#I wanted to draw them being fancy and got carried away

[mitchythekiddoodles]

“Guess they invite anyone to these parties…”

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary Eddie’s had a long day, but being with you is enough to turn even the worst days into something sweeter [fluff, artsy reader, mild hurt/comfort, smut, 3.2k]

A/N This is some of my favorite smut I've written. Still very much stuck on him.

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It’s much quieter in your neighborhood than it is in Forest Hills. No muffled music or raised voices carry from the houses around the cul-de-sac. Tired men don’t tinker on rusty cars. Unleashed dogs don’t sniff their way through ailing yards that aren’t their own. The only signs of life are cars in driveways and lamplight through windows. The golden sun hangs low in the darkening sky.

Eddie makes a final attempt to exhale the weight of the day away before he presses your doorbell. Not even a second later, the lock clicks and the door swings open.

The smile you offer has him convinced that every butterfly he’s ever seen now exists within the confines of his stomach. It’s as if familiarity and radiance itself exist in the way your lips lift upwards to reveal the glint of your teeth.

“I heard you pull up,” you say. “In case you were wondering why I opened the door in two seconds…” you trail off when you realize you don’t sound as convincing as you want. 

Eddie smiles with a fond shake of his head. The action causes more of his curls fall onto his shoulders. He’d never make fun of you for being eager to see him. Especially when half the people in Hawkins care more about his skills beneath the hood than him as a person.

“Sorry I’m later than I said I’d be,” he says as you usher him inside. “Wanted to grab a shower before I came over.” 

“Didn’t you hear?” Eddie's brow furrows innocently at your question. “I love the smell of motor oil.” 

He huffs out a chuckle that makes you bite your lower lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Then he laughs again, deeper this time, like a funny thought has struck him. But he takes a step closer, cups your cheek, and kisses you. His lips are slow and easy against your own.

When he pulls away, you catch the weariness in his eyes, softened by gratitude as he takes you in. He could’ve gone home. He could’ve turned in for the night. But he wanted to see you too. He needed to see you. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “Everything okay?” 

You reach out to tuck his hair behind his ears, and he lets you. Any other time, he’d shake it back loose with a playful smirk. Tonight he doesn’t. 

He catches your hand as you pull away, and dots a few kisses over your knuckles. Work and playing guitar have calloused his palms. His steel rings glint in the low light of the foyer. 

“I’m okay,” he says into your skin. You remain quiet in hopes that it’ll coax more out of him. “Long day at the shop.” 

You hum. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. Don’t be. 

“Got you something,” he remembers. "Been holding onto it for a couple days." He realizes he’s empty-handed.

“Shit. I left it in the van.” 

You chuckle as he presses another quick kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go and pulls away. 

When Eddie comes back inside, you’re on the living room couch with one leg tucked beneath you. The TV plays low reruns of I Love Lucy, but you grant him all your attention as he settles beside you. Before you have the chance to ask what’s in the brown paper bag, he pulls out a nice set of drawing pencils and a leather-bound sketchbook. 

Your mouth falls open as he passes them over to you, his expression quietly hopeful. Big brown eyes eager for your reaction. 

“Eddie…” 

“You filled your last sketchbook. And you’ve been needing some new pencils." He rests his forearms on his thighs and licks his lips. "Knew you’d hold off on getting them for yourself so I figured..." 

A smile finally breaks across your face.

“These are the fancy kind too," you note as you look over the pencils. "Thank you so much, baby. Really.” He shrugs like it's no big deal even as he bites back the proud quirk of his lips. It was a privilege to be able to do little things like this when he could.

The leather of the sketchbook is smooth as you flip open the cover to run your fingers over the crisp, fragrant pages. 

When you meet his eyes again, your gaze is soft and observant, like you have an idea. It feels like you're seeing straight into him. He's handsome. Long curls, kind eyes, plush lips. Even then, it's clear he still wears the remnants of the hours prior, though he masks it well.

“Maybe I can draw you," you propose with the quiet hope he’ll oblige. “To break everything in.

"All you've gotta do is sit back and relax. We can talk, watch some TV, eat my snacks." He smiles at that last part. 

After the frustrated customers he had to diffuse today, he can do that. Gladly so. 

•••

The warm lamplight and the glow of the TV cast soft shadows across Eddie's face. His long lashes appear heavy with the relaxed way he blinks at the screen. He’s sunk back into the cushions, legs spread just so, hands interlocked over his stomach, rising and falling with his breaths. An empty bowl of popcorn rests on the coffee table along with a hollow box of Jujyfruits. 

Five separate sketches of him now constitute the beginnings of your new sketchbook. He tilts his head to peer over at you when he no longer hears the familiar brush of graphite against paper.

The cushions shift as he straightens up and rubs his eyes with lazy fists. 

“All finished?” he asks, and you nod. “Can I see?” 

When you pass him the sketchbook, his eyes rove over the drawings with the attentiveness of a critic, but void of any harshness or critique. It’s more of an assessment, an appreciation. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Raises the book to get a better look at the hatching technique you used to shade the first sketch you completed. 

It’s a straight-on portrait that he’d faced you for. There’s a sense of ease about his gaze. A warmth paired with an underlying pensiveness. He knows he’s being studied but feels more seen than exposed. 

Except, Eddie's so much more than you’ll ever be able to confine to a couple sheets of paper. Charming in an awkward way, with one of the kindest hearts you’ve ever known. Loving him is as easy as blinking or breathing. So natural it feels innate. He feels your gaze as he studies the sketches.

When he redirects his attention to you, he offers one of his steady, slow-moving smiles that never fails to make your stomach flutter. 

“Always staring at me,” he accuses, too lighthearted to be mistaken for a complaint. 

In truth, you observed everyone and everything. But never with the same admiration allotted to Eddie. There were so many layers that you feared you wouldn’t have the time to unravel them all. You’d never wanted to know the inner workings of another person so intimately. 

After a lifetime of slipping through the cracks, it sure was nice to be seen in an unadulterated way by you. 

“Can’t help it,” you murmur.

Eddie tracks your movements as you grab one of the accent pillows and toss it to the floor at his feet. A second later, you drop down onto it. His breath catches when you place two gentle hands on his knees and spread his legs so you can better settle between them. 

"Hope your day's gotten a little better since you’ve been here," you murmur.

Eddie swallows. Sets your sketchbook aside with a jittery hand. 

“It has." His voice is thick as anticipation stirs within him. "As soon as I walked through the door.”

You hum as he squirms, hyperaware of your touch as your hands drift along his thighs. His head tips back when you palm him through the fabric of his jeans. Warmth ignites in his cheeks and melts to his torso as his pants tighten in the wake of his arousal. Along the thick column of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobs with another swallow.

It hadn’t even taken much. 

His legs fall open wider, like a gate, when you begin to unbuckle his belt. The metal hardware clinks with your movements, breaking the hush between you. You pop the button, drag the zipper down. 

“Wanna help me get these off?” A sweet smile plays on your lips as you blink up at him. 

Eager, Eddie lifts his hips, and you help him shuck down his pants and underwear. There's a tent in the front of his boxers when you get to them, and he shifts with the new exposure by the time everything pools at his socked feet. 

Featherlight, your fingertips ghost toward the apex of his thighs, his milky skin dusted with sparse hair. His muscles twitch at the ticklish sensation, and he braces for the inevitable.

Except your touch flutters past where he aches. Bypasses where he strains toward his stomach. Instead, your hands sweep over his hips. Slip beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch along the low part of his stomach where a thin, dark trail of hair leads down to his need. 

His chest deflates on a slow, bated breath. You hide your coy smile in the inside of his thigh in the form of a kiss. Right over the small smiley face inked into his skin. Eddie huffs in flustered amusement. 

“This is—” 

“One of your favorite tattoos of mine,” he finishes with flushed cheeks. 

You grin in feigned surprise. “How’d you know?” You trace your nails back down to his quivering thighs. 

His arousal kicks up when you grant him the gentle brush of your fingertips over the rounded fullness that rests heavily between his legs.

“Sweetheart,” he finally sighs, dark eyes molten when they find yours. 

“Teddy,” you coo back. 

He doesn’t have time to brace when you begin to pepper an alternating line of kisses up his thighs until your lips find the part of him that needs you the most. 

His breath hitches. “Baby—“

A pleasured shudder rolls through him as you kiss up the elegant curve of the thick vein along his underside. You follow the path of his need all the way to the rosy tip, where a wet, gleaming pearl beads in a testament to his want. You suckle it away. Savor it.

Eddie's eyes flutter shut, body taut as you spit over him and wrap a secure hand around his base. The slick heat of your palm makes his hips stutter as you begin to pull upward in a steady tug. At the top, you circle your thumb around the mushroom tip. You dedicate another swipe of your thumb to a slow trace along his slit. 

Eddie is warm and rigid in your hold, beautifully at your mercy, and he knows it. Doesn't mind it. The full hum in his throat unravels into a low, shameless moan when his lips part. 

“Yeah, baby?” you meet his gaze and hold it. Heat pools between your legs. “You feelin’ good?” 

Eddie reaches out to stroke his thumb across your cheek. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Please don’t stop.” 

You wouldn’t dream of it.

As you continue your languid strokes, you mouth at his inner thighs. Kisses, nibbles, licks. He’s so wound up that all of it gets to him. Pleasure tugs low in his gut with a radiance he can feel in his fingertips, his toes. 

With a practiced gentleness, your free hand lowers to massage the velvet weight of him that you’ve neglected. A rugged sound escapes him as he writhes. Even more so when you move to lap him again, this time taking him halfway and working what's left over with your hand. 

You pull away to trace your lips along his shaft, mindful of every inch and the tell-tale shudder that startles through him. You peer up through your lashes to find desperation etched across his features. 

He cups your cheek to get you to pause. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he insists. "Wanna feel you—lemme feel you.” 

You clench around nothing as he encourages you upwards. 

After you shuffle to your feet, you push your lounge shorts down, followed by your panties. Eddie strokes himself, gaze heavy-lidded as he watches. 

No sooner do you move forward to straddle his waist, on your knees with your hands braced on his shoulders. His hands find your hips, but one drifts lower in a curious glide between your parted legs. He graces through your slick folds, then brushes his thumb over your swollen bundle of nerves. He’s gauging if you’re ready for him, but you nearly crumble forward at his thoughtful touch. 

“So sensitive,” he notes lightly. A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes as they find yours. 

“Because of you.” You pout as you reach down and align him at your entrance. 

He catches at your slick warmth and whispers a string of curses. It shouldn’t already be this good. You shouldn’t already be this ready. But both things are true because the two of you have somehow stumbled into your own little perfect world. Both his hands find your hips again as you ease yourself down to welcome him in. Inch by slow inch, every vein and ridge. 

You don’t realize you’re whining until you’ve sunken to accommodate all of him. Eddie runs a soothing hand up your back as you lean forward into his chest in an encompassing haze of fullness. Already, he’s touching that devastating part of you that’s so thoughtfully tucked away. He’s the only one who’s been able to reach it. To find it as if the path had been carved for him alone. It’s a homecoming in its own right. 

“You feel so good,” he sighs the news like it's hot off the press. Like the words can't make it out of his mouth any sooner.

For a brief moment, stillness prevails as you adjust around him. You tuck your nose into his hair, where the subtle scent of his sweet, herbal shampoo lingers. Instead of canting his hips upwards like he so desperately wants to, he lets you have the moment. Presses a kiss to the bulb of your exposed shoulder, then allows his hands to find the hem of your tank top. You move to pull it over your head. He does the same with his own shirt, biting back a groan as you shift over top of him. 

Your nipples pebble in the cool air, even more so when he cups your chest and circles them with his thumbs. The sensation throws you into a shiver that jumpstarts a roll of your hips. Eddie’s fingers return to your waist, a silent encouragement. 

Before long, you leverage the bend at your knees to lift off him, then lower yourself back down. A rhythm soon forms, Eddie’s hips rise to meet yours. His thighs quake as a strangled sound of relief spills past his lips. 

A whimper escapes you as an invisible string pulls you forward to dot a few languid kisses across the apple of his cheek as you continue to ride him. 

“Oh—shit,”  he exhales shakily. “You’re perfect, sweetheart.” He sounds panicked and awed all the same. 

All you can do is hum at his words. Every time you lower onto him, it feels like he manages to reach a new depth that makes you want to crawl away. Yet your hands find his tattooed chest for the sole purpose of feeling more of him, his warm, dewed skin. A shiver shakes him when the tip of your nail grazes over one of his nipples. Spurred on, you pinch the peaked flesh next, which earns you a particularly hard thrust as he groans. A jolt of electricity rushes straight between his legs with the threat of being his undoing. 

“You’re gonna make me come, angel.” The shameless, exasperated way he says it makes you clench around him. 

You lower a hand to rub tight, purposeful circles over the tender bud between your legs, the pleasure sharper in the wake of his words. 

“I want you to come,” you attempt to keep your voice steady as you lilt. “Want you to fill me up. Want all of you.” 

Eddie groans and sags back into the cushions in an air of disbelief. Somehow you’re real. Somehow you chose him. And you’d never led him to believe that things should be any other way.

You lean forward in pursuit of him to kiss his throat, then up along his jaw until you’ve arrived at his bitten lips. The kiss carries the neediness of being on the edge. 

“Always gonna want you,” you whisper heavily against his mouth.  

Eddie whimpers. “You have me.” His thighs tense beneath you as he teeters on the brink. This time, when his hand finds your waist, it’s to ground himself in the intoxicating rock of your hips. 

You kiss him one last time, saliva slinking between you, before you touch your dewy forehead to his. 

“Come with me,” you frantically encourage. “Eddie, please—” 

The broken sound that punches out of him sends you into the thralls of a reckless release. It’s swift and forceful like a lightning bolt zipping from the sky. Your walls flutter around him as pleasure courses in every direction. Eddie has no choice but to let go. He jolts beneath you like stricken earth. His stomach clenches in time with each pulsing wave of release. 

Eddie’s neck becomes your hiding place as aftershocks ripple through you both. Your lips begin to press more deliberate kisses to the space where his neck and shoulder join. Beneath you, he sits like putty and softens within the warmth of you. He’s attuned to every small shift you make. You’re not quite ready to relinquish the fullness. 

A steady, clammy hand glides up your back and settles at the nape of your neck. When you sit up to meet his tired, satisfied gaze, you're struck by a surge of fondness. Of love. If you could erase his bad days, keep them from ever touching him, you would. But you can’t. They’ll come, for both of you, whether you like it or not. 

Still, you had this. Each other. That’s enough to make life a little sweeter, a little kinder. Even on the days that are anything but. 

Eddie’s lashes flutter when you run a gentle finger down his nose. “You okay?” you ask. 

He shifts beneath you, wincing at his forgotten sensitivity. A small smile pulls at his lips as he finally nods at your question, contentment clear in his eyes. 

“Promise?” you ask. 

“I promise, sweetheart.” 

He offers his pinkie as a seal of truth. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all!

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[alchemistc]

fascination with your presentation | bucktommy 1/1

read on ao3

Tommy likes to touch things. It's just a random quirk of his that Eddie's noticed - a hand sliding along the back of the couch as he follows Eddie into the kitchen to grab a beer, fingers balancing along the table as he leans, elbow pressing into the frame of the doorway like he's gauging the space between walls.

He's tactile - a smack to the space between his shoulders, fist bumps and high fives and teasing hair ruffles when he's got Eddie pinned in the middle of a spar and they both know Eddie isn't getting out of it.

It's nice. There aren't a lot of men, especially with their background, in their line of work, who are remotely comfortable expressing affection like that.

He's a fan.

Christopher is less so, when Tommy lays a big hand to the crown of his head and goes for a noogie. He huffs, rolls his eyes, rolls his head forward and away from the touch, makes some noise about a call he's supposed to make later that night and how he doesn't want his hair messed up for it, and Tommy holds his hands up in apology, fighting a grin as Chris smooths his hair back down.

Eddie's used to it already, so it takes him a second to really notice Tommy rounding the edge of the table to flick through papers and pictures and receipts tacked to the fridge as he digs through one of his drawers in search of the bottle opener he knows he has stashed in here somewhere. Eddie's more of a twist cap beer guy, but Tommy's oddly flavored fancy bottles always need an opener.

"Here," Tommy says, and Eddie turns just in time to catch the keys Tommy slings at him.

"I don't like your truck that much," Eddie tells him, which is a lie.

Tommy tips his head forward to indicate the keys. "Bottle opener, Diaz."

Which makes sense. He should get one for himself, actually. It's a little shocking neither one of them carries a utility knife on them. The preparedness rules maybe didn't stick after discharge as well as they could have

Tommy's gaze drifts, and Eddie watches his head tilt, ring and middle finger reaching up to tap at one of the pictures on the fridge. Chris and Buck, a few years back, some trip to the museum during either Buck or Chris' dinosaur phase. Buck's holding a giant stuffed pteranodon ("Pterodactyls were smaller and had cone-shaped teeth and backward-projecting crests, actually, and this isn't technically the most accurate depiction anyway, it's generally accepted they probably had feathers, now." -- So, definitely Buck's phase, now that he's remembering.) and Chris has a specific brand of smile across his face that Eddie has quietly dubbed his Buck-smile. Something around the edges of his eyes that's always just a little brighter for Buck.

"Cute picture," Tommy says, and Chris's eyes draw to it as Tommy taps his knuckles once-twice to it before dropping his hand to his side.

It's not the first time someone in this circle of three has brought up Buck.

The first night Tommy'd been here, camped out on the couch watching a game, Chris had had a million questions, and Buck had come up pretty naturally over the course of them comparing disasters they'd been a part of, or worked.

Chris had brought up the tsunami, which had led to a back and forth where they discovered Tommy had likely flown right over them at least once during that disaster of a day, and then it had evolved into Chris memorializing all of Buck's greatest (most traumatizing) hits - pinned under a fire engine, climbing a crane tower in the middle of a county wide panic about a shooter targeting firefighters (he doesn't bring up Eddie being shot, which - maybe they should revisit that at some point, make sure Chris isn't burying that), Buck getting struck by lightning, Buck taking charge in the bridge collapse.

And obviously, if Chris was gonna debate Star Wars, he was gonna bring up Buck's involved opinions on Machete order and OG vs Prequels vs the Somehow Palpatine Returned era, and be delighted that Tommy's opinion differed from Buck's, because that made Chris the victor in that ongoing battle.

Buck is a big part of Chris and Eddie's lives, so he's gonna be dropped into conversation. Nothing strange about that.

Tommy always calls him Evan, which is a big old dose of whiplash every time, and he can't think why he does that, because despite Buck introducing himself (weirdly) as Buh-Evan Buckley, they've seen each other since, and no one else Tommy talks to calls him Evan, so he doesn't know why Buck hasn't corrected him.

Chris' mouth does something strange as Tommy keeps looking at the picture, his expression going a little curious in a way Eddie can't quite parse, and then he's grinning. There's no reason to be suspicious, except for the way he actually puts down his phone to engage with Tommy as Eddie passes a beer off.

"Yeah, Buck always takes me to exhibits every time there's a new one. He's cool like that."

Tommy hums around his first sip, expression placid, posture relaxed. "Maybe I could take you to the next one."

Christopher's eyes narrow.

Eddie's lost.

"Uh, not without Buck. Carla took me once without him and he pretended to be fine about it for weeks until I asked him to take me again. He was not happy we went without him. But you could come with us."

Tommy tap-tap-taps his finger against the rim of his bottle, unfazed by the slightly territorial way Chris had phrased it. Eddie's fazed. Eddie is not sure there's not a second layer to this conversation he's missing. "I'll look it up. Jot it down in my day book."

Christopher is too young to have a clue what that means, but he doesn't seem to be quite done with whatever the hell it is he's got going on right now. "Good," he says. "Buck's single right now, so he's got a lot of extra time for stuff."

Tommy's gaze flits to Christopher's, and Eddie doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on, but it's a weighted look for half a second before Chris' gaze turns back to his phone.

"You have his number, right? Maybe you should call him and figure out a day we can all go."

Something happens around the corners of Tommy's mouth that he hides by tipping the bottle mouth against his lips again. "Yeah. I've got his number."

For a second Eddie wonders why, before he remembers catching Buck down at Harbor before the fight. When had Buck gotten his number?

"Cool," says Chris, eyes already glued back to his phone. "We usually get lunch first. Buck really likes pizza."

"Everyone likes pizza," Tommy says, eyes glimmering with mirth that Eddie absolutely does not know the source of.

"Yeah, but Buck's picky about it. He says there's a perfect pizza to crust ratio that most places don't get right. Also he likes it when they have a stone oven, and the little pizza risers."

Tommy rolls his tongue over his teeth. And - why is Eddie watching this interaction so carefully? It's not like he's worried Tommy's gonna say something weird to his kid, even if his kid is being weird.

"I'm gonna go throw the game on. You hungry?"

Tommy's eyes shift to meet his, and Eddie feels that same frisson of excitement he gets sometimes when Buck is paying close attention to him. "I could eat. Not pizza though. There's nowhere around here with a good stone oven."

"Dad likes pineapple on his pizza, his pizza opinions suck."

Eddie tosses his hands up. This is an old argument, one created entirely by Buck because Chris hadn't minded a good Canadian pizza before Buck declared war on them. "Pizza's just pizza. I was thinking Chinese, anyway."

"Can we get those spring rolls Buck always gets?"

Tommy's gaze slips to the fridge one more time, eyes drifting across the picture he'd pointed out earlier, before he unclips the menu for the Chinese place down the street from its spot half-covering the calendar to hand it off to Eddie. He spots the circle around their plans for Thursday and reaches out to touch the date.

"You invite anyone else for Thursday?"

Eddie rolls his top lip over his bottom one. "Buck hates basketball, turns me down every time I ask. I might ask Chim, though, he and his brother always liked to play."

Literally nothing in Tommy's expression changes, but Eddie feels like he's reacting to something in that sentence anyway. He's trying to figure out how to cut the weird tension in the room when Christopher starts listing off his order, and he's so distracted by trying to get a list prepared to call that he misses two thirds of Chris and Tommy's continued conversation, which is somehow, for some reason, still about Buck. Geez, is Chris pissed that Eddie's got a new friend? He should invite Buck next time he makes plans to hang out at home with Tommy.

----

"It was a date," Buck tells him, a week and a half later, while Eddie's staring at his phone like looking hard enough might make it, and his relationship with Marisol, maybe disappear. Just for a little while, while he squares things up with God.

Eddie tosses his phone, turns to look at Buck in the second before it computes, manages to pull back just enough so that it's not a full, ridiculous double take.

"When you and Marisol ran into me and Tommy, we were on a date."

"Really?" Buck usually tells him the second he's interested in someone, because for some reason he thinks Eddie has any idea how to have a loving, lasting relationship, even though Eddie's been lobbing live grenades straight at love since he was fourteen. He hadn't said a word to Eddie about -

Well.

Well actually --

Well shit.

Oh, he's definitely giving Tommy and Christopher both shit about this later.

"Wait, Tommy's gay?"

A whole host of things are suddenly lining up -- Buck at Harbor the afternoon before the fight, and Buck asking half a million questions after the fight, and Buck and Tommy both picking at the thread of Christopher's praises for the other, and -- Buck had been jealous. Buck had been jealous of Eddie spending time with Tommy. Buck had shoulder checked him to the court and sprained his ankle because he liked the guy enough to lose his head about it.

Oh, he's gonna hold this over all of their heads for sure.

Which for the moment is apparently not that great an idea because Tommy'd pressed pause after one date, which is fast even for Buck. He tells him so.

"When we ran into you guys I kinda made an idiot of myself and he said he doesn't think I'm ready." Buck looks -- sad. Disappointed. Nervous, hands rubbing at his thighs like he's soothing himself. It's a fair point, on Tommy's part, even if he doesn't know all the details.

(Something about hot chicks pings in the back of his mind, but he shelves it for later.)

Buck's never really hinted at romantic inclinations in that direction, although some of his comments about good looking guys are making a little more sense, in retrospect.

"What do you think?" Eddie's pretty sure he knows the answer to this question, but he asks anyway, because Buck likes to work these things out. He likes to talk about them. Eddie imagines not being able to articulate exactly what he was feeling without wondering if his friends would think it was weird probably (definitely) contributed to his wildly dramatic behavior the last few weeks.

Geez, Tia Pepa would be eating this telenovela shit up.

"I kinda can't stop thinking about him," Buck tells him, and it's a voice Eddie's not entirely sure he's ever heard from Buck before -- at least when he's talking about someone he's into. Buck's always got a checklist and a trillion rationalizations. Now he just sounds... smitten.

And Tommy is too, Eddie thinks. He is absolutely gonna call him out for pumping his kid for information. Maybe accuse him of only befriending him to get to Buck -- see if he can make the unflappable Tommy Kinard flap, a little.

"You should call him," Eddie tells him, already imagining double dates with a partner of Buck's he doesn't hope will spontaneously combust in the middle of dinner. Maybe between Tommy, Chris and Eddie they can finally convince Buck to go to one of the car shows he's always rolling his eyes at. Maybe Tommy and his terribly hidden romantic side can actually match Buck's crazy.

Eddie hugs Buck on his way out the door and feels the tension drain from his shoulders.

Maybe touched starved Buck will get to enjoy that little tactile quirk of Tommy's, too.

[candycandy00]

This is my first time really interacting on here, but I really love you work so I just had to request something.💜💜

Character: Nanami

AU Setting: Masquerade ball

Spice Level: NSFW

Mood: Your choice

Kinks: Degradation and size difference

The Stranger at the Bar - A Nanami x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Non Curse AU. Degradation. Dirty talk. Size difference. 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback at all is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear.

 The stranger at the open bar is looking at you again. He’s totally your type, with his slicked back blonde hair and impeccably tailored black suit. He’s tall, muscular but not too bulky, and he stands there holding a drink in his large hand as his eyes slide over to you again. He’s wearing a black silk mask that covers the top half of his face, the sort most of the men are wearing at this swanky masquerade ball for bored rich assholes. 

You’re just here for the free drinks and food. Your uncle’s tech start up recently hit it big, so he got an invite to this party two weeks ago. “New Money”, they probably called him. But of course his perpetually single ass didn’t have a date, so he invited you to be his plus one. He even bought you a fancy cocktail dress, in shimmery fuchsia with a low neckline and high split up to the hip. You topped it off with a matching lace mask. 

When the two of you walked in, your uncle patted your back and jokingly told you to “go nab yourself a rich guy”. You smiled and grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray being carried by a server. 

That was over an hour ago, and you’ve barely seen your uncle since then. You spotted him a couple of times, chatting with other tech business bigwigs, but otherwise you’ve been on your own. You don’t mind. The food is fabulous and the drinks are plentiful. 

Then there’s the handsome stranger who keeps looking your way. You can see his eyes through the holes in his mask, can watch them travel up and down your body as you move across the room. There’s a dance floor where some of the early 20’s folks are dancing, so you head over and put on a little show. You may not be used to fancy places like this, but you go to clubs with your friends every weekend, so you know how to shake your ass to some music.

It worked. The stranger’s full attention is on you, his eyes practically glued to your every move. You wish he would just come over and dance with you, but you suppose he’s too mature for that. He gives off a totally different vibe from the young guys who hang around you at the club. 

Feeling emboldened by his hungry gaze, you work your way over to the bar and stand a few feet away from him, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. You fan yourself as if you’re hot after dancing, hoping your perfume drifts over to him. 

Within seconds, he moves closer to you, leaning back against the bar casually as he asks, “Who did you come with?”

Are you that obviously out of place? You smile at him. “Who says someone didn’t come with me?” you say teasingly, sipping your fruity drink. 

“Just a hunch,” he replies, glancing at you sideways. 

You point to your uncle across the room. He’s laughing a little too loudly, being just a tad too clingy to the bear-like man standing next to him. You hope they’re hitting it off. “My uncle didn’t have a date, so I tagged along.”

The stranger smiles faintly. Was that his way of finding out if you’re single? His eyes roam blatantly up and down you again. You hope he’s enjoying the closer look. You certainly are. He’s tall enough to tower over you, and his warm, honey-colored eyes draw you in. He’s the kind of man you want on top of you at the nearest opportunity. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” he asks, moving even closer to you. He smells expensive. 

“The drinks and the food? Yeah. Not sure about the people yet,” you say with a grin. 

“Oh? This isn’t your usual crowd?”

You turn your whole body to face him. “Not really. I don’t usually hang around snobby rich jerks. But maybe a few of them are alright.” You say the last part playfully, looking him up and down the way he did you. 

His eyes flick down to your chest, as if tracing the dipping neckline, then return to your face. “Perhaps we could talk in one of the private rooms, and you can find out if I’m ‘alright’.” 

You feel your heartbeat getting faster as your excitement builds, but you maintain your breezy attitude. “Private rooms? Are we allowed to go in those? The owner of this house might not like that.”

The person throwing this lavish party is also the owner of this ridiculously huge mansion. Your uncle mentioned their name but it didn’t seem important at the time. 

The stranger smiles again. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

He holds out his hand, and you take it, trying to keep your breathing steady as he escorts you through the room. He keeps pace with you, probably walking more slowly than he’d prefer, and moves in such a way that it seems like he’s clearing the path for you. Such a gentleman! You really hope he’ll be fucking you like a whore soon. 

As the two of you step into a hallway, you notice the marble floors and the walls lined with paintings. “Look at this,” you say. “Who actually needs all this? It’s obnoxious.”

The stranger chuckles. “You really think so?”

You stop to look at a Chinese vase. It probably cost more than your apartment and your car combined. “All this stuff is beautiful, but I heard the owner lives here alone. He has to get lonely in this giant house, right?”

The stranger regards you for a moment, then says, “He probably does. Maybe he even throws these parties just to have some company.”

You think about his answer. “If that’s the case, I feel bad for him.”

The stranger says no more on the topic, instead leading you into what appears to be some sort of dressing room with an enormous walk-in closet. It’s exactly the kind of room you imagine a stupidly rich guy would get dressed in. There are multiple full length mirrors, high quality lighting, and a display case showing off dozens of expensive looking watches. 

You turn to look at the stranger as he closes the door behind him. He holds out his large yet elegant hand to you again, and when you take it, he suddenly pulls you close, right up against his body. Oh god, he’s so firm and strong! He leans his face down and kisses your lips, both of you still wearing your masquerade masks. His hands slide across your back, one of them moving down to squeeze your ass. 

He pulls away and looks at you, his dark eyes peering into yours. “What would you like me to do?” he asks, his voice low. 

You lean in closer to him, pressing yourself to his warm, sturdy form, and whisper, “I want you to wreck me.”

He puts both hands on your shoulders and, not too hard but not too gently, pushes you down to your knees in front of him. He unbuttons his sleek black pants as he says, “Let’s put that annoying little mouth to good use.”

Oh fuck. How does he know exactly what you’re into? Maybe you give off a vibe. You watch with anticipation, licking your lips, as he pulls out his beautiful, massive cock. Is everything about this man as sexy as possible? From the color to the shape to the thick, delectable meatiness, his cock is gorgeous. 

You don’t waste any time. You lean forward and run your tongue over it, spreading your saliva around, before wrapping your lips around it. You take him so deep, it feels like he’s halfway down your throat, and you love the fact that there’s going to be a hot pink lipstick stain around the base of his cock. 

His hand is in your hair, grip firm but not harsh. “You’re practically swallowing me,” he says. “You must’ve been hungry for cock all night. Is that why you put on that lewd little show for me on the dance floor? So you could end up on your knees for me?”

You look up at his face, your mouth still stuffed full, and mumble a whiny “mmhmm” around his cock. You can see his eyes widen slightly behind the mask, feel his fingers flexing within your strands. You move your head back and forth, fucking him with your throat, fighting back gags, your tongue swirling around him the whole time. 

And when he reaches his limit, he pulls your head back and says, “Open wide.”

You’re happy to obey, sticking your tongue halfway out of your mouth to give him a proper place to aim. When his warm cum hits your tongue and lips, you slowly swirl it around your mouth, giving him time to see it pooled inside before swallowing it. 

He loosens his tie and then lowers himself to his knees in front of you before unbuttoning his shirt, leaving both it and his jacket on but open. You can see his toned torso, can feel how damp your panties have become. He slides the straps of your dress down, revealing your breasts, and then leans down to take one hard nipple into his mouth. You moan as you dig your fingers into the fabric of his jacket. 

The stranger eases you onto your back on the floor, then pushes your shimmering dress up to your waist. It’s the most expensive dress you’ve ever worn, and right now you don’t give a shit it gets dirty. He slides down your lace panties and opens your legs, looking down at your wetness with a somewhat self satisfied smile. 

“So wet for me,” he says as his fingers probe your depths. “Such a little slut, getting soaked for a man who’s face you haven’t even seen.”

Ahhh, fuck, his voice turns you on so much! His fingers rubbing circles into your clit are driving you wild. You want him, no you need him inside you! 

“Please,” you whine, tugging him closer. 

He withdraws his hand and lifts your hips off the floor, pulling your lower half into his lap, his thick cock resting against your needy pussy. “Do you want my cock?”

“Yes, please!” you cry, wiggling in his lap, desperate for some friction. 

He has mercy on you, positioning himself at your entrance and then plunging inside. You gasp in pleasure, arching your back as he begins thrusting into you. 

“So tight,” he groans, gripping your thighs. “You’re clenching me so hard… so desperate… Fuck, you’re the cheapest whore I’ve ever had! You probably would’ve paid me for this cock!”

“Ahhh! Yes, I’m a whore for you! Please fuck me harder!” you scream, feeling your climax approach as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. When he slams into you one more time, you feel the pleasure wash over you as you cum, moaning and trembling. 

He gives a few more pumps, then completely buries himself inside you as he cums, filling you up so well. 

You both pant as he pulls out and stands up, buttoning his clothes. He then extends his hand to you again and helps you to your feet. While you straighten your dress and pull your straps back up, he looks at you somewhat sheepishly and says, “I hope I didn’t go too far with my words.”

You blink in surprise, then laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about it! I was into it.”

He smiles. “I thought so. I’m glad.”

You open your mouth to respond, but there’s a sudden knock on the door. The stranger walks over and opens it. A man in a server’s uniform is standing in the doorway, looking frazzled. 

“There you are, sir! We’ve been looking all over for you!” the server says breathlessly. 

“Oh? And what do you need?” 

“We’ve run out of champagne! Your guests are getting irritated!”

The stranger pats the server’s back. “Send Ryusuke to buy more immediately. Everything will be fine, I’ll go talk to the guests.”

The server seems to relax. “Thanks, Nanami-san.”

You watch the scene, trying to keep your jaw from dropping. Now you remember the name of the host, the man who owns this huge mansion that you’ve been shit talking all night. 

Nanami turns to look at you over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face. “Will you be accompanying me back to the ballroom?”

You smile back at him. “Of course. I might get lost in this stupidly huge house otherwise.”

He takes your hand. “Perhaps if you started visiting on a regular basis, you could learn your way around.”

You walk out the door with him. “That would probably work, Nanami-san.”

[fl3shm4id3n]

ₜₕₑ ₗₒₛₜ ₚᵣᵢₙcₑₛₛ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞.

ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ! ᴛᴀᴠ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: Astarion talks about his past.

Masterlist

Ever since you met Astarion, he had a feeling that you were more than just a person. He was very observant. He saw how you somehow always had very fancy jewelry which you'd often sell or exchange for coin as well these fine clothing you'd carry with you. Those objects were things that normally nobility would own, but your just was just too precious and seemed very priceless. They look like something queens and princesses would own and wear. This caught his attention. Not only that, but when you'd be in a huge city, you'd get nervous when you'd see guards and missing and wanted posters on the walls. Sometimes you'd tear them off and crumble them up, placing them in your satchel bag. Where you a wanted criminal or something? He got very curious on what was going on with you.

That day you along with your traveling members where in the city, you were all tired from walking around and fighting off villains along with other creatures. You thought it would be good to stay at a inn. So you pulled out your last remaining hairpins and decided to maybe sell them. So you went to a jewelry stall and talked to the owner. The man was surprised to see that you had such fine hairpins and it was almost unbelievable to him. While you did that, Astarion had decided to look around a bit, to get to know the city a bit. As he walked, he spotted something that caught his eye.

When he approached, he saw a wanted poster. The poster was a yellow colored paper with a drawing of someone. That someone looked just like you. Except this lady hair was pinned up like a work of art with hairpins and flowers, not only that, but she also had a beautiful red and white dress. He thought of it for a moment, then it clicked. This had to be you, that explains why you had those priceless objects. This was you! You were a princess, a missing one at that. He then took the paper off the wall and placed it in his pocket. He wanted to know more about why you were 'missing'.

That night you were getting ready for bed in the room of the inn. You got enough gold to get everyone an individual room, mainly so that they could have privacy. As you were taking off your shoes, you heard someone coming in. "Can I come in?" it was Astarion who was peaking his head in through the door. "I mean, you're already coming in, so come on in." You said, turning to face him. Astarion slipped right in with a small smirk on his lips, and hiding something behind him.

"Something wrong?" You asked. "Oh no darling, nothing is wrong. I just wanted to ask you about this." He responded, revealing the paper that he had hidden. You felt your stomach drop. That is not what you wanted, for one of your companions to find out about your secret. "Where did you get that??" you asked, now panicking. "I was looking around, and I saw it." He said, turning the paper and looking at it. "You look very beautiful darling. Like a true, princess." He commented, admiring the drawing of you, dressed like a princess. There was no hiding it anymore, he already knew and he was not going to leave you alone until you tell him.

You sighed, rubbing your face. "Yes, I am a princess." You admitted defeated. Looking down at the wooden floor and holding your head up with your hands. "Why didn't you say anything?" he said, still looking at the poster. "Because, I didn't know if you or the other party members would turn me in!" You admitted. That was resealable. He himself is also probably being looked for. "Well darling, if it makes you feel better, I wouldn't turn you in for anything. But tell me. Why did you run away from your palace?" He asked, curiously.

"Because being a princess fells like a prison. I have no choices to make, I have to constantly listen to what my father says, no questions asked. My mother isn't any better, she's worst. Often telling me what to do and how to think, same goes with the governess." You added, sounding annoyed. This surprised him a lot. "Hm, and here I thought all princesses lived in luxury, getting everything that they ever wanted." He commented. "No, that's just a silly rumor." You said, with a sad sigh. "For once I wanted to think for myself, so I left. I left home, and sure as hells I'm not going back, they'll have to kill me first." You explained to him.

Astarion understood your reasoning, he too knew how it was like having to not be able to think for himself and make his own decisions. "Hm, I know how that's like. Except you weren't tortured or made to eat rats like I did." He said. You both stayed silent for a moment. Then he spoke. "Don't worry darling, your secret is safe with me." He said to you with a small smile. "Wait, so you won't tell anyone about who I really am?" you asked. He shook his head. "Nope, not one soul." He said, he sounded genuine. You believed that he wouldn't do that. "Alright, I trust you." You responded. Astarion gave you a small grin. "So, can I call you your highness? or how about your grace?" He asked, he was now teasing. This made you almost gag. "Ugh, don't call me by those names please." You said. "But why not? You are a princess my dear." He reminded you, only causing you to roll your eyes. "Goodnight." You said, flopping to your bed. "Oh goodnight, your highness." He said with a grin as he walked out of your room. All you could do is sigh in instant regret.

[icy-bluez]

Picture Perfect

Warnings: slightly suggestive, crack fic, fluff.

Characters: Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier

Synopsis: Weird / endearing pictures you have of them.

A/N: Icy has nothing to say cuz Icy currently has a smooth bren.

Rafayel

Man's got cake.

Nah, he's got a fucking bakery.

And you were extremely slightly jealous.

(Unless your thang be thanging too.)

You have definitely clicked pictures of his ass on multiple occasions, especially when he's wearing those fancy clothes of his, tight with swaying buttcheeks as he walks. And then you probably proceeded to spank it.

"Rafayel, I have a question." You ask while he was spacing out, sitting in front of a giant canvas full of beautiful hues of colours.

"...Yes?"

"If you fall on your butt do you bounce back up from the sheer plushness of the muscle on your rear en-"

Rafayel almost snaps his neck when he turns his face towards you with a loud dramatic, "Say what-!?"

Let's just say he got really flustered and you got to see for yourself if he really did bounce back up when he fell from the stool.

Besides that you also have a shit ton of pictures of him pouting or sulking because you're pretty sure he does the picture perfect pout better than you when he's just...well....sulking.

Xavier

Some...incredibly weird sleeping positions.

You were on your way out of Akso hospital one day and saw fur, fluffy and golden hanging out from the tree. You assumed it was a cat.

You reached up to grab it. The cat-human entity grunted.

You jumped away like a startled cat yourself, only to see sleepy blue eyes peek from under a lowered tree branch. Lo and behold, it was a wild Xavier. Snap, went the camera.

You definitely have pictures of his chest, like, how are they so huge and squish-able. You've also wanted to lick the sweat off his abs once in a while because he's just so damn muscular and glows like a goddamn glowstic- (concerned personnel are requested to not try this at home unless they are also in possession of a wild Xavier or similar-)

"Xavier. Shirt off." You ordered with a slightly unhinged expression on your face.

"W-whuh? Y/N?"

"Now."

"W-wait why-"

"Shut up and let me worship your knead-ables."

Don't pretend you did not relish in his moans after you were done with worshipping his body. It did not stop at his chest though, you definitely went lower.

PS: He fell asleep on his knees once, while he was hugging your legs and his head was on your lap. You clicked a picture and never let that one go.

Zayne

Zayne, pinching his nose bridge, sighing, his eyes closed and head leaning back against the couch. Before he could even register what was happening, he heard around fifty snaps of pictures being taken, going off from the side.

Zayne is just a very sexy man in general but you, as his girlfriend, obviously have weird/endearing pictures of him. Like the time he started gleefully laughing like a child. A giant cat was finally, finally being overly affectionate with him, licking his hands, neck and all over his face.

(Are we jealous? Yes we are!)

Zayne barely ever lets his guard down therefore little moments when he would fall asleep on your lap or just anywhere random in general after being thoroughly exhausted, you would take a picture.

You have definitely forced him into couple photoshoots with you. Asking him to put on cat ears with you, carry plushies on his shoulders, making hearts with your hands, drawing one half of a heart with a red lipstick on your cheek then smushing it against a reluctant Zayne's cheek to form the other half of the heart. That picture was now your lockscreen wallpaper.

Besides that, he had really broad shoulders and an impeccable stature. Not that you wouldn't peck it.

"Mm, can I?" You ask, seductively pulling his shirt open as you reapply your lipstick.

"Isn't this a bit too..."

"Is it a yes or a no?"

"...You can continue."

Now you also had a picture of Zayne flushed red and littered with lipstick marks all over his neck, cheeks, chest, abs, maybe lower. Definitely not because you were jealous of a cat.

Oh and he probably got his revenge as well.

ANTHOLOGY LIST

[physalian]

Toy Story 2 | Still a perfect execution of a fantasy story

One of the things people uesd to complain about is that the cars in "Cars" did not need to be cars. As in, the fantastical element was not necessary to tell the story (which I wholeheartedly disagree with but that's not the point of this post). You could have told Finding Nemo with the fish as humans and have Nemo caught by... a traveling circus, or something, but to many, Cars was the damning example.

While Toy Story was the antithesis of Cars in every way.

Have not and will not see the fourth one but the first two films are perfect fantasy, and you don't immediately think of them as "fantasy".

I just rewatched TS 2 so it's fresh in my mind, and this story could not exist if these characters were not toys. Everything from the little details like the Etch-a-Sketch speed-drawing the map from the commercial to the "high stakes" rescue and escape that's only "high stakes" beacuse they're toys and not people and that one intersection is a death trap.

But the big thing is the main plot of the story: Woody is in the role of a has-been who wants to reclaim his glory days (like Mr. Incredible) but unlike a human, Woody himself was not part of those glory days, he's just one of many toys sold with the Woody's Roundup TV show, theoretically endlessly replacable, as all toys are. Unless you gave your hero amnesia, in no other storyline would this work with a human character, because Woody is both an outsider and the hero making his homecoming.

At the center of this trilogy is what it means to be a toy: A child's plaything. How each character relates to that fact is central to their arcs. The first movie tackled the divide between Woody's "I exist to be Andy's favorite toy" and Buzz's "I ain't no toy, I'm a Real Boy".

The second movie takes it one step further: Is a "toy" something you play with and inevitably ruin through playtime and the messy love of a child, or is a "toy" something you keep perfectly preserved in its packaging? And the consequences of being a toy when your human outgrows you, in Jessie's story, and is a valid point by Stinky Pete.

TS 3 takes the "what happens when the kid grows up" to its natural conclusion, with Andy going off to college. While I think it got a little carried away in spectacle and the incinerator scene, the endless replacability of a toy is Lotso's whole schtick.

The nature of what a toy is is the whole point—a piece of wood or metal or plastic that is effectively immortal, but an immortal being forever in a place of willful servitude to children.

—

It seems rather obvious to give fantastical characters a fantastical story, but a lot of uninspired or forgettable fantasy takes a human plotline and just reskins it with fairies or animals and never takes full advantage of what the characters are.

When your fantastical elements and setting are just window dressing, like Avatar '09, a fancy backdrop for a bland story, why bother writing a fantasy story? Why waste all that worldbuilding and all that creativity? (I actually know the answer, Cameron got cold feet when his creative teams went all out to create something indeed alien, and kept nudging it back to something more friendly and recognizable until we got what we got).

Avatar '09 sure made a lot of money... and zero impact on our cultural memory. It's no one's favorite movie, no one's favorite retelling of Dances with Wolves. It's just pretty to look at.

You can write a retelling, a "modern take", a book of tropes and clichés, sure, but I'd encourage you to at least make one arc of your fantasy or sci-fi story only possible in your world, with your lore, with your characters. Otherwise, what's the point?

[vhstown]

gwen stacy ★ general headcanons

content/warnings: mentions of underage drinking, implied & mentions of death

a/n: hey 😁 a levels beating my arse. thx 2 @qiupachups 4 helping w these 🫡 give it up for gwendy ‼️ (unedited)

Gwen is a collector — but not of collectibles. She has a secret empire of the most random things, and is thoroughly embarrassed when anyone finds it: tickets, pins, soda can tabs, cool-looking clothing tags, mismatched hair clips, paper clips, little things stolen from school, etc. Anything she things is remotely interesting has a place in a very specifically organised box under her bed, tucked away from the world and taken out occasionally to be adjusted or stared at. It's essentially the same as being a collector, right...?

She had a fashion hobby she grew out of, but it re-kindles when she has to design a suit for herself. Initially, it's made up of thermal sportswear but she comes up with actual designs at some point, modifying it overtime to include the hood and to integrate it with her ballet slippers.

When it comes to art, Gwen's style would be a lot like a fashion student's. I headcanon her to have aphantasia so her main strength is drawing clothing, and a lot of her drawings are based on herself as a reference (she can literally only draw herself well...) Rather than a sketchbook, she has a journal that's also full of photographs and writing as well as her drawings, and the occasional crumpled up drum score.

Has a knack for sewing and customises some of her clothes, though it's more personal touches and the occasional crop rather than completely overhauling a piece of clothing. Everyday items of hers have at least a little embroidery or design on them and she likes doing patterns on like bags and converse for her friends. Wants to make plushies and things but always manages to get distracted so there's a bunch of unfinished projects in her closet. (I would totally buy from her on Etsy though 😁)

Gwen did ballet as a kid and developed the enraging habit of cracking EVERY joint in her body. She's the mf that twists in the chair in front of you and stares deep into your soul while cracking her back. Cracks things you don't even know you could crack without shame my girl is a whole instrument 😭

Ballet is something her dad pushed her towards, alongside music (though he preferred she did something more traditional). Initially Gwen did feel out of place in her classes. A lot of the other children at her classes were already well-versed in it, and a lot of times she found she wanted to quit. Only after learning that her mom Helen did ballet did she willingly pick it up again at an older age, incorporating the technique into her fighting style.

Gwen used to play a few different instruments as a kid but none of them really stuck. For a while, she thought she hated music when she did piano and the recorder, but when she got her hands on a drumkit at her school and a couple lessons, she knew it was the one.

Her drumming is definitely more freestyle, and even though she's good she has a lot of problems with her high energy, spontaneous and emotive style. That means she breaks her drumsticks ALL the time. There's no way she's banging all that out on the drums without an unfortunate snap or two, so she always keeps another pair handy. She's broken her drumsticks so much that there's a collection of them torn up at the bottom of her bag (she never bothers to throw them out, and might've given herself a splinter reaching in to find something 💀)

Speaking of drumsticks, she has one lucky pair she uses for important performances, carrying them practically everywhere. They've essentially rotted in their fancy little fabric case since she'd gottem them, the custom "GWENDOLYN MAXINE STACY" imprinted on it having almost completely eroded away.

Though, she's only ever used them once; her dad had bought them for her for a school performance, which she had to bail last minute when her Spider-sense suddenly activated. Running off to fight a villain not a street away, Peter Parker follows her, and he realises just who Spider-Woman really is.

While she was planning to use them at her prom performance with her band... that never happened. After that, everything reminded her of that night, and her relationship with The Mary Janes dwindled until she quit altogether. The band only lasted a few months prior, and since they never got to perform at prom, Gwen found herself playing for no reason at all, other than to get rid of her pent-up energy and forget about the fact that she's basically a wanted criminal.

When she's living in Hobie's universe, she ends up breaking her "lucky" drumsticks and is, understandably, a little shattered by it, but Hobie gets her another pair, "GWENDY" written in mismatched letters on the side. That "G" was definitely a last-minute addition, though. He also teaches her how to stop breaking them so often. "Bit of advice — use the wrists, not just the arms."

Gwen's definitely not meant to drink, so whenever Hobie goes to the pub he makes sure not to, suggesting his friends don't get pissed out of their minds either (though she might steal a sip of something fruity now and again.)

Hobie takes her to gigs all the time, and sometimes she drums for his ones. The first time she does it, she's nervous of course, but her sound immediately gets the crowd going and it's the talk of the town for a week straight (and her drumsticks didn't break!)

There's no shortage of junk food, of course. Just like all the takeout she'd have back at home, Hobie would make sure to take her around all the local spots. Although it's not exactly the same, anything beats the plasticky cafeteria food in 2099. Stopping for a kebab or two in the middle of anomaly-hunting isn't really against the rules anyway.

Gwen is friendly with pretty much everyone in the Spider-society because everyone knows who "Gwen Stacy" is, but she never really wants to meet another version of herself (given how unsettling it is with context). Also very awkward around any MJs — or Peters. Peter B essentially being an older 65!Peter definitely freaks her out a little at first.

Misses Miles, obviously, and probably had something she wanted to make for him back in her universe that she could never retrieve. Maybe when she gets Hobie's watch she'll bring it along with her — would Miles like a knitted neckwarmer?

SO best friends with Margo. Her tech lets Gwen see into her universe sometimes (Miguel wouldn't let her 😞) and Margo is super keen on learning about her universe. They both hang out with Peni and it's a fun little girl trio (Peni totally takes them to her universe to see all the giant mechs 😁 "Girls night!" BOOM!)

Number 1 girlfail. She hasn't broken those new drumsticks yet! But drumming can wait — and all those projects at the back of her closet, and her unresolved dispute with MJ and the band, and her dad at home. Going from her small world to having an entire multiverse against her and her friends, Gwen's got one hell of a show to put on, right?

“I never found the right band to join, so I started my own, with a few old friends.”

“You want in?”

🩰🕸️💫

@phoenixinthefiles (it's cause of you im always writing hcs 😭😭😭 /pos)

hi bunklies 😁 ive been averaging like 4h of sleep cuz of skl but ill fix up soon trust... hope you are all doing okay ! ive never written anything for gwen before so i hope this is an okay start lol

atsv masterlist here! reblogs always appreciated :) see u around <3

[mushrubes]

You

Masterlist | The last of us masterlist

Requested : No!

Prompt 15 “this song reminds me of you.” + 42. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Pairing : Joel Miller x (she/her) reader (No use of Y/n)

Type : fluff!

Contents : Age gap, mutual feelings, grumpy x sunshine, swearing!

Word count : 1.6k

You're loved :)

--------

"Sooo..." Ellie spoke up, walking alongside Joel as you walked ahead of the pair, just out of earshot. He raised his eyebrow, not turning to face her and waiting for whatever comment to come out. "When are you going to tell her?" she asked, a smirk on her face as she watched in amusement, seeing his face change through multiple emotions. "Tell her what?" he asked, trying to stay calm as he gathered she was most likely just messing with him - after all, it wasn't that obvious was it?

"You like her!" she huffed, rolling her eyes at the male as he shook his head vigorously, coming out with excuses. "I absolutely do not, Ellie. She's closer to your age than she is to me!" he half lied. It was true, you were younger, but Joel was so oblivious to the constant hints you had sent. Unknown to you, she had picked up almost instantly, as well as Tommy who had agreed to help her plan in getting the pair of you together. "God, you are so stupid sometimes! She doesn’t care about age!" she groaned, scratching her forehead. 

Joel bit his tongue as he looked ahead, his eyes settled on you. It was lightly snowing on your way back to Jackson, soft snowflakes falling. He watched as you looked around, taking in the scene around you. Despite the world having gone to shit, you still managed to find good in everything - perhaps that was the reason he kept you around. You saw the good in him, the side he couldn't even see himself anymore. He found comfort in you, seeking you out when he needed it the most. You listened to him and his doubts, always managing to assure him that he was doing the right thing and he was protecting you and Ellie. You told him how much you appreciated him daily. Showing him things he never thought he'd ever see again. 

You had one of his spare coats on, your's currently being fixed by Maria as it got torn on the last patrol you and Joel took. It almost drowned you, due to Joel being bigger built but it kept you way warmer than your own did, making you thankful for the fence that had ripped it. "See! You're oogling at her!" Ellie pointed out, earning a frustrated groan that was loud enough for you to hear, evident as you turned out in concern, switching between the two. "Is everything okay?" you asked softly, Ellie smirking as he glared at her. A small smile was plastered on your face as you watched the pair of them act like children. 

"It's fine sunshine, she was just telling me those stupid puns." he lied, glaring at the girl one more time before he carried on walking, now in front of you. "What did you do?" you asked, sighing as he only got into these moods when he was frustrated. She put her hands in the air, shrugging. "I'm innocent, he's just being a moody old man." she attacked, earning a snicker from you. "Don't be mean Ellie." you warned, a playful smile on your face as she grinned back, letting you pull her into a side hug. "Hurry up, unless you want to freeze out here!" Joel called, a stern look on his face. 

"Coming!"

----

You walked into the room, immediately gasping as you set your eyes on the familiar piece in front of you. "Ellie!" you called, gaining the girl's attention. She gasped as well, watching as you opened the draw underneath, seeing the multiple types of vinyl. The labels on them had been worn away, leaving the band and songs on them a surprise. "Woah!" she whispered, pulling them out. "What'd you find?" Joel asked, still focusing on the food he was cooking in front of him. It wasn't a fancy meal, but it was enough to fill you all up for tonight until you got your next load of food. "Vinyl player." you breathed out, grinning at the male who hummed. 

"How do you play it?" Ellie spoke up making you panic as you saw what she was doing, about to break it. "Hey, hey, hey, wait." you gushed, walking over and taking it out of her hands, placing it on properly as it played. "Dinner's ready." Joel announced, letting you take Ellie's arm and bringing her to the table to sit with you and him, leaving the music playing

----

"Come on, time for bed." you ushered, squeezing her arm. Unlike most nights, you knew you'd have no issue with persuading her tonight due to how tired she was from today - she was already practically asleep on your shoulder anyway. "I'll carry her up." Joel assured, already picking her up as you went to move, sending him a small smile. "Okay." you said softly, getting up and walking to the vinyl player to change the record. 

He carefully carried Ellie up, making sure to avoid any creaks in the stairs he knew were there and pushed her bedroom door open with his foot. She had managed to make it her own since you and Joel had agreed on moving to Jackson permanently. The cracked walls were repainted with a blush red she had asked for, lights strung around as well as a pinboard, polaroid pictures pinned to it thanks to the camera Joel had managed to find on a patrol with Tommy one day. 

"Joel?" she called softly as he pulled the covers over her, Ellie already having gotten changed into her pyjamas earlier. "Hm?" he responded, letting her know he had heard you. "Thank you." she stated, knowing she didn't have to expand and he would understand. He took a deep breath, kneeling beside her as he brushed the hair off of her face, illuminated by the lamp next to her bed. "It's okay." he mumbled, a weird feeling of nostalgia growing in his stomach as it reminded him of Sarah. He got up, reaching to turn the lamp off as they shared a smile. As he walked over to the door, ready to walk out she spoke up again. "I'm no longer cargo, right?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly causing him to feel guilty. 

Ellie was similar to Joel in many ways - the one way you were able to point out was overthinking. It was a natural thing to do, all humans do it even you, but she rarely spoke up about it. She would decide to keep quiet than confront it and bottle it up. This was one of the very rare moments she'd let it show, especially since she was now slightly older. She was determined to be independent, to show she didn't need any help with anything, just to prove herself. "No, kiddo. You haven't been for ages. We see you as family." he comforted, trying his best to word it. 

We. The word rang in her head, making her grin as she realised that not only was she sure Joel saw her as family but so did you. You saw her as part of your family. Her stomach filled with butterflies as well as a fuzzy feeling, getting rid of her doubts and certain she was where she belonged. "Now get some sleep, Kiddo." Joel told as she nodded before realising he couldn't see. "Goodnight Joel." she bid, snuggling up to the plush you had given her ages ago. "Goodnight baby girl." he smiled, pulling the door gently. 

Carefully, he made his way down the stairs, coming back into the living room where you were still sitting. When you saw him, you gestured for him to sit next to you, his arm instinctively wrapping around you as you laid your head on his shoulder. The gentle, familiar tune filled the room as you smiled. "Dance with me." you questioned, looking up and feeling your cheeks heat up as you saw him already looking at you. His face changed; uncertainty obvious as he doubted the idea. "I don't know..." he sighed, looking at you as you stood up, frowning at him. He didn't say anything else, instead standing up and wrapping his arms around your waist as your arms were around his neck. 

Your head was pressed against his chest as his head rested on top of yours, swaying you softly along to the song. "This song reminds me of you." you admitted, catching the man off guard. He thought to himself for a few minutes before responding. "How?" he asked, curious as to what to respond. You scoffed as if it was the most obvious thing ever. "Because I know you'd give up everything just to be me and El." you spoke up, answering as if it was easy. The comment put a smile on his face, making him happy that you were somewhat aware of the extent he'd go for you two - his girls (admittedly he'd go further than you probably think, but he wasn't going to tell you that).

His eyes welled up slightly as he thought how lucky he had gotten. It was a living hell, yet he'd found two people who didn't see him like the others. They didn't see the ruthless, cold-hearted killer that he'd lost his brother over for a bit. He was safe with you two like you were with him. Even though he was the protector, you two helped him feel safe from everything. Able to forget about the current state of the world when he was with you two, giving him a place to rest - like a sanctuary. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he admitted, seeing you had pulled away and wiped the tears he hadn't even noticed were falling. You rubbed his tears away with your thumbs, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Well, thankfully you'll never have to know. "

[sdr2lovemail]

Is there any chance I could get a general relationship headcanons for Yomi Hellsmile and Martina Electro (Raincode) with a g/n reader?

Thanks!~

Yomi Hellsmile and Martina Electro Relationship Headcanons (GN Reader)

Notes: I got really carried away with these! (O_O;) I was going to write headcanons for them together as well, but this post was getting super long. But if you're interested in that, feel free to send another request, dear! With the way my askbox looks, I'll become the person known for writing about Martina and Yomi. Not complaining tho, lol! I hope you enjoy the fruits of my indulgent labors.

Yomi Hellsmile

Getting into a relationship with Yomi would not be easy. He’s standoffish, rude, and devoted to his work. He would have to know you for a long time before even thinking about pursuing a relationship.

Yomi is surprisingly romantic. He knows he’s handsome and how to charm people. As director of the peacekeepers, he can take you out almost anywhere. His preferred places are ones where the two of you can be alone.

Yomi is the possessive type. Like the way Kanai Ward is his city, you are his partner. No one else is allowed to think about you he does. He’s got a nasty jealousy streak as well and isn’t fond of people throwing advances at you.

What he considers advances is vague though. Depending on how he’s feeling that day, someone just speaking to you in a way he didn’t like is eligible to be framed for murder.

Dates are few and far between. He’ll tell you early on that Amaterasu comes first. But sometimes he’ll surprise you with a night out. Yomi would buy out an entire restaurant so you could spend time in private. He enjoys more expensive tastes, so they’ll be decently fancy places.

When it comes to affection, Yomi is on the rougher side. Kissing would usually incorporate some type of biting, his favorite places being the neck and shoulders. He’s a strange man so he’s not above drawing a little blood.

He acts like he’s giving you some grand gift while being affectionate. Even if he’s coming to you for a hug or kiss, Yomi will tease you like you need him. As a fan of being dramatic, he’d go as far as calling himself ‘your savior.’

As much as he likes you, his sadism knows no bounds. He’ll be mean towards you, but in a somewhat loving way. If you mess something up, he’ll be sure to point it out, more than likely laughing. Yomi may or may not help you out, it all relies on his mood.

Want a kiss? That’s too bad, he’s much too busy to entertain you right now. He’ll come to you when he’s ready. Or jump on you the minute you turn your back.

There are two sides that fight inside his brain: one that wants to show you off to every and anyone, and the other that wants to keep his romantic life to himself. The first one usually wins as he can’t keep his hands off you.

If you worked at Amaterasu Corporation, Yomi would seek you out during the workday. Maybe asking you to do tasks for him like gathering files or preparing his afternoon tea. Or he’d have you accompany him on a homicide case. He thinks he can make you swoon by showing off his sense of justice.

If you were a regular Kanai Ward citizen, he would be a bit more private about your relationship. Crime is rampant there and he knows that there are very few, if any at all, people that like him. Yomi doesn’t know what he would do if some disgusting criminals were to harm you because of himself. Yes, he does, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

If you were a detective, it’s just a big mess all around. He wants to see your corpse hanging above his mantle yet craves the feel of your lips crashing against his so bad. Purposefully goes out of his way to be a nuisance in cases you’re working on. Yomi is not above an alleyway make-out session before sending the peacekeepers after you.

Martina Electro

Martina is a bit easier to court, but she holds herself in high regard and expects the same from her partner. She won’t accept anything less than what she deserves.

Unless you are in a position of power higher than hers, Martina would take more of a leading role in figuring out this relationship. She plans dates out weeks in advance, she is a fan of high-end café’s, shopping, and museum dates.

One fact about Martina that everyone is aware of, she loves talking about her partner. She’ll talk about you when brought up, she’ll talk about you unprompted, she’ll talk about you even if no one is listening. Martina will constantly sing your praises.

If there’s something to know about you, Martina will know it. She knows how you like your food and drinks to be prepared, hobbies, how you prefer your bed to be made. It sounds obsessive, and it kind of is, but this is how she shows her love. Her love language is being involved with your life.

Martina isn’t one to be jealous, she’s pretty secure in her relationships. People know her status as a peacekeeper and won’t come near you anyways. However, that doesn't mean that she doesn’t get possessive. Keeping you near her and in her grasp really gets her going.

Speaking of getting her going, she’s very reactive to affection. If your attention is a drug, she’s addicted to it. Holding her in your arms, kissing her anywhere, will make her flush a deep red. At first, her kissing is very clinical, like she’s analyzing you rather than kissing. But with time, she gets more enthusiastic, more relaxed. She doesn’t mind PDA either if you’re the one dealing it.

Despite her devotion, and borderline obsession, Martina is still her own, headstrong woman. If you do something she doesn’t like, she will be sure to tell you. Unfortunately, she’s stubborn by nature. If it comes down to arguments, it’ll usually be her way or no way until she cools off and gets more level headed.

Maybe it’s the homunculus DNA, but she enjoys your smell. There’s no real rhyme or reason to it. The familiarity of your scent is just something she likes. Borrowing pieces of clothing or spending time wrapped in your blankets are just heavenly. In the comfort of her own home, Martina would love to hold you in her arms, her face buried in your neck or hair. Watch out though, she has a bit of a drooling problem.

Motorcycle dates with Martina! Bring a thick rain coat, or not, she can provide one. She’ll take you out driving around the outskirts of Kanai Ward. There’re not many places that are very scenic, but there are a few places where the two of you can be alone. Make sure to hold on tight because she loves showing off with all types of tricks.

Post game, when she’s working in accounting, Martina will want to have a long talk with you. She knows the way she acted while working under Yomi was awful, and she wants to be completely transparent with you. However, working in an office now gives her more time to spend with you. If you surprised her with lunch one day, she might just die from joy!

If you worked at Amaterasu Corporation, she would want you by her side at all times. Follow her around and help at crime scenes. If you were a common peacekeeper, Martina would have you added to her team. Being her personal assistant is a fun thought. Her cute, devoted assistant that does as she says. But, that’s a post for another time.

If you were a citizen of Kanai Ward, she would be a bit condescending. She’s the beautiful vice director of the peacekeepers and you’re probably some poor office worker. She would talk down to you both unintentionally and intentionally. Nevertheless, she does love you. Martina would absolutely spoil you with gifts and lavish dates.

If you were a detective, she’s going to have a lot of fun tormenting you. Not much makes her happier than a cute face twisting in despair. Unlike Yomi, Martina doesn’t want you dead. No, that would ruin the fun too quickly. She would love to personally crush any hope you had of being a detective in Kanai Ward. She’s aware that she’s attractive and would try to use her charisma into getting you to join Amaterasu.

[helianskies]

EngSpa, “you’re my little secret.” ;)

oh maiva, how i adore you and your ideas >:3

Tonic

Antonio sits in a hotel bar area, tucked comfortably on an armchair that sits in a corner of the large room, alongside an old carved fireplace, a bookshelf, a spare chair, and a table that carries his glass for him. 

It is nearing seven o’clock in the evening, and he is still waiting.

His stomach threatens to riot and rumble. It has been a long day, and he yearns for the good food—a fancy meal—that will come shortly. He just has to wait. He just has to wait. 

His head slips into his hand and he lightly rubs his forehead. Then, feeling that the few seconds he has just spent distracted is perhaps too many, he sits back up straight and glances around the room, studying a sea of faces to see if there is anyone he recognises. He hopes there isn’t. And, so far, he seems to be in the clear. It means he can breathe, relax again, and have a sip of wine to cure his—

“Sorry to keep you.”

Antonio pulls his glass away, swallowing his mouthful of white wine, before he sets it down and turns to the person who has taken up the adjacent armchair.

It’s Arthur, of course. The only person he wants to see for the rest of this evening.

“That’s okay,” he responds. “You’re here now.”

Arthur sets his drink down on the table—a gin and tonic—and offers Antonio a small, warming smile. The sort that makes the Spaniard’s insides feel like they’re being tickled.

“We’ve got about half an hour before our table’s ready,” Arthur reminds him as he settles. “Is that okay? I know that’s sort of messed with your routine, but I—”

“I told you, it’s fine,” Antonio promises, nevertheless. “I had a small something earlier. I’m sure I’ll survive another half an hour.”

The smile reappears, and now Antonio’s joins the party. Then a hand reaches across the table without a word being spoken, and he takes it. He holds it. Just for a few precious moments.

This is the closest they will come to an embrace in public. They may have been meeting in a hotel different from the one they are staying in for the next couple of days, but even so, they will only go so far. They know that there is a time and a place.

With time moving on, they take to talking as normal people do. They speak of how their days have been, about any personal developments since the last time they had been able to speak freely in person, about how bored they both already are with diplomacy again.

There is a clear consensus: at least they have each other. 

Antonio lives for these moments they have. For the dinners they can indulge in while foreign eyes look elsewhere. For drinks shared as old enemies and newer lovers while the world thinks they are neither of the sort. For sneaking glances in meetings, for lingering touches as they pass in corridors, for texts sent and read under a desk with a smile or even a blush…

One day, they’ll do these things without worrying about who is behind them, or who might overhear. For now, however, they must play it safe. Not rush. Be careful.

He doesn’t know what time it is when Arthur suggests they make a move towards the restaurant, but Antonio is somewhat surprised that that much time has passed.

First, they’ll finish their drinks—neither of them are in disagreement about that motion. That means, though, that the prospect of food is drawing near, and that makes the Spaniard(‘s stomach) feel a little bit happier. 

Arthur is the first to stand. He’s downed the dregs of his gin and tonic and stands almost flush against the side of the other’s armchair as he waits for Antonio to drink up, too.

“You know,” the blond begins, perhaps in an attempt to kill a few more seconds, his patience as imaginary as some of his friends, “Francis was asking me what my plans were this evening.”

Antonio nearly spits out the rest of his wine. He has to swallow it down carefully, a hand over his mouth, lest he start to cough and splutter and draw attention to them both.

“You… You haven’t said anything, have you?” he asks, fearful. 

“No, I haven’t,” Arthur reassures him, however. He brushes the back of his hand over Antonio’s cheek, a brief movement, before withdrawing it again (they are, after all, still in public). “Don’t worry. You’re my little secret.”

It’s a funny thing. It’s a funny thing to consider himself as and be considered as by Arthur, but he likes it. It is Antonio’s doing, after all. 

When he and Arthur sat down about a year ago and decided to rekindle something that had last lost its spark a few decades prior (it is a recurring pattern), it had been his condition. I don’t want anyone to know, he had told Arthur, and Arthur had agreed without much questioning.

It’s a matter of principle. 

Antonio wants to see who he wants to see and love who he wants to love without it being the whole damn world’s business. Having friends who gossip, and knowing in general that people are terrible at keeping secrets that aren’t their own, Antonio yearned for privacy—and that is what Arthur has provided him, like a tonic for his troubles. 

(Does that make Antonio gin…?)

They leave for the restaurant. Antonio is soothed, and Arthur rambles on about how he chose this posh hotel's dining hall not only for its fancy reputation, but because he recalls Antonio mentioning a few weeks ago that it would be nice to splurge on occasion and feel fancy, too. His worries cease to exist after that point, mellowed out by Arthur’s care and attention. 

It has been nice, you know. To be in a relationship in which he doesn’t have to pull the strings, do the thinking, lead the romantic gestures.

Arthur has a tender heart. Antonio considers himself lucky that Arthur has made room for him in it.

[ find prompts here! ] [ fic collection on ao3! ]

[or0ch1maru]

do you think you could write us some more SFW Hidan headcanon pleaaase?

of course I can ^.^ I love our sadistic boy with my whole heart. If I end up writing a repeat I apologize. It’s been a while lol

•

-I personally feel like he’s a lefty. And anytime he has to write something, his script is messy and sometimes hard to read so most of the time he’ll have Kakuzu fill things out for him.

-despite having a messy scrawl, I feel like his signature would be really fancy or cool.

-in his spare time I can see Hidan sketching or drawing. And it’s really good too which surprises a lot of the members the first time they see his sketch book

-when Hidan is alone I can see him enjoying a good read or study. He loves to learn but keeps that hidden from everyone, except his partner. I’ve mentioned before that Kakuzu knows everything about Hidan and vice versa.

-has a collection of small stuffed animals, the ones that aren’t over 6 inches. Ones that are easy to hide if someone comes into his room.

-i also believe he wouldn’t have much left from his childhood so the few items he has, he cherishes. One being a raggedy looking brown bear stuffy, a picture of him & his parents, and a piece of fabric torn off his mother’s scarf.

-we don’t know much about Hidan’s past but I could see him being a mama’s boy and has a LOT of respect for women, especially pregnant mothers, or mothers in general. Holds doors open for them, looks away if a woman needs to pick something up so it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to stare up her dress, carry one’s groceries if a woman couldn’t handle that and her stroller, etc

-I also think he has respect for the elderly. Would assist in getting them across the road, help them up/down stairs if they’re having issues walking, or if they couldn’t reach something on a shelf in the supermarket

-just like anybody, he’ll have moments where he feels insecure. Whether it’s about his looks or personality. Sometimes it might spiral into a depression or a short moment of self loathing but our big grouch Kakuzu is always there to lift Hidan’s spirits and it works

-his safe space is his room, but specifically his bed. Being tucked away under blankets and a wall of soft and squishy pillows soothes his worries quickly. It’s the one place he feels like he can truly be himself without having to put on a show for anyone

-as much as I believe Hidan would be a ‘player’, constant hook up’s, I imagine he got that all out of his system when he was younger and all he wants is to find that one lucky man or woman he can settle down with.

-I’ve mentioned before as well that he’s experimented a lot sexually and realized he swings both ways. Not that he’d voice it, scared that people would think less of him

-has his bed pushed into the corner of his room. Doesn’t enjoy having both sides open, gives him a sense of security being able to tuck himself away if he feels like it

-Hidan’s room isn’t messy, or 100% clean. It’s neat enough, but his shoes might be scattered by the door, his cloak tossed lazily over the back of the desk chair or couch in his room, might have a cup or plate on his bedside table he hasn’t gotten around to taking to the kitchen.

-posters and sketches littering the walls around his bed, a strip of led’s/fairy lights above it too so when the lights are off, he has a nice glow coming from them.

-finds peace in silence

[pricemarshfield]

HI……flirtatious kiss on the back of the hand for the first ship that comes to mind for you 😔

it's raphtav, who's surprised (no one). also this kind of got away from me and is 90% a totally different thing but there is a hand kiss...eventually. prompt list here!

Tav isn't supposed to be here. Not really. She's a cleric and this is a temple, sure, but it's the kind of detached, formal devotion as unlike her faith as one can get.

But still: something in her bristles at seeing him walking around the place. It's an insult, though whether to her or to divinity in general, she's not sure.

"Fancy seeing you here," Tav says, keeping her voice bored and quiet, her eyes on the statues ahead of her even as he settles next to her on the pew. "I'd imagine the place would be warded against a devil. Does it hurt every step you take, or something?"

"Not quite," Raphael says, and his voice is low and right in her ear (so as not to carry, that's all, as she reminds herself to little success). "I'll admit to a certain discomfort, but that's far outweighed by the pleasure of your company, my dear."

Tav scoffs. "Please. The pleasure of irritating me, if anything."

"I hardly see the difference," Raphael says, amused, teasing, and fair enough, because Tav doesn't either.

"Why is it that you're following me, then?"

She hasn't signed the contract, and doesn't intend to. Might have, if he hadn't been stupid enough to name where he was keeping it, but if he's going to give her an inch, then she'll take a mile, and every valuable in his house besides.

(It's very nearly a shame. She really does like him.)

He hums, as though he's unsure whether to answer her question at all, let alone truthfully. But he's playing at offering a just deal these days -- at least with her, correctly guessing she'd see through whatever bullshit he spins for the less insightful -- so he eventually adds, "This tabernacle hasn't a place for your Lord, does it?"

Tav snorts. "The Destroyer himself? No."

"Perhaps I'm curious as to what threat you'd risk his wrath for," Raphael says, careful, covetous.

She turns more fully to him at that, despite the fact it'll draw eyes she really doesn't need her way, because she would love to pull the thread to see what he wants here. Understanding her, to better convince her to give him the Crown? The worship, mortal devotion and adoration and supplication that only a god or archdevil could manage? Her attention, specifically?

Some mix of all three, most likely, because there's a simmering heat in his gaze that she's not expecting. It's enough to startle her into honesty. "I doubt he'd be all that furious at me filching holy water, actually."

Raphael blinks, the only sign of his not having anticipated that answer. He smiles after a beat of weighing it, pleased. "You intend to disrupt the Rite today, then? Are there not more pressing concerns?"

Yes, to both questions, but someone had decided to threaten his siblings in the first building past the gate they'd come across, and Tav would rather just deal with that now than be ambushed at camp later. (Also, she imagines that may come in handy for more than the undead, though she's certainly not going to say that to him.)

Without waiting for her answer, he stands. Walking in to gossip under his breath isn't too unlike the various Baldurians here today, but leaving without even a pretense at prayer once he's done has a murmur of irritated chatter building behind them.

Oh, wonderful, and one of Helm's priests is walking up to them now, too, as though Tav wasn't already ill at ease from being the thief in this endeavor, just for her Lord's protection, Shadowheart unwilling to rob a temple honoring her new goddess, barely a week after accepting her.

"I must ask that you either sit or leave," the priest says, his voice not all that quiet, attracting further attention. "This is a sacred place, and you are disturbing the peace."

"Forgive me, ser," Tav murmurs, face flushed with embarrassment and irritation.

"No, forgive me, my dear," Raphael says, amused in a way that only annoys her more. "I hardly meant to disturb a holy woman such as yourself, so devoted as you are to ridding the world of such monsters as plague it." He extends a hand to her, inviting her to leave with him.

She takes it, grip light and cautious like the type of holy woman she's pretending at might favor, now that he's thrown that excuse out for her.

But instead of helping her up like she expects, he turns her hand and presses a quick, light kiss on the back of her hand before she can realize what he's doing and stop him. (He's warm. Fucking obvious, that, but it's all she can focus on, and then he's dropping her hand and it feels oddly cold as she lets it fall back to her side.)

"You know where to find me, should you require my aid in further sparing this fair city from those that would see it twisted into something other," he says, and then, quieter, enough that the priest might not be able to make out a word or two, "We both know I'm your best option, mouse."

Tav smiles, hoping he can see through the sweetness to the fuck off, will you she's playing at. "With my Lord protecting me, I need no further aid, but I thank you, regardless."

Raphael's eyes flare with something properly dangerous. Tav's heart ticks a little faster at the threat in a way that she knows isn't terror.

The priest nods approvingly at her as the devil leaves. She assumes, anyway; she's mostly staring after Raphael. (Still better to rob him, probably. Certainly better not to follow down any stray thoughts that linger, about his mouth and the far-better ways he might use it.)

[allzelemonz]

Mistake III: Micah Bell X Male Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘fella’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, language, violence Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, drinking, anal sex, rough sex, multiple orgasms, flashbacks, hair pulling, no mention of Reader drinking, top Reader and bottom Micah, denial of feelings, arguments, threats to life, robbery, murder Summary: You leave camp to clear your head but nothing seems to work.

You turn your attention back to your horse and mount up. You can’t just leave camp, it isn’t enough, you need to shoot or rob something. Your horse shakes their head as if to tell you you’re being as stupid as you feel but you give them a pat and carry on towards the tangled roads of West Elizabeth.

Micah pulls away just enough to speak between kisses. “Hotel ain’t far, cowpoke.”

“You want me to fuck you or something, Bell?”

He groans as your leg rubs against his straining dick. “God yes.”

You smirk as you give him a long kiss, unbroken by conversation. He moans into it and tries to feel your leg against him again.

You have the urge to hit your head against the tree you’re stopped next to. Micah felt so good, he tasted like whiskey and tobacco the way most men do but it only made you want him more. Damn you’re such an idiot. Micah fucking Bell. You could’ve fucked anyone and you managed to pick up him. There were plenty of men in the godforsaken saloon that probably would’ve accepted a proposition and you fell into an alley and bed with the camp snake. If a stagecoach with a lot of money doesn’t come along soon you’re going to go crazy.

“Keep saying my name and I might actually fuck you.” You whisper as he catches his breath.

“I ain’t gotta do a damn thing, cowboy.” He chuckles. “Ya wanna fuck me and yer gonna, don’t matter what I do.”

You pull your fingers out of him and he has to grit his teeth not to whimper. His hips move, trying to chase the filling sensation, but you push him back down and occupy him with sucking marks into his neck.

“You’re too sure of yourself, Bell.” You mutter against his skin. “I could leave you like this and let my hand do everything you can.”

“Fuck you, cowboy. Ya want me.”

The annoying image of Micah in a state of bliss nearly causes you to miss the approaching coach. It’s a regular passenger coach, but it’s fancy enough to likely have passengers with money. You pull your bandana over your nose and draw your gun, riding onto the road. It doesn’t take a single word for the coach driver to stop and put his hands up, probably not his first time getting robbed.

“Come on out, folks!” You call.

A man comes out, hands cautiously raised in the air. Then a young girl, no older than ten. Nice family, still robbable. You throw a bag down to their feet.

“Everything you got in the bag.” You order, gun aimed at the man. “Don’t make me shoot the kid.”

You’re not really gonna shoot the kid, not that anyone needs to know that. Threats go a long way. The man scurries, taking everything of value off of his person and the girl. There’s a watch, a ring, a necklace, a billfold, earrings, enough to justify your trip out of camp but not enough to make you feel better. The man timidly holds the bag up and you gesture for him to bring it over. He hands it to you without trouble.

“Thanks for your cooperation, folks.” You give the driver a nod, deciding to let him keep whatever he has. “Enjoy your trip.”

You move around the coach slowly, watching for any sign of trouble as it takes off down the road. Somewhat to your disappointment, nothing comes.

You keep a rough pace as you grip at Micah’s hips, only stalling when you hit your peak and go soft for a moment. It nevers lasts long, not with the way Micah looks and the view you have of your dick filling him up. Micah doesn’t last as long as you do. He’s cum much more than you have, yet the primary slick aiding your thrusts is now your own seed. He’s enjoying the endless and presently ruthless fucking based on the noises he makes. Only once has he had to touch himself to get off. At this rate you’re getting tired but you really don’t want to stop.

You wander around for a few more hours and you end up shooting a fella in an attempt to feel something. He seemed like an ass so you don’t feel too bad about it when you loot his corpse.

Your name being called as you stand makes you sigh because you recognize the voice.

“What, Bell?”

“Havin’ trouble there, cowboy?” Micah chuckles as you try to get yourself hard again.

“I’ve been fucking you for hours, Micah.” You groan as he grinds back into you. “You could always help.”

Micah leans forward, making you slide out of him, and sit up to kiss you. His hand finds its way to your dick and strokes it slowly, fingers playing with your balls when he slides down the base.

“Just one more, cowpoke.” He mutters. “Ya can fuck me one more time can’t ya?”

You smile against his lips. “I could fuck you much more than that, just give me a little time in between.”

“Ya that smitten with me?”

You groan as his thumb brushes over your now hard tip. “You’re a good fuck, Micah, don’t get cocky.”

He slides off on Baylock and gets in your face like did back at camp. “Come on, cowpoke.”

You shove him back, his tone annoying you more than the memories. “Forget it happened.”

“I ain’t forgettin’ nothing.” He groans. “Ya don’t get ta fuck me an’-an’ get all sweet, ‘specting me ta drop it.”

“I lied.” You lie. “I’m not sweet on you. How could I be?”

He hides his face with his hat, but the fuming anger is clear in the air. “Horse shit.”

You force the words out and they nearly burn your throat. “It was just fucking, Micah. Get over yourself.”

“We gonna be sweethearts then, cowpoke.” He chuckles. “Gettin’ all sentimental an’ fuckin’ every night?”

“Bet you’d like that.” You mock, fingers playing with his hair.

He hums. “Maybe I would.”

“My, my, Micah Bell is turning soft.”

“I ain’t turnin’ soft.” He grumbles, pausing for a moment as his hand runs over your chest. “Just like ya.”

“Maybe I should get you a ring, seal the deal.”

“Shut up.” He mutters as his face turns red.

You smile, laughing lightly. “Alright, alright. I do like you, Micah. We can figure out how soft you are later.”

He looks up from the ground, anger covering his face. “Ya think I was too drunk ta remember, that it, cowpoke?”

“I. Lied.”

“Ya ain’t that cruel.” He steps forward. “Yer a bastard, but ya ain’t cruel.”

“And you are.” You huff. “I’m not gonna be with someone like you. Especially not you.”

“But you’ll fuck me?” He laughs in disbelief. “Suppose ya fucked Morgan too? An’ Bill? Javier? Bet ya made real quick work a’ the whole damn gang if yer enough a’ a whore ta play like ya did.”

“Fuck off, Micah.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how ya got inta this, bet ya fucked Dutch and he kept ya around like the bitch you are.”

You turn, pressing your knife to his throat. He puts his hands up and curls his lip in a grimace.

“Stop talking.”

“I got yer attention, cowpoke?” He asks flatly. “Understand how much it stings yet?”

You drop your hand, putting your knife back in its place. “Why do you do that?”

“What?” He sneers.

“Fuck with people’s heads when you know they’ll fuck with you.”

“I like the attention.” He mocks. “Maybe I wouldn’t have ta if I had a fella ta fuck every once an’ a while.”

“Then look somewhere else.” You hiss. “I’ve never done it but I hear Charles swings this way, bet you got off on him throwing you around.”

“I want you, asshole.” He snaps. “Quit playin’ like we ain’t sweet. Like we didn’t have some girly moment last night.”

“I hate you.”

“Maybe. But you’re still sweet on me.” He argues. “Sweeter than ya should be, sweeter than any man has been.”

The twinge in your heart gets to you when you see his face. It’s not quite cold. It’s defensive, but a clear mask to hide how desperate he is.

“Fuck, Micah.” You groan. “You couldn’t just let this go?”

“Ya got no idea how long I wanted ya, not just fuckin’, I… I ain’t sissy enough ta say it but I want it.”

You can’t help yourself despite your better judgment, you pull him close and hug him. “You fuck up, I drop you.”

He holds you tight enough to hinder your breathing slightly, his nose cold against your neck. “I’m in love with ya.”

“Of course you are.” You mutter, too conflicted about his behavior to let your feelings take over completely. “We, uh, we have a lot to talk about, I suppose.”

[atticsandwich]

OBEY ME! CHARACTERS AND TAYLOR SWIFT SONGS I ASSOCIATE THEM WITH

listen i need this as self assurance and indulgence. will include all dateables, mephisto, thirteen, and raphael. will also include any honorable mentions!

I'll link a playslist with all the songs at the end for funsies hehe

-

LUCIFER

False God (Lover)

I know heaven's a thing; I go there when you touch me, honey, hell is when I fight with you.

I was debating between this one or I Can See You from Speak Now TV, but I feel like the religious imagery in this one really sold me

hon. mention: Invisible String, Don't Blame Me

MAMMON

Paper Rings (Lover)

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

/

I want to drive away with you, I want your complications too, I want your dreary Mondays

I think Mammon's definitely the type to propose with a paper ring either while he's drunk or as an impromptu proposal (of course, he'll still buy you an actual ring) but it's kind of a cute contrast from his greed image

hon. mention: New Year's Day

LEVIATHAN

Glitch (Midnights)

I thought we had no chance, and that's romance, let's dance

This one is definitely not just because of the song's theming 🤞 Even the first line (we were supposed to be just friends) is a direct parallel to his character song 😭 (which, fun fact, is my favorite out of all the songs we have... That and Telepathy.)

hon. mention: Tied Together with a Smile

SATAN

cowboy like me (evermore)

I've got some tricks up my sleeve, takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me, never wanted love, just a fancy car

Satan was the hardest to pick for, I think. Originally I wanted to go for something like. idk. Sweeter Than Fiction? Which to be fair could be a good pick too. But I feel like cowboy like me encapsulates his "i've finally met my match, so i'm never letting go" kind of thing

hon. mention: Sweeter Than Fiction, I Think He Knows

ASMODEUS

Gorgeous (reputation)

You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk, you should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong

This one was the first one I thought of LMAO I think people might say it's a pretty shallow pick but it's exactly why I went with it anyway - he seems like a very shallow demon and his aesthetic is definitely what first draws you in, but if you don't bother trying to get to know him, he'll only ever be gorgeous and nothing else. Do you get what I'm going for here. I hope you do.

hon. mention: Style, Bejeweled

BEELZEBUB

Stay Stay Stay (Red, Taylor's Version)

You carry my groceries and now I'm always laughing, and I love you because you have given me no choice but to stay

/

All those times you didn't leave, it's been occuring to me, I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life

I take back what I said about Satan. BEEL was the hardest to pick for 😵‍💫😭 tbh this pick went purely off of vibes and not necessarily any deeper connection. How dare I call myself a Beel simp. (Someone help me out here i'm dying)

BELPHEGOR

Run (Red, Taylor's Version)

Darling, let's run, run from it all

We can go where our eyes can take us, go where no one else is, run

I think I gravitated towards this song for Belphie because of the themes of escapism. Like all he wants to do is be with you and no one else (and maybe Beel) but as long as he's with you, anywhere is home

hon. mention: Untouchable

DIAVOLO

Enchanted (Speak Now, Taylor's Version)

This is me praying that this was the very first page, not where the storyline ends, my thoughts will echo your name until I see you again.

He was so fun to think for because he definitely has this almost naive, fairytale charm when it comes to romance, I think. Like he's definitely the type to reference fairytale romances with prince charming and sweeping you off your feet and all that. I think.

hon. mention: Today Was a Fairytale, gold rush

BARBATOS

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (reputation)

I could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets, picture of your face in an invisible locket, you said there was no one in the world that could stop it

I was divided between this one and Timeless, but went with dwoht bc the vibes felt right. On-the-low sutuationship-relationship yet always craving their presence and intimacy? Yeah sign me up

hon. mentions: Timeless, Haunted

SOLOMON

Sweet Nothing (Midnights)

Outside, they're push and shoving, you're in the kitchen humming, all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

note: do NOT let him do shit in the kitchen

I picked this one because I think out of all of them, I associate Solomon with domesticity the most. I think he'd be one to crave for that too, and that all he wants is to go home after a long day to see you.

hon. mention: Ours, Our Song

SIMEON

Treacherous (Red, Taylor's Version)

Your name has echoed through my mind and I just think you should, think you should know, that nothing safe is worth the drive

Oh Simeon, the most un-angel angel (or ex-angel?) to ever exist. I originally wanted to go for something a bit more sensual for him, but I think Treacherous encapsulates his inner conflict of where he stands as an angel, his love for the brothers, and his love for you.

hon. mention: So It Goes...

MEPHISTOPHELES

Electric Touch (Speak Now, Taylor's Version)

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life, got a feeling your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life

And I want you now, wanna need you forever, in the heat of your electric touch

Listen. Mephisto feels like a slowburn which was why I chose this song exactly. The uncertainty, the hope, the longing, but with a sprinkle of denial and starvation. The overthinking. YEAHHHH BABYYY IM GOING TO LOSE IT (<- has the unfortunate trait of being a mephisto simp)

hon. mentions: Cruel Summer, Afterglow

THIRTEEN

Wonderland (1989)

Haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds? Didn't it all seem new and exciting? I felt your arms twisting around me, I should've slept with one eye open at night

Oh picking a song for her was fun. I also got stuck between two songs but chose Wonderland just bc I felt it suited her better. There's an air of mystery, skepticism, madness, longing... you name it

hon. mention: Message in a Bottle

RAPHAEL

Snow on the Beach (Midnights)

This scene feels like what I once saw on a screen, I searched aurora borealis green, I've never seen someone lit from within, blurring out my periphery

Okay this one feels like a stretch but also I'm half projecting because Raph is my favorite undateable LMFAO I just think his. Distance(?) makes it so it's almost magical that he gets drawn in. y'know. Almost like a once in a lifetime thing.

hon. mention: Dress, Superman

And that's all of them! I'm aware I didn't include Luke and although I still could include him with a more platonic/familial song, I went into this with like. Romance in my brain so. Sorry Luke ur still my bff don't worry.

There's also a distinct lack of debut, fearless, and folklore i'm so sorry i didnt mean it 😭

Anyways if you have any songs you also associate with them, I'd love to hear it!!

I made a playlist here!

[medichamcham]

Got any jealousy headcannon for Giorose? Like, who get jealous easily and what they do about it?

oh god first of all thank you for making me uncover old headcanons i thought about ages ago HAHAHAH im very happy to be able to talk about it again!!

ngl i can't rose as the jealous type at all? he really doesn't understand why people become jealous either and is mostly oblivious to it

he might get bummed out at most but it's usually not much of a problem. of course that doesn't mean he gets annoyed with giovanni, but it never comes from jealousy

(also, it probably helps that giovanni is a ruthless and allround ill-tempered man who is generally hostile towards others, with rose being one of the very few exceptions)

on the other hand, i do think giovanni is the one who occasionally becomes jealous of rose hahah. i mean, this is the guy who has a perpetual desire for money, control, and power; he's bound to have some possessive tendencies in relationships

i do think giovanni doesn't get straight up pissed off or anything, but he may become somewhat vexed when it comes down to it. he's not above being petty either, like messing with whoever is being a little too close to rose for comfort

rose is attuned to people and has a natural charm that easily draws attention to him without trying, and his generally open hearted and affectionate disposition may well easily be mistaken for flirting. which might be, against his better judgement, perceived that way for giovanni when they're at a public space like a pub or some fancy gathering. especially when the person who rose is talking to has a similar personality

since giovanni doesn't want to make a scene, he might appear a lot more moody and cold out of nowhere, even though he insists he's fine. however rose can clearly tell something's up because giovanni shows his emotions solely through body language, never through words, and he doesn't conceal them as adeptly as he wants to think

so of course giovanni doesn't confront rose about this directly. but i suppose he does become more domineering(?) with rose when they're alone as a form of catharsis, in a way that you might scream into a pillow to get the frustration out

as an example, i like to think giovanni is inexplicably more aggressive and raw when he kisses rose, less worried about hurting him and simply indulging himself with his need for control, might even leave some teeth marks or hickeys on spots because he gets carried away in his actions

(of course, rose loves when giovanni is like this, even though he doesn't know where it's exactly coming from... he might have a hunch but he doesn't dare to accuse giovanni of being jealous HAHAH)