#but that doesn't mean i want images of it shoved in my face when I'm just mindlessly scrolling my dash

[nullshocked]

Keep getting an ad that's like "THIS IS HOW WE FIXED ALCOHOLISM" which is tremendously annoying. I usually keep things like that blocked, but I guess the mobile app doesn't give a shit and ignores that. Extremely cool. I don't want these.

[eggonthemoon]

Alien Stage Round 6 Character Analysis and Lyrics Breakdown

Okay so obviously spoilers, don't click Keep Reading if you haven't watched Round 6.

God fuck it's so fucking beautiful, where do I start?

I don't even know what is going on with those rapid shots of what I assume is some form of experiment that Till was involved in. I have no clue what the goal was or if it succeeded but somehow (for no real reason other than that one image of Luka standing behind Till ominously) I feel that Luka is involved with it.

Was this an attempt by Heperu's (Luka's guardian) rival to make a human capable of going up against Luka? Till being the youngest and Luka being the oldest also means that Till's guardian could have caught on to what Heperu was planning to do with Luka and then start experimenting on humans shortly after and it would still somewhat line up with the timeline.

But I'm getting into conspiracy territory, back to suffering!!

Allow me, to the tips of your fingers

Allow me, to the ends of your feet

Dissolve me in your gaze

I don't want to let you go

Oh this hurts. Seeing him look so defeated and exhausted, you can tell that even though to the public it's not certain whether Mizi died or not it doesn't matter to him. Because she's still gone away from his world, where he is unable to reach her. He wants to dissolve and die but he also doesn't want to let her go if there is even a sliver of hope that she lives.

Please, leave me scars

Please, hurt me so that

Not a single drop of me remains

Let me drown in you

The footage that plays to these lyrics really show how defeated he is. He refuses to sing, his passion for the art completely dead and buried. And (his guardian I assume) when someone shoves the fact that Mizi is gone in his face he lashes out and punches one of the aliens near him.

Until these falling stars

Are buried in the blur of time

However his heart isn't entirely in it and is quickly apprehended.

He is beyond exhausted and doesn't even protest or put up a fight while (the same alien he punched btw) another alien runs their fingers through his hair.

On your icy lips

Read my soul

Yes, my soul

He hopes that even if Mizi is dead that her spirit watches over him, seeing his soul and by extension, Him, for all that he is. Every thought and breath until he falls asleep is for Mizi.

But didn't we already know this is how he'd be like? Time for something juicier~

Even if your cold words

Carve scars beneath my eyes

May they linger on your tongue

You can break me apart

God this is heart shattering. Even if Till doesn't care for him, even if Till throws hurtful words his way, Ivan will still lie awake at night, cherishing what sliver of attention he is given. It doesn't matter if Till hates him, because as long as he is on Till's mind Ivan is happy. He is entirely in Till's hands, capable of being build up or torn down depending on how much (or how little) he is perceived by him.

Notice my pain

And mend me right now

To quiet my fears

I'll drown in you

He wants so deeply to be seen by Till, noticed. Till who doesn't let anything hold him down and always picks himself back up became a pillar of hope and strength to Ivan. It didn't matter how or in what context he gets to be seen, so he went out of his way to provoke him just to get Till to look at him even for a moment.

This was mentioned a while back on VIVINOS Patreon but the entire incident where Mizi and Till got attacked by that hound monster was orchestrated by him. I feel like there is two possible reasons for this depending on when in the timeline this takes place.

Either he wanted to test Till's resolve in hopes of being proven wrong about his courage (after all your hopes can't be dashed on the rocks, if you never had hopes to begin with) only for his obsession to end up growing even stronger than before.

Or he tried to let Till get roughed up enough that he'd be transferred (solitary confinement? emergency room?) somewhere else away from the others at Anakt, so they could escape together.

But we all know how that turned out.

Either way what Ivan wants isn't freedom, he's long since given up on that. There's no point in his freedom if the person that inspired him to yearn for it isn't by his side. He needs Till there, his very presence to reassure him that no matter what Till won't falter. But he failed to take account of the one thing that weakens Till's resolve.

Mizi.

Mizi is to Till what Till is to Ivan. And so without Mizi in his world Till crumbles. Since Till will only go where Mizi is and Mizi already gave away her heart to someone else, it's impossible for Ivan to be free while keeping Till in his world.

And so he follows him, resigning himself to a life without freedom.

Sick of these nights to come

To be engulfed in silence

But the distance between them is killing him, and each and every day they come closer to their inevitable doom.

It doesn't matter if they believe the lie the aliens told them, that if they die singing they will be blessed. Because what is the point in that? How can going somewhere far away from the people they love be a blessing?

In your gaze where I am seen

Consume me

Yes, me

His desires mirror Till's. He wants his soul to be seen by him, recognized for his undying love for him. He wants Till to see that he can give him all that Till yearns for in Mizi and more.

To this everlasting melody

Face to face we dance

And yet Till still refuses to look Ivan in the eyes.

Things get a little unclear but since they aren't shown singing here and there's no flashback to accompany the lyrics, we can assume that at this moment Till most likely gave up on singing.

With our story

Lost in forever's embrace

I'm not sure if Ivan intended this from the start or if it's a decision he made then and there but one thing is certain. If Till stops singing then that would mean he forfeits, he'll lose. Till has never once given up. Even when he went back for Mizi that night, he never intended to leave her in the first place. But now without her he crumbles.

And Ivan can't let that happen, not like this.

Moral grey area aside, this scene is so deeply moving to me

And I don't say that in a romantic context, absolutely not. This is something much deeper than just love. This is the culmination of everything they've been through, all those moments lead up to this.

Because this isn't a kiss.

This is Ivan throwing his life away for Till.

Till was going to loose, the only thing that could overturn that is if his opponent attacks him. The kiss was to distract Till and keep him from catching up to what Ivan was planning.

Just look at the contrast between their first and second kiss. As soon as the score board shows Till is in the lead, he gives him a gentle peck on the lips. The contrast is stark and full of meaning. This was the genuine kiss, hidden behind a smokescreen of aggressive bravado created from the previous one.

And it worked. Till was completely convinced that Ivan's intentions was to kill him, and he was fully intent on letting him.

I know a lot of people doubted his intentions. Because he didn't let go of Till's neck the minute he saw their scores, a lot of people assume that this was Ivan trying to drag Till down with him.

But the minute he coughed up blood what does he do?

He smiles.

and let's Till go.

He's only human. He might know logically that Till has won the match. But emotionally he refuses to let go until he is certain.

Until he knows for a fact that he is the one bleeding and dying he'll keep up his charade.

And then.

And only then.

Till truly sees Ivan.

As he dissolves in his gaze.

[leeknow-thoughts]

Headcanons of how the boys would be with their partner after a festival/concert. Like I'm imaging them all desperate to work off the high their on or keep it going with hot sweaty sex with their partner.

no friend you are so fucking right

okok here are some headcanons >:3

𝝑𝝔 cw : bulletpoint format, rimming (Felix), cockwarming, kinda voyeurism (all except seung and Lix), I think that's it???

CHAN :

oh he's so sleepy and soft after the concert but he doesn't act fuck you like he's tired !!

he's POUNDING you after a concert

i think he'd wait to get back to the hotel room but maybe if he's SUPER desperate he'll have you dry hump him in the car back to the hotel

honestly leaves you more exhausted than him when he's done w you

MINHO :

HIS STAMINA IS SO INSANELY HIGH he's the kinda person to work out AFTER a 3 hour set list at a concert like bro HOWWWW

he's def more slow and sensual after a concert, he wants to take his time with you when he's like this

trust me you'll still feel it the next day, but he's absolutely WORSHIPPING you

okok alsoooo if you suck his cock in a dressing room after a show he'll love you forever #vouyerminho2k24

CHANGBIN :

binnie boy wants you to give him a tit job after a show

oh yeah bonus points if it's in a bathroom or a dressing room :33

he'd probably fall asleep like 5 minutes after he nuts when he's super sleepy like this :c

oh also he'll probably cockwarm you back at the hotel, both of you laying on the bed, his cock just resting in your cunt, and he'll probably fall asleep like that tbh

HYUNJIN :

hyunjin is fucking you BEFORE a set, eating your cunt in a bathroom 10 minutes before he goes on stage

oh maybe maybe maybe he makes you wear a cute little butt plug while you enjoy his concert, that way when he gets done he'll fuck your cute little ass after he gets done performing

i can't talk about my jinnie without talking about him being all subby and soft, so maybe after a concert you're both back at the hotel and he sees you in your cute sleep shorts and he is practically PULLING you to sit on his face oh yeah :c

also eats your cunt after a concert

JISUNG :

holy balls he is insane, he gets a boner right before going on stage and suddenly you're stuck sucking his cock in one of the dressing rooms

also also also he's so so sleepy after a concert :c poor bb is so tired

he's def cockwarming you when you both get back to the hotel :3

and he's just so lazily fucking up into your cunt and he just lets out the cutest and sweetest little whines and whimpers oh yeah :c

FELIX :

he's so sleepy and subby after a set, like more than he usually is

PLEASE suck his cute little cock <3 he'll love you forever and ever

oh and his thighs will twitch when he cums down your throat :c

oh oh oh or let him sit on your face and tongue fuck his cute little hole, maybe even finger it open for him afterwards <3

SEUNGMIN :

firm believer that he would be so fucking EXHAUSTED after a concert he would not have any brain power to get horny that is unless you are horny

if that's the case he's def more soft and sweet, he'll be so nice and sweetieful, he just doesn't have the energy to be mean

he'll finger fuck you back at the hotel and watch you thrash around on the bed

maybe just maybe he'll fuck you, but it will be lazy and sloppy and you'll both pass out from exhaustion afterwards

JEONGIN :

this boy is so incredibly horny after a set and he has no idea why

so obviously you are gonna let him completely WRECK your pussy in one of the dressing rooms

he'll clasp his hand over your mouth or shove his fingers down your throat to keep you quiet. he doesn't want his hyungs to hear you after all

oh oh oh he def eats his cum out of your cunt when he's done too <33

[amoeganism]

FUNNY VALENTINE wriothesley

your boyfriend doesn't seem to love you anymore, so what do you do? complain to neuvillette of course!

warnings: kissing, u being dramatic, neuvillette being done with ur shit, u and wriothesley being super gross and in love

you defeatedly slump into a chair in neuvillette's office and sigh for the fifteenth time in the past few minutes. the hydro dragon slides both his hands down his face, much like how he's seen the people of fontaine do when they were in distress.

"(name), if you don't tell me what's wrong i can't help you." in the several hundred years he's lived, neuvillette doesn't think he's spoken those words more than he has now. as he raises a delicate, white teacup to his lips, you burst into tears, violently twisting your head away from him.

"please, don't drink that in front of me," you cry, shoving your face into an overly expensive pillow on his couch. "that duke wriothesley would always drink tea and i cant stand to see it anymore! i will die parched if i have to!"

"if you're implying wriothesley doesn't love you anymore, you are surely mistaken. i'm not too familiar with human emotions, why don't you pay furina a visit? i'm sure she can understand you better."

at the sound of furina's name, you feel your body run cold. the image of your friend laughing until her face flushing crimson red dashes across your mind like an arrow, shooting you in the chest as you bleed out in an impending doom. you love her, truly, but she would never take you seriously in a situation like this.

"hmm, if you don't want to talk to furina, how about i call wriothesley and have you talk to him yourself? he is your partner, he'd be more than happy to talk through this issue with you."

"no! he's the problem! why would i want to talk to the problem? he doesn't love me anymore, neuvillette. he usually kissed my forehead twice before he leaves for work, but today," you pause for a moment, placing a hand on your chest to soothe the agonizing ache of your heart. "he only gave me one."

neuvillette promptly kicks you out.

"now what's this i hear about you crying to the iudex of fontaine about a broken heart?"

normally, the sound of wriothesley's smooth yet slightly mischievous voice would send you sprinting toward him. today however, you were distraught and feeling slightly petty. the only thing that can satisfy your heartbreak was him on his knees, sobbing with a gross trail of snot running down his nose, begging for your forgiveness.

you quickly learn that in the end, wriothesley always wins. with your back faced toward him, he wraps his muscular arms around you in a warm embrace, the fur of his uniform tickling your neck. grumbling unintelligible words, you dejectedly turn to face him but can't hide the thumping of your chest behind narrowed eyes and pouts. wriothesley laughs at you, pressing a kiss on your forehead, one on your left cheek, and one on your rights.

"i'm sorry for forgetting our routine, you petty minx? i ever do something as horrendous as that again, tell me and i'll make it up to you with as many kisses as you want, yeah? if that's not enough, i'll apologize with tears and jump into the primordial sea in your honor."

as the finale of this vomit-inducing opera, he follows the monologue by pressing a loving kiss to your waiting lips, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.

"yeah you better keep your fucking promise," you threaten. the two of you know you don't intend to be mean by the way you melt into his touch. "i ordered your favorite today so you don't make me regret that."

maybe your boyfriend does love you after all.

[hurlingdown]

I read a fic a while ago about Omega All Might.

It was the fucking hottest shit ever.

All Might is of course the No. 1 hero, he has all these responsibilities and secrets. He’s never allowed to get close to people, which means whenever he goes into heat he has no alpha to take care of him ☹️☹️

Toshinori thinks of a different Alpha every heat, he’s not close to anyone so he takes advantage and fantasises with the scents and appearances of Alphas that grab his attention.

It just so happens his latest Alpha is also the new teacher at UA. Just an absolute unit of a guy. And Toshinori is fucking embarrassed.

Not even 3 days before, he had been fucking himself to a whiff of your smell - imagining your fingers reaching deep inside of him, imaging your knot catching his rim as you fill him with babies he knows his injury forbids him from having.

And he can’t help it.. he’s fantasising about you while he helps you plan and teach. He’s watching your lessons from the hallway, aching when your sleeves roll up and you preform the sexiest villain takedown move he had ever seen - it had him checking his pants to make sure he hadn’t leaked clean through.

Though he’s pretty sure when Midnight shoved you both into the janitors closet you can smell him going into pre-heat.

There’s something so sexy about both versions of all might, the big buff version that isn’t used to giving up control - blushing terribly when you kiss his neck, outright refusing to sit on your face in fear of breaking your neck (BREAK MY NECK YAGIII) and you have to pull him onto your mouth to finally shut him up.

And his skinny version, he’s self conscious,he thinks he’s disgusting and wrong and worthless.. and you kiss away his worries, slow and meaningful sex that makes him feel as good as saving people does. You make him feel loved without having to prove himself..

And even a darker thought.

Villain reader catching him off guard, seeing him leave All Mights office - thinking he’s someone close enough to warrant the number one hero’s attention - and Yagi is torn between transforming and getting the hell out of here and just playing along to not reveal his identity.

Though you’re not actually hurting him? You’re quite kind, musing to him, feeding him, petting his hair and loosening his ropes only slightly when you see him wince in discomfort. He’s thoroughly confused.. until you start fantasising out loud of what you’d do to All Might - how you’d fuck him, how you believe he’s taste on your tongue, how you’d test to see how many fingers he could fit inside of him, maybe your whole hand!

You’re a creeper, hellbent on fucking the life from the number one hero. And Toshinori is sat there, slack jawed, and embarrassingly hard.

I just. I just want him so bad 😭😭😭

Don’t even get me started on the weird Student/Teacher dynamic (18+ I’m not a weirdo) I want with Mr. Aizawa 😩😩

- 🐉

Thank you for letting me get that out Hurly Swirly

i'm going to be needing that omega! all might fic you found. i swear, all of you are opening my eyes with these thirsts.

all might practically drooling and leaking uncontrollably in his underwear watching you being busy out there taking down villains is so hot. toshinori is no small guy (lmao) but you make him feel small. seat him on your lap or face with your cock nestled deep inside or your tongue shoved into his rim, and show him that all of this is light work. you can take him easy, it doesn't matter if you're sparring or fucking. grab his hair while you're pounding into him from behind, and whisper in his ear all the dirty, brutal things you want to do to him. fold him in half, bend him over the couch, spank his ass till it bruises, make love day and night till he's all sore and overstimulated.

he might be the strongest hero out there, but in your arms, he needs that vulnerability only you can give him.

[ivys-garden]

Alright, I'm going to write my own thoughts down on the situation, sorry if this gets rambly

First of all, Shubble is so brave for speaking up, it's really hard for victims to speak up against there abusers in a public setting and she deserves all the respect in the world for it

That being said we do need to be mindful to give her space, this was a really traumatic thing for her and we all need to be mindful of that, give her room to breath.

On the same lines, don't go after other ccs for not ""releasing statements"", content creators aren't companies, there people. Don't get on at them for not publicly supporting Shubble, especially since there undoubtedly doing it in private, which is probably better than shoving it out there for millions of people to see. Let people support there friend in a way they and shubble are confortable with, if shubble wants them to say something or they think they need to say something themselves, they will say it.

It's like Pearl said, just because you don't see something happening publicly doesn't mean it isn't happening

Also, don't jump to call Tommy or Phil or Grian or anyone else enablers because they haven't said anything, they'll need time to process this too, it's hard to find out that your friend is a domestic abuser, let them process this in piece and don't try to cancel them over nothing like a fool. (People like Tommy will need time especially since Wilbur befriended them when they were young and by all accounts manipulated them too)

If anyone of these people have anything they feel they need to say they'll say it when there good and ready, good life tip folks:Don't Harass People. Especially if they have almost nothing to do with this (honestly Saw someone say they were going to go on to fucking RT about this despite him not knowing either person very well, the fuck)

I know why people do it, they want to make sure there favourite content creators aren't also bad, but they are people and they deserve respect, I can garentee you that almost no Qsmp or Hermitcraft or Other MCYT member who knew him stands with Wilbur

(Also if anyone brings Techno into this fuck right off let the man rest.)

Also, some brain dead morons are saying that people calling out wilbur are doing it for clout and that they should have done it sooner, but most of the abuse happened in private, and wilbur manipulated others, many wouldn't have realised anything was wrong and if they did its still better and more respectful to come forward after shubble since its HER story to tell.

(This attack also doesn't work anymore because we have things like tubbos stream, where he actively discourages his chat from treating him like a hero for speaking out, but yeah sure they all don't give a shit about shubble and just want to make themselves look better, fuck outta here)

Now, if your a former wilbur fan, let me make this super clear

DONT WATCH HIM AND DONT LISTEN TO HIS MUSIC

"BuT SePuRaTe ThE ArT FrOm ThE Arti-

Nah. That doesn't work here. You can separate a book or game or movie, you can't with a cc. Its there face, there voice, there personality. Find a different band, find a different CC to watch. There are other options, I know it sucks to find out someone you like did an awful thing,but that doesn't mean we should support those people for our sakes, especially when people were actively hurt by there actions. Trust me everyone, this will get better, things will go back to how they were before

Finally, this should go without saying, Fuck William Gold to the core of teh fucking earth. And any who still support him.

He is a raging egotistical manipulator and abuser. don't blame people for not seeing it sooner, no one can do that. What we can do though is blame people who still wholeheartedly support him and his actions.

He has not "changed" nor will he ever at the rate at which he's going. He's still a egomaniac who's more concerned with saving his image than actually apologising for his actions, even then an apology wouldn't fix all he's done,it would just be closer and a jumping off point to be better, but he can't even fucking do that.

If wilbur does reflect and grow, good on him, but if he doesn't then I can say with absolute certainty we wouldn't fucking miss him.

Fuck Wilbur. Support Shelbym

[wowcatboys]

hiii heheh, i just got into heartsteel recently and i’d love some sett kissing headcanons! (like the ones you wrote for kayn!!) ( ^ω^ )

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

HEARTSTEEL SETT / READER: KISSES ��� Gender Neutral ♡ SFW, NSFW under bold header ♡TW: Sexual Content

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

SETT

Whenever Sett hasn't seen you for awhile, (which happens far, far too often, owing to his packed Heartsteel schedule) he greets you with a huge, dramatic kiss. "Awww," he grins, "there's my favorite person!" He drops his bag to scoop you up in his arms, squishing you in a giant hug. No sooner than he puts you down is his mouth on yours, telling you how much he missed you in a way that words can't. It always lasts a minimum of five seconds and always makes you a little jelly-in-the-knees.

If you ask Sett his favorite place to kiss you, he rolls his eyes. "Awww, c'mon baby, you can't make me pick just one," he groans playfully, emphasizing his point by tugging you in and smattering kisses around your face. But really? He does have a favorite spot, and it's your forehead. Sett loves to slip his hands under your jaw, tilting your head up towards him. He brushes his lips across the smooth patch of skin just above your eyebrows. Sett lingers there for a moment. He basks in your soft warmth and closeness, rubbing tender circles over your cheekbones. Normally, he swipes a quick kiss over your lips before he pulls away (might as well make a pit stop while he's down there, right?).

Sett doesn't have an extraordinarily specific taste, but sometimes his mouth is a little sweet from the last pre-workout drink or protein shake he's had.

When he's kissing you, Sett's hands don't wander much. He keeps a gentle but firm grasp on your waist, or he's got one hand on your hip and one at the nape of your neck. If you let him, he tangles his fingers in your hair—if not, though, no biggie. He just keep his hand on the column of your neck, softly pressing you closer so he can devour your delicious lips.

Even though he wraps his fists, Sett still scuffs his knuckles up from frequent one-on-ones with a punching bag. He loves when you speckle soft-lipped kisses across his aching, split knuckles. "Thanks, hun," he hums, giving you a lovesick look that he reserves only for you. "I'm gonna be back to a hundred percent in no time."

Sett doesn't mind PDA. If you want a kiss then you're getting a kiss, who cares where you are or who sees? Picking him up from the gym? Cute (albeit sweaty) kiss in front of his gym bros. Hanging out backstage at a performance? Good luck kiss, even though he's quite aware it breaks the hearts of any groupies that might catch a glance. You're crashing Heartsteel's game night and Aphelios is kicking your ass in Super Smash Bros? Bet on a consolation kiss, even though Kayn makes a face and does an exaggerated 'eeewwww'. Sett just laughs and kisses you harder.

That being said, Sett will never give you a steamy kiss in front of his mom. You're getting a light peck at best. He's trying hard to maintain that Good Boy image for her. Plus, he just thinks it's a bit more respectful to you, as well—spending time with someone's parents can be nerve-wracking at the best of times, so he figures it's probably better not to embarrass you by shoving his tongue down your throat during family dinner.

Sett's a human space heater, which means his lips are always warm. If you're chilly, kissing Sett is a great way to get some feeling back in your numb-cold cheeks. His body heat and warm mouth will have you thawing out in no time!

Sleepy, cuddly kisses are a staple with Sett. He likes his naps and he loves to snuggle, which means you end up trapped as his little spoon pretty often. If you try to wriggle free he half-wakes-up, murmuring a little "hmm?" before nuzzling into your neck and falling right back asleep. Plan on being there for awhile if your dozes off on you. And, when he does finally wake up? Sett is not above bribing you to stay in bed with kisses. "Awwwww, c'monnnnnnn," he groans, hiding his face in your shoulder. "Ten more minutes. Please?" If you say no, he goes in for the kill. He starts at the junction of your shoulder and neck and works up from there, peppering kisses across all of your most ticklish spots. "Please?" He begs. "Please please?" Sett finds your lips before long, quickly deepening an innocent smooch into something languid—licking lazy patterns into your mouth, strong hands massaging slow circles into your skin. He relaxes you until you're basically boneless, melting into his touch. "Fine," you relent, and he hums with contentment. "Nice," he murmurs. He's back asleep before you even have time to adjust.

Sett's almost-unfair height is a bit tough to navigate when trying to kiss him. Luckily, though, there's a few workarounds. He's always wearing a necklace or chain, which is a great way to pull him down to your level and reach his mouth. And, considering he's constantly trying to "subtly" show you how strong he is, Sett's eager to lift you up for a kiss. He slides his massive arms around your waist and picks you up without breaking a sweat, holding you to his lips until you break away, breathless and giggling.

NSFW

If neither of those methods are to your taste, you can always straddle Sett. This works best, honestly. Both of you can settle in to make out comfortably, with your thighs squishing his waist and his hands spread out across your ass. Perfect. The only drawback? This position almost always leads to sex. You can't help it! How are you supposed to keep from jumping his bones when he's sitting underneath you, letting out those precious moans whenever your teeth pinch his spit-shiny bottom lip? And as for Sett, how can he not tear your shirt off if you're scraping your nails against his scalp, looking down at him with those bedroom eyes?

Sett absolutely loves french kissing. If you go in for a kiss any longer than three seconds, you can bet you'll feel his tongue swiping across your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open for him.

Getting a little messy doesn't bother Sett in the slightest. Even with your cum dripping off his face he still wants to make out with you. He works his way into your mouth, savoring the way you shiver as you taste yourself on his tongue.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

I was wondering if you could do a fic with Mike Schmidt x fem!reader and the quote “can I stack donuts on it?” I apologize in advance 😭

THE FUCKING SCREAM I SCRUMPT WHEN I GOT THISSSSSS BITCH YOU GOT ITTTTTT

Cherries & Cream

Mike Schmidt x AFAB!Reader

Summery: It's a modest holiday. Spent indoors, soft music on the cassette player... oh, and a collection of bad ideas snowballed into a day of sticky situations

Tags: No use of Y/N, author has fucking lost it, comedy, Valentine's Day fic, mentions of failed masturbation attempts, mentions of inappropriate use of lightsabers and water snakes (I SAID AUTHOR HAS FUCKING LOST IT- DONT ASK, JUST READ, IT AINT THAT BAD!), sex toys, handcuffs, sex dice, pre-established relationship, food sex, blowjob, facial, Mike gets restrained like we all know he wants to be.

Notes: I'm not apologizing for shit.

                     ▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

"These are ridiculous questions."

"Oh, come on. Don't be a sourpuss," I say. Cards are scattered around the small box on our bed, both of us long deciding we'd clean up later.

"What does it say?" I ask him, leaning forward. I'm straddling his chest, my arms crossed against mine, dressed in nothing but one of his shirts. His hand on my hip is halfway under the black material, his pointer finger twisting the old cotton around his digit. His other hand holds a dark purple card that he rolls his eyes at before shifting them to focus on me towering over him.

"It doesn't even apply to you," he says.

"And how do you know?" I say smugly.

"Because I've sucked your dick and it's not big enough to apply," he says

"What? Give me that." I snatch the card from his hand, ignoring his laughter as he shifts his hand to rest on my other hip, rubbing soothing circles into my skin while I read.

'What's the weirdest thing you have ever stuck your dick in?'

A short laugh escapes me, a bit louder than it should be with Abby sleeping peacefully down the hall.

"I'm waiting," Mike jokes, smiling up at me with his lips twisted into a smug expression of sarcasm.

"I mean, I stuck a toy lightsaber up my snatch once," I say casually.

"What?" He bellows, descending into a fit of laughter so grand his chest is rattling underneath of me, making my face bloom with blood in embarrassment.

"I was fourteen!" I say quickly in my defense. This doesn't help my case, making him cackle loud enough I grab a pillow to shove onto his face to muffle his fit. He grabs my wrists before it can descend, holding them up as he wheezes.

"Oh, Qui-Gon Jin! You're my only hope!" He relaxes his grip slightly, allowing me to stiffle his incessant noise.

"That was Obi-Wan, and I liked Darth Vader!"

His hands shove the pillow away from his red face, eyes teary and judgemental.

"He's burnt!"

"It was the vibe! Mysterious, dark, and that voice!" I protest. Mike makes a pitiful attempt at the sounds of Vader's breathing through his mask, muddled with spit from his laughter. "James Earl Jones has a handsome voice!"

"It's just so hot," Mike cackled.

"Mike."

"Nothing can hold a candle to it."

"Michael."

"Makes me go-" a crude imitation of lightsaber noises is the last thing Mike can communicate before I'm slamming the pillow down on him, making him laugh harder and block his face from my playful blows as he begs for mercy.

"You're a dick!"

"You'd stick yours in one of those- those-" as he regains his breath and I lessen my attacks, he snaps his fingers, one hand slapping gently against my thigh for thought.

"Oh, you know. One of those fucken- the uh..." He makes a jerking motion with his snapping hand, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling like the answer is written on the spot where some poster used to be.

"A hand?" I ask, crossing my arms and glaring down at him.

"No. One of those toys that had like water in them and you could like- I don't know what the point of them was, some sensory thing. There was like water, maybe fish or sparkles stuffed inside," he describes, gesturing his hand as he speaks.

The image begins to click together in my mind. "Oh yeah. Water snakes?" I ask. He slaps my thigh, snapping his fingers and pointing at me with wide eyes.

"That's the fucker. Yeah, you'd stick your dick in that," he says confidently, nodding and relaxing in satisfaction with his statement.

"Okay, but you can like slide those things in and out so honestly that's kind of genius," I say.

"That plastic burns like a motherfucker though. And it's got those seams for the plastic so lube doesn't help," Mike says, one arm curled above his head and his other hand once more rubbing my hip.

"That's descriptive," I say with narrowed eyes. I lean forward, my face hovering above his. His relaxed hazel eyes widen slightly, but only by a hair. His rubbing stutters. His body language is still casual, but has stiffened enough to betray him.

"Just a thought."

"How old were you?"

"I did not- fifteen."

It's my turn to snicker now, picking my pillow back up and smacking him once more in the head.

"Okay, okay. Teenagers are idiots. Next card, next card," he says laughing, hand now searching for a new card from the deck. "Oh my God. What food item would you use during sex- babe, where the fuck did you find this game?"

"It was some dirty Santa gift, got it a couple years ago," I say with the wave of my hand. "Anyways, it's my turn to ask the question."

"Oh right. Pick a new one," he says, flicking the card away.

"Well, hang on now. On the topic of poor sexual choices and food, what would you use for that?" I ask, smirking and crossing my arms across my chest once more. He glares at me, lips pressed firmly together as he narrows his eyes. There's a long silence, neither of us speaking as we decide who's going to break it.

"Donuts," he finally says.

"Donuts?"

"Yeah. They have the hole," he adds as if it explains everything.

"Uh huh."

"Okay, you used a fucking lightsaber, you cannot-"

"I was fourteen, you are twenty-eight. What happens if you squeeze the thing too hard and you've just got crumbs and frosting all over you?" I ask.

"I wouldn't fuck the damn thing. I'd, like, stack them," he clarifies. "Do it like one of those really cheesy porno bits like 'did someone order some food?' And just rip open the trenchcoat to reveal several donuts stacked on my dong."

"Michael, you've put a weird amount of thought into this."

"It's the fucking question!"

"Okayokayokay- so hypothetically," I begin.

"Mm-hmm."

"If I brought home a box of donuts-"

"Nice ones. Krispy Kreme or some shit, I'm not getting sugar in my shit if it's cheap," he insists.

"...glad to know. If I brought home a box of overpriced donuts and a trench coat-"

"Take the coat out, that was a bit."

"Will you let me finish?"

"That'd be the preferred outcome," he interrupts again. "But like, before the donut thing. If it was like, y'know." He thrusts his hips into the air slightly, not to be arousing but to clarify. Because that's the part he can't say out loud. "'Cause you can't get sugar in your snatch."

"You can't get sugar in your snatch," I repeat slowly, blinking.

"Don't ask."

"Right. So if I brought home the Kreme-y goods, you would present yourself to me with a donut dick?" I ask. He rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile.

"Sure."

Valentine's Day. A day for kids and new couples, mainly. And since this household is aging out of both of those demographics, Mike and I had decided to go smaller this year. Not that we went huge every year before, neither of us feeling quite like blowing a shit load of cash on the day. But usually we booked a reservation at a decent restaurant, put on some nicer clothes, and spent the holiday just having a nice family dinner. But Abby was old enough she was itching to attend some sleepover at a friend's house for the holiday, and Mike and I felt fine just ordering in and playing a card game that we usually thumbed through while bored.

"Do 12 year olds even get valentines?" Mike asks, sprawled upon the bed the night before.

"I don't know, I didn't," I shrug. "She's just visiting her friends and wearing pink so they can gorge on chocolate, sounds like a good holiday to me."

He considers this, scratching his jaw as he continues staring at the ceiling.

"Valentine's Day alone. What trouble we could cause," he teases.

"What food are we ordering in for the trouble, anyways?" I ask, looking up from the box of my things I'd been unpacking, hanging up pictures and placing knick knacks around the room and new desk we'd shoved in earlier that evening.

"Chinese?" He asks.

"Gas for Valentine's Day, I'll love that," I say. He laughs. "How about Italian?"

"Makes me bloated, you'll be top," he says. "What are we doing in that department? I mean, we probably should do something."

"You say that like sex is a chore," I say with a raised brow, looking up at him for a moment from the box.

"Oh, hell no," he says. "If that's a chore than it's my favorite."

"Chores typically bring you closer to God."

"Than I'm smokin' it with Jesus, fuck yeah."

At that I laugh, tossing a small box at him that rattles with something inside. He catches it, laughing and pulling it open out of curiosity.

"Oh ho! What are these?" He asks, holding up a small, hot pink cube.

"Oh Jesus, I thought I lost those. They're-"

"Sex dice!" He laughs. "You whore!"

"I'm not a whore, I just went to college!" I laugh defensively. His eyebrows raise.

"Popular?"

"Fuck off," I groan. "My ex bought those, I just kept them."

Mike rolls the dice in his hands, actually sitting up and crossing his legs on the bed before sending them flying across the quilt.

"Suck toe," Mike reads. "That's disappointing."

"We never used toe, we always just picked a different spot," I say.

"Like?" He asks.

"I don't know, it varied. I guess it was kinda a pick your poison spot," I say. "You wouldn't believe how often it lands on toe."

"The universe is trying to tell you something," he says.

"The universe can suck it," I say. Mike rolls one of the dice again.

"Tit. Nice. I'll be acting as ambassador for said universe sucking-"

"You'll be acting as helping me unpack these dresses," I say, setting the box on the bed in front of him. He stands with a sigh, hands on his hips as he awaits his work. I take out a few dresses and lay them in his arms before returning to my work of organizing the closets.

"Hold 'em," I say.

"Just hold them?"

"Yeah."

"You made me get up for this?"

"Before you find the handcuffs in there? Yeah," I say.

"Handcuffs? We've been together for three years, you're moving into my house and now I'm finding out you have handcuffs?" Mike asks incredulously.

"I didn't know that would upset you," I say honestly, shrugging.

"Upset? I've been deprived! You're a freak and haven't taken it out on me!" He says overdramatically. I roll my eyes but smile.

"I'm not a freak, I've only slept with like, two other guys. That's it," I say.

"So the guys were freaks," he says.

"I mean, I wasn't saying no," I admit.

"So you're a freak when asked?"

"You sound like a teenager."

"I sound like a guy who's gonna be home alone with his girlfriend and sex toys tomorrow, yeah, I sound like a teenager," he says.

"Oh, so we're ordering in and banging all night?" I ask, raising a brow in amusement.

"Was that not the plan already?" He asks.

"I wasn't gonna say it, but if you want to."

The night was spent laying out plans of debauchery. After dropping off Abby in the early afternoon at her friends the next day, Mike and I made a slight detour before heading home, where the items were laid out before us.

Whipped cream. Donuts. Handcuffs. Dice. And some cheap, bottom of the $5 bin collection of 'Top 100 Sexy Songs for Valentine's Day' cassette tape that Mike had grabbed from a local music store during our trip.

"Do you ever question the things we do while bored?" Mike asks, staring at the ceiling, butt naked and handcuffed to the bedframe while I straddle his thighs, trying to figure out how exactly I'm gonna do this.

"Do you?" I ask, pinching his soft tip between my fingers.

"I'm starting to," he says, glancing at the can of whipped cream that was starting to sweat on the bedside table beside us. "I had questions before I shaved my junk for this, but I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Good. Keep that philosophy, I think I figured it out," I say, finally leaning for the box of glazed donuts we'd hardly been able to act mature about buying while going through the drive through. We're not seeing the gates of heaven.

"Shouldn't you get me hard first? It's just gonna grow," he says in questioning, trying to look down at what I'm doing.

"No, because then I'll have to keep you hard and that's gonna deflate quickly," I say. He nods in agreement, satisfied and sighing in slight boredom as I begin my task, trying to get the first donut on without breaking.

"Ow! Are- are you trying to fucking fold my shit?" He asks, his voice slightly higher than it was a moment ago.

"You're bigger than the hole, it's gonna break the donut! It's soft, isn't it?" I ask.

"Not that soft!" He says a bit frantic.

"Okay, what if I stretch it out like this?" I ask, tugging his dick upwards.

"I'm gonna ask you not to!" Mike says. His thumbs find the latches for the handcuffs, undoing one so he can reach down himself. "Jesus Christ- you're gonna break me!"

"This is my job," I say amused, giggling as I cover my mouth with my hand.

He ignores me, examining himself and the donut before glaring at the corner of the room, sighing.

"Motherfucker, I've been blessed, goddammit," he groans.

"What a humble statement," I say, trying not to laugh.

"This is humbling enough. Do what you will, I guess," he says, flopping back onto the bed, donut in hand and taking a bite from it as he crosses his ankles beneath me.

"I need that," I say.

"There's eleven more, this is my consolation prize," he says through his mouthful, returning his glare to the ceiling.

"You gonna redo the handcuff?" I ask.

"I'll redo your fucken dad," he snaps, but shoves the rest of the donut in his mouth as he fiddles with the handcuffs once again, groaning as I start on my work.

It takes half an hour, four donuts and a ridiculous amount of whipped cream, but the deed is done. Stepping off the bed, I behold my work of a restrained, glaring, donut stacked and cream covered Mike with a proud smile.

"This was exponentially hotter in my head," he mutters, looking down at himself.

"You don't like it?" I ask.

"I didn't say that, I'm just not drooling over- where are you going?" He asks. I quickly dart out of the room, racing to the kitchen as a series of 'babe?' Rings throughout the house. I open the fridge quickly, find the box of cherries and race back into the bedroom, holding it up as though it were a crown jewel.

"Ohh, my fucking God," Mike loudly drawls, rolling his eyes.

"I almost forgot," I say with malicious glee.

"I wish you had," he says, staring at the ceiling. "You're sick in the head."

"This was your idea."

"I'm sick in the head, I repent, I repent."

Placing a fat cherry carefully on top of the fluffy tip, I smile in true satisfaction.

"Perfect," I say, hands working to undo my house robe, shrugging it off and leaving me in simple lingerie instead.

"Now you faceplant into my dessert dick. Delicious," he deadpans.

"Mike, if you really don't wanna do this-"

"I'm gonna get a fucking UTI, just fulfill the high school fantasy already. I'll have no shame once I'm hard," he spits out quickly, jerking against the restraints slightly in impatience.

Well, that's true enough.

I lean forward, trying to figure out where to start, deciding between bottom or top.

"Babe, this is mortifying, just do some- oh-kay," Mike groans, his hips shifting slightly as I gently suck one of his freshly shaved balls into my mouth, my tongue swirling around it as I grip his thighs. The stack shifts slightly, Mike moaning as he thrusts against nothing.

My mouth works his sack for a little bit, one of my hands trailing down to between his legs to press against the spot behind his balls, making him keen into my touch as he moans loudly, the handcuffs clicking against the frame of our bed as he squirms. When I'm sure he's hardened properly underneath, I remove my mouth, making him whine as I glance up at him, smiling.

"Doing good?" I ask sweetly, pressing my fingers harder into the spot between his legs.

"Still mortifying, just keep going," he moans shamelessly, his cheeks red as he keeps his eyes closed in embarrassment.

I lean down once more, licking at the melting whipped cream on the tip of his cock, his moans growing louder as my tongue finds contact with his cock, his skin cold and wet underneath of the cream. I'm barely able to reach his actual tip, my tongue sticking down far in the hole of the top donut. I begin biting into the food, quickly tearing away at my work in eagerness of what awaits.

There's probably a special place in Hell reserved for the two of us for doing something like this and enjoying it, but I promise you, if you could see the look on his face right now, blushing wildly and trying to hide behind the bulk of his large arm, it would be worth it.

Once the first two donuts are gone I take off the cherry from the top, dangling it over his mouth in teasing.

"Want some?" I ask. He just groans in response, his cock twitching from neglect. I chuckle, tossing the fruit away and quickly taking him into my mouth, drawing a sharp, high moan from him as I suck eagerly, admiring the taste of his skin mixed with the sweet sugar from the food.

Yeah. Definitely worth it.

Pre-cum shoots into my mouth as he rolls his hips into my face, my hand still working against him as I swirl my tongue around his tip, sucking harshly as I watch him. His back arches against the bed, his head thrown back in pleasure as he loses himself in the feeling of my mouth against him.

"Go deeper," he begs, his voice soft as he bucks into my mouth, his arms straining against the handcuffs. "Holy shit, please go deeper."

His hips buck harshly against my face, smashing the two other donuts and an annoying amount of cream into my face, covering me in a facial I didn't ask for.

I pull away from him, stopping my hand and just staying still for a moment to allow him a proper look at my face.

"... I do not like this," I deadpan. I'd blink if I could open my eyes right now.

Small whines escape him as his hips continue moving, questions being voiced then everything ceasing all at once as I guess he takes a good look at me. There's a moment of silence, then he bursts out laughing at the sight, loud and obnoxious.

"It's in your hair!" He exclaims, probably wishing he could point at me as I blindly search for the hand towel nearby.

"I hope this was worth it," I say flatly, suppressing my own giggle.

"Oh, the feeling is awful, but you're doing great," he says sweetly, still chuckling as he watches me wipe at my face, groaning at the stickiness of it all.

"Jesus, I'm a mess," he says, looking down at himself. "Can we just take that off and-"

"Yeah, normal blow job, on it," I finish for him, quickly taking off the other two, very smushed donuts and discarding of them inside the box. "You have horrible ideas "

"You wanted us to try new shit, this is not on me," he laughs, smiling at me. "But thank you for answering a decade old question."

"You're weird," I say.

"Just fuck me," he says back.

Quickly I take him back into my mouth, deepthroating him and encouraging him to fuck my mouth, focusing on my breathing as he does with blind obedience. His thighs press against the sides of my head, squeezing slightly as his tip rams into the back of my throat, all gentleness off the table. My tongue slides against his prominent vein, feeling how he throbs, his cock stiff and twitching from the stimulation. He pants loudly, whining when I press my tongue harder into his vein, a loud 'snap' echoing from near his head.

His movements cease for a moment, his chest heaving as realization crosses his face.

"... the handcuffs weren't expensive, right?" He asks inbetween gasps, holding up his hands to show the cheap cuffs now hanging uselessly around his wrists.

My eyebrows raise in surprise, my head beginning to lift off of him when one of his hands comes down on my head, suddenly gripping my hair as he begins to fuck my mouth with new vigor, tearing lewd sounds from my throat as I gag sharply around him.

"Fuck it, I'll buy another pair," he decides, slamming quickly into my throat as he pulls my hair sharply, his pre-cum beginning to thicken in my mouth. "It's not like you mind, right, sweetheart?" He asks, propping himself up with one arm to watch as I swallow his dick eagerly, one of my hands dipping down to play with my clit. He tugs sharply at my hair, making me whine as his other hand smacks quick and gentle against my hollowing cheek before pointing at me.

"No," he says sharply. "I'll deal with you after."

His hand strokes my cheek as he continues fucking my face, his thumb trained on my chin, keeping my mouth open wide for him. His eyes are glazed over in pleasure as he watches me, my spit dribbling down my chin as I take him, my legs pressed tightly together as I grab blindly at his thighs, admiring the thickness as I gag on his cock.

"Fuck- you're so pretty," he moans, his cock twitching in closeness. "And kind." I moan appreciatively around him, eager to feel his cum down my throat as I dig my nails into his thighs. "Don't know how I got so lucky."

His hand roughly drags my head up by my hair, forcing me off of his cock and making me whine as I try to take him back into my mouth. His hand wraps around his length, pumping quickly as he watches me.

"Keep your mouth open, pretty girl," he commands softly. I obey, sticking out my tongue slightly, eager to please. He smiles at the sight, his lashes fluttering shut once more as he fucks his hand quickly, using my thick spit as lube, beginning to lose rhythm.

"I'm gonna cum," he warns breathily. "I'm gonna- fuck!"

His words stutter as he gasps, his hand squeezing roughly at his cock as his cum hits my face, warm and thick against my skin. We watch each other as the first few ropes cover my face, admiring the other in a hazy cloud of desire and satisfaction. Then he shoves his cock back into my mouth, his hand pumping me up and down his length again as he finishes shooting his load down my throat, admiring my new look.

"I'm just- gonna do this for awhile," he gasps, his cock still stiff in my mouth as his flow of cum begins to slow, his hips still quick in contrast.

I moan around him, my cunt clenching in want.

"Don't worry," he says, reaching for something in the nightstand, pulling open a drawer and revealing his new gift for me. "You'll get some fun too."

When I tell y'all this motherfucker somehow found a dildo shaped like a fucking lightsaber.

Goddammit, I'm gonna marry him.

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

You heard me.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

how would y'all feel if I told you the title was a pun from that old 'berries and cream' meme

[heeseung-min]

[22:47]

Cause you could be the beauty

And I could be the monster

Beauty and Monster. That's what people have been described about you and Riki. The first time the got to know about you and Riki date, they couldn't believe it because both of you are so different. Riki's image is cold and grumpy, he often being alone because not many people are brave to talk to him. Meanwhile, you are the bubbly person. People described you as the sunshine not only because of your cheerful personality but also because of your beauty. So, it doesn't make sense to them that you and Riki could be dating each other.

But that's what people said. In reality, Riki is not that grumpy. His personality is introvert and he is comfortable on his own. You were the first one talk to him and that's what made both of you became closer and finally date each other.

However,

Some people won't agree with your relationship. Despite Riki having cold image, his handsome face still gather some fans from other classes and those became your haters when they get to know their favourite guy got a girlfriend.

You were in a toilet when you heard some students murmuring about something.

"Erghh, I hate Y/n so much. You guys saw how she tried so hard to be cute in front of people, right? I bet she's the one who begged Riki to date her just to make herself more popular."

"Yeah, she's so fucking annoying. If I get a chance I will pour boiling water to her face. Bitch. I guess we need to teach her some lesson."

You hate it.

You hate those people who think they can easily do what they want in your life.

If they want to teach you a lesson so you should do the same too.

"Yah, you two. You guys really think you can do something huh?"

Both of them looked shocked and didn't expect you to come out from the stall but then they smirked and went closer to you.

"Well, you heard everything we said. Might as well we teach you huh?"

Beside his introvert personality, Riki also an observant person. Even though he didn't really interact with people but he can knows what is happening to his classmates or the teachers.

That means he also can see what happened to you although you didn't talk anything. It's obvious to him. The way your hair is a bit messy like someone had pulled it and your clothes. The button on the top was missing and there was a wrinkle on the collar. He immediately knew someone was messing with you.

"Who did it, Y/n?"

"Huh?! Do-do what?"

Your doe eyes staring at him confusedly. But, your boyfriend can see through your lie. He went closer and started to caressed your hair so it's finally went back to good position.

"Your hair is messy although I know you will not let that happen."

He took a small brooch and pin it on the top of the buttons. You felt scared knowing that your boyfriend figured out what had happened to you.

"One of the buttons is gone. It looks like someone ripped it off you."

You shockingly looked at Riki. Did he really figured that out from just looking at you?

"So tell me baby. Who did this to you? I really hate when someone hurt my love."

-------

-------

Because I'm the devil who's searching for redemption

And I'm a lawyer who's searching for redemption

And I'm a killer who's searching for redemption

A motherfucking monster who's searching for redemption

And I'm a bad guy who's searching for redemption

"Please! Please! Forgive us!! We won't disturb Y/n anymore!!"

The girls were crying and begging to Riki who was sitting in front of them. After successfully kidnapped both of them, he made the girls watched how he killed their parents. He even shove the meat to their mouth forcing them to swallow it.

"Huh, why are you guys being coward now?"

Riki giggled when the girls became silent. He stood up after few seconds and went closer to them while playing the knife on his hand.

"You guys can only do that to Y/n because she was alone. If it was at the public place, you won't even dare to lay a finger on her."

Riki light the lighter and let the fire went through the blade for few times. The girls were screaming and tried to back away from him.

"One thing I really hate about people is how nosy they are. Just like both of you and that's why you guys should die."

Cause you can be the beauty and I could be the monster

Hello everyone 🤓im back with yandere story!!! What do you guys think about this?😏😏 grrrr i really love when niki is the yandere

Taglist: @stacey-stonem @duolingofanaccount @obsessed1with1straykids @huggyuvita @eeunoia @rowretro

[verysium]

some hcs abt the bllk boys doing modeling shoots as pro-players? (like what they’d model for and the ways they captivate their audiences and stuff)? ty and love ur works btw 💞💞🫡

idk why but this ask made my brain freeze up and refuse to write anything for 3 days, so apologies if this is late anon:

sae would be so done. i mean....he walked out on a literal interview, so what makes you think he won't walk out on a photoshoot? he probably hates the very idea of plastering his face all over billboards and magazines. but his manager said that he was in desperate need of good publicity, especially after that stunt he pulled with the last commercial endorsement. if sae was forced to model though, he'd definitely be as stiff as a board. no facial expressions whatsoever and always sticks to one pose. oftentimes, this involves him facing the wall and only showing half his face. if the photographer wants a full frontal, he's going to have to deal with sae's "i don't want to be here and i'm being held hostage" face. even if sae does try smiling, it looks more like a grimace. the only redeeming quality here is that he is good-looking. if you look at the official art, he doesn't even have to try to get all of you drooling over him. that face card does not decline. like ever. so the shoots usually wrap up pretty quickly because out of the 100 images taken, at least half are going to be usable. he's photogenic from any angle.

kaiser would strike a pose for everything, even his own mugshot. i picture him as that one johnny depp advertisement for dior sauvage. blue lighting. a silk blouse with the top button open to show off a sliver of his sculpted chest. his hair is slicked back with gel, and his knuckles are decorated with silver rings. the tattoo just pulls everything together. if not a perfume commercial, then i think he'd model for adidas or some other german brand (maybe even a beer company if he's old enough). i don't think he has any trouble with the actual modeling part of process. he knows how to flaunt himself. the only issue is that kaiser is a lazy perfectionist. he would show up late to the shoots and then stays even later just looking through the shots and choosing which ones to include. puts a lot of time and effort into things like this. after all, his image and his brand are important to him.

shidou would be sponsored by an energy drink brand. like red bull or monster. if not that, then axe body spray lol. as for modeling, i feel like he wouldn't be able to sit still. probably pulls out crazy poses that piss the photographers off on purpose. it always cracks me up how one of his first appearances in the manga is him being muzzled and restrained in a straitjacket inside blue lock's time-out zone. he's so chaotic. you would have to hold him down and shove the camera into his face to actually get a good shot. i also picture him wearing lots of black leather, maybe even silver jewelry (eg. studs, piercings). and of course, you can't forget the hot pink accents.

isagi would model for family-friendly brands. if not that, then just japanese brands in general. i imagine him doing skincare commercials for shiseido or maybe even participating in a campaign for UNIQLO. as for modeling, he would be awkward at first but then gradually get the hang of it. always thanks the team afterwards and is very mindful of the photographer's suggestions. everyone says he is a pleasure to work with.

rin would model for luxury watch brands like TAG heuer or IWC. maybe when he grows older and further develops his career, he might even become an ambassador for louis vuitton or bulgari. overall, his advertisements are very elegant and professional. only endorses high quality products. never looks at the shots afterwards because he hates looking at his own face. gets somewhat embarrassed when his mama points out his billboards and makes clippings of his magazine covers. he absolutely flipped when a brand suggested that he do a collaboration with his brother. so when this collaboration actually did take place, it was like a repeat of the whole messi-ronaldo photoshoot. they didn't actually meet on set. they were just photoshopped together into the same frame.

barou models for calvin klein. lots of denim and shirtless photos. all of the staff got nosebleeds, and his fanbase went wild when the issue was finally released. there's this one image his fans worship religiously where he's posing in his boxers and there's a clear shot of his abs and happy trail. (he's so hot wtf) there's also another shot that wasn't used cus a million people would've been deceased. he's standing there with his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and wearing nothing underneath his denim jacket. his hair is also down, and his skin is all sun-kissed and golden.

reo models streetwear, and this is canon because he has the drip. honestly, his duality needs to be studied because he can go from high class gentleman to bad boy who wears chains and knuckle rings. he'd try all different sorts of styles, and he'd look good doing it. out of all the bllk boys, i feel like reo gets the most sponsorship deals because of his versatility. he does the styling, hair, makeup, posing, editing, etc. honestly, they need to hire him as a creative director already. nagi would tag along behind the scenes, but he'd end up scrolling on his phone the entire day.

[voxmortuus]

#6 ☆ { licking } their neck to make them gasp with James Frey?

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ James Frey x F!Reader ⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ A Million Little Pieces ⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 652 ⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Angst (Arguing couple) | Foul Language | Heavy Petting | Makeup Smut Implied | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ⇘ NOTES:⇙ Sorry if this is total ass... but I hope this brings you some joy. Prompt from this list. ⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa ⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ @konront ⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙ ⇘ My Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist ⇙

It had been a crazy night, between the arguing, and the slamming of doors. It wasn't a night you'd want to remember. But what relationship doesn't have issues? Fuck all knows yours does, it always does. No matter how hard you try you always feel like your relationships are falling apart, but there's always one thing you can count on with James, it's that he's loyal to you, he's devoted to you, and he truly loves you. Sometimes misunderstandings happen, and sometimes you're the cause for them just as much as he is.

Sitting on the couch you look up to see him coming your way. You're still a little perturbed, crossing your arms you look over the length of him. He takes a seat on the couch and you scoot over a bit scoffing. His jaw clenches and he looks at you.

"This is ridiculous. Do you really need to carry this on any longer?"

"Well if you weren't such an asshole it wouldn't be a problem." you snap back.

"I'm the asshole? You're the one that couldn't understand basic haha funny bullshit. You took it personally." he stated.

"Yeah, I did! You know how I feel about that! And you kept going." you stated

"I did not keep going. And besides, I apologized." he defended.

"You apologized?! You think an apology is going to fix my feelings?! Fuck you!" you snap back. You're angry, you feel it bubbling,

"Fuck me?! Fine! FUCK ME!" He stood up pacing shaking his head. "You're acting like I intentionally came out and decided today was the day I was going to make fun of you! Instead pull the stick out of your ass and realize the damn joke in all of this!"

Standing up you walk to him, looking over his face. Your eyes well with tears and you shake your head. Shoving past him you walk toward the kitchen, getting a glass of water, you place your hands flat on the counter, drop your head and sigh softly. Maybe he was right. Maybe you did take that joke a little too personally. You didn't mean to, and he knew that.

"Shit..." you mutter to yourself.

Walking up behind you, he places his arms at either side of yours, leaning in he kisses the top of your head, and moves his way to your neck. His hands snake around, pulling you close as he presses himself against you. His hands slide down your tummy as one slips into your pants, the other slips under your shirt, your jaw clenches as he grips at you. You close your eyes, letting out a heavy breath.

He doesn't speak, nor do you. Maybe it was one of those moments where you didn't need to speak. His hands move over your flesh, feeling this hot feeling pulse through you. Biting your lip you rest the back of your head against his shoulder as he grips at you, feeling his hand slip a little further south as the other hand grips your breast tighter.

A soft whimper escapes you as he presses himself against you. His fingers find that swollen sensitive nub between your legs and he begins working you. Feeling this moment between you two, absolutely no words uttered. His lips graze your neck, and suddenly you feel his tongue slide along your neck, from the crook of your shoulder to right behind your ear. You gasp, and you moan softly.

His fingers and hands work you as you reach behind you and begin to rub over his pants. He groans. He turns you to look at him and plops you on the countertop, you go to speak, go to apologize, but instead he looks at you and kisses you deeply, he knows your sorry.

"I want to taste you..." He smirks as he lowers himself kneeling in front of the counter as he strips off your pants.

[darlingsfandom]

Eddie finding readers monster cock strap and using it on her instead of his own cock

Please !!

gif credit: whoever made it/google images

You slumped yourself over the edge of the couch as Eddie was flipping through the tv channels.

"Eddie!" Your finger poked at his cheek. He didn't respond, instead he just kept flipping through the channels. You huffed a little bit before getting up and walking away. It was only ten seconds later that you came back, took the remote from his hand and pulled the bottom of your tank top over his Eddie squishing his face against your boobs. Eddie wanted to still be mad at you, he really did.

"Fuck!" He mumbled against your breasts before you finally let him breathe. Eddie gripped your wrists and pulled you down the trailers hallway before pushing you onto the bed that you just made.

"Oooh eddie are we playing rough tonight?" You bit your bottom lip while leaning on the back of your palms following eddie with your eyes.

"Would you care to explain this ?" Eddie stood there holding your toy. It was your secret toy that he had found. The lump in your throat bobbed as he sat on the edge of the bed next to you. "This fucking monster cock hmm? My cock not big enough for you Hmm?"

"Eddie, it's just a toy baby! It doesn't mean I don't love you big cock." You palmed over his jeans and gave it a squeeze. "Besides that's covered in a ripple design.. your penis is veiny and ... don't give me that look! I love your cock! But when you're out what I'm supposed to do hmm?" You rubbed his bulge before Eddie held the tip of the toy cock up to your lips and forced your head down on it until you were gagging and drooling. He pulled it back up just to shove it down again.

"You clearly need it baby, suck it!" Eddie held the toy in your mouth as he stood up to undo his pants and pull down your shorts and panties. He pulled the toy out of your mouth leaving you breathless before he took the toy and slowly shoved it inside of your pussy.

"Eddie!!" You cried out as you were being stretched out. "Eddie please!! I haven't taken all of it!!" You eyes stung with tears as the stretch became intense.

"Oh but baby, you bought this! You wanted this big fucking monster cock inside of you! You're getting it!" Eddie pulled the toy out again before shoving it back in. His lip was between his teeth as he fucked you with the toy watching you cry and whine was making him hard.

"Eddie ! Fuck!! It's big!"

"I know it is baby, you're taking it so well like a good little whore! A little whore who needs her monster cock." He gave you a fake pout before slamming it inside of you making you jerk up and grip the sheets. "There you go baby! Yeah that's it! I know that face and those little whines, gonna fucking cream on this cock aren't ya! Do it! Be a little pathetic whore and cum on it!" You were breathing heavy the wet sounds of your pussy being abused by the toy filled your ears along with Eddie's dirty talk and intense stare.

"EDDIE! FUCK IM CUMMING BABY! EDDIE BABY! " you shook around the toy as the silicone turned white with your orgasm which made eddie grin.

"That's a good girl...my good girl and next time you buy one of your toys ... don't you dare use it with out me."

[5eraphim]

swinging out the gate with pure filth but i recently stumbled upon a scout voice line that made me cream my pants (tumblr doesn't allow links as anon so i'm putting extra parentheses to make sure it doesn't appear as one (https://wiki.teamfortress.com/w/images/4/48/Scout_domination20.wav))

anyways it got me heavy thinking about dom scout because i really truly think this boy is a sadistic motherfucker. huge ego and need to be the best, especially growing up the youngest sibling? having someone stupidly fucked out for him blows his mind.

and i KNOW for a FACT he has a daddy kink, too, and wants a real title to hear the power he has in the moment (plus there's another scout voice line that says "come to daddy" so it's essentially confirmed because i said so).

he's still a little bit of a teenage horndog about it, rolling his eyes back and getting a little nervous when you actually do submit, because he was prepared for a fight.

i would almost say he prefers it, wanting the struggle and the power that comes with quelling the flame in you but never fully, trying to push buttons to get you to give him a shove or a nasty remark so he has an excuse to pounce on you like a predator.

"yeah? you like that? gettin' fucked on daddy's dick?" almost really talking to himself when he drills into you as fast as he physically can, positioned in missionary because he wants to see that pretty face (and tits).

he wants to see overstimulation paint your features, you know that. he also wants to see that feisty side of you just so he can tame it. you push his abdomen the best you can, hands really just shoving his shirt that he didn't bother to take off. it's not working, and all he can do is laugh at your pathetic attempt.

you yank the dog tags that dangle in front of your face, sort of wet because of the sweat he's pouring, not due of the physicality but rather that he's so worked up and thrilled that he's heating up. the chain wrings around the back of his neck a little, not necessarily doing the damage you hoped for. in fact, you can see a switch flip and his eyes darken. uh oh.

his hands slam around your neck, having previously been attached to your waist, and squeeze so hard your vision goes fuzzy at the edges and all the blood rushes from your head. "you wanna choke me? how's it feel ta be fuckin' choked, huh? stupid bitch." he's degrading, harsh because he knows he can be. your eyes well u with tears, threatening to spill, and he grins like a wolf. he loves it.

"oh, what, you gonna cry? you gonna cry now?" he spits at you. that's all it takes before the waterworks start, cooling your warm cheeks and letting him know he's won this round.

there's nothing that stops you from cumming on his cock, completely overwhelmed by feeling and so far gone that it doesn't even matter. scout's overjoyed that he's got a pretty girl so fucking stupid for him that she can't even control her body anymore. he gets so high off the feeling that he can't help but bark out every filthy thought and word he has, a reminder that he is conscious enough to talk and you're so braindead you can't form a word.

"aww" he wipes your tears with the pad of his thumb, "don' cry kid, i'm not even bein' that cruel!" he taps his thumb against your lips, scowling when you turn your head to avoid his digit. he grabs your chin to force your eyes on his. "open up and suck my fuckin' thumb or ill replace it with my cock and fuck your face."

im making my mark as 👽 emoji because i will 100% be back to write more

HELL O?? HELLO 👽!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!!! MAKING OUT WITH THE SIDE OF YOUR NECK RIGHT NOW AS WE SPEAK

thank you so much for sending me this, a bit blown awayy right now, i must say. top-tier scout characterization, on GOD. He is MEAN. he is literally a one man bully squad- of course he's gonna overdo it act like a total maniac getting nasty with his obsession.

i love this because i love writing Scout as on the more dominant side, but in a almost playfully sadistic kind of way.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Bucky with a beard and eyeliner. Steve can’t. keep. his. hands. to. himself.

(not at all inspired by what I’m currently thinking. No sir)

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

What kind of eyeliner, though-?

No, this isn't just an excuse to look at Seb in makeup. What do you mean?

Like, we have options:

War paint?

Femme fatal?

Witch?

Which witch?

Rockstar guyliner?

I'm always trying to go in order of writing from oldest to newest, and this ask is so new, but... I can't fucking resist talking about this exactly now, so... have a variety of ideas based on these different eyeliner styles:

War paint

Ever after since the first glimpse Steve has of the ghost Natasha told him about, the ghost haunts Steve's nightly dreams. They're not... bad dreams, though, so perhaps "haunt" is the wrong word. It's just that the ghost won't fucking leave the walls of his mind.

Steve can't tell, yet, if he loves it or hates it--having his subconscious entirely focused on the single moment he's had thus far, face-to-face with the ghost. It depends on when he's caught, if he'd say he loves or loathes it. Is it so late at night that it's actually early morning or is it in the sobering light of day?

It's just that he was so fucking striking.

All wrapped in leather and darkness, as wild as a dare thought up by hot, young blood after too many drinks and rowdy, saucy questions of truth. His inky black head-to-toe uniform, his long, deeply colored cascading hair, his concealing muzzle, and, in dizzying contrast, his striking, light eyes made all the more alluring due to the paint messily defining them.

Something about him, if he weren't a walking danger, feels as if he walked directly off a runway. Untouchable but so fucking desirable.

Especially his eyes. They're cold and callous yet, deep down, so alluringly familiar. Steve can't pin it down, but something about them draws him in. He has questions and no answers, which is all too much for Steve; he is nothing if not recklessly curious, and if he were a cat, he'd be dead nine times over.

Steve wants to see those eyes close up. He wants to see how they glint in low light. He longs to see emotion reflected in them. He wants to know what it's like to see his dark lashes get heavy and his pupils swallow up that steel-blue color. He wants--

He wants and he can't have.

So, his subconscious has latched onto the ghost with his captivating, secretive existence slipping through Steve's fingers like sand and leaving him with just a few grains.

He clutches onto the grit, waking him up in the middle of the night again and again. His chest is heaving in the pale moonlight when he comes to--his baby pink nipples peaking through his white t-shirt, turned transparent with how much he's sweating, shoved up nearly all the way to the swell of his pecs, bunched up beneath his armpits, exposes his abs that clench as he continues to pant and struggle for enough oxygen to feed the fire burning inside him. His thighs are spread wide beneath mused sheets. The image of those eyes staring down at him hangs over Steve. They glint with interest--a cat toying with a mouse--nearly the same color as the cold, sharp blade of a knife and pressing against Steve with the same intensity.

Steve gasps on his next panting inhale, short of breath. He's feverish. He's burning up. He doesn't remember what the ghost was on the cusp of doing to him in his dreams. It doesn't matter. He doesn't need anything more than the arousal throbbing through his sleep-vulnerable body and his hot, shaking fist.

After pulling down his boxers, it hardly takes five, six pulls before he's biting his lip to smother a ragged, pent-up moan, painting himself white, picturing those damn eyes, contrasted by dark black paint.

Oh, god.

With his orgasm draining from his slack, limp body, Steve is so fucking confused. He doesn't even know why this keeps happening to him! He's confused and guilty and exhausted. There's no fucking reason he should be this fucked up by the ghost, but he is.

He is.

He can't stay away from him, dreaming of him, his eyes, but also everything about him. The cold, smooth leather of his uniform and his metal arm against Steve's furnace hot, bare skin while he stares down at him; the thick, hot plunge and pull of his cock inside him, fucking him on his back, between his legs, rutting it out missionary so he can glare down at Steve (and maybe wrap that metal arm around his throat while he's at it); the rasp of his jaw (Steve doesn't know if he's clean-shaven under that mask, fully bearded, or just with stubble, but he fucking wants to find out) against Steve's naked, slick cheeks as he eats him out viciously, his eyes never breaking their gaze while Steve struggles to not let his own roll back into his skull. Ngh. Steve can't stop. All he thinks about is the ghost and his captivating eyes, emboldened by all that black paint.

Femme fatal

Steve has been consumed by the precarious sensation of being suspended on an exceedingly thin layer of ice above a normally strongly churning body of water. Just a paper-thin layer of frozen water between his life and death, and he's straining his ears to hear any possibly cracks under his feet. Or, perhaps, really, he's already plunged through and has been pulled out by a good samaritan bystander, but now, as a result, he doesn't trust the ground beneath his feet, whether it's ice, permafrost, or concrete. He will walk on eggshells for hours to come.

Either way, the sensation is due to the miraclous fact that Bucky is here.

Home.

He's standing in Steve's apartment's bathroom, dressed down from the decrepit uniform he's been living in day after day on the run from HYDRA, putting himself back together piece by piece, to a pair of borrowed sweatpants and a loose t-shirt that hangs open around his neck, exposing his sharp collarbones.

He's without his suffocating mask now, lost to the rubble of the past and freshly shaven, leaving a mess of hair in the sink. He's brushed his hair and washed most of the grime and paint from his face. It's just the barest layer of darkness around his eyes now, dragging Steve's gaze irrevocably to his pale blue irises. Even through the mirror, hesitantly shadowing him, he can't stop staring.

Bucky was always a looker, the Bucky Steve remembers.

This Bucky is every bit as alluring. Steve can't stop himself from admiring him, especially now that he's within touching distance. He's vowed to himself that he won't do anything, not until Bucky's ready but...

As Bucky runs a washcloth over his entirely too handsome face one last time and locks his eyes onto Steve's through the mirror...

It can't be helped.

It can't be helped the way Bucky whirls around quickly and lunges forward into Steve's space. His mismatched fists suddenly curl into Steve's t-shirt while his wild eyes search Steve's. And, in response, Steve lets himself open, trusting him implicitly. Whatever he wants. And, for himself, he lets all his wants, all his hopes pour into his eyes--baring his soul to Bucky. This new, raw version of long lost lover, letting him see it all.

And that's all it takes.

Bucky is barely an inch away from him, and it makes the impact that much more intense after he reads the look in his eyes, words passing silently between them. It's blunt. Point-blank range.

Their lips collide harshly. Ravenously.

Instantaneously, Steve's whole body can't help but go limp, giving up the fight and welcoming the vicious claim that Bucky is laying on him, pressing bodily against him, forcing Steve back against the wall, consuming him, his tongue in Steve's mouth, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and his growl of hunger vibrating into Steve's chest, igniting his own hunger again, adding to the flames. He's desperate. They both are.

Steve's head is spinning. He clings to Bucky, hands on his shoulders, willing Bucky to never let him go again. He needs him.

He needs him here.

He needs him inside him.

Bucky knows.

And he's wrapping himself around Steve like a boa constrictor curls around its first kill in months. Starved and desperate. Throbbing with blood lust like never before. Primal hunger.

Steve whimpers into his mouth. He has no air in his burning lungs, but he can't bear to break away, especially not when Bucky does. He takes just a mere second, yet still too long, to spit lewdly onto his fingers and then draw Steve's pants down, breaching him with his fingertips in a way that burns and hurts but still feels so good. It feels like everything he's been missing. It's raw and painful, but Steve needs it to hurt. He needs it to be sharp so he can be sure it's real.

It's so fucking real as Bucky prys his tight muscles open and loose, and carves a place for himself inside Steve.

Where he belongs.

Inside Steve.

Bucky fucks him like an animal, smashing Steve into the bathroom wall, rattling the towel racks and cracking plaster, making Steve scream behind clenched teeth--it feels so fucking unbearably good. Hot. Steve is lost to the sensation of being fucked. He's whole again. He's crying. Sobbing. Shaking so badly that he can hardly cling to Bucky, his legs wrapped around his waist, his arms slung around his shoulders and neck, his body tight and wet with spit around his cock.

He missed him so bad.

He missed him so bad he thought he was going to die of heartbreak. He thinks he's going to die again now, but he's going to die because he can die a satisfied man now. He's so full.

He's blinded with white-hot, agonizing pleasure.

He's shooting off untouched between their heaving, feverish bodies and crying, begging for Bucky to keep going when he pauses, thinking Steve too overstimulated to continue.

No, no, no! Please! Keep going! More!More!More! You have to! Need it!

So, Bucky does. He goes and goes and fuckd until he's cumming and crying too. The last of the black around his eyes smears and spreads down his cheeks in streaks that Steve desperately laps up with his tongue. He wants him. All of him. He needs it. Every fucking bit--salty tears, tattered memories, and old scarred over wounds.

Jesus Christ.

He's home.

Witch

Shockingly, the thing that wakes Steve up is not the splitting throb of his headache as agitated by the rising sun or chirping birds, the bone dryness of his mouth, or the regret (or embarrassment, depending on how you look at it) he certainly should be feeling after letting himself get talked into a completely unnecessary drinking game despite his non-college-years age. What does wake him up, however, is the grumbles of someone else in his bed.

Bucky.

When he cracks one eye open, then the other, tracking the source of the noise, Steve finds that it's Bucky.

Who else would it be anyway? A dog pile of all his hangover-nursing friends on the floor of his apartment? A stranger? A couple of strangers? Nah. Just Bucky.

It's always Bucky.

And Bucky is pretending to be asleep still despite having woken up to his own post-halloween-party hangover, grumbling to himself and burrowing deeper into his pillow. His pillow that, yikes, Steve thinks to himself, wincing, will need to be washed once they've both washed down painkillers and soaked up the leftover festive-flavored, too-strong of alcohol with a greasy brunch.

That pillowcase will have to be washed thoroughly on account of the makeup slathered all across Bucky's face. The face of makeup was a part of their festivities. Now, it's s smeared and rubbed all around his face, a powdery white foundation emphasizing red lips, darkly lined but brightly shadowed eyes, and thin yet expressive eyebrows--he was a magician for Halloween this year.

(Steve narrowly avoided being his assistant bunny and would've been if he hadn't worked up some resistance to Bucky's puppydog eyes by now. He's not immune. No one could be. But after so many years, he's got to be a little bit resistant in him.)

Regardless, Bucky looks silly in the sobering (ha) morning light. He's sleepy, and his makeup is still, somewhat on, it's just moved around all his face or been buffed into his skin. Yet...

Steve blinks blearily, trying to push the thought--the feeling away as it rears its head within him.

Unfortunately, though, when his vision clears again, nope, it's still there.

That feeling.

What should just be a goofy, funny look in Bucky's dorky, handsome face isn't. It's that, yeah, but it's more, too, because in his sleep, Bucky's beard has started to grow back in, the stubble on his jaw pushing through his makeup to announce itself. It's a fucking a shadow that calls to Steve darkly, bringing up shivers all across his skin, and whispering to him reminders of what it's like to kiss Bucky first thing upon waking up...

The morning breath is more than worth it in exchange for Bucky's rough, unshaven face scraping against his jaw and turning Steve red and raw. He's likes the feeling. More than likes. All that roughness against him makes him feel delicate and small and ravished by comparison. It adds just that much--that extra sensitivity--to the hot, smearing kisses that Bucky will inevitably paint thickly from the corner of his lips down to his jaw and farther onto his throat, his collarbones, and ending up at his chest with his lips and tongue so lush and sweet and his teeth so mean.

That god-fucking-damn stubble has Steve craving Bucky.

He wants its roughness against him.

He wants those lips on his.

He wants Bucky's tongue in his mouth, claiming him.

He wants Bucky's groans against him, vibrating and so deep, and he wants his own moans to be swallowed down by Bucky, taking them deep inside his body.

He wants Bucky to talk to him, to tell him how pretty and innocent he looks in his sleep, how he wouldn't mind if he'd go back to sleep so he could have his way with him anyway he wants... it's not like Steve helps out anyway, pillow princess motherfucker, so he might as well go limp and snooze through their fucking. Right, sweetheart?

Steve whimpers out loud at his own train of thought, spacing out while staring too intently at Bucky, hyper-focused on his jaw. On the stubble right there. So fucking close.

He wants him.

And, Jesus, with the makeup, he'd really make a mess of Steve, now wouldn't he? He'd be red from his stubble against Steve's smooth skin, and he'd be red from the lipstick and--

Exactly then, Bucky's eyes slide open. Any trace of annoyance that'd be expected from his grumbling and pillow nuzzling is gone, replaced with intrigue. He's been hearing Steve's thoughts loud and fucking clear apparently and just decided to pop in to see what mischief he can make of them. What kind of mess can he make of Steve?

Shit, though. Wait.

--stubble and lipstick aside, Steve is unprepared for those eyes to open because, shit, his eyes look so, so fucking blue. Bluer then he remembers from last night (most of which is a blur anyway, thank you drunk Steve who's only goal is to get drunker to piss of morning, sober Steve) thanks to their smudged charcoal lining. It's the perfect contrast.

And Steve can't move. He's been caught staring, pinned like a butterfly to a cork board beneath that stare. Any more heat and he'll burn up, an insect underneath a magnifying glass in the sun.

"Good dreams, punk?" Bucky raises his eyebrows at him, a slow, thick grin spreading over his bowed mouth.

Steve licks his lips, his gaze dropping in embarrassment but really just catching an eye full of Bucky's sinful mouth, "something like that." He answers in a sleep-rough voice.

Gah.

Why is he such a fucking sucker for everything about Bucky? He's so weak!

Witch 2

College theater major Bucky backstage for his latest production, Steve's an art major, he's been roped into painting part of the set, making out in props closet, handjobs over clothes, making out until their lips are swollen and raw

Steve never imagined as an art major that he would get roped into the performing arts. He's always been a visual artist, not a performing artist. There's a big fucking difference. Yes, both types of art. Both creative. Both are valid. But, Jesus Christ, they couldn't be more different in Steve's mind. He's comfortable in visual art and incredibly passionate about it, but if he's asked to perform art? He would tell that person to go fuck themselves. The thought of being on stage like that? No. He would shit a brick.

So... yeah, it's unclear even to himself how the hell he's gotten himself into the theater at his college. It's just happened. He's here. And, against all odds, he's fucking thrilled he's here. Painting background sets for the student productions is fun, but that's not what is so enticing. That is all due to Bucky.

Bucky is a theater major.

The first theater kid that Steve's had the pleasure of interacting with beyond surface level and...

Pleasure sure as shit is the right fucking word. Because, as it turns out, all the jokes about theater kids? Yeah. They're true. At least, they're true for Bucky. Outrageously flamboyant and queer and horny.

Just during just the latest production cycle, Steve has (a) never been better fucked and (b) gotten to cross various locations off his sex bucket list thanks to that fucking horny twink who can most often found in a character's costume with theater makeup swiped across his face, emphasizing his pouty lips and big, blue-grey eyes.

The props closet? Check.

The dressing room? Check.

On the actual stage? Check.

In the auditorium seating? Check.

Jesus Christ, he can't get over it, he has never been better fucked then he is when immersed in Bucky's world of performing arts. He should've done this in high school. Oof.

The props closet was during the stretch of rehearsals where Bucky's character isn't needed. So, he doesn't have any real reason to be out on stage or around the edges of the stage in the shadows. Like. He should be around and not wander too far away. But he doesn't technically have to be. And the props closet isn't too far!

So, why not pile into the tight confines of the overflowing prop closet? Why not slam the door behind them and try to keep it down because they aren't that far and no one wants their chill, acting headspace to be ruined by Steve's pitchy groans while Bucky goes down on him, using that fucking soft, pretty mouth for evil? It's fucking fun.

It's great.

Bucky's mouth is so good. Like, illegally hot. He deep throats like a fucking champ and swallows and hums and can do things with his tongue that make Steve go cross-eyed. He can do all that and still look up at Steve, composed as ever.

Of course, staring up at him with that signature eyeliner ringed around his eyes, making them appear bigger and darker--better to see from the audience and even better to see close up.

Jesus.

Steve loses it way, way too fast--like it's embarrassing--shooting down Bucky's throat and stifling his guttural sounds of pleasure by biting into his fist so hard he tastes blood. It's bad now, and it's gonna be worse when he has to watch Bucky swagger out onto stage to perform with puffy, swollen, red lips. Naturally acting like there's nothing going on. It's all innocent. He always looks like this.

Fucked-out.

The dressing room was a rush between scene changes. Like, the props closet was a quickie--slamming doors, giggling, moaning urgently into fiery kisses, bumping noses, fumbling hands, and all--but if the props closet was a lower-case quickie than the dressing room is a quickie with a capital Q.

Bucky fucking shoves him inside the dressing room, pushing him roughly, hands squeezing at his waist and digging into his shoulders. No nonsense. Just down to fucking business. Fucking business. Ripping off his costume for a quick change, already half-naked before the door even clicks shut behind them, and bending himself over the closest piece of furniture.

Yeahhh, he's horny as shit.

He's so fucking hopped up on adrenaline and desperation that his hands are quivering as he spreads his shapely cheeks apart to show Steve where he's all clenchy and achy. Steve is fucking dying to get his tongue on him. Bucky is dying to have his tongue on him. They're a fucking sick pair. Wicked and dirty and depraved.

The second the door is shut and they're aa alone as they can be with thin walls and a thin door, Steve eats him out with fervor--shoving his tongue all up in there, lapping at his hole, sucking on his heavy balls, biting at the fat of his ass, and moaning against his salty skin because he's sweaty from baking underneath the stage lights and that should be gross but it really isn't. He tastes good. Hot. He tastes like a fucking man. He tastes like Steve wants to fucking keep going.

He could eat him out for hours. Days. If only he had the fucking time.

They don't have time right now because it can't be more than a handful of moments of heaven, not even seven minutes, before Bucky is getting his trembling legs underneath himself and shoving Steve off of him. He's fucking terrible.

God, Steve wants him so much. He wants a piece of him. He wants all pieces of him. He wants to consume him. Have him. Jesus Christ, he's so horny, too. They both are. They're freaks.

Good.

Bucky smirks over his shoulder at him, but that's the only thing Steve gets before he's a blur, throwing himself back into clothes, different clothes this time, neatly tucking his erection up out of the way and tearing out the door to go back on stage.

He leaves Steve wanting.

Desperate.

Steve is breathless as he rushes out, unable to get a full lungul of air in. All he can do is lick his lips and moan low in his throat, aching for more as if he's the one who's just had a tongue up his ass.

This is unfair. It's evil.

He's not sure which of them is worse off: Bucky on stage with something to focus on, freshly physically pleasured and hard, or Steve without anything to do but agonize over how much he wants to eat Bucky alive. They're both denied. Aching. Strung out. They're both going to claw desperately at each other with the next quick change. Bucky's not going to cum that time either.

He's not gonna cum during any of their quick changes. Quickie quick changes. He's not gonna cum until they get back to Bucky's or Steve's dorm. It's just gonna wind up and up and up. Edging. Sharpening. It will be delicious, the final release.

Woof.

The actual stage was after hours, everyone gone, the space totally clear, just them and enough space to really fucking spread out.

Bucky spread eagle.

Steve over top of him.

Bucky deeply arching his throat and back and just letting himself feel all of it. All the pleasure. Spreading his legs wider as if he can spread any wider, get sluttier. He can't get any more needy. More wanton. His moans are fucking ragged, so deep and sharp that his entire fucking chest heaves as he struggles to breathe.

Steve sweats and groans as he fucks, animal, smothering his sounds in Bucky's shoulder. He's so close to sinking his teeth into him. God. He's trying to be smooth, but he's not. There's too much arousal to be found in lying across the stage. He can't be smooth.

He's losing it.

Groaning louder, breathing harder, soaking in being naked and in the limelight where he can put Bucky on display. Every gorgeous fucking inch of him. His sweat glistening skin, his heaving chest and hard nipples, his curved, heavy cock, jis spread thighs, his open, wet hole, his quivering, tensing muscles, his slack face.

His pleasure.

All of him.

Every glorious inch deserves to be worshipped and displayed. Lavished with lust-dripping attention. Placed on a pedestal for all eyes to see, but no one else can touch. Just Steve.

Only Steve on stage with him, divesting him of everything but his bare, raw needs. Stripping him down to his bones. He's perfect and too much.

Steve can't hold on for another moment, hitting his orgasm head-on and biting harshly into Bucky as he finishes inside him, knowing he'll wear the mark on his neck proudly. That big fucking hickey. Dark and obvious. High on his throat. On him like an anniversary gift--a beautiful necklace. His Bucky. Displaying himseld. His sweet mouth twisted up, watching people blush at him and feeling it light him up inside with smoldering coals, aching to do it again.

Steve fucking loves how much of a slut and attention whore Bucky can be. It's fucking ideal. There's never been anything hotter.

Well... maybe there's been one thing hotter...

The auditorium seating was also after hours without anyone else around to get in their way, leaving them to get tangled up and fucked out, drunk off of each other.

Bucky, the little minx, had pulled Steve into the empty audience, pretending they were ready to leave and finally get outta there. He wasn't ready to leave, though. Nah. Of course, not.

Instead of leaving, Bucky shoved Steve down into a random fucking seat and unbuckled his belt to slide his jeans down his legs--only doing the work that absolutely had to be done to get his cock out. Steve had no choice but to shiver, suddenly heart-racingly exposed and cold. He didn't stay cold for long.

First, his dick was stuffed down Bucky's throat. A fucking sudden flash of hottightwetgood. There and gone. Then, Bucky rose up off his knees and slithered into his lap, making himself right at home.

Shit.

Apparently, through the whole fucking practice, he was wearing a buttolug because... why not? It's Bucky. He does whatever the fuck he wants. And what he wants is always what feels good.

Slut.

The look on his face is more than good--sweet, slack, and heated like chocolate on a triple digit temperature summer day--as he doesn't just sit in his lap but bounce.

Steve couldn't give a fuck about the buttplug or the shock of how long he's been wearing it. He couldn't give less of a fuck about where the toy ended up. All he can care about is how Bucky's body is eating him up. Swallowing him whole. He's so fucking hot inside. So wet, too. He's clenching, throbbing, around him and it feels too fucking good to be true.

It's unbearably hot.

Bucky writhing, bouncing, and arching in his lap, holding on so tightly to the arms of the folding theater chair they're in that the plastic creaks. It doesn't fucking matter. Nothing can matter but this. And it's cause Bucky is throwing his head back with the pleasure inhibiting his body, finally stuffed full with cock after hours of inadequate silicone, and projecting his voice to echo throughout the entire goddamn theater. It's like he wants someone to break in and find them, following his all too obvious, too obscene sounds.

His moans are loud and needy and so fucking erotic that it makes Steve glad he's sitting down, more than a little afraid that if they were in any other position, he'd have started to shake and maybe even collapse under the weight of those moans. He sounds good taking cock how he wants it, bouncing fast and grinding deep as he fists himself greedily.

He's desperate.

How long has he been this desperate?

How can Steve make sure he's always this desperate?

'Cause this is certainly as good as it gets. Bucky is putting on a whole goddamn production just for him. But, it's sincere. This isn't an acting production. This is real. He needs this. He loves this. And all Steve's gotta do it sit here and melt, too close to the crackling inferno that is Bucky taking what he needs. He needs a lot. Steve barely needs anything but Bucky's hot clenching body and he's ready to cum embarrassingly quickly.

Christ.

Guyliner

Steve never, ever fucking expected himself to fall for a random ass guy in whatever bar in the middle of the town that he expected to leave immediately after turning 18, but didn't, with the guy straight up telling him that he was just here for the night, crushing drinks, and about to bounce... forever, hitting the road in his beat-up touring van.

Although, Steve never expected that guy to be hot as hell, smooth talking and too charming, looking even hotter behind his drum kit because. Yeah. Who would've guessed that Steve would end up a groupie?

Steve would've been the last person to think that of himself, not that there's anything wrong with being a groupie, it's just... not him. And, sure, he's less a groupie and more boyfriend to that hot as fuck, charming drummer, Bucky, but still.

How'd he get here?

How'd he get here, reclining back on his shitty, saggy sofa clinging one-handed to his phone tuned to a livestream of his drummer boyfriend's band and the other hand wrapped around his cock? His legs are sprawled into a wide manspread, giving himself room to work, his spine is anything but straight as he slouches into the worn-out springs and cushions, and his eyes are glued to every blurry pixel of the stream. He's fucking starstruck, watching too close. He's starstruck all the time. Every time he sees Bucky again after a stint on the road, every time he sees him perform through a screen, and especially every time he sees him perform in person. How did Steve make it his whole fucking life up until meeting Bucky without realizing that the drums are sexy?

Everything about Bucky is sexy. Everything about his instrument is sexy. Everything about Bucky playing his instrument is sexy.

He's on stage, in his own spotlight, in his element just beating the shit out of his kit. Slamming his feet and rallying his arms and heaving his chest to breathe through the sweat. And, fuck, is he sweating. Steve has been watching the entire show, deeply, animally reveling the way he's gone from composed to glistening to melting. Sweatier and sweatier with his muscles fucking rippling, using his entire body, getting into it. There's pure fucking passion etched across his face.

When the camera zoom-cuts to him, focusing fully on Bucky for the part of the song that is all drumming, Steve holds his breath in anticipation. He knows what's coming. He's gonna--

YES! Steve's heart pounds in his chest 'cause he fucking nails it. He's a well-oiled machine up there, on stage, doing what he does best.

Dun! Dun! Dundundun! Dun!

He hits every fucking beat and even has time to throw his sticks into the air, catching them without even fucking looking. It's effortless. It's fucking magnetic. Steve doesn't need to be in the room having his ears blasted to feel it rattling around his ribs. And, shit, seeing the way he kills it, the look he has on his face, the rhythm of his body...

It does Steve in.

He whimpers, tightening his grip around his dick. It should be embarrassing, jerking off to nothing but live music and getting off so hard, but, Jesus, he can't be embarrassed. He can't be anything but hot.

Bucky is so outrageously hot.

Every time the camera cuts to him, he's hotter.

Hotter. Sweatier. And getting to the fucking point where his makeup is melting off of his pretty face. His eyeliner running down from around his eyes the way it does when he lets Steve fuck him in the back of the tour bus after a show, riding high on adrenaline from performing, and crying with how good it feels.

Pure relief.

Fucked so good.

That big, bad drummer up there on stage reduced to a crying, overwhelmed mess beneath Steve. It's no secret amongst fans that Bucky is model hot--movie star hot and Steve knows too many of those fans would kill to fuck Bucky, just one night.

So, the knowledge that he's the only one that gets to have him? Shit. That is what leaves him riding high. He doesn't need a big performance in front of thousands of fans to get him there. He just needs the performance saved for behind closed doors, giving it to just one person.

Giving it good.

Yet, the livestream is not enough. It's enough to get Steve off, but, Jesus Christ, it's not enough. He wants to be there.

He desperately needs to be there so they can fuck nasty in his bunk on the tour bus, in whatever hotel room he's put up in, in the venue dressing room, everywhere. Anywhere. He just wants to fuck him. He wants those smeared eyeliner eyes peaking up at him salaciously between his thighs while he gives him beard burn, sucking him off. He wants--

They don't switch often when Bucky's on the road, generally the full-body workout of drumming night after night leaves him too weak to do much but let Steve fuck him until his brain leaks out of his ears but... God, with so many weeks of separation between them, Steve doesn't care about what's realistic. He's just hungry. He's starved. And he wants those fingers inside him--fingerless gloves on.

Further, the depraved thought of Bucky's drumsticks inside him cross Steve's frantic, messy head. He wants them. He needs Bucky's fucking drumsticks in him. Deep, deep inside him and beating him up deliciously like he hits his kit. Bucky can make music with him, making him moan and whimper and gasp.

Anything.

Steve needs anything but his own fucking fist. He's going insane.

He needs his goddamn rockstar, crazy hot boyfriend.

He just can't fucking deal with it. It's been so long since they've been together in person. Steve's so pent up. And it's to the point that his fantasies don't make a lick of sense anymore, firing through his head so urgently, boiling up and over and making him cum hard with the cheers for an encore ringing in his ears, tinny through his phone speakers.

Yeah... yeah, one isn't enough for when he's strung-out like this. Maybe he needs an encore, too...

Steve's eyelids drop shut, squeezing himself and shivering all over with the oversensitivity.

Yeah.

He's still hard.

(I kinda forgot about the beard for a lot of this 😅 but hopefully, it was still worth it, lol!)

[stargazerlily7210]

I just rewatched The Day of the Doctor, and something clicked a bit more than it had before, regarding The Moment. And I honestly can't tell if this was the point all along and I just didn't make the connection because I was too caught up in the references and having Billie back on Doctor Who, or if this is just my new headcanon.

(Obvs, spoilers ahead if you haven't seen the 50th or finished Rose's episodes)

So, what do we know about The Moment?

-It's also called The Galaxy Eater

-It was invented by 'The Ancients of Gallifrey'

-The Time Lords are so scared of the thing that of all of the Forbidden Weapons locked away in the Omega Arsenal, it's the only one they've avoided deploying until now.

-The reason the Time Lords are so scared of it is because, according to legend, it was so powerful of a weapon that it developed a conscience.

-Not that it became conscious. That its AI woke up one day with strong enough moral compass to get angry at them for wanting to use it.

But I think it wasn't thanks to the Time Lords that it developed a conscience. I think it was very literally Rose as the Bad Wolf during Parting of the Ways.

Why?

Well, when we first meet said AI, it's taken the form of Rose as Bad Wolf (duh). Which gets played off as a bit of a timey-wimey joke, claiming it picked that look to appeal to The Doctor and just got the timeline wrong.

But now I'm thinking it's more than that, cause let's be real. If we're dealing with an AI smart enough to design its appearance to appeal to someone's preferences, it can make excuses for the same reason.

It doesn't know or care who Rose Tyler is. But even before it names itself Bad Wolf (which it has a VERY strong reaction to, for a weapon that has nothing to do with Earth or Humans, and wants nothing to do with the Time War or the Daleks) it still shows a propensity for Wolf imagery, telling The Doctor the noise outside was "just a wolf".

It also didn't do a copy of Rose, despite saying it chose "this face AND form" for the Doctor. Which I'd think it would have if it was truly just pulling an image from The Doctor's future memory (Billie having aged 7 yrs since we last saw her aside, because so had David and that clearly wasn't an issue to redesign his look around). Instead it wore its clothes and hair styled in a way that Rose would never have worn.

But it sure does appeal to the same aspects of The Doctor's character that Rose brought out in 'em. And laughs about The Doctor's comment that he could kiss her ("Oh, Bad Wolf Girl! I could kiss you!" "Yup! You will..") despite not knowing for sure who or when Rose Tyler was to The Doctor less than an hour ago.

So I suggest that when Rose absorbed the time vortex and was doing her 'gotta literally reshape matter and reality to protect My Doctor' thing, that included inserting her/Bad Wolf's consciousness into The Moment, way back when.

Like she did when she brought Jack back to life but had no control over how much life she shoved into him. Or how when she scattered the words Bad Wolf across spacetime as a trail of breadcrumbs, she also unknowingly named that beach in the parallel universe's Norway, Bad Wolf Bay.

"I bring life!" Sure did, and then some.

"I take the words. I scatter them across space and time." No kidding.

"The Time War Ends!" I mean, come on. Why would that be any less unintentionally accurate than the rest of her actions?

The Doctor says in Utopia that if a Time Lord had done what Rose did, they'd become a vengeful god. (Side note, when The Master finds out the Doctor had pulled the final trigger, he even says, "You must've been like God!") But he argues Rose's humanity having fueled her actions is what stopped her from succumbing to the same fate. Not that she didn't have the power of a God in that moment.

If I'm right, though. With the reality breaking power that Rose as Bad Wolf definitely had, and that The Moment is suggested to have; I think Rose literally rewrote the end of the Time War by putting her consciousness in The Moment. Fixed points don't matter when you're literally the Time Vortex channeled through a lovestruck teenage brain.

I think that until Rose went all supernova, The Doctor *had* used the Doomsday (hah) Weapon to stop the war. But as Bad Wolf, while she was seeing all realities at all times, she saw a way to "protect [him] from the False God (aka. him)" via inserting herself into said weapon.

It's not that he just didn't remember because crossing timelines. It's that he *had* done it until Rose went glowstick goddess on him.

Final bit of evidence? There's no reason for The Moment's trigger to have looked like that in the end. It doesn't even look like any other piece of Time Lord tech, that I know of.

But we already know that less than a day after Parting of the Ways, Rose will watch The 10th Doctor get really excited about a Big Red Button.

She went the extra mile and made the button shaped like a Rose. It even has petals.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 12!!!

This post features the way I think renting cars works. I'm very sure it doesn't actually work this way, and I could have researched it, but the image is in my head and I thought it was funny having cars on shelves with little description tags like some kind of Automobile Costco Warehouse.

Also, I'm gonna link my playlist because I feel like you all might be interested to see the list of songs I'm working from lol.

Fun fact, the playlist used to be called List of Holding and was meant to be a small collection of songs that I wanted to hear REALLY often. But, um...well, I've since had to change the name :P

This is All Good Omens Now Who Am I Kidding

And yes, I'm very VERY picky about my Queen songs.

OKAY here we go.

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In the end, it was surprisingly easy to find a rental company willing to loan you all a car (considering that three out of the four of you have no identification, documents, credit score, valid driver’s licenses, etc.). Deciding on a car, on the other hand, was a bit more complicated.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just miracle the Bentley over,” Crowley whines as the four of you wander the aisles of cars.

“Well for starters, the steering wheel is on the wrong side,” Anathema reasons.

“The wheel’s not on the wrong side! All of these have steering wheels on the wrong side! They drive on the wrong side of the road here too! Americans!” He shoves his hands in his pockets, practically spitting the last word like it’s some kind of curse. Anathema raises an eyebrow at him, but otherwise says nothing.

“Ooh!” Aziraphale calls from further ahead, “Look at this one! The description says that it’s very good for the environment. I mean, aesthetically speaking it isn’t anything extraordinary, but I do like all of these things written on the tag.”

“What kind of car is it?” Anathema asks.

“I believe it says it’s a...Tesla?”

You snort a laugh. “I am NOT getting into one of those things,” You say between giggles.

“Why not?” Aziraphale’s confusion is genuine – you can see it in his face.

“Well,” You begin counting on your fingers, “It farts, it can see ghosts, and it may or may not explode while we’re in it, SO!” You see Crowley’s face light up.

“Sounds like my kind of car!” He says, making his way towards the car that Aziraphale is inspecting.

“No,” Anathema sounds like she’s talking to a child. Or maybe a dog. “No, we are not riding in a Tesla. I’m with you on this one,” she says in your direction.

“I have a suggestion,” You pipe up, raising your hand.

“Oh-ho!” Crowley calls. He leaned slightly to the left, and took off between the aisles. All three of you have to jog to keep up with him. He’s stopped in front of an enormous Hummer. “Now THIS is a CAR!”

Anathema is shaking her head.

“No, wait, listen, I have it,” You say, and everyone turns to look at you expectantly. “It’s the only logical option here. It fits the vintage vibe that you two like, and it’s the most reliable car I know of aside from Bentley.”

“Well go on,” encourages Anathema, “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“What we need is a 1967 Chevy Impala!”

And THAT, dear Reader, is how you find out that none of them have seen Supernatural. Or heard of it, even. Criminal, really. You resolve to make them watch it next chance you get. In the end, Anathema suggests a very practical SUV and well, you’ve all learned not to argue with her by now.

Honestly the woman needs a cake for putting up with the three of you.

Also, as it turns out, one of the perks of having a current car model is that you can sync up your playlist to the bluetooth. So guess who ends up in charge of the music.

“And THIS one,” You say, flicking through your playlist, “Is a song that was suggested for the Season 3 playlist by Neil Gaiman himself!” And you press play on The Book of Love. And you watch their faces. You want to see their reaction when it gets to the part about wedding rings.

“Are all of your songs for us love songs?” Aziraphale asks. He stopped complaining about your taste in music an hour ago. Crowley is driving, and Anathema has been zoned out for a while now.

“Uuuummm, the ones that aren’t breakup songs you mean? Pretty much yeah.”

Crowley groans.

“Except for like, Queen and Hozier.”

Crowley groans again.

“I thought you liked Queen,” You are shocked and alarmed. Crowley rolls his whole head (probably because you wouldn’t see him roll his eyes behind his sunglasses).

“Go on then,” he says, “Which Queen songs do you have on that playlist of yours?” He glares at you through the rearview mirror. Suddenly, you hesitate.

“Um...Somebody to Love, and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy,” You finish meekly. Crowley nearly crashes the car. Whether it was on purpose or not doesn’t matter. Anathema takes the wheel and he gets demoted to the back seat. Next to you. As a peace offering, you hand him your phone with your spotify open, and let him take charge of the music. You feel that you might not survive the ride otherwise.

Google Maps pegs the estimated driving time from NYC to New Orleans at 19 hours. Splitting the driving between a demon and a responsible human woman, the four of you manage a respectable 12 hours including a number of breaks to: use the washroom, get coffee, get food, look at the view, poke around a used bookshop, pick some apples, eat the apples, and buy some fudge. Crowley refuses to admit that he may or may not have stopped time once or twice, and Aziraphale refuses to account for your sudden bursts of energy from time to time (conveniently and suspiciously whenever there was a stop he was interested in).

So, having made excellent time, all four of you arrive in New Orleans. Crowley is back at the wheel now, and he pulls the car into the parking lot of The Ritz. Because of course it’s The Ritz again. Anathema doesn’t even comment this time. You figure she was probably expecting it. Learning fast, that one. You check in, and aren’t all that surprised to find that you’ve been booked into the fanciest suite in the place once again. According to the pamphlet at the front desk, this suite is supposed to only be two rooms, but when you arrive, you find that it actually contains 3. Why? Supernatural beings who influence their surroundings.

“You really do have some expensive taste,” You say casually to Aziraphale as you place your bag on the floor.

“It was Crowley who booked this one,” the angel replies, inspecting the knick-knacks on a shelf to his left.

“Crowley? Trying to impress you, no doubt.”

“Pft!” Comes Crowley’s response from behind you, “Right, and not at all because to get up here you need a special passkey, which keeps unexpected guests few, far between, and easy to notice.” He gives you a pointed look over his sunglasses. “We’ve been lucky so far that we’ve been left alone since Heathrow. But don’t think for a minute that he won’t be back.”

“That’s...fair.” You pause and think for a minute. “Then we should probably limit going out too. Unless we really need to.”

“That would be best, yes,” Anathema agrees, “But please, leave the hotel staff alone.”

Well, honestly she could only expect that request to go so far once Aziraphale found the room service menu.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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