#but they are also very much putting on acts and desperately trying to get people to act in a way that gets them victory

[yanderes-galore]

Hi hope it’s not too late to request for lmk please . Can I please request yandere platonic rivalry between Redson and Mei hcs please with a gn reader , who’s a cat demon please(I hc that dragonfruit duo are very warm cause one produces fire and the other one is a dragon and well cats likes warmth XD ) 🐾

Sure! I put some HC in this so I hope this was pretty good ^^ Cat Darling is going to be super affectionate....

Yandere! Platonic! Red Son vs Mei with Cat Demon! Darling

Pairing: Platonic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Jealousy, Overly affectionate behavior, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Kidnapping briefly mentioned, Dubious companionship(s).

In this universe, there's demons of all types.

All sorts of demons take on an animal-like form.

It would make sense for there to be a cat demon.

Maybe you can shapeshift into a normal cat form while also having a humanoid form?

You're quite intelligent and retain characteristics similar to a cat.

You like playing, pulling tricks, bargaining for attention...

Along with warm places.

For this, I will use a personal HC of mine.

Characters with fire powers, no matter the fandom, have an elevated body temperature in my personal opinion.

I feel the same way with Red Son and Mei.

These two characters were both wielders of the Samadhi Fire and control fire.

Mei has draconic ancestry and Red Son himself is a fire demon.

Naturally their body temp would be high due to all the fire within them.

Having them as your friends would be perfect for you.

I feel a cat demon would naturally be affectionate with them due to their heat.

You no doubt purr at them, occasionally rubbing against them when you hug.

That or even swap to your fully cat form and curl up in their lap.

The two no doubt handle this differently.

Mei, who naturally enjoys cute things, probably squeals over you.

She struggles to hold still when you come to her for affection, purring away once she offers to share her body heat.

She'd probably swing your cat form around, cooing over her dear friend as she pats your ears and soft fur.

She's the most affectionate of the two and would reciprocate your nature immediately.

She'd love a cat demon friend, especially if they are mischievous like her.

Then there's Red Son, who acts like he doesn't enjoy it.

Yet even you can tell it's a lie when he reaches over to gently pet your fur.

He pouts when you curl up on his lap in cat form, purring as he "reluctantly" gives you the affection you crave.

He tries not to be as affectionate, but since you and Mei are two of his only friends, he can't help but enjoy it when you pick him for affection.

The two around Season 5 from what I've seen are relatively good friends.

Red Son still hates to admit it, but he's like that with many people.

I imagine the rivalry would start with Red Son actually.

He often sees you and Mei together hanging out, the dragon affectionately fluffing you and cooing over you.

You're purring away in Mei's arms, which makes Red Son seethe.

Truth is, he's jealous that you and Mei have such a close connection.

Mei just seems to get along with everyone.

That and Red Son often pushes people like you away.

Really, It's Red Son's own fault that you don't come to him first.

This would lead to him trying to bribe you into paying more attention to him.

Do cat demons like toys?

Do you want a heated blanket?

He can increase his temp for you if it means you'll sit by him!

He really isn't sure why he feels so desperate to get you away from Mei.

Maybe he really is attention starved?

Mei would pick up on this, realizing she's not only making Red Son jealous...

But he's trying to take you from her.

She originally teases him for this, saying he could've asked you for affection.

Although, deep down, she doesn't really like sharing all that much either.

That's how the rivalry would start.

It's all really petty like most platonic rivalries are.

Red Son can't seem to properly express his feelings which causes him to try and steal you, which irritates Mei.

Mei could probably share you, but Red Son expresses possessive behavior when he has you in his lap, looking all smug.

Honestly, they're probably both easily jealous due to their lineage.

Poor you may just not choose either of them one day, leaving to hide yourself away somewhere quiet to rest.

Only to feel yourself being carried later by one of them holding you tight, their body heat lulling you to another slumber.

You're probably friends with both of them, yet it can be overwhelming when the two keep trying to fight for your affection.

The two probably just really enjoy cats, which means they enjoy you.

Your purr is adorable and your fur is so soft.

The rivalry is almost like two pet parents trying to win the favor of their pet.

It sounds dehumanizing, but you are mostly a cat, after all.

You may hide away when overwhelmed, yet you don't mind the attention.

In fact, seeing their arguments is amusing to you.

You sometimes just sit in your humanoid form, watching the two argue over who's the better "heating pad".

Truth is, you care for them both somewhat.

You may be wary of their selfish and possessive behavior...

Yet you enjoy their company.

Would either of them kidnap you?

I mean... maybe?

I can see them holding you in cat form then running off to your home to hide you from the other.

Both of them have bought you gifts, keeping you in their home with a cat bed and other cat related items.

You don't mind, it's all amusing to you.

Until they start to restrict your freedoms.

Would they get into fights?

Yes, sometimes physical ones yet it isn't like they're trying to kill one another.

They're both just naturally combative.

Overall, like many platonic rivalries, it's mostly petty stuff.

Both just happen to enjoy their furred demon companion.

Although, the two often challenge each other to see who likes you more...

Hopefully you won't have to decide who's the better friend anytime soon.

[king0fcrows]

.

[thebookworm0001]

solas is megamind no I will not elaborate

[calmlb]

It’s been clear that the Tanizakis aren’t siblings from the very beginning

here’s some evidence now that it’s been confirmed canon…

everyone who’s read irl Tanizaki’s book knew that Junichiro & Naomi weren’t siblings as soon as they introduced themselves

BUT just because the Tanizakis aren’t siblings doesn’t mean you can’t feel uncomfortable about them. if you feel uncomfortable, GOOD. that’s exactly what they want

the Tanizakis, Mori— they all use these disturbing ruses to disarm or distract people in order to protect themselves, or to accomplish their goals. this is a writing device that asagiri commonly employs as a way to parallel the irl literature (it’s actually ingenious)

there are 4 main indicators that have always made it clear to me that Junichiro & Naomi are not siblings:

1. most obviously— their character designs. Harukawa is extremely intentional with character designs, & she very intentionally made Naomi & Junichiro look nothing alike

their eye shapes are purposely different

their color palettes are contrasting

even their differing styles of clothing have meaning

this was all done so that the audience could PLAINLY see that they’re not related— so that WE know that they’re lying when they say they ARE related

2. how the people around them respond to their act.

the general reaction is “don’t question it”— which is exactly what they want. “be distracted by how uncomfortable you feel so that you look away from what we’re hiding” (this is likely a protective measure)

3. most importantly, this is meant to parallel irl Tanizaki’s book “Naomi,” where the main character Joji picks up Naomi to raise her into his ideal woman, but since she's so young (& a minor) they call each other cousins (Joji makes no sexual advances on young Naomi btw)

however, his plan backfires because when Naomi gets older & they get married, she flips the script on him & manipulates HIM so that he's under her thumb (which is why bsd Tanizaki is at a domineering Naomi's mercy). Joji let her have her way because of his masochistic tendencies

4. lastly is the emphasis that Asagiri and the Tanizakis themselves put on calling each other siblings.

over & over, it’s “my brother this” & “my sister that”

like they’re desperately trying to convince us that it’s true (“don’t let your lying eyes deceive you”)

here are just a few of many examples from the light novels…

again, if you’ve read “Naomi” you knew that Junichiro & Naomi weren’t siblings as soon as they introduced themselves

just like if you’ve read irl Mori’s works, it’s clear that bsd Mori isn’t a pedophile

just like if you’ve read No Longer Human you know that Dazai’s an unreliable narrator. he makes you think he’s a bad person bc he believes he’s a bad person, but those around him see him differently (btw this doesn’t mean he’s never done anything “bad,” though bsd isn’t about morality— but that’s another discussion)

anyway, i’m so excited for the Tanizakis backstory to be revealed so that we can better understand why they use this defense!!

also let this be a reminder to READ THE LITERATURE if you’re able to!! even reading synopses & analyses of the coordinating books makes bsd make much more sense 🥹

reminder that this how you’re supposed to react while reading bsd:

also, if you’re interested in a post explaining how Mori isn’t a pedo, i wrote this analysis on twt. OR you can read this document that one of my moots sent me (remember: analyzing a character does NOT mean you condone any actions they may or may not commit!)

[hwallazia]

ANT!FRAGILE – 최산

synopsis . in which you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

pairing . choi san & fem!reader

genre . smut (mdni!) fluff at the end, comfort, established relationship, idol!au, and a poor attempt of comedy.

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 3,1k

DISCLAIMER! unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).

NIC’S NOTES this took way too long for no reason at all (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional! (again, too lazy to write it properly;;)

you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.

you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.

but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?

you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.

it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.

you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?

but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.

you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.

but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.

you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.

“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.

“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.

“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.

“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.

“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.

“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.

“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”

“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.

“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”

and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you. 

during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”

“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly. 

“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.

“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.

“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.

“go kill yourself.” you huffed.

“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”

“touché” you agreed. 

the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.

“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”

“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.

“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”

“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”

“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.

you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.

once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.

“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.

remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.

you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.

suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.

once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.

“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.

you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.

your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.

“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.

“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”

“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.

“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.

you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.

“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.

“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.

“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”

“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”

san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.

“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.

“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”

you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.

“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.

“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.

“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.

“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.

“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.

“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.

“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.

“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.

“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.

“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.

“no? let’s see if it is now,”

your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.

“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.

you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.

“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.

san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.

“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.

“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.

“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.

you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.

that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.

you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.

“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”

“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”

you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”

he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”

“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.

“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.

“babe,”

“hm?”

“shut up.”

| masterlist

[jello-chennie]

✧ tough guy iwaizumi hajime who ends up falling for his best friend’s cute little sister

✧ genre/tw fluff ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ (nsfw at the end ⚠︎)

✧ word count 857

all three of you grow up together, with you being two years younger than tooru. oikawa is always doting on you, treating you like a doll. despite the very little age gap, no matter how old you get, he’s always referring to you as his baby sister. oikawa spoils you rotten. one look from those big brown eyes you both share, but look a lot cuter on you for some reason, and oikawa can’t help but to give you whatever you ask for.

in the beginning, iwaizumi is almost like your other, more responsible big brother when things go wrong. you’re always trying to tag along with your older brother and his friend, which is a recipe for disaster sometimes.

when you inevitably take a spill, and bump your knees, tooru is rolling on the ground, shouting out against the heavens for forsaking you. how could the higher powers let you just fall to the ground like that?? but iwaizumi is is silently wiping off the pebbles from your knee with his little hands, blowing cool air to help assuage your pain. without a word, he carries you back home.

eventually you learn to stop tagging along so much. you can only handle so much pain and embarrassment. other than those moments, iwaizumi and you never really spend that much time together. for the rest of your childhood, you’re more acquaintances than anything else.

but at some point, after oikawa desperately begs you to join the boys volleyball team as it’s manager (“its the only time we’ll be together in high school, you wouldn’t ruthlessly deny your precious and loving and dashing and charming big brother this chance, would you???”), iwaizumi begins to notice you again. but this time, you’re a lot more grown up than you were before. seems like good looks run in the family.

but he’s not the only one that notices. in the same sense that oikawa seems to have the student body under his spell, it seems you do as well, and without even trying.

you’ve had a sheltered childhood that you mostly spent in doors, so you’re shyer than most people. and your brother enables you with his doting behaviour.

iwaizumi finds himself frequently getting jealous at the basket of love letters and confectionery that you have to empty out of your locker and lug home every night. iwaizumi finds that his hands begin to ache after a while bc he clenches them so hard whenever he sees another person confessing to you. and he waits with baited breath to see their disappointed faces as they walk away—an indication that you turned them down again in the way that you always shyly do; an indication that he might still have a chance, yet.

in an effort to put the moves on you, iwaizumi is constantly performing little acts of service for you. he goes out with you to the fountains to refill the water bottles so that you have some company, and so that you won’t have to carry anything heavy—that should be his job, after all. in the most cliche move ever, when an errant ball goes flying right in your direction, iwaizumi coolly catches it with one hand before it can bounce off of your head, making sure to ask you if you’re okay after. he stays behind to help you sweep the floors after practice, striking up a conversation with you. when oikawa stays behind to practice his spikes, iwaizumi walks alone with you home, making sure to keep you away from the side of the sidewalk that’s closest to the road. iwa also makes sure to put your back against the wall of the train while standing in front of you, keeping you safe from any wandering hands.

eventually, he even starts buying your favourite milk drink from the vending machine, and brings it to you while he visits your classroom, the place where you normally eat your lunch. he sits, and eats with you (to which oikawa complains vehemently bc “why would you just sit in a different spot than we normally do without telling me?? you left me all alone!!")

iwaizumi’s actions don’t go unnoticed. you start to fall for it.

when you two eventually start to date, oikawa is whining and complaining that you two are both stealing each other away from him (there’s also relentless teasing on oikawa’s end bc “iwa-chan, isn’t funny that you fell in love with someone that looks just like me?? are you secretly gay and actually just in love with me :3 ??”)

but what’s really the kick in the back for oikawa is the moment he runs up to his precious little sister’s room to check and see what she wants for dinner. but upon opening the door, he finds both his best friend (who, of which, he didn’t even know was over their place at the moment) on top of his “adorable baby sister who can do absolutely no wrong”; the two of them are naked from the waist down, in the throes of passion.

he falls to his knees, asking god to strike him dead, right then and there.

[emchant3d]

It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.

Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week. 

Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–

"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.

"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it. 

Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.

Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger. 

He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.

He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.

So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.

"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.

– Eddie gets home late.

Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?

Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--

Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.

There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?

And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.

He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.

And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.

"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.

Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.

They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.

He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–

The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.

The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.

None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–

The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing. 

"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?" 

Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?

But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.

But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.

Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep. 

He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching. 

He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.

He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.

He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.

“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.

“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?

“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.

part 2

[mockingjaylad]

Mystery twins in Gotham AU…….

Or even just one of them then it’s the stans situation all over again (if it’s multi universal shenanigans and not just making gravity falls real in DCU) and either dipper or Mabel are desperate to find their way back to the other

Both Dipper and Mabel I feel could have really cool dynamics with the batfam

Thinking about how it could have happened is also really cool whether it’s from an outside source from Gotham or maybe some strange unexplainable portal in gravity falls of which both Mabel and dippers pov from gravity falls would be really interesting how they solve the mysteries and figure out how to bring the other back

I feel like both are definitely able to do it because they are awesome and I care them very much

Ofc with the help of other people in GF

It would be really cool to see how they adapt to the DC universe with how much insane shit they’ve seen but ig this could also depend on what period in time the transfer happens

Like if it’s after weirdmagedon then they’d probably be a lot better at adapting and surviving (they adapt very well normally anyways) But maybe if it was before most of the really dark creepy stuff that happens in the show it would be like a kid with way too many questions about their own world gets put into a world with even more strange stuff to think about and how it would effect them

BUT WHAT IF IT WAS BOTH OF THEM!!!! Then their grunkles and friends are like freaking out course the twins have gone missing to some other universe and all the drama

But Mabel and Dipper despite still trying to get home are just kind of having a great time feeding off eachothers energy keeping the vibes high

Like hey at least it’s not a world ending apocalypse where a demon is actively trying to hunt us down and kill us! (That they know of)

Dipper would fit in pretty well with all the paranoid Gothamites but Mabel would instantly get into so much trouble all the time and be immediately on the bars watch list

Dipper and Mabel acting so much like Steph and Tim in those baby vigilante fics where they go out and Tim takes pictures while Steph goes crazy beating up bad guys

Mabel with her own sweater vigilante costume covering her face and a GRAPPLING HOOK!!!!!!!

“So what are you, a twelve year old girl, doing in the streets of Gotham clearly no clue about any of the unspoken rules beating bad guys up”

“… GRAPPLING HOOK!!!!”

She launches the grappling hook at them like the puffy sticker experiment

Them randomly dropping lore about their world to the Bats

“This remind me of that time I was kidnapped by gnomes to become their gnome wife forever” out of nowhere while in a hostage or kidnapping situation and their all just like “HUH???? UR TWELVE????? GNOME WIFE????????”

“this reminds me of the mini golf course people”

Sorry chat I have the gravity falls brainrot

These dumb tweens really thought they did something with these disguises

[elizabethsnuts]

hiii, i love your fics so much omg. for your toddler!reader ones do you think maybe you could write one where spencer takes his daughter to a bau family gathering type thing but instead of playing with the other kids there she just wants to stay with spencer the whole time? or something like that? its totally okay if you dont want to write that ofc. i hope you have a good day <3

By Your Side

Spencer Reid x Daughter!Reader

Summary: The team has a get-together but you refused to move away from your dad the whole night.

———

The team was having another one of their get-togethers, a break from the usual brutal cases and endless case files. Spencer had taken you with him obviously, JJ had taken Henry and Hotch had Jack with him.

Henry and Jack were playing with each other, taking food off the tables and running around. You didn’t want to stray too far from Spencer, opting to stay right next to him, you weren’t into the whole play fighting Henry and Jack were doing at the moment anyway.

Spencer knelt down to your level, watching your tiny hands fiddle with your little top. “Hey, sweetheart. Don’t you wanna go play with Jack and Henry?”

You shook your head quickly, holding onto Spencer tightly. “No, stay with Daddy.”

Spencer had a feeling that you didn’t want to get involved in whatever rough games Henry and Jack had decided to play and maybe some separation anxiety. You weren’t the most extroverted toddler, usually staying right beside Spencer and not talking, but you did enjoy playing with Jack and Henry. That was when they weren’t trying to tackle each other to the ground.

Spencer nodded softly and smiled, picking you up and holding you in his arms. “That’s alright, you can stay with me.”

You stayed in Spencer’s arms most of the night, listening as he talked with the team and rambled on about whatever statistics were passing his head. When it came to dinner time, Spencer had helped fix up a plate with some food for you before he got his own. However, that did mean you had to sit at the kid's table to eat and you were not happy about that.

“No! Eat with Daddy!” You cried and tried to run back over to Spencer who was getting his food sorted. He had put you in the little plastic chairs next to Henry and Jack to eat your food.

“Y/N, sweetheart, it’s only while you eat your food and then you can come right back to me. I swear, honey.” Spencer said gently, taking your tiny hand and bringing you back over to the table.

You tried to resist but you were still just a little toddler and you weren’t stronger than Spencer. He didn't want to hurt you so when you started tugging away from his hand, he picked you up and placed you on the chair. You couldn’t do anything other than sit there and cry.

Henry noticed you weren’t eating your food so he quickly pinched some off your plate and onto his own with a smile. JJ, who was keeping an ear on the conversation at the table with the team while also keeping an eye on the kid's table, noticed Henry’s little food-stealing act.

“Uhm, excuse me. We don’t steal people’s food, Henry. That’s Y/N’s dinner, not yours. Put it back please.” JJ said gently but also with a firm tone.

Henry sighed and gave you the food back with a long huff. You didn’t actually care that he stole your food, you were too upset to even eat.

“Daddy!” You cried loudly, looking at Spencer at the team table. You just wanted him, you didn’t want to eat your dinner and you certainly didn’t want to watch Jack and Henry shove food in their mouths with their unsanitary hands.

Spencer eventually caved, he couldn’t bear to hear your desperate cries for him anymore. He quickly scooped you up from the kid's table and sat you on his lap, grabbing your plate of food as well. “You’re alright, sweet girl. You’re okay. Daddy’s got you and we’ll eat together, okay?”

You started to calm down once you were back in Spencer’s arms, you nodded slowly and sniffled. You slowly but surely ate your dinner which was a win since you were usually very picky.

Spencer smiled and kissed the top of your head. “You did a good job eating! I’m so proud of you, you nearly finished your whole plate!”

The rest of the night was just the team chatting and discussing things together while two crazy preschoolers were throwing themselves around the bullpen. You fell asleep on Spencer’s shoulder before the clock even hit 9 at night, you were spent but content now that Spencer was back holding you. He’d always try to be by your side.

[rene-spade]

Ok but how are the crazy f1 dads with their daughters dating? Who on the grid do they like?

oof this is a loaded ask bc they really are all out of it 😭 they just love their babies fr

♤ ♤ ♤

dad! kimi | growing up räikkönen!

FIRST OF ALL kimi doesn’t really vibe with most people in general, let alone anyone who’s trying to get with his little lumienkeli. kimi was lucky to raise a little girl similar to him, who listens when he places a no dating rule lasting until she’s 21 (as far as he knows anyways). despises the guys on the grid trying to get with her; he was one of them once so he thinks of them as animals, especially leclerc who’s known for his brow-raising dating life. also hates pierre but he already didn’t fw him bc he’s french. he is SLIGHTLY more easy going with women around his daughter so any grid guys with girlfriends might have an advantage. he finds that he wants the im-a-dog-and-ill-do-whatever-my-girl-says type for his daughter, but he dislikes unintelligence. he does not like anyone on the grid, but he best tolerates:

mick schumacher!

oscar piastri (+lily)

he vibes with kika okay but hates pierre 💀

bonus! he actually really likes max but his hate/distrust for jos overpowers that so he’s not letting that happen

♤ ♤ ♤

dad! jenson | growing up button!

OK SO JENSON is a bit less intense than kimi, however he is much more publicly affectionate with his daughter which means that he has definitely gone on public rants about how no man is good wen enough for his baby. that being said, he is a decent judge of character so he doesn’t hate anyone on the grid. but he gets real serious when he notices people hitting on his baby. this is mostly bc he was def a whore when he was younger so he isn’t quick to trust guys who are living the same lifestyle he was. he kind of turns on dad-mode when he notices anyone eyeing her up. but alas, he raised his own mini-me, who attracts just about everyone, and who likes to flirt back. it takes warming up to, but he can see himself fine with most of the drivers. he most prefers people who are friendly and who didn’t act like him when he was in f1 like:

george russel

daniel ricciardo

lando norris

♤ ♤ ♤

dad! fernando | growing up alonso!

NANDO IS DEFINITELY one of those guys who thinks he’s a “cool dad” bc he’s a young father and his daughter is his best friend. but in reality he’s one of those intense, fiercely overprotective dads who have impossibly high expectations for his daughters partner. 100% the type to punch a mechanic for saying gross things about his princesa. he’ll be calm and in a good mood then someone on the grid (or any man ever) mentions his daughter and he’s like 😐. UNLESS! it’s carlos. carlos is the only one who meets his standards, sorry to literally everyone else. but even with carlos, he can be a little stern just to get his point across about not messing with his only child. he just feels the need to personally approve of his daughter’s partner bc he’s hyper-paranoid about someone hurting her. his list looks something like:

carlos sainz!!!

that’s it

i mean if you put a gun to his head maybe max bc he’s a winner but he needs to learn to speak spanish so-

♤ ♤ ♤

dad! jos | growing up verstappen! unfortunately

FUCK JOS VERSTAPPEN obviously, however this man is one crazy dad who we have to discuss. his love for his youngest daughter is wild and unpredictable, and it’s very different from the way he treats his other children. his baby has some extreme one-sided beef with him that he’s smart enough to know about, so he isn’t too forceful about bonding, it’s definitely more desperate since max found success in f1 and she sticks with her big brother now. her entire life, he’s never allowed her to date, and when he found out about her first secret bf, he got arrested for trying to kill the kid so. he has IMPOSSIBLY high standards for his daughters partner and definitely wants her to marry within the f1 community, but he hates losers and despises half the grid.

suddenly he’s charles leclerc’s biggest fan !

lewis hamilton but he’ll never admit it

MAYBE carlos sainz

bonus! max obvi likes daniel ricciardo best but jos doesn’t fw him like that

♤ ♤ ♤

Ren

[brawltogethernow]

I would LOVE to hear your aro Hal thoughts if you don’t mind sharing?

[re:] (Sorry in advance there are absolutely no issue citations; I have saved so many pages in random places without labeling them.)

I don't know if I'd even call it having thoughts so much as having...an incomplete collection of Hal...saying things?

And having things said about him?

And he does this very familiar weasel jink when asked certain types of questions.

Like the general direction of authorial intent here is presumably that he's a ~playboy~ who ~can't be tied down~,

but we rarely see him...like...with anybody. He's an informed attribute playboy who's had a handful of onscreen flings that tend to be complete disasters with significantly less chemistry than a poorly measured baking soda volcano, and other than that there's Carol, who he's been failing to marry with high agitation for sixty-five years at this point. Like in cape comics it's standard for your obvious endgame A couple to take twenty or thirty years to get around to that, but sixty is excessive. Like even Alicia Masters and the Thing managed it faster and they kept getting put off because it stressed out too many Marvel writers to contemplate monsterfucking. (And other less comedic factors but this post isn't about that.)

And every time Hal tries to go steady with Carol he acts like he's dying, even though he clearly loves her and holds having her in his life in extremely high priority.

Like he is not enjoying a playboy lifestyle he doesn't want to give up. He has tried very hard to settle down several times, but he always panics and bolts at the last second like someone who's run out of the willpower¹ to keep holding onto an electrified rod--except when he's rescued by deus ex machina.

¹Ha.

And it's also pretty evident that he hates himself for this and doesn't understand why he can't pass this standard life milestone, or why he keeps hurting Carol, his favorite person, trying and failing to do what they think you're supposed to. He very blatantly views his romantic failures as something that let down other people and "improving" as a sacrifice he's supposed to make for them.

When his desires come into it it's primarily in the context of him gaslighting himself about how he totally wants the things he's supposed to that won't disappoint people, definitely definitely for real this time.

As seen above, romantic success for Hal is often conflated with retiring from being Green Lantern to inject cheap drama and insert a built-in inevitable failure, framing him as staying single because he's "married to the job". This barely ever made sense but was already downright comedic by the, I want to say late 70's?, where Carol was in on the secret identity and John and Katma were pulling off extremely successful GL/GL dating in the same book. At this point it's complete nonsense, so writers have been pulling harder on framing Hal as a disorganized man-child with commitment issues who's just sort of arbitrarily rendered undateable by being a committed superhero, something which, although it's a classic source of drama, has not hindered any of DC's other characters to this degree this consistently.

In conclusion: This aro man does not know what aromanticism is despite being one degree of separation from Connor Hawke, which is ruining his life and his ability to have any self esteem. Him and Carol desperately need someone to tell them what queerplatonic relationships are so they can stop doing these wretched I'm-not-touching-you kisses.

#EverybodyDislikedThat

Also he's been dressing up as the aromantic flag since 1959. Okay now I'm done.

[skzstoryvault]

Relax! Take it easy <3 (Hyunjin, a bit spicy)

F! Reader x boyfriend Hyunjin

very short read

one-shot

Hyunjin is sick and exhausted and needs a bit of persuasion to allow himself some time to recover

Hyunjin is also super cute and very whipped for his girl

This story contains some lazy, sleepy sex

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real persons depicted here. They all deserve the world.

Please be kind.

Please do not report this post. If it's not your thing, just scroll away.

If you're underage, please scroll on, there is nothing for you here.

If you enjoy this story and are reading along, I would love to hear your comments in the replies, reblogs or DMs - however you feel most comfortable.

Hyunjin has been having a bad luck streak lately. First, his voice began to fail him, then his joints and muscles started acting up. He’s had his wisdom teeth extracted and went to a fan event right after and now? Now he has a bad shoulder that hurts with every movement he makes. It comes and goes, the pain, and his doctors don’t know what the cause is or how to treat it just yet.

“Jinnie, you are exhausted, that’s why it feels like you are falling apart. You need to take it easy for a bit. Get a few days of back-to-back rest and good sleep so your body can have the chance to recover...” You tell him, watching him sit curled up miserably at the top of your bed and putting his favorite blanket of yours around his shoulders. “I can’t, Stay will mind.” 

“I’m a Stay too and I say I want you happy and recharged, and if I had a choice, I’d rather not see you for a while than see you crumble on stage or dance with tears of pain in your eyes.” “You just say that because you love me.” “Yes! As would anyone who knows you. Jinnie, please. Please rest.” “But Channie-hyung will be upset, and so will Scheduling.” “I’ll make the calls, okay?” “We don’t have anything for Friday and Saturday, maybe I can rest then?”

“I will still call, so they don’t see the free slots and book you anyway.” “Thank you.” Hyunjin says, looking wretched and small from his blanket cocoon. “You know I love you? You care so much, and look after me so well.” “I love you too, Jinnie. A lot-lot, you know?” You give back, leaning in to smooth the hair from his forehead and kiss the clammy skin. On the phone, Chan is, of course, understanding and concerned. The people in Scheduling are a bit more neurotic about the news, but even they are aware that Hyunjin is no good to them in his current state. 

When you return to your boyfriend’s side, he is napping with his nose buried into the blanket you gave him. You approach to tuck him in more securely, and he sleepily reaches for you. 

“Don’t go, please.” His voice comes out as a creaky, pitiful whisper. 

You relent immediately and lie down next to him. He sleepily rearranges himself around you and spreads the blanket over both of you. Not a minute passes before he takes his nose out of the blanket and buries it in the skin at the side of your neck, moving it up and down and side to side, managing to tickle you. “Hey now, rest first. We can horse around later.” You gently chide, running a hand through his hair and scritching his scalp to help him relax. He huffs into your shoulder in protest, but behaves. It’s evening when you wake up, having fallen asleep next to Hyunjin as well. The first thing you become aware of is how hard he is under the thigh you have flung over him. The second is that he’s at least partially awake and covertly rubbing himself against your thigh, holding it in place with one of his hands. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh almost desperately, like he’s afraid you will turn to smoke and escape him if he loosens his hold the slightest bit.

He has so much on his plate, your baby. He is trying to please so many people and he neglects himself so much. So him wanting to get off even while still mostly asleep, and wanting to use you to help, softens you to the extreme.

“Baby? Are you with me? How are you feeling?” You ask, lifting your head so you can start peppering sloppy kisses to his lips and around, moving on to nibble on his jaw and neck. 

“Sleepy… and hard.” He says, pouting. “Wanna hit.” “So why don’t you? I’m right here. You can just… “ “Mhhh yes, yes. Thank you.” He whispers. “‘m lazy.” 

“Shhh, I know. Let me.” You make quick work of his and your underwear, lying back down half on top of him and nuzzling the warm skin of his neck before seeking his lips for a kiss. Your hair falls between you like a curtain, sheltering you from the rest of the world and you blindly, but with sure moves, take him inside you, hissing at the way his cock spreading you open feels. It never gets old - that first breach, the shock to your senses. This time it’s accompanied by a scarily intense spasm of your womb, and that’s undiluted arousal and anticipation on your part as you take all of him in. “Awh, fuck. So deep.” Hyunjin’s voice rings strained. “So… tight. It’s always like the first time with you.” 

Another spasm deep inside you, stronger this time, makes you scrunch your features  - it’s the same part of you that’s trying to kill you once a month, letting you know you’re aroused off your tits and giving you a spasm of pleasure so intense it nearly swings into pain, making your features contort from how intense it feels. This has nothing to do with how big Hyunjin is inside you or how harsh his thrusts are. It’s just a deeply human, almost petty satisfaction at feeling how good he’s making you feel and that he and not someone else is giving you this much pleasure. 

“What was that? Did… did I hurt you? Angle change?” He asks, immediately concerned for you although just seconds ago he was lost to his own enjoyment, eyes closed and head pushed back into the pillow. 

“No, no, keep going, it’s just… sometimes some other organs join in my feeling good.”

Hyunjin gasps and indulges your request. You push yourself up with your hands on his t-shirt covered chest, sighing at the change of angle adding yet another layer of sensation. But you don’t sit up straddling him all the way, needing the closeness to get the friction against your clit. “Oh fuck… hell, no!” Hyunjin panics, looking at you apologetically. “I’m- I’m g-g-go… aghhh, fuck-” His losing his composure to how good it feels to be inside you, fucking you, also throws you over the edge. You lean back down, wanting to kiss his moans and unhinged whines into yourself, feeling like a succubus thriving off the stolen pleasure of your willing victim. 

All through his high, he keeps his eyes on you, watching you in this absolutely rapt way, reaching up and touching your lips in awe, caressing your cheek, then tracing the gentle contours of your boobs through the fabric of your shirt. 

“How are you real? How are you mine?” He whispers, his voice still hoarse and betraying how gone he is. “And you let me come inside you… I feel like I’m desecrating a temple every time.” 

You smile, liking how awed his little ramblings get when his mind is completely switched off. 

“I’m not complaining. But if it makes you feel better, you can think you’re an ancient Greek. They used to bring erm... seeds as offerings for their goddess of the harvest.” “I want to give you something you can actually use!” Hyunjin says, smiling like the best inspiration ever just struck him. “Soon as I feel better and get up from here… I’ll make you a nice kimchi with no fish guts… and the fattest kimbap roll you’ve ever seen, with the yummiest filling. Maybe even some hotteok too, if I manage. Mhmmmmm. You will have the happiest belly in all of Seoul.” You laugh softly. He’s slipping into a restful sleep, and even now, all he’s thinking of is how he can please you more. “Oh you’re on, mister. Don’t think I won’t hold you to that… but for now, just focus on feeling better.” 

[epiicaricacy-arts]

oh we’re still so young, desperate for attention

this was super experimental so i will talk about my process (+ clearer version) under the cut

i’ve been looking at a lot of “messier” or more textured painting styles recently and an artist that stuck out to me is clariondeluna ! they posted a self-portrait recently that i really liked and i was super interested in the brushwork seen in their work. i love all the textures and how the shapes feel so loose yet everything is so detailed.

that’s not a method for me at all!!!! i cannot paint like that at all and the stuff i like to paint is very different to theirs. which is okay!!!! i had no intention to copy this artists style so closely like with what i tried to do in my raiden painting, i just wanted to try this style out :^)

it’s been a goal of mine to avoid over-rendering like i tend to do a lot, and i think i’ve been doing good with that recently! the mindset i’ve got going on right now is that if i find myself staring at it too hard for too long, i have to leave it and move on. if there’s still something wrong with it, i can fix it later once ive got a fresh view!

i’ve been trying a lot of things with my art this year. i always try to challenge myself with each piece, and to end the year off i wanted to be as uncomfortable as i possibly could be with this painting. i let myself draw whatever i wanted because i still wanted to enjoy it, but everything i did in this process was new, including parts of the subject matter.

i’ve never drawn a head at an angle like this, and i struggle with drawing mouths open. i don’t do bold lighting like this, and if i do, it’s not fire. i’ve never drawn fire! i also rarely work with warm colours and i hate using green, so i combined those to be my colour palette. i like working cleanly so instead of having a dozen different layers for one section, each section only had 1-2 layers for rendering. instead of clipping masks i would simply paint over things loosely and clean it up later. i never like having limbs cut off in a drawing so i had his other arm go GOD knows where. i don’t like weird patterned backgrounds so i made myself figure out how to like it!

IS THIS MY FAVOURITE PIECE OF ALL TIME. no. absolutely not. but i’m very proud of how this came out with all the challenges i put on myself. i WANTED to get better at these things and be more broad with my art, both in terms of the styles and subjects i portray.

okay let’s talk about wtf this drawing is

for those who don’t know, the design in this painting is my fatui/“Father” lyney fan design (read the design post here). the concept isnt super complicated and i don’t really have much explanation for it, but i wanted to combine the story of how lyney wanted a delusion before getting his vision, fire eating circus acts and how olympic medalists will bite their medal to prove it’s real??? don’t quote me on that i’m like 75% sure that’s a thing that happens. i don’t watch sports though so im just believing someone i heard on the internet ages ago.

anyways. i think fire eating acts are cool. and i think the fact that lyney wanted a delusion is very interesting to me. scratches my brain in the right places. and yk as a magician lyneys character revolves a lot around fooling people and creating illusions so i guess what im saying here is that lyney is trying to prove to himself that this power he’s been bestowed is real. bc his whole life his only constant has been lynette so he is trying to see if he can trust this new power. cause i guess this is an alternate universe where lyney does eventually become “Father” but he never got his vision ??? idk im not making lore for this i just wanted to dress up this funny little guy.

ok i’m done

thanks for reading

here’s my dog

[yurozo]

the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time. 

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass. 

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes. 

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression. 

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say. 

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back. 

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again. 

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people. 

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms. 

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far. 

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis. 

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm  underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him. 

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation. 

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down. 

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands. 

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash. 

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it. 

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too. 

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips. 

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance. 

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes. 

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping. 

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return. 

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control. 

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart. 

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet. 

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die. 

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us. 

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment. 

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him. 

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind. 

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours. 

it’s like falling  down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it. 

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved. 

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else. 

“love you too, old man.” 

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too. 

[spookysteddie]

Studio Sessions

18+ MINORS DNI

Modern!rockstar!Eddie x influencer!fem!reader

Series masterlist here

cw: voice recording during sex, reader gets insecure, studio times, fluff, flirting, pet names, oral (fem! receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, dirty talk, reader gets what she wants.

wc: 3.6k

a/n: this got away from me... I hope you all enjoy it! Feel free to send in requests for these two if you have them!! ALSO: this is the last post for them I'll have with a tag list... it's so much work and not that I dont love y'all ( I do) it's just hard. I hope y'all still love me and understand ❤️.

...

Is it normal to miss someone you just met? 

Is it normal to go on a few dates, sleep over their house like every night and still miss them immensely when they're gone? 

You and Eddie have spent every moment together since that first real date. Has he asked you to be his girlfriend yet? No. But you really don’t like to think too far into that one because then you’ll spiral, which is no good for anyone.

It didn’t matter too much. You knew it didn’t matter and you knew that he wasn’t fucking anyone else because he was either in your bed at night, or you were in his. I mean he could be fucking other people during the day, but you doubted it. 

Back to the missing him part. It feels weird to miss someone who is a few feet in front of you, who you can literally see. But here you are, Eddie standing on the other side of some glass gathering things, and you miss him. You can’t help your thoughts from wandering back to if he feels the same way. But also, why would he? Men don’t act like that, right?  

“Sweetheart, you ready?” Eddie's voice cuts through the fog of uncertainty. 

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. You were in the studio with Corroded Coffin, getting to watch their recording process. Eddie is right, there is something missing from a few of those songs, but you’re unsure if your voice is what is missing. You’re willing to try, though, still honored every agreed to this.

Eddie sets you up, putting headphones on you so you can hear the music. “Okay, sweet angel, don’t get too close to the mic because it can cause the sound to get a little weird. Got it?” 

“I got it.” You grin up at him. He kisses you sweetly, your body growing hot. 

He leaves, going to stand outside the booth with the rest of the band and his producer. He gives you a thumbs up, smile lighting up his face. He’s been more than excited that you agreed to do this. 

You hear a count before the music starts, you quickly look down at the lyrics sheet in front of you. When you get the cue you start, turning on the most bedroom voice you can manage, eyes locking with Eddie’s as you speak. “Mine, be mine. Love me. Never let me go.” 

You smirk at him as he squirms, his friends hitting his arm. You aren’t sure why it makes you happy to watch him squirm but it does. You let out a laugh, real and loud, instead of saying your next lines. 

The producer perks up, cutting off the music, “oh my god, that was amazing! I need more of those.” 

You feel your face get warm, a small and shy giggle leaving your chest. You don’t hear Eddie enter the room, but you can feel him. His energy calling to yours. You hum, not caring that they’re still recording you. 

He pulls your headphones off, “great job, sweetheart.” 

“Thank you, baby.” You lean in kissing his lips. It’s quick, just enough to get a taste of him. “This is a lot of fun. I like this!” 

“You sounded very beautiful.” 

You giggle, looking up at him grinning, “I was just talking.” 

He kisses your forehead and whispers to you, “no. You were using that voice you use when you’re desperate for me to fuck you.” 

You freeze, looking up at him. He’s looking at you with that sexy smirk on his face, making your stomach flip and clit pulse. God, he’s so hot when he’s doing absolutely nothing, dressed in black sweatpants and a sweatshirt, dressing comfortably for the long day in the studio. You could kiss him, right now. 

No, scratch that, you could fuck him right now. You would if there weren’t six other people looking at you. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you whisper, winking up at him. 

He kisses you quickly, leaving you wanting more as he pulls away. “Ready for the next one?” 

… 

You’ve been here for 8 hours. 

Between adding little snippets of your voice, the band recording the rest of their songs, adding background vocals and putting in instruments, it takes a while. And you are tired. So tired in fact that during their last two songs, you fell asleep on the little couch in the studio. 

You know this because you’re woken up by a soft voice and a hand brushing your hair out of your face. 

“Sweet angel? Hey, baby.” You know it’s Eddie's voice based on the softness and sweetness he reserves only for you. 

You stretch, groaning just a little as your joints crack, “m’sorry for falling asleep. Didn’t mean to.” Your voice sounds small and a little crocky with sleep. You cover your mouth as a small yawn slips out, “s’cuse me. I’m sorry.” 

He laughs, kissing your free hand, “don’t apologize. We had a long night and early morning. Could’ve gone back to my place and slept?”

You shake your head, “mm-mm. Gotta be supportive. It sounds great and your fans will love it.” 

His grins widens, lips meeting your knuckles. He looks tired too and you sort of regret keeping him up most of the night. Well, actually, it was a mutual thing. You’d tried getting him to go to bed but he just ‘couldn’t get enough’ and then when you tried again, while he was still inside you and growing soft, but the second he shifted, you were pushing him on his back and riding him. See, mutual. 

“I’m glad you think it’s great, sweet girl. But you won’t upset me if you go home.” 

Home. The word clangs through you and makes your head spin. It shouldn’t because he definitely didn’t mean anything behind it. It was his home so of course he’s called it just ‘home’ and you are for sure overthinking it. 

You shake your head, both to clear it and to answer him, “no. I can wait. How much longer?” 

“Like another fifteen minutes? I just need to listen to that last take and the boys need to add some background stuff. Then we can go.” His thumb is rubbing along your knuckles, his touch soft even if his hands are calloused. 

“I’ll wait.” 

And you do, this time staying awake. You post some instagram stories, making extra sure to mute it so you don’t spill a single note. Everyone loves the little insights to your time with Eddie, his fans enjoying seeing a different side to him. Of course, your parents still aren’t happy. 

You haven’t spoken to them since that phone call. You don’t need their opinions and Eddie has yet to be a bad person when it came to you. 

In fact, he’s good at planning dates and making sure no one follows. Blocking the paparazzi from getting unflattering photos of you. Sending you with security if needed. He cares. He cares more than anyone else ever has. 

It feels nice to date someone who doesn’t see you as a ticket to their fifteen minutes of fame. Who didn’t look at you as a way to further their own career. Sure, Eddie was more famous than you were, something the press loves to point out. But in some way you were on the same level. It was more than refreshing. 

“Ready?” 

You look up at his brown eyes and nod, letting him take your hand to help you up, your coat already in his hands. 

Once you both are ready to brave the slightly chilly weather, he takes your hand and leads you out. “There’s going to be people out here okay? Just so you're prepared.” 

You grin, looking over at him, “I am prepared, Eddie. I know the cost of dat- um, being seen with you.” 

If he catches your almost slip up, he doesn’t say anything. He just smirks, squeezing your hand as he opens the doors to the outside. Cameras flash and people scream, you’re practically blinded by the flashing bulbs. It doesn’t last long though, Eddie helping you into the car before getting in himself and closing the door, the sounds of screams muffled slightly.

“God, I love them but the screaming kills my ears,” he presses his finger to his ear, blocking it slightly before releasing it. 

You giggle, raising a brow, “aren’t you used to it? You hardly wear your ears on stage.” 

It was true. Eddie had this habit of taking out the ears he wears on stage, usually used to help keep beat as most artists can’t hear the music coming from the speakers. 

He shrugs, “ya aren’t wrong but I feel like I’m far enough away that the sound doesn’t hurt that bad? I really should keep my ears in so I don’t like lose my hearin’ before I’m 32.”

“Should hear it from the crowd,” you tilt your head slightly. “I had to get little ear plugs after the first time I saw you guys live. My ears rang for a few days after and I was yelling cause I couldn’t hear.” 

His eyes get wide, “that sounds awful. I should get ya some custom ears so you can hear what we’re doing on stage.” 

That makes your heart flutter a little, the fact that he wants you to hear all they do. “I don’t think I could deal with the metronome ticking.” He looks at you, “how do you know that happens?” 

You playfully roll your eyes, scrolling through your phone till you find a post you liked a little bit ago. “This. It’s a video of what Taylor Swift’s sound like inside. It was very interesting.” 

He watches it, three times actually. And then he giggles and scrolls, some familiar music starts to play and you already know what he’s looking at. Your face flames as you move to take your phone back. Unfortunately, he’s faster, moving so you can’t grab it from where you sit. 

He scrolls again, “you like these edits of me?” His tone is teasing and you feel like you’re going to die. He was never supposed to know you like thrist traps of him, most of them to his own songs. 

“E-Eddie give it back,” you plead with him. 

But he shakes his head, scrolling again and again and again. “These edits are actually really good. M’impressed. I also think it’s cute you like them.”  

You finally reach your phone, tugging it from his hands, “it’s rude to go through someone's phone, Eddie.” 

He fake pouts, “awww, are you embarrassed baby?” 

You don’t say anything as he coos at you because you are embarrassed that he saw those. But fuck, he looked so fucking hot in those edits. They make you feel things deep inside you, things you’ve used your vibrator to take care of. 

He leans forward, his hand reaching out and cupping your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby. I think it’s kind of hot you have those liked.” 

He pulls you closer, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, soft kiss. That feeling comes back, the one with a voice that questions why he hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend yet. It’s been some time and you spend a lot of it together. You don’t want to push him, to make him look at you as needy or too much or annoying. That’s the last thing you want. You’ve heard it enough, from boyfriends, from your parents, from the people in your comment section. And the last thing you wanted was to hear it from Eddie. 

He breaks the kiss, his eyes scanning your face. Fuck he knows. 

“Are you okay?” He asks you with worry in his eyes. It kind of makes your chest hurt to worry him. 

“Oh yeah! I’m fine. Just… tired.” 

But, of course, he sees right through it, “no. You’re in your head. Come on… spill it.” 

You can’t. You want to express to him how you feel, to ask him to not waste your time. If he isn’t interested in you then you need him to tell you that so you can move on. But you know he is interested, you just sat and recorded bits for their album for fucks sake! He calls you sweet names and listens to what you have to say. He fucks you in a way you’ve never been before. He’s in tune to you and your needs, so the idea he doesn’t want you is absurd. 

But… “nothing. I just have that photo shoot coming up and I’m just nervous. It could make or break my career.” 

Half truth. You were nervous about the campaign. It could make or break your career if you didn’t do a good job or if people didn’t like it. 

He looks like he doesn’t believe you but he doesn’t push you further. You wish he would. 

… 

Eddie’s lips kiss along your chest, nipping a sucking sweet marks into the skin there. Marking you. Owning you. His hand moving up to tease your breast while his mouth sucks on the neglected one. 

His phone is set up beside you, the little red dot indicating he’s recording. It definitely catches the gasp you make as he works your chest, but he just feels so good you don’t think about it. 

He asked you six times before hitting record if you were okay with this, him voice recording. And you were, truly. He wanted your moans for his music but wanted some variety in there. So, he’s recording the entire round of sex. You’d be a dirty little liar if you said it didn’t turn you on. The idea that he’ll have this on his phone and in his music. Your moans immortalized on tape? It was hot as fuck. 

Eddie swaps sides, eyes meeting yours as he licks and sucks and bites. It hits you right at your center. He was hot as fuck, actually. Looking slightly feral as he kisses down your body. You can’t take your eyes off of his when he settles between your legs, putting them over his shoulders to give him more room. 

 “God you’re so wet for me, sweetheart,” he runs a finger through your slick, making you moan. “So pretty. Was so hot watchin’ you today.” 

“But I-” he licks up your slit, cutting you off what you were about to say. 

He sucks on your clit, making your back arch. It was insane to you how well he knew your body. He’s learned every dip, every curve of your skin. He’s learned exactly how to drag deep moans from you with his mouth, tongue and cock. Memorized them. He did it quickly too. 

“B-but I didn’t really do anything.” He slips two fingers inside you, stretching you out. “God! Fuck that feels good.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just laughs and curls his fingers. Eddie knows exactly what he’s doing, turning your brain off with every thrust of his fingers.

“J-just like that, baby! Oh god, don’t stop.” You can feel the orgasm building deep in your belly, your whole body growing hot as you squeeze his fingers. “M-more. Eddie, I need more.” 

He adds a finger, the burn from the stretch feeling incredible. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh my god.” You don’t even know what you’re saying, just a babbling mess. This was typical when it came to the way Eddie worked your body. He’s the only one who’s worked you like this. 

Your orgasm hits you, mouth dropping open as your back arches on the bed, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck!” 

You ride it out with Eddie’s help, his fingers slowing and his mouth coming off your clit with a soft pop. And when he finally removes his fingers, sucking them between his lips and moaning, you feel empty. You need him to fuck you, to feel him inside you. 

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby. Just can’t get enough,” his voice drops a few octaves and you swear your heart stutters for a moment. 

“Please…” you whine. 

It hits you then that he is fully clothed and you are as naked as the day you were born. The dynamic is hotter than it should be, you might need to talk to your therapist about that. Or not. That’s an issue for another day. 

He pulls off his shirt, stomach flexing with the movement, “please what, angel?” 

His hands pull at his belt, tugging it through the loops before meeting the same fate as his shirt on the floor. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth and you forget the English language for a moment. He pops the button on his jeans, sliding the zipper down as he waits for your answer. 

You manage to find it, “please fuck me. I-I need it.” 

He slides his jeans and boxers down his legs, his hard cock bobbing free. You squirm, licking your lips while your eyes rake over him. You need him, need him in many more ways than just sexually. You need him as yours, need him to love you. You can see the life you’d have if he called you his. Your babies would be beautiful thats for fucking sure. 

You don’t really have time to think further on it because Eddie slides inside you, his lips meeting yours and swallowing your moans. He tastes like you, cigarettes and weed. An odd mix but you love it anyway. 

“Shit, pretty girl. This pussy feels amazing. S’like you were fuckin’ made for me.” 

Your heart pounds and you know he can feel it, you can feel his. “I-I was. I was m-made for you, Eddie. Made for you” You kind of don’t mean for it to come out, but it can easily be brushed off as heat of the moment dirty talk. 

But there is something in the way he’s fucking you right now, something different. It’s slower than it has been, sweeter. Like he wants to take his time here, like he wants to feel every inch of you. His eyes shine with lust and something else, something he blinks away before you can decipher it. You have a feeling you already know what it is, because you feel the same way. 

“Yeah? You think so?” He lets you wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. “Think we were supposed to end up here?” 

You’re going to die if he keeps talking like this. He’s actually going to kill you. More so because you do believe in the invisible string theory. Everyone can say you’re going too fast, but you think your string is attached to him. Everything about him screams it in confirmation.

“Y-yes. I do.” 

He kisses you soft and sweet, adjusting slightly to hit that sweet spot inside you. You gasp into his mouth, hands coming up to his cheeks to hold him there while you kiss him. Again, it’s all slow and sweet and filled with emotion. 

“Glad we’re on the same page, baby.” 

He fucks you just a little faster, hitting all your sweet spots and making the coil in your belly twist tighter. “I- oh my god, Eddie.” 

He laughs, not straying from your lips, “I love when you pray to me.” 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, a deep moan falling from your lips as your velvet walls squeeze him. It makes your head spin and you kind of feel like you’re going to pass out from how good it feels. You don’t, of course. 

“That’s it, baby. Such a good girl coming for me. My pretty angel.” 

“Y-yours.” 

He nods, “mine.” 

Mine

Mine

Mine

Mine 

The word cycles through your head over and over, making you clench harder around him.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna cum. Fuck fuck FUCK!” 

He spills inside you as he moans your name. It’s angelic when he does it and you’re gonna make him send the recording to you immediately so you can hear it again and again. He collapses on you, being careful to not crush you with his weight. 

“I s-swear on my life, you’re the best I’ve ever had.” 

You giggle, shaking your head, “i bet you say that to every girl you fuck.” 

He lifts his head, his face serious, “no. I don’t. You’re the first person I’ve ever said that to.” 

You just stare at him, not knowing what to say.

“Did you mean what you said? About us being made for each other?” He asks it quietly, like he’s afraid of anyone hearing him. Anyone but you. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. You can do this, tell him how you feel. Right? “I-I did. We fit together so well. Don't ya think?” 

Now it’s his turn to swallow, “I do… I meant it too.” 

You aren’t sure where this is going, but you hope to whoever the fuck is listening that it’ll go your way. 

“You did? You haven’t known me that long.” 

He shrugs, “so? You spend every night here, or me at your place. You get to know someone pretty quickly that way.” He laughs a little, pushing some of your hair out of your face.

Ask me 

Ask me 

Ask me

“I would agree,” you say as you run your fingertips up his arm.

“Would you agree to stay forever if I asked you to?” 

You hold your breath and nod. He gives you a look that makes you squeak out a small “yes.” 

A huge grin breaks out across his face, bright white teeth showing, “then stay. With me and be mine. And I’ll be yours. No more wandering around lookin’ for each other.” 

You blink away the burn behind your eyes, you cannot cry at someone asking you to date them, “n-no more wandering.”

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Slasher!Soap x Suicidal!Reader

For some reason he's back and acting sweeter than ever. You don't know what to make of it. Maybe this time you could convince him to finish what he started.

Slasher Masterlist

Warning: MDNI dark themes, dead dove, suicidal ideation, pred/prey dynamic, mention of murder and attempted murder, horny thoughts, dub-con behaviour, crude and objectifying language, harassment and torture, manipulation, lying, non-con elements, mention of fingering and giving head, fear mongering, roughhousing, taunting and baiting, threats of violence, threats of sexual violence, sorry if I missed any.

“Oh…” you halt your steps.

“What's wrong Dove?”

“You're trying to fix me,” the realisation suddenly hits you as the man holding your hand halts abruptly at your jarring words.

“What Dove?” Soap lets go of your hand so he can turn and face you fully. His glacier eyes pierce into your inquisitive ones but remain uncomfortably neutral. You could no longer see the crinkle of laughter in his eyes.

“You're trying to fix me,” you reiterate as you look at him incredulously. “You're trying to make me happy so you'd get a kick out of killing someone who wants to live.” You say it almost to yourself rather than at him.

Everything made sense now. You were so confused as to why he had showed up again. Or why he was in your apartment taking care of you while you studied for your last exam. Or why he was fussing so much about the food you were eating. You weren't going to lie being taken care of felt good but it felt disingenuous coming from him. Especially when you knew all about heinous acts he had committed. You wonder why you brushed past that so easily. He was too deceptive for his own good. It was easy to get lost in conversations when talking to him.

After the last incident you didn't think he'd want to come back to finish the job. Especially not when you had seen that expression on his face. Looking at him now you see his smile turn into a cold one as he picks at the cotton candy he bought you. You get a flash of his unnaturally sharp canines as the sugary goodness melts on his tongue. The same tongue that was lapping at your folds just a couple hours ago.

“Well there's no fun in killing the dead hen. Ah’ve told ye that already,” He circles you like a predator in the almost empty parking lot of this carnival. It was late and the rides were closed up and the remaining people were leaving in droves. It wasn't long until it was only the two of you left. Seeing no reason to put a front up anymore you also let your mask slip. Soap watches your lips turn down into a frown as your eyes take on the same dead expression you had when he had his hands first wrapped around your throat.

“I'm afraid you're wasting your time if you think you of all people could ‘fix’ me. I've long given up on getting better and you should too…” There's an awkward silence that follows your statement. Neither of you knowing what to say next.

“But if you want me to act the part of an unwilling participant in this game of yours I'll happily oblige.” You try not to come across as overly desperate, you know it would take the fun out of it for him. Soap pretends to contemplate your words as he finishes the last of your cotton candy while licking his fingers clean. Like a pervert he puts on a show for you. Much like when he had made you pass out from orgasms on the night he returned. Maybe if you hadn't refused to sleep he wouldn't have fingered you so hard that day. But it was no use dwelling on that right now. He does whatever he wants; it's not like you have much power to stop him.

“Ah don't appreciate being told what to do nor do ah appreciate being given a mercy kill to soothe my hunger. We do this on my terms or we don't do it at all…” Soap cocks his head to the side as he puts on his charming smile. The very same one that all of his previous victims likely succumbed to. Everyone except you it seems.

“And besides ah haven't met a single person who hasn't fallen for my charms and looks, ye just need to give it time.” You lose the softness in your voice as you go to speak again, your desperation bleeding through your frustration.

“Oh your upset you got played…” you watch his expression harden at your words but his condescending smile returns not a second later. Though he doesn't say anything. He probably knew you were baiting him to get a reaction. You press on though not willing to back down so easily.

“What? Can't get the job done just because things didn't go your way? How childish..and here I thought you were such a renowned killer with all the deaths you bragged about…maybe I thought too highly of you…” Soaps smile slips as your words cut into his ego, his eyes narrowed in like a snake getting ready to strike.

Good, your tactics were working. You continue trying to rile him up in hopes of getting what you want today.

“Why don't we go our separate ways? You go find your perfect victim and I'll go find someone who can keep their word.” You don't bother waiting for an answer as you begin to walk away from him. If he wanted to play cat and mouse you could play cat and mouse.

Maybe you were playing a bit too well for Soaps liking though. You don't see that he had balled his fists until you turn to put the final nail in the coffin. “If you have any killer friends send them my way, maybe then I could experience what true terror is like.”

Something snaps in Soap's mind because the second you try to leave again he has your arms pinned behind your back and face pushed against his car door. He sees you trying to suppress a smile and it pisses him off even more. Just the thought of his brothers in arms having a go at you had his blood boiling. You were his kill not theirs. His prey, his toy, his to do whatever he pleased with. He needed to drill the sentiment into your mind.

If you were trying to piss him off you definitely succeeded in doing so. But he wasn't going to give in to your whims so easily. If you wanted to die so badly you were going to have to work for it. He wouldn't give you the satisfaction of winning. Definitely not at his own game.

“Ye think you're so smart do ye? Ye think getting me mad is enough for me to slit your throat? Think again, Dove. Ye aren't escaping me so easily. Ye want tae play? Fine, let's play.” Soap twists your arms to the point where you think he was really going to break it just to get his point across. You bite back a yelp just to anger him more. But your body involuntarily shivers from the pain shooting up your arms. Just as quickly as it started it ends with him pushing you in the direction of the forest. Turning around to face him you watch as he crouches down to remove a blade from where it was tucked into his sock.

“This is what ye wanted, Dove? Ye wanted tae be chased down like the pathetic whore ye are?” You watch him twirl the large knife in his hands as he stands watching you underneath the street light. The shadows the light casts obscure his face making his expressions unreadable. He looks like the devil incarnate. A monster ready to mutilate you. It's strange because before you weren't so afraid but with the way the situation was unfolding your body was getting you ready to run. A built in mechanism for survival. One you wish you could override.

“Ye think ye can put up an act as believable as a real thing? Ye think you can produce the same thrill for me with yer fake screams? Fine then. Run. Run like ye fucking mean it. Because one of two things is about tae happen tae ye.”

“Either one, ye make it believable enough that Ah decide tae kill you. Or two, Ah take ye on the forest floor and fuck every single one of your slutty little holes for wasting. my. fucking. time.” The malice in his voice alone has your nerves buzzing with anxiety. Fear and possibly something else pools in the pit of your stomach. Your body screams at you to run, to get away, to find safety, to hide before he rips you apart with his teeth. The other half tells you it wants to get caught…That it wants him.

Your brain screams at you as his low hum of laughter erupts at your perplexed expression. It screams at you telling you he's going to tear your flesh from your bones for everyone to see. Despite wanting to die, your brain and body work against you. Run. Hairs stand on the back of your neck as you take a shaky step back. Run. You watch him change his stance getting ready for the chase. Run! “Ye're going tae wish Ah never found ye Dove”

“Run.” He whispers, and you do, you bolt….

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.