#I think that's enough for now anyway! I know there's a bunch I missed but I don't think I read every single one

[decembermoonskz]

.

[the-golden-ghost]

ooh what do you know about uhh goosebumps!

Okay this one's funny cause I was a huge Goosebumps Kid so I'll try to just summarize every one I can remember from childhood LET'S GO:

Welcome to Dead House: Girl moves to town. Town's haunted. Havoc ensues. I think this was the first one ever published.

Phantom of the Auditorium: R. L. Stine deciding "what do kids love? Phantom of the Opera references?" and making a whole book dedicated to the concept. +1 for really good twist at the end

Ghost Beach: Beach with ghosts on it. I remember this one had a reaper thing on the cover but the actual ghosts were just kids who died of plague in like, 1800. I think it was also in New England! :)

Ghost Camp: Camp's haunted

Shocker on Shock Street: Kids go on a theme park tour but the theme park monsters are REAL and the kids are ROBOTS and idk man this one was wild. I liked it though

The Girl Who Cried Monster: Librarian's a monster and he eats bugs or something? Or turtles? I dunno man

Night of the Living Dummy 2: Okay this one's funny cause there was an earlier book called Night of the Living Dummy. And it's almost completely forgotten. Slappy, the evil dummy who became the FACE of the series and the most notable standout character in the entire run? He only appears in the sequel. I don't even know what the original dummy was called. They also filmed this one for the TV series but ONLY this one, not the original. So the TV episode is called Night of the Living Dummy 2 and there is no Night of the Living Dummy 1 in the TV series at all. Anyway it's about a ventriloquist dummy who tries to enslave his owner

Go Eat Worms!: I don't really remember what this is about at all I just found the title really funny. I think it's about a kid who's cursed and worms show up everywhere.

Lawn Gnomes Attack Manhattan: No but I don't remember the actual title of this one. I just remember it was about evil lawn gnomes and even as a kid I thought it was stupid but they can't all be bangers

Night in Tower Terror? Terror Tower?: I think I only saw the TV episode of this and it freaked me out. However it's also based on the Actual Real Life Murder of two children (the nephews of Richard III, Edward V and Richard of York) which makes it possibly the bleakest inspiration for a Goosebumps book albeit Stine really fictionalized it and also it happened in the 1400s

Calling All Creeps: Some kid puts a prank ad for creeps in his local newspaper and gets creeps to show up. I think they were like lizard aliens idk

The Beast From the East: What if the jungle was real and tried to KILL YOU

Chicken Chicken: Girl gets cursed to turn into a chicken. Slightly scarier than it sounds

How to Kill a Monster: Terrible grandparents summon a Swamp Thing and try to feed their grandkids to it

That Weird Vampire Time-Travel One: Kid finds his grandpa's vampire corpse in the basement and Vampire Grandpa wakes up and tries to eat him. And then time travels back to the 1800s for some reason cause I guess vampires are only scary in the 1800s?

Ghost School: A lot of these are just called "Ghost *regular place*" but this one was particularly fucked up cause the ghosts were actually kids who got trapped in a living photograph by an evil photographer. Which sounds dumb but they were permanently ensnared in this black and white void where time never passed for like... decades and decades as the outside world slowly moved on and forgot about them. And they never got rescued or anything. They were literally just left to their fate. One of the more messed up endings in the series

The Haunted Mask: OH MAN how did I miss this one. This was probably the Gold Standard for the TV show episodes. Freaked me out SO bad as a kid. It's about a girl who wears a mask that permanently affixes to her face and it's WILD

The Cuckoo Clock of Doom: Kid gets trapped in a Time Vortex and ends up erasing his bratty sister from the face of history etc.

The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight: Evil scarecrows. That's pretty much it but this one and Harold from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark are probably the reason for my lifelong Scarecrow Phobia so

The One Where The Kids Turn Into Dogs And Never Get Changed Back: !!! honestly the ending made me so mad. I forget the name of it though

One Day At Horrorland: A classic! It's about an evil theme park :) Don't go down the Doom Slide!

Stay Out of The Basement: Kids' dad turns into an evil mad scientist but it turns out he's actually an evil plant clone of their dad who's just posing as their dad. Wild

That One Where The Camera Kills You: I don't remember the title but the camera predicts the future. However it causes whatever Future Event it depicts to also be like. You Will Be Maimed And Slaughtered Horribly

Jack O Lanterns... Attack... Manhattan?: I don't remember the title of this one either. It was basically What If You Got Kidnapped By Pumpkin Monsters and they Made You Celebrate Halloween For All Eternity. Would that be fucked up or what

Uhhh Bnuy: Evil Stage Magician Turns A Kid Into A Rabbit or something I forgor. I think there was a sorcerer named Greg in there somewhere? Like I remember that being a joke

Piano Lessons Can Be Murder: Kid goes to piano lessons and gets murdered. I mean not really but almost lmao. Also the freaky handless ghost woman who scared the SHIT out of me when I was 12

Help My Neighbor's A Ghost: I don't remember the name of this one either but the main character thinks the new kid who just moved in is a ghost. Turns out she (the main character) died in a fire 20 years ago and she's the actual ghost and her best friend never writes to her because she died ages ago and stuff. It's actually kind of sad; I don't recall the title but it stuck with me

How I Learned to Fly: About a kid who learns to fly which ISN'T SCARY OR A HORROR CONCEPT

The Abominable Snowman of Pasadena: Bigfoot but he lives in California now. Yeah a scientist found him and brought him back. Yeah he's got Scary Bigfoot Ice Powers too and keeps freezing people solid

Beware the Snowman: I think this was actually the first one I ever read? This one's about a cursed town under the domain of an evil snowman (not like Bigfoot I mean like an actual irl snowman. Like Frosty) but the snowman's actually an evil magician who was turned into a snowman by his rival or something. This one's also kind of wild but it's decently good!

[phagodyke]

day 2 of no wifi.. hanging in there 😔😔😔😔

[euphoricimagination]

𝓗𝓪𝓲𝓴𝔂𝓾𝓾 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓴-𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵

Feat. Nekoma & Inarizaki -> Part 2 [Aoba Johsai & Fukurodani]

Premise: You had to do something else for a week and a half, leaving the boys alone for that period. Although they told the coaches that they could survive without you, the coaches ask a girl to help them out instead. They weren’t particularly excited, which got worse the more they spent time with her

Nekoma

You arrived later than you expected, just on time for the club, So you didn’t get to see your dear team until much later

When you enter the gym, you see a…strange view

No one in the team was happy

Yaku and Kai didn’t have any expressions on them, Lev was pouting aggressively, Fukunaga had a frown, Yamamoto was mumbling words and Kenma was nowhere to be seen.

The girl that was supposed to replace you for the week was walking besides a very annoyed Kuroo, who was pushing the cart with the balls

Weird, considering that doing that was the basics for being a manager

They were so out of it that none notice the sound of your shoes, weird considering how attentive they are

“Ah Kuroo senpai, thank God you helped me! I’m so small and weak that I wasn’t able to push it over” you heard her say, making you cringe at the sentence

“Yeah, whatever” said a disinteresting Kuroo

And that’s when you confirm that something was really wrong, Kuroo was never this dismissive

“What’s happening? Everything ok?” you asked making Kuroo turn around with a relief smile on

“Oh hi, Kuroo senpai was just helping me since you know, I’m so small and weak��� says fluttering her eyes at him

“It’s just pushing the cart. It has wheels on it…” You gave a disbelief look to Kuroo, who just rolls his eyes “it’s not that hard”

“Maybe for someone as big as you it wouldn’t be so difficult!”

That was it for Kuroo, who quickly move to your side giving you a hug

“Well, guess you can leave now that our manager is back. Bye”

"Kuroo-senpai!! Stooop! I can stay here too!” says stomping her feet

The whole commotion cause everyone to look at you, and you swear you heard a collective sigh full of relief

Quickly enough you felt a bunch of arms around you, a bunch of head pats and a ton of screams of your name

Which quickly was interrupted by a loud scream by the girl “KYANMA!!”

You look at the stairs where Kenma was standing shaking slightly with big eyes. The girl tried to get close to him, yelling “They are being mean, Kyanma!” but he just runs away towards you

Yes. Run. He hated her, she was so loud and desperate, Kenma literally couldn’t stand her.

“You’re back” says Kenma hiding behind you, showing more happiness that you ever have seen from him

So happy that he went to hug you tightly, he really missed you

“Anyways, now that our team is finally complete you can leave. Please go out” says Kuroo

“Agh! Fine! I’m way too good for you anyways!”

She sends you a look full of venom, but you didn’t really notice it

After all, you had a clingy Kenma hugging you tightly and the rest of the team waiting for one

Inarizaki

After your small break reached an end you finally were ready to go back to your boys

They were having a small hangout in the Miya household

They tried to be sneaky about it, not wanting to invite the girl that was replacing you

But sadly for them, she somehow knew and crash into them before you could arrive

She’s the first person you see when you enter their house with the spare key they gave you

“Who are you?” she asks with her eyebrow raising

“Ehh…I’m Yn, their manager. You helped them while i was out?” You ask back, confused at her sudden presence

“Yes…I actually think I should be the new manager! After all I play like 17 sports and definitely know more than you about sports. What do you think this is? Cheer? Not like it’s a sport, but whatever” she says with a overconfident smirk

In the meantime the guys that were already in the house starting to appear into the hall, confused at how loud her voice was being

“Anyways! Why don’t you leave? A girl like you probably doesn’t even know a thing about sports! We’re gonna play videogames while you probably just want to paint your nails or whatever!”

“Who says you’re staying?” Atsumu says, frowning

“Ha Ha, you’re so funny Atsumu! Of course I’m staying” she says nervous

“No, you’re not” Osamu adds

“I’m sure we can all hang out tog-” you try to say

“You shut it! I bet you don’t know anything about the sport!” She says to you despite you trying to help her

“Really? You barely even know what we play, you just join because you wanted to see hot guys” a voice behind you says, Suna entering the house as he passes his arm through your shoulders

The girl immediately went pale, stammering the next sentence “well…well, I mean, of course I know!”

“Sure, that's why you asked 'if we knew' the rules of basketball yesterday. Just leave, nobody wants you here anyway”

She scoffs annoyed, looking at the rest of the team as if asking for help, which she doesn’t receive. She scoffs one more time, walking towards the door and leaving as she shoots a glare towards you

“You guys are so mean” you say, receiving a chuckle

“She deserved it, if anything she just hinder our practice” Osamu adds

“Besides, nobody talks about our beautiful manager like that” Atsumu hugs you along side Suna

The rest of the team also comes to hug you, and while they were a bit rude, you knew that they only had good intentions

You love this foxes too much

----

Note: a little something about my boys, also, I cringed way too much while writing this

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

I started reading Discworld earlier this year –because I figured it's a cultural treasure and I may as well get around to it by now– and like, I knew something about Terry's ability to sneak underhanded puns into the texts –I've seen the posts. I'd also read Good Omens, even if at that point I couldn't disentangle who was writing what.

So I entered the books fully like the Stay back, slut meme, except regarding wordplay. I was reading with a fine-toothed comb. I was squinting at every name and testing every phoneme. Not necessarily because I don't like puns or didn't enjoy the idea of getting caught by surprise, mind you, just that I'd heard very good things about Terry Prachett's humor and I didn't want to miss any of his jokes and with wordplay stuff if you don't catch it, you'll never know it existed.

I caught a lot of stuff, and even when I didn't get some of the references (the series stretches across a lot of decades I wasn't born in) I could still at least tell when he was making them. I made it out of my grand read with a pat on the back and a certain pleasure in the knowledge that I had enough pop-culture and etymological awareness to not let Terry pull a fast one on me.

In classic Pratchett fashion, turns out I was dead wrong.

I was rereading Soul Music, because even if I'm late to the party I still enjoyed the Discworld books immensely, and I got to the scene where a bunch of schmucks with no music knowledge (or talent) are infected by the spirit of rock n' roll and descend in a horde upon a guitar shop. The owner starts off trying to sell them decent instruments, but, soon realizing his new flow of customers couldn't play a triangle and are more interested in the look of the thing anyways, he promptly starts pulling out his scrappiest, crappiest pseudo-instruments (Ankh-Morpok, amiright) and sticking a bunch of paint, glitter, and ankh-stones on them for the look of things before selling them at marked-up prices.

Ankh-stones were first mentioned in Sourcery, I think, and were used in the creation of the fake Archchancellor's hat. They get mentioned in other books on and off as a source of bedazzlement that's pretty clearly meant to be a riff on rhinestones. First time I read about them, I went "oh what a nice little bit of worldbuilding, of course some gems would get named after local stuff" and thought no more on it. But like…

Ankh-stones.

Rhinestones. Rhine-stones.

The infamously nasty River Ankh that flows(?) through Ankh-Morpok, and the River Rhine, a real river that exists.

I just about swore and hit the table when I clocked that one, because I went into the series ready for it, I was looking for it, and Terry still fuckin' got me good.

[wonderjanga]

regarding the post where every lantern corps wants billy as a member. What if billy vibes with dexstarr and the JL is super nervous hes gonna take a red lantern ring but hes just petting a kitty

Billy was going about his business as usual. As of now, he was bored, and he was sitting on the curb in front of his apartment complex watching two crackheads duke it out on the other side of the street. Miss Bambi was next to him smoking a cigarette and also watching. Suddenly, a strangely blue cat came out of nowhere.

Billy and Ms. Bambi: *watch the cat trot over*

Dexstarr: *meows and a red ring floats over to Billy*

Billy: “Oh, thank you, kitty!” *just shoves it in his pocket and just picks up Dexstarr and starts petting him*

Ms. Bambi: “Careful, bud. Try not to get scratched or bitten. Who knows what it could have.” *thinks this is just adorable*

Dexstarr: *stiff in Billy’s hold and letting himself be pet, honestly expecting the boy to have at least a little anger or sadness or at least something*

Billy: “I’ll go see the nice doctor guy and see if we can see why you’re blue, kitty. Then, I’ll get some money so we can get you some food!”

Dexstarr: *confused by the very sudden adoption*

Billy learned that Dexstarr was a pretty angry kitty. It scratches Billy sometimes and scratches other people a lot of times. Billy takes pride in the fact he gets scratched slightly less than other people. As for the ring the kitty gave him? He still hasn’t worn it yet. He’d moved it into his pocket dimension after it fell out of his pocket and he nearly left it in a gas station. It was probably safer there. Anyways, he’d honestly forgotten about it until one day he and Dexstarr were lounging on a roof in Fawcett. Billy then felt a small buzz from his pocket dimension, signally he got a notification from his comm. So he transformed, rightfully spooking the kitty.

Marvel: “Dex?” *trying to sound placating*

Dexstarr: *pulls out a bunch of energy constructs so he can attack Marvel*

Marvel: *dodging any attacks* “Dex! It’s me! Billy!”

The cat obviously didn’t listen seeing as that was a grown man, not the ten year old boy it’d been hanging out with for the past couple weeks.

Marvel: “Kitty, I have proof! Look!” *pulls out the ring from his pocket dimension* “Remember how you gave this to me?”

It took some more convincing despite the fact he had the ring. Thankfully, Dexstarr calmed down enough for it to allow Marvel to scratch under its chin just the way Billy knew it liked. Marvel put the ring back into the pocket dimension and sat down so he could keep scratching under its chin. He was finally able to look at the comm. Something about a meeting. Billy didn’t really want to leave Dexstarr alone, not to mention he wanted to familiarize the kitty with his Marvel form. So, he took it to the Watchtower.

He saw Hal when going to the meeting room.

Marvel: “Hey, Hal! Meet my cat, Dex!” *holds Dex up for Hal to see*

GL: *stares for a solid minute* “Is that Dexstarr?”

Marvel: “No, his name is Dexter.”

GL: “Uhm…” *looks over Dexstarr* “Nah… I’m pretty sure that’s Dexstarr.”

Marvel: “Nuh uh.”

GL: “Uh yuh huh. That’s a Red Lantern.”

Marvel: “Nah, he just looks like that.”

GL: “I- wha-” *takes a deep breath* “Cap, give me the cat.”

Marvel: “What? No, he’s my cat!” *holds Dexstarr up because he’s way taller than Hal*

GL: “Dude, no he isn’t!” *tries to reach before just flying to try and grab him*

They spent a solid five minutes of Marvel moving Dexstarr away from Hal while the Green Lantern tried to get the cat. Eventually, they got into what was basically a tug of war with the cat.

Marvel: “Defend yourself Dexstarr!”

Dexstarr: *vomits blood-plasma-acid on the floor*

Marvel: “Yeah!”

Dexstarr: *makes some super dangerous constructs with his ring to kill Hal*

Marvel: “NO!”

It took a lot to convince Dexstarr to not attack. Soon after that realization, they both also realized they were extremely late to the meeting. They both went in and sat down. The entire meeting consisted of Hal side eying him from where he sat next to Billy. He even did the ‘I got my eye on you’ sign. Billy didn’t even bother to be subtle with the way he stared back. His head was directly looking towards him as he rubbed under Dexstarr’s chin. Meanwhile, Flash, who sits on the other side of Marvel, is looking at the blue cat in Marvel’s lap in confusion. And Supes can smell a cat somewhere and he’s also confused.

Later after this, Hal gathered the other Green Lanterns and went to go confront him.

Marvel: *turns around in his chair, petting Dexter like the Godfather* “What can I help you gentlemen with.” *has the Red Lantern ring Dexstarr gave him on the hand petting the cat*

Billy doesn’t know why he was being so dramatic right now, but what he does know is that this ring doesn’t really do anything. Sure, he feels a little bit more irritable, but oh well. To be honest, he just feels like Billy. As for the blood thing and replacing of the heart, Billy is pretty sure Marvel doesn’t have either of those things. He’s just magic.

All three GL’s: *dramatic gasps when they see the ring*

Guy Gardner: “Hand over the cat, Cheese. He’s super dangerous.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “It was probably self defense.”

John Stewart: “That might be true, but that doesn’t change the fact.”

Marvel: “So? You think I’ll just hand over my son like that?”

Guy: “Your son?”

Marvel: “He’s practically my son.”

Hal: *shares a look with Guy and John* “…Right. Listen. Captain, if you don’t hand him over, we’ll have to take him by force.”

Marvel: *sounds distinctly colder than any of them had ever heard* “Do you really think you three could beat me?”

That’s how Marvel ended up getting 21 v 1’d and somehow ended up winning. As for where the other 19 people came from. They called in reinforcements from nearby sectors. Thats how badly they were getting beaten.

Moral of the story, bro really likes his cat-son. Ha. Catson. Billy Batson and Dexstarr Catson.

Marvel also holds Dex just like this because I say so.

[tonycries]

"Pull On It. Harder."

Synopsis. He liked to wear that little black hair tie everywhere. Why? Oh, it just reminds him of the way you tie his hair into a pretty lil’ ponytail - all while he's tonguefúcking you to insanity.

Pairings. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, cunnilingus, rough oral (female receiving), unprotected, overstim, slightly long haired! boys, they’re just a bit mean here, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 1.2k

A/N. I love long haired men and no one can do anything ab it.

He’s never seen without that little black hair tie around his wrist. 

He likes to take it with him, thumbing that red imprint on his skin whenever he misses you. It makes him think of how he’d run his hands through your hair at night. Or how you’d intertwine your fingers with his when out on dates.

And, of course, how you’d gather  his locks and tie it into a pretty little ponytail while he tonguefucks you into insanity.  

“Fuck, sweetheart. Barely even touched you and already so wet f’me.”

Nose-deep in your pussy, his bangs partially cover his heavenly view of you - spread underneath him, thighs trembling and cunt dripping all over his freshly cleaned bed sheets. Good, he thinks deliriously, preferring your scent to the overly artificial softener anyway. 

He isn’t too worried, though, knowing you’ll work your magic with his hair soon enough. Soon.

“Soon” happens to be when he’s pooling your sweet juices on his lips. Relentless tongue dipping in and out of your quivering hole at a maddening pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Oh, fuck, baby- Hngh- faster, fucking me on your tongue s’good.” Hips bucking up into his hot mouth for more more more. Making out heatedly with your pussy with the urgency of a madman. Stray strands sticking to his forehead, he looks up at you through half-lidded, absolutely feral eyes that devour you almost as much as the mouth on your cunt - soon.

Tongue bullying past your swollen folds, crooking just right to fuck you on it the way he needed to with his throbbing cock. “Yeah, just like that.” you moan deliriously.

His hair tie digs into his skin, as well as yours, as he forces your thighs on his shoulders, reaching to draw tight, little circles on your needy clit. Methodical, and purposeful.

He knew you were close when you reached down to urgently cup his head, bunching those silky locks in two trembling hands. Ever the gentleman - his hand expertly leaves its bruising grip spreading your thighs so shamefully open. Letting you all but rip off the hair tie off it.

Shaky fingers running through his locks, his breath hitches so deliciously as you hastily secure his soft strands into a small, loose ponytail. Movements urgent and as jerky as the snap of that small hair tie. 

Ah, there he was - you could cum just from seeing the absolutely feral look on his face. It should be a crime for those beautiful features to be covered by anything other than your dripping cunt. 

A predatory grin tugs at his lips against your swollen ones as you finish tying the small band. Ah, now he can really get into it. Your back arches, using the ponytail as leverage to demand more. Need more as he makes out with your pussy with newfound vigor.

Nails digging into his scalp, searing with your grip. You know he doesn’t mind - in fact, he even leans into your touch with a guttural groan, swallowing hard as he drives his tongue deeper into you. 

It’s messy - both the ponytail and the way he speeds up maddeningly, your slick smearing across his pretty face, trailing down to the sheets below. Tongue continuing its relentless abuse - over and over and-

At a merciless rhythm that has the bed creaking and you whining in pleasure - the neighbors were sure to file another noise complaint. Annoying old fuckers, should give them a real show. 

His breaths are almost as ragged as yours now - because fuck oxygen, he wanted to see his pretty girl fall apart on his tongue. A munch - as you liked to often joke - with no care in the world for anything other than making you cum hard enough to see stars.

“Fuck, baby- m’gonna- m’gonna hngh-”

And not only do you see stars, you probably see the pearly gates of heaven as you cum on his mouth. Convulsing and hips rutting up to ride out your high on his pretty face. Eyes dazed, lips swollen and absolutely pussy-drunk. 

That sinful glint in his eyes stays as he pulls away, an obscene trail of saliva and your slick connecting your lips to his chin. Cheeks flushed so deceivingly innocently, strands of silky hair falling out of that disheveled ponytail. A true masterpiece.

He watched you intently, drinking in every dip and curve. Breathtaking, absolutely breathtaking.

But the games are over now.

“Spread them f’me, sweetheart.”

Looming over you, eyes burning with raw desire. Cock throbbing and leaking delicate beads of precum as he positions himself, furiously flushed tip nudging your sloppy hold. He pumps himself. Once. Twice. Being merciful enough to give you a second of respite.

Without warning, he surges forward. Bullying his thick cock into your snug cunt in one, swift thrust. Not stopping till he’s all the way. His lips crush against yours, stifling your cry of pain and pleasure at finally getting what he’s been teasing you with for so long.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your dripping cunt. Nails raking down his sculpted back as he starts up a feral, unforgiving pace. Each ram of his cock into your cunt erratic, hitting your cervix and pulsing against that one spot deliberately. Again. And again. Like a madman possessed. 

“Baby- Hngh-” you whine sinfully, hips bucking wildly against to meet his almost-animalistic cadence, reaching out a shaky arm towards him. He knows what that means. How could he not?

Holding your hungry gaze as he leans down, sweaty forehead meeting yours. One hand cradles your face, while the other hooks a finger underneath that godforsaken hair tie and pulls. Letting the ponytail - that at this point could barely even be called one - fall apart, just as you were underneath him. 

Eyes glassy and dazed, soft little ah! ah! ah! leaving you at each thrust. The only thing behind those pretty eyes being him and the big cock stuffing you full. So close to cumming. 

Bangs partially covering the sinful view that was you - but right now, he didn’t care. Not when you’re snaking a hand up to his locks and pulling. Hard.

“Yeah, just like that. Pull on it. Harder.” Fucked-out, broken little grunts leave his throat as he lets you continue your little ministrations, tugging on his hair especially hard when he purposefully misses that little spot he knew drove you wild. Over and over.

Now, he doesn’t want to sound like a masochist - his friends would probably laugh their asses off at that - it’s just it hurts so good when it’s you.

Which is why, two strong hands rest above your head, fingers lacing, pushing you down down down impossibly deeper onto his throbbing cock. You keen in response, “Ah! Hngh- oh, baby jus’ like that. M’gonna cum.”

Ha, as if he’d be that nice. 

Pulling out in one, fluid motion, he relishes in your disappointed whine at the sudden disappointment. Taking the opportunity to gather your hair in his fists, fingers deftly forming a makeshift ponytail with a snap! of that little hair tie. 

Leaning down to whisper in your ear, voice gravelly and hot against your ear. “Not yet. Suck on my cock without this ponytail falling apart, sweetheart. Then we’ll see about that orgasm, hm?”

Because you love to see his face.

And, of course, he loves to see yours.

- GETO, CHOSO, GOJO, Kuroo, KENMA, Sakusa, EREN, Jean

A/N. I’m ngl this is very much self-indulgent pls.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[earlysunshines]

clay hearts

danielle marsh x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: you've been working on a bunch of pottery for two hours, danielle thinks you need a break.

warnings: none just lots of kissing maybe ;ceramicist!reader ; they're disgustingly in love ; soooo in love ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: guys i am so delusional and in love with danielle marsh that whole pottery ep actually killed me she's so cute i need to be restrained.

in the little corner of your apartment, right next to the window that lets the sun shine on your features, you’re throwing another glob of clay only your wheel. it’s been fifteen minutes since you started, and you’ve successfully made one cup. one. 

you huff, ready to work on at least two more cups before you move onto some bigger pieces. 

before you can start on the next, you hear the door creaking open. you turn your head and see your girlfriend closing the door behind her. you smile immediately. 

“danielle,” you greet softly, fondly. “i missed you.”

her eyes light up when she sees you sitting by the pottery wheel. her footsteps are soft as she walks towards you, smiling and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“hey, you,” she murmurs, brushing a bit of clay from oyur eyebrow. “missed you more.”

“no way.”

“yes way.” she giggles. “i’ll let you get back to work, i have some of my own to tackle.”

you hum in response, leaving her to whatever is on her to-do list. 

—

hours slip by in quiet focus. you lose yourself in shaping the clay, unaware of just how much time has passed by as you made three cups, a plate, and a small vase. there’s the occasional groan or curse that slips from your lips as you tackle the stubborn pieces that refuse to cooperate. 

about an hour in, danielle had settled herself at the small beanbag near the coffee table, quietly working on her assignments with her laptop perched on her lap. she’s close enough to be company but far enough to let you work. 

you glimpse at danielle here and there in between each piece, happy to have her close to you. and she’s doing the same, stealing glances at you every few minutes, watching the way your brows furrow as you concentrate, the way your fingers shift to smooth and shape the clay. you’re lost in your own world. 

you look completely at ease, even in frustration, and something about it all — about you, your apron, and skin covered in flecks of clay — makes her heart skip. danielle can’t help but sneak a picture, you’re just so adorable in her eyes.

eventually, danielle can’t hold back. thirty-minutes later she closes her laptop softly and shifts in her seat, watching you for a few moments longer, letting the sound of your jazz playlist fill the silence. her chin is on her palm and she grins, calling out, “how about a break?”

“not yet,” you mumble, “almost done.” your eyes don’t leave the wheel, you’re not finished throwing the piece at hand — a strawberry vase that someone paid extra for; extra as in enough to take you and your girlfriend out for dinner at the end of the week — though your lips quirk into a small, appreciative smile.

she laughs softly, folding her arms as she sits back in the beanbag chair. “you’ve been making those weird noises you make when you’re frustrated for the past two hours, you know. i think you deserve one.”

finally breaking your focus, you glance over at her. her eyes are warm and soft and she’s smiling at you like she’s been waiting just to catch your attention. she looks especially alluring in your t-shirt, which fits loosely over her, and with her hair down messily. 

the vase isn’t quite finished, this is your second attempt at shaping it after all. you still have a few days before you can get it done, but you’d rather finish a complex piece like this now than later. spending a few minutes with your beloved girlfriend sounds lovely, but finishing a stubborn, pricey piece like this might have to come first. it’s for both of your sakes anyway, and it’ll only take maybe fifteen more minutes or so.

“dani,” you sigh, looking up at her with a pout, “can i finish this one first?”

she frowns at you, sighing before leaning against the cushion and admiring you again. “fine, fine.”

you give her an apologetic smile before returning to the piece. 

on your third attempt at constructing the strawberry vase, you accidentally make a dent. it had been going so well too, the sides all even and the structure perfect, but you just had to apply too much pressure as you slid your fingers up. you stare down at the clay spinning around, the dent making it look unappealing as it does so.

frustrated and out of sheer annoyance, you smack your hand down on it, flattening the shape completely. danielle watches you groan, leaning back and closing your eyes as you try to shake off the irritation.

as you redirect your attention again, starting to shape the mess of clay on the wheel, a small shuffle catches your attention. you turn to see danielle pulling up a chair right behind you. you raise a brow at the way she leans in close, wrapping her arms around you from behind, her small hands gently covering yours on the wheel.

you’re taken aback, glancing over your shoulder. “what are you doing?”

she tilts her head, grinning cheekily. “helping you out, of course.” she says in a light tone, sending a shiver down your spine.

her fingers curl around yours, guiding your hands back to the clay as you start to reshape it together. her fingers get covered in clay, but she doesn’t seem to care—she’s focused on you, her face close, eyes warm, breath hot as it hits your skin.

“the last time you tried to throw a cup you made quite the mess,” you chuckle, feeling her press closer with her chin resting on your shoulder. “you know this is just gonna make a mess, right?”

“maybe,” she whispers, a playful hint in her tone. and then, out of nowhere, she takes the opportunity of your head being angled towards her to press a quick, soft kiss to your lips.

your heart races, and you turn to her fully, a surprised smile spreading across your face. “is this your way of helping?”

“mhm,” she teases, giving your hands a final nudge before wiping her own on your apron. then, before you can react, her hands slip beneath the apron, resting gently on your ribs over the thin fabric of your tank top. her thumbs trace small circles there, rendering you a flustered mess as every thought of clay dissipates in your mind.

you feel her lips press a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another one to your neck, lingering just enough to send yet another shiver through you; your breath hitches.

turning to face her, your noses almost brush, and she’s giving you that look. the look that she always gives you when she’s amount to leave you breathless and flushed. she leans in again, catching your lips in another kiss, this one softer, warmer. 

your hands, still covered in clay, reach up to rest on her arms, pulling her just a bit closer as her fingers trace lazy patterns over your ribs. it’s a scene straight from a movie: the two of you sharing teasing, lingering kisses, playful and unhurried, each one leaving you feeling lighter than the last.

finally, she pulls back, to which you respond by chasing after, lips brushing against another. she’s smirking at you, her hand moving up to cup your face and brush some clay off.

“feeling better?” she asks as her thumb moves over to rest on the corner of your lip.

“much,” 

“right,” she starts, sliding her hand down to the base of your neck. “i think you should wrap up for the day and pay attention to your lovely girlfriend. how does that sound?”

with the time you spent with your eyes glued to the clay, you never realized the sun setting beside you. the dimmed rays shine on her face perfectly, accentuating each curve of every feature. danielle’s gaze is soft, her touch even softer as she slides her hands over your skin. you swallow shallowly, losing yourself at the sight of her—how could you say no when she looks at you like that?

“i think that sounds lovely.” you mutter, grinning as you lean in for one last kiss.

[fashionteahouse]

Angel, could you write a Paul x reader story where she invites the pack to join her at a costume party (she’s dressed in a sexy jaguar costume)? They agree to go, but until this point, Paul has been denying the imprint bond. However, at the party, he gets jealous seeing her dancing with another guy and almost kissing him. I’d love a conclusion with smut, either in the bathroom at the party or back at her house, as long as there’s a conflict before the climax. Only write it if you feel comfortable doing so—I adore your writing! 💋

of course and i appreciate you so much 🥺💜

or what - paul x reader

Arms were tightly crossed, the glare could burn a hole through the floor.

Disappointment, anger, and frustration seeped out of the man that stood sat in front of you.

He knew you well, you knew him well. But not well enough to spark any conversation. However, one look seemed to change things.

Everything was starting to make sense. You seen him around the neighborhood, but often wondered how he had gotten so big and muscular and only stuck around the same group of people.

You’ve known him to flock to many others rather than sticking to a core group.

It all made sense now.

“So…This is…Forever?” you speak out. The very tall man who you found out to be Sam, nods at your answer.

“Oh.” you say and sit back in your chair.

“The secret cannot be told to anyone else. You’re an imprint and this is the pack.” he says.

You make a quick zipper motion with your fingers on your mouth. It’s not like anyone would believe you anyway.

“Are we done? Can I go home now?”

He was annoyed. You were a bit annoyed as well. He was so rude.

“Paul.” Sam warns him before taking the conversation back to you, “What do you think?”

“Nothing. I won’t say anything.” you say and Paul rises up with a scrape of his chair and makes his way out of the door, with it slapping to a close behind his absence.

“Sorry about him.” Sam apologized.

“It’s all good.” you say and rise up, making your way to your own home.

One person didn’t spoil the bunch, the pack welcomed you with open arms.

You were grateful.

You met the other imprints. They allowed you to be yourself. They all were a breath of fresh air and you suddenly felt sad.

People spread rumors and they didn’t know what great company they were. They didn’t know that they risked their lives to protect the very people who ridiculed them.

“Come with me, please!” you say with a smile.

They all sat around the table at lunch.

“Will there be girls there?” Quil asks with a mouthful.

“Duh.” you say.

That’s when agreements were made amongst the group. All except one.

“You going?” you heard Jacob ask him.

“I’m good.” he muttered. He didn’t bother to look up not once since you sat at the table.

Jacob frowned a bit and you caught this.

“It will be fun without the attitudes anyway.” you say, looking at Jacob. You missed the glare that came from Paul.

You smooth out your costume with your hands and turn in one circle as you stood in the mirror.

“What do you think?” you ask nervously.

“Hot.” both Kim and Emily speaks out.

“Y/N. Look at you!” the guy who threw the party says.

“Hey. Thanks for inviting me.”

“I knew to invite you. You brought company. Good looking company at that.” he says as he eyes the people that you came with.

You playfully roll your eyes at his statement and merge and mingle with others.

Flickering your eyes around to spark up conversation, Paul was there.

You ignore him. He ignores you.

A song that you liked came on. It made you excited, however, a guy found your excitement to be adorable. You danced a bit on your own and he made his move.

He wasn’t bad looking at all. You give him attention.

“Do you know how to dance?” you ask and he nods confidently with a grin. You both dance. Song after song, you both laughed together as hands began to not be shy of one’s bodies.

Paul was stagnant on the couch. He had perfect view of what was happening on the dance floor, watching as a foreign feeling started to bubble inside of him.

Jealousy.

He felt it was personal. His fists were tight against his knees. A girl flopped down next to him as he stared ahead.

“Wanna dance?” she asks with a smirk.

He looked at her.

“Yeah.” he says.

She thought his bitter tone was hot. Paul allowed her to take his hand. He got closer and close to the spot where your hand was around the guy’s neck, your hips rolled and swayed to the beat.

Paul didn’t like the greediness that reeked from the guy you were dancing with. He didn’t even pay attention to the girl who danced up on him.

“Damn, you’re driving me crazy.” the guy says to you. Paul picks up the sultry giggle that bubbled out of your throat. He had to watch as the guy’s hands traveled down your waist, feeling you up and you allowing it.

Heads were tilted as you both lean in closer and closer, staring at each other with interest. Lips were inches away from each other and he knew what was about to happen.

He couldn’t take it anymore. His wolf couldn’t take it anymore.

Grabbing your arm, he ignored your protests.

In the hallway, you push him.

“The hell is your problem?” you yell. It was muffled from the loud music.

“We need to talk.” he grits out.

You walk away with a groan.

He grabbed your arm again and you both were standing on tile floor in the bathroom. He shuts the door.

“I don’t want to talk to you!”

“Why?” he asks angrily. He steps closer, “You were going to hook up with him?”

Meeting his fierce gaze, “You jealous?” you say with a teasing grin.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment before he huffed out softly.

“You wanted me to dance up on you like that, huh? All you had to do was ask.” you say and end it with your hand cupping his chin with your hand for a moment and you close the bathroom door behind you.

You shook your head.

You didn’t know where that came from. You knew that he didn’t want the imprint, so why you still kept the door of opportunity open for him, you weren’t too sure.

The guy you were dancing with comes back into your view.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asks with his hands slightly up.

“Nowhere. I’m here now.” you say returning the smile he gave you.

He then displayed a look as he looked behind you, “That guy..I could talk to him if you want. I didn’t like him roughing you up like that.”

“Oh he didn’t-“ you start but you were interrupted.

“You’re gonna do what?” you hear Paul boom out.

Paul was now standing in front of you, pushing you behind him. You looked up at his back and the back of his head as you couldn’t believe that he would do such a thing. He acted so disinterested and now here he was, standing in front of you in a protective stance.

“Oh, so you heard me. Leave her alone.” the guy you danced with says.

“Or what?” Paul grits out.

One mistake happened. It was a shove. Paul barely budged but it was enough to make him snap.

He didn’t have to use much power but his shove made him stumble back hard onto the floor.

Crowd of eyes started to look.

The guy didn’t want to be embarrassed, not in front of his friends so he scrambled up fast to his feet but Paul was faster.

One punch in the mouth made him groan out in pain as Paul peered over him. Crowds of oohs surround the party and you grab Paul’s arm.

“We have to leave.” you say in panic.

Paul turns, walking right out of the door, but he makes sure that you are walking right with him.

Your feet tries their best to keep up with his steps. He’s fuming.

“I need to calm down. I don’t feel like phasing. Fuck!”

You watch him as he paced the empty lit up street, he tried his best to push the anger down.

“I’m sorry..” you say.

“For what? You didn’t even do anything.” Paul says but continues to pace.

“You can go back to the party. Go back to that guy. I don’t even care anymore.”

You snort a little, “Looks like you do care.”

He glared up.

“Paul. Why are you fighting it so much?” you ask.

“Fighting what? What are you even talking about Y/N?” he asks impatiently.

“You know what I’m talking about….” you say. He doesn’t say anything and you then turn to walk away.

You felt some type of way. He was making things hard for no reason.

“Where are you going?” he echoed out.

“Home.” you mutter.

You continue to walk. When you turned the corner onto your street, you didn’t expect him to be following you.

“Okay, you can leave now.” you say as you face your front door with your key.

“I don’t feel like it.” he says.

“Of course.” you mumble but the excitement fluttered about in your stomach as you unblocked your door.

He sat on your couch comfortably as you went to your room.

You struggle. You sigh in slight panic as your fingers tried their best to zip down the zipper. It was stuck.

You call for him.

He’s there.

“Do..Do you mind?” you ask and he’s walking towards you, “It’s stuck.” you continue.

His fingers fixed the zipper with ease and his fingers zipped it down.

He heard the fast racing or your heart.

“Thanks.” you whisper. He just looks at you. You look at him. It felt like a magical thread was attached to the both of you. So many pent up emotions were let out as you both slowly leaned in.

To you, his lips were perfect. To him, your lips were perfect. Both lips moved in sync as you both then clutch to each other. His dominant tongue swirled around yours and your knees buckled from such talent.

Falling backwards on the bed in your room, his knee was placed between your legs as he leaned down to continue to savor the taste of your mouth.

His hands felt up your body and your body screamed for more. The soft caresses that was inflicted upon him, made him and his wolf purr in satisfaction.

He didn’t know why he fought it for so long. All that he knew was, to claim you.

Your rolled side to side as you clutched onto his arms, his thick fingers pumping in and out of you. The sounds that uttered from your throat went right to his dick.

The same flesh that sprung out stiffly as he pulled his pants down.

Pumping into you carefully, it was you that clutched to him as he held you tight. He picked up the pace that made you sigh and whisper out his name. Gripping each other’s skin, his thrusts were powerful but full of passion.

As you both sit up and hugged each other, a deep and passionate kiss was shared between you two. You both saw stars as both set of hips met each other again and again. It looked and felt as if you two were all time lovers.

He kept his eyes open. He begged you to keep your eyes open. He wanted you to remember this moment, remember that you were making him feel this way. He didn’t want you to forget. You didn’t want to forget.

[gf2bellamy]

early seasons spence has me in a chokehold so i kinda have a request for you idk if it makes sense but yeah anyway (please dont tell me its obvious im a yapper ill cry)

ANYWHO

secret relationship au im imagining, earlyseasons!spencer x genderneutral/fem!bau!user (doesnt bother me but im trying to be considerate, im a girl but it really doesnt matter)

basically im thinking like the reader gets kidnapped on a case and spence is FREAKING OUT like lack of sleep, pacing constantly and being really set on finding the unsub freaking out.. and when he finally finds the reader in their state hes like that mix of relieved and absolutely appalled at the readers condition (im imagining all beaten and bloody and stuff idk how graphic you wanna make it). hes all ditsy when hes untying their binds and carrying them out of the place since hes so scared for them. the rest of the thing is kinda hotch calmly telling the reader how freaked out spence was and then im thinking like them comforting spencer afterwards and saying all the ‘its not your fault’ and ‘im okay now’ and its so fluffy it rots all our teeth (but i guess it would also be angst) IDK IF IT MAKES ANY SENSE IMSORRY

anyway remember to drink water and take care of yourself

call me some random emoji cause ill probably be here a bunch

- 🐚

captured — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader having bruises, reader being tied up, mention of having a terrible headache, a/n: thank you so so much for your request and your request makes perfect sense don't worry !! i loved the idea and i'm looking forward to your next requests 🐚 <3<3<3 i hope i did your request justice !!!

Spencer didn’t know where you were. No one did. That thought pounded through his skull, looping endlessly as he nursed what had to be his fifth coffee of the day. He hadn’t slept—not even a minute—and the caffeine barely registered.

The coffee tasted like ash, bitter and lifeless. Not that it mattered. All it was doing was keeping him on his feet long enough to find you.

He should have seen this coming. He should have known the unsub would target you. You fit the profile perfectly—he had pored over the details a hundred times, retracing every step the team had made.

And yet, when it mattered most, Spencer had let his guard down.

And now you were gone. Missing. Maybe worse.

The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through him. His guilt was unbearable.

But it wasn’t just guilt, wasn’t just worry for a teammate.

It was something deeper, something he wasn’t allowed to show, not in a room full of profilers.

Because this wasn’t just about an agent being taken.

This was about you.

The person he had been secretly slipping away with after hours and the person whose hand he had held in the darkness when no one was looking.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

He should have stopped you. You should have never been the one to go on that stakeout alone, even if it was routine. Even if you’d assured him you’d be fine. The memory of your casual smile as you walked out the door stabbed at him like a knife.

“It’s just for a few hours, Spence,” you’d said with that soft lilt in your voice, the one you used when you were trying to put him at ease. The one that undid him every time.

He’d smiled back, pretending to believe you, but his stomach had tightened even then. He should have insisted on going with you.

And now—God, now—he didn’t know if he would ever hear that voice again.

It was a small mistake—one that was tearing him apart.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. He forced himself to let go, staring blankly at the case file in front of him. It was no use. He’d already memorized every detail, every piece of evidence. Nothing had led them to you yet.

But it would. It had to.

Spencer rubbed his eyes, exhaustion clawing at him. His entire body screamed for rest, but the idea of closing his eyes—even for a moment—felt impossible. His mind was too full of you.

The burning in his eyes was unbearable, but the ache in his chest was worse.

Everyone on the team was worried about you—how could they not be? But they were also worried about him. And they had every reason to be.

They thought his reaction was because the two of you were close, because he was the type to carry the weight of every case like a personal failure. But it was more than that.

He wasn’t just losing an agent. He was losing you.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the desk once more.

He stared at the evidence board in front of him, the faces of the victims haunting him as he tried to force his brain into profiling mode. But every time he looked at their photos, all he could see was you.

Your smile. Your eyes. The way you looked at him.

His chest tightened painfully, and he dug his fingers into the desk again.He needed to focus.

“Reid.”Hotch’s voice broke through his frantic thoughts.

Spencer’s head snapped toward the doorway where Hotch stood, his expression unreadable as always. “We’ve got a lead,” he said, stepping inside.“Where?” Spencer asked.

“An abandoned warehouse on 14th and Grant,” Hotch replied evenly, though the concern in his eyes was clear.

Spencer turned back to the board, his mind racing as he analyzed the new information. Within seconds, he made the connection. The location fit the unsub’s pattern, his profile—it was possible.

It was enough.

Spencer shot to his feet without another word, practically bolting out the door. The rest of the team exchanged quick glances before following him.

He didn’t care if he looked reckless. He didn’t care if they saw how desperate he was. He had wasted enough time already.

Derek barely had time to react before Spencer climbed into the passenger seat, his breathing uneven.

Derek glanced at him, concern flickering across his face as he started the engine. “Reid—”

“Just drive,” Spencer snapped.

Derek didn’t argue. He knew better.

The SUV tore through the streets, Derek driving faster than protocol allowed. But he didn’t care. He knew Spencer would bite his head off if he slowed down, and frankly, he couldn’t blame him.

Spencer’s knee bounced restlessly as his eyes darted to the GPS screen, counting down the seconds until they arrived.

The second the car came to a stop in front of the warehouse, Spencer threw open the door and bolted.

“Reid, wait!” Derek’s voice rang out behind him, but it was no use.

Spencer didn’t slow down. He couldn’t.

His pulse roared in his ears as he burst into the building, gun raised, breath ragged. His rational mind screamed at him to slow down, to wait for backup, to clear the scene carefully—standard protocol.

But protocol didn’t matter right now.

The dim lighting inside cast long, eerie shadows along the walls. The air was thick with dust and something metallic—rust, maybe blood. His stomach turned at the thought.

His grip on his gun tightened as he moved swiftly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Room after room, door after door—empty.

Panic coiled in his chest, squeezing tighter with each dead end. His mind flashed with worst-case scenarios.

He shoved them down. He couldn’t think like that.

Then, he reached the last door.

Spencer barely took a breath before forcing it open, gun at the ready.

And then—

His stomach dropped.

There you were.

His voice cracked as he called out your name, his heart pounding in his chest. He rushed toward you, his gun immediately lowering as he took in your state.

His stomach twisted at the sight of you—unconscious, slumped forward, your wrists tightly bound to the arms of the chair. The dim lighting highlighted the bruises and cuts on your face, the sight of them sending a jolt of raw panic through him. For a brief, gut-wrenching moment, Spencer feared the worst.

He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they moved to your neck. His fingers pressed gently against your pulse point, but for what felt like an eternity, there was nothing.

His mind raced. Was this it? Was this how it ended?

Then—

There it was.

A faint, steady beat beneath his fingertips.

Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave, and for the first time in what felt like hours, Spencer’s lungs finally let him take a full breath. He leaned forward, forehead nearly touching yours as he whispered shakily, “Thank God. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

His hands moved to your face, cupping it gently as he tilted your head up to get a better look at you.

When your face came into full view, his breath hitched.

Bruises marred your cheekbone and temple, a thin line of dried blood trailing down from your hairline. Spencer’s heart clenched so tightly he thought it might break. He bit his lip, trying to keep it together, trying to maintain some semblance of control

One single tear slipped down his cheek as he softly brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch as gentle as if he were handling glass.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m here.”

“Morgan!” Spencer’s voice cracked, raw with emotion, as he yelled.

Seconds later, Derek burst into the room, gun in hand, his face hard and alert. “Reid, I just cleared the—” But the moment his eyes landed on you, his words died in his throat.

Derek cursed under his breath, his gaze shifting between you and Spencer, before asking about your condition, his concern palpable as he rushed to Spencer’s side, holstering his gun.

“Alive,” Spencer barely managed to choke out the word, his voice trembling. “Pulse is steady, but we need to get out of here.”

Morgan nodded, his jaw tightening as he quickly pulled out his knife to cut through the ropes binding your wrists.

Spencer’s hands were already on you, one cradling the back of your head, the other resting gently on your arm. His thumb stroked soothing circles on your skin.

The motion was familiar, a small gesture he used to comfort you when you were restless after nightmares, when he needed to remind you—remind himself—that you were safe.

He hoped it would work now, that somehow, it would bring you back to him.

Morgan worked quickly, slicing through the restraints. As soon as your wrists were free, Spencer carefully pulled you into his arms, holding you close against him.

His breath hitched as he whispered your name, lips near your ear. “It’s me. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Your body felt so limp against him. He could barely feel his own limbs—his exhaustion was a distant thing compared to the need to keep you safe.

Derek’s voice broke through his daze, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Let’s move.”

Spencer nodded. As he moved, one arm tightening protectively around you.

As they made their way outside, the sunlight hit Spencer’s face, but he barely noticed.

All he could focus on was you—the bruises and cuts that were on your skin, the way your body felt too light in his arms. His heart clenched at the thought of how much pain you must have endured, how much suffering had been thrust upon you, all because of the job.

He had promised you that he would protect you, that he would keep you safe. And now, he felt like he had failed you.

Two hours later, after one heated argument with the paramedics, Spencer had insisted on riding in the ambulance with you. He had refused to let you be alone, not for a second.

Now, you were lying in a sterile hospital bed, an IV drip hooked up to you, the soft beeping of machines a constant reminder that you were still here—still alive.

Spencer, on the other hand, was slumped in an uncomfortable plastic chair. His body contorted in a way that he knew he would regret later, but he didn’t care. His legs were stretched out, but his back was hunched, his neck bent at an awkward angle.

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking as the bright overhead lights made everything blur. The room was unfamiliar—hospital white with the sharp scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

The pain hit you almost immediately—sharp and unwelcome—making its way through your head and down your body. You winced, biting your lip to hold back the whimper that threatened to escape.

The pain was intense, but it was nothing compared to the weight of everything that had happened.

The fear, the physical pain, the overwhelming sense of helplessness, it all crashed down on you like a tidal wave. But beneath it all, something else made itself known. The hum of machines, the soft beeping of your pulse, the sterile scent of the hospital room.

You slowly became aware that you were no longer in that dark, cold room, bound and at the mercy of the unsub. You were safe now.

And with that realization came relief.

You weren’t dead. You hadn’t been forgotten or abandoned. The unsub hadn’t fulfilled his plan.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they began to fall. You lifted your hand to your face, wiping them away quickly, but more kept coming. You couldn’t stop them.

Your eyes scanned the room, and that’s when you saw him.

Spencer.

He was there, slumped in the chair beside your bed. His exhaustion was unmistakable. His hair was messier than usual, not gelled back.

You sat there quietly observing the boy you had come to love so much.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and you turned your head to see Hotch step in. His usual stern expression softened when his eyes met yours, and for the briefest of moments, you could see the relief in his gaze.

“Hi, Hotch,” you mumbled weakly, offering a small, tired smile.

Hotch stepped further into the room, taking in your condition. "How are you doing?" His voice was softer than usual, an underlying concern lacing his words as he slowly closed the door behind him.

"My head is killing me," you replied, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. Your hand instinctively went to your temple, massaging it gently, but it did little to alleviate the pain.

Hotch nodded understandingly. He glanced at Spencer briefly, noting the way he hadn’t moved a muscle.

Hotch’s eyes lingered on Spencer for a moment longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he knew more than he was letting on.

It wouldn’t surprise you; Hotch was perceptive in ways no one else was, and your relationship with Spencer hadn’t exactly been subtle all the time.

He cleared his throat before speaking again. "We got him," Hotch said. "The unsub... he's in custody."

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. The news felt like a balm to your soul.

You’d been terrified that the danger hadn’t truly passed, that the man who had done this to you would still be out there, free to hurt others. But now, you could finally breathe.

He was behind bars, where he belonged.

"Thank you," you whispered, your body finally relaxing a little, your tension ebbing away with the knowledge that the man behind your nightmare was locked away.

Hotch’s gaze softened, though his face remained stoic as always. “He was worried sick,” Hotch said, nodding toward Spencer. “He didn’t sleep. He was looking for you the entire time.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, your breath catching as you shifted your gaze from Hotch back to Spencer.

You could see the toll the search had taken on him. You fought the urge to reach for him, to run your fingers through his hair and wake him up just so you could see his face, to remind yourself that he was real, that he was here.

The face that had been your lifeline during the long days of captivity. It was that face, the one you’d thought of in the darkest moments, that had kept you sane.

Hotch seemed to notice the way your gaze lingered on Spencer, and for a moment, his usually unreadable face softened.

He didn’t say anything, but you could tell that he knew.

Spencer stirred slightly in his sleep, making a soft sound as he shifted. His body tensed before relaxing, the quiet movements of someone who was waking from exhaustion.

Hotch glanced down at Spencer, then back at you.He gave your arm a gentle squeeze—one that was light enough to not cause you any pain—and you looked at him.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Hotch said quietly. He gave you a small nod before stepping back.“Thanks, Hotch,” you mumbled, your voice still weak, but filled with genuine gratitude.

The door clicked softly behind him.As if on cue, Spencer slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times as the light seemed to hurt him.

His eyes immediately locked onto yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the relief, the exhaustion, the quiet joy of seeing you alive.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself.

His eyes searched your face, his expression tightening as he took in every little detail.

Spencer never liked to admit his feelings. He never said the words, but you felt them in the way his eyes lingered on you, in the way he never once left your side.

You knew what was hidden beneath the surface, even if the world didn’t.

"Hi," you mumbled back, trying to offer him a small, weak smile. The effort was exhausting, but you didn’t want him to see just how badly you were hurting.

As you shifted to sit up a bit, the sharp pain in your head and limbs made itself known, and you couldn’t stop the soft groan that slipped from your lips.

Without a second thought, Spencer stood up from his seat, stepping closer to your bed, but he didn’t reach for you immediately.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking slightly. His eyes scanned over you—lingering on the bruises and cuts that were on your skin.

His breath caught in his throat as his gaze flickered from the fresh marks on your body to your face, and for a split second, it seemed like he couldn’t look at you without some part of him breaking.

"I’ll be fine," you said, your voice strained as you did your best to sound convincing, but the words didn’t do much to reassure him.

You could see it in the way he flinched, his hand immediately running through his hair—trying to distract himself from how visibly shaken he was by the sight of you in pain.

Spencer Reid, who always had an answer for everything, who always had control, was falling apart.

He leaned forward slightly, as if wanting to touch you but unsure if he should.

“Spence,” you whispered, your voice quiet but filled with reassurance. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

But Spencer’s gaze remained on you, his body tense, and his hands flexed, still not knowing where to go. His lips parted again, as though to say something, but it came out only as a soft breath.

His fingers hovered near your arm but didn’t touch.

It was like he was afraid of hurting you more. You could see the guilt gnawing at him. It was written all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—" His words faltered, and he cut himself off.

"Spence," you said slowly, your voice soft but insistent. You reached out and grabbed his hand, your fingers curling around his gently.

His grip tightened around your hand, but it felt shaky. The words suddenly spilled out.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve known. I should’ve known you could be in danger and I—” His voice cracked, and the rest of the sentence died in his throat. His breath hitched, and it was clear he was trying to hold back tears.

But they came anyway, pooling in his eyes, spilling over and leaving tracks down his pale face.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him—this was the man who had stayed by your side, refused to leave even when his mind told him he couldn’t handle it anymore.

The man who, despite everything, was still so gentle with you, so protective, and yet, here he was, blaming himself for things beyond his control.

"Spencer, stop," you said softly, your voice full of concern for him “Please, stop.”

His eyes remained downcast, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I should have," he murmured under his breath, barely loud enough for you to catch.

His voice trembled, breaking on the words. "I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve made sure you were safe. You're hurt... you're in the hospital because of me."

Your heart broke all over again. He always did this to himself, carried the weight of everyone else’s pain as if it were his own.

"No, no," you whispered urgently, doing your best to push through the lingering pain in your head as you squeezed his hand tighter.

The effort sent a sharp pulse through your skull, but you forced yourself to focus, to hold on to him. "Spence, it wasn’t your fault. Don't ever think that," you said firmly, your voice filled with all the care and strength you had left.

"Listen to me," you continued, the words coming from the depths of your soul. "You did everything you could. You were there. You found me. You're the reason I'm alive, Spencer. If anyone should be sorry, it’s the man who did this to me, not you." Your words were soft.

Spencer’s breath hitched again, his face contorting. He looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him together.

You took a slow, steady breath, forcing yourself to speak through the exhaustion. "You’re not the reason I’m here, Spence," you said, your voice full of the truth you wished he could feel deep inside himself. "You’re the reason I’m going to be okay. You always are."

Your words seemed to reach him, just enough to keep him from falling apart completely.

"Promise me something," you said, your voice soft but unwavering. "Promise me you’ll stop blaming yourself. It’s not on you. It never was."

He nodded slowly, his hand tightening around yours in return.

“I promise,” he whispered, though it felt like he was still trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"Come here," you said softly.

Without a second thought, Spencer leaned forward, his body folding into yours as he gently buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms sliding around you with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

His breath hitched as he adjusted, trying his best not to press too hard, too recklessly, worried about hurting you. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

When he finally pulled back, there was a small smile on his face that wasn’t there before.

You smiled gently, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face, your fingers lingering on his skin.

"I’m okay," you whispered, your voice tender, just for him. "I’m really okay, Spence."

He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering for just a second longer than usual, before pulling back with a contented sigh. "I’m so glad you’re here" he murmured.

You squeezed his hand tightly, smiling at him.

He pulled the chair closer to your bed, never letting go of your hand, settling into it with a deep breath. He was still physically exhausted, emotionally drained, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was that you were here.

[handlemehyuck]

LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP for boyfriend dreamies

♡a voicemail for mark˚ ⋆。

“i keep listening to songs i haven’t heard in forever, not since i was a kid or teenager, and they transport me back to that time. suddenly, i’m wearing pink converse and jean shorts and the t-shirt from my summer play. it’s saturday, and i’m sitting on the stairs waiting for my friend to arrive, sunlight all over the walls. we wanted to have a sleepover, but there’s church in the morning, so she’ll stay as late as she can, probably until we’re dozing off on the couch watching one of the dvds she brought. naturally, i have to think about you because music wraps around your life in a way it never will for me. we’ve probably talked about this. maybe the conversation took a different shape before, but what’s a song that takes you back? what’s a time you miss and revisit through music? do you have time to think about those things? your life is go go go, and i’ve made silly wishes on eyelashes about peering into your head. i’m a reminiscer, and i know not everyone is, but you’re a creative. you’re a writer—music wraps around your life in a special way, so the idea of nostalgia visiting rarely seems unrealistic? but i guess i can’t know until you tell me. i see it often. i see it when i’m out without my glasses. the distant view is blurry, and suddenly, there i am, riding a bike, pink converse on. what shows up in your blurry nostalgia view?”

♡a voicemail for renjun˚ ⋆。

“babyyyy, i had the best time tonight. i feel like i’m covered in stars. areum’s parents have this sprawling backyard, so we collected a bunch of blankets, packed a picnic basket, and stayed out for hours beneath the most beautiful willow tree i’ve ever seen. i wore linen pants and a bikini top—your favorite one. i had a cardigan too, just in case, but the weather was perfect. i really needed to get out of the city. i know you know that, and i wanted to call you because… hmm sometimes i feel like my life is strung together by reminders. reminders of you and other people and things i love. reminders of our beginnings and all the sweet milestones along the way. i think my love could light up all the stars, more stars than i could ever see with my own eyes, enough stars to make a path between your hometown and my own. i’ll bring you back a jar of stardust. it’ll be empty… you’ll think it’s empty. sometimes magical things are invisible, or they just glow in the dark. anyway, it’s late, like 3 am, and i’m honestly glad you didn’t answer. as badly as i want to hear your voice, you should be asleep. i hope this voicemail makes you smile in the morning. i’ll send you some pictures too. see you on sunday. MWAH kisses *giggles*.”

♡a voicemail for jeno˚ ⋆。

“i’m going to my mom’s tomorrow, and i keep thinking about the drive. i rented a car… you know all of this already, but i guess it’s just present in my mind again. i’m staring at my luggage right now, and the entire thing feels wrong. i’m sorry if this sounds horrible, but i’m so used to you leaving. i’ve gotten really good at that. i’m good at being alone. i made sure i love my apartment and feel at home in it when you’re away because i’d fully unravel or find myself at your place more often than i already am if didn’t love it… stopping by to water all of those plants you don’t actually have. anyway, yeah… it just feels weird. i feel like you should be coming. i keep thinking about driving together: which one of us would pump the gas? who would run inside for snacks? what would we talk about in the car? would you drive halfway or drive all the way because you know i’d rather not if the option’s available to me? i know i’ll be fine. i’ve driven long ways on my own before, but it’ll be weird. i’ll be in a guest room. i don’t know what color the comforter is. i don’t know if i’ll like the sheets. my mom knows i’m weird and particular, but will she remember that when she’s fluffing up the pillows? what will i do when i can’t sleep? i love my mom. i haven’t seen her in months, but i close my eyes and daydream about being with you. i yearn for you in the stickiest of ways. it probably falls off of me too and hangs thickly in the air, gets stuck to the bottom of people’s shoes. i’d apologize if i knew, but i’m all caught up on you you you... i’m saying all of this, but i know this trip will be good for me. i know i’m not dependent on you, but last year was one of your busiest yet. and pride isn’t a question—i’ll spend my entire life being proud of you, but i can’t pretend there weren’t nights when the missing was so palpable i couldn’t sleep, so i read or baked bread or watched my toes wrinkle in the bath. it would be good for me to sleep at my mom’s, wake up to a new view, share breakfast, and simple conversation. i know i need the rest. i know everything will be fine.”

♡a voicemail for haechan˚ ⋆。

“if you told me the grass and the trees and the streets are all white, i would believe you. it’s like a blizzard out there. i’ve never seen so much white in my entire life. honestly, it’s kind of freaking me out, making me feel claustrophobic. i look up at the sky, back down again, and nothing changes, apart from the shapes and the saving grace of traffic lights—at least their colors are still clear. could we get by with just green, red and yellow for the rest of our lives?… some food for thought. anyway, it’s snowing *laughs*. i’m on my… third? tea after a few hot chocolates as well. no food so far today, just warm drinks. last time it snowed, you made kimchi jjigae and we ate in front of the window. do you remember that? we brought over my coffee table and the pot, bowls, and rice… i stopped listening to your story, all zeroed in on a snowflake. i didn’t look away until you kissed my neck. that’s quite a dangerous superpower: you have me at will with kisses, but i trust you with my weakest point... it wouldn’t be the same if i make kimchi jjigae and eat in front of the window without you. i should sit at the dining room table or maybe even the kitchen island—give myself a break from all the white. hopefully, i can still see you tomorrow. maybe you can kiss my neck again and tend to a few of my other weaker points… i love you.”

♡a voicemail for jaemin˚ ⋆。

“i want you to come over right now, and i know that you can’t. i also know that i might not see you for a couple of days, but i want to do nothing with you. i wish it didn’t feel silly… or embarrassing to want. i don’t know why wanting is so uncomfortable for me to share, especially because i’ve wanted loudly with you already, over and over again… but i guess i just wanted you to know. i painted my nails and went to the grocery store and chopped bell peppers because if they’re already prepped i know i’ll be more likely to eat them. i hung up some pictures in my room, and i kept thinking about you when i’d step back to make sure each one was straight. you would’ve done that part for me. i want to do everything together, and i don’t want you to feel bad because we can’t. that’s not why i’m leaving you this. i just know how happy it makes me feel when you express your want for me, in small ways, in spontaneous ways, in sexy ways… in uncomfortable ways, when you just want to be held, when you just need me to listen… it never ends with you. it never ends with me. we’re these entities that constantly move together and around each other, and i know i can get where i need to go without you, but it’s so much more fun when you’re here, and we’re in motion together. i’m making tea, and i think i’m going to drink it on the balcony. i’ll have to put socks on and a coat, but i want to hear the traffic noise and look down at people by themselves or in groups walking around and existing. i was existing for a long time. i felt really disconnected from living, but i knew i wanted to—to feel like i was living again. i just wasn’t quite sure how to get back to that place, but i was starting to figure it out when we met. on our first date, i felt like i struck gold. it was in your smile and your laughter, and this feeling that embraced me because all of a sudden i wasn’t nervous. i had only said your name out loud three times, but it felt so comfortable in my mouth. i remember leaving and whispering it to myself over and over again, and i couldn’t help but hope it would become a name i’d say for the rest of my life. so i’m going to drink my tea and enjoy this beautiful city we live in. i’m going to fold laundry and plan dinner. i’m going to think of you and get excited about the next night we fall asleep together.”

♡a voicemail for chenle˚ ⋆。

“i made it through the list of movies you left me. that sticky note is cute by the way. i like the border of little bears wearing scarves. where’d you get it? i almost threw it out on accident yesterday when i was cleaning my kitchen. now it’s living on my fridge. i taped it down on every side so my cleaning, autopilot fingers can’t attempt a second disposal… when you get this, i’d love some more movies. i’d ask for a horror film, but the idea of watching anything scary without you sounds worse than unclogging the shower drain or some other unpleasant household chore. oh! i went out this morning with chaewon, and she’s dating someone new. i started talking about hosting a dinner before i could really think it through. would you host another one with me? no pressure. chaewon told me not to even mention it to you, something about bad luck… she needs to wait a couple months before bringing them around all of our friends—has to pass 60 days of dating. there’s something romantic about a dinner party to me, though. maybe it’s just the wholesome quality time with my favorite people and knowing you’re only a look away. i don’t know if you remember, but you would always trail your fingertip up and down the back of my arm and kiss my cheek every time you got up, never wanting to interrupt the conversation but noticing the glasses in need of more wine. *groan* everything you do turns me on… ridiculous. do you even have a clue? no, i know you do. *sigh* g’night sunshine.”

♡a voicemail for jisung˚ ⋆。

“that fight was gross. i had to shower as soon as i got home, and the clothes i was wearing are already in the washing machine. are you ok? i know we tried to make it pretty again, but it felt ugly even at the end, and your eyes were so red. i hate seeing you cry. i love it actually… seeing your emotions, but never when it’s like that. i was so close to going to your favorite restaurant and picking us up something, but i know you need some time. but, if you listen to this, you can text me if you’re hungry, and i will go to your favorite restaurant. i can leave the food outside or just in the entryway, unless you’re crying again when i get there. then, i will take off my shoes and hug you, and i won’t stop until you at least hug me back. i’m so sorry. i don’t… most of the time i don’t feel insecure, but sometimes it comes out, and it takes this ugly shape that looks alien to me. i hope it looks alien to you too. i don’t want to be that way often enough for it to become familiar. tell me if it ever does. the idea alone makes me feel sick to my stomach. please text me at least. ok. dammit, i don’t want to hang up. i keep thinking you’ll pick up—”

[onelittlespiral]

You should definitely do a preppy boy tf!

FML: Contact

I knew I should have charged my phone before I left, but I was running late and didn’t want to miss my study session. I know, I know it was stupid. But the walk was only supposed to be a few blocks. I have no idea how I got this lost. It felt like I was wandering for hours, but I kept just going around in circles and ending up in front of this gym. Great, just what I needed before finals week. Maybe I should stop an- ugh. My bag spilled out in front of me as I wa a knocked to the ground.

“Hey, sorry bro.”

It seems like on about my third time around the block I finally ran into one of the gym’s patrons, idiot. For the life of me I will never know how those guys will walk out in shorts in December. I started to scoop my belongings back into my bag.

“Here, let me help- Ah fuck, that could be bad.” He picked up my laptop and handed it to me. Thankfully it seems that there wasn’t any real damage, but a few deep scratches were carved in the metal and the screen was definitely cracked.

“Just what I needed today! Look where you’re going next time!” I was nearly in tears. I was lost, I was frustrated, I think the fall tore a hole in my khakis, and now my computer would be busted till after finals.

“Hey, I said I was sorry. Didn’t mean to knock a shrimp like you down. I didn’t even hit you that hard…”

“Well sue me if I don’t have time to get swoll bro,” I spat, “but some of us have finals to study for.”

“Oh dang, that’s where I know you from! English 110, with Professor Kim. Yeah, you’re always in the front and answering shit.” Immediately the puzzle pieces clicked. I can’t blame myself for not recognizing him. He must have been one of the dudes who sat in the back, and they all basically acted, talked, and looked about the same. A bunch of gym rats struggling through the gen eds. I’m genuinely surprised he can to class often enough to recognize me. “Hey man, are you studying for this final later? I’m just like not getting this stuff. Like, why are they having Exercise Science majors out here studying English anyways?”

“Uhh, yeah maybe.” At this point I was past the point of caring about this conversation. It was such a simple class I hardly had even glanced over the study guide. I had packed my things and was making to get up and leave.

“Here bruh, lemme help you up,” and he extended his hand to me. I grabbed hold as a small shock passed between us. It was just a split second, but as his calloused, sweaty had grasped mine, I felt a jolt that stuck my hair on end. I hardly had time to notice as he hoisted me up. “Hey, if you do end up reviewing later, maybe give me a heads up. We could do a study session or something.” He pulled out a pen and scribbled on the back of a receipt. Grabbing my hand again, and pulled me into a bro hug before I could protest. Up close he was warm and humid, sweat cooling in the cold winter air. He left the paper in my hand when he pulled away. He smirked, “You should ask inside, they may be able to help. I’ll see you later tonight.” There was a confidence in his voice that sent a chill down my spine. Before I knew it he had booked it, and I was left with a piece of paper, a broken computer, and a sinking realization I was still lost.

With few options left, I popped into the gym my classmate had just come out of. Maybe they would have a charger I could borrow or be able to help me with directions. At least it was warm inside. I walked over to the man at the desk, asking “Hey, sorry to bother. Do you all have a phone charger? I am completely lost and out of juice.”

“You can bother me any time,” the attendant said with a wink, “We’ve got some chargers in the locker room, but management is struck about people using facilities without paying. You already a member with us?”

“No, do I look like a member with you all? Please, I’m tired and at this point I just need to get home.” I groaned.

“Well sorry bro, you’ve gotta get those gains somewhere… let’s see, a day pass only runs about $5,” he slid the card reader to me.

“Fine.” I thrust my card into the machine and grabbed my receipt, storming off towards the locker room.”

“Enjoy your time! Oh, sir. Those aren’t the locker rooms they are the changing ro-” and the swinging door cut him off. I cut to the first door on my left. The overhead lights activated as I walked in. The inside was warm, hotter even than the lobby. For locker rooms, there were very few lockers. Just cooler with some sports drinks, some mirrors, and a charging station. No one else was inside, so I sat down on a bench and set my phone down on the charging station. With the heat I quickly began stripping layers, till I was down to my sweater, but I was not going shirtless in this place. It looked like it would be a while before my phone would be charged. I tried to put the whole situation out of my mind as I laid back and relaxed, carried to sleep in the thick heat…

I woke up a while later, disoriented and thirsty. It may have been a bad idea to sleep in the sweater, the thing was practically dripping in sweat now. I began to pull off the damp thing when I was shocked to see what was underneath:

Abs. Pecs. Abs and pecs. I had to be dreaming, when did I go from a stick to having abs and pecs. Not only that, but my arms. Thick and smooth, my arms looked swollen, as though I had been working them out for years. And my legs, they felt like lead beneath me, so heavy I could hardly move them. I could crush a melon between my thighs. And my poor shoes, they were practically in tatters on the floor. My toes poked out of the remains, leather torn between my meaty soles. I looked in the mirror to get a full picture. If I didn’t see it I wouldn’t have believed it, I was a whole different man.

I grabbed my phone and booked it out the door back to the front desk. The same attendant was there, looking me up and down as I passed by:

“Well hey there handsome. How are you enjoying our amenities?”

I just about strangled him, “What the hell happened? What did you all do to me?!?”

“I did try to tell you. Locker rooms are the other side. Those are the changing rooms.”

“What’s that supposed mean?”

“Well, look at yourself. Must have gone for the muscle enhancement, eh? Not a bad look on you.” I could just about wipe that smug look off his face.

“Cut the bull crap, I didn’t ask for this. If you all changed me into this change me back.”

“So sorry,” the apology dripped from his lips, “but things don’t quite work that way. For more specialized changes you have to get a full membership.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” I shouted, “You never said shit about this. I don’t need your membership. Change me back, now.”

“Woah, calm down there hot stuff, no need to get so worked up. How about this. My boss is home for the night. I know what you looked like when you came in. I can sneak you back into one of our specialty changing rooms, and I’ll calibrate it myself. Deal?”

I was about in tears, “Deal.”

He took my hand and lead me to the changing room all the way in the back. Same set up, same bench in a mostly barren room. This one was maybe a tad smaller. His voice came on over the intercom:

“Alright, now just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”

This time, deep red lights came on and that same heat began to fill the room. It somehow felt a bit different. The other heat wrapped around, this one felt like it pierced. In moments my body was flooded with warmth. Sweat rolled down my body as the room began having its effects. But something wasn’t right. Instead of shrinking down to my lithe self, my body felt like it was bubbling, and began to swell even more.

“Hey. HEY! What the hell! What are you doing out there? Wrong way asshole!”

He chuckled into the intercom, “What? I think it’s a good look on you.”

“You’re supposed to change me back!” I shouted

“I said I would calibrate the room. I didn’t say how. You should feel lucky, you’re getting the VIP treatment for free!”

Everywhere sweat rolled my muscles stretched as my body began writhing under the feeling of its growth. It felt… it felt… oh god it felt… so…good. But it had to be stopped. I couldn’t keep going like this. I put all my effort into standing up and lunged for the door handle. It didn’t budge, locked from the outside.

“Oh, is this not to your taste?” he teased “Well, I already did smooth jock tonight. Fine, let’s try this then.”

The red lights switched off as dull LED’s took their place. At the same time, a mist began pouring into the room. The smell made me dizzy as I slumped back on the bench behind me. The haze curled around me and stuck to my skin. It smelled like aftershave, sharp and fresh, with a coolness that made me shiver. My skin began to tingle wherever it touched. I watched as my skin turned to goosebumps, then slowly a fine layer of fuzz began to coat my pecs. It grew and curled wherever the mist lead it. It blazed a treasure trail down my abs and branched out to cover them. I could only moan as my body pushed out my new pelt. It curled around my back as a forest erupted behind me. Working it’s way up, I felt a tickle on my jaw and cheeks. It caressed my face as a five o-clock shadow pushed out from my smooth face, and in moments a full beard was pushed out. It’s curling tendrils even worked on the hair I already had. I felt the hair on top of my head stand on end before following the mist into a thick mop. It worked it’s way into my gapping mouth too, and I felt my throat stretch and adjust, my moans coming out much deeper. Then it concentrated on my groin and pits. My previously trimmed bushes grew wild, quickly becoming a tangle. As my pubes grew around, it felt soooo good. I began getting hard, but the mist only took that as an opportunity. Something else to grow and curve. It stretched 6, 7, 8, 9 inches straight out before curving distinctly up. I was in pure ecstasy, with only the thought of the man outside watching keeping me from fully jacking off.

“Wow, what a grower. I knew you had potential but, woof.”

“You… won’t… *gasp*…get away… with… with this!”

“Oh, still a little rebel in you? Maybe we can bring that out a bit.”

The mist receded, and overhead the lights began to strobe and a loud white noise began to play. The pattern was disorientating and it hurt to watch. But even when I closed my eyes I couldn’t escape. A splitting headache developed as my emotions all turned to anger. I tried to shout, to call for it to stop, but my words didn’t even reach my ears. I watched in glimpses as I began to scream, deep and primal, rage in my eyes. My arm clenched into a fist and I ran up to pound the door down. It still didn’t budge but the shock sent a ripple down my arm. In the mirror I watched as in slow motion a full sleeve tattoo stretched down my arm. I sat down in pain and fear and anger as I grew close to tears. But the back of my mind knew that I could not cry, not anymore. Then, all at once it stopped. I realized I was still shouting. I felt pissed off, aggressive. When I got out of this room, I was gonna pummel that twink into submission.

“God, that one always gets me. I love a man with tattoos.”

“Fuck OFF” I growled. I looked in the mirror at the monster I had become:

My mind was being flooded with emotions, a sense of loss for the person I was, a rage at the man who had done this to me, an animalistic horniness from my sizable new cock, and a deep terror for what else could happen. I channeled that fury and made one last attempt on the locked door. I yanked and rattled the door with all the strength this new body could muster. I felt the handle flex beneath my grip, before a loud *snap* sent me plummeting to the ground. The handle had come off the door. I banging against the door, shouting for anyone to come help me.

“Hmmm,” the attendant contemplated, “I may have gone too far with the rage this time. You’re a beast bro, but let’s reign it in. A healthy dose of this should help.”

A new cloud filled the room, this one thicker than the last. It was damp and sticky and clung to every inch of me. This one smelled rich and acrid, like an arm pit that had long since sweat through any deodorant. It was as though every patron of the gym had joined me in the room fresh from their workout. The fog was so thick I felt as though I was beginning to choke. It slid heavily down my throat and made my eyes water. That’s when I felt it begin to corrupt me. My enraged mind became calm, then addled as my brain filled with the all consuming fog. Memories flashed before my eyes as I felt them slip from my mind, replaced with false copies. I felt my college experience shift from books and classes to working out and tutoring sessions. My classes in journalism and writing were swapped for work out routines and remedial math. Then my cock began twitching as memories of hot workout sessions with my bros filled my mind, replacing my book club. As my mind relaxed and the new memories came to me easier and easier. My IQ was slipping down quickly, resting now somewhere around 75. As my mind relaxed I felt my body do so too. The cloud began seeping into my pores, filling me with its corrupting influence. My body betrayed me, greedily sucking up the cloud until the room was completely clear. I felt warm and tingly, my body pressed flat against the cold floor. I lifted my arm to get a good wiff of my funk. My cock jumped in response. God I needed to fuck. The cloud had saturated me, inside and out, soaking me in a new identity.

“How are you feeling in there big guy?” a voice was on the other side of a speaker in the room.

“Aight I guess man. I’m tired. Guess I passed out in here,” I replied. God, just waking up from a nap and I had my morning wood. The door opened, a cute bro was on the other side.

“Have you enjoyed your day pass sir?” He asked.

“Hell yeah Lil’ bro, it’s been good. This gym is stacked. I haven’t felt this worn out after a workout in a while!”

“Have you considered upgrading that day pass to a full membership? I know I would love to see you around,” he said with a wink.

“Mmm, wouldn’t mind seeing you every day. Gimme the forms.” He led me out to the lobby, I signed a few forms, and handed me a card.

“Now remember next time, locker rooms are over there,” he smirked. “Here, this is free with your sign up.”

He threw a tank top over to me. Good thing too, I think I forgot mine at home. It fit snugly over my huge chest. It made my arms look huge too. Just a shame I sweat so much after a workout, I already had some pit stains going. Shit, I was rank.

“Thanks bro, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I strolled out the door into the cold winter air. I flexed, feeling the breeze wick some of my sweat away.

“Hey, excuse me?” Some dork walked up to me, looking desperate. I felt like I knew him from somewhere, though I couldn’t place it. “Would you happen to be able to help me? I have been going around in circles and can’t seem to find my way. I have an exam in just a few hours.”

“Nah, sorry man. I’m not quite sure I’m able to help. Never been good with directions huhu,” that’s when it clicked, “Hey, you’re in my bio class aren’t you? Ah shit, is that exam today?!? Fuck, I’m never gonna pass that crap.”

He looked a little flabbergasted, but made some excuses and was about to move on when I grabbed him. I felt something pass between us, as his gaze fell onto me, unblinking, “You should check in the gym bro, I know they can help you out.” I pulled away and the moment passed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two receipts. The first was my receipt for my day pass. I scribbled down my contact info, and handed it off to the nerd. “Here, if you want to talk about lifting with me and my buds later you should give me a call. Looking a little scrawny bruh.”

He took the receipt before wandering towards the gym entrance. I then looked at the second paper I pulled out. Oh yeah, it was that hot gym bro from earlier. Yeah, I could meet up with him for sure. His name at the top rang a faint bell. For a split second, I remembered a friend I would sit next to in class. Smart, nerdy, nothing like the man I had met on the sidewalk earlier... But just then I felt my brain pounding, and I couldn’t focus on… whatever it was I was thinking about. Oh, right. Hot jock. Yeahhh, I’m gonna go see if he wants these rank pits shoved in his face while I ride his cock.

————

Maybe not what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy anyways ❤️

[phagodyke]

i will ALWAYS be salty abt the ed-sheeranification of one ok rock (one of my fave personality-building anecdotes i explain at parties to ppl getting to know me) but the fact is that takas voice is soooo hot he could sing the words on the back of a milk carton to the tune of a t*ylor sw*ft song + id probably still listen to him. sorry

[museum-mind]

I CAN TELL YOU MISS ME

ᯓ★ sae thought it was the right decision to break up with you before moving to spain, but soon found himself checking your socials every other day — and searching for your face at every game.

a/n : i wanna do a part 2 of when sae comes back to japan but i don’t know..

“i’m breaking up with you.” … “this relationship will never last.” … “goodbye, name.”

sae’s words rang through his head like a curse throughout the whole flight, his teeth biting harshly at his lower lip.

was this really the right decision? was it really necessary to throw away the love of his life for the sake of pursuing his soccer career?

it better have been, because it sure is difficult holding back tears in front of a bunch of strangers on a plane.

he sighed, unlocking the door to his new apartment; it strangely reminded him of your cozy little place.

sae had to remind himself over and over that you two were no longer, you were just a memory of the past; someone who he left behind in japan.

but when he’s laying alone on his large, king-sized bed, body sprawled out like a starfish and the sounds of the lively city drowned out his own harsh words — “name, we need to talk.” — he found it so hard to let you go.

he was the one who ended things, he had to! it’s not like you wanted to go to spain with him — you had a life, and you’d just be a nuisance to him anyways.

that’s what he says to himself, hands trembling as they click on the new story you just posted on instagram.

it seems that your friends, whom he never really liked, took you out to a club, of sorts.

his thumb flew to like your story, almost like a reflex, but he was quick to stop it.

he scanned the picture, a fancy outfit hugging your curves — did you always have that, or was it new? he certainly hadn’t seen you wear something so… risky, before.

he taps again, the next story — it’s you with your friend. all he can focus on is the smile on your face, so bright.

you seemed to be glowing, as if you’d turned into the brightest star in the sky.

you’d always been like that, sae thinks. you were the star, no — sun to his moon.

now you’re glowing for the sick eyes of the men in that filthy club. he would’ve taken you to a much nicer place.

he scowls as he taps again, eyes glaring down at the photo of you with another man — he guesses your annoying friend took the photo and posted it.

they always loved to meddle, didn’t they?

sae turns his phone off, deciding he’s seen enough for one night. it’s not like he cares about what you’re doing anyway… right?

sae places his phone back on the table, the tiredness from flying finally getting to him.

“just a nap,” he tells himself, laying down as he places his hands on his stomach, teal eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“just a nap” turned into an hour of emotions. sae couldn’t handle it, the thought of you — his one and only with some other man?

well, you’re not his anymore.

and with that, sae finally fell into the hands of sleep, dreams and images of you plaguing his mind.

as the sun sunk low, the moon glittering beautifully in the night, sae’s eyes fluttered open. he didn’t realise he’d been asleep for so long — the time difference sure did get to him.

days went by, and over time he grew to get used to the time.

one thing he couldn’t get used to, was being without you.

he didn’t even notice when he’d look at your account, scrolling through your new posts — you’re so pretty.

you seem much happier than he’s feeling.. ironic, since he’s the one who broke up with you in the first place!

he had his first game in spain, muscles cracking as he stretched.

it hurt when he stretched himself, you’d usually massage his muscles to help loosen him up — what is he thinking?! he’s better off without you!

but he did miss the touch of your hands.

he wasn’t playing as he normally would, this match… anyone could tell, even you, who was watching from the other side of the world.

you stayed up late, your room lit up by the screen playing sae’s match.

his game is so off today, you think. is something bothering him?

it’s not like it matters, anyway, he broke up with you…

sae stood still, eyes blank as the winner of the game was announced; itoshi sae’s team had lost.

all his dreams of becoming a striker, crushed. just like that.

in the span of weeks; sae had lost everything dear to him. and it was all his fault.

you knew the look in sae’s eyes — it was the very same emotion he looked at you with before he left.

emotionless and empty.

you sighed, turning the device off as you lay back down in your bed, arms reaching out to where sae used to rest.

your hand balls into a fist, tears threatening to spill. you can’t help but feel angry, yet sympathetic at the same time.

but is he really deserving of your emotions?

no. he’s not.

sae knows that, so as he plops back down to his bed, he’s already reaching for his phone and turning it on.

he’s doesn’t deserve to message you — he doesn’t have the right!

so he was surprised to see a text from you.

“i can tell you miss me.”

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Something Special

A/n: No one asked for Nikki but I like Nikki Idc that he's 65 HE'S PRETTY this is also so not how he'd react but I thought it was cute so sue me

Warnings: Smut, reader is a little bit of a stalker, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), slight angst, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Masterlist

Nikki Sixx. Six foot tall crude bassist of big glam band Motley Crue.

You were obsessed.

You went to as many of their shows as you could, attending any after parties they had, all in the hopes of ‘accidentally’ running into Nikki and having the night you’d been touching yourself to for the past few months.

You couldn’t help it. You were all alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts to fuel you, no wonder your hand slid down between your thighs. Countless times you’d pretended it was Nikki’s hand pleasuring you, picturing his soft lips caressing the shell of your ear and whispering the dirtiest things to you, the room filled with your moans of his name and curses spilling out of you like a mantra.

At long last you got your hands on a backstage pass to one of Motley’s concerts. You got yourself all ready, wearing an outfit you were sure would catch Nikki’s attention. Leather skirt with matching boots, ripped fishnets and a cropped band shirt with a leather jacket thrown over to keep you warm. You spent hours on your hair and makeup all with the thoughts of what it would look like completely ruined by the end of the night.

You made it into the mosh pit, getting right up close to the stage where Nikki was. It was about halfway through the concert and you begrudgingly came to the realisation that you looked just like every other girl in the crowd. You knew that this whole time, it was always in the back of your mind that everyone trying to get with Nikki would be dressed how they thought he would want them to dress.

It killed your mood and you almost thought about not going backstage. Almost.

The concert ended, they came back out for their encore before hiding away again, inviting those with passes to come on backstage. Since that was you, you followed the herd heading that way.

As expected it was another party, a Motley Crue party. You walked around on the sides, slipping past people in the search of Nikki. You thought you saw him a few times but he always seemed to slip away. Eventually it led you to a door that you stared up at in awe.

There was a small placard on it that read ‘Nikki Sixx’.

You found his dressing room.

You thought for a moment. You couldn’t really go in there, could you? Of course you could, and you did, sneaking in without anyone noticing.

There was a couch on one side, a vanity on the other and in the middle was a small table covered in snacks and drinks and drinks and even more drinks with a small mirror dusted with a bit of white powder. But none of that intrigued you as much as the pile of clothes in the corner.

Of course the costumes they wore on stage were very extra and it made sense that they would change into them upon arrival rather than come in wearing them.

You got closer and saw a pair of boxers placed atop the pile. Your mind filled with a lustful haze as you got on your knees and held the piece of clothing to your nose, inhaling his salty, musky scent, getting high on his pheromones.

Your hand moved down to your heat, pulling your skirt up so it bunched at your hips, giving you better access to yourself. You’d decided not to wear panties, the whole goal was to get with Nikki so why would you need them? Your skirt was tight enough anyway so you figured it would be fine. Right now, though, your only concern was Nikki and his garment now in your hand, shoved into your face as your eyes rolled back in euphoria.

Then, the door opened. Your neck snapped to the direction of the disturbance, your breath heavy and fast, your hand frozen on your swollen clit. It was Nikki, and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by your presence.

You stared at him as he took a seat on the couch and poured himself a shot of Jack Daniels. He swallowed it quickly and poured another. “Well don’t stop.” He encouraged before downing the second shot.

You stayed put for a moment, unsure of what to do. When your mind finally caught up to what was happening you crawled over to him, situating yourself between his legs and looking up at him all wide eyed.

Nikki smiled down at you and placed his shot glass back down on the table before relaxing back into the couch. “You got yourself a backstage pass so you could sneak in here, huh?” He asked, sounding more proud than anything. “I saw you in the crowd, you know.” That caught your attention. “Shaking your ass for all those losers out there.”

“You saw me?” You asked, looking up at him with stars in your eyes.

Nikki chuckled and nodded. “Of course I did,” he said, one of his big hands cupping your cheek, “couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.” Your cheeks hurt with how you were smiling. Nikki’s thumb swept over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. “I’ve seen you before.” He said, pressing his thumb on your tongue. “At other shows, you follow us around don’t you?” You nodded and Nikki smirked. “Figured, that’s why I led you in here.” You paused.

“You led me in here?” You asked, pulling away slightly. Nikki nodded.

“Of course, when I kept seeing you dressed up it was pretty easy to tell what you wanted, when I saw you in the crowd tonight I decided to give you what you wanted.” His hand went to the back of your head, guiding you forward until your head was resting on his thigh. “Good girls deserve rewards.”

Your head bobbed up and down, taking his dick further down your throat. Nikki’s hand was still holding your head, fingers tangled in your hair as he pushed you down his length. His head fell back on the couch as he let out deep guttural groans.

He was twitching in your throat and his noises were getting louder. He started bucking his hips up and holding your head in a tighter grip to the point where he was fucking your face, using your mouth as a fleshlight. You were getting light headed and you were loving every moment of it.

Soon he was cumming down your throat, pushing your face into his crotch as his hips snapped up a few final times. You pulled away when he let you and took a few deep breaths, finally getting to breathe again.

Nikki laughed at you as you regained your breath. He grabbed your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks harshly. “Let me see.” He demanded. You opened your mouth to show him you swallowed it all and he gave your cheek an affirming pat. “Alright, you can go now.” He said as he relaxed back into the couch.

You were at a loss for words. All this time you waited for that? No way, you needed more, you deserved more. “But-but I was good.” You said, not moving from your spot on the floor between his spread legs.

Nikki looked down at you with a raised brow. “So? Plenty of good girls out there, what more do you want?” You bit your lip. He was right, there were so many other girls out there that wanted him just as much as you. Still, you weren’t gonna let this be all there was.

You stood up and got on his lap, holding his face in your hands and crashing your lips down on his. No matter what you did, how much you moaned or whined against him, if your tongue explored his mouth, he just didn’t care. You could feel him smiling into the kiss, it carried such a demeaning tone to it.

You ground yourself on his thigh, needy cunt craving any kind of friction. Still, no reaction from him. It was just like you weren’t even there.

Hot tears trickled down your cheeks, tainting the kiss with a saltiness. Nikki’s hand came up to your shoulders, pushing you away gently and you could see the genuine concern in his eyes as he wiped your tears. “Are you crying? Why are you crying?” He asked in such a sympathetic tone it caught you completely off guard. Just a moment ago he couldn’t care less about you, and before that he was using you as his own personal fucktoy.

You sniffled softly and Nikki pulled you tight to him, letting you hide your wet face in the crook of his neck. “Shh, shh, come on now, there’s no need to cry.” He whispered to you. “Pretty girls like you don’t need to be crying.” You sniffled again.

“You think I’m pretty..?” You muttered. He held your face in his hands again as he looked at you.

“Of course I think you’re pretty, only an idiot would think otherwise.” He kissed your forehead.

“But-” You spoke only to be cut-off.

“I don’t wanna hear it, tell me you’re pretty.” You stared at him blankly. “Say it. Say you’re pretty.” He repeated. You hesitated, was this a trick? Some kind of sick mind game?

“I-I’m pretty...” You mumbled. Nikki shook his head.

“Say it like you fucking mean it.” You didn’t say anything, still unsure of what was really happening. Nikki rolled his eyes and grabbed his half hard dick, pumping it a few times. “This is what you wanted, right? Wanted me to fuck you?” Your gaze fell to his pretty dick, all leaky and glistening from your saliva still. You gave a slow nod. “I’m gonna fuck that thought into you.” You were still confused but you understood that you were getting just what you’d always wanted.

Nikki ripped over your fishnets, tearing down your thighs before pushing into you. Your jaw dropped over in a silent moan as your eyes shut tight. All those nights you’d spent imagining what it would be like to have him inside you, nothing compared to this feeling.

He laid you down on the couch, your shirt had been tossed to the floor, leaving you fully exposed for Nikki to gawk at as he thrusted into you at a brutal pace, his thumb rubbing harsh circles against your clit. It had your mind running wild. “Fuck, Nikki! Nikki, ‘m close!” You moaned, back already arching off of the couch.

“Say you’re pretty.” He grunted. You looked up at him with a confused expression. “Say you’re pretty.” He repeated in a stern tone.

You let out a whine. “I-’m pretty.” You mumbled, hoping it would satisfy him.

He stopped and pulled out of you completely. Leaving your cunt fluttering for more. “If you don’t mean it you can’t cum.” He said in a degrading tone. “Tell me one thing that is pretty about you.” Your mind wasn’t working too fast but you still tried to come up with something while the bassist stared down at you. “Seriously? Not even one thing?” You sucked your bottom lip.

“I-I think I have pretty eyes..?” You said. Nikki rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, do you hate yourself?” You stared at him. “Say it again.”

“I... think I-”

“No!” Nikki stopped you. “Say one thing that’s pretty about you.”

Again you hesitated. “I have pretty eyes.” You said in an almost confident voice.

Nikki huffed. “We’re not leaving until you love yourself.” There was a determination in his eyes you’d never noticed before. Oftentimes when you’d see pictures of him with other girls he’d have a smirk or something but there was never this in his eyes. There was something special about you.

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

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