#dangle long clip on earrings

[miyabigrace]

Dazzling without the Piercing: Miyabi Grace's Crystal Rhinestone Invisible Clip-On Earrings

[stave-writes]

Sunday Oak x GN!Reader

Headcanons

A/N: I am SICK!!! of people making Sunday out to be an asshole who would cut you off from everything and everyone just to be selfish, especially if it makes you depressed. Sunday has more love in his heart for everyone and would let you break his heart just to see your smile, this man is sweeter than sugar. Sunday defender #1 is me fight me in my asks I'll win I've been a Zane MyStreet defender before he was popular  💯 💯 💯 💯 💯

Sunday is a gentle lover, he's always been delicate with you. Ghosting touches over the back of your hand, kisses like the brush of a feather on skin and smiles so soft it's hard to even see them when he locks eyes with you across a room. He's besotted with you, no matter what you do. The worst pain you could ever cause him is your suffering, and refusing to let him ease it for you. Hearing you cry makes his heart ache more than any of his own suffering, and he'll do anything he can to soothe you when you're struggling. Sunday sometimes finds it hard to understand what you want or need, being raised in such a way his own needs come second, so when you insist on looking after him...it's odd. He's never been his own first priority before, and it scares him a little. What if he desires too much? What if he's an issue for you? He loves you too much to risk causing you any amount of strife, so you have to beg him to be a burden. Beg him to be selfish. When Sunday is allowed to be selfish, it's cute. He'll plead with you to curl up in bed with him and sleep "Just a little longer, my love?" with those golden eyes of his shining in the early morning light. One arm will lay over you as he presses his face against your neck or back, unable to keep himself from chuckling due to just how lucky he feels having you right here in his arms. He couldn't ask for more of a blessing in love than to be able to behold you in all your glory (even if said glory is when you're drooling in your sleep or snoring so loud you could wake the dead). One of his "guilty" pleasures (damn catholic angel) is having you fussing over his piercings. He feels almost special when you toy with the little gold studs in his ear or the long dangling ornaments he likes to decorate his wings with. Sometimes he'll even ask you to pick which ones he should wear for the day and buy you something to match. If you don't wear jewellery, it'll be something like a matching set of shirt cuffs or a little keychain to match him. Anything he can do to spoil you just a bit. I'm a clipped-wing Sunday truther and so when he finally feels vulnerable enough, the priest-like coat is off and his clipped wing is shown to you, slightly mangled and clearly still sore and sensitive when you try to brush your fingers along it. You can see the twinge of shame and embarrassment run through him as you regard his incomplete self, the self left destroyed by the Dreammaster. Yet, if you tell him you still find him beautiful? He'll smile. He'll wrap you tight in his arms and cry into your shoulder, so relieved you aren't disgusted by him. That he isn't broken or unlovable, he's just...yours. Being able to read your thoughts means Sunday likes to tease you very lovingly when you're comfortable, he'll reiterate what you just thought out loud, or even listen to what you're thinking before buying you the exact thing you wanted and if you ask, he'll jokingly mention "Oh, a little birdie thought you'd like it." Before grinning and turning away, one arm settled on your waist or shoulder as he enjoyed your warmth.

[spencerreiddddd]

Hyper fixation

Soooo this is the first request I do and hopefully it lives up to your expectations!

Hope you like it @ilovethepipecleaner

You walked into the BAU with your tote bag hanging on your shoulder adorned with multiple little bear key chains.

“Pretty girl you made it early today.” Morgan called out to you from the small kitchen as you made your way to your desk.

You turned to look at him a smile spreading on your face. “Well my coffee shop was closed so I guess it’s BAU coffee today.” You say making a disgusted face causing Morgan to laugh.

Turning around to look at your desk a small bear key chain catches your attention, it had a sticky note placed next to it.

“Congrats on passing your gun exam.

-Yours Spencer.”

A smile spread across your lips as you picked up the small bear and examined it.

The bear was pink your favorite color, it had a FBI vest on and a gun holstered to its side. With your initials in graved on the bottom of the bears right foot.

A small shocked chuckle escaped your lips as you looked at the adorable bear in your hands.

“Do you like it?” A voice came from behind you in a timid manner turning around to see Spencer your smiled grew impossibly larger.

“Like it? I love it Spence!” You said practically jumping into his arms as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands immediately finding your waist.

“I love it, thank you Spence. I love you so much!” You say in his ear as you back away from his and turn your attention back to the small bear in your hands, missing the way Spencer’s face turned unbelievably red at your words… more specifically the last five words.

“This is going to my collection.” You say clipping the small bear to your tote bag to join all the other little bears dangling on there.

“How did you even find one like this?” You ask turning your attention back to Spencer, he smiled shyly. “I had it custom made.” He said looking into your eyes for a reaction.

“No way, you had it custom made just because I passed my gun exam?” You say astonished.

“Truthfully, I had it made before I knew you had passed it.” He said scratching his head, you looked at him with disbelief.

“Spence what if I hadn’t passed my test?” You say curiously.

He shook his head. “Not possible, your better with that gun out of all of us.” He said teasing.

You laugh and smile giddily. “Nice to know you have one hundred percent faith in me.”

“Oh yeah one hundred percent always.” He says looking at you with big puppy eyes you feel like you can drown in.

You stand there smiling at each other, for what didn’t feel long until a voice startled Spencer and you out of the trance with each other.

“Hey get a room, im just trying to drink my coffee in peace.” Morgan says leaning back on the counter coffee in one hand and the other crossed over his chest.

Spencer chuckled retreating back to his desk as he looked back at you a flashed you a toothy grin.

You smiled brightly at him as a feeling pooled in your stomach, it was warm and it made you feel happy. Something changed right there and then on how you viewed Spencer.

Thank you for reading! This was so much fun to write, I will be taking more requests if anyone wants to message me!

[coeurify]

jus’ a little drabble of gf!ellie couple’s costume

a/n based off that one emma&izzy tik tok(at bottom.)

﹒ ♡₊˚﹕﹒₊﹕﹒₊˚

“El, please come out.”

“I cant. I cant do this.”

Your lips purse together to hide the smile forming from Ellie’s nervous tone, the pitch of her voice just slightly higher behind the door she seeks solace behind.

“You should‘ve just let me dress as Spider-Man!” Ellie whines, muffled by the white painted wood.

“Oh,” you scoff, “so I could be what, Mary Jane.. or Gwen?”

“Yea!”

You shake your head even though Ellie can’t see it, the red fabric of your hood moving with you. “Every masc lesbian and frat dude in the ten mile radius of that party is probably dressed as Spider-Man, El. Just open the door.”

Your fingers reach for the metal knob, and you press on it lightly, turning it just a bit.


Ellie may be embarrassed, but she’d never lock the door on you.

When the creaky wood opens fully, and the bright bathroom light spills into the hallway, you cant stop the grin that spreads on your face.


Ellie is standing there, a sweet little pout on her face as she adjusts one of the ears on her head. The black triangle on her nose is slightly smudged by the nervous hand she rubs across it. “I look stupid.”

“You don’t look stupid,” you coo, the red hood of your ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ costume falling as you step closer, pinching your girlfriend’s red cheeks, fixing the little fluffy wolf ear attached her her messy auburn hair.

“Babe, i’m wearing a leash,” she whines again, the space between her eyebrows furrowing.

You nod. Yea… you had picked that part out. But cmon, how couldn’t you? Ellie had flushed so cutely when you explained the costume idea that you just could not think of anything else.

Your fingers dip beneath the flannel she wears, searching until they find the cheap metal chain attached to El’s neck.

“Gotta keep the big bad wolf close by, don’t I?” You chastise, giving the chain a little tug, bringing Ellie’s lips to your own.

Ellie melts into the affection, pout long gone as she kisses you, “Isn’t the wolf supposed to be the one chasing Little red?”

She smiles against the kiss when you start giggling and pull away. It leaves a little stain of your gloss on the pink fat of her bottom lip, and you resist the urge to reach forward and wipe the stickiness off.

Her lips curl up even further as you step back into the hallway. “You wanna chase me?” You ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Dunno, maybe I should. You made me wear a leash,” Ellie teases, stepping closer.

Her hands reach out, fingers reaching toward your hips as you back against the wall.

You knew what she was doing. “Don’t you dare-“ You point an accusatory finger toward her chest as she closes in on you.

Ellie’s shit-eating grin only grows more, her fingers wiggling as they find your waist, digging playfully into you.

Your weak spot.

The scream that falls from your lips might actually concern some of your neighbors, and you scramble to escape your girlfriend’s torment, tripping down the hall.

“Run little red, run!” Ellie bellowed dramatically, the chain around her neck dangling as she ran after you.

“We’re gonna be late!” You cried, a breathy giggle falling from you as she chases you around the couch, one clip on ear falling from her head in the process.

“Should’ve let me dress as Spider-Man!”

[pinkrelish]

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

rockstar!eddie x assistant!fem!reader

✶Tossed to the wolves of touring lifestyle, you'd had enough of Corroded Coffin's backstage antics one night after a show, and try to escape to the bus for fresh air. Eddie follows.✶

NSFW — 18+ drug/alcohol mention/use, eddie spits whiskey in reader's mouth, sexual themes, crude jokes, enemies to lovers vibes, secret soulmates au

[wc: 8.8k]

↳ standalone gift oneshot for the i will wait series written by @abibliophobiaa, @blueywrites, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, @fracturedarkness

The methodical chaos—the mechanical creep of soundscape under the drums punching through your body, building to something bigger—ended forty-nine minutes and twelve seconds ago, and like the suspended chords he loved so dearly, you were left with a sense of foreboding.

Stage lights dimmed off. You were on the clock. Showtime.

Babysitter. Handler. Assistant who knew better than to offer him water.

Nerves holstered your shoulders. Unease twisted your stomach. Your ears rang, your teeth ached. Your jaw clenched in throbs off tempo from your heartbeat running wild on the adrenaline feeding the racing pulse hammering in your chest.

The concert was over, but the noise never stopped.

Inside the venue’s backstage room, abrasive bursts of laughter collapsed in excited chatter after an individual cocked back an object, and threw it.

The true night began.

A mostly empty beer bottle smacked its intended target in an echoey clang, and fell in a spray of foam. Fine. You could handle that. Then someone grabbed a plastic chair with metal legs, hoisted it over their shoulder, and chucked it, stumbling after the trajectory in the sloppy way drug-encouraged drunkenness would imply. A cacophony of too-loud cheering was caught on tape by a sound engineer’s personal Sony camcorder, flattening himself against the wall to capture the reaction to the CRT TV dropping from its shelf in the corner, stage live feed long since dead. On its fateful descent, it clipped the edge of an EXIT sign, which now dangled by its chord like a pinata, becoming the next target.

The beige brick room dampened outside interference and amplified the rest, living between yours ears alongside the snappy demands, rude remarks, and crude jokes. Spoken down to, disregarded like caked dirt between boot treads. Anxieties buzzing, looming a presence at the back of your mind, always. On edge.

Shouts, thuds, broken glass. People had the sense to duck, and cower. A side table was lifted, and heaved in a barbaric yell. Beer bottle after beer bottle after beer bottle. Chair legs ripped off, slick from the boozy bubbles coating the floor, and hurled at the red blinking sign. A lamp from another room. An ugly trash can. A hairdryer. The telephone you used to make a phone call thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds ago; ripped from the wall with its receiver, and added to the clutter of projectiles. A bucket of melted ice, nailed head-on, splashing two dots of cold water on your cheek.

Expendable bottles were gone, but the riot didn’t stop. Another case was ripped into. Hard liquor traded hands. White powder stung noses, earning bloodshot eyes. Rewards. Rowdy shoving. Boys will be boys behavior.

An unopened Pabst whizzed past your head, slammed like a bullet into the mirror on the opposite wall, launching itself in a jet of built-up pressure across the room, ending its route at the toe of your heeled shoes seemingly just to ruin your wool-blend Express pencil skirt with hoppy liquid.

Eddie kicked the can away.

He circled his thumb and forefinger up the sides of his nose, and sniffed hard. “Want some?” he asked as he leaned on the wall with you, posture lax and open in all the ways your crossed arms weren’t. You cut your glare to the clear bottle he offered you. His grip obscured most of it, but you could see a worrying amount of whiskey had already been drunk when it crested the sides between his middle and ring finger.

Remembering to answer, you shook your head. The amber liquid sloshed with his tut, “Suit yourself,” and two deep gulps bobbed his throat.

You weren’t opposed to drinking when around him, but you learned your inebriated lesson four stops ago when the bill from the hotel totaled a stomach dropping amount, and as much as alcohol made it easier to tolerate Eddie in particular, your sluggish tongue slurring over an authoritative reminder of the early start to the morning to make it to the next city on time only fueled his defiant attitude. Pink puckered skin marked the stitches he snipped out of his upper arm with a pair of nail scissors after he and Gareth decided to smash the Hilton’s wine glasses for fun, and was surprised when a sliver of glass bit him back. Under his stringy bangs was an angry red scab from yesterday’s mic throttle to his forehead at the end of a verse, screaming his voice to the point of cracking with emotion. Other self-destructive tendencies coated his knuckles in dried blood.

It was a lot to deal with.

Today’s toll was one ruined guitar, a broken bass after the fretboard was stabbed into an amp, a bent hi-hat stand, and a completely deboned keyboard; keys removed thoroughly by the sole of someone’s boot scraping them clean off in the midst of performance. Blowing off steam, Eddie called it. Boys will be boys, one of the returning tour managers shrugged at you.

So far, it was one of the lighter days of tour—

You flinched.

A loud pop flickered through the room. One of two fluorescent lights shattered, and the tube swung down from the ceiling, becoming the next victim to a corner store ham sandwich being thrown at it.

Staying as small as possible, the emotional support water bottle in your hand crinkled as you hiked your fists further up your biceps, eyeing the camera man in the corner. Your employer tilted his head at the sight too, admiring, perhaps, the scene of two guys puffing on cigars. They stood behind two young women dressed in short jean skirts and hot pink tops, leering over their shoulders as the camcorder zoomed in on the obvious body parts a crowd of men would be interested in. The cigars bounced in their mouths as they spoke an unheard instruction in the chaos surrounding you, and the halter tops came off, breasts dropping to the tune of their girlish giggles. The men cupped their palms around the assets, and bounced them as if they were weighing fruit. From their gross laughs, it appeared they were rating the groupies, and the ladies were just happy to be on camera, pouting their lips and arching their backs.

You drew a line from their tits to Eddie’s gaze, hating the sick kick of anticipation knotting your stomach, aware you shouldn’t care for an entire phonebook’s list of reasons if he was watching them with interest. But with clarity, you realized he wasn’t paying them attention at all. His lazy smile was aimed over the rim of his bottle, full lips moving in a goad to the mass of crew members clogging the doorway.

More property ready to be damaged entered over their heads. A couch. An entire fucking couch was carried, stood on its end, and lobbed at the sign, breaking loose a length of red and yellow wires. But it still held strong. Tenacious thing.

Two grown men wrestled beside you. Their sleeveless shirts tangled, riding up to show purpled bruises on their backs—one from a mic stand thrown at him, the other from who fucking knows what. At least Gareth’s was in the shape of a crescent moon.

You shifted closer to Eddie to get away from their kicking feet, and relaxed the frustration from your brows before he commented on it. He, likewise, was bumped into by his friends, but his stature didn’t waver. That’s just how it was. Your bodies were near enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his hot skin, but the moment his sticky elbow made contact with your nice blouse—forever marking it with oily sweat—he earned an apology from Jeff who fell into him, meanwhile you were increasingly worried about receiving a tennis shoe to the ankle.

Exhaling an overdue sigh, you glanced sideways at Eddie to gauge if this was an appropriate time to remind him he should shower and get ready to greet the fans waiting outside the venue, but your breath crumbled to a groan. An eager grin cracked his face, almost manic if it weren’t for his heavy-lidded brown eyes. An idea.

He stepped forward. Everything that wasn’t his tight lips on the bottle of whiskey was ignored; downing what he could in a long swallow, and shaking off his pinched features as it burned past his gritted teeth. He raised the rest over his head, and aimed. Perfectly. The sign smacked the wall from the force behind his pitch, spinning wildly on its cord, slinging the front EXIT display clean off, and dropping lower from the ceiling, ready to sever ties. Shouts for its demise pounded your headache. Many palms clapped the back of Corroded Coffin’s frontman. He held out his hand to his audience, and a fresh bottle of whiskey was produced into his grasp.

Intuitively, employees shuffled to avoid his uncoordinated steps backwards, but you didn’t have the luxury of options, thus he misjudged the distance to the wall and ran into it, and you.

Your poor toes were the first to scream out, stuck under his heavy heel. His elbow jutted into your stomach, digging the sharp corner of your laminated backstage pass into your sternum. Even better, his shoulder mashed your nose, and you didn’t twist your head in time to keep your mouth from coming in contact with his bare tricep, getting a lick of stale salt on your inner lip, and a whiff of boy scent assaulting your nose after his deodorant stopped working hours ago. Too much of his weight depended on you to keep him upright, so you grunted out, “Fucking—Eddie,” and pushed him when others wouldn’t. Laying your hands on him in annoyance when no one else dared. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning, anyway.

Eddie followed his stumble through, and spun around. “Whoops!” he said to you in a smile—a viciously sincere thing, betraying his status over you with a genuine shine to his heavy eyes. So innocent behind his sleepy blink, long lashes fluttering, fine lines creasing at the droopy corners from the happy grin teasing his dimple into coming out, freckled nose bathed in hues of pinky red darker than the places he chewed on his bottom lip. He appeared so earnest, so charming despite his current condition, that when his dilated pupils swallowed the rim of bitter coffee brown, you lapsed in staying alert, becoming enamored by his ability to steal the noise from the room when his gaze swept your expression in a slow study. Tender, almost. If he were anyone else.

That’s why it hurt more when the comradery in his features were a trick of the light, and you were reminded of your position as his paid bitch killjoy.

The uncorked bottle of whiskey made itself known under your nose. “Want some?” he asked with kindness he did not possess, easing into a higher register to lift the question to you. Knowing. Mocking.

You swatted his hand away, and answered flatly, “No.”

It was coming. You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his face slide into dull neutrality, dry mouth and wicked tip of his tongue swiping over the back of his teeth. The displeasure was felt. Living, breathing. Fracturing your resolve like the second lamp thrown against the wall.

“Y’sure? You look like you could use a drink to loosen that stick up your ass, and have a little fun.”

Maybe it was the fact Eddie’s day started with him bitching at you for waking him up, when yours started hours earlier, rebooking his hotel rooms after being banned from the chain after last week’s incident. Maybe it was his snide tone when he demanded coffee, and you glanced at the lobby’s carafe on instinct, only to be immediately humiliated in front of the interviewer who was sitting opposite him, festering an indignant response under your skin all day. You weren’t even intending it to be for him, you weren’t stupid enough to serve him such pedestrian coffee, you were thinking about getting it for yourself. Stupid fuckhead. Maybe it was the hours you spent oscillating between enjoying the travel to new places you’d never been, and wondering if the price of him getting this riled up whenever he pleases was worth it. Maybe it was the nauseous haze flogging the room from the cigars. Maybe it was the channeled aggression from the three guys who flipped over the fold out tables for no reason, sending plastic cups of backwash tequila across the floor. Maybe it was the collateral damage the venue was going to seek. Maybe it was the three days of disaster challenging your professionalism. Or maybe it was Eddie’s next comment which pushed you over the edge.

“If alcohol doesn’t do it for you, there’s prob’ly some guy who hasn’t left the parking lot yet, maybe he can loosen you up.” And to further imbue disrespect behind his comment, he leaned in and feathered the low dip of his raspy voice over the shell of your ear, speaking so quietly the syllables had trouble catching, “But if you fuck ‘im on the bus, I wanna watch.”

The sign snapped and crashed onto the heap of damp valuables, inciting a louder celebration from those participating.

You dropped your water bottle where you stood, and skimmed past Eddie on your way out. A firm departure with seething eyes aimed straight ahead. Chin strong, moving past him with a message. “Go to hell.”

And your backbone faltered when the mass of roadies blocked your exit. Security guards with big bodies jumped, rejoicing. Lanky lighting techs downed their beers and threw them over the small crowd with no aim. Your shoulders collapsed, tucking your arms to yourself. Avoiding elbows, meaty arms with enough muscle to floor you, testosterone laced boys will be boys behavior with a heavy dose of uppers. A wall of men who ignored your plea spoken so loud in your voice which did not carry.

But they obeyed the tattooed arm beside you. Minded the obnoxious rings when rapping on a man’s arm. Heard the hoarse voice commanding them all into a single file line for you to squeeze by, “Give her some room,” and their big bodies were already hugging the other side of the hallway with a laughed apology—to him, not you.

You shuffled out as dignified as possible, knees stiff and weight focused on the balls of your feet to avoid slipping on the tile. It was embarrassing enough as is being trailed with a bottle at your back—a far cry from a heroic palm guiding you forward—and his need to overtake you in a single stride. Eddie shot his other hand out and pointed down an unoccupied corridor, in essence blocking you from leaving. Not that you had much fight left in you to argue after being awake for twenty-one hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-two seconds. You followed the lead he set for you.

Scarce lighting shone down on the two double doors leading outside, leaving the alcove he chose cast in a darkness your eyes had to adjust to. Musty warm air from the arena swept your face. A cleaning crew attacked the stands, creaking along the seating tiers. Sweeping, chucking empty cups. The pressure on the small of your back drove you to an open area near the instact and working EXIT sign allowing you to discern the back of the stadium, and his face.

Eddie’s features were glazed in a gentle omen of red.

There were thousands of scenarios churning in your mind at the situation of being stuck alone in a dark corner with a drunken man, but his slight smirk put you at ease, ironically.

The source of the painful knots between your shoulders spoke, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He then had the gall to crowd you to the dusty drywall, and rest his arm atop your head, caging you there. Treating you as a nuisance. An insect. A little bee. A bug caught in his sticky trap. Gazing down at you with reptilian cold pupils behind his happily hooded eyes, substances battling in his body. Dangerous to no one but himself.

You squinted. “No?” The questioning lilt wasn’t intentional, but you had no idea what he was getting at.

He cocked his hip out with a dramatic sigh, and dropped his head forward to stare at you through his lashes, mouth hung loose. Waiting, waiting, waiting; acting as if he were the pinnacle of patience when you refused to play into his game, making you the bad guy. But worry not, he upheld the onus to inform you, his assistant, in a tone wallowing from the dregs of flat boredom with an edge of irritation and touch of patronization for having to spell it out for you, “I’m hungry.”

A polite, professional sneer lifted your upper lip. “Okay? Food should be here soon. I called it in a half hour ago.” About when the band came off stage, and Harry gave his honest opinion on their sloppy performance, while Eddie gave notes to the sound tech about Jeff’s mic not picking him up during Down In It. “Should be here in a few minutes.”

“What’d you order?”

Apprehension tensed through your back, perceived by his forearm mussing up your hair as the instinctual emotion stood you taller, defiant; knowing why his glinty grin taunted a show of teeth.

Pizza on Fridays. Texmex on Saturdays. Chinese on Sundays. That’s how it was every weekend. The consistency ensured you didn’t mishear him earlier when he requested his usual lo mein. “You asked for Chinese food,” you stated evenly, strongly. One step ahead of him.

“Mm.” Eddie scrunched his nose as he pretended to think it over. “Not feeling it today. I want pizza,” he said, the last word suffocated inside the bottle lifted to his lips, taking a long draw as your exhausted brain snapped to condescending him.

“So eat a cheese wonton and use your imagination.”

Utter elation gleamed in the steady eye pinning you in the crimson gloom, head tipped back to drink and drink and drink, cheeks sunken from sucking in liquor, pursing his lips around the glass rim from the smile he tried to suppress after succeeding in getting a rise out of you.

Your blood could only simmer for so long. Rolls of pent up anger, of festering disdain at his ability to find any opportunity to get under your skin, of fatigue from being ‘on’ for nearly twenty-four hours, stone in your gut from the constant passing glances when you were seen with Eddie; it all met its limit. You just wanted to leave. Your path to the hallway was blocked by the smooth contour of his bicep. Ducking under would mean an introduction to his armpit, and you weren’t thrilled by the idea of flattening yourself to the wall to slip by the untamed forest of black wiry hair. It would also be an admission of defeat, even further affirming your role as his spineless assistant to boss around. You could choose the other way and go around him, avoiding him all together, but there was no pride in that, either.

“Can you move your arm?” you asked, giving him the option despite better judgment when sudden pin pricks of uh-oh spiked your senses when he lowered the bottle.

A glistening line of whiskey traced his puckish smirk. Never menacing, but never a good sign. For a long moment the ghosts of the arena haunted the space in distant noises. Caresses of other humans around. Feedback other than the clutch on your heartbeat, and his troubled exhale into a strong inhale through his nose. Big breath filling his chest. Held. You took note of Eddie’s dimpled chin and the beads of water building at his lash line, and finally, he moved.

A sticky circle stamped the soft underside of your jaw, sliding his spit along your skin as he used the rim of the glass bottle of whiskey to lift your chin up, up. Stretching your neck, tipping your head back to the relaxed length of muscle along his forearm. Barely time to register the cherry-red halo striking the ends of his frizzy curls, or the ramping excitement overriding his already ruined impulse control.

Shy, you severed the intense eye contact when his face drew near.

Blank black soundless vortex rushing in your ears.

Drip, drip, drop.

Tiny splashes, one after the other, thumped on the locket of your lips. Mouth softly shut from the pressure under your chin. Tapping, tapping. Beat, by beat. Two, three, four, before your confusion determined what the sensation was, and the astringent scent cut its way to your sensitive nose.

You froze. Body clenching tight, fists sweating, nervous saliva pooling under your tongue too difficult to swallow. Jaw clamped shut and rejecting the liquid pooling at your lips, flooding it to the corners of your mouth, tickling the peach fuzz at the edges in tall walls of surface tension until, at last, they swelled, broke, and crashed. Thin streams flowed down either side of your neck, absorbed by your white blouse’s collar and trickling to the top of your bra cups, skirting to your cleavage. Brain overloaded. Clocked out. Warring with disgust, shock, and disappointment at the pathetic way you curled your fingers in some frustrated gesture at his actions, but ultimately, wrenched his tank top into your grip, and submitted.

You parted your lips, and Eddie poured.

Liquor, warmed from his mouth, filled yours. Burning, burning; drowning under the surge of spirits setting a blazing trail to your stomach, piquing a noise from you which would only draw the attention from those curious as to who the couple was fucking in the dark corner of the arena. You blocked the deluge from choking you with your fat tongue; rising onto your tiptoes while bending at your weak knees in the same involuntary whine as you tensed and squirmed—conflicted. Twisted your hands into the top of his shirt where the ribbed knit stuck to his chest, fabric damp with sweat and cool to the touch. You lurched him forward without thinking, locked in a panic. He complied. Easily.

Body to body, lazy weight on composed. Rubber soled boots dragging along the outside of your simple heels in a stuttered slide. Nudging the introduction of his bare legs against your skin; his hairy shins and the scraggly strings from the ripped hem of his shorts brushing the sides of your knees. Feeling his heavy arm flex as the front of his hips met you in the same stunted bursts as his steps, going from the man who frowned when you approached him, to the one who pressed himself between your thighs, causing the bulk behind his zipper to rock against you as he found his footing and stood tall, keeping his mouth aimed above yours, forgiving what spilt over your cheek in his stupor.

Dried salt and earthen dirt, embroidered texture of the fabric scraps he sewed onto his tank top rubbed your knuckles. The smooth pads of your thumbs landed above the neck hole as you centered yourself, tracing the duality of chilly perspiration on the heated skin of his sleek pecs, feeling the layer of muscle shifting underneath. Notes of oakwood barrels stroked your tongue before the sour punch of rye stung water to your shut eyes. You peeked through the wetness. Just to see.

His powerful lungs exhaled at a trained rate he could sustain in time with the runnel leaving his gently puckered lips paused above your own. Bangs stuck to his forehead. Sleepy faraway gaze. Calm, serene against the circumstances which had you questioning why you weren’t spitting the liquor back in his face. The scrunch of concentration between his brows was your last blurry sight before you were desperate for darkness again, letting your eyelids fall closed, lashes marrying.

Toofulltoofulltoofull.

The difference in your mouth size was apparent. Whiskey primed the inside of your cheeks, filling their fleshy stretch, stressing the brim of what you could hold. He’d only begun to dribble what had run hot and thick over his tongue when you untwisted your achy fingers from his shirt and served three warning taps in the vicinity of his heart. Feathery prods, like silk over the sparse hair growing in the valley between his pecs.

But, due to unforeseen circumstances, he forgot to stop.

Either you wormed yourself into stretching taller against the wall, or he leaned down. Perhaps both were true. Maybe you went rigid from the impending threat of irreversible stains on your new Liz Claiborne blouse, and maybe he shifted when the nuances of your hips slid against his own, dragging upward and reminding him of the cradle he had you in.

Richly flushed from booze, the tip of his nose thawed your thoughts as it grazed past your own, mashing a hint of tenderness you rarely witnessed from him to your cheek. By accident, of course, like the wet mid of his hair skimming the edge of your jaw where the bottle remained notched to your chin; amber glass a stark contrast from the plush give of his bottom lip flirting across yours.

Dry chapped against chapsticked satin.

The unintentional touch happened so fast, too quick to explore.

Mmm! Another antsy noise from you which rang sweet when amplified by the empty pit of coiled wires in the stadium. Mouth overfull. Stomach gripped, lungs clenching for unhindered breath. Realty checking in.

You put strength behind your forearms on his chest, shoving him and whirling your face away, keeling over what room he gave you to struggle through the largest gulp of your life, losing some of the liquor in the process, as evident by the splash on the concrete floor. Beyond brave, you drank it down, coughing, sputtering, and shuddering through the aftertaste for what felt like minutes. Huffing. Heaving. Working through the flood of drool coating your tongue, momentarily resting your dewy forehead on the thick vein drawn down his bicep by the red light, trying not to puke. Your shoulder pressed to his sternum. His heart beat, loud.

You used your sleeve to attack the wet streaks on your chin and cheeks, mopping up your pinched expression as the nausea of chugging his disgusting rye whiskey churned what patience you had for him. “What the—?”

“Hey, try not to waste any,” he commented dryly.

Voice raising, “What the actual hell is wrong with you?” You picked your head up from the crook of his elbow to pin him with your vehement glare. But the flash of temper at his drunken antics faded to the messy background of emotions when you remained in his pinion. Slotted between him, the wall, and the bottle.

Eddie’s nose bumped the bridge of yours. He pulled back slightly, and lowered the bottle. Still, his voice was one half of a sigh seeking its counterpart over your lax jaw and weak scowl. “Lotta stuff,” he answered. Still, your hands remained bound in his shirt. You couldn’t let go. Why couldn’t you let go? You couldn’t let go as the center of your bottom lip tingled like the buzzing wings of a bumble bee. Why didn’t you spit out the whiskey in his face? It was gross, revolting. Why did you swallow it?

Licks of black pepper and clove stayed on your tongue. Inhales went stale with his tangy scent, acrid and musky after giving his all on stage. His sweat clung to your fingers, mixed with the sheen on your forehead. When he breathed, his belly fought for the space between you, pressing into your stomach. Existing in the proximity you’d never seen the other in before; enabling you to hear the intimate loll of his tongue moving the spit in his mouth before he spoke.

Appearing more sober than before, with a strange amount of alertness in his glassy gaze trained on the minute changes of your features, he said, “You’re going to have a miserable time on tour if you keep being this up tight.” He angled away to sip from the bottle held by its long neck in three of his thick fingers. Rolling his lips inward, his throat bobbed a fierce line in the EXIT sign glow. “I was trying to work that permanent twist out of your panties. Get you to loosen up, have some fun.”

Just like that, the frustration was back. His words, his tone, his lack of apology for being a royal pain in the ass.

“You make me miserable,” you told him. For good measure, you pinched the sensitive underbelly of his tricep in case your voice didn’t carry the anger from the last hour of putting up with his shit.

He mumbled, “Ow,” probably not feeling the pain with how much alcohol was in his system.

Restraining yourself from reacting bigger, you tightened your fists and tried not to shake him. “I can’t relax, because the second I do Corroded Coffin gets stacks of lawsuits rammed up it’s ass, and you and I both know I’m hired damage control,” for you, you didn’t finish, getting too hot in the face to want to stand in your sticky clothes any longer, squishy inner thighs humid from being pressed together by his legs, shoes numbing your ability to feel the floor. “Would it kill you to stick to a schedule? Get cleaned up, meet some fans? Do the normal thing?”

The weight of his body returned, dropping the tension from his shoulders to curve them towards you, forcing your palms flat to his ribs. Another cage.

Unfortunately, his answer was a slow smirk. The bad kind. Sultry, and saccharine; dark like his purposefully narrowed coy eyes. “Kinda like it when you’re angry,” back to mushing his words together. “Lemme guess, you’re not even wearing panties to be twisted. You’re just naturally this…” Bitchy. “Pleasant.”

You pinched his tricep until you knew it hurt, until the roots of your hair tugged at your scalp from his forearm slipping away, and you used the space created to wedge past the areas of him which tempted a flicker of want in your core after a noticeable drag against your hip. “Don’t follow me.”

“C’mon, are you really..?” A pause. “Wait—!”

A productive conversation was a fruitless, futile thing.

You silenced the voice in your head telling you there was genuine remorse in his innate reaction to call for you. As if he were done pretending to be drunker than he was just to push things too far. Like he really cared you were walking away, in essence giving him permission to continue his night how he wanted.

No heavy thudded steps chased after you. The double doors were up ahead. You leaned into opening them past the heavy gust of hot air pushing back, and you stepped out to excited faces falling flat in disappointment when it was just a lady in a blouse and skirt reeking of booze, not a member of their favorite band printed on their bleach-dyed Corroded Coffin t-shirts.

~~~

When the tour bus doors next hissed, it wasn’t a single body stomping vibrations through the overly large vehicle on their way to pore over the details for the next show, it was a steady flow of those who called the beast their home. Most slung themselves in the couches at the front, talking shop around the kitchen table. Some infiltrated the fridge for beer. Another used the bathroom which was too close for comfort, especially in the recycled air blowing through the vents.

A body approached, and you curled your toes in as he passed.

Eddie’s heavy black boots stopped in the aisle of bunks. The soles squeaked as he turned, creaking leather as he sank his weight to one side. Stalling, facing you before he sat heavily on his bed. As he did so, two sharp pops drew his attention. Checking behind him, the privacy curtain was stuck under his ass, and the plastic rings meant to hold it up were snapped into pieces. You avoided putting your gaze on his person as you watched him solve this mystery, and returned to the paragraph you were scrawling in your notebook, moving your pen across the lined page.

Two of the last three days were journaled down, catching up from the hectic weekend, and venting through your emotions by reliving them. Darker ink bloomed where you carved the tip of your pen through your explanation of your hurt feelings and the general flippancy you were subjected to by one person in particular. The roadies and other members of the band got less screen time than the star of the show in your tirades. He knew this, too, looking from across the aisle at your clumped lashes, spying the water spots on the pages when he was standing. He sat forward, much like you, but his thighs were spread with his hands in between them, palm open to whittle a nervous thumb in the cupped center, having the decency to appear ashamed.

Your clothes were folded beside you, undecided if you wanted to trash them or wear them in defiance.

“Do you want me to apologize?” he asked, not quite enunciating due to his uncomfortableness.

Unable to mask it, you blinked rapidly before opening your eyes wide, not withholding the contemptuous sigh released from deep within. You gripped your notebook harder, bending it, rumpling the pages to hide what you etched behind your tight hands. Who the fuck asks if they need to apologize?

Eddie’s washed curls fell forward with his hung head, nodding to himself.

He got up, and left.

Anger scored your face. Draped by your headache was your furrowed brows, flared nostrils, twisted pursed lips zipped up tight from saying anything you’d regret—a lesson he could do with. Your pajamas were the makings of nine heavenly clouds after being dressed in stiff business attire all day, but the blisters on your ankles stung. Your joints throbbed. Your muscles wore sore. Your spine cried every time you moved.

Tomorrow you’d start doing the stretches the stageside crew showed you that kept them limber. You made a note to fit this in your schedule, bypassing the silly daydream of stopping at a bookstore in the next city and reading up on a yoga guide for more pose ideas than what the guitar techs could teach you, aware the chance you’d find time away from your boss to pursue your own self-interests was slim.

Flipping a new page, you dated it in the corner, began your introduction, and started on the third day of spilling your heart out.

Your pen was mighty interrupted.

It’s difficult to say what came first: the mouth watering rush of saliva, or the passionate rumble of your empty stomach yearning for the white takeout box placed in your lap by the bruised hand sporting cuts from punching Gareth’s drum platform during the one of the more self-loathing songs.

A pang of humility gentled his nature.

The four-fold top was open, revealing your favorite noodle dish with extra green onion and sesame seeds sprinkled on top, plastic fork stabbed through the middle. You lifted the container to swipe the oil stains off your mid-sentence rant, shaking free the beads of condensation collecting on the sides. The cardboard had gone soggy after being nuked in the microwave, burning through to your fingertips, but you held your dinner nestled in your palms, regardless.

It didn’t come with extra green onions or sesame seeds, those would have to be found on the side and added, along with the sauce to keep it from drying out.

Eddie made it exactly how you liked.

Hunched in the minimal space between bunks, you stared at the long stem of a bean sprout sticking out from the swirls of noodles, processing his gesture. Beneath that, your journal was splayed open to a slew of harsh sentences. Lower, directly across from your bare toes was Eddie’s boots. Higher, one of the metal aglets of his laces was stuck behind the leather tongue. Fresh socks clung the bottom of his calves. You listened to him peel back the curtain before sinking to his bunk, and trailed your study over the silvery scars on his knees. Moving up, you spotted a fresh beer in his hand, maybe one or two swigs taken. His elbows rested on his thighs, body folded over, leaning in, mirroring you to some degree.

The harsh overhead lighting brought luster to the bright golds, rich reds, and deep strands of chestnut through his dark hair brushing the shadow of his clavicle over the black shirt clinging to him, hugging the slope of his stooped shoulders.

Finally, you met the depth behind his eyes communicating what he couldn’t.

The apology lasted just long enough for your consideration, and then he lifted the crinkly wrapper tucked between two of his fingers. “You want this?”

You shook your head at the fortune cookie. “You can have it.”

“Nice,” he whispered. The unassuming planes of his cheeks lifted enough to allude to the dimple on his left side, and bracket his mouth in smile lines. He was still drunk, you assumed. A merry blush persisted across his nose, and his eyelids were as sleepy as the bags beneath them. But there was a youthful glee under it all as he tore into the cellophane. A glimpse at someone from long ago; not the rockstar before the start of touring who would pull laughs from you, but further, before the conditions of fame chewed him up, spit him out.

You wondered if Chinese takeout was a rarity in his boyhood, a special treat saved for when he left his hometown on trips to the city.

Eddie flicked the wrapper to the floor—annoyingly—and ducked at an odd angle to lay his upper half into the cozy nook of extra pillows he made you buy on the first night of being on the road. He stowed his beer at the apex of his clenched thighs, fitting the cold bottle snug against the packed seam guiding your eyes to the hill of his zipper, provoking hot blooded thoughts. His shirt rode up as he brought his arms above him, fanning the thick trail of hair out from under the hem, impossibly soft in appearance, auburn tinted, growing less dense on the sides of his belly. He cracked the crisp wafer in half, and you watched his stomach tense on the snap.

Squinting in the dark, Eddie depressed the button on the tiny reading light with his knuckle, and unfurled the paper from half the cookie, scanning the faded red text.

He snorted.

Choosing a mystical-sounding rasp not far from his real one to invoke the guise of a palm reader in a smoky lounge reeking of incense sticks, he read the fortune aloud while waving his other hand about, “You will be successful in love,” he said. His wrist went limp, and he tucked his chin to congratulate you. “Lucky you.”

No amount of plastic forks shoved in your mouth would rid you of the smile tightening your eyes. “Lucky me,” you echoed, full of wryness. The food, amongst other things, worked wonders to lift your mood. You weren’t as much buzzed from the shots sloshing in your stomach as you were queasy, and greasy noodles filled the tumultuous void stupendously.

He stuffed the crunchy cookie in his mouth, and turned the fortune paper over, speaking through the gnash of crumbs, “Your lucky numbers are 35, 26, 56, 10, 32, 52,” he continued.

“Uh-huh.”

The noise across the rest of the bus was at a level you could endure. Shooting the shit at an appropriate volume, or nodding along to the conversation. The driver would give the signal soon, and the boys would, or should, go to their bunks.

While you ate, Eddie stayed laying with his legs off the bed, head crooked against the wall due to the narrow space. He held the fortune above him. Reading it, sometimes. Thumbing the edge other times, or rubbing the texture of the stiff paper across itself. Staring, staring, unblinking from whatever he was thinking as he wrung a hand around his face; eliciting a sense of comfort from the audible stroke of his knuckles scratching over his stubble.

You scraped the bottom of your container, and put aside your notebook to gather your trash, two feet planted to make your way to the kitchen. At the last second, a glint caught your eye, and you bent over to pick up the wrapper Eddie dropped, tossing it in the takeout box, too.

“While you’re down there, be a doll and take off my boots.”

“No.”

His disgruntled groan followed you to the front of the bus.

The guys gave you a mixed reaction of curious glances and uninvolved nods as you stuffed your garbage in the overpacked bin. Jeff in particular made a point to look from you to his best friend’s legs, though you didn’t have much of an answer to whatever he was searching for.

A goodnight wave would have to do, and you were back at your bunk, folding the sheets down in preparation for the dreamless state you wished to be in. You sat on the mattress, eyes closed and spine somewhat neutral. The structure of the bunks were unforgiving, but the small crawl space could feel cozy at times, like a blanket fort made from couch cushions. Except, the house moved throughout the night, and angry honks woke you up on occasion. Not to mention you were a light sleeper from the stress of a car crash, or being dumped onto the floor.

The fortune paper flitted. Regarding you over the imposed suggestion between his legs, he informed you, “It says here the best way to relieve some of that tension you’re always carrying around is by taking a ride on a nice, fat—”

You snatched the beer bottle from between his thighs, big fake hard-on standing tall. He startled from the sensation, darting his eyes from the phantom trace against himself, and hailing you with a sputtered laugh through his cheek-aching smile, denying you the reward of taking him off guard by covering his mouth with his hand.

“I earned this,” you said about the drink.

“Yeah?” he goaded, pleased at your forwardness.

In a valiant attempt to show off, you tipped the mildly hoppy bitter back. Two pulls in, you thought better of it. Not quite a chug, but he lost the war with his grin, pearly teeth shining behind the thumbnail he strummed over the center of his bottom lip, eyes almost closed entirely in a bout of crinkles.

You pulled your lips off the bottle; off his spit and off his drink, off his glass cock, and were emboldened by the confidence of his playful disposition to rib on him openly, like the guys would when his pendulum mood swung to the good side. You lamented in a dramatic sigh,”Maybe my love life will be so successful, I'll get swept off my feet, and be free from the burden of listening to your sloppy guitar plucking all night.”

His expression lurched towards impressed. Overacting with his mouth agape in surprise, lips curled over his teeth, and splaying his hand on his chest. With how he propped himself up on one elbow, his shirt stretched flush against his pecs, accentuating the two round shadows at the ends of the metal bars through his nipples.

Right, you remind yourself, able to forget their existence through most of his wardrobe choices, he has pierced nipples.

Your body ran hot at the memory from two short hours ago where you were inexplicably thrusted into a situation where you could’ve felt the jewelry by accident, pressed against a wall. Now you were able to think through the adrenaline, and acknowledge having another person’s touch on your skin did more harm than good for the loneliness lurking within, calling it to the surface.

The notebook beside your pillow drew your glance.

Eddie stabilized your position in the conversation, not letting your sudden reservation deter him from seeking retribution for your insult. “Think y’drank too much honey, there, Bee. That one stung below the belt.”

The moment it took for you to register the low leech of a tease sneaking its way through his croaky, whiskey-hoarse words was a long one. Longer was his heavy palm falling to demonstrate where exactly your insult hurt him, cupping and grabbing the afflicted area. “You wound me!” he dramatized, demonstrating the limits his fatigue green shorts flattered, cotton fabric scrunching under his grip, then slouching flat on the release. Longer, still, was the distance between the gaudy ring on his middle finger and the tip of his short nails, thick digit landing on the tattered seam splitting him down the middle. Letting go, he rested his hand above his belt.

Everything about him was victorious. Champion eyes glinting rum colored; a shade you’d never seen on him, and almost missed with your observance stuck lower, trapped by his overt flirtations.

His belly rose and fell with a sympathetic hum devised to rattle you.

When sober, the invitation to crude insinuations began and ended with intangibility. A calculated smile to fluster you when caught admiring how his tattoos twisted over the muscles in his upper arms when he leaned on his keyboard, a sentence spoken in the morning before his voice warmed to its comfortable register, a tossed comment in the midst of conversation with his band mates and the effect it had on you shifting uncomfortably just outside the ring of amity—quarantined behind the scope of his single-handed gesture pumping an obvious motion, pretending you were absorbed by the timetable schedule for the band inside your folder, appearing busy and decidedly not desperate to either be included or released from the task of being present, even when hot needles of sweat stressed the lack of consideration for your feelings with each sorry expression cast in your direction. You were his worker bee, paid to wait on him, and his teasing was rarely physical beyond an appropriate knock on your bicep for your attention in the off chance he didn’t snap his fingers at you like a dog. Or a tap on your knee under the kitchen table to get you to stand so he could leave; a light pressure which you could replicate days later with your own knuckles. His daily indifference was born of spite, and his drunken actions were bred of the same annoyance, bottle-deep perspective viewing you as the one who was ruining his night. Assuming he continued to push his tolerance with more drinks after you left the green room, his bold teasing made sense, you supposed, too unrestricted to deny himself the fun of riling you up.

The right thing to do would entail divorcing yourself from this conversation, and bringing up his conduct tomorrow. The wrong thing to do would involve taking another swig of his beer. The right thing to do would require reminding him of his meeting with Murray in the morning, who had a shorter fuse than anyone in the music industry. The wrong thing to do would include lobbing the bottle in his bed. The right thing to do would demand not giggling at Eddie’s poor reflexes when he made a bigger mess of the ale spilling on his blanket.

Eddie seized to catch it, but his hand-eye coordination was not up to par. He scrunched his eyes closed at the last second, jolting into a crunch with his chin tucked in an inordinate amount of wrinkles, and hands turned with his palms out, more keen on keeping the bottle from hitting his face than truly catching it. Which was a plausible excuse for his boot kicking your bunk in the process, and overall lack of poise as he brought his hands together after the beer had already bounced off his belly, and rolled where the bed dipped around him.

The wrong thing to do would consist of you running your knuckle along your shameless grin, prodding the flesh against your teeth as he dropped his head back and emptied the bottle onto his softly cradled pink tongue, thank you for sharing the drink, every last boozy drop.

Recognition curved the groove of his mouth.

Boys will be boys behavior.

“Here,” he said, rolling forward with his arm extended. The glass bottle in his hand drew your immediate wilt, but before you advanced too far into your frown, he alleviated your ire with the two fingers pointing at you, fluttering the damp paper between them. “You believe in this sorta shit, don’t you?” Despite the mock, you knew better than to refute his claim, not having the chops to sound convincing. Not that you really had faith in the mass produced slip of paper, but the affirmation that you’d find your soulmate one day produced a sense of ease before bed. Even when the word ‘successful’ was blurred from a drop of beer.

You placed the fortune in your notebook, feeling the ache of an unfinished entry.

At the front of the bus, the driver stamped up the stairs and gave the signal he was going to start moving soon, cuing the subliminal bedtime. The unbelonging technicians left, and the rest of Corroded Coffin stretched from the stiff cushions lining the booth seats around the table. As they picked up after themselves, Eddie untied the top set of his laces, and kicked his boots off, leaving them in the aisle along with the empty beer bottle.

He rolled onto the edge of the mattress to rip back his sheets and shoved his legs under, hesitating from drawing the curtain when he browsed the end of your bunk, where your feet moved under a pile of belongings placed atop your covers. “I’ll send your clothes to the dry cleaners tomorrow.”

Not an apology.

“You mean you’ll send me to the dry cleaners tomorrow,” you corrected, and his face smoothed flat from the accidental snub.

Harry moved between you two. Jeff divided the conversation further. Gareth cleaved whatever rapport you had with Eddie when he snorted at the two of you facing each other in your bunks, cuddled up like a sleepover.

Thinking harder as his peers climbed into their beds, Eddie relaxed onto his forearm supporting his upright posture, and sank into the jut of his shoulder, spinning his hand in the same flippant way the scrunch between his brows appealed to the snark loading in his throat. “I’ll just give you my wallet then, mm?” he offered, gravelly voice dusted with insincerity. “Then you can buy all the white blouses, and black skirts your pretty heart desires.”

Someone snorted again. It sounded like Gareth.

“And, uh,” Eddie endured as the plastic rings tinked across the metal bar, leaving a generous window visible from the top of his shoulders to his wild hair spread about his pillow palace, limp curtain hanging pitifully, “if you’d be so kind, don’t watch me sleep.”

“I won’t,” you said, and it sounded so sad. So soft, and faint, no bite behind it. No zest, no strength. Just confusion, though you understood the events leading to the pendulum swinging the other direction.

You closed your curtain, too.

The tour bus rumbled before sighing its characteristic hiss and chugging forward, pitching its cargo inside. You swayed in your nook. Laying on your back meant you experienced every roll of the tires cutting corners in the parking lot, but you weren’t ready to turn over yet. Your mind was swarming with cluttered thoughts. There were things you could be doing other than peering out at the depressing darkness where the dim ambient light didn’t pierce. You could brush your teeth, stow away your pocketbook before the pens rolled out, pick up the bottle before it tipped over and played pinball down the aisle all night. Your journal entry could be finished, you could sit up and read a book like Eddie, you could do some of those stretches for your hips and back. You could cry, you could count sheep for the next four hours and forty-seven minutes, you could cry some more; wet face wiped raw by the stiff sheets, and mouth buried in the unfeeling comforter to muffle the squeak of air leaving your lungs when you couldn’t suppress the emotions lodged in your throat any longer.

You could do many therapeutic things.

Instead, you pressed your knuckle over the center of your lower lip, replicating the pressure, and thought about the fortune.

[cannikii]

Spoiled.

Ais, Vere, Kuras, Mhin, Leander x Reader

a/n: i didnt mean to post this so late omg but i got distracted so bad by crk HAHAJ sorryy!! also, requests are open

notes: ais, vere, kuras, mhin, and leander x reader (seperately), they all love to spoil you, vere is a FLIRTT, leander is basically your sugar daddy, g/n reader, not proofread SORRY!

AIS — JEWLERY

ais liked the sight of jewlery on himself. he wore earrings, rings, bracelets, anything. he wouldn’t say he loved jewlery, because honestly, he would be fine with or without it.

so he thought nothing of it when you pointed at his bracelet, asking if you could try it on. he seemed pleasantly surprised at first before he grinned, slipping it off his wrist.

“sure, sparrow. go ‘head and put it on.”

since you had just come to the town recently, you had no accessories such as jewlery at all. the bracelet on your wrist was a new look, despite the way it hung loosely due to the difference in the size of you and ais.

ais stared with curiousity, his head cocked slightly as he watched you giggle at the sight of the bracelet dangling loosely on your wrist.

“ah, it’s too big for me. here.” he barely noticed you dangling his bracelet in front of his face, and he slowly took it and placed it back on his wrist. he stared at your neck, then your arm, then your ring, making tiny notes in the back of his head.

and before you knew it, a double in your size of each and every piece of jewlery he had was in a small, pretty box that rested in your hands. he looked down at you, his grin toothy. there was a copy of his necklaces, his bracelet, his rings. all of it, just for you.

“you know, i was thinkin’ of how you looked with my bracelet on. you looked so cute, thought you’d look cute with it all, sparrow.” he grinned.

and before you could even begin to thank him, or say anything at all, his hands are reaching for the box, setting it aside. the two of you sit together in a comfortable silence as he grabs your fingers gently, slipping each ring on a certain finger so that you’ll be completely matching with him. it’s an odd sight— but its not necessarily new. ais was always gentle when it came to you. (well, as long as you wanted him to be..)

and then he slips the bracelet over your wrist- careful, yet big and rough hands against your arm. he seemed rather focused.

and then he leaned closer near your neck, his hair tickling your cheek as he clipped the necklaces around your neck. he leaned back, looking satisfied as he grinned.

“oh…” he hummed lowly, head turning to the side slightly as he looked at you, taking you all in. “hm… you almost wear them better than me, sparrow.” he teases, laughing slightly.

and from then on out, don’t be surprised when he randomly comes up to you with a new box full of jewlery, and makes you sit with him as he puts them on from you.

and hey! maybe he’ll even offer to do some piercings for you. he thinks you’d look stunning with some, and he’d be more than happy to do them himself.

VERE — CLOTHES

vere was obsessed with himself- everyone knew that! he was cocky, flirtatious, and more. he kept himself well groomed, had beautiful fashion, and had a face that was very, very hard to resist.

but when you came into his life, he had something new and beautiful to obsess over.

you were well kept (in his eyes, at least) and your face had him practically in a trance, sometimes fumbling with his teasing phrases when he would attempt to speak with you.

and he’d admire you deeply, his eyes tracing every- and i mean every single feature of you. and with that, he’d be able to imagine you just perfectly wearing clothes that he thought you would look just like a model in.

“(name),” he purred, approaching you with a sly smile, “i got something for you. please, go and put it on for me.” a bag is quickly placed in your hands, and he quickly directs you to a private area in which you can change.

and when you open the bag, your eyes are wide open, your jaw dropping. it is a gorgeous, expensive looking red dress/suit. (imagine any red dress/suit that looks cute to you!! ^^) and when you put it on, it happens to fit you quite perfectly, leaving you to question how vere knew which exact size to get.

your hands are folded and placed in front of you in a shy manner as you walk out, approaching vere. before you can even ask anything- for example, the price- he’s talking.

“oh, (name)… you look so…” he’s in a dream-like stare as his hand rests on his cheek, staring at you very intently with a grin. “why don’t you do a little spin for me, please? i want to see how it fits all of you.”

you sheepishly oblige, spinning in your new outfit that hugs you so perfectly. vere watches intently, taking the sight in with a sigh.

the sigh makes you perk up worriedly. did he think it looked bad on you? did he-

“(name),” he brings you out of your worried state, his voice like honey in your ears. “god, i could just eat you whole, you know? this looks so good on you, you don’t even know.” he grins as he makes his way to you, his hands finding his way to your hips.

and when he’s closer, you notice the color of your outfit and his hair is about the same exact thing. of course he would make it the same… his own little way of showing you off as his.

in little time, your wardrobe is piled full with clothes, and you probably bought maybe a tenth of them at most. some of the clothes are- well, were vere’s clothes that he had deemed looked better on you.

KURAS — CARE

“kuras—! it’s barely a cold, i have the smallest fever!”

he simply hums in reply, acknowledging yet completely ignoring your protests at the same time. his back is turned to you as he prepares a medicinal tea.

“kuras.” you huff, and he barely turns his head over his shoulder to face you, and you now see that he wears that awful teasing grin of his. “you know you have patients lined up outside that need your help more than i do!”

“and they can wait patiently. i have more important matters to take care of, such as nursing you back to health, dear.” he’s sweet and gentle when he talks, despite his teasing expression.

“it’s just barely a cold…” you grumble as he places the medicinal tea in your hands.

“sure, but we don’t want it to get any worse, do we now? i want you to return to well health soon. i hate seeing you ill.” he hums, hands that are surprisingly soft reaching to hold the side of your face, thumb brushing over your features.

you can protest no longer, practically melting into his touch with a deep sigh.

with kuras there, expect to never need to care for yourself, yourself!

despite his busy job, he always seems to magically make time for you. he’ll nurse you back to health if you’re sick, he will comfort you if you’re not feeling your best, he’ll cook for you… well, he’ll TRY to cook for you. and if (when) that doesn’t work, he’ll always find some delicious food at a vendor to pick up for you.

“kuras, i know you’re busy. you should probably head on to work..”

“my love. you didn’t seem like yourself today, i’d like to be with you for the day. i cannot stand seeing you feel even the slightest bit bad, you know?”

before you can protest, he continues: “i’ll stay with you because i love you and care for you dearly, (name). i’m sure the patients can wait.”

his hand finds yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. you sigh, inevitably giving in to him.

sometimes, if he were to be with you at your home, he would randomly begin to tidy up for you. he doesn’t mind it— if its for you, he would never mind it. hell, he’d do about anything as long as it would make you happy.

and in the quiet moments together when you can sit peacefully, just holding each other, it’s important for him to make sure you understand just how much he cares for you.

“id do anything for you, my dear, if you had asked. i love you.”

MHIN — PROTECTING YOU

“mhin! come on, have a drink, why don’t you?” leander grinned largely at mhin, but they were completely distracted.

their eyes had followed you as you bid your farewell and exited the wet wick, pushing out the door, seeming careless as ever. it made them tense, and they barely registered leander’s words as they stood up from their chair.

“…no. i have things to do.”

leander sighed, smiling as he shook his head. “you know… if you never let (name) outta your sight, and always protect them, how are they gonna learn to protect themself when you arent there to protect them?” he asked, cocking his head as he watch mhin.

mhin had become tense at the question, staring at leander with a glare as they scoffed. they had a lot to stay, but the only thing they were able to muster up was a “what i do doesnt concern you.” as they quickly walked out of the wet wick and went to follow you.

now, it could go two ways. mhin could straight up catch up to you, often claiming that they simply had business with you or that you guys had happened to cross paths.

that, or mhin would watch you quietly, leaving you undisturbed from their prescence (even if that would never be a disturbance for you), and from anything that would cause you any sort of harm.

if mhin let danger even come a foot within you, they would never forgive themself, even if you survived such a danger. if something like a soulless ever even touched you, they would truly never recover.

leander’s words play in their head sometimes- that if they keep protecting you like this that you will never learn to protect yourself when they aren’t there.

mhin grumbles at the thought, rolling their eyes. it’s a simple concept to them: they’ll never let you out of their sight, and they’ll never let harm come your way.

anything that dared to touch you would surely regret it.

so when a soulless jumped at you, snarling and hungry for blood, mhin was on top of it in a mere second. you were almost just barely cut by the creature, and you stumbled back, falling on your rear.

mhin could barely control their movements. after they finished off the soulless, they rushed to you, pulling you up to your feet.

before you could even muster up a “thank you” they wrapped their arms around you— one around your back, one around the back of your head.

they realized their actions just a second too late, but when they felt your shaking, fearful hands wrap around them, their grip only grew tighter.

“it’s… it’s okay, (name). i’m here. i always am. don’t be scared.”

LEANDER — MONEY

“it’s on me!”

“leander, i got it—“

“no, ma’am. i insist.”

and he’d shoot you that same shit-eating yet charming grin that made you sigh, silencing your protests. if you wanted to buy anything at all and leander was within a distance, forget about even thinking about your wallet. this man will let you buy nothing with your own money.

matter of fact, if you show the slightest interest in something, you’ll suddenly find it fully paid for and in your hands.

the amount of things you have that aren’t even bought with your own money is starting to get concerning.

when you’re sitting at the counter of his bar and you ask to start a tab for yourself, he just smiles at you, laughing in such a way that brings a heat up to your face.

“oh, sweetheart… why you even ask for a tab still is beyond me.” he would smile as he slides your drink across the table. the pet name he uses throws you off just enough to have you not deny him paying for your drink.

“leander,” you start with a sigh, “you cant just buy me everything i want, y’know..”

he cocks his head in seemingly honest confusion before he grins. “oh? but i can, (name). money isn’t something i want you to be worrying about. or spending on anything.. as long as im around, that is.”

when he sees that you have something new that he didn’t buy, he’ll even get pouty. he loves to see you with things that he bought that are now all yours.

“(name)… how’d you get this?”

“i bought it myself.”

he’d groan like a child, resting his chin on your shoulder as he talked, arms wrapped around the front of you. “(name), please. my money and i are right here always, you don’t need to be spending so much money.”

“but, it was onl-“

he shushed you, shaking his head. “i dont care if it was one cent or a thousand dollars, sweetheart. why don’t i just give you a little weekly allowance of spending money, hm? it’ll make me happy.” he smiles innocently, yet you raise an eyebrow.

“leander, i’m not your sugar baby.”

“you’re not?” the childish, teasing fake sadness in his eyes make you laugh, shaking your head.

“no, i’m not. i’m your girlfriend.”

“oh…” he trails off, grinning. “girlfriend, sugar baby… same thing, you know..?” his voice is teasing and so is his grin, yet he still looks so damn handsome.

this man will never not be spending money on you.

[jareaul0ver]

Unfortunately I am obsessed with the thought of Nika’s chain dangling in your face while she hovers over you-

wc: 610 warnings: smut w/ practically no plot, dom!nika, sub!reader, grinding, fingering, slight fluff at the end pairings: nika muhl x fem!reader

Nika's hips rolled against yours and a groan fell from both of your mouths. She watched your head dig into the pillow and she leaned forward. Her lips landed next to your ear, her voice husky. “So pretty, bebo.”

You nodded but your brain was fuzzy and you barely comprehended what she said. You needed more, but you couldn’t use words to show it, so you grabbed Nika’s hand and trailed it down to your pussy.

“You want my fingers?” Her long digits pushed past the waistband of your shorts and panties. You let out a muffled groan and she ‘tsked’. “Use your words.”

“Nika, please, I want your fingers.” You whined and she wasted no time in gathering your slick on her fingers and burying two deep into you.

Your back arched off the bed and Nika held you down. She crawled up you until she was hovering over you, her fingers pumping in you agonizingly slow.

Her chain, with the letter ‘N’ as a pendant on it, dangled in front of your face. Your eyes locked onto it as breathless moans escaped your lips.

A small smirk played at her lips when she saw you staring. She picked up the speed of her fingers, curling them every few moments. Your sounds alone could make her finish, but she was holding out.

Nika could tell you were getting close when you started fucking yourself against her fingers. Your hands flew around her neck and you pulled her down to kiss you, which you could barely do between the moans and curses leaving your mouth.

“Nika I- oh, fuck! I’m gonna cum.” You said loudly but it was muffled by her lips against yours.

“Cum for me, I’ve got you.” She husked, and it only took a few more pumps and curls of her fingers for you to fall apart beneath her.

Nika feverishly captured your lips, not wanting to be too loud. She wanted to hear you, but wanted to be the only one to hear you.

Her pace slowed down as you rode out your high before she gently slipped her fingers out of your dripping cunt. She brought one of her fingers up to your mouth. “Open.”

You obliged and let her place it on your tongue. Your lips closed around her finger and your eyes closed at the taste of yourself.

Nika smiled, clearly satisfied with her work. She pulled her finger out of your mouth, and quickly placed the other in her own, cleaning it off swiftly. You stared at her with a heaving chest and raised eyebrows. “God, you’re hot.”

A light laugh slipped from her before she leaned back. “Glad you think so. Be right back, bebo.” She quickly got off the bed and went into the bathroom to grab a warm and wet cloth.

She came back over to you and gently pulled your shorts and panties off your body. You twitched a little as she cleaned you off, before she tossed the cloth to the side and rid herself of her clothes.

“Sit up for me.” She stared down at you. You sat up, not questioning her. Nika made a move to take off her chain, and clip it around your neck. “Since you were staring I figured you’d like it.”

She teased you a little, resulting in her getting a small shove on the shoulder. You giggled and rolled your eyes before gently leaning forward to kiss her.

“You’re..” You mumbled as you laid back, your lips not leaving each others. “You’re lucky I love you.”

She hummed before pulling away and kissing your cheek. “Guess I am pretty lucky.”

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

How to Suck Your Best Friend’s D*ck 🍆💋

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Katsuki Bakugo x Eijiro Kirishima 💋

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Hurt/Comfort

CW: MDNI!, Characters are in their mid-twenties, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, hand job, lemon, making Out, Blow Job (giving + Receiving), Smut, Dirty Talk, Hair Pulling, Anxiety / Panic Attack, Mental Illness, OCD, Hurt/Comfort

💕Link to My Master List 💕

How to Suck Your Best Friend’s Dick

Kirishima runs his hand through his bright red hair in frustration as he looks himself up and down in his floor length mirror. He’s going out with the class 1A crew tonight to celebrate Bakugo’s 25th birthday and he can’t find anything to wear.

He’s currently wearing his typical dark skinny jeans; a charcoal waffle patterned long-sleeved tee and an oversized puffer vest. A long silver chain dangles at his side, clipped across his right pant pocket for aesthetic. He’s popped on a pair of steel earrings, with a matching industrial bar across the shell of his left ear.

He admires himself from a few different angles. “Ugh…so tacky.” He groans, pulling off his jeans to try something else. Katsuki is always telling the red haired hero to step up his style game. He’s constantly calling Kirishima out on his lack of fashion sense. But the thing is – Kirishima loves whenKatsuki notices what he’s wearing. He lives for the little moments when the explosion hero is nitpicks his outfits. Making fun of him for “dressing so tacky” or for “overdressing for the event.” It feels good to be looked at by Katsuki – to know that the blonde’s eyes (if even for a brief moment) are crisscrossing Eijiro’s toned body, appraising him.

Maybe tonight he’ll surprise Katsuki for once. Eijiro opens his closet again and grabs a shopping bag that’s shoved to the very back. Earlier that month, Mina took him shopping to buy what she called a “more low key” outfit to wear on dates. He had been complaining that the paparazzi always noticed him when he was out. He loved being acknowledged for his hero work – but there were just some nights when he wanted to fly under the radar. Mina had pointed out that his distinct punk style made him stick out like a sore thumb everywhere he went. Red Riot the hero had a style and a personal brand that was so strong; it made it impossible for him to blend in with a crowd.

“Red Riot has a brand, but Eijiro doesn’t need to stick to just one style.” Mina had told him as she searched through the racks of Abercrombie at their local mall. “Let’s start building up your civilian wardrobe. You’re 24 years old, it’s about time you started experimenting with your look. You don’t always have to wear the same pair of black skinny jeans. Let’s find some outfits that make you feel hot and confident!”

And that’s how he ended up with the shopping bag. He reaches down and pulls out a pair of soft corduroy pants. As he steps into the textured fabric, he wonders what Katsuki might think about them. They’re so different than what he usually wears, but they hug his ass much more nicely than his usual baggy clothes. Next he shrugs into a dark blue button down, leaving it unbuttoned over a white undershirt. He swaps out his steel earrings for a pair of small black studs. Lastly, he adds a pair of dark brown Chelsea boots to complete the look. He’s surprised at how comfortable the shoes are – he always thought boots like this would be stiff and unyielding.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror. Not bad – he smiles as he admires his new look. He cuts an impressive figure – the clothing hugs his figure in all the right ways, showing off his toned Pro Hero body. Mina really knows her stuff – he snaps a selfie and sends it to her, praising her fashion know-how. She instantly replies with a dozen smiley faces with heart eyes and the words “Wonder what Bakugo will think?” With a side eye emoji.

Kirishima grins at the message before looking back into the mirror. He unties his hair from its messy bun, letting it fall to his chin. On a typical day, he’d style and spike it up with an unholy amount of hair gel. But for this new look he’s trying…maybe tonight he’ll just leave it down. He grabs a hairbrush off his bedside table and smooths it out as much as he can. He’s having fun trying something new!

Feeling confident with his new duds, he checks his watch. Shit! Running late as usual. He hastily grabs his wallet and phone and all but sprints out the door.

The crew is meeting in their usual spot – The Wallfish - a grimy dive bar 4 blocks over from Kirishima’s apartment. The bartender is friendly and the place is always filled with locals. It’s low-key and no one pays any mind to the group of top ranked Pro Heroes and UA graduates that regularly frequent the establishment. It’s a special place – a holy place. The kind of spot the group can go to unwind after a long day of being Pros.

Kirishima arrives at the tiny dive out of breath, bursting through the door 20 minutes late to the party. He sees his friends crowded at the far side of the bar, all smiling and laughing in the long, dimly lit room.

Most of Class A is there – Mina and Hagakure are making heart eyes at the hot bar tender as he pours them drinks. Midoriya and Todoroki are sitting at the bar, laughing over tall glasses of some craft beer Eijiro can never remember the name of. Shoji and Oijiro are bent over Shoji’s cell phone near the jukebox, trying to remember the name of a 80s song they had heard earlier that day on the radio. Momo and Uraraka are chatting animatedly in the corner, the anti-gravity hero is clutching a cloud of “Happy Birthday!” foil balloons with All Might’s face printed on them. Other members of the class are scattered around the room – swapping work stories and sharing life updates. They’re all smiling, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

And then there’s Bakugo – his best friend of all. The explosion hero has his elbow propped up on the bar, a low glass of whiskey in his hand. There’s a smile stretched across his handsome face and he’s snorting at some dumb story Denki is recounting. Katsuki is wearing a tight grey polo and a pair of dark navy joggers that perfectly shape his taught ass. His thick blonde hair is just the right amount of ruffled, and he’s looking gorgeous as all hell. Feeling someone’s eyes assessing him, Katsuki looks up and meets Eijiro’s gaze for a moment. His searing ruby eyes give Eijiro a quick once over and he smirks before turning back to Denki. Eijiro’s heartbeat quickens.

The sturdy hero quickly shakes his head to clear it and then looks back around the room at all of his dear friends. Seeing all his buddies in one place causes a feeling of warmth to well up in Eijiro’s fast beating chest. He smiles fondly at them all. It’s incredible that even years after graduating UA, they’re all still close like this. He doesn’t have long to bask in the glow of his love for his friends, because soon enough – they notice him.

“Oh my God! Eijiro, you look so CUTE!” Hagakure squeals, pulling Mina in his direction. “Mina told me she helped you go shopping – but I had no idea she had picked out something this hot! I want to strip you down and eat you up!

Kirishima blushes bright red as Momo and Uraraka take notice of him as well – rushing over to gush over his new ‘fit.

“Eijiro – you look wonderful!” Momo says, taking him in. She’s wearing a black backless dress that’s as sexy as it is expensive. “I love your Chelsea boots – so fashionable!”

“I just figured it would be nice to try something new.” He stammers, trying not to draw any more attention. “The paparazzi have just been hounding me lately – I want to be able to have a low-key night out for once without ending up in the tabloids.”

“His dinner date last week ended up on the front page of the paper.” Mina whispers conspiratorially to the other girls. “The paparazzi recognized Red Riot’s trademark look right away and wouldn’t let him enjoy his dinner in peace.”

“Oh no! That’s awful.” Uraraka gives him a sympathetic look. “How did your date react?”

Kirishima’s shoulders slump. “Well she liked the idea of going out with a Pro Hero…until the paparazzi knocked her wine into her lap and ruined her dress.” The girls gasp in horror.

“Did it stain?” Momo asked, dismayed. It is common knowledge that in Momo’s opinion, a ruined outfit should be punishable by law.

“Oh, yeah.” Kirishima makes a face. “It was red wine and she was wearing white. She left the date right then and there. Billed me for dry cleaning the next day.”

“Oh nooooooo!” Hagakure wails dramatically. “I’m guessing there won’t be a second date?”

Kirishima shakes his head no. “I knew that being a Pro would be challenging…I just never thought it would be so difficult to date in the spotlight. So I’m trying a more toned-down look. I don’t know if this outfit really screams “Kirishima,” but it’s nice to try something new!” The girls all nod approvingly, clearly proud of Kiri for pushing himself out of his comfort zone. They catch up for a bit – sharing bad date stories and swapping style tips. Hagakure has recently hooked up with a hot B-list Pro and is thrilled to share the details. Momo is hiring her first sidekick and is looking for referrals. Uraraka is looking for the perfect leather jacket but can’t seem to find anything nice under $400. After a half hour of chatting and swapping advice, Kirishima bats a few All Might balloons away from his head and excuses himself so he can go greet the birthday boy.

He sees Bakugo has moved to sit with Midoriya and Todoroki. He’s on his second whiskey and he’s grinning widely – a sure fire sign that he’s buzzed and happy. Katsuki’s gotten better at chilling the fuck out over the years, but it still takes a bit for him to let his guard down – even amongst friends. But with Kirishima, Bakugo is always comfortable. When it’s just the two of them, the vibes are immaculate – they can chill, have deep chats, and just enjoy silence together. It’s one of Eijiro’s favorite things about their friendship – how natural it feels to just do nothing together.

Tonight, though…tonight is an event. The entirety of their friend group is out and loud and ready to party. Kirishima makes a beeline towards his best friend, waving hello to other members of class 1A as he does so.

“Happy Birthday, man!” He claps a hand on Bakugo’s back, trying not to notice how toned and muscular the explosion hero’s shoulder feels beneath his grasp.

Katsuki looks up at him with intense ruby eyes. Once again, his eyes dart across Eijiro’s body as he all but drinks in the new outfit. Katsuki takes in the fitted pants and the new shirt before hovering on Eijiro’s loose red hair. For a moment he seems – speechless? Kirishima smirks, and Bakugo’s eyebrows knit together in an angry reply. He opens his mouth to make a comment on Kirishima’s ‘fit, but is quickly cut off by Izuku’s enthusiastic welcome.

“Kirishima! Hi! You look great – I don’t think I’ve seen your hair down like that in a while!” Izuku babbles, waving to get the bar tender’s attention as Kirishima pulls up a bar stool.

Bakugo rolls his eyes at his green-haired friend before turning back to Kirishima. His cheeks have the tiniest tinge of pink as he says: “Yeah, it’s nice to see you without that shitty hair style for once.” Kirishima smiles at the backhanded compliment and Katsuki looks away, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

The bar tender plants a martini in Kirishima’s hand without giving him a glance. As a regular, Eijiro hasn’t had to place an order in years. He sips the drink and grins as his friends start recounting stories from their first internships. Todoroki and Midoriya laugh as they mock Bakugo, remembering the way Best Jeanist had forced him to style his hair.

“I have sensitive skin – I’m allergic to hair products!” Bakugo groans as they pass around Midoriya’s phone to admire photographic evidence. Kirishima leans across Todoroki to see the photo – a young Bakugo stares daggers at the camera, his hair slicked back in a comical replica of the Fiber Hero’s signature coiffure. Best Jeanist looms behind him in the pic – tall, denim and in his prime as the Number 3 hero. Kirishima can’t help but notice the softness that touches Katsuki’s eyes as he glances over at the photo – Jeanist had been an invaluable mentor in their first year.

Eijirou marvels at how complex of a person Katsuki can be. Over the years, the explosion hero has definitely mellowed out. He’s calmer now, less angry. He’s a loyal and true friend. Katsuki is now the guy Kirishima calls for empathy after a particularly bad day at work. The friend he spends every Saturday night with playing video games and eating vegan nachos. Katsuki has always been in his corner – standing with him through good times and bad. Pushing him to become his best self as a Pro Hero and as a man. Katsuki has so many layers and sides to him – and Eijiro fondly realizes he likes each and every one.

“Why are you looking at me like that, shitty hair?” Katsuki’s low voice shakes Eijiro from his train of thought. With a start, he realizes that he’s already finished his first drink and the alcohol has made him hazy. He’s been openly staring at his friend for a solid minute.

“Damn, that’s strong.” He compliments the bar tender before turning back to his friend. “I dunno man, I was just thinking about how glad I am that we’ve been friends for so long! Happy to be out here celebrating you.”

“You’re too corny, Eij.” Katsuki says roughly, but he’s still grinning. The smile is unguarded and genuine – a sign that Katsuki is a drink or two in as well. They spend the next few minutes catching up about the latest video game releases and whose apartment they’ll go to for game night.

An hour goes by, then two. Eijiro can’t remember the last time he’s had so much fun.

Soon enough, he’s got three drinks in him and is dancing with the girls by the jukebox. He’s won a game of drunken charades against Tokoyami and has arm-wrestled with Shoji at least twice. Now as he’s dancing, he feels loose and warm and fuzzy. Mina grabs his hand and twirls him in a quick circle before pushing him towards Denki. The two bump their hips together in sync, eliciting squeals from the girls. Uraraka has acquired a hot pink-feathered boa from who-knows-where and has used it to ensnare Midoriya and pull him onto the dance floor. The green haired hero tries to remember the dance choreography from the school festival that they performed at all those years ago.

Everyone is comfortable and happy and beaming. It’s definitely shaping up to be one of his all time favorite nights out when Katsuki lightly grabs his arm and pulls him off their self-designated dance floor.

“What’s up, man?” Kirishima runs his hand across his forehead to wipe a thin sheen of sweat from his face. He’s a bit flushed from the dancing. “Having a good birthday so far?”

Katsuki’s arms are crossed and he’s looking down at Kirishima appraisingly. He ignores the question.

“Meet me in the bathroom in 5 minutes.” He says mysteriously, before turning and stalking away. Kirishima feels a burst of excitement in his belly as he watches his friend go. He has a feeling he knows where this is going. He swings by the bar and downs a quick glass of water before making his way to the restrooms. The girls try to beckon him back to the dance floor and he waves them off with a laugh.

 “I’ll be right back – gotta take a leak!” The lie comes to his lips smooth as molasses. He’s pulled this disappearing act before.

He slips into one of the unisex bathroom stalls, flipping the lock so that the outter knob reads “occupied.” He barely has a second to breathe before Katsuki has him pressed against the wall and at his mercy. Eijiro groans appreciatively as he feels the full weight of his friend’s body press against his chest. Bakugo’s hands are all over him – on his chest, at his throat, inching up his shirt.

“This damn outfit.” Katsuki mutters gruffly in his ear before smashing their lips together. The kiss is both searing and demanding. Kirishima leans into Katsuki’s hot mouth, desperate to savor every moment their lips are connected.

This is something they do every once in a while – when they’re both buzzed and horny and single. They make out in bathroom stalls and dark alleyways. They press their bodies together until their limbs become so tangled up it’s impossible to tell where one person begins and the other ends.

And then…they never discuss it.

Eijiro’s breath hitches in his throat. “You…you like it?” he stutters out as Katsuki kisses down the sensitive skin of his throat, pulling Eijiro’s undershirt collar aside for better access. He receives a low growl in response.

“Your ass in these pants…” Katsuki’s hands wander down to the swell of Kirishima’s ass and squeeze. Eijiro yelps in surprise, and feels Katsuki smile into the curve of his shoulder. “Is that my birthday present?”

Kirishima feels himself flush at the praise. The new outfit has him feeling bold – “Actually I’d like to give you your birthday present somewhere more private.”

Katsuki doesn’t seem to hear him, as he’s preoccupied licking a hot stripe down his best friend’s collarbone. His hand has slipped into Kirishima’s back pocket for a better grip on the sturdy hero’s ass. Eijro’s legs feel like jelly, and he activates his quirk – hardening his shins and thighs to keep himself standing upright.

“Mmm…love it when you use your quirk.” Katsuki whispers hoarsely.

Eijiro feels his pants tighten. He wraps his arms around Katsuki’s neck and stuffs his fingers into his friend’s thick blonde hair. Katsuki lets out a soft sigh at the contact and bites lightly into the soft flesh of Eijiro’s shoulder.

“Listen, come back to my place. It’s right around the block.” Eijiro whispers, pushing lightly on Katsuki’s head, encouraging him to continue nipping a his sensitive skin.

At his words Katsuki breaks away from him, looking uncertain. They have never touched each other like this at either of their apartments, in either of their beds. They hang out often enough – meeting up for weekly gaming sessions with the other guys or grabbing takeout together while streaming an action movie. Katsuki is a constant presence at Eijiro’s apartment. And yet – the two had been careful to never cross any lines in their living spaces. Kissing at Kirishima’s place would carry an implication – the hookup would have to actually mean something.

Kirishima holds his breath for a moment, waiting for Katsuki’s answer. The explosion hero looks thoughtfully at Kirishima’s face, and then at his lips.

“Yeah…okay.”

Kirishima lets himself break into a grin. “Okay!”

He pulls himself away from Katsuki to take a quick look at himself in the bathroom mirror. He smooths the creases out of his shirt and makes himself presentable before unlocking the door and stepping back out into the social scene.

Out around the bar, the birthday party has clearly devolved – everyone is tipsy and buzzed. Their friends are laughing and chatting, all in various states of inebriation. The difference in how Class 1A handles their alcohol as staggering - Todoroki looks like he is falling asleep in his chair at the bar, meanwhile Ida has taken over the dance floor and is executing quick, sharp dance steps alongside Ochaco. Denki and Izuku are giggling over their latest round of beer, as Mina flirts shamelessly with their favorite bar tender.

“Birthday boy leaving already?” Denki calls out, drunk off his ass. “I didn’t get to give you a round of birthday shocks yet!”

“Katsuki’s pretty wasted!” Kirishima calls over lightly. “He’s gonna sleep it off on my couch.”

Katsuki looks pissed at the implication that he’d let himself get wasted this early in the night, but the excuse is undeniably a good one. He pretends to stumble and Kirishima catches him easily, wrapping an arm around the taller man’s waist. He feels a jolt of electricity run through him at the intimate touch. F

rom across the bar, Mina gives Eijiro a knowing look and he feels his face heat up in response. She’s the only person who Eijiro has ever confided in about his clandestine make out sessions with Katsuki. She smiles slyly and points to her phone, a clear request to be texted updates later.

Denki and the rest of the group wave hazily as they leave, a broken chorus of “Happy Birthdays!” ringing out into the night as the pair stumbles out the door and into the street.

“Our friends are so great, aren’t they?” Kirishima smiles as Bakugo lets his weight sag against him. They walk slowly on the cobblestones towards Kirishima’s apartment building.

Katsuki, in a rare moment of softness, looks up into the flickering streetlights and murmurs “yeah, they really are pretty great.”

Eijiro smiles widely as he looks down at his best friend. Katsuki’s grip around his shoulders tightens for a moment. It’s the most intimate they’ve ever been out in the open before. Eijiro knows that to any passersby they look like two good friends walking home after a night out. But if their friends from Class 1A were to see them like this…would they know?

It doesn’t take a special quirk to notice the way that Eijiro’s face flushes when Katsuki brushes his fingertips along Eijiro’s pulse point. It doesn’t take a master of stealth to figure out why the two are constantly disappearing together during late nights on the town.

Eijiro is pulled from his thoughts as they arrive at his apartment building. Katsuki detaches from him and the sturdy hero finds himself shivering with the sudden loss of his friend’s body heat. He reaches into his pocket and fumbles with his keys, nervously jamming them into the door’s lock.

“Eh? Is that what I think it is?” Katsuki peers curiously over Eijiro’s shoulder as the sturdy hero clumsily unlocks the door. Dangling from his silver key is an officially licensed Dynamight enamel keychain shaped like a grenade.

“Oh, yeah…” Eijiro says sheepishly. “Your assistant always sends me and the guys the first versions of your merch before it hits the market. I thought this design was pretty sweet – sorry if that’s lame.”

Katsuki smirks and reaches into his pocket to pull out his own keys. He holds them up for Eijiro to see – dangling from Katsuki’s own cluster of keys is a rubber keychain of a red stylized “RR” logo.

“Funny – your agency sent me a sick Red Riot crewneck last week along with this. I’m not usually one to rep hero merch, but sometimes I’ll make an exception.”

Eijiro’s heart ricochets around his chest. He takes a steadying breath before jokingly saying “I didn’t realize you were such a big Red Riot fan.”

“Of course I am, idiot.” Katsuki avoids his gaze and moves to push the door open since Eijiro has frozen in the doorway. “You’re my favorite hero. After All Might, of course. And maybe also after Best Jeanist if I’m feeling sappy.”

Katsuki leads the way to Eijiro’s second floor apartment, taking the stairs two at a time and keeping his face hidden from his friend’s view. Eijiro wonders if Katsuki is blushing as furiously as he is. You’re my favorite hero. Goddamn Eijiro’s never been so simultaneously turned on and lovesick in his life.

At the top of the stairs, Katsuki easily opens the door to Eijiro’s modest one bedroom apartment. Eijiro knows he’s an absolute idiot for never locking his door, but at this point he’s too turned on to care. He follows Katsuki into his comfortable living space. A charcoal colored sectional dominates the center of the room, dividing up the living room and kitchen areas. A large television is mounted across from the couch with an array of gaming devices stacked neatly in the shelving unit beside it.

Eijiro is particularly proud of his kitchen – a clean area defined by white subway tile and jet black appliances. A slick dark Kitchen Aid mixer sits at the ready on the sparkling counter. A collection of mismatched barstools sit beneath a stretch of countertop. A framed poster of Crimson Riot hangs above a cheap bar cart in the corner. Home, sweet home.

“I’ve always liked that you have the money to own this whole building, but you still rent this crappy place.” Katsuki smiles over his shoulder at Eijiro.

“Hey, hey – it’s not crappy. It’s well loved!” Eijro makes a face at his friend, but then notices the paint that’s chipping around the kitchen window. “Okay…admittedly it could use a fresh coat of paint. But being a Pro Hero doesn’t exactly leave time for me to work on home improvement!”

“Your place is great, Eij.” Katsuki says, moving to cup Eijiro’s face in his strong hands. “It’s perfectly you.”

Their lips connect, and Eijiro swears he can see stars at the contact. He’s almost giddy with delight – they’ve never been intimate in complete privacy like this before. All of those stolen kisses in bathroom stalls have been uncomfortably public and quick. Now, they can take their sweet time with each other. Katsuki kisses him slow and deep, as if he’s realizing the same thing. Eijiro realizes with a start that they’ve never kissed somewhere so quiet, either.

They stand like that for a while, just kissing in Eijiro’s homey living room. Katsuki pushes his fingers through Eijiro’s bright red hair before brushing his fingertips along the base of the sturdy hero’s scalp. Eijiro smiles into the kiss - it feels like heaven to be touched so tenderly.

Eijiro moves his hands to rest on Katsuki’s chest, feeling his friend’s rapid heart beat. He breaks away from the kiss and dips so that he can kiss along the tendons of Katsuki’s neck. The explosion hero sighs and seems to revel in the attention Eijiro is giving his sensitive skin.

“Maybe we should…uh…take this to the bedroom?” He grunts out as Eijiro nips at his earlobe.

“Yes.” Is all Eijiro has time to say before Katsuki grabs his hand and drags him across the apartment and through the threshold of Eijiro’s bedroom.

Eijiro’s room is a safe haven from the world of Pro Heroes and villains. The walls are a warm cream color and the décor is simple. It doesn’t fit at all with the punk aesthetic of the civilian clothes that are safely tucked away in his closet. There’s a small desk in the corner that houses his sleek laptop and the personal journals that he uses for therapy. Over the desk hangs a bulletin board filled with postcards and letters from friends and special fans.

A few framed pictures hang on the walls showing scenes from Eijiro’s life and childhood. Several hold beloved photos of his UA friends and mentors. One particular picture catches Katsuki’s eye – it depicts the two of them as first year students. They are wearing early versions of their hero costumes and look so incredibly young. Their arms are wrapped around each other and Katsuki has a fierce expression on his youthful face. Young Eijiro is displaying his trademark shark toothed grin. They look fresh and unburdened, two kids on the precipice of manhood. Two children about to be used as soldiers in an ugly war. Katsuki shakes his head to clear it of shadowy thoughts.  

Most of the room is taken up by a plush king sized bed that’s across from Eijiro’s closet. It’s stacked with pillows and sports a dark navy duvet. A large IKEA Blåhaj shark plush rests upon the soft duvet.

The space looks like a standard bedroom for a man in his mid-twenties. It’s sparse but clean. Aside from a few letters tacked to Eijiro’s bulletin board, the room holds no evidence of his Pro Hero career.

Katsuki flops down on the comfy bed like he owns the place and grins up at Eijiro. He pats the space next to him as an invitation. Eijiro smiles and places a hand on Katsuki’s chest, pushing him onto his back. He climbs on top of the explosion hero and resumes kissing down his neck.

“Doing this on a bed is a nice change.” Eijiro exhales, his breath ruffling the hair at the nape of Katsuki’s neck. Katsuki hums in agreement before rapping his arms around his friend and rolling them over. Eijiro’s eyes widen in surprise as he finds himself pinned down by Katsuki’s muscular frame.

Katsuki leans down and kisses up Eijiro’s strong jawline before recapturing his lips. It’s not long before he’s deepening the kiss, adding his tongue into the mix so he can get a taste of Japan’s sturdiest hero. Eijiro melts at the contact, letting his own tongue tangle with Katsuki’s.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long.” Katsuki breathes as he breaks the passionate kiss. He looks down at Eijiro with a hungry look in his eyes. “Look at you…all mine.”

Fuck.

The piercing look in Katsuki’s ruby eyes is just too much. Eijiro is so turned on he can’t help himself - he rolls his hips and grinds against Katsuki and their hard dicks collide in the most delicious way. Eijiro’s never felt anything quite like it and he finds himself moaning softly at the contact. Katsuki responds with a thrust of his own, shifting slightly for a better angle. For a few minutes they just kiss and grind against each other. It’s like they’re teenagers again- all awkward lust and experimentation. Katsuki wants nothing more than to rip off Eijiro’s clothes right then and there.

Soon, both men’s breathing has grown ragged and Eijiro thinks that if they keep going on like this he may very well cum in his pants. He puts his hand back on Katsuki’s chest and lightly pushes against him to signal that he needs a break.

This is completely unknown territory for both of them, after all.

They’ve both been with girls in the past – hookups and girlfriends and one-night stands that have taught them the basics of pleasure and sex. But neither of them has ever slept with another man – and the thought of touching each other intimately is almost terrifying now that they are about to do it.

Katsuki sits back and takes a deep breath. “Let’s take a break for a sec.” He says, his voice husky as he shifts to adjust his hard cock in his pants.

“Are you nervous, too?” Eijiro asks him with wide eyes, unsure of what else to say.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous.” Katsuki says harshly, causing Eijiro to wince. “Sorry – sorry.” Katsuki amends, reaching forward to place a hand on Eijiro’s shoulder. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while. With you. But I’ve never fucked another guy, let alone one of my best friends. I don’t want to make things weird between us.” He says gruffly, his voice sincere despite the intense look on his face.

“Listen, man. It feels like we’ve been into each other for a while, so I don’t think that acting on our feelings is gonna change much. I’ve always liked you because you’re…well…you.” Eijiro reaches out to place his large hand over Katsuki’s. “I know you don’t like any of this mushy stuff, but I think we need to get it out into the open before all of the physical stuff. Clear the air.”

Katsuki groans in frustration, as if this conversation is physically challenging for him. And maybe it is.

“Ugh, fine.” He grunts out, turning over his hand so he can interlace his fingers with Eijiro’s. “I think you know how I feel. But if you need me to say it out loud, I’ll say it dammit.”

In the pregnant pause that follows, Eijiro realizes that he’s been holding his breath. He looks down at their intertwined hands and exhales softly. He’s waited so long for this moment, for these words.

“I’ve liked you as more than a friend for years.” Katsuki’s face softens, losing its typical tough mean mug. His expression is gentle, almost loving. Eijiro has only seen this look once or twice on his friends’ face, and his heart squeezes deliciously when Katsuki’s eyes dart up to meet his own. The look that passes between them is so sincere; it makes Eijiro’s head foggy.

“I don’t think I really understood my feelings fully until last year. That night at the bar when we first kissed…I was drunk and all I wanted to do was feel you against me, to feel your touch. When I woke up the next morning and remembered the way that we’d kissed in the bar bathroom… Eijiro I was a fuckin’ mess. I thought I’d ruined everything between us. But also…I didn’t care. I just wanted to kiss you again.”

Katsuki pauses to catch his breath. His face is flushed a deep, deep red and he looks embarrassed as all hell. But then he sticks out his chin defiantly and says “I kept trying to date girls and move on, but I always kept coming back to those feelings. I kept coming back to you. For months and months we pretended everything was fine. We’d get meals together, team up at work, go out with our friends…but any time we got a little alcohol in us it was game over. Every time we’re drunk, we can’t keep our damn hands off each other.”

“I’ve had a massive goddamn crush on your shitty ass this whole time. You’re my best friend. You know me better than anyone on this fuckin’ planet. You’re the first person I go to when I can’t get out of my own head. You’re one of the only people who understands what I went through in that shit war when we were kids. And on top of all of that…” Katsuki’s mouth quirks into an unexpected grin. “On top of all that, you’re hot as all hell. Dammit, just look at you.” Katsuki gestures at Eijiro vaguely with his free hand. “Sometimes it pisses me off how fuckin’ attractive you are with that shitty hair and your stupid piercings. Your stupid punk outfits.” Katsuki blushes impossibly deeper. “Eijiro shut me the fuck up I’m just embarrassing myself over here – “

Eijiro cuts him off with a kiss so deep it leaves them both breathless. He grabs Katsuki’s face and moves to straddle the blonde’s lap. Between breathless kisses he manages to say “That’s Exactly.” A kiss. “How I Feel.” Another kiss. “Katsuki.” The name comes out of Eijiro’s mouth as more of a moan than anything.

Katsuki grins as he moves to kiss down Eijiro’s neck. He revels in the way he can make the sturdy hero moan so easily, so freely.

“I’m fuckin’ done talking.” Katsuki says as he runs his hands across Eijiro’s toned chest. “Lose the shirt, idiot.”

Eijiro doesn’t need to be asked twice. He pulls off his navy button down and the white undershirt along with it. Suddenly, he’s bare chested and a little self conscious as Katsuki takes him in.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” Katsuki mutters as he kisses down the hard slope of his best friend’s chest. Kirishima’s never been one for nipple play – that is, until Katsuki runs his tongue in lazy circles around his chest.

“Shit!” Eijiro cries out in surprise at the sparkling sensation that shoots straight to his groin. “Y-you can keep doing that.”

“Oh, can I?” Katsuki says teasingly. He’s got a classic Bakugo shit-eating grin on his face as he lowers his mouth to Eijiro’s left nipple. He takes his time to suckle the hard nub before releasing it with a small pop! Kirishima whimpers in response.

Katsuki continues to lick and suck his way across Eijiro’s broad chest, his calloused fingers reaching up to run across the red head’s smooth jawline.

“You should take off your shirt, too.” Eijiro finally manages to squeak out in a much less-than-manly voice than he’d like.

Katsuki looks up at him with hazy eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

The explosion hero leans back and carefully strips off his charcoal colored polo. He tosses the shirt to the floor unceremoniously and allows Eijiro a moment to appreciate the hard, rippling muscle that’s left in its wake. An angry red scar winds across his left shoulder and down his chest. Eijiro traces the path of the scar reverently with his fingertips.

“Did it hurt?” He breathes out, letting his fingers wander across Katsuki’s healed flesh. “Is this one from the war?”

Katsuki lets out a deep breath as his friend traces a light fingertip across the ragged flesh. “Yeah.” He says softly. “It hurt like a bitch. And it’s ugly as all hell. But, hey, I’m still here.”

“Yeah.” Kirishima leans forward to kiss along the rough skin. Katsuki shivers in response, no one’s ever touched his scars like this. Kirishima’s lips brush across the scar tissue so lovingly, so reverently, that it makes something in Katsuki shatter inside like a dropped dinner plate.

“You’re still here.” Kirishima says under his breath, moving to capture Katsuki’s soft lips. The two kiss more slowly now, more deliberately. Bringing up the war has brought a strange kind of stillness to them both. They know how close they each came to dying, how precious these quiet moments are in the grand scheme of things.

Kirishima has never seen his friend so tender. It’s strange, he thinks, that this is the manliest Bakugo has ever looked to him. His features are so soft and open – it’s as if his typical scowl has been wiped clean off of his face, leaving nothing but sweetness. Kirishima knows that true manliness – true chivalry – can only come about when one is completely open about whom they are. In this moment, he feels that he’s finally seeing Katsuki for all that he is, and all that he can be.

Katsuki moves his fingers to Eijiro’s hair, softly combing through it in a way that is so loving it makes Eijiro want to die. The sturdy hero leans into the touch and finds he almost keens with pleasure at the way Katsuki smooths a thumb behind his ears. Katsuki moves to leave a wet trail of kisses down the sturdy hero’s neck.

“You’re so goddamn cute.” Katsuki breathes as he surfaces for air. “Fuck how have we not done this sooner?” He slowly fans out his fingers on Kirishima’s exposed abs. Kirishima laughs as Katsuki’s fingers hit a ticklish spot on his stomach.

Katsuki continues to kiss his way up Eijiro’s neck while moving his fingers further down the sturdy hero’s stomach. “God I’m so turned on right now.” Katsuki whispers. His hot, wet breath in Eijiro’s ear causes the red head to shiver. He feels Katsuki’s fingertips tracing lower and lower on his belly.

Katsuki ghosts his hand over Eijiro’s waistband and spreads his fingers wide over his friend’s crotch. He feels the hardness under the fabric of Eijiro’s pants and his hand jumps back, recoiling from the feel of his best friend’s hard cock. They both scramble away from each other awkwardly, both wide-eyed.

Eijiro feels as if he has been doused with a bucket of cold water. He realizes with a shock the magnitude of what they are about to do with each other. Kissing is one thing…but actual sex is a whole other playing field altogether.

“Eij…” Katsuki starts tentatively. “I didn’t mean to, like, withdraw like that. I just don’t know what to do.”

Eijiro nods, grateful to be blessed with another rare moment of vulnerability from Katsuki.

“I know, dude.” Eijiro consoles. “I always had a vision of how this could go down in my head. But being here with you right now…there’s nothing that could have prepared me for this.”

Katsuki lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. So what’s our next step?”

“You’re usually such a know-it-all, Kats.” Eijiro teases, moving to get closer to his friend again. “I thought you were the big bad leader of our group.”

Katsuki scowls at him, but reaches out to wrap an arm around Eijiro’s shoulder all the same. He draws the red head to his chest fiercely. “Yeah, well, it takes time and experience to become a gay sex god, doesn’t it?”

This sets Eijiro off in a fit of giggles. He leans into Katsuki’s bare chest as he laughs, taking in the warm cedar scent of his friend’s body.

They sit like that for a minute – wrapped up in each other and grinning at Katsuki’s stupid posturing.

“Listen, man.” Eijiro says after a moment of comfortable silence. “We can just stop here if you want. Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

Katsuki’s not having any of Kirishima’s gentle and generous platitudes.

“I don’t wanna stop until I make you motherfucking cum, shitty hair.” He huffs, the old Bakugo fire flaring up. Eijiro’s heart does a somersault.

“You wanna…make me cum?” He says in a quiet voice.

“Of course I fuckin’ do! I thought we got all of the sappy shit out of the way already. Why else would I be sitting here with you half naked? You idiot. I’ve been jerking off to the thought of you cumming for literal months.” Katsuki squeezes his friend’s bare shoulder.

They sit in silence for a moment, processing all that Katsuki has just confessed. A blush blooms brightly across the explosion hero’s cheeks and he moves to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants. Eijiro’s nose picks up the strong sent of caramel.

Katsuki is notoriously self-conscious about his sweaty palms – his quirk causes him to produce flammable nitroglycerin-like substance in his sweat that has a very distinct scent. The Explosion Hero developed a nasty OCD habit a few years ago that caused him to repetitively wipe off his palms when stressed. After months of Katsuki being frustrated while trying to get rid of the tic on his own, Eijiro had contacted an old friend from the support course to help out. Hatsume had been thrilled to take on the project, and worked to develop a special pair of non-flammable gloves for Katsuki that would absorb his sweat without issue. Katsuki had pretended to hate the gloves, but they gave him a sense of security and safety that he had been missing when in his civilian clothes. The war had fucked everyone up, and the gloves had been a tool in helping Katsuki process his posttraumatic stress disorder and OCD alongside a trusted therapist.

But here, in Eijiro’s bed, Katsuki’s hands are bare and the Pro Hero is clearly stress sweating all over his clean cut pants. Eijiro knows Katsuki well enough to recognize the beginning of a panic attack when he sees one. He gets up and crosses to the other side of his room, sliding open a dresser drawer and retrieving a washcloth-sized swatch of fabric. He returns to his bed where Katsuki is rubbing his hands up and down his legs, still trying to erase any trace of sweat from his warm palms. Katsuki is absolutely locked in on the motion, staring down at his hands as he runs them across the thick fabric of his pants again and again.

Eijiro reaches out and places a hand on top of Katsuki’s to stop him from continuing the repetitive motion.

“Hey, Kats. It’s okay.” He wraps the small rectangle of fabric around his friend’s hands. Katsuki looks up at him, embarrassment ringing his eyes. He’s extremely self-conscious of his OCD repetitive motions, and Eijiro is one of the only people who know how bad his tics can be.

“This is a fabric sample that Hatsume sent over before she made your gloves. Look – it can absorb everything no problem. You’re okay.” Eijiro says softly, encouragingly. Katsuki sighs in relief as he sinks his hands into the fabric and lets it do its job. “Everything is okay. There’s nothing to be insecure about. I know you.”

Katsuki closes his eyes at the words, grateful. He takes a few calming breaths just like his therapist taught him to do all those years ago, back when he was trying to recover mentally from the war. He lets his breath out in a low hiss. Eijiro puts his hands on Katsuki’s arm to help ground him. They sit quietly for a few minutes. Eijiro eventually moves his hand to the small of Katsuki’s back, where he rubs soothing circles into his friend’s taught muscles. Katsuki continues to focus on his breath work, flowing through the beginning of the anxiety attack the best he can.

As Katsuki tries to re-center himself, Eijiro feels selfish for the way his brain repeats Katsuki’s words with relish - I’ve been jerking off to the thought of you cumming for literal months.” Eijiro has been doing the same for the better part of the year – getting off to hazy fantasies of a fucked out Katsuki. He tries to refocus himself so he can be helpful to his friend as they get through the anxiety attack at hand.

“Let me go get you a glass of water.” Eijiro says soothingly, rising to go to the kitchen. Katsuki nods thankfully as he continues to go through his breathing exercises, he’s finally starting to calm down.

Eijiro walks through his kitchen and grabs his biggest Owala water bottle and begins filling it with filtered ice water. Katsuki has a tendency towards getting dehydrated with his sweat-based quirk, so this isn’t the first time Eijiro has had to water his best friend. This also isn’t the first time he’s had to coach Katsuki through an anxiety episode.

Once the bottle is filled to the brim, he retreats back to his bedroom where Katsuki is sitting cross-legged and looking a hell of a lot better. He gratefully accepts the silver water bottle from Eijiro and starts gulping it down.

“Hey – slow sips! Slow sips!” Eijiro chides him, sitting down on the bed a few feet away from his friend. Katsuki scowls but obliges, taking gentler, measured sips until he’s drained half of the bottle.

“Better?” Eijiro asks, careful to give his friend some space.

“Yeah.” Katsuki breathes out slowly. “Thanks.”

“Always.” Eijiro smiles and grabs Katsuki a Red Riot branded coaster from his bedside table. Katsuki takes the coaster, smirking at the huge stylized “RR” that adorns the cardboard circle, and sets down the bottle on Eijiro’s bedside table. He then unwraps his hands from the square of special fabric so he can lay the rag to rest on the table as well.

“You always fuckin’ know how to handle my stupid ass.” Katsuki says weekly, all tough guy bravado long gone. In fact, Eijiro guesses he probably left the last of his faux-machismo at the bar alongside their friends.

“That’s what friends are for.” Eijiro says automatically. Katsuki reaches over and nervously covers Eijiro’s hand with his own. The sturdy hero can tell that his friend is still self-conscious about his sweaty palms, but is trying to move past his moment of anxiety.

“You and I – we’re more than friends, Eij. You know that.” Katsuki says softly. “Do you think we can keep going?”

“I don’t know if we should, Kats. This is a lot. It’s a big step. Maybe we need some time to breathe and regroup. We want whatever this is between us to be healthy.” Eijiro knows he’s sounding an overly cautious mother hen, but he can’t help himself. He doesn’t want to ruin their shot at being together.

 Katsuki looks at Eijiro with sparkling eyes. “Yeah I get that. But I think I’m good now. I really want to see this through…to touch you.”

Eijiro nods. “Are you sure? If you just want to go to sleep, I can take the couch. We can try again when we’re both in a better headspace.”

“Dammit, I’ve waited literal years for this. For you. I’m not going to let some shitty PTSD from a shitty war ruin a perfect night.” Katsuki scowls.

“Alright. Then let’s keep going.” Eijiro smiles softly. “But if you need to take a break at anytime you let me know.”

“Ever the chivalrous hero.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, but Eijiro can see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s me.” Eijiro puffs out his chest and strikes a mock-heroic pose. “Why don’t we slow down a little and, like, cuddle?” His cheeks heat up at this suggestion. He feels like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to ask for, but he thinks Katsuki might think the idea is dumb.

“Yeah, let’s do that. Take it slow for a sec and ease back in.” Katsuki agrees. He scoots himself up the bed so that he can rest his head on Eijiro’s pillows. Once he situates himself comfortably, he opens his arms out to Eijiro expectantly. The gesture is so sweet and strangely innocent for Katsuki. It’s a testament to their closeness, as well as to the fact that Katsuki is still coming out of his PTSD anxiety attack headspace.

Eijiro crawls up the bed and settles himself down in Katsuki’s arms. He marvels at the way his best friend’s arms wrap so securely around him. He feels so safe, so relaxed in the embrace. They lay there for a moment, enjoying the warmth of each others’ bodies before Katsuki turns his head to capture Eijiro’s mouth in a tender kiss.

This kiss is different from the others – it’s soft and slow and Eijiro can feel himself absolutely melting into Katsuki’s muscular frame with each brush of their lips. Katsuki moves one of his hands to cradle the back of the sturdy hero’s head, binding them together. Eijiro shifts so that his hands are pressed against Katsuki’s strong chest. He’s falling so incredibly hard right now – he’s so stupidly in love with this man that he feels as if he’s drowning in fizzy, sparkling stars.

With time, the kisses become fiercer. They’re both guys with wild hormones, after all. It doesn’t take much for them to get back to a frenzied state of lust. Their hands roam each other’s bodies freely now, getting more and more comfortable with each caress. Katsuki boldly reaches between them and runs his hand along Eijiro’s clothed cock, causing the red head to moan softly with want. Eijiro’s strong hand finds the curve of Katsuki’s ass and squeezes. The explosion hero hisses at the contact, feeling his weighty dick twinge with need in his pants.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, hand still resting on Eijiro’s strained crotch. He seems hesitant, unsure of what his next move should be. It’s so unlike Katsuki that Eijiro takes notice.

The sturdy hero breaks their lips apart and places a soft kiss on his friend’s smooth cheek.

“I think I’ve got an idea that we can try to kind of take the edge off.”

He slides off the bed and moves to retrieve his laptop. He props it up at the edge of the bed and flips it open, typing in a website address at Katsuki watches on curiously. It only takes him a moment to work out what Eijiro is doing.

“You think watching porn is going to help?” Katsuki says skeptically, despite the excited throbbing that’s occurring in his boxers.

“I do.” Eijro says, queuing up the site’s most popular video of the day.  An attractive heterosexual couple saunters on screen and begins to make out furiously. He gets up and walks to his nightstand, sliding open the drawer to reveal a fresh bottle of unscented lotion. He flops onto the bed next to Katsuki, and sits with his back against the headboard, legs strewn out in front of him. He pours a generous glob of lotion into one hand and holds the bottle out to Katsuki.

“We’re going to jerk off together like two normal guys and just see where things go from there.”

Katsuki tentatively reaches out a hand, palm facing up. Eijiro pours out another liberal portion of lotion. Katsuki accepts the lotion and hovers his hands uncertainly over his pants, looking to Eijiro for instruction.

Eijiro steels himself and gathers his nerve. This was his idea, after all. He takes a deep breath before shoving his pants and boxers down his muscular legs with one hand. He’s not particularly graceful as he shimmies out of the garment, but who gives a shit. He tosses his boxers to the ground and settles into a comfortable position. He looks down to see his thick cock standing at attention, flush against the hard planes of his Pro hero abs.

Katsuki looks on almost hungrily as Eijiro stares straight ahead his computer screen. The couple in the laptop screen are now stripping off each other’s clothes with abandon. The woman drops to her knees and begins to suck off her male counterpart. Eijiro feels his dick throb with need in response to the visual.

Nervously, he moves to grab his cock with his hand. Instant pleasure floods through his nervous system as he coats his dick in a thick layer of lotion and begins to jerk himself off. He throws his head back into the headboard of his bed and groans with satisfaction as he squeezes his fist lightly around the shaft of his hard member. He gets lost in the sensation for a moment before he remembers with horror that he has an audience.

With some trepidation, he peers over at Katsuki to see his friend working to remove his pants one leg at a time. Katsuki’s dick is so perfect that Eijiro’s mouth almost waters when he sees it – it’s flawlessly long and has some weight to it. The tip is flushed dark and leaking beads of pre-cum before Katsuki takes it in his hand and starts to slowly jerk himself off too.

They sit like that for a few minutes – watching the porno while slyly watching each other. With each passing moment, Katsuki becomes more vocal. He sighs, moans and groans along to the film as the porn star couple continues to get physical. He shyly glances over at Eijiro as he gets in a particularly good stroke, sighing as he does so.

It’s when Katsuki starts replacing his wordless moans with Eijiro’s name that things start to get particularly steamy.

“Eij…” Katsuki groans out as he fists his hard cock. The sturdy hero’s face flushness he turns to give Katsuki his full attention. They are sitting a foot apart on the bed – a distance that feels simultaneously both too far and too close. Eijiro decides to bravely close the gap, dropping his dick for a moment in order to scoot clumsily towards his friend.

“Kats…is it okay if I…?” Eijiro holds up his hand, motioning towards Katsuki’s crotch in an offering that needs no further elaboration.

Wordlessly, Katsuki nods and slides his hand down to his thigh. Their eyes remained locked as Eijiro reaches across to put his own hand on Katsuki’s throbbing cock. Electricity shoots through Katsuki’s body as Eijiro confidently flexes his fingers around his friend’s dick.

“Is this alright, man?” Eijiro whispers, his mouth barely moving as he stares at Katsuki’s toned, naked body in reverence. He revels in the way that every nerve in Bakugo’s body seems to be alive and ticking in response to Kirishima’s capable touch. There’s a small tremor running through the explosion hero’s legs. With relish, Eijiro realizes that Katsuki is desperately fighting his body’s natural instinct to thrust up into his fist.

“Yeah, whatever.” Katsuki says sarcastically, but his eyes are desperately begging Eijiro to keep going. Ever the people pleaser, Eijiro obliges. He slowly drags a fingertip up his friend’s lubed-up dick and watches as the member twitches in response. Katsuki blushes, almost ashamed of how turned on he is at the simple gesture. Eijiro smiles and a look passes over his face that’s almost wicked. The explosion hero almost shivers at the way his friend’s crimson eyes light up with mischief.

Eijiro continues to pump his dick and slowly gains a good rhythm. After a few minutes, Katsuki is absolutely blissed out. His eyes are half lidded as he watches his friend slowly work at his cock – each thrust pushing him closer to his limit. The sound of the porno has faded into the background; all Katsuki can hear is the gentle wet sound of Kirishima jerking him off.

“Faster.” The explosion hero mutters breathlessly, and Eijiro is more than happy to indulge him. “Ugh…” Katsuki’s moan is like a song Eijiro wants to hear on repeat. He continues to run his hand up and down his friend’s thick shaft, stopping every once and a while to concentrate on the head.

“If you keep going like that…I might…” Katsuki whispers, and Eijiro stops dead.

A beat. “Why’d ya stop?” Katsuki’s voice is almost a whine and Eijiro smiles.

“Because I want to use my mouth to make you cum.”

“Oh.” Katsuki’s mouth has gone dry. “Have you ever…?”

Eijiro’s cheeks heat up. “No, never with a guy.”

“Ok.” Katsuki isn’t really sure what to say aside from: “Neither have I.”

“Alright, we’ll be each other’s firsts then.” Eijiro says mock-enthusiastically, but he’s sweating.  This is so goddamn nerve wracking! You’d think that being best friends for the better part of a decade would make this kind of thing easier.

Surprisingly, Katsuki is the one to break the tension. He’s sitting there – naked and handsome. He moves to pull himself up so that his back rests against the headboard of Kirishima’s large bed. His cock standing at attention, slick with the lotion and pre-cum. It’s practically begging for Eijiro to wrap his lips around it.

“Jeez, I wish there was some sort of fuckin’ manual for this. Something like “Blowjobs 101,” or “Fucking Your Best Friend: For Dummies.” Katsuki says, his mouth quirking up at the corner the way that Eijiro loves.

Eijiro chuckles. “Hmm or even: “How to Suck Your Best Friend’s Dick.” A comprehensive guide!”

“Now that is a title that would make me buy a book.” Katsuki lets out a laugh. His voice softens. “It’s just me, Eijiro. Just two buddies hanging out and fuckin’ around.”

Kirishima smiles and runs a hand through his dark red hair. He scoots up the bed towards Katsuki, his eyes laser-focused on his friend’s stiff cock. He feels his own dick twitch with need and tries to ignore how fucking turned on he is.

“Now get over here Eij.” Katsuki beckons him closer, reaching out to pull him in for a soft kiss before whispering with a wolfish grin: “It’s not gonna suck itself.”

For some reason, that turns on Eijiro even more. He reaches down and gives his dick a few satisfying pumps. “Shit, Kats.” He moans, and Katsuki just smiles at the way he’s tearing his friend apart with words alone.

“Fuckin’ get to it already.” Katsuki says almost lazily, seeing the way that Kirishima’s body responds to being bossed around. “I don’t have all day here.”

Eijiro doesn’t need telling twice. He slides down the bed and positions himself between Katsuki’s fuzzy blonde legs. From where he’s sitting up against the headboard, Katsuki surveys his friend with an intense look in his eyes.

Eijiro gulps and takes in the man before him – Katsuki is all hard muscle and angles. His chest is toned and bare, but a wispy golden happy trail runs from his bellybutton down to his groin. Katsuki has a surprisingly slim waist that tapers down into a muscled “V” shape. He’s well endowed – in Kirishima’s opinion; his dick is the perfect size. Kirishima slowly licks his lips as he reaches out to take Katsuki’s length in his hand once more.

Katsuki’s eyes slide closed with pleasure as Eijiro begins to pump his cock again. Before he has time to register what’s happening, Eijiro leans forward and rolls his tongue across the head of his penis. Katsuki’s thighs jump with the unexpected sensation.

“Oh!” He lets out a small noise of surprise, and Eijiro takes the response as encouragement. He runs his tongue in a circle around Katsuki’s tip, before sucking the entire head into his mouth experimentally.

Here’s the thing – Eijiro has been on the receiving end of a lot of blowjobs in his adult life. He tries to remember the tricks that his past partners have performed that made him moan the most. He recalls being most impressed by women’s ability to multitask while performing oral.

Okay, he thinks as he continues to suck on the head like a pacifier, I can do this!

As he continues to suck, he uses his right hand to jerk Katsuki off, while moving his left hand to lightly fondle his friend’s balls.

“Holy shit Eij…” Is all Katsuki can say before Eijiro moves to take another few inches of cock in his mouth. He slides his lips down Katsuki’s rigid shaft as he continues to pump. It takes a moment or two, but soon Eijiro has the perfect rhythm going –he’s moving his hand and mouth in tandem in a way that’s making Katsuki see stars.

Katsuki is in absolute heaven. The view of Kirishima going down on him is enough alone to get him off. Kirishima pulls his lips off of his friend’s cock with a resounding “pop!”

“How’s that, Kats? Everything okay?” It’s so damn chivalrous of Kirishima to check in with his partner, and Katsuki’s heart rate quickens in a way that he’d be embarrassed about if he weren’t so fucking horny.

“Yeah keep fuckin’ going.” Katsuki almost whines, lacing strong fingers into Kirishima’s hair and forcefully pushing him to get back to sucking.

Eijiro’s eyes glaze over a bit at the harsh gesture, indicating to Katsuki that he likes to be pushed around in bed. This isn’t surprising, given how much of a people pleaser Kirishima tends to be. Kirishima resumes the blowjob, sloppily licking and sucking his way down Katsuki’s penis. Experimentally, Katsuki gives his friends’ hair a little tug. Eijiro moans in response, the vibrations from his mouth rippling up and down Katsuki’s cock like a vibrator.

“Ya like hair pulling, then?” Katsuki doesn’t wait for an answer before yanking a fistful of Eijiro’s hair a bit harder. The resulting moan from his friend’s throat is all the answer he needs. “I didn’t realize you’d like it so rough. Just wait until I fuck ya, shitty hair.”

Eijiro feels his cock twitch almost painfully at that comment. He can’t even imagine how amazing it would feel to be fucked hard by his best friend.

After only a few minutes, Katsuki is barely hanging on. As it turns out, Kirishima is excellent at giving head. Eijiro is absolutely filthy in his blowjob execution – he’s hollowing out his cheeks and making sloppy slurping noises every chance he gets. Katsuki is so caught up in the whole thing that he almost forgets to breathe.

Eijiro pulls his mouth off of Katsuki’s cock with a wet pop! A small thread of drool clings to his lips as he lifts his pretty face up to look Katsuki dead in the eyes.

“Breathe, Kats. You’re wayyy too tense right now.” He smooths a hand comfortingly across Katsuki’s fuzzy thigh. Katsuki obeys and takes a deep breath, bringing himself back to Earth a bit.

“I just got lost in it for a sec.” He says, his eyes blown wide with desire. “I can’t fuckin’ get over you. You’ve never done this before and you’re already so fucking good at this.”

Eijiro smiles at the compliment, using the moment to sloooooowly stroke Katsuki’s dick as the explosion hero continues to catch his breath.

“Ahhh.” Katsuki doesn’t even try to hide his moan as Eijiro pumps his cock. They’ve made it this far – there’s nothing either of them has to hide anymore.

“I’m gonna finish you off now, babe.” Eijiro says nonchalantly before licking a stripe up Katsuki’s shaft. Katsuki’s dick noticeably pulses at the pet name. “Would you like that?”

“Whatever.” Katsuki pretends to mean mug and put on his usual gruff persona, but it’s impossible to hold onto his tough guy act when Kirishima is looking up at him so openly with those fiery crimson eyes. Katsuki cracks a smile at his friend. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Kirishima stops his ministrations and breaks into a grin. “I know, right?”

And suddenly, they’re both laughing. Deep belly laughs that carry through the apartment. Eijiro is climbing up Katsuki’s body and kissing him so, so sweetly. Their lips meet again and again and again until they’re grinning stupidly into each others mouths.

Then Kirishima’s pulling his friend off the bed and to his feet. He shoves Katsuki lightly, his palms hitting the explosion hero’s toned chest soundly as he pushes him against the wall.

“I want you to concentrate on me, babe.” Kirishima whispers as he drops to his knees and starts sucking Katsuki off again. He slurps greedily before smacking his lips together. “I want your eyes on me the whole time.” All Katsuki can do is nod “yes” as he winds his fingers through his friend’s hair and gives a light pull. Kirishima groans and takes Katsuki’s dick in his mouth again, resuming his haphazard blowjob. Katsuki tries his best to keep his eyes trained on his friend, but the pleasure is far too much. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a light “thud” as he moans with abandon.

“That’s it, Kats. Give it to me.” Eijiro is licking and sucking and reveling in the way he’s making Katsuki come undone. The blonde’s legs are shaking and he struggles to hold himself up as Eijiro eagerly pleasures him – bobbing up and down on Katsuki’s cock with frenetic energy. It’s so fucking good that Katsuki cries out when his pleasure hits its peak.

“Eij! Eij…I’m g-gonna…I’m gonna cum!” Katsuki waves his arms in an awkward,  helpless motion before trying to push Eijiro off of his dick. He’s not sure what to do. Would it be weird to cum in his best friend’s mouth!? He hasn’t thought this through enough and now he’s trying to back away to pull himself free from Eijiro’s hot, wet mouth – only to realize his back is literally against a wall. Now Katsuki is squirming around awkwardly and Eijiro’s mouth drops in surprise. Right on queue, because as his dick flies out of Eijiro’s mouth, Katsuki cums vigorously - spattering the sturdy hero’s chest and chin with sticky liquid.

“Fuck!” Katsuki reaches down and strokes himself through his orgasm until his dick becomes too sensitive. Eijiro watches in awe as he notices the foreign feeling of hot cum rolling down his chest.

For a moment, the two stare at each other in disbelief of what they’ve just done. Both are absolutely stark naked and sweaty – Eijiro’s hair is sticking up in odd places from where Katsuki has pulled at it, and Katuski’s legs quiver with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Thick ropes of hot cum are sliding down Kirishima’s face and chest.

Breaking the tension, Kirishima grins and uses the back of his hand to wipe his face.

“Fuck, Kats.” He is all he can say as his friend struggles to catch his breath.

Katsuki is red in the face and dripping with sweat. Eijiro gets to his feet and grabs a towel out of one of his dresser drawers. He slowly wipes the hot planes of Katsuki’s muscles clean as the blonde looks on sheepishly.

“That was so fucking hot.” Eijiro says a moment later as he finishes cleaning Katsuki off. He tosses the towel at the hamper on the other side of the room and it disappears inside, nothing but net.

“I’m sorry man.” Is all Katsuki can manage to say, his face burning as he moves to cover his naked body.

“Sorry?” Eijiro frowns and joins him back on the bed. “How come?”

“I…I fuckin’ came all over you. I hope it wasn’t a gross feeling or anything…” Katsuki trails off, his fiery eyes filled with something akin to shame as he runs a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Listen, Katsuki…this is our first time doing something like this so it’s bound to feel weird. But what we just did – what just happened between us? That felt so natural. And honestly – I can’t wait to make you cum like that again. Next time you can even cum in my mouth.” He grins, revealing a row of sharp sharky teeth to his friend.

Katsuki’s eyes rake across his features, double-checking that he’s sincere. He takes a deep breath and lets his face relax into a sleepy smile. “Well thank God, because that was awesome.”

“Fuck yeah it was.” Eijiro nods enthusiastically, leaning in to kiss the side of Katsuki’s face sloppily. The explosion hero laughs at the contact and reaches out to hold the side of Eijiro’s face.

“You got any tips for me?” He asks cheekily as he sits up on the bed.

“Tips…?”

“For giving head.” Katsuki reaches out to wipe his hands again on the square of special cloth that can absorb his quirk. “Obviously I’m going to return the favor.”

Now its Eijiro’s turn to blush – he feels patches of red bloom across his cheeks.

“O-oh, I mean, ugh – you don’t have to!” His words come up in a jumbled rush, which makes Katsuki’s grin widen.

“Shut up, idiot.” Katsuki says affectionately as he pushes Eijiro onto his back. Eijiro doesn’t put up a flight. He lets himself fall easily into the sheets and sink into the plush mattress. Katsuki gently passes him a pillow and he gratefully accepts, using it to prop up his head and shoulders as Katsuki moves between his legs.

The explosion hero places a hand on each of Eijiro’s knees and moves upward so that he is slowly caressing his friend’s toned thighs. Eijiro looks up at his friend’s face, transfixed as he melts beneath the Pro Hero’s calloused touch.

So here’s the thing about Katsuki – he’s given a lot of head. Up until this moment, he had only gone down on women, but he’s hoping that some of the same basic moves apply to all. He gently traces a fingertip up the inside of Eijiro’s right thigh and around his crotch, teasing. He does this a few more times, focusing on the delicate skin of Kirishima’s inner thigh. He tries to identify potential weak points on his friend’s impossibly fit body. Spots that will make him come undone.

After a few gentle caresses, he finds one such area – Eijiro’s hips are sensitive. Katsuki feels a glow of satisfaction settle in his stomach as he traces a light fingertip across Eijiro’s right hip and watches his friend shiver. He leans down to kiss the area – applying soft lips to the thick cords of muscle he finds there. He experimentally sinks his teeth lightly into the flesh, eliciting a gasp from Eijiro. The red head watches as his best friend continues to bite and suck at the area until he leaves a sizeable trail of hickies across Eijiro’s fair skin.

“Kats…” Eijiro moans as Katsuki’s fingers trace across his chest, find their way down, down down….wrapping themselves slowly around his thick cock and giving a gentle tug. Eijiro moans loudly at the contact, a reedy sound that matches up exactly with Katsuki’s fantasies.

Katsuki comes back to Eijiro’s thighs and begins to trail light kisses up and down the area as he strokes his friend’s dick steadily. Eijiro is absolutely melting at the touch – he’s loving the feel of Katsuki’s battle-callused fist and the harsh way his friend is handling his manhood. When Katsuki’s tongue darts out and across the head of his dick, Eijiro hisses in surprise. Katsuki looks up at him with a searing gaze, his mouth set in a serious line. His eyes are clouded over with a lust that’s so deep and dark that it makes Eijiro’s heart splutter and spark. The visual of Katsuki kneeling over him is so incredibly hot that Eijiro almost cums on the spot.

Katsuki continues to pump at Eijiro’s cock, running his tongue along the tip as he does so. “I’m gonna take such good care of you Eijiro.” Katsuki breathes out, his voice the most tender Eijiro’s ever heard it. “I’m going to make you all mine.”

Eijiro’s heart backflips in his chest, his stomach is all butterflies. Every time he’s imagined being fucked by Katsuki, he’s pictured it rough and mean, hot and heavy. He has never imagined, never hoped that they could share a sensual moment as gentle as this. It reinforces all of the sweet words Katsuki has shared earlier – he wants Eijiro, has always wanted Eijiro. This isn’t just some passing hookup; this is a deep-rooted connection. Eijiro wants to just drown in all of his mushy, fluttering feelings. He’s feeling so comfortable, so loved up, that he does. He lets himself sink into a blissed-out state. He gives Katsuki his trust, complete control. And Katsuki happily accepts.

Katsuki moves so that he can kiss along Eijiro’s stomach. Each caress is deliberate, delicate. When Katsuki finally takes Eijiro in his mouth, it’s smooth and sweet. He slides his lips around Eijiro’s girth slowly, giving his friend time to adjust to the sensation inch by inch. Eijiro closes his eyes and lets Katsuki get to work.

The explosion hero experimentally swirls his tongue around Eijiro’s cock as he continues to take it in his mouth. After a few moments he bottoms out – careful to breathe through his nose as his friend’s length twitches in his mouth and throat. He takes things slowly so that he can minimize his chances of gagging. He tries to relax the muscles in his throat and use his hand at Eijiro’s base to compensate as he begins to bob up and down.

Eijiro is in absolute heaven and can barely last as Katsuki gets a good rhythm going. Of course Katsuki is going to be the fucking best at anything he tries. Eijiro feels his orgasm come on suddenly and roll through him. Shit! He frantically attempts to push Katsuki’s mouth off of his dick, but in classic Katsuki fashion, the explosion hero has to go the extra mile. He holds firmly onto Eijiro’s hips and continues to suck at an even pace.

Eijiro can’t help but let out a soft moan of satisfaction as he cums cleanly into Katsuki’s mouth. His hips roll and stutter as he rides out his high, Katsuki continuing to use his mouth to pull the orgasm out of him all the while.

 Katsuki’s never given a blowjob, but he’s been on the receiving end of enough to know that it’s so goddamn fucking hot when the someone swallows. The foreign feeling of hot cum running down his throat causes him to gag for a moment of uncertainty – but remember Katsuki has been working his entire life to master and train his body. He’s able to quickly adjust to the new sensation and is soon swallowing greedily as Eijiro comes undone.

When Eijiro’s finally finished, Katsuki takes a moment to lick up Eijiro’s overly sensitive cock. The sturdy hero winces at the feeling of being over stimulated, and Katsuki grins wickedly. He uses his finger to tease lightly around Eijiro’s thick head, causing the red head to whimper.

Eijiro’s cheeks are flushed and burning hot. He desperately needs a drink of cool water – but in this moment all he can do is watch as his best friend continues to play with him. Katsuki tortures the hero for a few minutes more, waiting until Eijiro finally reaches out to move the explosion hero’s hand away. Katsuki gives in easily, pulling himself up so that he’s eye level with Eijiro.

“Hey.” He whispers, giving his friend a moment to catch his breath. Eijiro reaches out and wipes a drop of sticky fluid away from the corner of Katsuki’s mouth.

“Kats, that was…” Eijiro can’t come up with a word to describe the ecstasy of receiving head from Katsuki Bakugo.

“Yeah, I know.” Katsuki says smugly. He reaches out his arms and Eijiro folds into them easily, as if they’ve been doing this for years. For a moment, no words need to be shared. They bask in the feel of each other, each reveling in the fact that they finally pushed their relationship out of the goddamn “friend zone.”

They lay there for a while, tangled up in each other and staring at the ceiling. Eijiro looks absolutely blissed out, his red hair splayed out beneath his head like a fiery halo. Katsuki, however, is chewing on his lip nervously. Eijiro raises an eyebrow at Katsuki, openly questioning his lover’s anxious expression.

“So…what do we do now?” Katsuki asks his friend, turning so that their noses almost touch.

“Now – we shower.” Eijiro wrinkles his nose at the explosion hero. “You smell like sex, Kats.”

Katsuki pushes at Eijiro’s shoulder playfully. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Eijiro turns over onto his back again, pulling Katsuki bodily towards him. They’re a sweaty, sticky mess all jumbled up together.

“I don’t really know what comes next.” Eijiro says to the ceiling, staring up as if his ceiling fan will be able to provide some guidance. “I can tell you that when I was younger I always fantasized about us going public together – being one of those Pro Hero couples on the magazines and in the news.” He smiles quietly to himself.

“It always seemed so lovely and glamorous the way that Pro couples take on the world together. But now that I’ve been a Pro for a while and I’ve seen how difficult it is to date in the spotlight…I would actually prefer us to stay out of the media. I know how you feel about gossip magazines and news outlets. And besides - I want for this to be ours, and ours alone.” He reaches out and blindly grabs Katsuki’s hand. “I think maybe we just keep things on the down low for a while, feel things out between us. Go on a few dates, maybe tell our friends. See what feels natural. And if someone leaks our relationship to the press – well we’d cross that bridge if we ever come to it.”

Katsuki takes this in for a moment, his brain sluggish and sleepy. “I’m gonna be honest…I think it’s gonna be fuckin’ hard not to show the whole world that you’re all mine.”

Eijiro smiles so widely at this statement that he feels his cheeks ache. His jaw throbs a bit as his muscles recover from giving Katsuki such an intense blow job. “I think you’ll manage.”

“You know I have a legendary short fuse.” Katsuki reaches up to wipe a bead of sweat off of his brow. “We go to so many press events and I always see girls hanging all over you – asking for your number, fawning over your muscles.” Katsuki shifts so he can look at his friend’s toned body appreciatively. “It’s been driving me nuts for years. But now that we’re actually together – if someone was all over you I think I’d punch their lights out.”

“Well you’re going to need to exercise some self control then.” Eijiro says flatly, moving towards Katsuki so he can boop his nose. “And besides, I’ve seen the way your sidekick is always making doe eyes at you. If we want to maintain some illusion of privacy, we’re both going to need to put up with some crap.”

Katsuki grumbles something unintelligible.

“Sorry – I didn’t hear that, man.” Eijiro teases. Katsuki lets out a small huff.

“I said…I’ll do anything to make this work. To make us work.”

“Same here.”

And after the wild night the pair have had together, that’s all that needs to be said.

They’re both exhausted and stinky and dehydrated. Eventually, Eijiro gets to his feat and reaches down to pull up Katsuki behind him. The explosion hero lets out a loud yawn and reaches over to check his phone. He squints as he scrolls through a wall of missed texts.

“Shit, Izuku is blowing up my phone. He said they are all going to Mina’s to continue the party.”

Eijiro peers over his shoulder and lets out a low laugh. “It’s already 1 AM!? Jeez, based on the spelling in these messages, Midoriya is drunkkkk.”

Katsuki reads aloud one of the text messages with a smirk as the pair makes their way into the kitchen. Eijiro puts on a pot of tea.

“Kacchannnnn r u feelin btr? Com prty @ Mnaaaaa.” Katsuki reads aloud with a smirk.

“You know, it’s funny.” Eijiro muses, running a hand through his bright hair. “I always thought you and Izuku had, like, a thing going on between the two of you.”

Katsuki looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, as if making a quick decision. He chooses his next words carefully. “I think that there was a time in our first year of where maybe I…ugh…wanted there to be something with Izuku. But I was so twisted up and full of resentment and fear and hormones. I didn’t fully understand what I was feeling and it made me so angry. Izuku and I never had a chance – we’re just friends now. And that feels right.”

Eijiro nods, knowing the two as well as he does, this explanation makes complete sense. The kettle starts to sing and he pours them each a steaming cup of tea.

“My weird fucked up relationship with Izuku is actually what made me realize that I’m attracted to guys.” Katsuki says thoughtfully, accepting a cup of tea with callused fingers. “You know I started to get a crush on you around our third year at UA.”

Eijiro marvels at how chatty an orgasm makes his friend-turned-lover. He notes this for the future.

The red headed Pro hero blows on his tea to cool it. He takes a snapshot of the scene in his minds eye for future dissection - they’re both stark naked in his tiny kitchen, discussing their intertwined fates. Katsuki’s bare ass is pressed up against the snack cupboard. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Katsuki grabs a clean Red Riot merch glass off the counter and fills it with tap water before chugging it back. “I caught a glimpse of your ass in the locker room and my whole body felt like it was on fire.”

Eijiro splutters into his tea laughing. “Really!? It was my ass that caught your eye?”

“Yeah your towel slipped and there it was. A perfect fuckin’ peach.” Katsuki barks out a laugh as well. “And obviously the fact that you were my first real friend played a role, too. You’ve always known me better than anybody.”

Eijiro is touched by these words. He wishes he could articulate just how much the blonde’s friendship has always meant to him. He recalls the moment that marked thr shift in his own feelings for Katsuki.

“I caught feelings for you wayyy back in our first year – remember how we saved you in Kamino Ward?” He takes a sip of his tea and sighs in contentment. “When you took my hand as we were flying through the air over All Might and those villain bastards…my heart just about exploded.”

“Huh.” Katsuki smirks. “How about that?”

They sip at their drinks for a while, enjoying each other’s company in silence.

“So should we go meet up with all the rest of them?” Eijiro asks. “I’m exhausted but I’m kind of riding a weird adrenaline high from everything that’s happened tonight.”

“Same here.” Katsuki holds up a hand and Eijiro notices with a start that he’s shaking.

The sturdy hero closes the distance between them so he can grab Katsuki’s hand. He massages lightly at the wrist where he knows Katsuki aches from his quirk. After a moment of light touches, he brings the back of Katsuki’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss.

“If we go, we’ll probably end up crashing at Mina’s place when we come down from the high. Plus, it’s so late.” Eijiro continues to massage up Katsuki’s arm, reaching all the muscles that bear the brunt of Katsuki’s explosive quirk.

“I think, maybe…” Katsuki sighs as Eijiro works at his overused muscles with sure fingers. “We stay in. Go shower, do some deep breathing and try to wind down. Keep tonight just for us.”

“That sounds perfect.” Eijiro flashes his signature sharp-toothed grin at his friend. “I’ll text Izuku back from your phone.” He releases Katsuki’s arm and reaches for the abandoned device. He channels his inner Katsuki as he replies with two simple words “Fuck off.” This makes Katsuki laugh and laugh. Izuku replies with a string of crying face emojis - which just seems to add to the hilarity.

They continue giggling as they share a shower – hot steam on sore muscles, shampooed fingers running through thick hair. When Katsuki switches off the faucet signaling the end of the shower, Eijiro pulls the blonde into his arms and rests his face in the hollow of Katsuki’s neck. His brain can only muster a few simple words, but they reverberate over and over in his head: mine, all mine.

They towel each other off and change into a few of Eijiro’s oversized band t-shirts. Eijiro forces another glass of water down Katsuki’s throat before they end up back in bed, wrapped up in each other. It feels so natural, so safe. Katsuki’s phone continues to buzz in the background, alight with messages from their friends.

They both ignore it.

Katsuki yawns and whispers in a gravely voice: “I’m glad you wore that goddamn outfit tonight.”

Eijiro tucks himself into Katsuki’s arms and sighs in contentment. He gazes around the room where he had painstakingly chosen his new look mere hours earlier. Said outfit is currently lying in a heap on the floor alongside Katsuki’s discarded clothing.

He feels himself starting to drift off to sleep as he says “Yeah, man. Me too.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

Ahhh I can't believe it's finally finished!! Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this fluffy spicy mlm fic!!

Check out my Master List for more fun, flirty & dirty fics!

XOXO,

RedRiotUnbreakableHeart ❤️

[asumofwords]

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Well hello there my babies, hehe here is the little mini series I have begun for a modern!Aemond roommate AU. I'm super excited to explore this side of things as I have mostly been putting my focus into SFA. Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Hehe, slowish burn too <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Christmas Beetle

The key scratched against the metal of the lock, your hand turning it as you opened the door to your flat, the smell of cooking curling around you as you stepped inside. From the kitchen you could hear your roommate Helaena humming to the music that played out of your speaker. 

“Hel!” You called out, dropping your keys into the dish by the door, toeing your shoes off as you moved inside the apartment. 

“In here!” Helaena sang back.

You moved your way down the hall, dropping your bag on the dining room table as you moved towards the kitchen.

Helaena stood barefooted in a singlet and pair of matching underwear. Her long silver hair piled atop her head, held together by a large butterfly clip. 

“Whatcha cooking, good looking?” You asked, walking up behind Helaena who reached out to turn down the speaker that was currently playing Lana Del Reys ‘West Coast’. 

Helaena turned her head, small silver butterfly earrings dangling from her ears, “Bolognese!” 

The room smelt of cooking onion and tomato, and you breathed in deeply as she reached forward to put in some cut up carrots and celery inside of the ceramic large pot. 

“Yum. God I love you.” You sighed, leaning back against the counter as you watched her stir in the ingredients, “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Absolutely nothing.” She grinned, reaching forward for the salt, sprinkling it atop, “Who else would feed you if I didn’t?”

“Hey! I can cook.” You frowned.

Helaena laughed loudly, “Mi Goreng doesn’t count.”

“I’ll have you know I can cook more than that.” You crossed your arms around your chest as you kicked a foot out to hit her shin softly.

Helaena jumped back, “Don’t be mean to the chef or you won’t get anything.”

You bowed, arm out in a dramatic flair, “Apologies, Your Grace.”

“Cut it out.” She pouted, “How was work?”

Hopping up on the counter, you groaned, “Don’t get me started. Larys was on my ass the whole day. Remind me why I work there again?”

“Because you need the money, and I got you the job.”

“It wasn’t just you that got me the job.” You grunted, “I have a great resume.”

“Of course you do.”

Tossing your head back against the cabinets you looks at the cream ceiling, “Ugh, how do you deal with Larys at all? He’s such a fucking creep. I swear he is always looking at me with those beady little eyes. You know the only time he has ever been nice to me was when he complimented my new shoes.” You scrunched your nose up at the thought. 

Your boss Larys Strong was a man who made your skin crawl. Lanky, with a crooked build, the brunette man always had a way of getting under your skin, and you could always feel his eyes on you when you worked in the office. He hovered around other workers, asking personal questions and prying into everyone else’s personal lives, and yet you knew next to nothing about the man. A complete energy vampire.

“I’m sure he’s not that bad. Mum hasn’t said anything about him and she works with him.” Helaena pointed out, bringing the spoon to her lips to try to sauce. She hummed loudly as she dipped it again, hand beneath it as she offered you a try.

You leant forward blowing on the spoon softly as steamed poured off of it, “Yeah, but your mum isn’t the most observant person, Hel.” You sucked the sauce into your mouth, eyes closing as you moaned loudly, “Oh my god. This is heaven. If you weren’t my best friend I would marry you.”

Helaena blushed and took the spoon back from you, swatting your thigh on the bench, “That ship has sailed.”

You laughed loudly at the memory, “How was I supposed to know you were hitting on me? You said I looked like a Christmas beetle.”

“Christmas beetles are beautiful.” Helaena said indignantly, “They have many different colours and shades, and in the sun they glow.”

“Don’t you go soft on me, Hely.” You teased, kicking your legs against the cabinet with a thunk, “Besides, you can’t butter me up with this home cooked meal no matter how good it is. I can’t believe you’re leaving me here alone.” You whined, throwing your head back, “And on break too!”

“Life is a cruel mistress.” She mocked you, “You won’t even notice I’m gone." A pale hand waved itself at you in the air in dismissal, "It’s only for the month, maybe even less than that. You know I have to go see Daeron, he’s been studying at Old Town all by himself, the poor thing.”

“Yeah well, not all of us can get into the prestigious Old Town University.” You huffed, “And I will notice you’re gone, who will cook me dinner?”

“I thought you said you could cook.”

“Hel, you wound me.” You grabbed the front of your shirt above your heart dramatically.

Helaena snorted, “Suck it up. Besides, my brother is going to sublet the room for the month so you won’t be alone.”

“Hel,” You whispered, head tilted in uncertainty, “Please don’t tell me Aegon is moving in. I love you, you know this, but your brother is a sex pest. Last time he came over he called me a Gazelle.”

“A Gazelle?”

“Said I have long legs.” You grimaced.

“Ugh. Gross. He is such a manwhore.” You hummed in agreement as Helaena scrunched her face up, mouth open in disgust, “But no, Aemond is going to sublet the room.”

“Hel, that isn’t any better. Aemond?” You began, leaning forward as you looked at her uneasily, “'Can’t pry a word out of the man', Aemond? 'Messy break up with his crazy ex', Aemond? Hel are you punishing me?”

“Be nice.” She slapped your arm, adding fresh basil into the pot that simmered gently, “Aemond is sweet once you get to know him. He’s just shy.”

“The last time I spoke to him, I asked him how his day was and he just hummed at me. He hummed.”

Helaena laughed.

“It’s not funny, Hel! Who the hell just hums like that?”

A small laugh floated through her nose, “Look, Aemond was the only one I could get to sublet the room in such short notice. Especially someone I trust. Plus, he needs to get away from Harrenhal and move back to Kings Landing. Alys has really done a number on him, and I think if he gets some time away from her he will see it’s better that way.”

“Can't you ask your mum to cover the rent? You’re not exactly scraping by.”

The Targaryens were richer than most, descended from ancient royalty, even owning an island called Dragonstone, a short boat ride away from shore, where a large fortress sat atop. Helaena would sometimes go for the summer to see her cousins, and had even taken you one year.

“I don’t want anything to do with the family money. When I moved out, I made a promise to myself that I would make it on my own.”

You sighed, smiling at your best friend. She really was one of a kind, willing to go above and beyond for her friends and not freeloading from her generational wealth like her brothers did, “You’re a good person, Hel. But you’re putting my head on the chopping block.”

“Mm.”

“Not you too.” You whined.

“Better get used to it," She grinned, enjoying your distress, "Aemond will be moving into my room at the end of the week. So I expect you to behave yourself while I’m away and be nice to him.”

You gasped in mock offence, “I’m always nice!”

Helaena gave you a pointed look. 

“Okay, well fine. I’ll be on my best behaviour for you.” You hopped off the counter, and put a hand on your chest and one in the air, “Scouts honour.”

“You weren’t a scout.”

“Never too late.” You grinned.

Helaena scrunched her nose at you, “You’re so annoying. Go shower, you stink.”

“I do not!” You said indignantly, turning your head to your shoulder to smell yourself.

“Well, there’s too many chefs in the kitchen and I want to have an everything shower tonight.”

You opened your mouth in mock surprise as you looked at her, a soft gasp leaving your lips. You crossed your arms over your chest as you looked at your best friend, “And who are you shaving for?” You wiggled your eyebrows at her.

Helaena blushed, “No one.”

“No.” You said in disbelief.

“Y/n-“

“Please tell me you’re not.”

Silence.

“Are you seeing Sara again?” 

Helaena looked so sheepish as she went back to stirring the dinner, you moved to stand behind her, resting your head on her shin from behind as you watched her cook, “Hel, what are you hiding from me?”

“Go away, you big gnat.” 

“I thought I was a Christmas beetle?”

“I’ve changed my mind. Plus you’re one to talk, I saw Cregan’s car out the front the other day as I left for work.” Helaena snipped, flustered and cheeks completely red. Her neck speckled with a blush that rose up from her chest.

“Glass houses. Besides, you can’t say the Starks aren’t scrummy.” You pinched her side and moved away from the kitchen, “I’m going to shower, and I’ll make sure to leave you some hot water so when Sara comes over tonight you’ll be all squeaky clean.” You teased.

“Shut it!”

The next morning you rose early to make yourself a cup of tea, you bumping into Sara on her way out of the house. The brunette was moving quickly out the door, hair knotted at the back of her head and lips blushed. 

“Morning Sara.” You greeted her as she walked past you on the lounge, clearly not expecting to see you. You lifted your mug of tea up towards her in greeting and watched as her cheeks blushed a deeper red than the top she was wearing. 

“Morning.” She responded, “Sorry, I’ve got an early class to get to.”

“Its Saturday.”

“Uh-” The Stark stuttered.

“And it’s break.”

“Oh, shut up." She smirked, "Tell my brother I said 'hi.'” Smile pulling downwards on her lips playfully. 

You laughed softly in the quiet of the room, and bid her a goodbye. 

Sara and Helaena had been on and off for longer than you had known Helaena, and was actually how you met Cregan. Sara had set it up after a night of drinking together, and Helaena had only encouraged you to ‘let your freak fly’.

Cregan was amazing. Tall, kind, smart and with a handsomeness that only Northerners had, with these dark brown eyes that you could get lost in. 

But in saying that, you weren’t compatible in anything other than sex or casual friendship. You had been sleeping together for a few months when he wanted more, and you weren’t ready for that. And so you had ended the little tryst that you had, and parted on good terms. Amicable terms.

For a while, the two of you hadn’t spoken, letting Cregan have space from you to process what had happened, but eventually you had received a text to meet up for a coffee one day, and decided you were better off being friends. 

Who fucked. 

Occasionally. 

Helaena exited her room shortly after, her silver hair messy and wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung to her mid thighs, a large centipede with a hat on the front. 

“Good morning sleepy head.” You sang to her, watching as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Why are you up so early?” She grumbled, clearly not having gotten much sleep. 

“There’s an antique market down in the square and I thought we could go and get some trinkets.” You smiled, watching as her eyes came alight.

“Trinketville.” She spoke in a high pitched voice.

“Yup!”

Shuffling her feet towards you, she leant over the back of the couch, “When does it start?”

“Started around 7.” You grabbed your phone to look at the screen, “It’s only 8:40, so if you quickly get dressed I can drive us down and get us a park.”

“Yay!” Helaena chirped, spinning back into her room suddenly alive.

As she walked away you called out to her, “Saw Sara sneak out.”

“Huh?” Helaena yelled back.

“I saw Sara this morning!”

Helaena stuck her head out from the door, hiding her naked body behind its frame, cheeks tinged pink, “Please don’t tell me you said anything.” She winced.

“I just said good morning.” You said coyly, watching as Helaena sighed in exacerbation before going back into her room.

“You know,” You called out, standing to put your mug in the dishwasher, “You don’t have to hide her in your room. I don’t hide Cregan.”

Helaena stepped out wearing a pair of pale denim overalls, and a soft yellow shirt underneath, socks and doc martins in hand, “Yeah well, you haven’t dated Cregan.”

“I mean we kind of did.” You shrugged, leaning against the side of the couch as she sat at the small dining table to put her shoes and socks on. 

“Fucking him on the couch doesn’t count as dating.”

It was your time to blush, “Close enough.”

Helaena snorted, lacing up her boots, “Aren’t you going to get dressed?” She eyed you up and down, one brow raised. 

You looked down at yourself. You were in an old busted t-shirt which had far too many holes to make it physically sound, and beneath you wore some old track pants and slides. 

“Whats wrong with what I’m wearing?” You asked, offence in your tone.

“What’s right with it?” Helaena grimaced, “Go get actually dressed you slob. What if there’s someone cute at the markets?”

“I will have no time for cuties as I will be too lost in the joys of finding the ultimate trinkets for my collection.” You sniffed, raising your chin in defiance. 

“Borderline hoarding at this point.”

You gasped, “Hey! Says you Miss Insects.”

“Go get dressed,” Helaena insisted leaving no room for argument, “Then we will head out. Do you think they’ll have coffee?”

You laughed, “Yeah, there should be a truck.”

When you were dressed and ready, you drove yourself and Helaena down to the markets, already full of people and bursting with life.

Many people brought their dogs with them and to your delight, an old man people called Maester Orwyle was seen walking his white Persian cat inside of a pram. The cat sat with her paws crossed in front of her as she watched everyone walking past, the occasional hiss given to the dogs that passed her or children who got too close. 

Helaena giggled loudly as you both passed it, moving to look at another antique jewellery stand, Helaena’s eyes immediately spotting a small, gold, dragonfly pin. Its wings had emeralds on its tips and a larger one as its head. 

She held the pin in her hand, uncertain if she should get it or not, the old man behind the table trying to sell it to her. 

“It’s real gold, 14 karats. Real emeralds too. A pretty broach for a pretty girl.”

Helaena smiled politely though you knew she wished to move away.

“Come on Hel, when will you ever find something like that again?” You encouraged her. Her lip was caught between her teeth as she thought.

Looking up at the greying man behind the table, you asked for the price, “How much?”

“$70.” The man replied.

Helaena moved to put the pin back down, “It’s too expensive.” She said quietly.

“Nonsense.” You whispered back. “I’ll give you forty for it.” You looked at the man. 

“Forty is too low. I’ll do sixty.”

“Fifty.” You counted.

“Y/n.” Helaena hissed.

The old man hummed as he look at the two of you before he nodded, “Fifty then.”

You looked at Helaena triumphantly and watched as she sheepishly gave the man the money, clutching the pin in her hand as the two of you walked away.

“I hate when you do that. It's so embarrassing. You’re like my grandpa.”

“Did you just compare me to Otto?” You grimaced, remembering your interactions with the stiff older man. He was rather cold, and barely spoke a word to you unless to correct you, but he would brighten up when speaking to Helaena considerably. 

“You leave him alone, he’s old.”

You hummed in response. 

“You’ll get along with Aemond just fine if you keep that up.” Helaena teased and you stuck your tongue out at her, moving to look at some old books. 

You picked up an old heavy leather book, which looked to have been buried in dust. You opened the cover gently and looked at the front page. Your eyes widened. 

“Helaena!” You hissed, grabbing her to your side as you looked down at the book in your hand, “This is a First Edition.” You quietly whispered. 

“Looks like the worst edition.” She giggled and you elbowed her in the side.

“Seriously Hel, these are so hard to come across! It’s ‘The Lovers of Queen Nymeria’ too, this is like old old.” You explained, excitement racing through your veins, “These are seriously hard to get a hold of!”

“God, you and Aemond are the same. I swear my dad had that in his library.”

You snorted, “Yeah, well, not all of us come from royalty, Hel. I come from a long line of peasants, which I-“

“Oh, cut it out.” She griped.

You let yourself laugh, holding the book in your hands in wonder, “They’re probably asking for hundreds for this. God, I can’t believe I’m even able to touch it right now!”

Helaena looked up at the young man who had the stall, “Excuse me, could you please tell us the price of this book?”

“Hel, it’ll be way out of my price range.” You sighed quietly.

The man turned and came over, looking at the book in your hands, “I’ll give it to you for $20.” He said with disinterest, looking at the worn cover. 

“$20?!” You said in disbelief, shock crawling through you.

“We’ll take it!” Helaena responded quickly, handing he man $20 from her small silver purse. 

“Hel, I’m paying for it.”

“Nope!” She popped the ‘p’ as you moved away, holding the book in your hands in shock. “This is my gift to you, plus you saved me the money for the pin, aaaand you can take it as me buttering you up because mumboughtmeanearlierflight.” The last part of her sentance was speedily blurted as she turned to look at you, offering you a remorseful smile. 

“You bitch.” You narrowed your eyes at her, “You’re lucky I love you.”

You walked side by side, looking at the rest of the stalls, finding some fun little things before the two of you decided to go home, exhausted from walking around in the hot sun for hours. 

When you arrived back at the apartment, Helaena slumped onto the couch the two of you had found on the street years back. It was a light brown velvet, with dark wood detailing. An absolute classic.

The silver haired girl sighed, tugging her bag onto her lap as she begun to line up her buys of the day on the table. 

You joined her, placing your book on the table followed by a small, vintage, golden mirror and a large candle holder for your room. Helaena had bought her pin, a small blue skirt with little green beetles on it, as well as a large framed Luna Moth.

You let your head drop to her shoulder, “I’m going to miss you.” You whined, tapping your head onto the bone of her shoulder. 

“You big baby, I’ll be back in no time.”

“But you’re leaving me on breaaaak. What about all the hotties we were going to pick up at the bars?” 

Helaena laughed loudly as she rested her head against the top of yours, “Plenty of time to do that when I get back.”

You grunted, “Don’t act like you didn’t tell me you are leaving earlier. You said end of the week.” You pulled away and looked at her with your eyes narrowed, “When are you leaving now?”

“Tomorrow.” Helaena sighed.

“Tomorrow?! What!”

Helaena began to fiddle with her hands in her lap, her pale fingers picking at the skin at her nails. You watched as Helaena became quiet, shut in, and a sudden wave of anxiety moved through you. 

“Hel, what’s wrong? Has Sara done something?” You questioned, head dipping to try and catch her eyes.

“Dads sick.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked at her, “Has he gotten worse?” You asked softly.

Helaena’s dad had been sick for a long time, when you had met her she was worried, but knew there was nothing that she could do. Her visits to her family home back then were frequent, but as time went on, her visits became less, and she had assured you that his team of carers and her mother could handle it.

“It’s not good.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” She gave you a sad smile, “It was going to happen one day or another. Mum wants us to go back to see them at the Keep, so I’m going to Daeron’s to get him and we will go together.”

“But what about Aemond? Will he be going with you?”

Helaena let out a quiet breath, “Dad doesn’t have the best relationship with Aem and Egg. Pretty sure my sister will be at the Keep with my nephews, and well,” She paused, and you knew why, “You know Aem doesn’t have a good relationship with them.”

You remembered the day Helaena had told you about Aemond’s fight with Lucerys when they were kids and the accident. You had felt terrible hearing the news, but now understood why tensions in the family were so strained. Not to mention that Helaena’s sister Rhaenyra, from his first marriage, was largely favoured over his other three children.

But from all accounts that Helaena had told you, Rhaenyra was a lovely woman, and incredibly kind to her.

You grabbed Helaena’s hand and held it, “Let me know if you need me to come, yeah? Or need anything of me. I mean anything. You need me, I’ll be there.” 

Helaena gave you a gentle smile as she nodded, “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Maybe you could come to the Keep and stay a week or something once I'm settled.”

“Will that hunky Criston be there?” You waggled your eyebrows at her.

Helaena's face morphed into disgust, “Ewww. I don’t see what you see in him.”

“What? He’s hot, plus him being your mums bodyguard makes it so much hotter.”

“He’s not her bodyguard.” Helaena argued.

“Sure, then he just follows her around like a lost puppy and is paid to look pretty. Anyhow, when is Aemond coming since you go tomorrow?” You rested your head back against her shoulder, fiddling with her hand in her lap as you wiggled her fingers with yours.

“He said he’d be driving his old chevy Vhagar in, so who knows how long that will take. If it doesn’t break down on the way.” Helaena snickered.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist:

@mrstargayen09 @iamavailablesstuff @malfoytargaryen @hogwarts1207 @diannnnsss

Bold is who I cannot tag

[lewdangelsou]

cats don't speak

sypnosis || scaramouche ordered some gifts for his lover to try out.

warnings: lower case intentional, mean scaramouche, afab gn! reader (using she/her), filming, fingers down your throat, saliva/spit/drool, choking, dacryphilia, mention of butt plug, heavy degrading, sprinkle of praise. getting called kitty. humiliation.

minors dni

·˚ ༘ not proofread hehe

the pads of his fingers caress the texture of the leather that wrap around her neck, the bell dangling with soft dings. scaramouche smirks, gazing down at herㅡ on her knees on the floor, looking up at him through those pretty long lashes with a hint of shame within her eyes.

"see? it's perfect." his smile was condescending, a type of malice that made her heart pound against her ribcage. scaramouche traces the artificial ears that clipped to her soft hair, he's starting to treat her just like a small pet; delicate and needy.

his lover puckers her lips into a slight pout, the plug nestled deep into that tight cavern of her rear, an uncomfortable yet sensational feeling, the fluffy tail resting in between her thighs. "it feels weird..." she confesses, resting her cheek upon the rough denim of his lap.

the entire ordeal of getting dragged to his bedroom with a nicely wrapped package on his sheets piqued her curiosity greatly, only to reveal that they're merely toys for his entertainment. for his model, his muse, his loverㅡ she's the perfect candidate for his sore eyes. scaramouche doesn't listen to her complaints in the beginning, her sentences falling to deaf ears as each article of clothing strips off of her body just for this act of power.

he tips her head back, "i don't understand you, kitty" a derisive grin spread across his handsome face, causing her very core to tighten from the voltage of adrenaline.

"come on, meow for the camera."

a thick clump of saliva dries her throat as she swallows, a whole weight of shame lay heavy within her head as her pupils gloss towards the camera. she hesitates, ".. me.. mew..?"

despite her best attempt, scaramouche isn't pleased. he pulls at her bottom lip to part them, eyeing the pink interior of her mouth as strings of saliva thread loosely. "i know you look so pathetic but at least try."

".. scaramouche, come onㅡ"

her eyes gape immediately at the flavorless taste of his fingers pushing past her teeth, pressing down on her tongue to silence her protests. as if on an instant, she clicked right back to her place, kneeling before the man who has spoiled her with his morbid affection.

"if you can't meow, why not lick, hm?"

he drags his fingers across the surface of her pink tongue, gently moving in and out of her mouth, suggesting that she puts in the effort for him. through her muddled vision she submits, suckling on his fingers until a rhythm builds that satisfies them both. with each bob of her her head, the bell attached to her collar jingles, only adding to the throb that aches scaramouche's cock.

his indigo eyes watching every detail of the way her pretty lips wrap around his middle and ring finger, glazing them with spit each time she parts from it for a single second before drawing in once more. he groans, voice mixing with the followed slurping noise of her continuous sucking.

"hah.. finally, something you're good for."

her heart quelled, urging herself to go faster, deeper. thus, scaramouche muses at the way she gags at the tips of his digits hitting the back of her throat, feeling his dull nails hit the flesh. tears form to sear her vision and pearl down her flushed cheeks, the thickened tension between them making it difficult to breathe. and through all of this, she doesn't take her eyes away from the lenses of scaramouche's phone as he fails to keep it steady.

she even puts on a show, opening her mouth enough to swirl her tongue around his fingers like an obedient pet, before shoving them deep down her throat once more. drool dribbles down her chin and dripping down to the surface of her cleavage, adding to the pornographic-like feel that is presented to him.

"fuck that's it."

[lady-ashfade]

A day of thanks.

Dark yandere house of the dragon x Fem!reader

Plot: It’s the day of thanks in kingslanding and your family has tried to make it a good one. Though everyone was always fighting for you attention they toned it down just for you or, did it behind your back. You shared your thanks with everyone close to you, but that only lead to blood being shed. 

Taglist: @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @second-try-stevie @prettyinblack231

This is a bit darker then what I normal wrote but it’s not the long so it’s fine.

Warnings: Dark yanderes tendencies, yandere tendencies, obsession, unhealthy relationships, blood, death. And being the center of a crazy family. Also editing this late so I don’t even know what words even are.

“You look beautiful my lady.” Your maiden, Nrya spoke to you as she finished up dressing you. You looked at yourself in the mirror and gazed at your body. A red and green dress that you had made just to represent both family colors, you had thousands of dresses from red and black to green but this one was different. Green dangling earrings and a red gem necklace.

Your maiden caught you playing with the rings on your finger, “Is it not to your liking?” She asked and you quickly reassured her otherwise. “No it’s not that. I look good, you did a good job. But my thoughts are taken over about what the day will hold. It’s the yearly feast to celebrate one other but my family doesn’t really care for it.” Rolling your eyes at the many fights you have witnessed over the years.

“I just wonder if today will be any different. I want one day were my family acts like well, family. It’s just sometimes they get so caught up over their own petty reasons and just- Forgive me, I should not put my problems onto you.” Waving your hand to apologize and take her hand into yours. You heard her say you didn’t need to be sorry but you cut her off.

“I got you a gift.” Her brows frowned and her head tilted in confusion. “Me? Your grace I can’t not except-” Gigging you pulled her to your deck and sighed for her to wait. She crosses her hands and watched as you opened the drawer and pulling out a tiny bow. “I think you’ll like it.” You pushed out the box and she took it from your hands.

Cautiously and slowly she opened it up, you could tell she was nervous and didn’t know what to do. But when her eyes met the necklace of a small dragon figure with a red gem in the middle her eyes went wide. It was just like the one you had, it was something to cherish for the rest of her days. “I- I can’t not expect this.” You pushed out your lip. “You can and you will, it’s a order of the princess.” She laughed not know what else to do.

“I think you deserve to be well rewarded for helping and dealing with me for years. A good friend you become.” Grabbing the necklace you went behind her and she brushed her hair out of the way. “I would do it free of charge.” The smile never leaving your face as you clipped the chain together.

“But you never have too.” Placing you head on her shoulders as she looked at herself in the mirror. It was the same way you did earlier but the roles reversed. “Today is the day of thanks. You are someone I am thankful for.” Her cheeks flushed and tears in her eyes began to swell up. Nrya never felt this appreciated or loved. You always were kind to her. But this was something she never expected.

“As I am of you.” 

The morning was quiet to say the least. You spent time with the younger children to brighten your day before the day furthers. You had a small book in your hand reading some stories the children didn’t seem to care for since they were focused on their toys. The doors opened and you saw Alicent walk through in a beautiful green dress, her eyes met yours and her happiness showed.

“My daughter.” She walked over to you and kissed you forhead, “The gods gave me you to be thankful.” You smiled at her. “The gods gave me you as a mother. I think I’m more thankful.” She took your face into her hands softly while her eyes scanned your face lovingly. “That’s not possible.” Her attention stayed on your for a moment before she let you go and walked over to Aegons and Helaenas children.

The other child in the nursery were rhaenryas and daemons children. “Is it almost time for the festivities to begin?” Placing the book down. She agreed and kissed her blood grandchildren goodbye before heading back over to you and taking you arm in hers. “I have made sure to make the servants make everything you like.” And with that you both walk out and to the gardens outside.

When you arrived you saw your family actually smiling and looking like they were having a decent time. Aemond and Aegon were over by the wine, jace and Luke were by the small food platers, Helaenas was sitting at the table next to Otto both of them not saying a word but looking relaxed. Rhaenrya and daemon also sitting at the table but talking to Viserys who was at the frontend of the table.

Alicents grip on your arm while Aegon was the first to notice you. “Dear sister.” He called out and everyone turned their eyes onto you. Everyone wanted to get to you first but Aemond and Aegon were first to make it. “You look beautiful as always.” Alicent let go of your arm but aemond was quick to take you into his. Rubbing his back, “Thank you.”

He pulled back and stepped to your side but his arm still placed on your waist, Aegon smirked at you. “Did dressing take you all morning sister? I thought you died in the bath.” He joked. “I was spending time with the children.” You answered and he just rolled his eyes in return. The three of your focus turned to see the other brothers rushing over to you. Aemond almost didn’t let you go but you got away from him before he could do anything.

“Luke, jace.” You pulled them into a tight hug while they wrapped their arms around you. “I am mostly great full of you.” Luke muttered into your left. “I think I have him bet on that one.” Jace said in your neck on the right. Laughing as you pulled them both back. “Don’t let your mother hear.” They shook their heads but your heart flutters as jace takes your hand in his and kissed the skin. “I’m sure we all agree that you’re what we are thankful for the most.” Your cheeks heated up at the kind action.

Aemond and Aegon watched with a tighten jaw’s in jealously watching the boys get all your attention. The way you smiled and as jace kissed your hand made aemond want to kill him, Aegon was just jealous you weren’t paying him any attention. When you walked away to go to the table the boys stared at each other. Jace and Luke smirked at them showing they were proud to steal you away even for a second. Aemond’s eye darkened but he remembered his promise- What everyone promised.

That they would be civil for you.

“Darling.” Rhaenryas cheerful voice called out to you as she kissed your cheek, daemon pulled you in for a side hug and a pat. Since they were close to Viserys his attention was solely on you as he smiled up at you. “My dear girl.” He took your hand in his and you leaned over to kiss his head. “How are you feeling today father?” He just nodded his head and continued to smile. “The gods bless me on today. I feel nothing but happiness.”

“That’s good to hear.” He let go off your hand and you made your way over to Helaena and Otto while they eagerly awaited you. “I hope you both are enjoying yourself.” Otto smiled and nodded while Helaena patted her seat and you sat down next to her while there was some time to spar. You engaged in conversation with both of them when your attention went back on Helaena when she stared right into your eyes.

“Blood spilled over a chain.” She scared you for a minute because she seemed fearful but turned her attention to the plate on the table. Before you could question her everyone was called to the table and you had to change chairs. You got up and moved only a few chairs down, you sat at the end with your father and your mother on the other side. You were sitting across from rhaenrya and daemon to which they were happy about even though they wanted you to be closer to them.

“As the years have passed I have been welcomed to new faces to be great full for, my children, my grandchildren. All of you. I thank the gods each second, I hope that we can all stay as a family for the rest of our days.” He spoke in a breathy manner and grabbed onto your hand as he spoke. You raised your cup and agreed and everyone followed then their plates become full and everyone started to eat- Not before Alicent said prayer and you could hear daemon huff about it.

You watched as everyone was talking and laughing…It felt like a true family dinner. You’ve spent years trying to get them all together and today it was finally coming true. “I’d like to make a toast.” Raising yourself with your cup in hand. “I would like to toast to my father and mother, they took me in when I was a babe and to them I’m grateful. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them. I have a family now and you all are the most wonderful people I have to love. To my brothers, to my sisters, to my uncle and grandfather and to my nephews and nieces. You truly are my blessing from the gods.” 

Alicent grabbed ahold of your other hand and squeezed it while everyone cheered and took a sip of their drinks. You watch as they continue to stare at you for a moment but then turn back to something else. “That was very heartwarming dear.” You look down at your mother to see her soft but overpowering eyes. “I was just speaking the truth.” You backed away from her and excused yourself while they all watched you leave.

“Should we follow her?” Aegon suggested. “Ser cole will follow her.” Daemon and rhaenrya shared a glance at alicents words. But you were just using the bathroom.

You were gone quite some time. You made a stop back to your rooms to get a servant to bring the gifts. Oh how you loved giving gifts, what special way to show your appreciation then giving the people you loved gifts. You couldn’t wait to get back to the gardens, you even brought one with you as you watched back with Ser Cole.

“What’s in the box?” He kept eyeing the long box you carried in your arms, it even going above your head because of the way you held it. “Do you really wish to know?” Raised a brow at him in a teasing way. “If you’re willing to tell me.” You giggled and stopped him then handed the box to him.

“It’s for you anyway I was just waiting but it might be better to do it here alone so the others wouldn’t get jealous.” He froze in disbelief and took the box carefully, “You got me something?” He was asking as if you were joking with him.

“It’s my thank you for protecting my mother all theses years and being someone I look up to.” He had to push his emotions down fearing he would cry at knowing you found him so special, and then he would hug you and he isn’t sure he would even let go. He teared the paper covering the box and placed it on the bench, he slowly opens it and you watche his every move. 

It was a sword. And really, really nice sword and the carvings and the tales on the handle were beautiful. But he looked at the middle of the blade and his name ran across it. “Do you like it?” You questioned making sure you didn’t mess up his gift and get him something he wouldn’t like.

Cole turned around quickly and pulled you into his arms not caring if he wasn’t even going to let go. If he was going to die he would love to do so in your arms, “I love it my princess.” He was delighted and you hugged him back happily. You both stood in the hallway hugging until he let go and you didn’t want to be rude and pull away first.

You made it back to the gardens a while later and you skipped back into the area your family was in. “I’m sorry I took so long, I was getting the gifts to share with all-” mouth ran dry as the pressure in your chest pulled you down and you forgot how to breath.

Blood.

There was so much blood.

Your family looked at you but you payed no mind as you looked at what was in front of you. Scanning your eyes you see a lifeless body on the ground of a woman, her head being chopped off and you looked for it’s head. The only thing you could do is fall to the ground and scream at the sight of your dearest friends head laying on the ground.

Your Nrya.

Ears falling deaf as you lost all feelings but panic and grief. You balled you eyes out, screaming for it not to be real while holding onto the ground for support. You felt your body being pulled into a warm embrace but you just continued to cry and only then did you hear the words you were always so blind to see.

“She was just a maid, you’re ours always my dear. You need no one else. You’re only going to be thankful for us.” The voice of rhaenrya whisper in your ear.

You looked over at her body and saw the necklace you got her laying on the ground covered in blood. You soon were told that’s why they killed her because they knew you were close to her. And they’d be damn to let another person be close to you because you’re only supposed to need them. You’ll come to learn in time…

No one else loves you the way they do.

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan Crossdresser Headcannons

(First time doing headcannons, wish me luck!)

(Enjoy!)

Initially he was surprised to hear you ask him out, so surprised he couldn’t formalité a single sentence. 

Of course, you considered that a rejection and started to walk away, which snapped Crossdresser out of his daze and he yanked you back to him. 

He managed to stutter a response, a shy confirmation, and then you two set a date.

Now, the whole week he was preparing himself for this date, he went to the spa, got his nails done and then spent a few days picking out his outfit.

You said it was a simple coffee date, so he should try to go for something simple, effortless, yet cute and eye catching.

he spent the night before the date going through a full body skin care routine (that took forever).

Hours before the date he began to get ready, at first he was going to wear a cute creme dress (it fell just below his knees and he looked so cute)

But then he began to second guess himself and he didn’t quite like how to dress hugged his figure (he worried about his weight and he worried that you would find out the truth)

So, he chose to go with a nice purple dress, but he didn’t like how short it was and couldn’t find shoes to match it. 

Eventually he decided to just call you and ask what you were going to be wearing. You told him (a dark blue sweater vest, a white blouse, black fitted trousers and heeled dress shoes) and he decided to match you. 

He put on a blue sweater vest that had black checker patterns, a white blouse with flower patterns (his favorite and only white long sleeved shirt), a short black skirt with white stockings (also with flowers) and blue heels.

He then went through the process of putting on his makeup, he choose to go with a somewhat subtle look that has blue sprinkled in it. (Makeup is not my forte, so apologies if it isn’t correct) 

He choose to go with a liquid concealer, blended it in, added blush and then highlighted his cheek bones. 

He went with a dark red lipstick, then choose a light blue for the eyeshadow.

He went with a black eyeliner on his upper lashes and used a white on his lower eye lids. (You know, to give him a innocent eye look, hopefully I got that right)

Then he sprayed his makeup with a setting spray (I’m pretty sure that exists) and took a photo of his look. 

He felt quite proud of his look and even did a little victory dance!

He brushed his hair and then pinned it back with some hair clips. (He thought he looked so cute!)

He picked a few accessories, a black beret (the French kind), a blue flower necklace, white flower earrings (the kind that dangle and jingle), a few silver rings (not too many) and a blue bag.

He double checked his outfit in the mirror and then told you he was ready to be picked up.

You arrived just a few moments later (as he doesn’t live very far from you) and greeted him with a kiss on his cheek. (He giggled and embraces you in a tight hug, you had to practically drag him out of your arms)

You complimented him, telling him that he looked amazing and that he was gorgeous. (His face flushes such a bright red, you would think he was Rudolph!)

You lead him to your car, helped him get in (how polite of you!) and then got in the car yourself.

During the whole drive he couldn’t help but stare at you and he always had one hand on some part of your body.

(Well, that’s all for now. Uhm, I don’t know how to do headcannons, so I tried my best and hopefully you like it! This headcannon is for Anon Number 3, but everyone can read it.)

(MADE MONDAY, DECEMBER 18, 2023)

[justsescape]

I want to see Asuka treated like a barn cow and milked consistently.-

"Another nineteen inches added to my bust measurement today," Asuka declared proudly. The tape measure was so tightly wound across her gigantic breasts that flesh was bulging around its length. "HA! No other cow in this barn can even hope to compare to my greatness. I am the best and most productive cow this barn has ever known!"

Asuka's body was downright unrealistically proportioned. Her arms and legs were so slender that they could have led her through a career in ballet -- but her boobs were like beanbag chairs, draping over her fragile figure like they aimed to cover it entirely. In her stall, she had taken up a habit of sitting atop one of her many, many filled milk barrels and letting her bust simply spread across her thighs and droop down until her downturned nipples grazed against her toes. Come nightfall, she never asked for a blanket. Slipping beneath her overdeveloped chest was like sleeping underneath a thick down comforter.

"Oooof... carrying the weight of this business makes my back hurt in more ways than one." Asuka had long since traded her Evangelion's hair clips for a cow-eared headband. The rest of her outfit was similar: cowprint thigh-highs, cowprint gloves, and a cowbell dangling from a collar around her neck. Practically the only thing that she couldn't cover up were her titanic tits. An entire alphabet's worth of bras trembled in fear at the mere thought of it. "But if my milk is the best, then it's my duty to serve the clueless masses!"

The measuring tape retracted from Asuka's chest as a pair of manhole-sized, clear plastic cones clung themselves to her oversized nipples. They didn't always land in the same place each day; familiar red rings still marred her pale skin as mementos of the previous week's sessions. The staff never let them fade completely. No one produced more milk than her.

"Would you hurry up and start already?!" Asuka's arms flailed as wildly as they could -- perhaps to overcompensate for all the ways the rest of her body now couldn't. The cowbell rang dully with every little tilt of her head. "It's not like I can drag my boobs down to the milking machine and do it myself! You know I would if I could, just so I wouldn't have to put up with you incompetent morons!"

Attached to the plastic cones were a pair of tubes that slunk lazily over the fence surrounding Asuka's stall. They snaked and coiled through the thoroughfare of the barn, into a door that was consistently ajar, and down a flight of stairs into an underground repository. Somewhere in the dark, they connected themselves to the barn's central milking machine. It was a towering, modular, deafening system -- like a server farm stacked on top of another server farm. Multiple clean-suit technicians ran around its perimeter, barking orders and readings and jargon at one another. Perhaps this was the job of the least-endowed cows.

The entire complex began to buzz. It took every ounce of power the barn could muster to service Asuka's outrageously productive breasts.

"Here it goes!" Asuka's toes curled in anticipation; her hands dug into her bust, skin bulging in between her fingers. "I'm ready!"

BZZZZZZZZZZZ!

It was less like a pump and more like a vacuum. Milk didn't come out of Asuka's nipples in rhythmic spurts, but in a hydrant-like flow that resembled that of a pressure washer. Her product coursed violently through the tubes like water through a fire fighter's hose. Other cows in the neighboring stalls -- some with D cups, some with beach balls, but none bigger than Asuka herself -- gripped their own fences as they watched the tubes jostle and shake against the hay-covered ground in the thoroughfare.

"MMMMMMMMF!~" A bit lip; trembling knees. Asuka's hands clutched the barrel she sat upon like she was a pilot gripping an ejected seat. "How... h-how does this f-feel... even... nnNNNnnfff~... even better every time...?!"

Down in the underground, the technicians rapidly exchanged full barrels of milk for empty ones. They stacked atop one another against the walls -- almost like the beer cans in Misato's apartment. Years ago, that was the place Asuka called home. Now she wouldn't be able to fit through the front door.

"Nnnngh... I... I can't... I c-can't st-stop myself... m... mmMMmmm... moooOOOOoooo~..."

Beads of sweat clung to the tips of Asuka's bangs. She panted like she had just run a marathon -- but the marathon of milking had only just begun.

[christopher067]

STRAY / NECKLACE + EARRINGS

today i also have for you some more male cc !! it’s been soooo long since my last male cc release and i have been wanting to make something for the guys for a while now. this is a classy long north star pendant necklace layered with a chunky chain with an edgy pair of thick hoop earrings with a dangling chain + a second version with just 1 chain hoop earring for both left and right ears. i wanted to wait until i had better weights for male necklaces before making any new ones, so i repainted them and made some amendments to the shape of the mesh so it would be less likely to clip like some of my other male necklaces. ♥ also !! i have had a few requests to make men’s earrings for just one side of the ear and not both so i decided to do that with these! i’m really proud of this set, so i hope you love it !! ♡

Necklace

21 Metal Tones

New Mesh by Me

Custom Thumbnail

HQ Mod Compatible

Does NOT have morphs

Both V1 & V2 Earrings

8 Metal Tones

New Mesh by Me

Custom Thumbnail

HQ Mod Compatible

DOWNLOAD NECKLACE

DOWNLOAD EARRINGS V1

DOWNLOAD EARRINGS V2

♡

If you use my content be sure to tag me, #christopher067 or @christopher067

If you want to edit my creations check my T.O.U. ♡

[whumpsoda]

May I suggest a whumper who puts spells on his whumpee’s or hypnotizes them or smth to believe that they’re all a happy traditional family. Whumpee’s all think this is completely normal—even the family dog which used to be whumper’s most resistant captive.

Sorry this took so long… I just had to do this prompt, it’s too good! I hope I did it justice :3

cw: brainwashing, pet whump, multiple whumpees, lady whumpee, captivity

———————————————————————

Villain loved his family. 

Some would never believe him, most prominent due to the means of which he sourced said family, but really, he did love them. Cared for them, even.

“Movie! Movie! Movie!” Youngest squealed, just like the child he believed himself to be, swinging his feet excitedly on the couch. Adorned in his favorite pajamas, bright pink and far too small, he waited for the rest of his family to join him in the living room. One hand was wrapped around a gigantic bowl of delicious smelling and steaming popcorn, the other ruffling through the grease coated hair of his pet.

Hero, with his chin placed atop his former partner’s lap, held a dopey smile and glassy eyes as his scalp was softly scritched at. He shivered with delight, nearly drooling over the blissful touch and smell of food he wasn’t allowed to eat. Villain couldn’t help but wish he had a camera ready to capture such a mind bogglingly satisfying image.

“Watch out!” Medic- or, the former medic, now Villain’s partner- exclaimed, a sweet grin strung across her lips. “Puppy over there is waiting for you to drop something!”

Youngest only chuckled, cheerfully ruffling Hero’s hair. Gleefully, Hero giggled, leaning into the pleasant touch. “Come on, come on! I wanna start the TV!”

“Okay, okay!” Villain yelled back, smiling from ear to ear, watching as Youngest and Hero’s faces both lit up upon seeing their former enemy enter the room. Hero eagerly crawled over to meet him, nuzzling and stroking his face over the fabric of the other man’s pant leg.

Almost, Villain wanted to laugh. His plans and wishes had come perfectly true. His toughest foe and captive, reduced to that of a mere dog. Yearning only for cuddles and treats, too stupid to understand the world around him. No more fight, no more irritating quips, no more screaming, no more Hero. 

The thought made Villain positively giddy. 

Villain searched into his back pocket, holding out and dangling a bone shaped dog treat between two fingers. Hero brightened, sitting up sloppily. “Paw.” Villain instructed, shaking Hero by the hand and dropping the reward between the man’s teeth, right onto his panting tongue. “Good boy!”

“Dad, come on! Come on! Mom!” Youngest called, kicking his feet still, but now in impatient anticipation. 

“I told you, I’m coming!” Medic entered, hair put up into a lazy bun with a plush robe tied around her waist. “I was just grabbing a drink, baby.” She placed a quick peck to the lanky man’s forehead, before adjusting the vibrantly pink clips scattered about his hair.

Youngest’s face flushed, giggling. “Dad, c’mere!”

“Come on, puppy.” Gifting Hero a few pats to the head, Villain gestured him along to the couch before plopping down beside his partner. He hooked his arm around Medic, pushing her head to sit upon his shoulder.

Sometimes, he secretly wished she’d give him little kisses just as she did Youngest. He’d never felt such tender contact before, and most likely never would.

Following example, Hero hopped onto a cushion beside youngest, getting prepared to curl up beside the man in his eyes he deemed as a young child before Medic pointed to him with disapproval. “No.” She scolded. “No dogs on the furniture.”

With a frown he climbed back down on all fours, disappointedly furling into a ball at their feet. Villain watched in satisfaction, bending down a moment later to pat the whining man’s head. 

All the while Youngest fiddled with the remote, just until he managed to get the television turned on. A moment later the screen switched to life, instantly the sounds of a newscast filling the group’s ears.

No.

“Hey,” Villain started, reaching around to take the remote for himself.

He couldn’t let them see anything they weren’t supposed to. Anything that could pull them from their brainwashing, even by the slightest bit. Youngest wrenched it away, barely taking notice, instead captivated by something dancing upon the screen.

The criminal’s heart skipped a beat. That something, just so happened to be himself.

Videos, pictures, recordings, even, of the three’s heroics blared across the screen, regular civilians that worshipped the group pleading for the team back. Other heros as well, begging for their friends and comrades to be found.

Villain clamored for the remote desperately, chest beating with a spark of adrenaline. All three of the other family members were fixed on the TV, brows furrowed as their minds twisted blank, refusing and yet fighting to digest what they were watching.

“Youngest! Give me the remote!” Villain shouted, the other man still refusing to give it up with an iron grip.

Oh, no, no, no, no-

“That’s…” Youngest mumbled, brain gradually working to achieve comprehension.

Medic’s expression was twisted in befuddlement alongside him, frozen rigid in place. “I don’t… understand…”

Please, no-

“Nngh…!” Hero whimpered, shrinking back with fearful puzzlement.

Villain couldn’t fail. Not then, and not ever. He couldn’t let them break free from their conditioning, couldn't allow them to remember, and most of all couldn’t afford to lose them. He’d never had such a loving, happy family, let alone a group of people he cherished so shockingly dearly, and he wouldn’t let his hard work go to waste so easily.

Finally, some button was switched that successfully flicked the screen, turning it to whatever else was showing at the moment. Still shaking, Villain sighed in relief as the other three blinked out from their trance, minds easing and carefully returning with his control still strict in place.

Medic sputtered in confusion. “What… um, sorry…” she mumbled, turning to her partner for an answer. He couldn’t let her know. He couldn’t let her realize, or she would hate him again-

“Momma, my head hurts.” Youngest whined, gripping the sides of his head and dropping into her lap. He scrunched the muscles of his face in an attempt to clear his head.

Still in that of a hazy daze, Medic’s vision still unfocused glazed over, she stumbled over her words. “Mine, um, mine.. too…”

Hero rubbed against her leg in dreaded distress, croaking whimpers scratching from his throat. He clawed the walls of his mind, shoving himself back down in favor of the brainwashing.

“Everything’s alright! Let’s just watch the movie, okay?” Villain brushed them off, trembling, quickly setting up the program correctly this time as the rest of his companions were plagued by bitter affliction. Anything to distract them.

Everything was alright. Everything was fine. He’d caught it just in time, and they weren’t going to remember. They weren’t going to leave him, because he wouldn’t let them.

Not like everybody else. This was different. Villain loved his family, and they loved him.

Didn’t they?

———————————————————————

General taglist- @softvampirewhump

[marisol-000]

Clipped Birds Don't Fly

I've decided to not take ao3 going down as a sign and post this anyways ❤

Magpie Au by @dyad-tmesis! Jekyll and Hyde are separate in this one. Everyone knows about Hyde’s wings, but very few know about Jekyll’s.

<ao3 link>

It was a day like any other when Jasper walked into Doctor Jekyll -Henry's office. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and Sinnet blew something up for the second time that day.

The were-boy had been hanging out in Rachel’s kitchen, dangling his legs and trying to look interested in what the day-manager was saying.

“-and that's the last time I let those two ‘help out’! I mean honestly you’d think they were children but I’d think even children would know not to use the same gloves for dishes you use to carry hazardous materials around!” she huffed, chopping some veggies with a bit too much force.

Jasper wasn't quite as sure but knew better than to disagree with someone holding a large knife.

“And on top of all the new dishes we need to buy I still need Doctor Jay to approve this week's meal plan, in case that wretch Frankenstein has any dietary restrictions, Ooh if I could get my hands on her-”

At this Jasper straightened up, his ears perking. “I could ask him if you need!”

It wasn't that he didn't like Rachel, or her stories, but it always felt awkward to be in a room with someone and not be working. Especially when they were. If she wouldn't let him help cook then he could certainly run a small errand or two! And admittedly he wouldn't mind an escape from her tirades…he still liked her though! (Not like-like, well, yes like-like but not not like-like)

She looked back, blinking. “Oh? If you're sure. You don't have to if you're tired, I know I couldn't sleep in the same room as all those creatures of yours.”

“Ha, I grew up on a farm miss Rachel, at this point I doubt I could sleep without them. And just one list won’t take long!” he begged.

She considered it for a moment, looking a bit put-out. “Hrmm. Fine, I can't say no to those puppy-dog-eyes. But you need to repeat exactly what I say, got it?”

Jasper grinned and nodded rapidly.

He walked in without knocking. A stupid mistake in hindsight. He knew better than most how important privacy could be to a person, but while juggling the list of ingredients Rachel told him and their expected costs it just slipped his mind.

To say he was startled would be an understatement.

Jasper pushed open the heavy wood door to see Edward Hyde. He'd heard all about the man from Rachel and the other lodgers. A wild and intense party guy who didn't fit well with the society's image, leading many to speculate on why Jekyll hired him in the first place.

Some speculations were a bit more… scandalous than others, while some claimed they absolutely hated each other. He didn't really believe them all, nor did he want to think about his boss that way thank-you-very-much, but it did make him curious to meet the so-called ‘spirit of London at night’.

True to the stories he had bushy straw hair and bright green eyes, and of course a small pair of golden wings sprouting from his back. Bird-like and alive.

And Henry Jekyll stood over them with the largest pair of scissors Jasper had ever seen.

For a moment time seemed to slow down, Jekyll lowered the scissors, big things made of heavy metal, to the base of one of Hyde's wings.

Jasper had never seen the wings before, (a warbler maybe? Or some kind of parrot? he felt numb), as he'd never met the man they were attached to, but he'd seen feathers lying around the society. Even been shown some Rachel had secretly held on to. And the fluffy gold feathers matched the wings before him.

But all he could see was red.

Without a thought he lunged forward snarling with a force he hadn't known he was capable of. Eyes locked on the man who saved him from being arrested, he could practically feel his fur emerging, begging his nails to grow into claws.

Nothing happened as Jekyll snapped his eyes up at the growl, just now realizing he was there. The were-boy pushed forward regardless, he was stronger than the doctor. With or without a transformation.

A shout, his vision was cut off by a blur of yellow. Real claws in the form of dark talons swiped at his face.

He clashed with the man-bird-guy. Feeling a bit bad about it, he shoved him to the side to get to Jekyll. Or tried to. Edward Hyde held onto his arm like a lifeline, kicking what he could and even swiping at the boy's hair.

Jasper held off the black talons, and a gold wing that smacked him repeatedly on the head. The assistant was surprisingly strong for being so small. His hat went flying and his shaggy hair danced in his eyes in the small gusts.

Panicked arms cast out for something to grab onto. As bad as it felt to do Jasper grabbed Hyde’s other wing and pulled. The cryptozoologist knew birds’ wings were often stronger than they looked, and was experiencing it firsthand. He muttered something adjacent to an apology as he swung both himself and the avian around. Wincing at his cry of pain and cussing.

Once more throwing the man off he darts forward and lunges at the frozen doctor. Talons pull him back by his sweater to start the fight anew.

After some more tousling Jasper is pulled from the opposite direction, the were-boy yanked by his shirt collar. Away from Hyde who simply hisses and raises a wing in warning instead of following.

Jasper realized he couldn't see Jekyll behind Hyde anymore, and chanced a glance away to look behind himself. Of course, there was only one person it could be.

“How could you?!?” he howled, struggling in his grasp. He could barely believe this was happening, even if Henry didn't like Hyde, like the lodgers said, he wouldn't do something like this would he? What could the man possibly have done to deserve his wings being taken away?

“How could- what?! Mr. Kaylock I demand to know why you felt the need to attack my assistant!”

Hyde hopped back and landed in a crouch on the large desk behind him. “Yeah, I haven't even threatened you with the shovel talk yet!”

“You were trying to cut his wings off, I saw you!”

Jekyll's eyes went wide and brows creased with concern. The hand holding him fumbled and loosened. “What? I would never!”

As the boy whipped around, he paused, “Wait… you weren't?”

“Of course not! Goodness is that what you were so worked up about?” Jekyll sighed, running a hand through his brown (auburn?) locks. “Edward’s wing was snared. I was trying to untangle it.”

Jasper blinked, “You were?” For the first time he looked closely at Hyde's wing, the one that hadn't extended properly the whole fight, the one that wasn't currently being held up in a defensive position with the other.

There, wrapped tightly around the feathered appendage, was a thin wire. Jumbled up and twisted around like a cat stuck in yarn. He watched in shock for a moment as the wing twitched against the cord, pushing uncomfortably against the metal web.

The man himself looked equally as uncomfortable, and maybe a bit embarrassed.

“You see, Mr. Hyde got himself tangled in a clothing wire during his excursion, god knows how, and I was simply removing it from his wing.”

“Did not! It was a fight I tell you! With some very bad guys!” Hyde cried, waving his arms around. His free wing puffing up in protest.

Jekyll rolled his eyes, “Ah yes, a fight, my apologies.”

Jasper felt himself calming down, heart still racing but slower now. “Oh…I, yeah that makes more sense, ha… But-but wait, the scissors?”

It seemed to be Jekyll’s turn to look sheepish, “Well, I figured there was no pressing need to return it. I tried to undo it myself but it’s quite stuck on there. Not to mention Edward’s notorious for not sitting still.”

Jasper thinks about this, slowly relaxing his stance. Hyde watches him skeptically, lowering his wing in turn.

Suddenly Jasper’s shoulders slumped as low as they can, a sigh of air exiting with a whoosh. “Thank goodness. I don't know what I’d do if that were me. If I had wings and had to lose them like that. It’d be like cutting off my tail.”

Hyde snickered, “Didn’t know you cared so much about little ol’ me.”

He looked up immediately, “Of course! I mean, not you specifically, but, no one should have to lose parts of themself like that. Even if you don't like it, it's still part of you. It still IS you. And cutting it out or hiding it is like hiding part of yourself. If you got rid of your wings you wouldn't be the same you anymore.”

Something in Henry’s eyes softened.

“I must say Jasper I’m quite impressed with your resolve, it’s nice to know you wouldn't hesitate to stop someone you thought was causing harm. Even if it happened to be me!” Henry smiled, something almost like pride in his eyes.

“Ha, um, well,” Jasper blushed at the praise, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s nothing really, I…I…” Jasper froze dead, eyes wide as he realized what just happened. “I JUST TRIED TO ATTACK YOU OH MY GOSH I'M SO SORRY!!!!!!”

Later on Jasper has to embarrassedly explain what happened to Rachel, then, even more embarrassingly go back and give Henry the list XD

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You're out of your mind if you think Rachel wouldn't throw hands with Frankenstein. Unlike the others she didn't grow up reading about and looking up to her; and if you think she's gonna stand for some ungrateful house guest punching her friend unprovoked you've got another thing coming. That being said, she wouldn't want to trigger any allergies on accident or go against any religion-related food preferences. Though mostly it’s in case it interferes w her medicine.

Fun fact the scissors Jekyll’s holding here are the ones in the sketch where he's cutting Edward's hair. They're just so big why did he use those ToT

The sketch that inspired all this!