#and sometimes he struggles to tell if he really wants to wear the shoes

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I think it’d be kinda funny if whenever a soul talks to or influences color, it takes the format of something like “you.”

Something like this:

* You want to wear the rainbow shoes today.

“No, I don’t,” Color muttered. “We’re going there to work, not to play.”

* You pout.

And if Color comprises by wearing something else, or puts the shoes in a bag to wear later after wherever they’re going or where he thinks it’d be more appropriate, the text says something like

* !

* Wearing rainbow shoes fill you with Kindness.

* :)

And then Color gets hit with an overwhelming wave of excitement and gratitude and love from somewhere within that he’s momentarily dazed (maybe he sees a blurry flash image in his mind of a little girl jumping up and down in excitement before it fades away) and has to work to stay grounded in reality for most of the day up until they finally put on their rainbow shoes

[kjdkive]

a nice surprise - l.jn

warnings: fwb, smut, nasty, fluffy, will make you feel single even if you're not, grammar mistakes

a's/n: thinking of making a part two cause this type of jeno is making me feel crazzy. also, part two?

you shouldn't be really doing this, grabbing the key of his apartment jeno told you the location of in case of an emergency, but this is a real emergency and he isn't answering your texts, neither caring about the fact that you're ovulating and going crazy just at the thought of his touch. well, it's not like you have never been to his place alone, you've been here more times than you'd like to admit. but right now, you needed him like you needed oxygen. you don't think he will be angry, or will he? no, i mean, how could he say no to a horny-you in the middle of his living room?

"i guess i'll make myself comfortable." you layed on the couch and turned on the tv, played a random movie but you couldn't pay attention, you were just only thinking of jeno. 

40 minutes have passed and there's still not any signs of him, not even a reply to your text you sent him three hours ago. all of a sudden, you hear the locks of the door make sounds and you prepare yourself for maybe the best, maybe the worst. who knows? 

you watch the man you've been waiting for almost an hour now not notice you, he seemed stressed... maybe that's why he was not replying and just needed to be alone... did you fuck up? he dropped his backpack to the floor and took off his shoes and shirt, leaving himself with just the gray sweatpants he was wearing. three words: holy jesus fuck. 

"jesus." he said, getting shocked from the fact he hadn't see you there. "what are you doing here?" 

"hi, sorry, i grabbed the secret key you told me about and let myself in. i don't know, you weren't replying to my texts and i wanted to see you." 

"you wanted to see me..." he asks smiling as he sits down beside you "or to fuck me?" he grabs you by the waist and sits you down on his lap. 

"mmm, what is the correct answer to that right now?" you caress his hair and smile at him too. "is everything okay? i know letting myself in was weird but when you got here i noticed something was off." 

"aw, you worry about me, maybe you will get some." 

"oh my god, are my tactics working?" you ask, laughing. 

he kisses you as he grabs your face to have the control on the kiss. it's soft and not too short. 

"nothing to worry about, baby." he moves you again so both of your legs are on his sides. "i'm struggling to understand a class and i'm not having enough time to study because of my job, so yeah, it's just the normal stress of everyday." 

you give him a peck on the lips and cup his face with both of your hands and you just give him a soft look, you truly did not want him to stress out, he's the smartest, hard-working boy you know out there, he deserves a 100% scholarship and everything paid, not this. 

"you're really smart, though. like you make me feel really dumb sometimes when you start speaking engineer nerd lingo, it's also really hot." he giggles and you scratch his hair softly while still looking at him, you just feel his hand caress your lower back and sometimes your legs. "besides, hard work pays off and you know that. your job will let you grow on your career and well, we all need a major. just know that this stress will not last forever." you give him a kiss again and another one on his nose. 

"wow, you really will say all that to get some dick." he tells you and you smack his bare chest. 

"fuck you." 

"yeah, you're really trying." he laughs and stops to stare at his hands touching your legs, then your butt and at the end your waist. you get startled when he pushes you towards him lightly. and he kisses you, fervently, the way you've been wanting to get kissed all day. the "problem" right now is that he has never kissed you this passionately. the way his lips move against yours is making you feel something you've never felt before, not with him nor any men you've ever been with. 

"thank you, princess." he tells you. "you know i'm just joking, i do really appreciate your words and support." his eyes were shining as he looked at you. "and honestly, you being here was a nice surprise." 

"it was?" you ask him as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you grab his hand. he just kept staring at you, making it seem like he was admiring every single detail of your face. 

"mhm." and you just stayed there, looking at each other. you were still holding his left hand that was placed on your face and gave it a little kiss. as he sees you doing that, he doesn't let go of your hand and just softly gets your hand to his mouth for him to kiss it. "kiss me, y/n." 

and you do what he tells you to. you kiss him with the same passion he had just kissed you with a few seconds ago. he introduces his tongue into your mouth, playing with yours. it's getting more desperate second after second, his hands that were placed on your waist were now going down to your butt to grab it and force you to grind on him, feeling him very close as you were wearing a dress so he had easy access. one of your hands stayed on his shoulder and your other hand slowly traced a line down his abs so you can grab the hem of his sweatpants.

he kept guiding your hips with his hands and stopped kissing your mouth to move to your neck, giving wet and sloppy kisses on it as he grabbed your hair and tugged it down to give himself more space to kiss, suck and lick.

"come on, baby, keep grinding on me." jeno whispers on your ear. "you're making me feel so good, princess. look so beautiful, so pretty."

his praise was just the little help you needed to moan loudly on his ear and

"that's it, baby, do you feel me? do you feel my hard cock?"

"yes, jeno, i feel it." you moan.

"just for you, princess, only for you, always for you."

you tug jeno's hair as you moan on his ear, making him understand you had just came with the way your legs were shaking. you think you're in for a long ride tonight.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Number 35, kissing bruises and scars with Walter Gulick, and I want it dirty, please!

Kiss it better

Pairing: Walter G x ring girl reader

Word count: 2.8K

TWs: Bruises and blood (from Walter fighting), size kink, smut.

You’ve never seen a fighter who’s taken so many hits without getting knocked out. It’s actually unbelievable. But there he is, bruised and bloody and somehow still conscious, and the referee is holding his arm up in the air in a declaration of victory. You walk out again with his score on a big card, holding it above your head and spinning around, grinning. You're not sure you like this job - parading around in your underwear celebrating men being punched in the face - but you need the money so you do it anyway. And try to keep smiling.

Walter grins through the pain. He's sore, and he knows he's in for a cracking headache later. But another win means more badly needed money. He takes a bow and then heads for the dressing room. On his way he looks around at the cheering crowd, holding a hand up and doing his best to carry on grinning. That’s when he spots you, with your lovely figure and little smile. This whole ring girl thing is new and it would be silly to say he doesn't like it. Who wouldn't like pretty girls wandering around in bikinis between rounds? It's a little distracting, but he'll take that. Since things didn't work out with his last girlfriend he's been trying to enjoy the single life, although he’d prefer to settle down sometime soon. He’s just been struggling to find the right girl. 

You watch one of the boxers walking away to his dressing room and find yourself with the strangest urge to follow him. Okay, so maybe it’s not that strange. After all, he is very good-looking. And you like his name - Kid Galahad - it makes him sound noble and chivalrous. You can’t remember his actual name right now, you weren’t really concentrating when they made the initial announcements, but that shouldn’t be a problem, you’re sure he’ll tell you. Your feet seem to move of their own accord, ducking into your dressing room first to pull on a robe. It’s probably not appropriate to talk to him dressed as you are, even though that would be a sure fire way of getting his attention. You can hear the other girls tittering about him and how handsome he is, so you get back out again quickly, trying to avoid them asking what you’re up to. Dashing across the corridor, you find yourself in a room filled with people and him at the centre. They’re taking his gloves off, unwrapping his hands, dabbing at the blood on his face with a wet cloth and someone is even taking off his shoes. You weren’t expecting quite so much hubbub, so you stand awkwardly in the corner hugging yourself, your initial bravery starting to wear off a little. What were you thinking, coming in here, exactly? 

Walter spits out his mouth guard and finally looks around him a little. His robe is thrown loosely over his shoulders, but he’s starting to feel the chill of sweat drying on his skin and so he starts to pull it on properly as he scans the room for something, or someone, interesting. Eventually his eyes land on you, tucked away in the corner of the room, looking awkward. He immediately recognises you from earlier, but you seem shy for someone who was just wandering around in basically her underwear a few minutes ago. Waiting to catch your eye, his fingers drum impatiently on the table. Eventually you look up and he smiles sweetly at you, and is gratified to see you smile back. It lights up your face and he’s suddenly desperate to speak to you. He gives you a little encouraging head tilt, and when you just keep looking, uncomprehending, his smile turns into a lopsided grin and he holds up his hand, extending a long finger and curling it towards him in a come hither motion. 

You blush when you look up and realise he’s been looking at you, but he’s smiling and you can’t help smiling back. After all, you did come in here to get his attention, didn’t you? And now you have it. It takes you a while to realise he’s trying to signal for you to go over, and even when he literally beckons you, you still put your hand on your chest in surprise and mouth “me?” as if the room were full of women and you could’ve mistaken his advances. His enthusiastic nodding finally gets your legs working, and you make your way through the thinning crowd of men over to where he’s standing.

He’s even cuter close up, big bruised lips and long eyelashes, and a brooding sort of expression, when he’s not smiling. Which he seems to do often. 

“Hi there, honey,” he drawls, softly. “I’m Walter.” 

Walter. That was his name. It comes back to you now and you smile, giving him your hand which to your surprise he raises to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles. The combination of the touch and the way he’s looking at you, coupled with the fact that he seems to be getting more handsome by the minute, has your voice trembling a little when you tell him your name in return. 

Your nervousness doesn’t last long, though. His easy manner has you enjoying talking to him almost immediately, conversation flowing between the two of you without you having to worry. He asks you about being a ring girl and you both giggle about your similar outfits. “Your robe is almost as nice as mine! Maybe you should moonlight as a ring girl in your free time.” And you ask what it’s like being a fighter and how he can cope with being hit so many times. “I ain’t got much brain to begin with, honey.” All the while, everyone else is slowly making their way out of the room, congratulating him with a word, a slap on the back, or both. Suddenly, you turn and realise that the room is empty, save for the two of you. He notices too and smiles. 

“Looks like I got ya to myself.”

He’s been picking up your hand and playing with your fingers periodically throughout the conversation, and now you’re alone he takes hold of it properly, resting his other hand on your hip and looking down into your face. 

“It looks like you do,” you reply, smiling up at him. 

He’s so easy to be with that you’re eager to kiss him, and it seems like he can tell, leaning down and gently pressing his lips to yours. His lips are soft and you want more, but he moves back quickly, wincing a little.

“Sorry, honey.” His tongue pokes out and gives his lower lip an exploratory lick. “Guess he musta split my lip.” 

Reaching up to stroke his cheek, you notice the area around his eye starting to swell. 

“I could kiss it better?” You suggest.

He smiles instantly, nodding as you press a delicate kiss to his lip. Continuing your way over his cheek and up to his temple, you hear him hum softly in appreciation as he bends down to make it easier for you to reach.  

“Mmm. You’re a good little nurse, ain’t ya?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back at him. “I’m glad you think so. Where else are you sore?”

Walter’s smile turns a little wicked, feeling his dick stir at your words. “Think we better close the door if you wanna find that out.”

You both giggle, and you nod enthusiastically. Your shyness is completely gone now, and you’ve become very aware of how scantily clad you both are, feeling your nipples harden through your bikini top and the thin robe. When he comes back from closing the door you run your hands from his shoulders down his chest, letting them come to rest on the tie of his robe. 

“You mind?” You ask, and he shakes his head. 

“I don’t mind at all, honey.”

Untying it, you let it fall open, exposing his chest. You slowly push it off his shoulders, revealing numerous cuts and bruises just waiting for your healing touch. He watches you with interest as you trace the scars on his body with your fingers and then press your lips against the bruises and cuts you can reach. But he’s much taller than you, so you struggle to reach the bruise just above his collarbone, even with your heels on. 

“You’re too tall!”

He laughs and walks backwards a few steps until he reaches the armchair at the side of the room, and then he sits, spreading his legs wide. Now you’re effectively looking down on him, you notice his erection for the first time. It’s visible even through his baggy boxing shorts, and you nibble your lower lip thinking about just how big it seems. Moving closer, you step between his legs and return to your kisses, feather-light over the purple bruise on his shoulder. His hands find their way to your hips and hold them gently, enjoying the feeling of your silken robe against his skin. 

“Mmm honey, that feels good,” he tells you, as you kiss from the base of his neck to his ear. 

“You sore anywhere else?” You ask.

He smiles. “I don’t think so.”

“No… aches, anywhere?” Your hands move to his thighs, slowly making their way up them as you continue kissing his neck. 

His breath hitches as your hands get perilously close to where he really needs them right now. He hadn’t been sure that you’d be up for this with someone you’d just met, but your touch is so gentle and loving he’s really hoping it might extend to somewhere else. 

“Well, maybe one… little ache…” he mumbles.

He’s not expecting you to drop to your knees between his legs, and he gasps when you pull his half-hard length from his shorts. You make a little involuntary noise too, it really is big, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen before, the thing has weight to it and it makes you a little nervous. 

“Honey, ya don’t haveta…” he begins, awkwardly. “I know it’s… girls have said it’s too big…”

You look up to see him blushing, and then you look back down at his dick and wonder exactly how big it will be when it’s fully erect. You also wonder just what it would feel like inside you. Moving closer, you dip your head down and set to work kissing every inch of it. After all, he had said it was aching. He moans, head lolling back on his shoulders, overwhelmed by the physical sensations and the sight of you on your knees, worshipping his dick. You kiss his balls too, and by the time you’re done he’s even more flushed and his eyes are shining brightly as they look at you. He’s positively smoldering, and you can’t resist him. Shimmying your panties off, you get onto his lap and hold his dick against your pussy, rubbing yourself up and down his length. 

“Shit. Honey,” he mumbles in surprise.

His big, gentle hands grab you just a little more determinedly as his mouth falls open and his eyelids half-close. You feel so good against him right now. He could probably cum from just this. 

“I don’t think you’re too big,” you whisper, continuing to move, feeling yourself getting wetter and wetter. 

He whimpers softly and one of his hands moves to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. “Ya don’t?”

You shake your head, turning your head to kiss the inside of his forearm. Then, as if to illustrate, you pause your movements and get up onto your knees on either side of his hips, teasing your entrance with the head of his dick. 

“Oh God.”

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Towards the end of his relationship, his girlfriend had stopped wanting to make love because it was still so uncomfortable for her. And probably because she’d fallen out of love with him too. Anyone he’d seen since tended to look so worried when they saw the size of him that he just went down on them instead. All he’d had for a while now were handjobs, which were no better than his own hand and often worse. But here you were, with barely any foreplay, trying to sit on it.

You stop teasing and start to guide him inside you. The tightness makes him see stars and you keep having to remind yourself to breathe as you take him further. It hurts, but once the head is in it’s suddenly much easier and you slide down the rest of his length, settling yourself down and letting out a long breath. The way he’s stretching you feel so damn good you think you might lose your mind. From the sounds of it, it seems like he feels the same. 

“Shit. Fuck. Honey. Ohmygod.”

You put your hands on either side of his face, kissing his lips gently again. Forgetting his split lip, he returns the kiss enthusiastically, his tongue pushing into your mouth, moaning as you start to rock your hips. 

“Baby, I ain’t gonna last long…” he mumbles against your lips. “Let me…” he trails off as his fingers find your clit and start to rub there. 

The sounds of your moans mix in the air, mumbling each other’s names between hurried kisses. His fingers are working their magic, and you feel yourself getting close now too. Your orgasm comes quickly and intensely, washing over you as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. 

“Ohhh. Walter.”

He lets out a loud groan at the feeling of you squeezing him, and then his hands are under your ass and he’s fucking you on his dick, picking you up and throwing you back down as he chases his own high. The intensity of it seems to prolong your orgasm and you keep moaning until he cums too, snapping his hips up into you with a satisfied groan. 

Sighing, you rest your head on his shoulder as you listen to the sound of his breathing coming back to normal. You lick your lips slowly and taste something metallic. Opening your eyes in confusion, you see blood streaked across his lips, like badly applied lipstick, and realise what must’ve happened. 

“Oh, your poor lip,” you coo. 

He looks down at you and giggles. There’s blood all around your mouth. “Looks like ya really messed up your lipstick, honey.” Licking his thumb, he drags it over your lips to try and remove some of the blood, but he only makes it worse. 

You giggle too. “Think we might both need to get cleaned up before we leave…”

You ease yourself off him, standing up to pull your panties back up and properly do up your robe. He gets up too, looking around for something to clean you both up and make you respectable again. He eventually finds a cloth and some water and you help each other get rid of the blood. His gentle touch is enough to make you melt, in stark contrast to the feeling between your legs. You know you’re going to struggle to walk tomorrow. It’s a good job you have a day off. 

“I um… I should go and get changed,” you tell him. You’re not sure if he wants anything more than what you’d just shared, and you don’t want to push him. 

“Oh… uh… sure, me too…” he replies. 

You smile and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “This was fun.”

“Sure was,” he mumbles, watching as you start to walk towards the door and out of his life again. The way his stomach flips at the thought of not seeing you again makes him realise that he has to say something.

“Hey, uh… w-what are ya doin’ now? Tonight?”

You stop and turn back towards him. “Not much. Why?”

“Ya wanna… um… g-go for dinner?” He doesn’t know why he’s stumbling over the words, so nervous asking you to go for dinner when he’s just had his dick inside you. 

“I’d love to!” You reply, a grin breaking out on your face. So he is interested, then. “Just let me get ready and I’ll meet you back here?”

“Sure.”

You pause, wondering whether to say anything, and then you decide you may as well. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again.”

His eyes almost pop out of his head. “Are ya kiddin’ me? Couldn’t let ya get away. Not a girl game enough ta…” he blushes. “Well, ya know.”

You giggle. “I like a challenge.” Your eyes flick around the room, again wondering if you should carry on, but you don’t seem to be able to stop your mouth running away with you. 

“Maybe next time I’ll see how much I can get in my mouth…”

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[darylsdelts]

Hello there! I know you must be busy with uni but I really love your headcanons!! So yup, whenever you feel like it just let out all those thoughts you have, they will be appreciated by your loyal followers!😄

I’m glad you like them haha!

I’m tryna think of more!!

D.D head-canons: part idek anymore

🫧 should be wearing glasses, his eyesight has gotten slightly worse with age but only with close up stuff. Struggles to read over Jude’s homework for her and would just say it was good.

🫧 a few residents of Alexandria had wrongly assumed that him and carol were together and it made him very uncomfortable. He didn’t really know how to put those rumours to rest but they eventually went away… thank god.

🫧 really wanted a baby sibling when he was little, a sister more specifically. He used to wish he had a sibling closer to his age to play with when Merle wasn’t around.

🫧 used to try to take his teddy in with him during bath time and momma would have to explain to him that his teddy wouldn’t be any good wet. It ended in tears every time.

🫧 had to wear shoes too small or too big for him quite often when he was little. Either wearing merles old shoes or his own shoes that he had grown out of.

🫧 he liked the songs his momma would play and sing and would try to sing along with his cute baby voice. He sometimes still hums them when doing random tasks.

🫧 was really well behaved at school, at least early on, he really enjoyed the praise he’d get.

🫧 when he’s alone, sometimes over thinking or just feeling overwhelmed, he’ll stare down and count the eyelets on his boots, something he’s always done. It may not help much but he still holds onto it.

🫧 this is obvious but he’s a very private lover. He’s still sweet in company of others of course, and if only carol or someone he’s real close to is around, he’d rest his hand on your lower back or have his arm over your shoulders but he usually saves all the sweetness for behind closed doors. Also he would kill you if you let it slips that he sometimes whines for snuggles. Do not tell a soul.

🫧 took a long while for him to be comfortable to get teary eyed around you. If you could watch Disney movies together he’d definitely cry though.

🫧 he actually does want to be a father but he’s only brought it up once, scared it could pressure you if he brings it up again. He can’t fathom being able to carry a human in your body for nine months then pushing it out so he’ll wait for you to say something. If you never do, he’s okay with that.

🫧 he wouldn’t exactly propose. You’d probably bring up the idea of being married and he’d say something like “is that what you want?”/“would you want that?” To which you’d nod and he’d say “you can be”. The next day he’d go out and find the closest thing he could to resemble a pretty ring. He’s not materialistic and neither are you but he wants to be able to have something which shows you’re his. He’d get home and sit on the couch, taking your hand and sliding it on your finger. “Yeah?” He’d ask. “Love ya so much”.

[killerlookz]

Joost Klein x Goth!Gf Headcannons

content: SFW and NSFW headcannons below the cut, 18+ MDNI, this work contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable

SFW Headcannons

You're pretty much his personal makeup artist now, anytime he wants to do his fun little facepaint looks (like the mime or kiss makeup) you're the first one he's asking to help him out

He absolutely doesn't mind you kissing him with your lipstick on and is in no rush to wash off the dark-colored lipstick prints you leave on his cheeks after you do so, sometimes letting them sit there for hours while he goes about his day.

You can't tell me that this man doesn't absolutely love going to the goth clubs. It's definitely a different speed than he's usually used to, and some of the music may be a little slow for his taste but that man just absolutely loves dancing and the nightlife in general.

He definitely dresses up to "fit in" to go to the goth clubs too! Putting on whatever black items he can find in his closet, usually a pair of rugged black jeans adorned with a thick belt either studded or with a big buckle and some black shirt he spent far too much money on. He usually ends up looking more like he's about to join Opium or Drain Gang than he does goth, but your heart entirely melts at the fact that he's trying.

You absolutely inspire him to buy a pair of New Rocks (side note im actually surprised ive never seen him in new rocks they're very his style lol) and he just absolutely towers over you in them, which he finds very amusing (cue him teasing you about being "short" even though the platforms of those shoes are like 10 cm, making him like 198 cm/ 6'5)

If you are wearing big shoes and they start to hurt he will absolutely carry you back to wherever you need to go- The same goes for if you're breaking in new shoes- you're out and about together and all of a sudden you start treading behind him, walking awkwardly due to the blisters forming on your heels and the backs of your ankles- and he knows, you don't even have to say anything, he just stops dead in his tracks, and bends down for you to get on his back.

Thrifting/ DIYing dates!!! It becomes a tradition for the two of you to go out to thrift/consignment stores and pick out pieces for the two of you to style or DIY into something. He loves it especially when you DIY things for him, and always shows off the clothes/accessories you put together for him, "Oh you like my necklace? Yeah, my girlfriend made it for me."

He laces up your corsets for you! No longer do you need to struggle trying to reach behind your back to tie your corsets. He's always so delicate about it too, "You're sure I'm not squeezing you too tight?" Running his hands all along your sides and your hips after he finishes tying it shut.

He definitely just thinks you are so cool, despite having his own unique style himself, he is just in so much awe of you being yourself, and just genuinely finds you to be the coolest person on Earth, whether its the way you do your makeup, or dress, or the music you listen to, he's just obsessed.

He'll absolutely tease you a little bit though, cue him singing "Because toniiiight will be the noiiight that I will fall for yewwww over agaiiiin" at you because he knows it pisses you off *just a little* you'll chastise him for that being emo not goth, but he still finds it funny regardless, and he loves seeing that little smile you give him when you're trying to pretend to be mad at him, but really you're holding back a laugh

He loves when you wear his necklaces or his fancy belts to accessorize with

Getting tattoos together is a muuuust, he's not so into the idea of matching tattoos, but just spontaneously on a whim being like, "hey do you wanna get another tattoo today?"

NSFW Headcannons

You CANNOT count how many new fishnet tights you've had to buy from Joost being far too impatient to get you undressed, bending you over, lifting up your skirt and just ripping the flimsy fabric open, not even bothering to take them off of you.

However, when the sex is more romantic he absolutely loves taking his time with you, so delicately removing each of your layers (and us goth girlies know... we wear a looot of layers lmaoo) he just loves being all sensual about it, he also just for sure enjoys teasing you with how excruciatingly slow he is about it.

Loves seeing how much he can ruin your makeup, whether its smudged lipstick or eyeliner dripping down your face, the messier the better.

In addition to fucking up your makeup he loves when you go down on him while you're wearing lipstick, the way your lipstick smears as you take him in your mouth, god he finds it so hot.

Obsessed with when you wear leather or latex!! Oof the way the tight, shiny material hugs your body, he cannot get enough, and honestly is ready to take it off of you the second you slip it on.

He absolutely adores you in lace too (especially black lacey lingerie) when you wear lacey tops with nothing but a bra underneath... (same can be said for a fishnet top) oooooh girl he is absolutely feral, the way you're technically "covered" but still exposed in all the right spots... whew

If you have long/pointy nails he looves feeling you dig them into him as he fucks you,

Whenever the two of you go out to the goth clubs things definitely get very steamy, always ending up with his arms wrapped around your waist and your ass pressed against his crotch as your bodies move together to the dark, slow, synthy music.

He loves it when you bite him! Always calling you his little vampire as you suck on his neck, leaving pretty little lovebites and lipstick smudges on his skin. (vampire/blood kink goes brrrr wait what who said that hAHAHHAHHA)

Fucking to goth music is a MUST... not sorry about it, bands like Depeche Mode and She Wants Revenge are top tier sex music, him mumbling along to Tear You Apart, his lips pressing into your neck, sending vibrations down your spine as he slowly undresses you.

Also fucking while watching horror movies hehehehe, there's just something about the suspense and tension that gets your blood going, one second you're watching the TV anxiously, and the next second he's on top of you as you're begging for him to please fuck you.

[brotherly-love12]

No one likes a goody two shoes

CW: fauxcest, loss of virginity, implied noncon

Big brother is bored, but when isn’t he. He’s just sitting in his room scrolling on his phone. Outside his door he can hear his family laughing together. He remembers when he used to be like that with them, before he became the delinquent, before his stupid angel of a little brother came along

See, little brother is the golden child, treated like an angel. He never gets into any trouble, no fights, no sneaking out (all things big brother is a frequent offender in). Big brother is kinda just sick and tired of this “angel” being held so high up when he used to be the only child, the only one that mattered.

The two boys don’t have the best relationship, they will hang out sometimes but as soon as little brother does one thing to piss him off it’s done. So if big brother wants to take this “angel” down a peg he needs to be more patient and calculated.

So big brother starts inviting little brother to watch movies with him or play some video games every night. Little brother is just so desperate for his approval, of course he will hang out with him. As the nights pass big brother starts making his moves. He starts just simple by a hand on the younger’s thigh or a hand around his waist.

Eventually all this leads to big brother inviting little brother to have a sleepover. He says they will watch movies, stay up late, play video games, he would even buy the younger boys favorite snacks. Baby brother is just ecstatic, this is what he’s always wanted after all. Little brother has always craved the older mans approval, he’s the only one that doesn’t automatically give in and praise him for even the smallest thing.

The night of the sleepover rolls around and it’s just what little brother always wanted. The two play Minecraft and then watch a few movies. Big brother continues to touch the younger boy, gripping onto his thigh and massaging the inner part. Little brother just blushes and doesn’t say anything.

But all this fun can’t last forever. Around ten-thirty little brother starts yawning and his eyes begin to droop. Big brother wraps his arms around little brothers shoulders and points his head at him. “Such a sleepy little boy, hm? Why don’t you go grab one of my hoodies. You won’t be able to sleep in my room with just a t-shirt, it gets cold in here at night”.

What was little brother supposed to do, say no? Of course not, he’s tired and not thinking straight. Plus, to little brothers sleepy little mind this logic made sense. He wasn’t even wearing pants, just his boxers, of course he would get too cold. The younger boy stands up and makes his way over to the older mans closet, taking out a baggy hoodie. Little brother strips his shirt off, leaving his chest bare.

Big brother couldn’t help but eye the younger’s body. There’s a reason everyone lets him do what he wants and why he is such an angel. He does look like a little cherub, something sent from heaven, something sacred. Big brother needs to have him, he needs to ruin him. “Hey baby bro, are you a virgin?” Little brother whips his head around as his entire face goes red. He quickly slides the hoodie over him and meekly stands in place. “I mean…yea but it’s not like it’s that important…”

That statement really piqued big brothers interest. He pats the bed next to him, telling his little brother to come sit. The boy makes his way over and shyly sits next to his older brother. Slowly big brother wraps his arms around the younger’s waist, pulling him closer and using him as a way to get on top.

Once little brother was under big brother, sufficiently flustered, big brother knew his plan was working. “It is important baby, no man wants a sweet boy like you if they don’t have experience. Let big brother show you what to do, ok?”. Big brother immediately pins the younger down to the bed with one hand, peeling his boxers off with the other.

Little brother is struggling against him, begging him not to, telling him just how wrong this is. But this is what brothers do, this is what they are good for. So big brother is gonna fuck into his sweet innocent little angel of a brother and make him a little slut. He will never be the same, but that’s fine. No one like a goody two shoes anyway.

[schrijverr]

Okay, straight Eddie Diaz, because - hear me out - trans woman Eddie Diaz.

Like it makes perfect sense in canon due to the fact that Eddie is repressed as hell, it can be about just sexuality, but I think adding in gender really adds to it. She does truly dream of having that traditional marriage with someone, she has just been casting herself in the wrong role, which makes it all the harder to figure out, because she is so sure that's what she wants, but it always feels wrong anyway.

It turns out, all the women she has dated felt wrong, because she wanted to be them not be with them. Plus, they never measured up as a parental figure, as a mother figure specifically, because Eddie wasn't comparing to what can be expected of an early stages potential step parent. Instead, she was comparing them to what she, Eddie, provides for Chris, and they could never be as good as a mom as her (but she didn't realize this).

((Also, Buck - bc yes, I am making this a little buddie - was able to fit into that step parent role, bc Eddie wasn't comparing him to herself, but let him organically grow into the role. Something Eddie doesn't realize until she unpacked a lot of stuff and realized her feelings for him aren't the platonic kind. She also realizes why she was so fuckign jealous of all his girlfriends, but always less bothered by his boyfriends.))

I feel like she'd be more masc (give me butch trans woman Eddie, please, fan artist out there, I'm on my little knees) and she struggles a lot with wanting to be a woman, but having 'masculine' interest and thus feeling like she can't be. Seeing Hen was both great for her and the cause of much confusion, bc she wanted what Hen had so bad, but also not entirely, because she isn't a lesbian and she had no clue what that meant when she first started working with the 118.

She has a hyper-masculine phase (mustache Eddie, why xp), really leaning into 'being a man' to run away from the feelings, because that is a mood. This isn't a great time for Eddie, because she does still like her masculine hobbies, as mentioned above, so it's confusing and she semi-gaslights herself into thinking she is imagining it. Until one day she shaves and is like, huh, I forgot how much I liked the clean shaven look and suddenly that triggers a whole set of revelations.

She keeps the short hair, but changes the shaping off it slightly so it softens her face more. She also is a jeans girly through and through, though comfy leggings definitely start making their way into the rotation after Maddie introduced her to them. Eddie does change the cut of her jeans slightly to be less tight at the crotch area, but she does like jeans that emphasize her butt, bc she has a great ass and that makes her feel good about herself. Overall, she isn't big on skirts, but wears dresses when there is an occasion.

Also, she has height dysphoria, which also upsets her, because all the heels look fun, she doesn't care that Hen claims they're the devil's shoes. ((Buck being taller makes Eddie so euphoric, before she realizes what is making her dysphoric exactly, she'd continuously be in his space, because he makes her feel a little shorter. When on dates, she sometimes can pull out heels and Buck will wear thicker soles so she can, sliding an arm around her waist and tucking her into his side so the dysphoria won't creep back in)).

She doesn't tell her parents at first, but she does tell her sisters, who are thrilled to have an all girls sibling squad now. They give her some of the heirloom jewelry they got, which Eddie missed out on, because she was still an egg at the time. She totally doesn't cry... Maybe a little.

Eddie is not a make up girl, however. She really tried to get into it, especially to cover the five-o'clock shadow, but it always looked weird and it isn't practical with her job. When they have a party, she'll put on some mascara and try with contour to add a little different shaping to her jaw and cheeks, but she never gets into it as much as she thought she would. She does not say no to getting manny paddies with Athena and May from time to time. Having nice nails is a great source of gender euphoria.

It was a little hard on Chris for Eddie to be mom too and Eddie had a whole crisis about what if this is repeating Kim, but in a different font and I am actually trying to replace Shannon? She has a lot of solo therapy and the two go to family therapy. Chris is never a dick about it, just a kid working through his trauma (don't be mean). When they have worked through it, Chris is her number one hype man, even though he's an awkward teen about it. His stumbling compliments are always her favorite and she carries them with her in her heart.

Anyway, just straight trans woman Eddie <3

[keesdarlin]

☆// mine, yours (MDNI 18+)

info! 141 / fluff, established relationship (sort of) + gender neutral reader

cw! implied past self hatred, negative self image, mental health recovery, healing vibes

prompt! "i wanna be mine, wanna be yours" Mine / Yours by Wilbur Soot

notes! god i'm Really trying to not make it a habit to use wilbur soot lyrics as prompts but it's hard when they're so good please forgive me. also just as a disclaimer, the whole "you have to love yourself before you can be loved by someone else" thing is bullshit. date who you want when you want. the only thing that matters is that you actually want to get there with yourself

PRICE:

honestly, john is the king of praise and reassurance. he sees how much you struggle sometimes, especially with your faith in your skills. as a solution, he finds ways to give you lots of praise for your hard work on the side. it’s hardly in front of other recruits or, god forbid, the rest of the 141 guys, but only because he doesn’t feel like getting accused of picking favorites (even though everyone already knows anyways). besides, that praise isn’t for everyone else. it’s for you. he never gives you pointers unprompted because he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s rushing you along. he tries his best to give you the room to take things at your own pace. always asks if he can give you an idea to maybe make things easier or if he should explain something in a different way. every once in a while you have a day where whatever you’re doing is just a little bit… more than usual. a little bit more difficult, taking a little bit more time, requiring a little bit more focus than you’re used to. john spends a little bit more time with you on those days, not to babysit you or coddle you, but just to make sure that you’re feeling alright about things. when you finally get it right, he can’t help but break out in a grin with a quiet, “good job, sergeant.”

GAZ:

gaz is huge on compliments. he’s always the first one to tell you how amazing you look every day. it’s easy to struggle with loving the way you look, he knows, so he does his best to try and mitigate that. don’t get him wrong; he’s not complimenting you out of obligation or pity. he compliments you because he believes it and he wants you to believe it too. will compliment anything from your makeup (if you wear any) to your outfit to your new shoes. he just thinks you’re the shit.

kyle also puts a lot of focus on acts of service. although you’re on a journey of self love and learning how to be healthily independent rather than hyper-independent, there’s a lot of skill to build in areas where it comes to when and if you should be leaning on other people. it’s hard, he knows, but he wants to help you practice! so he watches you, surprisingly in tune with your needs, and tries to meet you halfway. it’s not that he doesn’t think that you can do it yourself. in fact, he’s certain that you can. it’s more that this is his way of helping teach you that it’s alright to accept help. he doesn’t always ask first, but he’ll do a little something when he knows you’ve had a rough day. when he sees the exhaustion that hides in the way that you roll your neck, or the way that your shoulders hike up to your ears with anxiety, or the tired sigh that leaves your lips when you finally get a chance to sit down. and it’s not always something big. usually him doing your dishes “on accident” or because he had the extra time, or making a little extra dinner for you so that you don’t have to make your own, or bringing you a glass of water even though you didn’t ask for one. he knows he doesn’t have to, he knows that you’re capable of doing all this stuff yourself, but he wants you to know that you’re not going it alone. not as long as he’s there.

SOAP:

johnny uses a lot of patience and encouragement with you, mostly in moments of frustration, and sometimes a little instruction. an aspect of the self care journey that you find yourself struggling a lot with is remembering to be patient with yourself. you can sometimes find yourself going off the rails a little bit, but soap is here to help reel you back in. without sounding patronizing, he’ll remind you to take a step back from the situation for a second, take a breath, go for a walk, whatever you need to do to zone in, and then come back after.

one day you’re down at the shooting range when the frustration hits. normally, you’re a pretty good shot, but for some reason today you can’t hit near the middle of the target for the life of you. another shot missed and you sigh sharply, barely managing to stifle the groan and curses that threaten to escape you.

“you doing alright?” soap asks from somewhere behind you.

“fine, thanks,” you mutter through clenched teeth. you don’t bother to look back at him, closing one eye as you try to focus your aim.

soap hums. steps forward, sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. you take the hint and lower your gun, huffing as you turn to look at him. “alright. you’re doing pretty well so far, but let’s take a deep breath and try it all again, aye bonnie? i’ll help.”

you roll your eyes but inhale deep anyways. soap nods as he watches your shoulders fall with the exhale. “good job, lamb. now come ‘ere. ‘m gonna help you adjust to this gun.”

GHOST:

simon doesn’t tolerate negative self-talk. you guys talked about it once, how you want to be better about being kind to yourself. sure, sometimes that can mean taking a self care day or going out for a night with some friends or sitting down and taking some time to do something intentional. but those all have the potential to be pretty time consuming. something you can do every day, all the time no matter what you might be up to is saying something nice about yourself. it’s definitely weird the first few times; you didn’t realize before how much shit you talk about yourself every day, so the new hyper-awareness is a little bit anxiety-inducing. but once you adjust to the strangeness of it, it actually starts to feel kind of nice. every time you say something kind about yourself and find yourself meaning it, a spot of pride pulses warmly in your chest. it can still be difficult sometimes. some days, when things feel a little bit darker, a little bit heavier, you find yourself insulting your mistakes and talking down to yourself. but simon is right there with you to remind you. “you wanna try that again?” he asks nonchalantly when he hears you utter a quiet ‘oof, i’m dumb.’

you blush, but nod. “yeah, sorry. uhm… i’m not dumb, i’m just distracted and i’ll do better.”

he never gives a verbal response to your self-compliments, just a nod and, if you’re lucky, a little smile.

[nyny-berry71]

You plus me is not equal us:

Yan/Zeke Jeager x reader

1-

Being able to live freely without the constant pressure of a nation wanting to drain every ounce of life from you must be paradise on earth.

Yet, when you come to the world with the curse of being born the descendants of Ymir, you cannot even imagine a world coming close to your dearest dreams.

This affliction is not just an excuse to harass you, it is literally the death of you.

They will, with no valid reason, send you to meet death.

On the battlefield you will be cannon meat.

In the daily life you will be the outburst of those who were lucky enough to be born free of this curse.

From your first breath of air to the last one, you will be afflicted with the anxiety of being killed.

This anxiety will ink itself on every corner of your flesh leaving an indelible mark on your conscience.

Yet you will deeply envy those who worked hard to be considered what can come closer to an human being in their eyes.

When you have nothing to offer the homeland, don’t you dare say a thing.

Or you could pay for it with your life.

In the last moments life has to offer you, maybe there will be someone to save you.

—

The way back home was always the hardest part of the day. Moreover when she was carrying her heavy groceries bag.

She sometimes regretted having chosen to live in a house so far away from the gates. At least she comforted herself by telling herself she was far from the morning commoar.

On her way back home she crossed paths with some children from the neighbourhood.

Despite their miserable lives in these camp they were still running around, smiles plastered on their tiny little faces.

In a rush of inattention, one of the small figures ran into the young woman which caused some of her recent purchases to fall to the ground.

The huge eyes of the child lightened up in a sort of fearful expression. This reaction was indeed normal, out of the camp, such a banality could have caused his death.

These men were heartless and made no difference.

This chilling thought then pushed her to lower herself to his level to pick up her things and once done she replaced her full attention on the boy.

With the most lovely and gentle gaze, she looked at him and slowly began to remove the dust on his clothing.

"Hey there brave little one, are you okay ? Are your knees not scratched ?"

He quietly responded to her with a quick nodding.

"You have to be more careful however…"

She just couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence, the reality was way too harsh for a little kid.

"I-I’m sorry madam!"

"Don’t worry, it’s no big deal !"

She was so mesmerised by the innocent look this boy was wearing on his face.

In a way, she envied him for being this pure.

But for now, she had the possibility to keep this innocence alive a little longer.

In a quick motion, she reached for the jacket she was carrying on her arm and searched for something in the front pocket.

After a short struggle, she was finally able to pull out an handful of sweet treats.

Once more, the boy eyes lightened up, but this time it was joy.

"Here for you, don’t hesitate to share with your other friends okay?"

Saying the boy literally gasped for air was an euphemism.

If he was happy, so was she.

And as quickly as he could, he ran away shouting a thank you with a large smile.

She waved at him and stood up in order to finally return home.

After ten painful minutes of walking, she had finally arrived home and didn’t wait any longer to get inside.

She unshelved her shoes, put the shopping basket on the nearest chair and folded her coat on the only sofa.

After a short rince under cold water, she lingered in the storage of her purchases.

However it was a quick task, living alone wasn’t requiring a lot in the fridge.

The house she was living in was somewhat primitive and in very poor shape despite all her efforts she was putting to make is look decent.

The clock’s ticking above the door announced seven in the evening. It wasn’t really late but she was still exhausted and was struggling to keep up with the book she was currently reading.

She couldn’t stop yawning and her eyes closed themselves at times.

There, on her armchair she finally gave up and let the tiredness take it away.

However, not even one hour later she was brutally pulled out of her sleep by the sound of banging on the door.

At first she thought dreaming because why would someone walk all the way there to knock at her door? With this thought, she closed her eyes to continue her sleep.

However, the continued insistence of the drumming on the front door clearly meant that it was not a dream.

In a panic she rose up from her seat and looked up with fear at the door.

"You demon, we sure know you are in there! Open the godamn door!"

Throughout the window next to it, she could see two officers dressed up in their uniforms.

This wasn’t good.

It was terrible even.

She looked at her left shoulder and noticed the armband was missing, in her still dizzy mind she frantically searched for it all around the small room.

Even in the intimacy of your home you had to wear it.

Tears were starting to form at the corner of her eyes and she was now struggling to search in the drawers.

After what seemed to be an eternity she finally got her hand on the most important piece of tissue of the house.

However, she was still shaking from the stress the door’s banging gave her.

In a desperate attempt to control her fear she once more looked at the window, hoping to see nothing but the setting sun.

But no, she was struck by the sight of one of the officers who was cheerfully looking into her intimacy.

"You! Open the door immediately !"

She was standing still but had no other choice but to obey.

In the short distance which was separating her from the door, she couldn’t stop but to think about all the possible crimes she could have committed.

Going out without her papers, looking askance at an officer, cutting the road to a privileged... the possibilities were endless.

Yet, she was now in front the door and couldn’t bring herself to stop shaking.

A last breath of air, turn the key into the lock and open the door wide.

All this in one go as to not hesitate any longer.

"You’re lucky we’re not there to kill you. When we ask for the door to be opened, the door must be opened under one minute. You demoniacs creature!"

What? What was happening ?

Without even looking at her, he pushed her away to enter the house.

"Look at her face! She’s terrified!"

The second one did the exact same thing while bursting out laughing.

"Maybe you have something to blame yourself for?"

In a sudden twist, he dangerously approached her with a menacing grin.

Completely distraught by the situation she was now in, she only was able to violently shook her head.

The two who had stormed the house, without an ounce of respect or consideration, searched every corner while putting a nameless mess.

She was stuck in a position where she could either run away through the wide open door and hope not to get caught or docilely close the latter and sit in front of two monsters that could put her under an undeserved punishment.

Her choice was the second option as stupid as it might sound.

Slamming the door and docilely pushing her legs right inside the mouth of the wolf.

"May I serve you something to drink ?"

In an attempt to be nice she was forced to face the harsh reality.

"May you shut it and just sit down, we’re not here to make friends with the dirty rats of your kind."

It wasn’t a question of pride in such a situation, you had to obey and to obey quickly.

"My body is itching, don’t you guys know how to clean ?"

She gulped down her fear and waited for the sentence to be dropped.

"We were sent out today by one of your secret admirers, aren’t you a lucky girl huh?"

For the first time she gathered enough courage to look at them because what were they talking about ?

"This guy paid great money to offer you this, so consider yourself lucky we accepted his request. I can affirm you, if it hadn’t been the case we would have probably sent someone to kill you tonight ."

The men in front of her seemed to have a monologue between them, as if they weren’t talking to someone. They were too detached from reality, how could you humanly talk about killing someone with no second thought?

"He even let you a love letter with his small gesture."

"How pathetic of him."

The second added.

Once again they burst out laughing.

Caught off guard, he tossed at her a small and poorly packaged kraft bag wrapped in a string that seemed to have already been opened.

"I no longer want to stay here, I’m getting out of this rats house."

"Let’s head back to the bar."

And as quickly as they distributed her peace, they left.

She followed them only to close her door in a double turn and shutting the curtains down.

And only then she felt safe again.

While trying to understand what had just occurred, she made her way back to the table where she left the little package.

She was all the more intrigued, confused and concerned about the possible content of the latter.

How could such a light thing be costing a lot of money?

After drying her tears she slowly lingered her finger on the brown paper, feeling every crinkles under her touch.

"A secret admirer huh? What a strange thing, how could you love someone in this endless war ?"

She carefully picked up the piece and went to take a seat on the armchair on which she was previously peacefully sleeping.

With a great refinement she put it on her lap and slowly untied the string to release the letter.

It was a one sided paper yet when she turned it around to read the content, her blood turned cold.

"For my future wife.

May you stay safe with this little present of mine.

Yet if it is not enough, I still will be there, just behind you."

Suddenly her whole body was aching, her head was spinning and was heavily sweating.

It was starting again, this never ending cycle of being watched in the darkness of the shadows.

Suddenly the door she had closed and the curtain she had shut down weren’t enough anymore.

She was being violated in her own home.

Her own privacy wasn’t enough because deep inside she knew he was coming back for her.

She, who believed it was finally over, have just been fooled indeed.

Her nails violently sank into her palm and she folded herself under the difficulty in breathing.

In a desperate effort to keep her sanity, she eagerly threw the card across the room and abruptly stood up from her seat.

Yet the pain was so intense she felt forward on her knees, scratching them on the raw soil’s surface.

And there, on this hard floor, she miserably reached for her heart as to make sure she was still alive.

God only knew how much she wanted it to stop beating at this very moment.

Still, the fury engraved in her body forced her to hastily get up and grab the remaining piece of the so-called "gift".

With nothings close to the gentility she used to open the first one, she tore open the paper and threw it away on the floor.

She couldn’t believe what she was now holding onto her hands.

Between her shaking fingers laid out a bright red armband.

For the second time of the evening, tears started to flow down her cheeks and troubled her vision.

Wobbling between incomprehension and denial, she couldn’t wraps her head around this present.

What was the meaning behind such a thing?

Was it a display of power? A way to tell her he was able to keep an eye on her ?

As she did for the letter, she turned around and, blinded by the rage, threw it on the armchair on which she was previously in peace.

Her thoracic cage rose and fell at high speed; she was hyperventilating.

Part 2 here

[florvaine]

silver spikes and pastel ribbons.

headcannons of Hobie with an opposite aesthetic gf. (afab! reader)

genre: mainly fluff, slight angst, nsfw(?)

warnings: little nsfw if you squint, crying, some kid gets a car lobbed at him 😭

i imaginee the two of you actually met at one of his gigs 🫶🏻

He was on the stage, flicking his roughened fingertips on each string on his guitar, a harsh rift sounding through the amp on the edge of platform as he moves his hand further up the fretboard.

Then he looks in the crowd, right by the barrier of sweaty, headbanging and most likely hammered fans, and you’re right there.

Directly in front of him, pressed against the metal-barred barrier that security was struggling to keep people from hopping over.

What caught him off guard wasn’t only the fact you were fuckin’ gorgeous, but the fluttery, light pink dress that was just above the middle of your thighs. White lace trimmed the v-shaped neckline that was held up by thin, spaghetti straps.

Strips of silky ribbon cascade from the wrap around your waist, dangling pearls and a small-chain necklace decorate your collarbones and shimmer like the sheen of sweat that held stray hairs against your temples and your forehead.

And your shoes - a pair of white, glossy, open-toed high heels that added a few extra inches to your height (Hobie secretly wanted to give you a few other inches), but even with them Hobie could still tell from the stage that he was way taller than you.

He misses a single strum of his guitar, so he temporarily redirects his attention back to the gig, his hickory eyes still wandering over to you from under his mask.

100% got the security to practically hunt you down so you could meet him backstage.

He’s a little anxious because they were taking a while, and he’s slightly disappointed at the thought you already left.

But then there’s a knock at the door and one of the security guards speaks muffled through his private backstage room.

“Hobie, got the girl you were askin’ for.”

The rest is history, really. You were officially dating after 7 painfully long months.

You got along well, even if everything else about each other was contrasting, you’re political ideals, music taste and humour are practically a copy and paste.

The two of you get undoubtably get some stares.

A man clad in black leather and silver spikes and a woman dressed like a doll stood out a lot against the Nike trackies of London.

“Everyone’s staring, Hobie.”

“Ignore ‘em, hun. They’re pissed JD is shut.”

Every now and then he takes you to a more quiet, downtown street with a collection of thrift stores and craft shops.

Hobie’s definitely caught in Hobbycraft at least twice a week 😭😭

Literally loves your style - everything from your jewellery to the way you get your nails done.

He’s whipped ‼️

Loves everything about you, but especially your hair.

If you wear wigs he’s helping you install it, if you have naturally curly hair he’s taking note of each step for later on, he reads the labels of every hair product you own.

I feel like he has a thing for curly hair idk why I just get the vibe.🤭

Hobie definatly told Pav and Gwen about you when you first met, like the next day he’s at the Spider Society talking even more than usual.

“She was stunnin’, I’m tellin’ ya’ now. Really nice eyes,” He turns away from them and mutters under his breath, “And tits.”

Gwen smirks, “You’ve told us, I’m pretty sure.” She nudges Pav, and he’s giggling like an excited schoolgirl.

“Never thought I’d see Hobie have a full-blown crush!” Pav comments.

Hobie hums, a small smile on his face as he stares infront of him. Gwen and Pav share a look before they imitate the way he looks - like a lovestruck idiot.

It’s funny with one of you in the other’s room - Hobie, dressed in dark blues and blacks with an overall threatening aura just sat on your pretty pink bedsheets in your floral-scented room.

Sometimes you’ll randomly go on a tangent about a new dress or concert tickets whilst doing something else, and you’re convinced he’s uninterested.

Next time he’s at yours he had that new dress in a silk scarf wrap, or he pulls the tickets out of one of his pockets.

You’re in the kitchen of your apartment, stirring the milk into your tea as Hobie scrapes butter onto two slices of toast you had put in.

When he’s finished, he slides the plate over to you before leaning back on the counter and looking at your over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Bee,” You pick up the plate, moving it closer to you for easier access to the toast.

There’s two rectangular, shimmery-sheened tickets underneath the circular plate.

You’re shocked, looking at the ticket now in your hand, eyes moving from the words and numbers printed onto it and your boyfriend.

“Hobie, you didn’t have to!” You say.

“You said that ya’ wanted to see them, so I got us tickets.” He shrugs, a small proud smirk on his lips.

Movie nights every Friday after dinner 💕

Sometimes he has to leave early or he shows up later on, but he makes up for the time lost by bringing you your favourite food and drink from the local corner shop.

If you’re in college or uni, he will swing in every break and check in on you and everything.

When it comes to cuddling, he’s the big spoon 95% of the time unless he had a really shitty day.

Like really shitty.

It’s not very often Hobie crys, and even when he does it’s not for very long.

The man prides himself in being Spider-Punk, saving civilians whilst preaching his beliefs to his followers that feel more like a family than fans.

He can only hold on so long, and it’s only a matter of time before he can’t save someone.

Sure, the little boy wasn’t dead, he was in hospital after a car had been carelessly tossed into him by the anomaly he was supposed to contain.

After visiting the boy in hospital, chanting apologies and ‘get well soon’s like a broken record, he goes to the first place he can think of.

Yours.

There was something so special, so serene and comforting in the confines of your cluttered shelves and organised wardrobe pressed against the walls of your bedroom.

Hobie knew it wasn’t the room, but it was you.

You, so different and relaxing. Calming and exciting, understanding and motivating. Anywhere was safe if you were there.

He swings through shadowed alleys, reaching your apartment over the bustling roads and honking horns of the cars below.

Hobie perches on your small balcony, and taps on the window.

In his reflection, Spider-Punk looks back at him. Strong, unbeatable, selfless and stubborn. But as he pulls the mask off, the fabric hanging limp like a ragdoll cat in his had, Hobie Brown stares back at him.

Tattered, exhausted, overwhelmed and in desperate need to be in your arms.

The window opens. His mental image of himself splits away as soon as he sees your face.

“Rough night?” You ask, voice slightly raspy and muffled, yet still as soothing as hot tea and honey on a sore throat.

The routine begins when Hobie nods. He clambers in, he takes off his boots and jacket and leaves them by your desk, his mask discarded somewhere beside them.

You pull out one of his white, soft cotton shirts from your dresser, and a pair of dark grey shorts. He gets changed, you make a cup of tea.

Then he cries. Salty droplets of embodied sorrows paired with the pinch of his eyebrows and the slight quiver of his bottom lip.

Each time a tear drips down his soft cheeks you wipe it away with your equally as soft hands, smearing the liquidated sadness into his now clumpy lashes.

You count sixteen droplets this time before he stops, and you stand up to offer the silk scarf he wrapped your gifted babydoll dress in, and he takes it before wrapping the coarse, black wicks that topped his head.

And then he’s curling his back against your chest, holding the hand of your arm that loosely covers his waist.

Their consciousness fades into two seperate slumbers. A comforting silence drapes over the two lovers, knowing that the other will be there when they awake.

-—-

[babylacedream]

theres pain in your eyes cause youve gone through a lot

i always find myself back to you જ part 5 of ?

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

pairing: yandere!bucky barnes x f! reincarnated autistic reader

warning: struggling with bucky's death, grief, yandere themes, anxiety, obsessed!bucky, violence, angsty

summary: you found out what really happened to bucky but can you really accept him for who he is now?

notes: inspired by pinkpantheress unreleased song called close to you, I recommend listening.

please remember i am autistic, so i will be writing my personal experience with my autism. thanks!

oh, reader, you are so cooked <3 goodluck!

You were tossing and turning from a nightmare; you awoke; you had forgotten what it was about. You opened the door quietly. You went to your front door, trying to find the tote bag you left on the floor.

It was on the hanger; Bucky must have hung it up there. You grabbed it and went into your room. You scurried through the files. For every experiment that was conducted there, Bucky was in the middle of it all.

Bucky is an assassin.

It makes sense; the blood you found on his hand that night was his target's blood. You shivered at the thought of what he had been mindlessly forced to do.

You bit your nail out of reassurance, and once you've looked through every bit of information about HYDRA, it was no wonder why he acts like this. As if he's in this trance-like state.

Duh, stupid.

You groaned, annoyed and guilty that you yelled at him like this was his fault. Nothing was his fault. You looked at your clock; it was nine.

You organized the files, placing them again in the tote bag. You got off your bed and opened your bedroom door. You walked out and took a peek at Bucky on your living room couch. "Do you ever sleep?"

He looked up at you and didn't say anything before going back into that trance. Since he's been here, he's been taking showers; you could tell since he smelled good. But those clothes he's been wearing must be uncomfortable to wear all the time.

"Do you need clothes? I can get you some tomorrow when I go to work." No response to that, but you'll still get him necessities tomorrow.

You couldn't help but feel for him; this was your childhood friend, and the void in his blue eyes made you feel it all the more intense.

You are not sure if this is a good suggestion, but it is worth the shot. "Do you want to sleep in my bed?" Bucky looked up at you again, and this time responded and nodded.

"Come." You say as you walk out of the living room and into your bedroom. "Um, which side do you want?" Nothing, again, from him. You realize he only responds when it sometimes has something to do with you; other than that, he stays quiet.

You had a queen-sized bed, so it should fit both of you. You left the light on for Bucky. You remembered that he kept the living room lights on, and you took the right side of the bed against the wall, getting comfortable on your side. He was still standing there. You got out of bed and grabbed his hand before you pulled him in.

"Oh, your shoes." You gestured so he could take them off. Bucky took them off while still looking at you with that emotionless stare, including his clothes, and climbed in with you in bed.

You didn't want to look; it's disrespectful to do that, in your mind, so you closed your eyes. Shuffling with the blankets, you found your comfortable position. You were lying on your side, facing the wall.

While you were getting comfortable, Bucky wouldn't take his eyes off you like you were the most precious thing to him in his whole existence. Strangely enough, he has never felt this tired before. Only with you.

You woke up, stretching your arms and legs to notice the bed empty. "Oh, familiar," you thought. You got out of bed. When Bucky came into your room with a towel on his waist, fresh out of the shower.

You didn't look last night because... You had your reasons. You were shocked; he looked different, more built? You looked up, trying to avert your gaze, when you saw him smirk. He walked past you and sat on the bed.

"Oh, right, clothes! I'll quickly go and shower and... get you clothes!" You avoided looking down and awkwardly laughed, walking out of your room and into the shower.

After a much-needed shower, you dressed in your work clothes; you thought it would be better to wear your work clothes so you wouldn't have to change again. "I'll be back."

You were in a men's clothing store. You looked through dozens already. You bought him shirts, pants, a hat, shoes, and even boxers.

How do you know his size? Well, you don't need to ask.

You even bought him a couple of things he needed while staying there, like body lotion, body wash, a toothbrush, deodorant, and shaving stuff, if he wanted to use it.

Eventually, you made it back to the apartment to see him still sitting on your bed with the towel. You twitched, wondering if he was doing this on purpose.

You went to the room and laid out the clothes and necessities on the bed. "Well, do you like it?" You smiled, looking at your accomplishment. You saw his hands grip the towel; he was about to take off his towel! "Wait, let me get out of the room first!" You ran out of the room, breathing heavily.

You waited outside. The door opened, and instantly, your eyes widened. The hat on his head looked good, and the jacket he had on with the layer of shirts on him. The jeans also looked nice.

He looks like a model! As expected from the dreamboat from the 1940s. You internally clapped in your head.

The clothes seemed to fit him well. "Is it comfortable?" He nodded.

"Oh, I almost forgot." You looked in your bag and took out gloves for him to hide his metal arm thingy. "Here." Bucky took them.

"Well, I shall go to work now. Stay here."

You told him that, but why is he following you yet again? Is he a stray cat or something?

"Bucky, you can't follow me to work. Okay? I need to work. Why don't you try, uh, try feeding some stray cats?" You spoke without really thinking.

But, he was an assassin. An asset to HYDRA. What would those HYDRA guys do if they found him out here? You didn't really care about yourself, but you were worried about Bucky. You couldn't let those bastards take him.

"On second thought, never mind, just come with me." You grabbed his gloved metal hand and led him to your workplace.

"You wait here. I'll be working. You just, uh, play with this." You gave him a Rubik's cube. He instantly started playing with it.

You worked calmly, still occasionally checking on Bucky in the lunch room. You placed a sandwich on his lap. "Eat. I'll eat with you." You sat across from his seat and munched on your sandwich.

You didn't notice how his blue eyes looked as he intently watched you lick your finger clean. You were quite clumsy with your food; that sauce was on your lips. Bucky leaned in towards you across from the table, lifted his finger, and wiped the sauce clean off your lips.

"Oh, thanks."

That gesture reminds you of that time you were at the diner with Bucky. The sauce had gotten on your lips. "Clumsy, girl," he chuckled before lifting his finger and wiping it off.

Does he know what he's doing to you? No. And that's the worst part of it all. You had a very gloomy expression on your face.

You cleared your throat. "Excuse me."

Your store didn't have a bathroom, so you were in the bathroom across from a nearby store. You were sitting on the toilet, crying your eyes out.

You wished that none of this happened. You wished you could have been in your past body with Bucky growing old with him.

You cleaned your face, trying to hide any teary-eyed sign. After cleaning yourself up, you came out of the bathroom when someone bumped into you.

"Pardon." The man excused himself before he took a quick glance at you. You smiled politely and carried on with yourself back to work.

You were working with packages, storing them in the storage room, when you felt a familiar chest pressed against your back, giving you a sense of déjà vu. Bucky smoothly slides his hands around your waist, wrapping around them.

"Who were you with just a moment ago?" The tone in his voice was laced with authority and power.

"Oh, someone bumped into me when I was heading out of the bathroom." You said calmly, looking over your shoulder. You giggled, grinning at his expression. "What, jealous?" Bucky loosed his hold around your waist.

"Relax." You turned around to face him, placing your hands on his chest. You tipped-toed to his ear and whispered, "Or you might scare me away."

You removed your hands from his chest and worked on the boxes. "Why the hell did I do that?" You mentally hit yourself for trying to be slick.

Bucky was irritated. How dare they come close to you? You thought he was jealous, but it was more than just that. He felt infatuated with you.

In fact, he smelled those wretched vermin scents on you, and it made him want to completely take you for himself, right here. Right now.

But he knew you'd fear him.

So, he decided the easiest thing to do was to completely obliterate those parasites to make sure you'd be safe.

Bucky didn't want to tell you, but because you kicked him in the face that night, his memories started coming back in little bits of pieces, especially with the help of the locket.

Even his trigger words aren’t working. It seems your presence has dulled their influence entirely, reducing the strength of his brainwashing.

And the early confrontation that night with his target, Howard. He called his name, "Sergeant Barnes." And since you called out his name shortly after that, "Bucky," he remembered only you.

Bucky, no, The Winter Soldier, wasn't going to let them take his memories of you again, especially since he's found you, his Lyubimaya.

Bucky immediately knew it was you when you yelled at him, "This is mine!" telling him the locket was yours. "It was surely yours, my love." He left it for you to hold and cherish, and he was glad you cherished it so.

Everything about you screams of his lover. Your scent, your laugh, the way you gazed into his eyes. You were her, whether you wanted to deny it or convince yourself you no longer wanted to be, to protect yourself.

But he knew he had to be patient with you. After all, you were patient all those years.

Now, more than ever, he knew that for him to stay peacefully with you. The Winter Soldier was determined to make sure that the whole place blew up in flames.

Bucky walked out of the store, but not before taking one last glance at you organizing the boxes.

"This time, I'll come back to you, my love."

[pancake-breakfast]

(Finally) finished Day 4 of Disco Elysium.

The body is finally out of the tree. I admit, I looked this one up. I didn't want to leave it there for extra-long if my only option was to act a rube for the walrus-man, and since I didn't try to shoot the body down (I probably wouldn't have made the shot given my stats), that was indeed my only choice.

The field autopsy was a smelly, disgusting, and extremely poetic ordeal.

I leveled up twice during the autopsy.

I haven't actually ruled out the possibility of Harry himself being the killer, though thus far the game's implied Harry didn't show up until after the murder. We did find the bullet in the hanged man's brain, but since there's no sign of a struggle, then either he did it to himself or someone was VERY fast about sticking a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

Unfortunately, I'm too dumb to think about things like "do the next steps you need to do with Kim's car before he drives off and abandons you for who knows how long," so I then spent half the day wondering what to do with my life. I'm being very, very good about not having Harry spiral into drugs and alcohol, but I'm convinced game purposely tries to give you enough rope to hang yourself with there. When there's nothing to do BUT drugs and alcohol, do you really want to spend all your time twiddling your thumbs on a park bench instead?

Got rid of "The Look." I'm not sure if this is an improvement... but sometimes one has to work through hard truths. Kim told me that.

Found out the source of the nickname "Tequila Sunset" and got a couple other stories out of Idiot Doom Spiral. That guy may be a burnout and a self-absorbed mess, but he does tell good stories.

Before he left, Kim told me he didn't care for my fashion sense. I am literally wearing a cop jacket with a dress shirt and slacks. What more does he want? Does he not like my red-and-white shoes? Is it the bolo tie of a six-eyed bird? Surely it's not my Super Ace Fictional Detective hat. I don't understand!

The lady in the church (not the mural) and Harry actually got along ok. She's a nerd. I can handle nerds.

I say that, but I'm also trying to help the ravers turn the church into a "clean" club, because that's a realistic goal. Oddly, at least two of the ravers seem into this idea. We'll see how it goes. I have zero plans for how to enact this.

I learned that time doesn't pass in game if you're just walking around. This ruined my plans to just check the phasmid traps a lot.

It also doesn't pass if you're asking people questions you've already asked them. This ruined my plans to make people tell me stories they've already told me again.

I read a few books. One of them twice.

Books hurt.

[queensunshinee]

I would love to see a simple blurb of Patrick and Liana on their good days! Even though I'm rooting for Art now, we can't deny that in the beginning they were cute 🥲

ohhhh yeah, when they were good they were really the best :) warnings: SMUT! 18+!, dirty talk, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, praise.

Patrick stared at Liana as if she had fallen from the moon, and she felt her cheeks begin to burn. "Why are you looking at me like that? You were the one who told me to wear a dress!" She quickly touched her nose with her hand. "I'm going to change clothes." She rolled her eyes while he continued to remain silent and stare at her.

Slowly, Patrick's smile widened, and he entered her dorm room. His hand, which was behind his back, held a rose wrapped in clear cellophane and a bow. "You're perfect. I'm just thinking about how to survive dinner without taking off that dress." He kissed her gently on the cheek. "You clean up well yourself, Zweig," she said, unable to hide her smile. "Where are we going?" she asked, examining his unusually polished appearance. A light blue button-down and jeans. Clean shoes. Who was this guy, and what did he do to her boyfriend?

"Since I managed to surprise you? No way I'm telling you now. But we're running late, Lilo, let's go." Patrick felt mesmerized. He really felt he wouldn't survive the black dress combined with the new bangs she had cut and the bright red lipstick. Patrick helped her put on her coat and handed her bag while she locked the door.

"You can open your eyes," Patrick whispered in her ear as they stood in front of the chef's restaurant Liana had talked about on the phone with Melissa three months ago when Patrick was next to her. She had only said that the place belonged to some chef she had seen on TV, and Patrick made a mental note to reserve a spot for them. From that moment, he saved up for their meal. He did a few odd jobs between the courses his parents forced him to take and his training sessions. One of the jobs he did was delivering newspapers. He was utterly exhausted, but the look she gave him now was worth the hassle of the past few months.

"Patrick, we can't. It's too expensive here." She was in complete shock, swallowing hard as he practically dragged her to the entrance. "Happy anniversary, Lilo." He smiled at her, and before they went inside, she stopped and gave him a deep but brief kiss. "How did you know I wanted to eat here?" she asked curiously. "That's what happens when I want to know everything about you." He shrugged without looking at her, as if it was obvious. As if it was clear to everyone that he loved her enough to want to know every detail of her life.

They sat down, and he ordered the white wine she had loved since they moved to London. In general, he thought he kinda admired who she had become since they moved to London. She was so intelligent that sometimes he was embarrassed to join in the conversations she had when he was next to her, even though he knew she would never judge him. He didn't want people to think she surrounded herself with foolish people. He always made sure to go home and read a bit on Google about the topics she talked about that he didn't understand. To know more for the next time he saw one of the people she had talked to. So as not to embarrass her.

"Are you happy?" he asked when they entered his apartment, and she took off her shoes. They were both full and slightly tipsy. He felt a warmth in his stomach that didn't characterize London's winter in any way but did characterize Liana. "You know that even if we had been sitting in the pizzeria across from your apartment, I would have been happy, right?" Her smile was wide and sincere. "Let me," he murmured, seeing her struggle with the buckle of her shoe. "You don't have to—" she replied, but he was already on all fours in front of her, smiling one of his softest smiles, the gentlest ones that she knew were reserved just for her.

Patrick took off her shoe and started planting small kisses on her leg, making her bite her lip while she ran her fingers through his curls. "You're so beautiful, Lilo. Everyone in that restaurant was jealous of me." He murmured, and she felt his breath on her pussy. She knew he saw how wet she was. How much she wanted him. How she always, always wanted him. It could have been embarrassing if she didn't know he wanted her just as much.

"What do you want, Liana?" he asked, partly to tease and partly to hear her demand what he already wanted to do. "Your tongue. Please." She found herself almost trembling as his strong hand steadied her. He gave a small lick over her panties and then couldn't resist sucking on that spot with a force that made her moan and him growl.

"So wet, sweetie," he mumbled, suddenly pulling down her panties but leaving them around her legs, making it hard for her to spread. One hand held her ass, and the other stabilized her left leg while his tongue explored her from the inside. "Fuck, Pat," she managed to say through a quiet moan, struggling to breathe and talk at the same time. His skilled tongue explored every inch of her, his lips pulling and kissing while he drank every drop she released.

The hand that held her butt gripped harder. Liana was sure it would leave a mark for days, but just the thought of it could bring her to the edge, while the hand that was on her leg joined his lips, and three fingers at once made quick movements in and out. Liana couldn't control the volume of her moans anymore and almost screamed.

"Atta girl, give me everything you've got. I want the neighbors to hear when you come on my face, Liana, do it for me," he almost begged in a half-broken voice but still maintained authority while he continued to eat her out. Liana's eyes rolled back as she screamed his name, stabilizing herself by grabbing his head uncontrollably, causing him to groan almost as loudly as she did as she came on his chin.

Patrick stood up, not leaving her for a moment because he knew she was struggling to stand steadily right now. He almost dragged her to the bed, finally removing her panties and unzipping her dress. "The dress has done its job, I don't want to see it anymore," he muttered and threw it to the floor with mock defiance while undressing quickly.

"I want you so much, Liana. Fuck. I've never needed anything like I need to be inside you," he said, planting long, sloppy kisses on every part of her he could reach. His hand played with one of her nipples while giving her a moment to recover from the orgasm she had just experienced, to avoid overwhelming her senses. "Please, fuck me. Patrick. Please," she begged, and he smiled. "Not tonight," he said gently, moving her sweaty bangs from her face and seeing her eyes widen, showing disappointment. "Tonight, we're going to be one of those disgusting couples," he continued, kissing her cheek and then the other. "Tonight, I'm just going to love you. We're making love tonight. Tomorrow, we'll fuck. Okay?" he asked.

Liana was so surprised because it was uncharacteristic. Everything with Patrick was rough and blunt and almost jarring to those who didn't know him. Borderline disgusting to outsiders. He could spit in her mouth, and she would swallow it. He could slap her while his cock was down her throat. Use her holes as if she were his personal toy, and it was perfect. Sometimes it was all she wanted from him. All she never knew she wanted. She loved everything he loved. Any request that seemed excessive to someone else, Liana wanted to perform excellently. She wanted him to pet her and tell her she was a good girl because she made him feel so good. But she was sure she couldn't make Patrick feel better than he made her feel. With him, she felt seen. Complete. Like she never had before.

And suddenly, he was lying above her, full of tenderness and peace. Not wanting to fuck her but just to love her. As if they weren't the same things. "Okay," she answered him. "You're so good, Liana," he mumbled as he slid his cock all the way into her, and they both sighed, making the most desperate moans possible.

Patrick moved slowly and deeply. His gaze never left hers except for the moments he had to close his eyes, or he would come too soon. He wanted to hold on to this night. Prolong their experience as much as he could. "I love you so much," he said, feeling her clench around him. He had to stop himself from thrusting faster and harder. He wanted to be gentle with her tonight. He wanted her to know how much he appreciated her.

"I love you more," she replied, and he knew it was bullshit because there was no way anyone in the world loved someone more than Patrick loved Liana. Instead of arguing with her, he pressed his lips to hers. She clenched around him again, and he knew she was close. "Look at me, Liana," he mumbled, forcing himself and her to open their eyes.

"Fuck, Pat," she managed to say before she came. "I know, Lilo, so good. Fuck," he said and came right after her. His body weight enveloped her for a few lazy minutes during which he didn't pull out and kept planting small kisses on her shoulder, where his head rested.

"Happy anniversary, Lilo. I love you," he said, and she smiled at him, looking at the man lying next to her in bed. On the one hand, not believing they had already been together for a year, and on the other hand, feeling like they had been this way their entire lives.

Send me more requests about the story and from time to time I'll get to write some extras like this one. Hope you liked it. Let me know 💜

taglist: @suzysface tqd4455 @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[lazorbeanz]

Sonamy Headcanons because I’m deprived and extremely delulu 🙃

🩷 Sonic has like- telepathic senses that tell him whenever Amy is in potential danger

“My Amy Senses are tingling..” 🤣

if you’ve watched Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse, you’ll get it lololol

💙 Sonamy road trips roles

Amy: driver, trip organiser, checklists checklist checklists, “DONT EAT THOSE THEY’RE FOR THE TRIP!!”, carpool karaoke *whips out her inner Ariana Grande*, “eughhh Sonic did you fart?!”

Sonic: passenger princess, DJ, snacc provider (and eater), sleeping beauty, “couldn’t we just use my speed to get there?”, argues with the GPS because he knows a faster route (one not requiring the road)

🩷 Sonic and Amy playing table tennis:

Amy: sonic, serve

Sonic: *💁‍♂️🕺*

Amy: no- serve the BALL xD

💙 Person: “are you two dating?”

Sonic and Amy: *while holding hands* “no”

🩷 Though he doesn’t admit it, Sonic also loves his quills massaged. Sometimes when Sonic and Amy are chilling under a tree together, and he ends up dozing off, Amy will rest his head on her lap and stroke her hand through his quills, resulting in a few faint purrs from the hedgehog, which she secretly gushes over about

💙 They could be arguing for 5 minutes straight and after be like:

“I LOVE YOUUUU!!” >:O

“I LOVE YOU TOOOOOO!!!!” >:O

🩷 Amy finds shopping twice as fun with Sonic because he will just sit her in the shopping cart, as they zip up and down the aisles whilst grabbing the items on the list…getting it all done in 2 minutes tops. They call it the Operation: S^2 (Speed Shopping)

💙 Sonic and Amy could already be years into marriage but will still do or say things that’ll make the other flustered, like the times when they were dating.

🩷 Amy knows that if Sonic is being really flirty with her, he usually wants something.

💙 If Sonic and Amy are both sick one day, they will tell off each other, insisting they should be at home resting.

It results in both of them at Amy’s house, snuggled up on the couch binging movies.

🩷 As much as Amy likes sharing the goss with rouge and the girls, there’s nothing like sharing it with her bf because he goes all “omg gurl no wayyy! 💅” or he starts spilling his own tea with her lmao “omg bestie you won’t believe who I saw the other day…”

💙 Sonic plans secret meet ups with Cream, who teaches him how to make her signature flower crowns…he hopes to master it so he can make Amy one, one day…

🩷 (this following hc was an idea from a comic I believe..don’t know who made it but if u do pls let me know for credit purposes ig kajsjwidj)

Amy knows how Sonic can sometimes struggle to speak his feelings and is often an action over words type of guy. So she came up with this thing that anytime Sonic wants to tell Amy he loves her, without verbally saying it, all he needs to do is squeeze her hand 3 times; I. Love. you.

💙 When Amy told Sonic she wanted to go dancing with him, she didn’t expect it to be just dance…anyways she had tons of fun!

🩷 If they have sleepovers, it’s a tradition that they wear matching onesies (guys comment what they should be hehe)

💙 Amy uses Sonic as the makeup tester. He ends up looking ready for the circus afterwards but he honestly doesn’t mind this because he gets tons of kissies when she’s trying out the lipsticks

🩷 Walks along the beach are nice and romantic until Sonic decides to be a lil shh and kick sand in Amy’s shoes *cue her dragging her naughty bf towards the ocean*

💙 Amy’s a sucker for old school romance; love letters, flowers, fancy dates…and Sonic knows this. (Well EVERYONE does actually…) So one day, despite how inexperienced he is in the whole romance department, sets aside time to work on writing a letter, buying flowers and arranging somewhere nice to take Amy out for her to fulfil her romance fantasies. She’ll even get to dress up for this occasion

🩷 Sonic helping out Amy in the kitchen be like:

“A-Amy…I burnt the water…”

“Sonic how TF did you BURN the water?!”

“I DONT KNO-”

💙 Amy is having a downer and is very clingy…so here is Sonic running his gf’s errands, with his gf clinging onto him. People will see this unusual phenomenon and he just gives them all the stare…nothing to see here! I mean it ain’t the first time he’s had to cart a pink hedgehog round the place

🩷 For the longest time, Amy has had a box sitting aside in her closet, containing a new special swim shirt, arm floaties, and a swimming kickboard, for when Sonic decides to finally learn how to swim. She can’t see the day any of the contents will be used but she could only hope.

💙 Sonic keeps an umbrella on standby for future “need to share an umbrella” emergencies

🩷 In the winter, they’re practically inseparable, using each other desperately to warm up. Because of this Tails had to design them jackets with instant heating, but they still end up back together even though they aren’t freezing anymore

[aurumacadicus]

Pride Pocket 16--Give to Me Your Leather

Kink belongs at Pride. I will not be arguing a fact.

The title is from Stevie Nicks and Don Henley's "Leather and Lace" and rest assured Tony indulges Steve in both. You can also find this fic on ao3 (here). Look out for under the cut!

--

After a gala, Tony was in the habit of simply dropping all of his clothes on the floor and falling face-first onto his bed. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his clothes, or that he wouldn’t miss a cufflink, or that he expected someone to clean up after him. It was just that, by the time he finally trudged in during the early hours of the morning, he simply couldn’t imagine doing more than that. In his opinion, if he even made it out of his clothes, it was a victory—after hours of shaking hands and kissing rings, of drinking watered-down alcohol and dancing, of seeing off all of his guests (and making sure they signed their checks), it was a miracle. There were a few times that he hadn’t even made it that far, instead crumpling onto the nearest flat surface without having managed to loosen his tie.

He’d been embarrassed, the first time he woke up to find Steve had hung up his tuxedo to send to the cleaner’s. That Steve had set his cufflinks on his dresser next to his watch display, his shoes in the closet. That Steve had sat beside him and carefully undid his garters and pulled his socks off so he could tuck him comfortably under the blankets. He’d known that Steve liked to keep a tidy room. He had tried so hard to keep things neat so Steve wouldn’t regret moving in with him. Steve had shrugged off his apologies, said he didn’t care. But Tony had. Steve had been so hesitant to move in at all, he didn’t want to give him a reason to move back out.

He hadn’t really understood how much Steve didn’t mind until he found him in his closet a week before another gala, carefully cleaning a pair of his leather shoes.

“I have. People. For that,” Tony said when he realized Steve wasn’t stopping. He tipped his head, looking at the different tins in the basket at Steve’s elbow. Clean rags, dirty rags, tins of shoe conditioner and different colors of polish. Where had he gotten those? “You don’t have to.”

Steve’s hands didn’t stutter. “I like to do it.”

“Oh,” Tony answered, feeling like an idiot, and he was only half sure why.

He was suddenly reminded that when it came to cleaning and repairing Steve’s suit, he’d never received the leather harness he wore. It certainly saw a lot of wear and tear from the shield—he’d seen scuffs and friction burns after battle. He’d figured that Steve just. Got new ones. But that didn’t make any sense, he realized, looking around the closet. He’d seen the one hanging with his suit when he’d moved his things in. He had a spare, but… he didn’t like to use it, he’d said. Wanted to work it soft during training first, or something.

“Leather hasn’t changed at all,” Steve continued before he could try to press. He turned, holding the shoe up so Tony could see his reflection gleaming in its shiny black surface. “I don’t know how much you know about me, but—”

“I would hope a bit more than the average person,” Tony mumbled, crossing his arms. He had no idea why he felt defensive. Steve didn’t seem mad. But he was also in here polishing Tony’s shoes, and he didn’t really know what to make of that.

Steve blinked at him placidly. “In the thirties,” he finally continued, once he was sure that Tony was finished. “Buck an’ I had an apartment together. I made money by shining shoes.”

“Oh,” Tony said again, feeling even more foolish. He didn’t know why he should, though. Steve struggled to tell him about his past sometimes, and it wasn’t like he’d ever seen ‘shoe shiner’ under the ‘previous occupation’ parts of his paperwork. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s soothing,” Steve added, bringing the shoe back down to his lap so he could go back to rubbing it with the cloth in his other hand. After a moment, he slanted Tony a concerned look. “Am I not doing it to your standards?”

“Doing?” Tony repeated, baffled, and then squawked, “How long have you been shining my shoes?!”

Steve blinked at him again, brows furrowing together in confusion. “Since I moved in with you, Tony.”

Tony had never felt so mortified in his life. Steve had been polishing his shoes for three months, and he’d never noticed. He found himself stepping forward and reaching for his shoe, trying to pull it from Steve’s hand. “You don’t have to—”

Steve smacked his hand away with the sole of the shoe and rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing it because I feel like I have to, Tony. I just told you. I like it. It’s soothing. Familiar,” he added, rubbing at the smudge Tony had left. “Like I said, leather hasn’t changed. And it’s… nice, that I can do something for you.” He offered Tony a wry smile. “Not many gifts I can get for the man who has everything, after all.”

Tony shifted back and forth on his feet for a moment. Steve had never lied to him before, so he really must enjoy doing it. He still felt a little uncomfortable, but he was beginning to realize it was because no one had ever really… cared to do something like that for him before. He opened his mouth to say so, to try and defend the way he’d been acting the past few minutes, but then decided to bite it back. He didn’t want to upset Steve when he seemed to be enjoying himself, and Steve had this habit of going from sad to angry on his behalf when he thought Tony hadn’t been treated right. He was still feeling very wrong-footed and he didn’t want to deal with it if this was a thing that pushed Steve’s ‘Tony’s been mistreated in every relationship he’s had’ button again.

“It’s… fine,” Tony finally answered, voice halting as he tried to find the proper response without revealing too much. “The quality, I mean. I haven’t noticed a difference, so, you’re just as good as the people I was using.”

Steve smiled, but he didn’t lift his gaze from the shoe in his hand, instead turning it so he could observe it from a different angle. “Well, that’s a relief. I have to admit, I did have JARVIS order a pair of shoes for me to practice on.”

Tony blinked, surprised. “Oh. Well, that explains why I suddenly had two pairs of Snowdons,” he said, turning to look at his display of shoes. He’d just figured he’d bought a second pair when he was mindlessly scrolling in bed, unable to sleep. It was a good-looking shoe. He wasn’t mad about it.

“Those are a pretty nice pair of shoes,” Steve said, nodding. He gave the shoe in his hand one last going over before he looked back up at him. “I was thinking about getting a pair myself, for when I have to go to these shindigs.”

Tony opened his mouth to tell him he would probably faint dead away at the price tag. He closed it again quickly, though. He decided he didn’t actually want to be there when Steve realized he’d casually spent a thousand dollars for a pair of shoes without asking. Instead, he finally stepped around him to go sit in the other chair, leaning back so he could watch Steve set the shoe aside and carefully take up the other one. “So, you used to shine shoes for a living, huh?”

Steve sort of grimaced, lifting his shoulders in an aborted shrug. “A living? Well…” He picked up a clean rag from his kit, using it to buff along the toe of the shoe. “It was money. Not as good as having a full-time job like Buck, but at least I was contributing.” The corner of his mouth tugged up into a wry smile. “Maybe if I’d been shinin’ shoes like this, I’d be able to call it a living. I was getting twenty cents a pair where I was. I heard on Wall Street, they charged forty-five cents.”

“And milk came in glass bottles to your house and you bought ice from a horse-drawn ice cart,” Tony grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest again as his mind automatically converted the numbers. So he was making six dollars for every pair of shoes he shined while others were making ten. He sagged petulantly in his seat and tried not to think about how unfair the world was to Steve. It was almost a century ago.

“We had a refrigerator, Tony,” Steve chided, but the wryness was gone from his smile when he looked back up at him in amusement.

Tony huffed at him, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t hear you mentioning the milk in glass bottles being delivered to your door.”

“I was lactose intolerant before the serum, Tony,” Steve deadpanned, and Tony couldn’t help but let out a bark of stunned laughter.

.-.

Tony didn’t want to say he forgot all about Steve shining his shoes. It was just that between events where he had to wear suits and loafers, he really just liked to skip shoes altogether, preferring slippers but donning sneakers if he needed to keep his feet safe in the lab. He was always painfully aware of it when he got home from an event and slipped them off, though. ‘Steve is going to clean these for me’ was always at the forefront of his mind as he forewent putting them away every time. He’d tried to put them in his closet since, but Steve had shrugged his effort off, and he’d come to realize that was part of Steve’s… ritual?

“I like doing these things for you,” Steve had said when he’d found him worrying over it again, and Tony still felt a warm squirminess in his gut every time he remembered how earnest Steve had been.

Still. It did make him feel awkward sometimes. Steve’s hobbies were all very hands-on, and he was particular about his tools. He’d only just recently let Tony start buying him paint. Tony had offered to pay for some of the polishing equipment, and Steve had just slanted him an unimpressed frown and said no. It had made Tony blush at the time for some reason. He was not going to examine why that was. Steve’s smirk when he realized Tony liked something was already dangerous. He wasn’t going to give him more ammunition.

Tony didn’t think he’d even make it out of his shoes this time, though. His board of directors meeting had run over, and he had the choice of sitting and dissociating with a sandwich or changing his clothes before the next one, shareholders or something; Pepper had reminded him as they’d parted, but he couldn’t remember after the drudgery of the first one. He’d decided he needed food more. His sandwich purported to be turkey and cheese, but it mostly tasted like exhaustion. He considered giving up eating to just stare blankly into space.

Then he felt a pair of hands carefully wrapping around his ankle and foot. His leg was being lifted. Tony blinked at his sandwich for a moment, but it didn’t hold any answers, so he reluctantly followed the length of his leg with his eyes. Steve had dragged a chair over to sit across from him and had lifted his foot to plant it against his thigh. Tony blinked again, taking another bite of his sandwich. When he saw Steve grabbing for a length of cloth, though, he managed, “I don’t have time to change shoes.”

“You don’t need to,” Steve replied easily, shifting his thigh until he liked the angle of Tony’s ankle. “I’m just doing a quick touch-up.” He adjusted his grip on the cloth, then gave it a sharp snap, and the crack of the fabric cutting the air drew Tony’s eyes down to it in shock. “Did someone step on your foot at the meeting? Rude.”

Tony looked at the scuff marks on the left toe of his shoe. They weren’t that bad. He doubted anyone at his next meeting would have even noticed. Still, Steve wanted to do this for him, and he was learning that it was okay to want that, so he let Steve begin moving the cloth back and forth vigorously to remove all the marks. After a moment, when he remembered that he’d been asked something, he added, “It was Pepper.”

Steve let out a huff, half amusement and half annoyance. “Well, I guess I can’t yell at her about not mussing up your shoes then, huh? She was probably keeping you from pissin’ someone off.”

Tony didn’t even bother with giving that an answer. Instead, he just watched Steve work, remembering every once in a while to take a bite of his sandwich. The scuff marks quickly disappeared under his careful attention, and Tony could swear he could feel the heat of Steve’s thigh through the red sole of his shoe. It was… nice. Having this little moment. Feeling cared for. And it helped to know that Steve wanted to do this for him. Tony tipped his head back for a moment, letting his eyes drift shut as Steve examined his reflection in the toe of his shoe. “Should have you take a look at my belts,” he murmured. Those saw a lot more use than his fancy dress shoes.

“I’ve been taking care of your belts,” Steve answered, steady and matter-of-fact, just like his movements. Tony blinked his eyes open again in shock to find Steve looking up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Anything in that closet that’s made of leather? I take care of it.”

Tony opened his mouth, but nothing came out. That Steve shined his shoes had been a shock, but at least they’d made sense, especially with the explanation of having done it in the forties. But his belts? Did he also mean the leather bands of his watches? It’d certainly explain why the leather cuffs they used in bed always looked sleek and shiny, he realized with a vague choking noise.

Steve leaned back in his seat, lips spreading into that smirk he always got when he made Tony speechless. He wrapped his hand around Tony’s ankle and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze, and it sent a thrum of heat through him. “Everything,” he drawled again, punctuating each syllable in a way that each one sent a punch of heat right into Tony’s gut.

“Why’d you say it like that,” Tony choked out, hoping he didn’t sound as aroused as he felt.

Steve’s grip on his ankle tightened before he dragged his fingers down to play with the laces of his shoe. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Tony?” he asked instead. He was still smirking at him.

Tony felt himself flushing against his will. “No,” he answered, fighting down the urge to squirm under his penetrating stare. Unfortunately, even to his own ears, he could hear the lie in his answer.

“Oh,” Steve said, disbelief dripping from the word even as he nodded in agreement. He very casually tossed his arm over the back of his seat, lounging in it in such a way that it made his jeans stretch attractively around his thighs. “So that riding crop I cleaned and oiled, that belongs to someone else?”

Tony opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He’d hidden the riding crop away when Steve had moved in. Telling him about it hadn’t even crossed his mind. Steve was more of a hands-on guy—he was more likely to use his palm to spank him rather than a tool like a riding crop. And he was so good at it, Tony never really felt the urge to ask for more.

Steve’s fingers caught one of the ends of his laces and pulled, and Tony watched as his shoe came untied as if in slow motion. His mouth went dry. He was vaguely aware of his sandwich falling out of his lax fingers and knew he’d probably be annoyed later. Right now, though, he was focused on Steve’s long, clever fingers picking his laces loose, being careful not to even touch the leather of his shoes with his fingernails.

“If you like leather toys, I can take care of those, too,” Steve continued, hooking his hand behind Tony’s ankle so he could grab the shoe with his other one and carefully pull it free of his foot. “Suede, too, if you like floggers. I can get the stains out and everything.”

“Steve,” Tony whispered, because he knew if he spoke, his voice would shake. He swallowed thickly. He’d never used a flogger before. Hadn’t trusted anyone to use it on him properly. But as Steve gently but firmly reached for his other foot to pull that shoe off too, he could image Steve with one in his hand, carefully using an eraser to smudge the stains off each piece of fabric, cleaning and caring for it just as perfectly as he did everything else Tony owned. “My meeting,” he tried, swallowing to try and wet his throat.

Steve slanted a glance up at him. He was still smirking. Tony swallowed again. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to make it to his next meeting. “I think you should help me break in my new harness. Gotta make sure it holds up to prolonged sweat.” He slid his hand up Tony’s calf, flicking his sock garter open easily. “And other fluids, I’m sure.”

“Like anything I produce is going to be the same as alien gore,” Tony said, trying to cut through the tension between them.

Steve’s smirk didn’t falter. “No, but it’s always nice to practice cleaning something… especially soiled.”

“…That’s not sexy,” Tony started. “‘Soiled’ isn’t a—”

“I’m gonna make you come so hard it gets on the harness. Fuck you so stupid you drool all over it, too,” Steve told him, stern and sure, in a way that rekindled the heat between them tenfold. He reached out to grab Tony’s tie and pull so he was forced to sit up more in his seat, eyes dark. “And then I’m gonna make you lick it clean. Really give myself a challenge to make it look good as new, as if I hadn’t fucked you raw wearin’ it.” He wrapped the tie around his hand, dragging Tony in closer, so he could breathe across his lips. “Would you like that, honey? You wanna help me break in my new harness?”

Tony whimpered, and part of him sincerely hoped he was awake to watch Steve clean the harness after they were… finished? With it? Something about the meticulous focus he had when he did it made something simmer hot in his belly, especially if Tony was still wearing whatever he was cleaning. “My meeting,” he tried helplessly.

“You knew you weren’t gonna make it to that meeting as soon as I put your foot on my thigh,” Steve said, voice pitched low and dark, and Tony hoped that JARVIS would make reasonable excuses for him.

[eurydicees]

8?? (i hope you get motivated to write some of these or at least have a fun time thinking about them!!)

[wip amnesty ask game details] 

thank you so much!! it has actually been really fun to think through these wips in a way that i haven't been able to think them through--something about putting the descriptions of them into a tumblr post that other people can read and understand has been really helpful in trying to figure out how to look at the projects with fresh eyes.

anyways, wip #8, aka that goddamn thing about cages that i’ve been trying to write for *checks notes* three years, has been HAUNTING ME for three fucking years. actually no that’s not even true it’s been haunting me for four years, now that i’m looking at the original document history. fucking nightmare. i can’t get it to a place where i’m happy with what i’m doing, so it just sits in my drafts and HAUNTS ME. 

it started as a skts fic actually, and that turned into an original work, and that turned into poetry, and that turned back into a skts fic, and that turned back into poetry. i’m so miserable. i can’t figure out how to make it work how i want it to work, or how to make it say what i’m trying to say with it. 

it’s trying to be a study on neurodivergency, autonomy, growing up, falling in love, and learning to let yourself be loved. it’s a lot of themes that i’m really excited about exploring but that i can’t quite nail down into a cohesive narrative or cohesive book of poems. something about it just hasn’t worked for four years and i Do Not Know Why.

putting a snippet from the original skts draft under the cut because i AM proud of parts of this fic, i just…want it to be MORE. and i’m #struggling to get there. 

“So,” Atsumu says, leaning against his locker and crossing his arms. He has a towel around his neck and he’s not wearing a shirt. Kiyoomi refuses to look at him. Atsumu, though, keeps his gaze hot on Kiyoomi’s turned away face. “Are we going to talk about what that reporter said?” 

“No,” Kiyoomi says. He slams his own locker closed, turning away from Atsumu to take off his sneakers and put his street shoes on. “It’s nothing. He was just saying things.” 

Atsumu scoffs. “Didn’t sound like nothing.” 

“It’s nothing.” Kiyoomi finishes tying one shoe, and moves on to the other. He’s twenty four years old and he is not going to scream because the laces aren’t tight enough and it itches. His hands are not trembling. 

“It—” 

“I said it’s nothing!” Kiyoomi yells. “Let it fucking go, Miya.” 

Atsumu goes quiet for a moment, and Kiyoomi feels no guilt. Then, “If I tell you a secret, will you tell me one of yours?” 

Kiyoomi freezes. He stares at his shoelaces for a long moment, counting his breaths. In, out. In, out. Then, slowly, he stands up, straightening his back, and turns towards Atsumu, eyes still downcast. He knows what Atsumu is looking for at this moment. It’s just that Kiyoomi knows that what he doesn’t want to say out loud is the same thing as what Atsumu wants to hear. 

But Kiyoomi, despite himself, almost wants to tell Atsumu. He almost wants to hand Atsumu all of the broken puzzle pieces that make up his body and ask Atsumu to solve them. He almost wants to tell Atsumu the diagnosis he’s kept secret since he was sixteen and falling apart. He almost wants to admit to this integral piece of his own identity, the one he’s distanced himself from as much as has been possible. 

“Only if you go first,” Kiyoomi says. It’s quiet, but strong willed. He’s not giving in until Atsumu does: this is the push/pull of their game. This is how they have always needed each other: with unwavering wanting. “Then I’ll consider it.” 

Atsumu is silent. Kiyoomi looks up from his own hands, meeting Atsumu’s gaze. There’s something fiery there, something proud and bold that Kiyoomi has always envied. Even when they were high schoolers, Atsumu has always known exactly who he is and where he’s going. 

Kiyoomi has never had that sense of identity, not really. Sometimes he doesn’t even recognize his own body as himself. Everyone is a threat that he is afraid of because, if he lets his guard down for one moment, they will overtake him. He is an empty space, and if he lets other people’s words and skills and emotions in, he will disappear entirely. 

He’s expecting Atsumu to back out and pretend that he had never offered up this game in the first place. It almost seems like he’s going to, for a moment. 

Then, with a strength and a will that Kiyoomi doesn’t have yet, Atsumu says, “I’m gay.” 

Kiyoomi stares at him for a long moment. “Oh.” 

“Your turn,” Atsumu says, his words still bold. He doesn’t seem to care what Kiyoomi thinks of him. He doesn’t seem to be looking for any particular reaction, any particular acceptance. “I told you my secret, now you tell me yours.” 

“You already know it,” Kiyoomi says, keeping his voice even. Impartial. “You heard that reporter. Everyone knows it by now.” 

Atsumu shakes his head, straightening up and uncrossing his arms. He tugs at his fingers, still staring straight at Kiyoomi. “I want to hear it from you. I want you to choose to tell me.” 

“This doesn’t feel like a choice,” Kiyoomi tells him, but there’s no bite to the words. 

Atsumu licks his lips, his eyes flicking from Kiyoomi to the lockers to the bench to Kiyoomi again. “I can make my own assumptions about what the reporter said, or you can tell me yourself. Make it yours, Kiyoomi.” 

Kiyoomi hates that logic. He hates even more that he understands what Atsumu is really saying: take this back into your own hands, make it something proud, make it something you own. 

He exhales, long and silent, releasing every ounce of shame from his chest. He tells his secret.