his place and edged him until he was a whiny mess begging for release. Which you gladly gave him (eventually). Then you were even. It wasn’t often you took charge with him, but you knew he enjoyed it when you did. Just as much as he enjoyed when you were the babbling wreck.

That seemed to be a large part of your dynamic, always trying to one-up each other and ‘win’. It was thrilling, exciting. It probably wasn’t healthy…but you didn’t care. This wasn’t serious anyway. It was just fun. Someone to spend the time with in-between sorting through Granny’s boxes and painting her walls. Someone to make you laugh and give you orgasms and kill time with at your bar job. Someone whose initial rule that you didn’t sleepover had lapsed when you both passed out after a particularly vigorous session. Someone whose arms you awoke in the following morning, who didn’t rag on you for sleeping over but instead kissed your crown and didn’t speak. Someone who laid with you and held you so tenderly that it silenced you, famously a smart mouth, you, too. Someone who you began to sleep with most nights, even when you weren’t working. Whose absence you felt when he wasn’t there, someone who you realised you slept better with alongside. Dreamless, deep sleep that actually felt restorative and restful and allowed you to wake feeling refreshed and ready for the day. Someone who in the early light of day would smile sleepily at you and kiss you, morning breath be damned, and pull you into him like you hadn’t just been sleeping in his arms for all those hours before.

Someone not serious.

Another time, late one night, he took you out on his bike. The feeling of the wind in your hair, the exhilaration of the speed, the warmth of his leather as you wrapped your arms around his waist…it helped you to understand why Bucky loved all of this so much. There was something very freeing about rocketing down the roads at top speeds, not shrouded in a box as you were in a car, just out in the air – free and uninhibited.

He drove you both to a hillside on the edge of town where you could see everything below. You’d sat on the grassy verge together and silently watched the lights of the buildings beneath you, thinking about all those people in their homes…going about their lives. Were they happy? Is this what they imagined their life would be?

Is this how you’d imagined yours?

Maybe.

He moved his hand over your own and kept it there, not speaking. You didn’t really need to speak when it came to Bucky. You did talk, sometimes late into the night – about your past, your passions, your disappointments and fears. He was easy to talk to, he didn’t always say the right thing but he listened intently. He remembered details and brought them up later. Being with him was just…easy. In silence or in noise.

You both sat there, hand in hand, time lost as you watched the lights below and the stars above. One by one the houses would go dark, the residents retiring to their beds as their home slept along with them. Unknowingly watched over by the two of you as you continued your silent observation. You could see Granny’s home in the distance, the porch lights on for your ease when you got home later. You wondered if Granny had ever been up here, if she’d seen her home the way you saw it now.

Bucky turned to you and smiled, leaning in and kissing you softly. Taking his time as his nose brushed against yours and the strands of his hair slipped out from behind his ears. If you’d dropped dead at that second, you knew you would be at peace.

Your stomach curled as you realised what this all meant. The inevitable fact you’d been hiding from yourself for some time.

You were in love with Bucky Barnes.

[hayleythesugarbowl]

phoebe buffay x reader headcanons

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • f•r•i•e•n•d•s masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

a/n: this one’s for all my phoebe girlies!! enjoy 🫶

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dating phoebe would include…

ok so you were one of phoebe’s massage clients

and she was instantly attracted to you 

but didn’t try to make a move right away 

(she didn’t want to lose her license…again)

but you kept coming back to her massage clinic and eventually she said 

‘okay is it just me or does fate totally have plans for us? i mean, come on, we both wear a ring on our left pointer finger, and and we both have nice teeth, and you’ve been to my massage place like three weeks in a row!’

to which you said 

‘and you don’t think maybe it’s you and not fate that keeps bringing me in here?’

and then she kissed you right there on the massage table 

her friends love you immediately 

you become part of the group and they all love how happy you make phoebe 

you and phoebe go to all of these fancy restaurants and play who can order the most pretentious sounding thing 

which she pronounces very wrong on purpose  

long talks at 3am that result in delirious laughter 

you constantly play with her rings 

if you’re ever in an embarrassing situation she never fails to take the attention off you by doing something even weirder

she loves playing with your hair

when you are feeling stressed she gives you massages anytime 

‘this one’s on the house. y’know, cause i love you and everything’

you guys get lots of pets together 

no rats, i promise 

and she wants to name all of them after you 

she’s such a good kisser 

she gives you the most thoughtful, homemade gifts for your birthday 

and she tells you all about her crazy life on the streets

‘so, you know, if you ever need to take someone out, i know karate and how to use a crowbar!’

she loves pda, like girl can’t keep her hands off of you

and she thinks everything you do is ‘so sexy’ 

she takes you to all these cute little craft fairs and flea markets 

she speaks french to you 🤌😩

and she tries to get your fortunes told together anytime your near one of those booths 

‘pheebs, you know these things are fake as hell right?’

‘well, you never know! i mean, what if they tell us we’re, i don’t know, going to get married or that our house will be yellow with a white roof or that we’ll have three girls and two boys and—’

‘hey, i don’t need a sketchy psychic to tell me that i want that as much as you do’

you’re the longest relationship she’s ever had

and she couldn’t be happier with you and the future she can’t wait to have with you 

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ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope y’all enjoyed this!! check out my other friends hcs if u want more like this xx🎀💋