#and then come back to post one drawing like nothing. and then disappear again.

[jamtamart]

please nobody follow me for any specific niche my only through line when i post is Art . alright . i will never stick to a fandom . i dont have the strength . all i know is drawing my silly little pictures and getting emotionally attached to made up guys

[another-lost-mc]

When They Say "F*ck Lucifer" (& Think MC Takes It Literally) Headcanons | THE DEMON BROTHERS 2.6k words | NSFW | gn!Reader | Crack Treated Seriously Content warnings: Cursing, implied relationships, pet names, jealous/possessive behaviour, misunderstandings and poor communication, demon form mentioned (Satan), suggestive content.

BELPHEGOR

"Belphie, it's time for dinner!" Lucifer sent you to find him, and when he wasn't napping in your bed, you knew where to check next.

He mumbles something into his pillow and you can't make out the words, but you know he's listening. "It's the third night this week you've skipped eating dinner with the family. Come on, you know how Lucifer is."

Belphie turns his head towards you enough so that you can hear him more clearly. "Oh, fuck Lucifer." He rolls over and starts snoring again, and you stomp back down the attic stairs in frustration.

When you join the others for dinner, you jab your fork into your food with more force than necessary. You're halfway done your meal when Belphie suddenly plops down into the empty chair beside yours. He reaches for your free hand and leans against your shoulder.

"Belphie?" you ask him curiously, but he says nothing. He doesn't eat anything either. He tries to cuddle even closer to you instead, and he shoots glares at his older brother sitting at the head of the table.

It takes you longer to eat than normal with one of your hands firmly tucked in Belphie's grip. As soon as you finish your dinner, he pulls you away from the table and back up to the attic. He curls around you for the rest of the night like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't.

He doesn't skip any more meals for the rest of the week.

BEELZEBUB

You have one hand stretched out in front of you, pressed firmly against Beel's chest. The other is holding a container of sweets behind your back.

"No, you can't have these," you remind Beel for the hundredth time. "They're for tomorrow, remember?"

But Beel's only half-paying attention to you. His focus is latched onto the container in your hand, and if he wasn't worried about hurting you by accident, he'd simply take it from you.

"It's not fair," his low voice rumbles thickly, and there's drool leaking from the corner of his mouth now. "I'm starving!"

You shake your head and look around for something else to tempt Beel with instead. "Lucifer bought these for Diavolo, and we're taking them to the tea party tomorrow."

"Fuck Lucifer," Beel growls, and it's the loudest and angriest he's sounded yet. You both look startled by the outburst; your hand slips away from holding him back, and his jaw drops open when he realizes what he said to you.

You hold the container tightly against your chest. He could easily take it from you now, but he surprises you when he doesn't. His eyes are fixed solely on your face, as if the thing he wanted moments ago is completely irrelevant. He holds his arms out like he's trying to block you from leaving the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'll look for something else to eat, but please, don't go."

ASMODEUS

"Are you sure you should post that?" you ask, glancing over Asmo's shoulder as he types another inflammatory reply on Devilgram.

"Of course!" he exclaims. "You read their comment. ‘Pretentious and gaudy?’ MY clothing line?! No, I won’t stand for it.”

He’s typing quickly and you’re not exactly sure what his Devildom insult is supposed to mean, but you imagine it’s not very nice by the way Asmo cackles when he hits Send.

“I don’t want to be that person,” you start nervously while Asmo scrolls through the other comments on his post, “but maybe you should ignore them? All this back and forth is drawing a lot of negative attention to your Devilgram feed.”

Asmo pauses what he's doing and looks at you suspiciously. “Who told you that?”

You bite your lip and look away. “Lucifer asked me to talk to you about it.” When Asmo rolls his eyes, you throw your hands up. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Aren’t you worried this little spat might impact your new launch?”

Asmo jabs his D.D.D. in your direction. “He’s only worried about drama if it involves someone close to Diavolo.” He runs his hand through his hair and looks down at his phone screen again. “Fuck him. If Lucifer cares that much, he can come talk to me himself.”

“Ugh!” You stand up with a huff and head towards the door. You tried to talk to him and it’s obvious he’s not going to listen. You hope Lucifer believes you later when you tell him you tried to get Asmo to see reason.

When you reach for the door handle, you’re surprised when Asmo suddenly blocks your way. Sometimes you forget how fast demons can move.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says seriously. His housecoat falls open slightly when he leans towards you, and his expression isn't angry but dead-serious.

“Didn’t mean what?” you ask confusedly.

“Fucking my brother. Don’t do it.” His hands grasp your shoulders and you can’t help but laugh.

“I wasn’t going to? I was going to go back to my room while you carry on with your…” you trail off, gesturing to his abandoned D.D.D. on the bed, “…little feud.”

He steers you back towards his bed. “If you want to relax, then I insist you stay here instead. My room is much more comfortable than yours. Besides, I just thought of something you can help me with.”

You sit on the edge of the bed and smile up at him. “Like apologizing to that poor demon lord you keep picking fights with?”

Asmo winks at you with a hint of a smirk, and he tugs at the belt holding his housecoat closed. “Maybe we can do that after.”

SATAN

Satan walks around the narrow pathways in his room, avoiding the fragile stacks of books that litter his floor. You sit on his bed and watch him anxiously, giving him the patience and time he needs to tell you what's bothering him. You're careful to give him space when he's in one of these moods; it was one of the stipulations you agreed to before he let you inside earlier.

"So, you were in the garden earlier with some of the stray cats, and Lucifer did...what, exactly?" You've been trying to piece together what happened between Satan and his brother earlier, but it's hard to make sense of his grumbled and disjointed complaints.

"He scared them away," Satan bites out angrily. "I wasn't even feeding them treats. I sprinkled some catnip for them. What's the problem with that?"

You know Lucifer complains about the stray cats that flock to the House of Lamentation if Satan feeds them when he's not supposed to. You know that Lucifer isn't a fan of cats in general. But, you also know that Lucifer wouldn't purposefully hurt any of the cats that make their way into the garden, and he's not usually this petty.

"Is it possible he thought you were feeding them? I don't think he would make such a big fuss if he knew you were only giving them catnip." Satan glances at you and you can tell he's not convinced by your explanation. "What if I go with you to talk to him?"

"Fuck him," Satan snarls as he keeps pacing in front of you, fists clenching open and closed at his sides.

Sigh. Maybe you can talk to Lucifer on your own. Things have been peaceful between them lately, and this is such a silly thing for them to be at odds over.

Satan watches you stand up from his bed with a defeated sigh. When you try to shuffle past him, he wraps his arms around you from behind and pulls you against his chest. There's a wave of warm energy around you, and you feel the familiar feathers of his true form against your back.

"You're not going to leave me to see him, are you?" his rough voice grates against your neck. "You should stay here."

"Tomorrow we're going to sort this out together," you tell him when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

His hands on your hips tighten. "Fine. But tonight, you're mine."

LEVIATHAN

"I think there's something wrong with your Akuzon account."

Levi asked you to pre-order the Dogi Maji anniversary bundle on his tablet, but the Submit Order button is greyed out every time you try to purchase it for him.

"Huh?" Levi spins around at his desk. He was doing some dungeons with his guild and you've been waiting for him to finish so you could watch anime together.

You tap the screen a few more times and shrug. "I don't know, it won't let me order anything."

Levi opens the Akuzon site on his second monitor and he sputters when he realizes what the problem is. "Lucifer put parental controls on the account again! Why would he do that?"

Of course. You knew Lucifer was upset at Levi for what happened earlier this week, and somehow his threat of punishment completely slipped your mind. "Well, you did summon Lotan on the RAD campus again..." you offer hesitantly.

"That wasn't my fault!" Levi argues loudly. He wilts a bit under your skeptical stare. "Okay, it wasn't completely my fault. Mammon took my rare Ruri-chan capsule figurine and wouldn't give it back."

You rub the back of your neck. You want to be sympathetic, you really do, but you can't necessarily blame Lucifer for his reaction either - an entire floor of the building was unusable due to the flooding.

"You know how Lucifer is, he'll change it back in a few days and we can order the game then."

"But what if it sells out before then?!" he shouts in frustration. "Fuck Lucifer!"

Levi rarely raises his voice like this to you, and he deflates immediately after his little outburst. "Wait–wait–wait!" he stammers quickly, launching himself out of his computer chair and into the empty seat beside you on the sofa. He holds your hands in his and squeezes so tightly that you wince. "I didn't mean that," he says imploringly, and his eyes dart around your face like he's nervous you don't believe him.

You mistakenly assume he's trying to apologize for getting so angry, and you pull him into a hug. "I know," and he nods against your shoulder. "What if I go to Purgatory Hall and order the game using Solomon's account instead?"

Levi sniffles and practically drags you into his lap. "Maybe later," he mumbles against your chest, the game temporarily shoved aside so he can keep you to himself instead. "What do you want to watch first?"

MAMMON

You flick on the light switch in Mammon's room and glare at him in annoyance. You warned him last night not to stay too late at the casino, and here he is, sleeping well past his alarm. At some point he chucked his D.D.D. across the room and promptly went back to sleep.

Great, now you're both going to be late, but for some reason, Lucifer seems to think herding Mammon to class is your responsibility. Lover's perks, you guess sarcastically as you stomp over to where the Avatar of Greed is snoring under a pile of blankets. One of his feet is dangling over the edge of the bed, and if you had more time, maybe slow, torturous tickles would teach him a lesson. For now, you grab the edge of his blankets and rip them off him in one smooth motion.

His eyes are still closed while his hands search blindly for the blankets that are on the floor by your feet. He's only in his boxers so the sudden gust of cool air against his skin makes him shudder. You feel a bit of petty satisfaction as you kick the blankets away for good measure.

"'m tired, goin' back to sleep, babe," he mumbles sleepily.

Well, at least he knows it's you, even if he is half-asleep.

"We're going to be so late for class, and Lucifer's going to kill me. Or you. Or both of us!" You wonder why Lucifer would send you to wake up Mammon, when his own threats of dangling him from the ceiling would probably be more effective. You guess waking Mammon up is meant to be your punishment for choosing to be with him of all demons in the first place.

Mammon groans and rolls over so you can't see him, but you can tell he's half-buried in his pillow when he grumbles, "Fuck 'em."

You throw up your hands and spin on your heel. "Fine, be that way," you snap. Your mood's already sour, and Lucifer's pestering and Mammon being himself isn't helping.

You should have enough time to grab something to eat and make it to class on time if you leave now. What you don't expect is for Mammon to not only get out of bed, but to somehow make it to the doorway before you do.

Damn, he's fast.

He's panting heavily and his eyes are clear now, his razor-sharp focus trained on you. You bump into his bare chest because you don't expect him to block your path. You open your mouth to ask what he's doing, but he leans forward and gives you a sloppy kiss instead. There's something almost desperate in the way his hands cradle your jaw and he drags his lips away from your mouth and dusts your cheeks and brow with feathery-soft kisses too.

"'m sorry," he mumbles, pulling you against him in a tight hug, "Wait for me while I get ready, yeah? Just, don’t–don’t leave. I’ll make it up to ya later, promise.”

LUCIFER

Lucifer pauses outside your bedroom door when he realizes you're speaking to someone on the phone. His brothers are all studying in their rooms - or they should be, same as you. He wonders who could possibly be so interesting that you're ignoring your studies to talk to them instead.

He assumes it's Solomon or Simeon, and he can't decide which of those two options is worse. Not that he cares, of course.

Even through the door, he can hear you clearly. He feels the slightest sense of guilt when he recognizes the tired, sad tone in your voice. Some of his brothers failed the last set of exams, and perhaps he was too strict with you considering your own scores were satisfactory - excellent even, in some classes. He knows that you've been ignoring your extracurriculars and hobbies to focus on studying so you don't disappoint him like his siblings do.

He catches the tail-end of your conversation and decides it's definitely Solomon on the other line if you're being invited to human world outings.

"...yeah, I heard that movie is in theatres now too. I think it looks good, but I'm too busy with–look, maybe once exams are over we can go see it, okay? I think Satan might like to see it too...uh huh...alright, you too. G'night."

Silence follows, and before Lucifer can knock on your door, he hears you sigh and mutter quietly, "Ugh, these stupid exams. Fuck Lucifer."

Well, there's a thought, isn't it? He was going to offer to take you to Madam Scream's to pick up some of those cupcakes you like. He considers it for only a split second and decides he likes your idea even more. His lips curl into a feral smirk, and he knocks once before letting himself inside.

"Huh? Oh, hi, Lucifer. I'm just going to..." but your voice tapers off. Whatever you were going to say dies in your throat when he leans against your door and slides the lock into place.

"I missed you," he murmurs, a surprisingly honest (and to you, completely random) confession that causes your cheeks to darken slightly. You swallow thickly and stare when he brings his hand to his mouth and pulls his glove off with his fucking teeth. "I think you deserve a little reward for all your hard work, hm?"

[i-arch-my-backula]

Horror characters with an s/o who's love language is biting

So I'm sorry for barely posting anything in forever I've just been in a bit of a funk for awhile. Anyway @k1nn1e-0n-ma1n was super insistent I write this so shout out to him and his Bo Sinclair brain rot. This also was slightly inspired by @osirisisv RZ Michael Myers drawing.

Includes: Bo Sinclair, RZ Michael Myers, Otis Driftwood, and Doomhead

Warnings: Violence kind of, Bo and Otis being a perverts kind of

Bo Sinclair

Lester was a biter as a child and Bo has a very high pain tolerance so you biting him doesn't hurt it just surprises him. He honestly didn't know what you did until he looked over and saw you biting his hand.

"The fuck are ya doin'?" He'll ask verbatim. He's not mad, he's just confused as to why at 5:47 on a Tuesday during him watching reruns of some 80's show you decided to bite him.

When you say it's a love language he immediately thinks it's a sex thing. You will quickly shut that down and he'll get a little less excited.

"I still don't understand why ya did that darlin." He'll say before pulling you either on top of him or underneath him and just holding you so you can't bite him again.

On occasion he'll let you bite him again, but if you do it when he doesn't want you too he'll storm off to wherever and ignore you until you make it up to him.

RZ Michael Myers

He has a very high pain tolerance but when he feels you biting him he'll immediately push you off of him or put you in a headlock. He won't let you out either unless you beg him.

He is very confused as to why you bit him, because to his understanding you're not supposed to hurt the people you love.

He's going to probably disappear for a few days to think this over, and because he doesn't want you to bite him again for a little bit. But he'll come back more understanding.

You can bite him, but only when he's prepared and you're willing to 'play fight' because let's be honest, play fighting with Michael is basically him thinking he's playing and you fighting for you life. Could put you in head lock again.

He honestly might just roll up his sleeve and indirectly ask you to bite him. But this will happen after a lot of talking about how biting him means you're not trying to hurt him you just love him.

Otis Driftwood

"Did you just fucking bite me?" He asks you. And honestly no matter where you bite him it's a bad idea because he would taste like cigarettes, blood, and dirt.

Will be mad until you explain you do it because you love him and he'll laugh. Will also think it's a sex thing but you quickly shut that down. He's a little disappointed but doesn't mind too awfully much.

He doesn't mind as long as you give him a proper warning before you do it. If you catch him off guard he'll honestly pull his arm or whatever part of him you bit and leave you alone for a few hours at the least

Because he's a little freak he'll ask you to try and bite him harder than you normally do it to see how much pain he can handle. You can probably draw blood before he tells you to stop.

Overtime he learns to love it and honestly doesn't mind too much anymore. If a victim tries to or actually bites him he'll laugh and tell you about it later. "Don't worry honey, they weren't as good as you."

Doomhead

He’s not exactly lucid all the time so he might not realize you’re biting him at first. When he does realize it he pulls his hand away and laughs about it. "Do I taste good to you or something sweetheart?"

Will tease you about it non-stop. Brings it up all the time even if there's nothing to do with it currently. He'll have a hard time understanding that you're doing it "out of love".

He might honestly buy you a dog chew toy as a joke if you bite him often enough. Or like one of those baby teething toys. He will laugh so hard about it, especially if you get embarrassed about it.

That's not to say he doesn't like when you bite him. He can find the repetitive feeling calming and it honestly might make him feel more lucid at times. But he'd never ask you to do it. He might gives you hints though

[genshin-scenarios]

spiderverse continued: you’re a sunflower—! 🌻

Summary: As requested, here are the continuations to my previous Spiderverse post here!

Characters: Kinich, Heizou, Tighnari-Cyno, Venti, Wriothesley, Lyney

Warnings: Mild depictions of a panic attack for Wriothesley. Major character death in Lyney ‘bad end’ option (there is also a good end so don't worry!)

Kinich

When interdimensional rifts start to appear in Kinich’s world, he's not-so-proud to admit it made him a little hopeful that instead of an abyssal monster, it'd be you that falls out instead.

His wish is granted—somewhat, when he sees you. Not spiderman-you, but the version of you from his world who he's never met before.

You tell him you’re a test subject from a governmental organisation who got lost in the rifts many years ago (they were researching multi-dimensions). 

That at least explained why Kinich couldn't find traces of a ‘you’ from his dimension before (he was totally not pining and definitely wasn't disappointed when his searches came up empty)

Other than his one-sided attachment however, Kinich did have a practical reason for staying in contact with you. You seem to have gained abyssal powers from staying in the rifts for so long, and you're a crucial key to figuring out how to close them for good.

At the end of your first cooperation, Kinich drops a line that he wished he could've said to the other-you: at the core of the sentiment, he was truly just afraid you’d disappear back into the rifts and never meet again. 

“Come to me if you have any problems. For you, I'll do anything.”

You stay quiet, giving him a small smile before disappearing to your hideout. Considering how you were just a lost test subject, you weren't very keen on going back to the organisation that used to own you… but more baffling are the flashbacks that keep entering your mind—memories from spider-you in bittersweet, rose-coloured lenses. 

It wasn't uncommon for you to witness the memories of your other-dimensional selves, but ever since returning to your original world, this spider-version’s memories have been invading your mind.

Kinich knows you aren't the same person, but he does feel a soft spot for you nevertheless. As time goes on, he’ll notice similarities and differences between this-you and spider-you. 

Is it possible to fall for the same person twice? It seems that no matter which version, Kinich's drawn like a moth to a flame (clearly, he has a type. Or perhaps there's some element about being soulmates that'll better explain this). He’ll earn your trust slowly and get to know the current-you as an individual, and pay the price for loving you twice by convincing you that he's seeing the real you, instead of an imagined spider-other. 

The first time you truly let your guard down is when he's tending to animals in the nature reserve—his serious face while carrying a very cure hippo calf in his arms was truly a sight to behold:

“What is it?” “Nothing—I just never thought an animal could look so cute.”

Kinich thinks for a moment about how cute the sanctuary's animals might be. You guys had hit a roadblock in your plans and needed a way to divert police forces away from the Abyss-monsters. He tells you his idea. Your jaw drops. 

"We are NOT using the animals as bait!” "They aren't bait, we're just... letting them loose."

In the city. To divert traffic.

"I can already see the headlines,” you cross your arms. “Spiderman endangers animals - menace or hero?"

Kinich thinks to himself that he wouldn't mind being a menace, if it'll draw this expressive of a reaction from you.

Heizou

It isn't uncommon for Heizou to rescue you as Spiderman, particularly when he's late for a meeting and was swinging to avoid traffic, or when there's a villain on the loose.

“Late for a meeting, Reporter?” He asks as he swings the both of you between office towers, knowing full-well that the meeting in question was with him. Heizou is also not above small-talk as he asks you about the famous detective you're dating, and what you like about him:

“I feel like this is a little bit too personal, even if you've saved my life.” You raise your brow. “But if you must know, Detective Heizou has many charming traits, down to his impressive intellect and close-combat abilities. I'd say he can even give you a run for your money.”

You'd never say something so grandiose to his civilian-self. “Do you boast about him to everyone, or is it just your way of letting me know you're taken?”

“What do you think, Spiderman?”

Heizou thinks he should buy you flowers more often for being his number one spokesperson, but you’ll only chide him for buying too many things for you.

“Another gift?” You blink in surprise, accepting the box from Heizou. “I'm starting to wonder just how much you earn as a detective. Maybe I should switch careers.”

“I’ll have you know that I only buy things with sentimental value.” His eyes glimmer as he watches for your reaction. Your gaze widens when you see the necklace that shines with the same green shade as his eyes. It doubles as a safety beacon that'd send him your location if you pressed it in an emergency—thoughtful as he always is. 

“Anyways, could you help me make out these words? The handwriting is horrible.” He passes a notebook to you. Fully ready to help with the task, you're caught completely off-guard by details to a restaurant, finished by a not-so-subtle ‘date?’

“Heizou… you're already my boyfriend, are the pickup lines really–” “What does it say?” “...Would the beautiful person sitting across me like to go on a date.” “You didn't read out where, but I suppose I'm not picky about blindly following you.” “Heizou.” “You can even blindfold me if you'd like~”

Tighnari-Cyno

Remember the thank-you kiss on the cheek you gave to Vulpes? Yeah… That innocent gesture has somehow ended up in the tabloids, and you've been badgered by reporters who want to know if you're connected to the Spidermen ever since!

It gets to a point where Tighnari and Cyno have started to escort you in public areas just to try and give you some peace of mind—meanwhile, Tighnari might be beating himself up a little for causing you trouble. Sure, neither of you knew some sleuthing reporter could’ve witnessed it, but the damage is done.

“Maybe you should try to prove to the public that nothing is going on.” Tighnari numbly suggests. “Vulpes should've seen the newspapers by now. If he has any conscience as a hero, he should at least put it on the record that you don't know each other and get the media off your back.”

“I agree. If this continues, you could be in danger of being targeted by worse people.” Cyno says. “I believe that the superheroes patrol every now and then, so you could just leave a message somewhere discreet but visible from the sky.”

That was the plan, until a villain got to you and kidnapped you first. At this point you aren't even sure if you should laugh or cry at your luck—as the situation unfolds, both you and the Superheroes realise that the villain had a deluded image of your relationship (he read too many tabloids and thinks you're dating Vulpes). One thing leads to another, and when the villain finally has Vulpes trapped, you play the last card that comes to mind—unmasking the bottom half of Lupus’ face and kissing him right in front of them.

The shock gave Vulpes just enough time to break out of his binds and take down the villain, but not without returning to you and Lupus with his ears red (not visible but you definitely could tell from his voice) and clutching his forehead.

The clarification with the media was well-thought out and sufficed to bring your daily life back to normal, but your daily life with Tighnari and Cyno? A whole other story. The entire fiasco and theories about you dating their hero-selves has made the two a lot more conscious about their crushes on you—which somehow manifested into a lot of trouble!

Cyno can't believe that you gave him your first kiss without even knowing it's him. And Tighnari, well… let's just say that Lupus is going to have a very hard time during their next patrol. (Love and peace will come when your polytrio starts dating as civilians. Being committed makes them less petty)

Venti

“Guess who!” 

“Who else would be able to break into my room?” You muse, removing the hands which have covered your eyes, accompanied by a melodic hum. “Don't tell me you're here for open-night mic at the teahouse?”

“Hmm… that would be a nice idea, but it's actually because I have something to show you.” Venti smiles. “Care to go for a swing?”

Even before becoming Spiderman, Venti always had a penchant for high-up places as hideouts for writing music. What you don't expect however is for him to have found a similar spot in Liyue—with a view so beautiful during the sunset that he just had to bring you to it, regardless of how tired he must be from travelling to your city alone.

Things get a easier when you gain access to a waypoint device and registered Mondstadt as one of your destinations. It's your turn to crash in Venti's room while he goes on patrol, waiting for him to come back while you keep an eye on his navigation and police radio.

When he encounters a villain who you've only heard of as a rumour before, you're quick to don your own uniform, send a distress signal to your teammates, and join the fight yourself. 

There's a certain level of trust required to work together in such a high-speed environment, but the two of you make-do with your earpieces and manage to take the villain down. This is the first time Venti’s meeting your teammates, and is surprised to hear that they've heard about him before—not as Spiderman, but ‘that one cutie’ from your home-city that you’re ‘crazy about’.

Suffice to say you turned to violent threats very quickly to silence them and save your dignity, but the moment Venti heard the word ‘cute’ it was over—he manages to trap you in Mondstadt for now while your teammates send the villain back to headquarters, waving the both of you cheerily goodbye as Venti, still suited, keeps an arm around your shoulders. 

When you've retreated to the safety of his room and settled for the night, right as you thought that maybe the comment has escaped his mind—Venti peers up from his laid-down position on his stomach, at you who's sitting up and reading on your phone.

“So, there's this hometown sweetheart you have a crush on-?”

You have a feeling that he might begin a hunt if you dared to joke that it isn't him you were yapping about. And while you know that Venti wouldn't hurt anyone—it's somehow hard not to feel like you're in danger when his eyes are glimmering knowingly like that. (You feel the skip of a heart—your heart, to be exact.)

Wriothesley

Things get bad when you—a renowned detective—are framed for a crime you didn't commit. 

It's normally you bailing Wriothesley out of trouble with corporations and the media, after all, not the other way around. So when you sneak into his hideout with a cloak and looking worse for wear, Wriothesley knows that this isn't like the past times a villain is targeting you—whoever is on your case now is out for something important, and you'll both have to figure out what it is before it's too late.

Most of this adventure involves you living undercover as a regular civilian rather than your usual, detective self. It's almost domestic as you befriend the coworkers in Wriothesley's underground business, and become known as just another reporter who wants to ‘find out the truth’ about your detective-self's scandal.

People underestimate you because you've been pretending to be helpless in combat, letting Wriothesley take charge—allowing you to pretend you've been knocked out and do some sleuthing of your own at some point. But when all of that is done, Wriothesley has to hide a chuckle when you throw yourself back into character:

“Oh, thank god you're back! I don't know what I would've done if you didn't come in time!”  “I can still see your weapon in your coat.”  “Ah… And just where are you looking, Mr Wriothesley? My eyes are up here.”

The two of you are so unserious sometimes that it annoys your opponents, to be honest. But when things take a serious, darker turn, you're both faced with the reminders of your past staring back at you.

Suddenly, all the bravado in your body bleeds away, leaving a gaping hole in your chest that’s wide with panic. It's suddenly hard to breathe, but before you can devolve any further, you’re anchored by a grip on your shoulder which draws you into a firm chest. 

Even suited, you can still feel Wriothesley’s body heat and the loud thumps of his heart. Whether it be from fighting or seeing the same fears as you, you buried your head in his embrace nonetheless—pretending for a second that the world has slowed down.

Even the greatest of detectives may one day face a truth they cannot handle alone. Who would've thought that the thing which’ll comfort you is akin to a spider, which scatters out from the same shadow?

Lyney

I've already written some additional thoughts about Lyney here and here, so in this post I'll write a sort of ‘how it ends’ situation!

Like the theme suggests, this is how Lyney knowing your identity might end for the both of you…

A common enemy appears in the form of a mad scientist obsessed with abyssal technology, who's summoned a monster from the depths of the ocean (the narwhal).

There's a long-winded investigation from both you and the House of Hearth (the Fatui may be antagonistic, but they don't want to destroy their home) which finally collides when you run into the Phantom Twins at a very suspicious site. From there on, the twins have been cooperating with Spiderman to find the source of the unnatural floods around the city, and even helped out with evacuations.

Your impression of the Phantom Twins soften when you witness Lyney push himself too much whilst saving bystanders, ending up with a sprained leg. You offer to carry him back to the meeting point, which he vehemently refuses via evasive remarks, before your insistence makes him falter.

…Ah, how was he supposed to avoid you like this? You're just too heroic for your own good.

You're surprised by how light he is, which he takes slightly in offence. But more importantly—he's burning up! Having built up a fever from working night after night and not getting enough rest, you hand the masked fatuus to his sister and tell her to make sure he gets some rest. (You know it's bad when he's not as annoying as usual)

Lyney is mortified when you hear about his absence (due to illness) at school and asked Lynette if you could visit to pass him class notes. At this point Lynette doesn't know you're Spiderman but does know about Lyney’s huge crush, so she agrees and even says you can hang around and try to cheer him up, since he's been moping lately (mostly because he can't join on missions for now, but civilian-you doesn't know that.)

He can't decide if he's elated, embarrassed, concerned (or a jumble of all the above) when you step into his room, notes from class and snacks in hand. His injured leg is hidden beneath his blanket covers. Lynette quickly disappears after giving him a thumbs up, leaving the two of you alone. It's your first time seeing Lyney so tired, but the softness that he always holds towards you remains nonetheless. Your thoughts even wander back to when you encountered him as Spiderman for the first time and noticed an oddness in his attitude—something cold in his eyes despite his warm tone and smile.

It's leagues away from the normal Lyney that speaks to you or anyone else at school. But a couple of months later, you run into him as Spiderman again and notice that the coldness is no longer there.

Strange. Perhaps it’s just distrust towards you when you were still a new superhero? The press hasn't exactly been kind with their criticisms, so you can see why some people might be wary about you.

But still, something about that encounter versus his usual self still lingers in your mind, and you realise after a while that it's because you care whether or not he likes you.

But that's ridiculous. You're just friends, right?

Bad end, warning for major character death: by the time you realise that Lyney isn't just a friend, he's already sacrificed himself in the fight against the narwhal, only to reveal his identity at the very end as he tells you to protect his siblings and the city. “Under regular circumstances, I'd very much prefer to be alive and do it myself—but there are some things that only superheroes can do. So make sure not to break my heart by wasting my sacrifice, alright?” Do I now feel more like a hero, to you?

Good end: in a critical moment, Lyney tries to sacrifice himself but you jump in the way. In his panic, he calls out your real name, just as backup arrives from Lynette and Freminet.

“You… How did you know?” 

It hurts that you're looking at Lyney with such terror, with a guarded clench in your jaw as you pick up a random weapon in an effort to steel yourself. “Answer me now, before—”

“Please don't be too mad,” Lyney raises his palms, finally coming clean. You eyes widen as he slides his own mask off, wincing from the injury on his leg which has reopened during the fight. “I didn't say anything because I knew the city needed you.” Then, a pause. “...And it's a little complicated when you learn that the person you like has also been your alter-ego’s rival.”

With a weak smile, Lyney has the nerve to pick out an item from his cloak pocket and fold it into a little rose. He gives it to you like a delicate piece offering, before retracting and giving you space. Before you can start to piece together a response, he’s fled the scene with his siblings—who judging from their shock earlier, also did not know about Lyney’s knowledge until this moment.

You can only hope that the three of them keep their mouths shut. But despite all the practical issues and feelings of betrayal coiling in your chest—why was Lyney’s expression still lingering on your mind?

He smiled at you like he was afraid of how you'd react.

…Did your feelings really matter to him so much?

[darkcircles4lyfe]

I've given it some thought--

Now, if you've read any of my posts and you've read 430, you know there are a lot of ways it falls short of what I wanted. On the other hand, I can respect an open ending, one where we are allowed and encouraged to dream. All things considered, I'm not satisfied or disappointed, but a secret third thing... bear with me.

For a lot of storylines, I can fill in the blanks how I want.

I'm heartbroken over Himiko's fate, but there's no denying that the lack of camera footage leaves open the possibility of her simply disappearing. Perhaps she is waiting in hiding for the world to change, just like Lady Nagant.

Dr. Yoshida is described as someone who can cure the incurable. That may be referring to Katsuki, but the doctor himself said it's a complete mystery how he survived, all Katsuki's own doing. Maybe he cured someone else in those 8 years... someone like Touya?

Honestly I got nothing on Tenko but who knows. Who knows! Something something OFA connection. Izuku having vestige visions. Idk.

As for the manner in which society is changing, I'm drawn to Shouji's speech: "I'm dedicating the honor to those who joined the uprising eight years ago. All I've done is stand atop the resolve that they demonstrated to the world, nothing more." That at least tells me his earlier judgment of the other heteromorphs "setting them back" was a narrow point of view Shouji was supposed to grow out of, rather than a way of Horikoshi trying to criticize revolutionaries. In general, just because a character says something doesn't mean we're supposed to take it as gospel. That's lit crit 101, people.

Then there's Izuku. Once again I am feeling this pretty close to home. I keep coming back to the fact that the class is 24/25 now and I'm 25, man. On top of that, anyone else who was 14/15 ten years ago when the manga started gets to feel like we've all grown up together. I wanted catharsis for Izuku's trauma so badly. I wanted words. But I can't deny that the way Izuku is shown attempting to make the best of things and be content with a humbler life resonates with me, as painful as it is, as much as I know deep down he's kidding himself. It doesn't surprise me that he kept his walls up all this time and continued to shun his "selfishness."

I almost feel like there's an all-encompassing narrative theme being expressed here, in the fact that Izuku was trying to push past his pain and focus on the next generation, but surprise, his story's not over yet. I think the implied message there is that more can be done in the here and now, and maybe other stories that seem to be over, aren't.

With these things in mind, I can take the ending in stride, even if this is all the more we get from Horikoshi. However. There's one thing that is jolting me out of my peace every time I start to get comfortable here. It's actually related to the storyline that got the most closure.

I've seen a lot of fellow bkdk enjoyers calling their conclusion the best part of the ending, and I agree with that. They got a truly full circle moment, and a way of communicating to the reader that they're together, they have their forever, in a way that is personal to them. It's not "canon" in the way a kiss or a confession is, but I've said it before--this makes sense for them. And Horikoshi also did something legitimately interesting and groundbreaking by not making Ochako confess, not showing her future being tied to the main character as a love interest.

No, the thing that's bugging me is a seemingly small detail: why does Izuku and Katsuki holding hands at the end, of all things, have to be implied? Lots of things about 430 make sense in the context of the interview Horikoshi recently gave where he expressed being content with what he has drawn, and what he has left to the imagination. But not this. You can't convince me he didn't want to draw this. It's a motherfucking story about hands. This is the one thing I was 110% certain would happen. It's been teased for forever. Katsuki clearly wanted it so bad. So many other characters got to hold Izuku's hand in-frame. What the hell. Why.

Idk. I will be thinking about it for the foreseeable future.

[iliketangerines]

Your writing is so good <3 I was wondering if I could request a Bi-Han x reader who is a telekinetic/telepathy user kinda like Ermac who uses his abilities to basically tease and mess with Bi-Han when their away on missions or visitsfor long periods

improper use

a/n: hehehe biiiii han

pairing: bi han x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), guidance (?), idk how to describe it

Bi Han sits in a meeting with Liu Kang, listening to him drone on about something about Earthrealm and protection and the tournament

the grandmaster zones out, having heard the spiel so many times, and he knows that this is what Liu Kang wants and that is what needs to be done

the god was so obsessed with checking on the Lin Kuei and making sure that everything was running exactly the way that wanted to, and Bi Han was sick of it

he’s ripped away from his thoughts when he hears your voice, a little muffled and quiet, but he knows that they’re away on a mission so how were you…?

you call out his name, in a much clearer voice, and he glances to his brothers sitting by him, seemingly unaffected by the call of your voice

again, another call of his name with your voice in his head, and Bi Han cautiously thinks your name, straining his ears for something

and then you excitedly call out his name in his head, making it ring through his ears, and Bi Han just slightly clenches his jaw and hopes no one noticed

he tells you not to be so loud, and you quiet your voice a bit and apologize

but then you continue on excitedly, rambling on about how excited you were that you managed to figure out how to telekinetically communicate over long distances

he asks you if you’re supposed to be doing anything, and you answer that they person you’re staking out hasn’t come out, so you’ve got nothing to do

Bi Han asks why you’re talking to him then, and he can feel your little smirk even thousands of miles away

your voice drops to a husky whisper, and you say that you want him and that you wish he was here to fuck you as you kept watch on the target

the sudden lewdness makes Bi Han’s knee jump up and bang against the table loudly, drawing attention to the grandmaster

he just grunts and waves it off, hoping that Liu Kang nor his brothers would notice how he was half-hard underneath the table

Bi Han is silent, unsure if he should encourage or stop you, but then the sudden image of you at your post, fingers rubbing against your clit and the sound of your moan fills his head

he’s barely able to keep a straight face as he cools his body temperature to try and stop the blush from rising to his cheeks

you sound so pretty, and you pant out his name, slightly pinching your clit as you do so, and Bi Han crosses his arms and squeeze his hands

it’s like a front row seat of what you see, and by the gods it is a lewd sight

your spread legs, pants hurriedly pulled down, and you dip your fingers down, swiping them through your folds, and bring them up to your eyesight to show Bi Han just how wet you are

by the look of it, he’s sure you’re dripping right now, staining the surface of the car seat you’re on, and he can feel his mouth go dry

you bring your hand back down again and look at where your fingers disappear, and Bi Han curses in his head that he couldn’t see the show for himself

you tut at him, telling him to mind his language, and then you slip your fingers in, moaning out his name and saying that you wish it was his fingers

they’re so much longer, thicker, rougher, and you need him so bad, your legs spreading a little wider as you whine

Bi Han clenches his jaw and almost wants to tell you to stop because he’s in a middle of a meeting, but then you tell him to guide you, please

for a moment, he debates just leaving you like this, wet and slick and needy for him, but he wants to see it all, wants to see you tremble and shake for him

he tells you to rub your clit slowly, just as he does so, and you listen to his directions, rubbing it slowly and firmly just as he would

you whine out for him, please you need more, and he firmly tells you no, saying that you listen to him or get nothing

it makes you stop your complaints, and the only sounds that come out of your mouth are quite little whimpers and moans

he can see your fingers twitching, needing to chase that pleasure higher and higher, and your hips buck forward, making you gasp

Bi Han hears the call of his name, and he focuses back on the conversation in front of him

Liu Kang asks him a question, something about the patrols around the Lin Kuei, and Bi Han can barely talk as the image of you slowly rubbing your clit still lingers in his head

the god is persistent with his questions, going and going and going, and he can hear you start to beg for him, begging him to let you go faster

the grandmaster answers with a low grunts to the Liu Kang, and his eyes twitches as you call out for Bi Han, saying you need him, need him to fuck you so bad please

he nearly answers in his voice, and then he clears his throat and answers Liu Kang’s question, unable to think properly with you in his head

but then the god asks another question, and it's a tricky question and you’re still in the back of his head whining out his name

your hips have started to grind into your fingers, and he answers quickly in his head that you can go faster, to please yourself from him

a loud keen leaves your lips at that as you mumble out thank yous, and Bi Han catches himself almost saying out loud that you were being so good for him

he continues on, stopping at certain words to gather his thoughts and hopes that no one sees just how hard he was underneath his pants as he slightly leans up and forward to point at something on the map that’s on the opposite side of the table

you’re so loud in his head, so pretty sounding, and he can see your fingers rubbing desperately against your clit, the image flickering as you try not to close your eyes

you really were trying so hard to be good for Bi Han, to give him a proper show, and he tells you as much, encouraging you to keep going

he watches as your hips twitch forward, how your thighs shake, and Bi Han lowers his arms and brings one hand to squeeze himself through his pants before letting his hand fall to try and relieve some of the tension

he wishes he could go there, be there, fuck you on his fingers and get you nice and stretched and mushy before he finally fucked you on his cock

for now, though, he watches and listens to you moan and whimper out his name as the image finally goes black when you close your eyes and cum

but he can imagine it, your back arched off the seat of the car, your legs trembling, and your fingers still rubbing your sensitive clit

your whimpers echo in his head as they fade and louden, the connection breaking as you lose your concentration

but then your sounds clear, and he can hear your panting

then after a second, he hears your voice, soft and sad and saying that you miss him, and he frowns, hand clenching at his side as he says that he misses you too

it’s all quiet for a moment, and then he asks when you’ll be back

you say you’ll be back in a week, and that he better be prepared because you really really really have missed him

and that you’ve also taken a few souvenirs and trinkets from the country you’re visiting to add to his collection that you’ve given him

Bi Han’s lips twitch up in a smile before he says that he’ll treasure it, and then you whisper out a goodbye and that you’ll see him soon

he says goodbye to you as well, and then his head is quiet

the grandmaster tunes back in to hear Liu Kang dismissing them all, and Bi Han stands up and bows quickly before leaving hurriedly

he did still have a little problem that you left him

[superblysubpar]

steve harrington x you

2,390 words

warnings: nothing much, steve's got shaved hair as per the request for today, some kissing, some ednancy/dad eddie, you're eddie's best friend

A/N: thanks so much for your patience as I work on getting all of these posted that were missed. I hope you enjoy them, it's been great to get back into writing after a couple of really hectic weeks

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event

Your lips purse around the neon green straw as your hips sway in time to Hanson booming out of the shitty speakers. The soles of your boots like velcro against the sticky cement while thuds of dart meeting board echo as you pass. Rum and cherry sweet on your tongue and warming you from the inside out as you look up and down the crowded bar.

A blue polished finger startles you as it crosses your vision and pokes your forehead.

“Dude, relax,” Robin laughs, leaning against the old wood top. Despite already having a drink in her hand, she hasn’t strayed far from the bar tonight. The bartender in a jersey serving up cocktails and beers with a red lipped smile and a musical laugh to blame you were sure. “He’ll be here. He’s probably just stuck in traffic. Or they stopped at their hotel before coming.”

“Right,” you blow a breath out of your nose and look over at the stairs that led to the bouncer, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under glittered lids, a dimple forming on her freckled cheek. “Hold on, can you say that one more time, a little louder? Where’s Steve, I need him to hear this.”

Your eyes roll just as brown fizzy soda sloshes over the side of your cup before it met your lips, narrowly avoiding a landing place down the front of your shirt as hands squeeze at your ribs, startling you with an accompanied:

“Boo!”

“Eddie!” The shriek loud and drawing the attention of most of the bar as you turn to face the menace behind your jump scare. You swat at your best friend’s chest. “Asshole.”

Eddie’s cheeks dimple, shorter curls bouncing across his forehead as he knocks a ringed knuckle under your chin. “I missed you too.”

Your arms wrap around his waist, his around your back in a tight squeeze, the kind of hug only old friends can share.

“I did miss you,” you murmur, drawing back to take in all the ways he’d changed and all the ways he hadn’t. He still had a faded band tee, the laundry detergent clinging to it new but mixed nicely with the familiar spice of his cologne. Ripped holes in the knees of well worn black jeans, but his hair shorter, broader shoulders. A smile that still lit up any room though you could see the sleep and stress heavy under his eyes. “You look like crap.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he squeezes Robin and kisses her temple, murmuring something about scoring the digits of the cutie behind the bar yet, before he turns to you with a theatrical pout of his lips.

“You know, that’s a real shitty thing to say to your best friend who you haven’t seen in months that you know is dealing with a three year old who doesn’t understand the concept of quiet time when the baby is napping.”

Your snort is only slightly muffled into the rim of your cup, “Oh my god, you’re such an old man.”

Eddie grabs a beer from Robin’s hand offering it up without looking away from the bartender chatting with her. He smiles at them, then you again as you drop the act and tug on his wrist and whine, “Where’s the pictures I was promised? Does Amelia know how to say her favorite Aunt’s name yet?”

He laughs, “Not yet. Although yesterday she said ‘tuc’ when a big school bus drove by, so like, no big deal, but my baby’s a genius.” He takes a sip, shrugging his shoulders like it was a joke, but you know it’s not. He nods his head towards the entrance, “Nance has the pictures.”

“She didn’t come in with you?” Your frown disappears and melts into a smile when you see her talking animatedly with her hands while descending the stairs.

“Speak of the devil,” Eddie looks around and leans down to whisper in your ear, timing perfect with the wrinkled nose of Nancy as she looks around the shitty dive bar, “She’s gonna hate this place.”

Your smile widens as Nancy mumbles something to the man entering with her, honeyed eyes roaming over the crowd as he laughs at whatever she said. Steve’s still dressed in his work clothes, a blue sweater and a gray peacoat, dark wash jeans that fit him just right and have you distracted already.

Eddie whistles, nudging your shoulder. “Christ babe, these shoes are new and here you are drooling all over them. I get enough of that at home.”

Your hand pinches his side, his yelp drawing the attention of his wife and Steve. He smiles at you, hand waving a little before it adjusts the black cap still sitting on his head.

Eddie sighs deeply next to your ear and grumbles, “Can you two just fucking, like, do the damn thing already? My god, just go up and-“

“Nancy!” Your yell overly loud and too enthusiastic as you dig a heel into Eddie’s toes and he snorts a half laugh, half grunt of pain.

Your arms envelope her and the two of you rock back and forth and squeal like girls after a Summer break of not seeing each other every day of school. Over Nancy’s shoulder, Steve places a large hand on the back of Robin’s shoulder and whispers something in her ear. She pokes at his beanie that he quickly tugs down further with a scowl. A paranoid glance around before his gaze meets yours and a timid smile forms on his lips before he turns back to Robin.

Nancy’s quick to whip out the photos from her little clutch when you ask and Robin squeals, the pair of you look over her shoulder and coo at their perfect kids. Brown curls and bright blue eyes and dimples worthy of her dad smile up at you in a photo of their toddler holding up a drawing she made.

“Oh shit,” Eddie pats at his jeans, “Beth told me…” he frowns as he searches his pockets, “Sweetheart, where’d-“

Nancy’s already pulling something out of her purse, a neatly folded triangle with your name written in Nancy’s neat penmanship, with a crudely drawn heart around it.

“For me?” You swoon as you grab it and hold the little piece up to your chest when Robin frowns.

“Wow, they’re so not getting good Christmas presents from Aunt Rob-“

Nancy holds up another triangle, cutting her off.

“They can have whatever they want. Do hey have college funds set up yet?”

Nancy and Eddie laugh, a puzzle piece fitting with another as his arms wrap around her waist and her hand reaches up and caresses his chin that hooks over his shoulder.

He kisses her neck, “Want your usual?”

“Yes please,” she kisses his temple before he untangles his arms, squeezing her hips gently before he heads over to the bar.

The interaction makes something in your chest ache, something deep inside of you yearning for a connection that just works like they do. Knowing you don’t need it, but it’d be nice to have someone grab your usual, to hold and ground you when life gets a little crazy.

Nancy’s whisper is all knowing, her blue eyes cutting into yours just as much. “It’ll happen.”

“What?” Something stuck in your throat that you clear away, thumbs brushing over your drawing as you avoid her stare.

“I’m just saying it’ll happen, I know it sucks waiting for your person, but they’re probably closer than you think.”

The searching glance up isn’t intentional, but you’re startled to find Steve staring at you already. Your body flushes when he smiles at you from the bar next to Eddie.

“Oh,” Robin laughs, tucking her drawing into her lavender blazer pocket, “They’re close alright.”

Nancy looks at her then you, finding you glaring at Robin. Your mouth opens to tell her to shut hers, when a drink appears in front of you.

You’re expecting to see silver rings around the cup, but all you find is a gold class band and you swallow, looking up to see Steve offering it to you.

“Extra cherries, right?”

The words come out of plush pink lips surrounded by a dusting of dark scruff and it may as well have been a question asking you to take off your underwear from the way your body heats up.

“Ye-yeah,” you stumble over the word as your fingers meet his, “Thanks.”

“Oh,” Nancy hums, “That is close.”

“Told ya,” Robin snickers into her cup.

“What?” Steve blinks at them, gold and green disappearing with fluttering lashes each time he does.

Nancy points at the bar, “Oh, Eddie, what’s? Yup.”

She disappears quickly with her obvious fake call from Eddie.

Robin doesn’t even attempt to be subtle, she just smiles at Steve, winks at you, and turns away.

Steve watches her go with a frown, then looks at you. “Do I wanna know-“

“No,” you shake your head, tight smile. It warps into a real one when you look down at the piece of paper though. You hold up your drawing, “Did you see what Beth made me?”

He smiles at the drawing that is so clearly you and her on a face time phone call, “Wow, a real Beth Munson artwork. I’m jealous. I must have it. What’s your price?”

Your laugh is effortless around Steve, and you hold it close to your chest, playing along. “Sorry sir, this item is not for sale. Nothing you offer could ever convince me to part with it.”

The freckles next to Steve’s eyes disappear when his smile makes the laugh lines there crease. His two on his cheek lift as he grabs at your elbow, gently nudging you over to the wall to avoid a group of rowdy boys entering the bar. He has to lean in when they all whoop and whistle, hitting backs and shouting about teams winning. His lips brush your ear with each word.

“Everything is for sale. Come on, name it. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

The words invite a shiver to trickle down your spine, something loosening in your shoulders, like someone cracked an egg on the top of your head and it’s leaking into every nerve you have. Your brain feels fuzzy from the way he smiles. Your tongue too heavy in your mouth, but somehow you swallow down butterflies that seek to escape through your throat and say:

“How about a date?”

Steve’s hand does a poor job of hiding his smile, his chin dips down in defeat, but he clears his throat. His eyes melt like brown sugar and butter right in front of you as they hold your stare. “Sure, but I was already going to take you on one, so I feel like I’m practically stealing this original, one of a kind artwork. Anything else you want?”

His head tilts with the question, and the tip of his shoes tap yours, a hand squeezes at your waist, grounding you as the room spins from how dizzy his lips being so close to yours is making you feel.

“I’m,” you suck in a breath as you lean in, the Backstreet Boys crooning overhead in an ironic soundtrack to the moment as you shake your head, “I can’t think of anything. What’d you have in mind?”

Steve’s hand moves from your hip to your lower back, gently nudging you closer. His adam’s apple bobs before he asks, “A kiss?”

Your answer is a nod that bumps your already too close lips together. Steve catches your bottom one with his, gently parting your mouth as his hand slides up your spine.

It’s a dizzying kiss, one that makes your stomach flip and your feet press up onto your toes to chase him more. One that melts and flows into more than one kiss, your hand with your drink and drawing resting against his hip while your other clings to his neck. Steve’s nose bumps against yours as he deepens it. Tongue tracing your lips before it meets yours and he’s gasping for a deeper breath against your mouth, but unwilling to part from it.

Your hand slides up the nape of his neck, pushing at the beanie as your smile breaks the kiss when loud cheers echo through the bar. Steve shakes his head no at the sound, smiling too, but still refusing to part from your kiss until your hand pushes under his hat and you gasp.

“No, no, don’t-“ Steve’s already laughing at your look of pure joy, admiring the way your face is brighter and lips shinier from his kissing, so he doesn’t even try to stop you when you rip the hat off.

“Holy shit!” Robin’s voice is louder than anything in the bar when you reveal that Steve’s hair is shaved. “What happened? I mean why?”

Robin, Eddie and Nancy rejoin your group, wide smiles at you that you roll your eyes at. Steve gently takes the cap back from you and puts it back on with a frown.

“I work in an elementary school, what do you think happened?”

“Oh no,” Nancy laughs, covering her smile with fingers polished ballet slipper pink as Eddie shakes his head.

“It looks good,” you murmur, fingers reaching forward with a mind of their own and brushing along the base of the cap behind his ear.

“Yeah?” He asks, leaning in again, smile and eyes only for you as you nod.

His nose bumps yours but he stops just shy of your lips when Robin groans loudly.

“Thank god you’re moving back, I don’t think I could stomach this alone.”

Your head whips over to the trio, Nancy and Eddie smiling at your shocked expression.

Eddie waves his hands next to his sides like he’s a magician saying ‘ta-da’.

“Surprise!”

Your drink spills to the ground as you leap towards them both, shouting about how excited you are as you all hug and cry and you pester them with accusations and too many questions on the level of an interrogation.

Steve’s hand rests on your lower back the whole time, thumb soothing brushes up and down your spine. Eventually he whispers something about grabbing you another drink before he kisses your cheek and disappears with a promise of being right back.

[meraki-sunset]

In the au with the different spritefusions (Vrita, Equdan, Haleri, Tavlux) what would be the davepeta/jasperose equivalents?

Oooooooooooooooooh let me see.

Okay so in canon, the alpha session pre scratch has 4 kernels and the 6 elements thrown at them are 6 people. 5 trolls and an AI. Resulting in Arquius, Tavris, Erisol and Fefeta, all of which die in their timeline in diferent ways

Now for the diferent sprite fusion you're talking about, i used the exact same people from canon, but mixed them in a diferent order. Creating Haleri, Vrieta, Tavlux and Equdan. You can find the post about them HERE

Who most likely didn't exploded and followed Davesprite and Nanna to John's planet and survived te timeline's errasure.

Pic fo their Godtiers just for fun.

Now, Davepeta and Jasprose come from Post-Retcon, which means the 6 elements conforming the sprites are diferent this time around, forming, not only Jasprosesprite^2 and Davepetasprite^2, but also GcaTavrosprite and Arquiusprite (again).

SO! all i need to do is pick all the canon people/creatures from the Post-Retcon Sprites and mix them in a diferent way. Like this!

Giving us as a result something like this

The fussion of Davesprite and Lil Hal, ultimate self and ultimate Strider, would most likely romantically pursue canon Jade, like Davepeta did in homestuck, but more successfully. Also be an amazing sword master due to the knowledge from all timelines.

I mean, it would just be Cat-Equius, doesn't have the cool character develompent that Arquius had, but has nice guardian powers and he's not alergic to himself. Plus he's a cat like his moirail Nepeta

Oh boy, Tavrospersprite^2 has by default achieved ultimate self and is afraid of nothing, because he has knowledge of all Tavros and has learned all their lessons in a second. Will call Vriska a bitch and proceed to kiss Gamzee in one breath, to inmedialty go fight some villain and disappear like a Cheshire cat (isn't alergic to himself because he now knows it's in his head)

RosepetaSprite is a chill gal, and now has the habilities of drawing and writing, making her the ultimate autor. She's a little heartbroken about not being able to be with Kanaya or Karkat, because this timeline's Rose and Dave are dating them, but she won't let that bring her down

Ironically Rosepeta is now conected to the other three sprites. Tavros having the memories of her cat and guide, Equius being her moirail and Davar being a fussion of a copy of her father and of her doomed brother who wanted to see her again. She has some heavy back-up now.

[frodo-with-glasses]

Where have you been?

Uhhh, France?

(That’s a Hamilton reference, btw. I have never been to France.)

So! Another Hobbit Day is upon us. On this day last year, I’d promised you all that we would take another trek through LotR, with all new drawings and poems and fanfics. I fully expected to be finished with Book One by now, at least halfway through FotR. What actually happened is that the blog struggled through the first five and a half chapters of the book before suddenly going radio silent.

So what happened?

Well, as you might expect, real life happened. I won't go into the details here—since it has nothing to do with LotR—but I can explain in DMs if anyone is interested.

Basically, a change in my family led to a reexamination of what I thought I knew about my family, which led to a reexamination of what I thought I knew about myself, which kicked off an intense period of self-improvement.

Over the course of this past year, I began to unpack my family's abuse; I learned about boundaries; I started to unlearn my old people-pleasing tendencies; I reconnected relationships that were broken, reevaluated ones that were in the wrong place, and cut off ones that weren't good for me. I discovered there was a little kid in my head who's been waiting years and years for an adult to love her, and to take her needs seriously, and I finally have the chance to be that adult. And I'm happy to say that I've come to a place where I feel safer in my own head than I have ever been.

Probably very little of that is going to show through on this blog. It's all inward stuff; foundational stuff. But one thing that might affect you guys is that I left my (dreadfully overstimulating and stressful) part-time job, and I'm now working full time somewhere else. As much as I love what I do for a living now, working 40 hours a week does mean that I am become Boring Adult who does not have as much time for interneting. With my current schedule, there is no way I'd be able to sustain the intense schedule of "must post one drawing a day" that I had in the early days of this blog; and I don't expect myself to.

But! I would like to—slowly—get this train rolling again.

I find it hilariously apropos that the last piece of art I posted on this blog was of Frodo suddenly disappearing. From Merry's perspective, he completely vanished without explanation or warning. From your perspective, so did I.

But I find myself here again, on another September 22nd, and once again I'm beginning to feel that pull; that pull to read, and draw, and create, and share, and laugh with all of you. Life has calmed down enough for me that I once again have the mental space to think about pursuing my hobbies. There are so many things I want to do—so much to do with the time that is given to me. And I want this blog to be on that list.

My current goal is to post some new book art every other day. If that's too much, I'll adjust it. But if I find my groove and really get into it, who knows? We might return to your regularly scheduled Daily Dose of Frodo-With-Glasses. We shall have to see.

Anyway. If you've read this far, thank you! If you've stuck with this blog since the early days, thank you. And if you are one of that lovely core Fellowship that has had my back and prayed for me all along, I cannot thank you enough.

This past year has been an absolute ride. Not as difficult as a trek to Mordor, maybe, but not easy either. But no matter where I walked, I knew I didn't have to take the journey alone.

Anyway! Enough sappiness. Happy Hobbit Day! I'm excited to see what the next year has in store for us. 💚

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Tumblr WILL NOT let me post the fic and this ask at the same time and I've tried legit five times. So THANK YOU anon for the request and I'm sorry for the weirdness in uploading. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this!

My Ghost.

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: You don't know what happened that night. Things were fine, life was good, then your partner is on the news for all sorts of shit you never would've thought him capable of the day prior. He was dead, he was evil, and you were trying to move on. But what's the proper etiquette when the dead show up on your door unannounced?

Tags: No use of Y/N, hurt/comfort, fake death, mentions of drinking, drug use/dealing, grieving, arguing, cursing, flashbacks, brief suggestive scenes, suicidal thoughts.

Other Works in This Series: 'Repentance' (Prequel to 'My Ghost') • 'Lapses' (Sequel to 'My Ghost')

Notes: The way I've been trying to upload this for two hours. Oh my fucking God. Anyways, everyone say thank you to anon for getting me to write something that doesn't make God cry.

-¤°》◇《°¤-

I'm not hard to please, but I'm not desperate despite what the rumors may say.

People enjoy gossip. People who don't know fuck all about you. And my standards are fine. Were fine. And I don't mean standards such as 'buys me flowers everyday' or 'doesn't deal coke.' I mean standards such as 'is a decent fucking person.'

"That's what I thought you were up until all of this fucking... disappearing for months!" I scream, anger fueling me. I don't let the other emotions win out, don't let them have a say. Because if I do, I'll be too conflicted and overwhelmed and then I'm gonna cry, and that's not fair.

People had warned me he was trouble. Terms such as 'wannabe cowboy,' 'rebel without a cause' were tossed around in warning. But to me, he was just Billy.

Then he was dead.

Now, he was here. He showed up at my door nine months after leaving me with a small little keychain on the kitchen table and a soft kiss on my forehead, saying he had some plans for that evening. But he'll be back soon.

Then he was on the news. And a gas station blew up. Gangs, stolen vehicles. He was probably dead. Things would be easier if he was dead.

Fine. Maybe I initially ignored warning signs. Maybe I was distracted by his handsome side profile, too busy admiring his nose to notice the occasions it was dusted with the trace of a fine powder. Maybe his hands were too beautiful for me to realize they were slipping money to men in dark jackets when we went out to the rougher parts of town. But he was mine and I was his, and overall he was a good person.

He was alive. He was alive and I was mad because if he was dead then at least it would be valid that for nine months I have had to deal with the accusatory stares of our neighbors assuming I knew, the pity from my loved ones, and the betrayel that kept me awake at night. It would mean he hadn't left me to deal with his repercussions, that maybe there was a valid excuse. An undiagnosed brain tumor that finally gave way to insanity, a gun to his head. Something that was not the worst case scenario of just... being an awful person. I could let his things rest around the house undisturbed, hiding from the world and waiting to find the courage to join him one day and living in denial in the meantime. What the fuck was all of this?

"I couldn't tell you," he keeps saying. "It was better if you knew nothing until I was sure I could come get you."

"Why didn't you just take me with you from the start?" I ask. I've been pacing the floor for the past twenty minutes ever since he showed up. It was better than throwing every breakable object in the cheap, worn down shack of a house at him, which was my second instinct. My first was to pull him into my arms, draw the curtains shut and hide him away so that he'll never leave again. Like an idiot.

He laughs bitterly. "You would not be asking that if you knew what the fuck I went through," he says. His words sound like they should be angry, but there's this lightness to them like he can't let himself think too much about it. It just makes me angrier.

"Don't fucking laugh!" I snap. "Do you think any of this is funny?"

"I think you're funny when you're mad," he deflects, smiling. "You got this whole routine. Pacing, nose twitching. I like the Shirley Temple stomps, like you're a kid."

I groan loudly, the noise almost sounding like a low scream in my throat.

"You owed money to fucking- who?" I yell.

"The details don't matter-"

"When I have been grieving your death for nine months, they fucking matter!" I snap. His brows furrow, his hands mid air as if to say 'the fuck did I do?'

"You know me, okay? I don't get caught," he says as though it were obvious.

"I know fucking nothing!" I practically scream.

When we met he was just a guy at a bar, handsome, wearing that same ridiculous jacket that I couldn't help but stroke the white fluff on, tequila running through my veins.

"Can I help you?" He asked, smirking.

"Just wanted to see what it felt like," I said.

"Wanna feel something else?" He asked, his chin resting on his head.

"Oh, fucking gross. Fuck o-"

"I was talking about this," he said, whipping out his keys to show off an odd, weirdly shaped keychain with short, stiff fuzz. "Don't call me a pervert just cause you're one."

He was smiling. It was an easy smile. Careless, happy with life. I loved that smile. It meant things were always alright as long as he was smiling.

He was smiling on the photo they used for the manhunt.

We'd danced the whole night. He didn't know hardly any of the songs, causing him to be off beat. I was too drunk to keep time, so I stepped on his leather boots enough times there was a visible scuff on the top of one by the end of the night. I always felt bad, offering to replace or help pay to fix it. He wouldn't let me.

"They're a keepsake," he'd insist. "A living memory." He wore them everyday.

He's wearing sneakers, today.

At the end of the night, I stumbled out of the bar with a note in my coat pocket. It took two weeks for me to wear that coat again, and when I found the slip I'd almost thrown it away, assuming it was something dumb. But when I saw the worst handwriting in the world displaying a number belonging to someone named 'Keychain Guy,' I almost couldn't wait to call.

"Bullshit," Billy snaps. "You know me better than anyone."

"Don't say that," I say, putting a hand out protectively to keep him away. "That's exactly why everyone thinks I was just fine with that whole- fucked up thing!"

A gas station burned. A stolen vehicle. People were dead. People were dead.

Billy was presumed dead.

There was no funeral. He had no family, and none of mine wanted to put money into something that would be protested by the whole town anyways. No body to bury, nothing to do but gather up his things and smoke what remained in his stash until people came to nurse me back to life. By that point there wasn't even relief in drugs. The taste simply reminded me of better times cooking in the kitchen as we blew the smoke into each others faces, or worse. Better. Whatever.

I never questioned when Billy went out of town. I knew his work had details I didn't want nor need to know. Money was tight. But Billy always came home with little things whenever he went on unexpected trips. Knick knacks, snacks, some item I'd seen at the store and picked up to make a comment about. Had he been particularly forthcoming about his dealing when we started dating? No. He said he worked for a local small business, which technically isn't untrue. But about six months in, he was the one who approached me and sat me down at the small, rickty round table to tell me the truth. And that's what mattered to me. The economy is shit and it's not like it was meth, so who am I to judge?

About a year into it, I was begging for him to do something else.

"I don't like you disappearing," I told him. "I'm scared one day you're gonna piss someone off and that'll be the end. Then what am I gonna do?"

"Then you're gonna make sure they don't fuck up my face during the embalming process for the funeral," Billy said around his hand rolled cigarette. I whip the small dish towel at him, making him laugh and protect his small ashtray that I made him for Christmas the year prior. It was shitty, uneven, and I'm 99% sure a fire hazard. But he wouldn't use any other ones unless I was the one who bought them for him, and even then he favored this one. 'When this place goes up in flames,' I thought, 'I'll regret that gift.'

I'd kept it by the kitchen window every day since he'd died. "Died." It was his spot.

He moves to sit there now, looking in his pockets for the small box of prerolled cigarettes.

"People know you weren't involved," he says dismissively.

"Your friends know. What about the old ladies at church? The checkout clerks at the store? How about the fucking mailman?" I shout, convinced I'm still talking to the dead. "You think they know the ins and outs of the local psychos support group?" I ask, gesturing and stepping closer.

I was the local outcast now. Not to be trusted, not worth kindness. Shame was my title, and when Billy appeared on my doorstep at an hour where only I was awake I was sure I'd caught the same awful disease that must have been what sent him spiraling that winter day. It wasn't until he pushed the door open fully, taking me into his arms and pressing a warm kiss to my lips that I knew he was real. It was a feeling I was in the early stages of forgetting, blurry and cold. But here he was, the stubble on his chin a bit longer and his ears missing the small hoops that had glittered in the sunlight when he walked out the door.

Then I'd pushed him away. And the fight began.

"I'm not a fucking psycho," he argues. His hands pat around his outfit, searching. "You got a lighter?"

"Fuck off." I kept his favorite in my left pocket. I had to be careful what things of his I wore or kept on my person. People close to me knew I would have never condoned his actions, but even they had glared at me in the early wake of Billy's death when I dared to wear one of his shirts out of the house, or more commonly one of his thick leather jackets. But a lighter can be hidden, and unless you had borrowed it you wouldn't know it had specifically been his. So I kept it with me all the time, just feeling it next to my skin with the only barrier being the fabric of my pocket. Without a thought, I cover the small item as though he can see right through me. Picking up on the hint, he's rises from the table and begins walking over to me.

"Don't be a dick, just let me borrow it," he says, holding out his hand.

"Fuck off," I snap.

"You've said that. I just need it for two seconds," he says as his hands begin to gently grab at me, one on my shoulder and the other dipping into my pocket.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I yell, slapping at him.

"Just let me have-"

He cuts himself off as he pulls out the lighter from my pocket, his thumb grazing over the printed picture. The Statue of David. He'd bought because it made us laugh. One side was the regular statue, the other a close up of its small genitals with cursive writing underneath spelling the art piece's name.

"Oh," Billy says quietly.

We stand for a moment, silent. He doesn't seem sure what to do. My lungs burn with unheaved sobs. I fucking hate this.

"You were gonna come back," I finally say quietly. I hate how my voice sounds when I'm upset. I hate that I'm wearing his dogtag, an item he'd bought at a World War II museum in middle school that he gave me for our first Christmas because we were both too broke to actually buy each other anything, hence the poorly made ashtray. I hate that when I sleep at night it's in his clothes that I rarely wash because the idea of losing his smell makes me want to scream. I hate that his scent is different from the bottle of cologne he kept next to my makeup, one time spilling all over the entire bathroom counter because we'd gotten too wrapped up in each other, dragging our nails down each others backs and watching ourselves in the mirror until one wrong move of my hand revealed he'd been a bit too careless about screwing the lid back on earlier in the day. I'd always warned him about that.

I'd been in the bathroom putting on my permanently scented blush when I got the text.

"I was going to," he said softly. "Then I couldn't."

"So what?" I say, not daring to turn and face him, choosing instead to stare at where the cheap, old wood paneling of the wall meets the shaggy, stained carpet that you have to wear shoes on due to the staples that have begun sticking out of it. "You just propose to someone and then pretend to die?"

Valentines Day was an awfully cheesy day to do it. So it's a good thing it was a technicality.

The day had been lovely. Billy had saved up a little to take me to a local hibachi place, telling me to wear my best outfit and jewelry. It was slightly overkill, but it's the small things in life, isn't it?

We'd come home with a bottle of wine, a low budget movie to ignore and hands searching desperately for each other.

"I love you," he'd said between pants. "You're mine."

"Buy a ring," I'd dared. Our minds were buzzed, the bottle half empty and our clothes thrown away without care. Took me weeks to find his both of his socks.

I hadn't meant for him to take it seriously. But I guess he decided it was time.

Two days later I thought it was odd when he walked into the house with my favorite lunch. It wasn't expensive really, we just usually got it for special occasions or days that had been mentally harder for me. And things were normal that day. I was getting ready for my shift, running around like I always do trying to make sure I've got everything.

"Your coffee's in the cup, will you just sit down?" He laughed, watching me. I quickly collected the take out box, sipping my coffee and wincing over its temperature.

"Fuck, that burns," I cursed. He wrapped his arms around me, trying to get me to sit at the table. "Baby, I can't," I protested softly, but I was laughing. He was peppering me in kisses, giving me those big puppy dog eyes everyone knew were my weakness. He wanted for nothing so long as he looked at me just like that.

"Just this once," he asked, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I couldn't help the blush and giggle that rose from me, but I also couldn't be late.

"I'll make up for it," I promised, slipping away and running into the bedroom to get my shoes. When I ran back in, pulling them on and coming to kiss him goodbye, I nearly fell over when I saw him on one knee, smiling and looking at me like 'I told you so.'

I don't like how itchy the ring feels on my middle finger as I twirl it in thought.

"You don't know what happened," he pleaded, his hands still on me. "If you would just listen to me-"

"The news gave a pretty good description, William. I don't think there's missing pieces in my head, unlike you," I say coldly, detaching from myself so to not have to deal with my emotions. This makes him stiffen, pulling away and resuming his place at the kitchen table, lighting his cigarette and placing the ashtray in front of him like nothing has changed when everything has.

It feels like I'm out of time. Like I've been shoved into a picture of what my life looked like before. Except the house was never this clean, clothes always scattered about. Not just in a fit of passion, we just had bad habits when it came to picking up. Billy would always say the chairs are more decorations then they are seats, anyways. "Why would you use those when you have such a nice seat here?" He'd ask, wiggling his hips and placing his hands behind his head, making me laugh.

Billy never looked so well put together in the house, usually in a wife beater and his hair framing his face. He'd always joked he looked like a dirty hippie around me, and I'd always show him how much I liked that. Not that he looked fantastic now. When we went out he was known for putting in effort. He always had more hair products than me, which I found funny. Though he refused makeup. Once I'd managed to talk him into eyeliner. 'Guyliner' I'd teased. He liked it, but said it should stay between us with a wink before asking where to get dinner. Now he sits before me in clothes obviously stolen to help him look unremarkable, his hair shaggy and uncut, so different from the man I loved.

"Who are you?" I asked him. That man didn't shrink away from accountability.

He sighed, smoke swirling around him as he wipes his face with his hand.

"I don't know. Can't tell if I'm better or worse, to be honest," he admits softly. His eyes look haunted, heavy bags underneath. It's the way his shoulders sag as though his will to go on is slowly draining from him in this very moment that makes me want to break now. Like whatever reason he had for still going was fruitless.

I didn't like the way we mirrored each other like this.

I slowly scuff my feet towards him, tapping my fingers against the back of the wooden chair before pulling it out to sit across from him. It's a start.

"So if you tell me," I say slowly. "Am I going to wish you were dead?"

He doesn't look at me. "I don't know."

Great.

The night is long. Morning comes without an invitation, the blue sky beginning to glow through the shitty blinders I always told Billy we should replace one day. I understand less than when we started, we've both cried more than once, and between our fingers is cigarette stubs and the feeling of each others skin, hands laced together as though another click of an old remote to an outdated TV with batteries you had to rub against your shirt to make work would reveal the smouldering remains of a gas station, displaying the estimated body count and deeming one of us as a devil of the worst kind, ripping us apart.

"Jesus," I say when it's over.

"Yeah," he says. "So, needless to say, my anxiety is shit now."

It isn't funny. It's a tragic statement. But when we both glance into the others eyes, it's his small little smirk that makes me laugh like I haven't since my mother sent me the local news report with his picture covering the front page. The same one that shows everything is still okay.

"I'm sorry," I say. Then the laughing turns into sobbing, and then I can't breathe. And I really am sorry.

I'm sorry I couldn't help him. I'm sorry he went out on a romantic whim and borrowed money he shouldn't have for the ring I was too ashamed to wear on the proper finger. I'm sorry he couldn't come back for me. And I'm sorry for hating him when he showed up unannounced at my door.

"Hey," he says gently, standing and crossing to me, removing his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders to comfort me. It's unfamiliar, evidence of a life he wouldn't have led if he had just stayed by me and it upsets me, but his lips against my wet cheeks ground me, familiar and soothing me, coaxing me into wrapping my arms around him, clawing my trembling fingers through his hair. Still soft. Still combed.

"You can't stay here," I choke out.

"I know," he says quietly. There's nothing for a long time, our bodies shaking as we cling to each other. In our arms are the unspoken months of grief. Of his longing for our home, of my insanity. Death looms over the furniture, light hidden away lest it take away my sacred treasures I'd used to keep his spirit close to me.

"I can't lose you again," I say.

"I know," he says, smelling my hair and placing a soft kiss on top of my head. "But I can't promise stability if you follow me."

My brows furrow, my mind racing in confusion, my hopes rising. Follow?

"I know a guy," he says quickly, his arms tighter as if scared I'll turn away. "Says he can get me a new identity and a one way ticket to somewhere. I don't know where yet, but it's worth a try."

My fingers trace his back, swirling invisible patterns over his shirt. He'd always liked that after a rough day. I can feel the tension begin to slowly fall away from him at the contact, his breathing growing deeper and more steady. "And you want me to come?"

"Need," he corrects. "I don't regret leaving you, but I can't stay away. Even if it's more kind to let you mourn and find a better life."

A new life. A new identity. New name, new everything.

Maybe I am insane. Maybe this exactly the kind of mental break Billy had that day. Maybe I was doomed to follow his spirit no matter what. Maybe this is a second chance. Maybe God had granted me a mercy I'll never be able to repay, no matter how many night I spend in worship at a church or between this man's legs. Maybe I'd spend every day looking over my shoulder, paranoid and eventually turning cruel to strangers so to keep this one person everyone told me to let go of from the very beginning.

But the same Billy.

"Can he do a marriage license?" I ask after a long silence. I can hear him laugh, pulling away to look at me.

"That eager?" He asks softly, his eyes gentle, thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into his touch, softly placing a kiss on his palm.

▪︎》◇《▪︎

"Well," I say, "I already have the ring."

Masterlist

As cute as this was, please have better standards than the Reader I wrote in this fic. No man is worth that. I am DEADASS. Anyways, love y'all <3

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Post S4: If All That's Left of Steve in the Final Battle is Ashes—

...are they REALLY JUST ashes? 🔥 

The final battle—like the last part of the very final battle—ends with shattering, and with dust.

It starts, the first bad dream and the first bloody nose and the first Code Red on the radios: well, that’s three months into something, for the first time in Eddie’s sorry-ass-but-honestly-actually-since-almost-not-having-any-life-at-all-any-more-and-miraculously-making-it-through-a-night-then-a-week-then-a-month-then-rehab-then-chronic-pain-then-more-friends-than-he’d-ever-had-before-and-frankly-in-the-beginning-more-than-he-could-count-plus-three-new-mother-figures-and-two-maybe-three-extra-maybe-father-figures-plus-one-friend-of-Dorothy-who’s-the-platonic-soulmate-of-maybe-the-love-of-Eddie’s-not-actually-still-sorry-ass-life: he’s about three months into something wild and reeling in his chest, brushing hands and lingering looks and flushed cheeks and little secret smiles ducked in toward shoulders or behind stray curls, or falling asleep pressed arm-to-arm only to wake up in one lap or another, and the whole of it’s shameless and intentional and giddy somewhere low in Eddie’s belly because it’s not uncertain, it’s honestly just fucking bashful, it’s shy and it’s the both of them wordlessly leaning into it, careful but sure, and almost all the more buoyant for it.

It’s three months in, and when they step up to that last battle—that final turn, do-or-die—maybe Steve pulls him behind a truck Eddie doesn’t even know the owner of, where it came from or why it’s there; but maybe Steve pulls him behind and draws him close without a word and kisses him relentless, drags his teeth and draws a little blood for the force and leaves them both raw, and panting, and desperate: it couldn’t really go any other way, like this—here.

Now.

“Live through this,” Steve had breathed against his angry red lips, hard enough that it stung; “so we can pick up where we left off.”

“I will if you will,” Eddie had shot back, defiant; still begging.

And Steve had kissed him again, and Eddie’d watched as Steve walked away with the lightest smear of Eddie’s blood on his lower lip as he’d spoken:

“I’ll hold you to it.”

And they’d parted, to do their fucking jobs, to play their fucking roles. They’re come back together, ready to take the final boss down as a unit, and Eddie remembers that he’d felt hopeful, he’d felt so fucking relieved because this was it. They were gonna nail it, all for one, and—

So it might be near the end, actually—they may have almost done it, finished the job and killed every last bit of this hellscape, every beast big and small, crushed what’s left of the husk of Vecna orchestrating it all: it might happen near the end. Or maybe just shy of the beginning. Somewhere in the middle.

All Eddie knows is that it happens. There’s light, and people floating in the air and then more light, dragged back down by the same lightning-spark power, and it’s back and it’s forth and when it hits anyone, Supergirl pulls them back to the ground and fights back harder, her face blood red dripping to her neck, her teeth bared all wrath and fury, and then—

Then there’s something that shoots different, hits Steve and he doesn’t float. It looks different, so it probably is different, and he doesn’t float when it hits him.

And so: Eddie holds to the bargain.

But Steve.

Steve…Steve Harrington, with the bitchiest glare and the brightest smile and the goofiest laugh and the biggest fucking heart, the bravest of all of them and the best part of Eddie’s whole soul—

Steve gets hit, and disappears from the world in nothing but a cloud of dust.

No one tries to shush Eddie, when he screams, when he wails and sobs; drops to his knees and fucking howls.

No one tries to stop him when he crawls to the space that held his whole heart, and now lies empty, save a dusting of something almost shiny, coarse to the touch but fine to the naked eye, hard to distinguish from the dirt on sight alone—is that him? Is that his Sweetheart, all that’s left of him—

Eddie thinks maybe they try to stop him halfway through the way he starts frantically sweeping, scooping up the ash and filling every pocket he has with as much as he can. He vaguely feels a hand on his shoulder, maybe the sound of his name, but it’s all white noise because Eddie’s picking up the pieces of his heart, here, Eddie’s trying like hell to hold on to something of the man he loves and anyone who doesn’t like it, or thinks he’s crazy, or wants to rush him, ask him to leave any little pouch in any layer of his clothes unfilled, less than overflowing with all that remains?

Fuck them. Fuck them all. Because Eddie kept his side of the deal.

Live through this.

I will if you will.

And now he has to live with the way his Stevie…didn’t.

——

The rest of the Party sticks together after it’s done. Dustin is inconsolable, Erica and Max scowl in each other’s direction but not really…at each other. Mike’s having a weird…frenzy response, denying Steve’s dead at all and demanding Lucas help him get El to look for him, he has to be somewhere, he has be saveable like Max, like Eddie. Robin’s fucking catatonic—the real adults take most of the burden, trying to figure out who to call, because Steve’s their only casualty, the beating heart at the center of all this and it’s gone, no wonder they’re breaking—

The Party stays together. Eddie falls back on what he knows.

He runs.

Specifically: he runs home, carefully though, he can’t jostle his pockets, and he knows exactly where he’s looking when he gets to his room, crawls to the farthest corner of his closet in this still-weird-to-be-so-big bedroom after the trailer: and he finds it.

His mom’s old little hope chest.

There are a million little fake velvet pouches inside, a couple pieces of actual jewelry kept in an empty film canister, and then a smaller jewelry box type thing meant for a dresser or something: Eddie doesn’t think he can fill the hope chest.

But the rest…

He starts with the jewelry box, since it’s already empty, carefully cups his palms to fill it with the precious dust until the lid doesn’t close.

Then he sorts the pouches, puts aside the ones that don’t pull tight enough shut for his liking. The rest…those will be temporary. He’ll find a better home for the ashes soon, but for now they’re safe, and all that’s left is…

The film canister is special.

It’s stupid and plastic and like every other fucking black-and grey tube thingy that smells like vinegar on the inside of you hold it up too close. But this one—

He’s always gotten a little teary-eyed to think that this was the one his mother kept.

Because he’d poked a hole through the rough little peak in the top of the lid with a fork, took a piece of thread from the junk drawer and made himself a necklace to match the one she had and she’d smiled at him so bright, poked another hole next to his, and threaded his string-chain through the back of the lid so it’d close up tight, to keep all your most secret prized possessions, my sugarbean and he had. For years.

Now it held what was left of her jewels, mostly cheap stuff with sentimental worth he couldn’t calculate—but now he has to take the faulty pouches and give the jewelry a new home.

Now he’s never had something more prized and precious to keep.

He finds fishing line in Wayne’s stuff, stronger than the thread worn and aged over a decade and a half, swaps it out with the string. Covers the inside with electrical tape to make sure nothing can sneak out of the holes, even so.

And then he fills it. Last of the ashes, and it all only just fits but the lid pops on perfect.

Then he pulls it over his head, and lies down on his bed.

And fucking sobs when the canister falls to settle right over his heart.

——

Some of the kids try to coax him out, argue grief is better shared or whatever, but Eddie’s deaf to the knocking, the way they try to yell at his window—not even cracked open, he won’t risk a rogue bird or a stray breeze disturbing all he has left of his, his—

The kids go away, eventually.

Wayne finds out through the grapevine what’s happened—he comes into Eddie’s room and holds him even if Eddie doesn’t want it, doesn’t ask. He’s grateful, though, even if he doesn’t say it, and Wayne sheds more than one tear; he’d been warming quick to Steve, called him son.

That wasn’t something Wayne did lightly. Not that anything Wayne did was done lightly.

However many days pass, Eddie doesn’t keep track. He wakes and runs to the little box on his dresser, just to make sure it’s safe, clutching the film tube around his neck while he does, weighing it desperately until he can be sure the bulk of the ashes are undisturbed. The rest of his time is spent lying in his bed and rolling the little canister across his fingers, taking off all his rings so he can just…touch it. Be close to whatever lifeless pieces of Steve—and likewise, then: pieces of Eddie—remain anywhere at all. He passes the hours like that, largely. Sometimes he thinks he’s hungry, like his stomach aches in that pang kind of way, but thinking of eating in a world where Steve doesn’t breathe makes him sick every time, so he doesn’t follow through. Wayne pesters him to at least drink something, so he sometimes shuffles to the bathroom, or the kitchen, drinks from the sink because glasses are for people who make plans for the future, who intend to drink things over the course of a lifetime, a life maybe with a purpose, a purpose that—

Eddie throws himself back into bed again, every time. Presses his film-canister-talisman tight to his sternum until the hurt of the pressure blurs with bigger hurts, and ultimately blurs into black.

Until one day, he opens his eyes. And after he’s done with the subtle disappointment that he had to, that morning came at all; when he gets up and checks the box?

The lid’s flipped off.

And there’s a tiny pile of dusty ash, glittering next to it, when there’s no light in the room to even catch it.

Eddie’s heart drops, then seizes in his chest.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

No one comes in but Wayne, and he just pokes his head in. Nothing can get in, either, unless…but they closed all the gates, there is no Upside Down anymore—

Eddie’s hands are shaking as he tries to brush the little pile into his hands, pulse tripping when the thinks of what it is, inside his hands, and he carefully lets it sift back into the jewelry box, tries to judge if any’s been lost, closes the top when he starts breathing too heavy, when his anxiety threatens to make the situation worse as he tries to bend down and see the furniture at surface level, find any precious speck of—

Not a speck. Not a…mote.

The escaped ashes were on top of something, though. Something Eddie’s never seen before. About the size of a notecard but, kinda like…ancient, weathered; that yellowed look you can never fake just right, traced alone with…some kind of calligraphy out of fucking Camelot or some shit, metallic gold in script:

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.  

The…fuck?

Eddie tries to squint, because the text is weirdly positioned; it does look like something’s worn off, and some of what’s actually there is brighter, bolder than the rest, and then there’s a whole other style, almost backward, like a mirror-image of handwriting, and Eddie lifts the card up to the mirror instinctively, only to see…

There’s writing on the other side.

Eddie’s breath catches when he recognizes the handwriting. Small, and more words than should be able to fit but…it fits. It’s dried blood in color, and Eddie’s not convinced it’s just a color for how it’s a little raised and flaky, but it doesn’t come off when Eddie touches it, traces it because the cramped little letters, tall and short all mixed and mismatched, so familiar, so tight in Eddie’s chest—

It’s…Eddie…

Eddie’s eyes skim the first few lines in Steve’s handwriting, and he cannot fucking breathe—

Hey, wow, that’s some crazy shit there on the other side of this piece of paper, my gran says it’s a warning even if I don’t personally get it, but I’m pretty sure it’s enchanted? The paper, I mean. The warning’s probably about being too close to…this, without being prepared. But that’s, whatever. Point is, I don’t think I can make new enchanted paper, so here’s the deal: First, thanks for grabbing the ashes? I didn’t actually expect anyone to do that. I hope it was intentional, like that you weren’t sweeping or the ash got stuck in your shoes or something, because intentional will make the rest of this way easier (hopefully, or like, maybe), and if you’re a part of the bigger Hawkins fuckery it’ll be way easier to believe at the least so, fingers crossed I guess but: I’m kind of a phoenix? Firebird? Thing? It’s a bloodline “curse” but especially since the, umm, incidents with the Lab I’ve been thinking maybe it’s actually kinda cool? Like insurance. But the extra fucked up thing is that someone has to grab the ashes without being, like, told to. Free will or some bullshit. And apparently we’re not a very spontaneously likable bunch of dungeons-and-dipshit-type creatures, because not many of us even get to re-birth ourselves. Because of the ash…thing. But you! You did that! And now I can do the rebirth thing! Which I hope is okay. There are a lot of, like, bond-type things that go along with the person who ‘cares selflessly to gather ash unbidden’—I think that’s what makes someone more than a ‘mere human’ consumed by the Fire and they won’t get burned, they’ll be…well, if they wanted. Bond-stuff. Not important. I’m not gonna hold you to any of that shit, like, nothing you don’t want to happen will happen because of this, I 100% promise. Except maybe I’ll do some over the top gestures of gratitude—and on the off chance you already know me, at all? Over-the-top is kinda how I do most feelings, so. Should not be a surprise. Only thing I will ask, and if it’s too much no worries, the whole resurrection shebang was a gamble from the get-go but, if you can just keep this pile of ashes safe for a little bit? It takes longer to heal based on how old you are when you, y’know. Kick it. So…yeah. I never learned how to come back as a baby because that sounded weird. Quicker, but weird. I only learned the slower way so I can just…come back how I left, like no time passed. But if you can keep the ashes safe until then that’d be totally cool. Anyway, thanks, whoever you are. Kinda owe you my life, here. I’ll show you the appreciation you deserve when I’m, you know. Not-ashes. Once I have opposable thumbs again and stuff. But really. Thank you. See you soon, hopefully (if that’s cool, I mean, I can get out of your hair ASAP too if you’d rather, just say so soon as I pop up)— ~SH

Eddie…falls to the floor at some point, nearly ripping the note, no: no, actually, he should have decimated it, macerated it the with the way his hands clench and his tears have fallen and made not a single mark: enchanted paper.

Ashes that…maybe are Steve?

That maybe mean Steve could come…will come back?

Eddie really can’t breathe, now, and when the black swallows everything, he’s still on the fucking floor.

——

When next he comes-to, Eddie splashes water on his face after he checks on the jewelry box, reads the letter again, clutches the ash-filled pendant in his hand as he drinks, considers eating—no.

No, not yet. His stomach’s still unsteady. His chest is swollen, pressed with something like hope for the impossible because what the fuck, first and foremost, but then, then…

There was a horrorscape under his feet for years before it came for him personally, before he almost died at its hands once, and then again by proxy when, when it took his…

His maybe-love-of-his-life-and-also-possibly-something-like-a-phoenix-who-might-be-coming-back-to-Eddie-which-would-mean-Eddie-could-keep-breathing-and-his-heart-would-be-returned-to-his-chest-by-the-hands-of-the-man-he-loves-because-he-thinks-it-died-with-Steve-but-if-Steve-isn’t-dead—

He basically almost died again when…maybe his Steve—who Eddie fully acknowledges at this point he’s absolutely fucking gone on with his whole heart and soul, because there’s no other real explanation for his total and complete shutdown as a human for the sake of Steve’s loss—when his Stevie died, but maybe didn’t.

But then now, now maybe…

Maybe the impossible could be something that saved them, saved him, instead of something that only sought to ruin.

Eddie doesn’t think he can believe he’s that lucky.

But it’s easier to entertain the possibility, than to continue just…knowing Steve died before Eddie could acknowledge with his everything that he—certified cynic and self-deceiving dumbass Edward Elliot Munson—was ass-over-ankles in love; and more than that: before he could tell Steve as much, because of anyone Eddie’s ever met, Steve Harrington deserves to know how impossible it is not to; how ineffably much he is loved.

“Hey,” Eddie ultimately finds himself curled up back in his bed again, clutching his film canister to his chest, tight enough to leave an impression on his skin.

He wants it to. Right over the way his heart slams against his ribs. He wants a bruise. He wants a scar. He wants inviolable proof.

“Umm, so I don’t know if this is real,” Eddie’s eyes flicker to the jewelry box of ashes, the strange potentially-enchanted note on his dresser; “or if it is, how this works?”

This apparently being talking to the cobbled together film-pendant around his neck, he…he’s so fucked, isn’t he, this is insane—

But it’s not like that’s ever stopped him before.

And before never had love in the mix. So.

“If you can hear me,” Eddie runs his thumb around the circumference of the cap, over and over; “I pretty fucking sure I’m in love with you,” and it’s maybe fucked up, how it feels as nervewracking to say it to a plastic canister of ashes as he imagines it’d feel looking into those stupidly-wide amber eyes, but yep: said plastic ash-pendant’d be fucking bouncing with his heartbeat if he wasn’t holding it so tight to the furious drumming of his pulse.

“I know it’s fast? But,” and Eddie swallows, shakes his head for reasons that are maybe about dispelling the idea that anything’s too fast or too much in the life they’ve led, one where more might be possible, where a future might still exist beyond all possibilities, all hope except for the fragile frail thing in Eddie’s chest written in blood red, in Steve’s hand on Eddie’s fucking bones:

“I don’t think losing someone hurts like this if your heart’s not in it all the way,” and that’s, that is…

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it. His heart is the heart of it.

“Sorry, about that, if you,” Eddie swallows, sour around the idea that maybe, even if the impossible’s possible, this part, where he feels like this, is just…maybe not too far but in the wrong direction.

But he wants to believe. He wants to think Steve saw something pointing in this direction when he told him to survive, so they could have, so they could finish, so they—them, together—could…

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s voice is hoarse enough to hurt, now, so he lifts his little film canister to his lips and presses them hard, sure: it’s weirdly warm against his mouth, held too close to his chest for too long.

Not long enough. Not close enough.

“Be careful about taking care of yourself, about, coming back and,” Eddie grips his pendant of ashes back tight to the center of his sternum;

“I’ll watch over it, watch over you,” he promises; “long as you need.”

And he breathes, holding the canister close before he brings it back to his mouth again and whispers to it like it matters, or…just in case it matters:

“Come back to me,” his words come out in a shudder, all trembling; “I’m just a mere human, maybe less than,” and that’s true, that is so fucking true but:

“But you already consume me,” Eddie speaks it honest, and kisses the rim of the cap— if there’s any chance of getting in, it’s there:

“So burn me up, as much as you need to,” and Eddie means it, he fucking means it with everything he is; “just,” and his voice cracks, and he shoves the canister back tight to his shaking heart when the first tear falls on it, covers it with both hands and cups it safe and damn-near painful as he whispers to whatever might listen:

“If any of this is real,” he barely fucking breathes: “please come back.”

He loses the battle for consciousness to his tears, but awake or asleep: he doesn’t once let go of the pendant pressed to his heart.

——

Eddie’s warm. Like, fell asleep in the sunlight, swaddled in a blanket, embraced and held and wrapped up in pure comfort warm.

“You’re more than a mere human,” a voice exhales right behind his ear: also warm, also comfort, also fucking impossible and he turns, frantic and even more so when he feels the lack of his film canister against his chest, and he tries to scramble for it but he’s…he’s held the whole time in strong arms that he knows, same as he knew that voice, same as it’s clear that he’s warm because he’s wrapped up in a body, tangled from the legs up with, with—

“How,” Eddie barely speaks, more mouths as that chest lifts, those lungs fill, that mouth curls warm and sweet and his Steve is watching him, those eyes so alive and then those strong hands are reaching for him, cupping Eddie’s cheeks and marveling like Eddie’s the wonder, here, like Steve isn’t lying in his arms like a full-on fucking miracle.

“You offered burning, and pledged your heart unasked,” Steve says it in this…this way that is exactly that simple, and exponentially more profound.

“That is some lore shit,” Eddie breathes out almost on instinct because…that’s some lore shit.

And Steve—Steve, his Stevie, wrapped around him and moving and breathing and being and definitely one-hundred-percent naked but that is totally irrelevant right this moment because Steve—

Steve laughs at him, soft and fond and god, god but Eddie thought he’d lost it. He was so sure, and his heart was so broken but now Steve’s heart is strong against his skin and Eddie can, he can…

Eddie can fucking breathe.

“I don’t think anyone expects our kind to be…cared about, like that,” Steve shrugs a little, and Eddie wants to protest because Steve Harrington isn’t only cared about, he is adored, and fuck anyone who says different, who so much as thinks otherwise—he wants to push the point, but Steve’s eyes are so intent, so saturated with feeling.

And fuck, but Eddie missed those eyes.

“Speeds the whole re-personing thing up, apparently,” Steve’s smile is a little wider before he shakes his head with a cute little toss of that hair.

“Old magic things,” he dismisses; “for later,” and then he draws Eddie back down close to his chest and snuggles him in so, so close.

“Tired,” Steve sighs a little into Eddie’s mess of curls; “and you need taking care of.”

And it’s…out of everything, the protective certainty in those last words are maybe the most unshakable proof that settles in Eddie’s chest and reminds the still-reluctant, still-too-scared parts of Eddie’s heart to commit and start back to beating because: only Steve Harrington is protective…quite like this.

“You’re really here?” Eddie whispers, wondering and hesitant all at the same time.

“Thanks to you,” Steve kisses Eddie soft, sure: taste strangely of smoke and cinnamon but underneath—all Steve.

His Steve.

He folds into Steve’s chest and just, fucking, clings.

“So fast,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin, because the heartbeat under his lips is almost indecipherable, one beat to the next. “And you’re so warm, are you,” Eddie props his chin up and looks up at Steve, anxious and flooding with worry before he sees Steve’s smile, still sweet and steady.

“Bird,” Steve drums his fingers against Eddie’s forearm, lightning quick; “fire bird, so,” and the heat makes sense then, too, as Steve wraps him up again tighter and sighs, satisfied as he envelopes Eddie’s frame.

“Also extra energy, I think,” Eddie listens to Steve’s words around his heartbeat through his chest; “like, I couldn’t make it past your kitchen but, I don’t know how I know it, but I know I can give some of it to you while it’s settling.”

Magic. Steve. Can share his phoenix magic. To take care of Eddie. Immediately after coming back from the fucking grave.

On brand, Eddie guesses. Jesus fuck.

“I am pretty damn positive I’m in love you with you, too, by the way,” Steve shakes Eddie back to his body, to the moment, to the soft sure way he breathes those words and kisses Eddie’s temple like Eddie’s pulse doesn’t trip around the sentence, the sentiment.

“Also thank you, for,” Steve adds, and drops another kiss while Eddie reels, floats in the moment of hearing the words, of knowing for sure, of feeling it: “for loving me, somehow, enough to,” and Eddie can imagine where that’s headed, the way Steve says somehow like an unthinkable thing.

And there will be none of that, so he stops it and kisses hard, wet, open-mouthed at the center of Steve’s chest, over his bird-flutter heartbeat.

“It broke me,” Eddie breathes there, cracked open and still raw; “I already mostly figured but,” and his voice breaks, and Steve pulls him closer, so warm, and the bird-heart-flutter feels more like full broad wings, majestic, almost embracing and ensuring Eddie of all things is safe, and kept.

And warm.

Fuck if Eddie doesn’t fall into the feeling, full body; whole heart and soul.

“If there was any question whether I already loved you with everything, the way I fell apart,” and Eddie just moans a little because there aren’t…he doesn’t have words for it at all, he—

“Let me put you back together?” Steve murmurs low in a way that’s so soft and gentle but trembles the marrow inside Eddie’s bones.

Timeless. Endless.

Eddie kisses Steve’s chest again and hopes Steve knows that means yes, and please, and forever.

Unequivocally.

“Could we maybe talk about that, um, bond stuff, that the letter…” Eddie eventually speaks muffled into the hair on Steve’s pecs, after soaking in the heat and pulse and realness of him.

“I meant it,” Steve murmurs straight into Eddie’s skin; “I’m not holding you to—”

“I want you to.”

Eddie did not for a second think or feel otherwise, from the moment he saw the words, before he even started to believe at all: his mind was filled with possibilities by those words. His chest was…

“You…” Steve nudges Eddie’s head up from his chest and studies his face, reads something in his eyes before his breath catches, this time; before his bird-pulse skips, something light and giddy against Eddie’s weight and Steve huffs, disbelieving but…maybe happy for it.

Maybe…maybe overjoyed, even.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and leans to kiss Eddie full on the lips again, consuming: familiar for it.

“Yeah we can talk about that. But later.”

And then he settles Eddie back against him and wraps him in his bare skin, the still-radiant warmth.

“Now you sleep, and when you wake up, I feed you, you shower, you put on new clothes,” Eddie wrinkles his nose, doesn’t even know how many days it’s been since he cared for those things; abandons any shame for it when Steve feels him recoil and presses him closer, chuckles once and nuzzles his hair;

“Then I feed you again, and then,” Steve kisses his head once, and then twice, and then three times and Eddie feels it tingle through his goddamn veins like a vow, filled up with promise when Steve whispers, so alive:

“Then, we can talk.”

For @klausinamarink, who requested '"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and also for @steddie-week for the Day Seven prompt 'Free Space'

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @mensch-anthropos-human @micheledawn1975 @lumoschildextra @dotdot-wierdlife @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @grtwdsmwhr @eddie-munson-addict

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[hellwantfuckme]

Adoration, Adoration towards her.

summary: after a long mission, Azriel passes time with his most precious person.

author's note: kinda nervous, the first time I post here, whoever is reading this, pls have in count English isn't my first language.

Azriel sat in the long, comfortable couch in front of the windows, not releasing his grip on Eclipse, he pushed her until she was seated on his lap. Azriel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his needy body, craving her warmth or her presence. He buried his face in her neck. The tip of his nose caressed her sensitive skin, inhaling her comforting scent, enough to release the tension in his shoulders.

Shivers ran through Eclipse's bare arms, she was pretty sure that under the nightgown she was wearing, which initially she had only bought to entice Azriel, she had put it on today because she had washed almost all her clothes and had no other options, and the long bath she had taken for almost three hours must have made her incredibly clean compared to Azriel.

His scarred hands, resting on her hips, descended to Eclipse’s buttocks, giving a gentle squeeze, drawing her closer to him if possible. He breathed in her scent, filling his lungs. Eclipse felt phantom caresses on her bare shoulders, as if giving a gentle massage, a greeting. His shadows relaxed in her presence. They extended along her skin, admiring its softness, warmth. Then, they disappeared, as if their purpose had been to appreciate her for a moment, to greet her after weeks without seeing her, even when someone else had sneaked to make sure she was safe and sound.

A smile pulled on Eclipse's lips, extending them until her dimples showed. She sank her fingers into Azriel's dark hair, the tips of her blue-painted nails lightly grazed his scalp. Azriel buried his face even deeper into Eclipse's neck, his lips sweeping over her skin.

She didn't dare to ask, to say a word about the dirt covering Azriel, the blood. She simply rested her head on Azriel’s, never stopping to stroke his hair while the only illumination they had was from the stars of Velaris, as bright as ever, providing just enough clarity. Any tension that Azriel had slowly dissipated.

Eclipse was pretty sure Azriel had his eyes closed, she closed hers as well. She had been cold when she had come out from the warm blankets to greet Azriel, with the sharp excitement of seeing him again making her heart beat like crazy, but now with him as her own source of warmth, she no longer felt chilled.

After some time, Azriel seemed to recompose himself enough to pull his face from the lovely hideaway that was Eclipse's neck.

Azriel looked at her, his hazel eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness, tired and somewhat sunken. Eclipse always felt exposed under his gaze, so deep that she wouldn't be surprised if he could see her entirely. Her thoughts and fears and see her for who she was, not as others expected her to be. The slightly scatter-brained but tremendously intelligent girl she was. She could spend hours talking about the most boring mathematical theory, though if it was Eclipse talking, Azriel would listen as if nothing else in the world mattered, and she was also capable of putting all her pajamas in the wash forgetting that she would need to use one. As Azriel assumed had happened, because she didn't seem to have been expecting him in that way.

Azriel blinked, and then almost amusedly looked at Eclipse's pajamas before looking back into her brown eyes with a raised eyebrow.

Eclipse smiled a little, her cheeks starting to color.

"Laundry day," she said, as an explanation.

Azriel nodded, he already knew.

"You could have taken some of my clothes. I don't mind you doing that," Azriel informed her.

He didn't mind seeing her in his clothes at all, the gods knew how possessive that made him. Although he wouldn't admit it out loud.

Eclipse shrugged.

"I didn't know you'd be back, and I figured if I wore your clothes, I'd miss you even more, no matter how long you'd be out there," Eclipse said, without breaking eye contact with Azriel.

Azriel could easily read the honesty in Eclipse's eyes, the way she slightly lowered her gaze. She really had missed him.

He had missed her too. So much so that he had to remind himself several times, more times than would be prudent, to focus on getting back to her as soon as he could. With the loving arms that would welcome him, even if he were dirty from head to toe or soaked in blood.

Azriel placed his hand on Eclipse's cheek, he didn't miss the way her head tilted a little at his warm touch. At the same time, she didn't miss how Azriel's gaze wandered for a fraction of a second to his own hands, filled with brutal scars compared to Eclipse's smooth olive skin. He seemed to tuck that insecurity away, leaving it for another time, because when he looked at her again, Eclipse could only find adoration.

Adoration towards her. Eclipse was sure she knew many people who loved her very much, enough to risk things for her. She was not oblivious to love, but it was the way Azriel looked at her that made her knees weak and her soul pliable.

And she didn't know, she wasn't sure, who had kissed the other. But at one moment, her lips were against Azriel's.

Her heart quickened a bit. Eclipse ran her hands over Azriel's neck and then her fingers gently tangled in Azriel's hair. She leaned in a bit, deepening the kiss.

Eclipse might have gotten lost in that very moment when Azriel held her tighter, embraced her more firmly. She almost wanted to sigh with pleasure, if that didn't mean leaving those soft lips that kissed her as if she were the only woman worth anything in the world.

She was the only woman worth looking at, touching, or kissing for Azriel.

Azriel pulled away, although Eclipse's lips still followed his in the movement. Eclipse expected to find a bit of that smirking, arrogant smile on his lips, knowing full well the effect he had on her. Eclipse only found relaxed eyes staring at her. So much so that Azriel could have fallen asleep right there, sitting on that couch without taking off his leathers or anything. Regardless of his wings uncomfortably pressed, he hadn't even realized they were like that. There was no part of him that wasn’t engulfed by Eclipse, the essence of Eclipse, the touch of Eclipse, the skin of Eclipse. Since Eclipse's carelessness about her clothes, he had to take a moment to go with her because she had too much clothing, and he knew she wouldn't let Nuala and Cerridwen take her clothes to the room for her.

Azriel wanted to snort, by the gods, what would become of him. He was completely at the mercy of that woman, kneeling before her. Who would have thought that he, infamous and cold as he was known, was there giving everything he was and everything he felt to a woman. Although not just "a" woman. Eclipse.

Eclipse, oblivious to Azriel's line of thought, only blinked and looked at him carefully.

"Do you feel like a bath?" Eclipse asked inquisitively.

It took Azriel a moment to process the words after being lost in his own thoughts. He nodded, but didn't stop embracing her or make any effort to get up.

"Now or tomorrow? Whatever suits you best, Shadowsinger," she joked softly, the corners of her lips curving up, Azriel caught that for a moment.

Azriel loosened his grip so that Eclipse could get out of his lap, stand up, and straighten her blue silk nightgown a bit.

Gods, that nightgown. Azriel couldn't help but let his gaze wander over Eclipse's entire body. From the exposed collarbones, where underneath the right one was the phrase "hell is empty and all the devils are here" written in ink forever, to the generous, quite actually, breasts in each blue lingerie cup, the exact same tone of her siphons, through the rest of the loose blue silk down to the middle of her thighs. His gaze also trailed over her athletic legs.

Eclipse smiled, as if she wanted to make a comment, but simply held out her hand to Azriel.

Azriel took it.

[mii-ruby]

Theory about the "Price to pay"

Spoilers 'till chapter 260

So we're finally at the point where Yona has to talk to the dragon gods herself. We knew this was bound to happen and it was honestly the most logical turn of events. What we don't know however is the price she'll have to pay to get such a wish fulfilled.

Two theories come to mind:

1/ The first and most popular one is that Yona will have to leave the mortal realm and return to heaven to be the Crimson dragon King again.

No need for the dragon warriors anymore, they'll simply lose their powers, and the gods can finally have Yona back like they always wanted, which could be the interpretation of the last line from the prophecy "And The Red Dragon Shall Return At Dawn".

This theory, although logical, is just too cruel. Akayona is not a tragedy, I can't imagine Kusanagi will end a story about found family, self growth and overcoming your trauma with the death of the main character. I desperately tried to find another suitable price that didn't envolve Yona sacrificing herself, which leads us to the second theory:

2/Yona gets to stay on earth, but all the people she knew forget about her. I know this might sound just as cruel if not more than the previous one💦, but please hear me out 'till the end!!!!

Yona had done much more to the country as a normal girl than a princess. She went to different tribes on foot, bonded with peasants, pretended to be a bandit, pirate, an entertainer... etc, and fought off traffickers and dealers without ever mentioning she was a princess. Yes those people she helped will probably forget about her, but she can return to them and help them while being herself again. She doesn't need recognition as "Princess Yona". She draws people no matter her title.

On the other, since she'll no longer possess warriors with divine powers, she won't be a target for greedy individuals or people from enemy nations, so the gods can rest assured about her safety.

Lastly, everyone forgetting about her means that the red dragon no longer exists on earth. It's like his memory left the mortal realm and ascended to heaven again "And The Red Dragon Shall Return At Dawn". This could be an interpretation of the prophecy. The red dragon won't literally return to heaven. It's his memory that will leave people's minds and return to be a property of the heaven.

Now, even though I said that everyone will forget about Yona, I'm sure there'll be one exception to this rule. Only one individual will never forget about Yona while everyone else will, and it's Hak. The first reason is obviously the romance that'll just get reset to zero if he forgets about her. I mean, knowing  him he'll probably fall in love with her again, but it's like all their moments and all the development in their relationship will disappear and restart from zero which is something a lot of readers won't accept.

The second and most powerful reason (literally the reason that made me write  this post) is that one scene from chapter 25 that everyone hated. Remember when Yona asked Hak to be the only one to call her "Princess"? Remember when she told him even if EVERYONE IN THE COUNTRY FORGETS ABOUT HER, HE HAS TO BE THE ONLY ONE WHO REMEMBERS?

What if that scene was actually foreshadowing the ending of the series? That everyone will forget about who Yona was, and that he will be the only one to remember? Ofc I'm sure it won't be that easy. Hak will probably have to pass some kind of test to prove that he's worthy of remembering Yona, but I'm sure he'll succeed and the gods will begrudgingly yield to his request so Yona won't live a sad and lonely life after they cast their spell.

Ofc I'm aware this is still a cruel predicament. The family she fought so hard to save will forget about her, but she'll be able to start a new relationship with them. It'll prove that their bond was always genuine, that it had nothing to do with the dragons' blood, and I'm sure they'll love her as much as they loved her before.

The country also will forget about princess Yona. Her achievements will probably all be attributed to Soowon (but it's not like she cares about fame or recognition anyway).

Speaking of Soowon, it's kinda fucked up that he gets to forget the girl he hurt so much. He'll forget that he ever had a cousin, that it was her father he murdered that night, that she was the one who got the gods to heal the descendants from the Crimson illness...etc, It's unfair but we can't do much about it I guess.

What do you guys think about this theory? Would you be okay with it if it happened at the end?

[nightwriter357]

Smosh Summer Games 6

Hi again! Sorry this one has taken a while to post. Work is absolutely crazy right now and probably will be for a while so it's probably gonna be about another 2 weeks until the next part, hope that's okay. This part contains smut(18+) and deals with the after math of what happened last night..

Part 6: Do you ever like wake up or do you ever uh like do something. You're just like what the fuck is going on.

You could feel his breath against the back of your neck, a gentle reminder of the intimacy you had shared just hours before. His body pressed close against yours, his warmth enveloped you, and the realization that you were waking up in his arms-after everything that had happened the night before-made your heart skip a beat. It wasn't just that you were next to him. It was the fact that for the first time, you knew you could touch him, hold him, without any hesitation.

Slowly, you turned in his arms, wanting to see his face. As you moved, his hand slid down your side, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You finally faced him, your eyes drinking in the sight of him-his silver hair tousled from sleep, a soft stubble already showing. Damien's eyes fluttered open, and when they met yours, a lazy smile spread across his face, the same kind of smile that had made you want to do all of this from the begining.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep, but the affection in it unmistakable. You felt his lips graze the nape of your neck, a soft, lingering kiss that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Morning," you whispered back, your heart fluttering at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. You could feel the smile forming on your lips, the joy of waking up in his arms filling you with a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

His hand continued its lazy exploration of your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist before sliding up to your ribs. He wasn't in any hurry, savoring the feel of you just as much as you were savoring the feel of him. It was as if both of you were afraid this was a dream that would disappear if you rushed it.

Damien smiled at you, a lazy, satisfied grin that made your breath catch. "You're really here, that really happened" he said, his voice low and filled with wonder, as though he couldn't quite believe it.

You nodded, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, marveling at the fact that you could touch him like this, that you were allowed to. "I am," you whispered, the words carrying all the emotions you hadn't put into words last night.

His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. "Last night..." he began, his voice trailing off as he searched your eyes. "It was.. more, than I could have imagined."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch, your own hand coming up to cover his. "I know," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I..I had a great time."

His gaze softened even further, and he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was different from last night's passion-gentler, sweeter-but the underlying heat was still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

When he pulled back, his hand slipped down from your face to rest on your waist, his thumb drawing slow circles on your skin. You could feel the tension in his body, the unspoken desire that neither of you had fully sated. Even though you secretly wanted more than just the physical, you also really wanted the physical.

Unable to resist, you moved even closer, your leg sliding between his as your hands found their way to his chest. The feel of his muscles under your fingertips, the warmth of his skin, sent a thrill through you that made your breath hitch.

He noticed, of course, his smile turning into something a little more mischievous. "You're playing a dangerous game," he teased, his voice low and husky as his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt to caress the bare skin of your back.

"Maybe I am," you replied, your own voice teasing, as you leaned in to kiss him again, this time with a bit more urgency. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him as his other hand tangled in your hair.

The kiss deepened, the slow burn of desire that had been simmering all morning flaring to life once more. His touch grew firmer, more possessive, as he explored your body with a newfound confidence. It was as if last night had unlocked something in both of you-a hunger, a need that you had been denying for too long.

But before things could escalate, you broke the kiss, needing to catch your breath. Both of you were breathing heavily, the morning quiet filled with the sounds of your shared desire. His eyes were dark with need, and you could see the effort it took for him to restrain himself.

Before either of you could say anything more, your phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the moment. You let out a soft sigh, reluctantly pulling away from him to reach for it.

It was a message from Courtney.

Courtney: Hey lovers, don't forget to record cute vlogs today! Shayne and I are doing the same. Afterward, you two should totally come out for a swim!

You read the message aloud, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you imagined Courtney and Shayne enjoying their own morning together. But the thought of recording a vlog pulled you back to reality, reminding you that you couldn't stay wrapped up in this moment forever.

"We should probably get dressed for that," you said reluctantly, glancing back at Damien, who was still watching you with that lazy, satisfied smile.

"Do we have to?" he asked, his hand sliding up your thigh under the blanket again, his touch playful but filled with that same need.

"As much as I'd love to stay here all day... Courtney might actually kill us if we don't show up," you said, even though you didn't want to move from his embrace.

He sighed dramatically, finally letting go of you, though his eyes lingered on you, making it clear he wasn't ready for the day to start either.

Reluctantly, you both began to untangle yourselves from the warmth of the bed, your bodies still humming with the memory of last night. As you stood, you caught sight of Damien's back in the mirror, and your eyes widened. The faint red marks trailing down his skin were clear as day-your handiwork from last night.

"Damien, your back..." you started, feeling a mix of surprise and embarrassment as you remembered how wild things had gotten.

He turned his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder, a grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of the scratches. "Looks like someone got a little carried away," he said, clearly amused. "Not that I'm complaining."

Your cheeks flushed, but then you caught sight of yourself in the mirror and realized he wasn't the only one who had been marked. You reached up to touch your neck, where faint bruises and bites were visible-reminders of how intense things had been.

"Damien," you whispered, meeting his eyes in the mirror, "I think we might have a problem."

He walked over to you, his eyes darkening as he saw the marks on your neck. "Yeah... I don't think we can exactly go swimming like this," he admitted, his tone a mix of regret and lingering desire.

You both stood there for a moment, the reality of your situation sinking in. You wanted to go swimming with your friends, but you couldn't exactly walk around showing off the marks from last night.

After a moment of contemplation, you reached for a light scarf, wrapping it around your neck in an attempt to cover the most visible of the marks. "This should help, right?" you asked, looking to Damien for approval.

He nodded, though his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, as if considering just staying in the room with you all day instead. "It'll do," he said with a small smile, before throwing on a shirt to cover his back.

As you started to sift through your suitcase, you pulled out a yellow dress with daisies on it. The sight of it made you pause, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Oh... I didn't realize I packed this," you said, more to yourself than to him.

Damien's eyes lit up when he saw the dress. "That's the daisy dress," he said softly, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and admiration. "The one you wore the first time we met at the office."

When you turned around , Damien's reaction was immediate. His eyes lit up, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of you. "Wow," he breathed, his gaze roaming over you with a mix of admiration and something deeper. "You look... incredible."

As you sat down on the edge of the bed to slip on your shoes, you couldn't help but notice Damien watching you. There was something intense in his gaze, a smoldering desire that sent a thrill through you. He moved with purpose, kneeling in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours.

His hands found their way to your knees, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as his fingers began their slow ascent up your thighs. The touch was gentle at first, almost tentative, as if he was savoring the feel of your skin beneath his hands. But there was a possessiveness in the way he touched you, a silent reminder of the connection you had forged last night.

"Damien," you murmured, your voice catching slightly as his hands continued their journey, his touch sending a wave of warmth through you. There was a flicker of hesitation in your voice, an attempt to maintain some semblance of control, but it was quickly dissolving under the intensity of his gaze.

He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with a hunger that made your heart race. "You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, his voice low and rough with desire. His hands gripped your thighs a little tighter, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin, causing you to inhale sharply.

His touch was slow, deliberate, as his hands slid further up your thighs, the fabric of your dress bunching up with them. You felt your breath hitch as he reached the edge of your dress, his fingers slipping just beneath the hem. His touch was electrifying, sending sparks of anticipation shooting through your body.

At first, you tried to be dismissive, your voice light as you murmured, "Damien, we don't have time for this..."

But even as you said it, you could feel your resolve crumbling. His hands were relentless, moving higher and higher, his touch becoming needier, hungrier, as if he couldn't get enough of you. Every brush of his fingers, every lingering caress, made it harder to think, harder to resist the pull of his desire.

His eyes were glued to yours, dark and intense, and you could see the raw need in them. It was a look that made your pulse quicken, your breath faster. His hands reached the soft skin of your upper inner thighs, and you gasped as his thumb brushed over your panties, the contact light but enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you.

Your initial coyness melted away as a desperate need began to build within you. You wanted more—needed more. His touch, his presence, was intoxicating, and all you could think about was how much you wanted him to keep going, to push you further into that delicious haze of desire.

"Damien..." you whispered, your voice trembling with longing as his hands continued to caress your thighs, his thumbs teasing you, brushing over clothed crotch again and again, each touch sending a shiver of pleasure through you.

He could sense the shift in you, the way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time his fingers grazed over the sensitive skin between your legs. His own need was becoming harder to control, the desire to see you come undone in his hands overwhelming him.

Without a word, his hands slipped higher, his thumbs now stroking you more insistently, each touch drawing a soft gasp from your lips. The tension in the air was thick, the room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths as he worked you closer to the edge.

Finally, as if sensing your unspoken plea, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of your panties, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly began to slide them down your legs. The anticipation was almost too much, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him.

He carefully pulled your panties out from under your dress, the fabric sliding down your thighs, your knees, your calves, until they were pooled at your feet. The air was charged with anticipation as he pushed them aside, his focus entirely on you.

Damien leaned in, his head disappearing under your dress, and you felt his breath hot against your skin as he began to kiss his way up your thighs. His lips were soft, but the way he kissed you was anything but gentle—there was a raw hunger in every touch, every press of his lips against your skin.

"Damien, please..." you begged, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. The need in your voice was undeniable, your body aching for more, for him.

He groaned softly against your skin, his hands sliding up to grip your thighs as he continued to kiss you, each touch driving you closer to the edge. The sensation was almost unbearable, the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the way his fingers pressed into your flesh—it was too much, yet not enough.

You reached down, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, guiding him to where you needed him most. He didn't resist, his hands tightening on your thighs as he moved closer, his breath hot against your core.

When his tongue flicked out to taste you, a broken moan escaped your lips, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure that shot through you. His hands gripped your thighs harder, holding you in place as he began to explore you with his mouth, his tongue teasing and tasting, driving you wild with need.

You couldn't think, couldn't speak—all you could do was feel, your entire world narrowing down to the sensation of his mouth on you, his hands holding you, his hair gripped tightly in your fists as you tried to anchor yourself against the storm of pleasure building inside you.

He was relentless, his mouth working you closer and closer to the edge, every touch, every caress pushing you further into that sweet oblivion. Your body was shaking, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the brink.

"Damien, I'm gonna" you gasped, your voice desperate, pleading, as you tugged on his hair, needing him to push you over the edge, to take you to that place where nothing else mattered but the two of you.

His response was immediate, his mouth pressing harder against you, his tongue swirling and stroking in just the right way, his hands holding you steady as you finally tipped over the edge. The pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body shuddering as you came, your hands gripping his hair as you held him close, your cries of pleasure filling the room.

He didn't stop, his mouth still working you through your climax, his hands holding you as you trembled against him. When you finally began to come down, your breaths slowing, your grip on his hair loosening, he pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against your thighs one last time before he looked up at you from under the dress, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

You were breathless, your body still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure as you gazed down at him, your heart swelling with a mix of love and desire. He slowly moved back up, his hands caressing your thighs as he emerged from under your dress, his expression one of pure, unfiltered need.

You could only manage a breathless whisper, your body still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. "I don't think I'll ever get enough of you," you murmured, your voice shaky but filled with anticipation for what else the morning might bring.

Damien's grin widened at your words, his eyes still dark with desire as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. The taste of him, mixed with the lingering traces of your own pleasure, was intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment. His hands moved up to cup your face, his fingers gently brushing your hair back as he kissed you with an intensity that made your heart race all over again.

You could feel the heat between you building, the connection you shared sparking like fire. As you broke the kiss, you looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of affection and mischief. "My turn to touch you now," you murmured, your voice low and sultry, your hands sliding up his chest, eager to explore the body that had brought you so much pleasure.

But just as you were about to take things further, the moment was interrupted by the abrupt buzzing of your phone on the nightstand, breaking the spell. Damien groaned in frustration, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder as the sound of the vibrating phone filled the room.

You sighed, reluctantly reaching over to grab your phone, hoping it wasn't anything too urgent. Glancing at the screen, you saw it was another message from Courtney. The notification preview read simply: Don't forget the vlog!

You couldn't help but laugh at the timing, showing Damien the message. "Looks like Courtney's making sure we don't get too distracted."

Damien chuckled, a mix of amusement and exasperation in his voice. "She really does have impeccable timing, doesn't she?"

You nodded, still feeling the lingering heat of the moment, but now with a renewed awareness of the day ahead. "I guess we should probably focus on the vlogs... for now," you said, though the teasing tone in your voice made it clear that you were already thinking about picking up where you left off later.

As the camera started rolling, you flashed a bright smile, the buzz of excitement mixing with the secret you both shared. "Hey, everyone!"

Damien picked up with a grin, "So, last night, something big happened."

You gave him a brief, hesitant look, unsure of where he was going with this, but his playful chuckle set you at ease.

"Team Peg-Legger finally got our first win, in the Just Dance competition!" Damien declared, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you.

You nodded enthusiastically, leaning into him just a bit more, your hand resting casually on his knee, out of the camera's view. "That's right! We finally did it, guys!"

Damien laughed, joining in with a nod. "Yeah, we were unstoppable! And can we talk about that lift? I didn't know we had it in us."

You grinned at him, your hand gently squeezing his thigh, still out of view. "Honestly, Damien, you totally surprised me with that. Who knew you had those kinds of moves? Very impressive, lover."

He shot you a playful look, the word "lover" hanging in the air between you, a joke that had taken on new meaning over the past few days. "Anything for you, lover," he replied, leaning into the shared joke.

A thought suddenly struck you, and you couldn't resist. Turning to the camera with a mischievous smile, you said, "You know, I guess you could say we've gone from friends to lovers on this trip."

Damien chuckled, his eyes locking onto yours, his expression a mix of amusement and something deeper. "That's one way to put it."

As the vlog recording wrapped up, you exchanged a quick glance with Damien before turning off the camera. The playful energy between you both during filming intensified now that the camera was off.

Your hand lingered on his leg, giving it a gentle squeeze. The tension between you thickened, neither of you needing to hide it anymore. "So, friends to lovers, huh?" Damien murmured, his voice dropping, his eyes fixed on yours with a heated intensity.

"Yeah," you whispered back, your voice softening as you let the moment sink in. "Well, maybe more like lovers to lovers. But I couldn't really say that on camera."

He started to lean in, his intent clear, but your phone buzzed again, interrupting the moment.

You groaned softly, pulling back just enough to check the message. "Courtney again," you sighed, showing Damien the screen. Her text was blunt: "Where are you guys? Getting impatient here!"

Damien sighed, a mix of frustration and amusement on his face. "She really does have the worst timing."

You nodded, still feeling the lingering heat between you. "Yeah, but we should probably head out before she starts banging on the door."

He raised an eyebrow at you, "yeah, or you know, before we do".

As you both got ready to leave, Damien grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them on.

You couldn't help but smile as you watched him, the way they framed his face making him look irresistibly attractive. "Oh, I love glasses-Damien"

He smiled back at you, "you do, huh?"

"You know," you said, your voice playful, "you look like a sexy secretary or a librarian with those on."

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. "So a sexy secretary.. but just a regular librarian?"

You chuckled, stepping closer to him. "No, librarians are always sexy."

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Good to know," he said, the amusement in his voice mixed with a hint of affection.

As you and Damien made your way up to the deck to meet the others, you couldn't help but steal glances at each other, the scarf around your neck and the shirt on his back serving as your makeshift cover-up for the day.

The warm sun greeted you, along with the sight of your friends scattered around, enjoying the morning. Courtney was the first to spot you, her eyes narrowing playfully as she walked over, a knowing smirk on her face.

"There you two are," she teased, glancing between you and Damien. "Took you long enough. Did you at least get a cute vlog recorded?"

You exchanged a quick look with Damien before nodding. "Yeah, we did," you assured her with a smile.

Courtney's eyes lingered on you for a moment, noticing the scarf around your neck. "Cute scarf," she said, her tone a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Didn't think it was that chilly out."

You shrugged casually, trying to play it off. "Just wanted to add a little something to my outfit," you replied, hoping to steer the conversation away from any potential probing.

Before Courtney could ask more, you quickly shifted your attention to the group spread out across the deck. "Hi guys," you said with a grin, just as Noah and Keith leapt into the water with a splash.

"Hey!" Trevor called out, catching sight of Noah and Keith. "What a pair of munges!"

Shayne immediately broke into a chuckle, shaking his head. "Munge," he repeated, laughing.

Chanse rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, pointing a finger at Trevor. "You can't say the M-word, Trevor."

Tommy, lounging nearby, nodded sagely. "And that goes beyond the Smosh Summer Games," he added, causing Shayne to laugh again.

Amused, you mouthed to Tommy, "So 'munge' is an offensive word?"

Tommy, with a completely serious expression, mouthed back, "I don't think we'll ever find out."

You couldn't help but grin at the ongoing joke, feeling more at ease as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. However, it wasn't long before people noticed the lack of swimwear between you and Damien.

"Hey, why aren't you two joining in the water?" Noah called out, wiping water from his face. "And what's with the scarf, y/n?"

You shot Damien a quick glance before responding, trying to keep your tone light. "We, uh, just thought we'd hang out on the deck for a bit. You know, take it easy."

Damien nodded in agreement. "Yeah, just enjoying the sun before we jump in."

Courtney's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't press further, instead turning her attention to the rest of the group. "Well, whenever you're ready, we're all here," she said, her tone a mix of friendly encouragement and subtle curiosity.

You and Damien shared a knowing look, there was only one way to not get busted. Without a word, both of you suddenly broke into a sprint, running toward the edge of the deck.

"Here we go, Mr librarian!" you shouted, laughing as you and Damien leapt into the air together, splashing into the water with a burst of energy.

As you resurfaced, surrounded by the laughter and cheers of your friends, you felt the urge to kiss him grow within you again, how long are you going to be able to keep this up?

[sreyaya]

HELL YWAH BIRTHDAY SEGGS W NAIBU 😭

Birthday Soiree

Naib Subedar x F!Reader NSFW

Content Warning: 0.5K words, Dom!Reader, Oral (M!receiving), no sex just oral, overstim, MDNI

(A/n: short fic on this one! Sorry for the no sex part! i'm still trying to improve writing smut scenes sob sob)

(P.S.S: this was for Naibu birthday but i forgot to post it, it was already done too ;-;) smut under the cut!

Birthdays are meant to be special right?

"It's your birthday, Subedar. Let me treat you instead," you purred, pushing his broad shoulders back until his frame was pressed against the wall. Straddling him, you leaned in to return the kiss he had given to you much earlier on his party, a brief and intimate touch between the wet caverns, before your attention shifted downward to his torn black trousers.

Naib groaned appreciatively, his breath catching as you began to lavish and serenade him with your little gift. It didn't take long before you were sloppily groaning around his throbbing length, your hands deftly working the part of him that couldn't fit into your mouth. His breath hitched with every deep plunge towards your insides as the mixture of your saliva and his pre-cum created a slick warmth under your tongue.

He was never silent, the exquisite sensation of your warm mouth drawing out sweet, ragged breaths and soft noises from him. Naib's gentle hands began to grasp your head more firmly as the pleasure became almost unbearable. His cock, enveloped with saliva, slid in and out of your lips. Each movement sending quavers of pleasure throughout his body and down his spine.

As the intensity built and climax getting closer, Naib couldn't resist bucking his hips forward, thrusting into your eager mouth while holding a fistful of your hair. The climax approached swiftly, and with a final thrust, he released himself deep inside you. Strings of his essence coated your throat whilst the excess trickled down the corners of your mouth as you swallowed every remaining drop.

Naib's breathing was left heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he came down from his high. His face looks charming as always with baby hair strands clinging desperately on his skin. The thought of leaving him off to rest after a long day crossed your mind for a while, feeling slightly awful due to how your sexual distress had taken the better of you, but alas, before anything, another idea sparked inside you. Without any warnings, you took him whole once again, plunging deep inside your throat, feeling his rock-solid length kissing the back of your neck.

With Naib being inside you, you decided to stay for a little while longer, not moving your jaw whatsoever. The tip of your tongue playing with the base of his cock, tracing his prominent veins every so often whilst gulping down his tip. The overwhelmed mercenary could do nothing but rigorously whimper, knowing he wanted to continue the everlasting pleasure with you even if it feels like it was too submerging for him to handle. Everything is always better with you afterall～

Minutes passed by as Naib feel his high coming again, feeling a little fleety the second round, now moving your jaw much more languidly as his perfectly pink tip pecked you every thrust. Naib adored this sight of you, your hair slightly tucked behind your ears as a few falls out to the front, with one hand holding them back and the other wrapping nicely on him. The way his cock disappears inside your pretty mouth turns him on exceptionally as you struggle with his girth even on the second round. With one final cloudy imagination of you, he released the waves of white inside you once more. Knowing how good of a girl you are, you’d swallow everything for him, right?

[crappy-writings]

Daylight (Song Fic)

Based on “Daylight” by Maroon 5

WandaxReader // Angst

Summary: As morning closes in on Westview, you spend your last moments with her.

Trigger Warnings: Death

*There’s a throwaway line that could potentially be interpreted as the reader being latinx or having latinx roots. 

Word Count: 2,696

A/N: I found this mostly finished draft and finished it. Nothing special but still thought I'd post it.

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics Masterlist

Let me know if anything needs to be fixed!

Here I am waiting, I'll have to leave soon

Why am I holding on?

We knew this day would come, we knew it all along

How did it come so fast?

You stood by the bottom of the staircase, hand trailing down the railing. Your eyes flit over to the top of the stairs, thoughts of your boys who now lay asleep run through your mind. The events of the last week played over and over in your head; even though it had only been a short time, it felt like a lifetime. 

So many questions ran through your head, the inability to focus on a single one and the struggle to even muster up an answer left an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You do not know where you came from nor what you were, and that scares you. According to everyone, you have been gone for a long time now. 

Your thought process is interrupted as the red hue of the retreating barrier that gave you this reality catches your eyes through the window. It got closer and closer with every passing second; your time was running out faster than you were prepared for. 

This is our last night but it's late

And I'm trying not to sleep

'Cause I know, when I wake

I will have to slip away

Your attention is brought over to Wanda when you hear the click of a lamp being turned off in the living room, another one still lighting up the space. Dread fills your body; You did not want to be in the dark. You want to be able to see her, to hold her close to you and feel her heart beat against yours, to be able to gaze into her eyes and say “I love you” one last time. You want to say goodbye.

With that thought running through your mind, you walk towards the lamp she just turned off and light it back up, just as she turns off the other. She tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner, a soft smile shaping her lips. You take a few moments before answering as you try to commit every small detail of her to memory. 

“I, um… My grandma once told me that it’s bad luck to say goodbye in the dark,” you finally answer. The excuse was lame, but you can not bring yourself to care. All you cared about was this moment, here and now. All you cared about was her. 

“No she didn’t,” she says softly with a gentle shake of her head. A quiet, amused sigh escapes your lips. 

“Yeah, no. No, she didn’t,” you walk closer to her, standing a few feet away from her, “I just… I wanted to see you clearly.”

“And?” she closes the gap between you as she reaches out for your hands.

“And…”  you look down as you hold her hands in your own, “Here you are.”

A buzzing sound fills the room and both you and Wanda stare out to the approaching energy field. Your grip tightens up around her hands, fearing that you yourself would suddenly disappear without a warning. The sinking feeling in your chest was back stronger than before, the realization that time was fleeting crashing back again. You tear your gaze away from the window and look at your wife, the woman you loved, and say, “Dance with me.”

Her eyes, which were previously holding worry, soften as she settles her sights on you once more. “Please?” you add softly.

And when the daylight comes I'll have to go

But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close

'Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own

But tonight I need to hold you so close

Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

“Please?” you draw out the word, your hand outstretched for her to grab if she accepted. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had been blasting music throughout the compound speakers all day for no known reason and no one had been able to make the AI stop. Additionally, no one knew why the AI was playing music; You choose to believe that one of the ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that was now working for Stark Industries had successfully tampered with the AI’s systems as a prank.

You were helping Wanda in the kitchen with lunch when your favorite song from when you were a child came on. A wide smile spreads across your cheeks when you hear its first notes, a wave of nostalgia and happy memories washing over you. Letting go of the kitchen knife you were holding, you start dancing along to the music, not caring if your moves matched with the rhythm. 

Wanda stops stirring the pot and looks at you with a confused albeit amused expression. You catch her stare and, somehow, your smile widens. You were completely captured by her eyes, the way that she smiles, the shape of her lips. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to kiss her. 

“Come on Maximoff, join me,” you say while doing the silliest dance move you could think of. This brings out a laugh from her, and you make it your mission to hear that sound again. “No, no, no, I don’t dance,” she shakes her head in amusement. 

“Come on, dance with me,” you drag just about every word in that sentence while extending out your arm towards her, “just one song, one song and we can get back to cooking.

“Please?”

She rolls her eyes playfully at your antics; even though she has not known you for a very long time, she finds you to be quite endearing, perhaps even charming. She can’t help but think that Pietro would have liked you if he were still here. 

She reaches out for your arm, “Fine, just one dance.” An excited grin breaks out on your face and you pull her close to you just as a bachata song begins to play. A smile breaks out on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a different set of images of family gatherings and parties flashing through your mind.  

Here I am staring at your perfection

In my arms, so beautiful

The sky is getting bright, the stars are burning out

Somebody slow it down

You hold both her hands in yours, “have you ever danced bachata before?” 

“I have never heard this type of music before,” she answers honestly, a soft blush coating her cheeks. You give her a soft smile before saying, “that’s okay, just follow me, you’re in for a treat.

You explain the simple dance moves while showcasing the steps, your hands swinging along to your movements. “And you just repeat those steps. Oh, and you have to move your hips as you step.” 

Wanda watches you intently and tries her best to follow in suit. You watch as she stares down at her feet, trying her best to match your movements and rhythm. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concentration, her mouth curving in a way indicative of her biting the inside of her lip. She looked cute when she was concentrating.

“You know you’re allowed to mess up the rhythm a little bit and enjoy yourself, right?” you ask teasingly.

Her eyes lift up from the ground and focus on you, giving you a playful glare while the corners of her lips tick up in amusement. “Shut up,” she says softly, though her tone indicated no annoyance. Regardless, your comment managed to do the trick, as you notice her body becoming less stiff and fully giving into the music.

This is way too hard

'Cause I know, when the sun comes up

I will leave, this is my last glance

That will soon be memory

Soon enough, the both of you fell into rhythm and Wanda had mastered the basic steps. “I’m gonna give you a little spin now, okay?” you ask with a small giggle. 

Wanda looked up at you, and you could sense a bit of anxiety from her. She took a quick breath, relaxing once more before saying, “okay.”

You can’t hold back the smile that comes to your lips. You could feel a flutter in your chest. “Okay, in three, two, one.”

You let go of her waist and you spin her around and she laughs her wonderful laugh. “See? It’s easy,” you smile at her. “You were right,” she admits, her shining eyes met yours. Your heart could not help but melt. “Let’s do it again,” you say as a similar beat is about to come up again. “Okay,” she breathes out. 

You begin to spin her once more, but this time, she lost her balance and knocked into you.

The slight misstep somehow had you both tumbling to the ground with you falling on top of her. 

A fit of giggles erupt from the both of you as you move off from on top of her. “Are you okay?” you ask, still giggling, as you stand up and stretch your hand out to her. She gives you a soft “yes” and a nod as she graciously accepts it and you help her up off the ground. As you do, you accidentally pulled her right into your arms. The air seems to electrify around the both of you, the light teasing air suddenly dissipating into a more serious atmosphere.

Goosebumps cover your skin as time seemingly stills around you. All you can do is stare into the lovely green hues of her eyes. Thoughts of how much you’d like to kiss her ran through your mind. Neither of you realized how close your faces were to one another until Tony’s voice cut through the tension that penetrated the room, “Want me to set off the sprinklers? Make it a scene from Singing in the Rain?”

You both immediately break away from each other, putting a few feet of distance between the two of you. 

“Wh-what do you want, Tony?” you ask as you feel your face burning with the embarrassment of being caught. “Don’t mind me, Casablanca, I’m looking for my coffee mug,” he says as he crosses his arms over his chest, his signature cocky smile on his face. You quickly grab his Iron-Man-helmet-shaped coffee mug from the counter and hand it to him. “Here you go, see you later,” you avoid his eyes and all but push him out of the kitchen. 

“Let me know for next time, I’d love to watch Grease live,” he says ironically. You let out a fake laugh while holding out your middle finger at him as he leaves the kitchen. You hear him singing both parts of “Summer Nights” as he walks away down the corridor.

Silence then settles over the room and part of you is hesitant to look at her. You played with your thumbs as anxiety twinged in your heart. You couldn’t have been the only one who felt that, right? 

And when the daylight comes I'll have to go

But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close

'Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own

But tonight I need to hold you so close

Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

A shaky intake of breath makes you snap your head at her. She was still staring out to where Tony had just disappeared through before her eyes landed on you. An electric surge suddenly filled your body and, before you could think about it, you began to speak, “Wanda, I--”

“Would you like to go out with me?” she suddenly blurted out before you could finish your sentence. A stunned silence overtakes you as Wanda herself seems to begin to understand what exactly she just said out loud. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-- I did not--,” she begins to stumble through an apology, but it was your turn to interrupt. 

“I would love to go out with you,” you say, a smile quickly growing on your lips, “I would absolutely love to go out with you.”

Relief floods her expression as you see the tension roll off her shoulders. As realization sets in, she also breaks out into a radiant smile that makes your heart melt. “I hear there’s a nice coffee shop that opened recently not far from here. Maybe we can go there tonight?” you ask tentatively as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“That sounds nice,” she says as she looks down and begins to play with her fingers. You caught the light blush covering her cheeks and you feel your own begin to warm up. “Perfect,” you clear your voice, “it’s-it’s a date then.”

She looks up into your eyes, the smile never leaving her face, “it’s a date.”

I never wanted to stop

Because I don't wanna start all over, start all over

I was afraid of the dark

But now it's all that I want, all that I want, all that I want

Memories of your first date flood your mind. You remember the coffee shop that you went to, where you did not leave until closing time and then walking to Central Park. It started to rain and there was nowhere to take shelter, so you both played in the rain, despite shivering by the end of it. You remember the museum date you went on and imitating the T-Rex in the dinosaur exhibit. The younger kids that hung around laughed and started to imitate you. You remember dancing on the Compound’s rooftop under the stars while everyone slept. You told her you loved for the first time in the moonlight. 

Memories of a life before magic stones and genocidal maniacs became clear after having been fuzzy in your mind for so long. 

“Yes,” she finally says, “I’ll dance with you.”

You smile a grateful smile. You place one of your hands on the small of her back; she, in turn, wrapped an arm around your shoulder. Your other hands joined together in the air as you looked into each other's eyes for a few brief moments. You both sway gently around the room, falling into a rhythm that is all too familiar to you both. As many times before, no music played to accompany your movements; you did not need any.

You give her a slow spin, and she giggled. “Careful not to trip,” you say gently with a smile. She playfully hits your chest as she gracefully lands in your arms once more. You begin to hum a tune as you continue to dance. She lays her head against you and sighs softly.

You stare down at her lovingly. ‘I wish we could stay like this forever,’ you think to yourself.

And when the daylight comes I'll have to go

But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close

'Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own

But tonight I need to hold you so close

Another buzzing sound interrupts the moment, and you both instinctively look out the window. You look on as the force barrier continues to approach quickly and a feeling of dread bubbles up at the bottom of your stomach. 

“It seems like we’re out of time, darling,” you say quietly, as if speaking too loudly would make the barrier close faster. You realized you were still holding on to each other as you felt her grip tighten around your arms. Neither one of you was ready to let go. 

You tear your gaze away from the widow, your eyes falling on her. You find yourself taking in every detail of her again.

“Wanda, I--” you begin to say, “this may not be the best time for this, but I feel like I need to know. What am I?” 

Her gaze softens as she stares into your eyes. For a moment, you were transported to the day you taught her to dance in the kitchen while you cooked together.

“You, my love, are the combination of everything we’ve been through. Every memory, every fight, every dance… You are the embodiment of our love. But most importantly, you are who you have always been.” 

She gave you the softest of smiles. And you gave her one back. You tighten your hold on her briefly, wanting to tell her how much you loved her in any which way possible.

Another electrical sound reverberated throughout the house. Time was up; the barrier finally hit. 

And when the daylight comes I'll have to go

But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close

'Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own

But tonight I need to hold you so close

Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

Ooh whoa (yeah), ooh whoa (yeah), ooh whoa (yeah)

Ooh whoa (yeah), ooh whoa (yeah), ooh whoa

Everything around you began to decompose, the layers of the past peeling off the walls as time flew backwards. You caught a look at your own skin, how it seems to glow a brilliant gold as you slowly start to fade away along with everything that surrounds you. You felt no pain, not even a tingle. Your eyes fall back on hers.Tears stained her cheeks, but her eyes only held love and adoration. 

You place your hand on her cheek and wipe her tears away. You give her a soft, sad smile. You will meet again. Somewhere, somehow, you will be together again, along with your boys and a dog named Lucky.

She smiled back at you, the warm touch of her hand falling on top of yours. It was at that moment that you knew she would be okay, and that is all the reassurance you needed. 

You pressed your forehead against hers and wrapped your arms around her waist, sinking into the fading feeling of her warm touch. “I love you,” you whisper to her while hugging her close to you.

“I love you, too.”

You closed your eyes and squeezed her hand for the last time, and you welcomed the surrounding darkness that enveloped you in a familiar, loving warmth.