#flame rambles yet again

[heyimflame]

I like representing a lot of body types in my art.

Dispite being a 5'8 average as fuck dude, Making my art represent a lot more than just "the norm (which is ass)" makes me feel good, even if it doesnt exactly represent me. I like makin' others feel good cus that makes me feel good. :]

I think i've covered quite a lot of body types with my oc's and stuff.

Representation is what I strive for. And it's kinda what Your Generic Scenarios is all about to be honest. I want to use that comic to show Multiple sides of a single story. Represent everything I can in a way that doesn't scream "HEY LOOK AT THIS!!!!!" but also doesnt just throw it in because "hey look at this...."

I love tellin' stories, so might as well tell one that people can relate to in a way.

[bizlybebo]

thought about mark winters again dhmu

[sammrz320]

Kay SO

I will admit, I was woefully disappointed with that finale, and it gave me close to a bad taste as the Sequel Trilogy, but not quite.

Sometimes as a shipper, you can never always get what you want, and realize that if you're too deep into your OTP, you will ignore reality at your peril and cause a lot of damage to yourself and others.

This episode had its positives which wanted me to tear up, but at the same time, there are some negatives I can't ignore.

This ain't the end though. Now we must steel ourselves and wait for Season 2!

[extravalgant]

Would u ever talk about ur ocs or lore?

T_T...!!!! OF COURSE...!!

i never realized how little i actually talk about my own lore and ocs... though to be fair i did want to make a character page before i do so everyone can get acquainted

when i refer to a 'calamity' in most cases im just talking about my storm >_^ my highest level wizard at level 140 because im stuck in karamelle

[daxite]

i'm so fucking tired about how the internet has to dissolve every discussion into some fucking black-and-white "us vs. them" shit

[keys-hellscape-1020]

Sharing a Blunt with them

A/N: I honestly feel like out of all of them Tim would be the only one to smoke butttt this is fiction and I do what I want so I hope you all enjoy. Also I went to my first ever county fair today and I got licked by a cow. I can die happy now.

Dick Grayson x gn!reader, Jason Todd x gn!reader, Tim Drake x gn!reader

Content warnings: Weed, descriptions of getting high, Jason’s and Tim’s get smutty (my bad), oral sex (but it’s not detailed)

————

Dick Grayson

So this man would only get high if he’d been with you for a while. At first he out right refused to do anything with you, which you had respected. Over time however he sees how it affects you and he gets… curious.

It’s a lazy Saturday evening, Dick had gotten some of his many siblings to cover his patrol for him so he could take the night off with you. He’s watching you roll a blunt when he speaks so softly you can barely hear him.

“Could I try it?” He asks softly, watching the way you roll the paper with practiced precision.

You blank for a moment, stopping your movements as you glance up at him. When you’d first gotten together he’d been adamantly against doing it, and yet here he was… asking for a hit.

“Sure.” You say softly as you finish rolling it. You reach for a lighter and let the flame lick against the end of the blunt. You take a small hit and exhale into the air above you before passing the blunt to Dick.

“You ever hit anything before?” Dick shakes his head dumbly, like all thought had left his brain just from thinking of getting high.

“Alright.” You say as you gently guide his hand, and thus the blunt, towards his mouth. “Just suck on it like a straw for a half second, and then take a deep breath in.”

He hesitates a moment, looking at you for confirmation. When he gets it in the form of a gentle nod from you he follows your instructions and inhales carefully.

You wait a moment before pulling his wrist back, not wanting him to get to high right off the bat. You watch as he exhaled shakily, hesitating a moment before keeling over in a coughing fit. “Shit, sorry baby I forgot to warn you about the coughing.” You exclaim, rubbing his back gently in an attempt to soothe him. “You’ll be okay. Just breathe through it babe. Just breathe.”

It takes a few moments but he does stop coughing, and when he sits up he has a slightly glassy look in his eyes. “Holy shit.” He mummers. “I didn’t think that’d do anything.”

You can’t help but laugh gently as you take another hit, still gently rubbing his shoulder. “You okay baby?” You ask as you exhale, smoke billowing out of your mouth as you speak.

He nods, gazing upon you in what seems to be awe. “I uh- I really didn’t think that’d do anything.” He repeats and he leans forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder. You run your fingers through his hair as you finish off the rest of the blunt, Dick sitting still against your side.

As you finish off the blunt and toss the end into a nearby ash tray you carefully refocus your attention on the pile of vigilante that’s glued to your side. “You sure you’re okay baby?” You ask carefully, getting a half awake nod in response.

In the future when Dick gets high with you it goes much the same, he takes one, maybe two hits and he is out for the count. He gets clingy and touchy while high, not capable of doing much outside of craving skin contact and rambling about how pretty you are. Give him some water and don’t leave him alone until he’s more or less sober again and he’ll be just fine.

Overall, as long as you know what you’re doing, 7/10 to share a blunt with.

————

Jason Todd

This man has gotten high before, but he only does it once in a blue moon when he’s really stressed and his options for stress relief are either getting high or brutally killing someone. He knows it’s not healthy, but that’s never stopped him before. And besides, he still feels it’s better than the alternative.

I feel like the first time you get high with him would be on a stormy night, you’re lounging in bed in one of Jay’s T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. You’re on your phone, waiting until your common sense kicks in and tells you to put it down and go to sleep.

You’re lazily scrolling when you jump out of bed due to the sounds of crashing, stomping, and cursing coming from your living room. You carefully creep down your dimly let hallway, the baseball bat you keep under your bed gripped tightly in your hands.

You visibly relax at the sight of Jason in your living room, Red Hood helmet thrown on the floor and fiddling with something in his hands.

“You’re back early.” You say softly, resting your baseball bat against the wall as you walk behind him, resting your hands on his leather-clad shoulders.

He makes a vague grunt of acknowledgment at you and you peer over his shoulder to see what he’s doing. You stare in shock when you see him rolling a blunt.

“Uh, you gonna smoke that Jay?” You ask blankly, your grip on his shoulders loose in shock.

“Well I’m not messing with this shitty paper for fun.” He grunts quietly, laser focused on what his hands were doing.

You hop over the back of the couch to land next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you watch him finish rolling the blunt, light it, and take a long drag. He exhales deeply before offering it to you.

You take the blunt and take a drag before passing it back to him. “Didn’t know you smoked Jay.” You mumble, pressing yourself against his side. He responds by leaning against the back of the couch with a groan, wrapping his arm around your shoulder while man-spreading shamelessly.

“Not normally.” He explains as he takes another hit. “But people were being fucking stupid today.” As he speaks his arm tightens around you slightly

You let out a hum of acknowledgment as he hands you the blunt, taking another hit as you look him up and down thoughtfully. “I could help take your mind off that.” You comment, already moving to lower yourself between his meaty thighs.

If this man is getting high, you know he’s very stressed. Give him some sloppy head and let him rut into you tiredly to help take his mind off it.

Overall 8/10 to get high with.

————

Tim Drake

Now this man is a whole different story, this man gets high at least 3 times a week. He comes home from a hard patrol? He’s pulling out a cart and taking a blinker before researching his latest case (he’s a firm believer he does his best work while blasted).

You want to spend a night in and get high? Sign him the fuck up. He’s not really a fan of blunts, he says they’re too much work, but he only gets the best of the best quality carts.

He’s fun to get high with too, he’ll lay across your lap, eyes tinged red as he takes another hit and coughs out a laugh before going on a rant about moth man and how he’s about 47% certain that’s he’s real. Say anything that vaguely sounds like a contradiction and he’ll launch into a rant about how you’re supposed to be on his side (all the while practically trying to bury himself in your skin).

Oh and you’ll be in for a long night if you get clingy while high. You lightly run your finger tips over his hip bone, trace a finger nail over the muscle of his arm, practically anything, and the next thing you know you’re on your back, your pants are nowhere to be seen, and you’re getting head so good you’re seeing stars. Tim normally has something to prove, Tim while high sees nothing wrong with showing you just why he’s the best. And if you can barely walk tomorrow? Well that’s just an added bonus.

You should definitely get high with Tim if given the chance, he’s bound to make you laugh and otherwise enjoy yourself. But whatever you do, make sure you have no plans tomorrow morning.

Overall 10/10, hope you don’t like walking cause you won’t be doing much of it.

[hollow-prey]

Day 306 since the release of the Explosions album: I NEED to write a Krimzon Reign fic based around "Redemption" because of how well it fits them and how much it feels like Errol's message to Cyr, but the plot for such a fic...the idea for a plot continues to elude me

[lustlovehart]

Hard Stoned Gallery Dance

A/n: This was made like monthhsss ago, so I’m posting it as forgiveness for the lack of work i’ve been doing.

Pairing: [ Monster!Twst ] Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: Dancing is a beautiful past time, yet such a pretty act is ruined, when Malleus decides to let his affections for you run rampant. (Wc: 1.9k)

Warnings: Kissing & Licking, Murder/Death of Minor Characters (Not explicit), Possessive traits, Clinginess bordering obsession, a little blood, Biting/Marking

Your head leans itself on the rough surface of the stone wall. You’ve finished your objective for the day, so giving yourself this break is well deserved, ten minutes free of Crowley’s nagging is still freedom despite how it sounds. Your eyes can’t help but look up at the pretty blue sky, it stings to look at but you don’t mind the pain, seeing something so clear is worth it.

That cloud looks like a cat.

…

The taste of indulgence is quickly stripped out your grasp when the familiar sound of dragging stone resonates through the air, grating to your ears.

“Child of hunters, what may you be doing here?” His rock-hard face interrupts your view of the sky, green solid eyes look down on you as he casts a shadow on your visage.

Despite his body being made of pure stone, his eyes give a faint green glow, as if a bioluminescent moss grew there. His hair, his wings, and even his tail freely flowed as if he were just a regular Dragon hybrid. But alas, he is some sort of statue— Oh no not a statue, in his words a gargoyle.

You forgot about the difference one time and in turn, he gave you a 3-hour lecture on the difference between a grotesque and other gargoyles. Never again…

“I’m trying to hide from my boss.”

“Shall I be rid of him for you?” His mouth forms a little o as a small puff of a green flame releases from him.

“That would be a bad idea, I’d lose my source of income.” He quirks an eyebrow up at this., to be fair, you don’t think he has any clue what a “payday” is.

Despite his confusion, he lifts from his bowing form, a hand reaching out towards you in all its mossy glory. You’ve known him long enough to know what he wants.

A dance.

You don’t try to hide your exasperation as you take his invitation, albeit a bit slow. His stone body quickly pulls you up and into him. With how much tamer his form is compared to other beasts you know, it’s hard to remember that he’s part dragon, and even worse is part of the only few monsters who know magic.

So as of right now, this marks your third time dancing with one of the worst monstrosities currently on the bounty list. No maybe not one of the worst… From what you remember from Crowley’s ramblings (which isn’t much since you tune him out when possible) he’s probably the most dangerous.

You get the basic idea, but you’ve never truly seen for yourself why he’s considered so terrible. Is he not just a glorified water spout? Compared to a Kraken and an Incubus, surely his damage isn’t so grand to be warranted as the biggest beast to hunt.

“You’ll always be welcomed in my castle, you would not be short of accommodations either.” his hand rests upon your waist, pulling you closer than need be. His invasion of personal space is akin to a parasite leeching off its host, but you let him feed of you. Whether it’s from fear or a bond, you’re not decided.

Your movements are sluggish at best, but you can still remember the basic steps in the dance, your foot sloppily setting itself down where it should be, the occasional step on stone happening once or twice though.

“Considering the current state it’s in… is that even safe for me to walk in…? It looks like one good shout and the bricks holding the place together will crumble apart…”

“That is just the disguise we give it, as to not alert others of our presence. For you though, I’m willing to make it stand out if it makes you happy.” The hand lying on your waist retracts itself as he takes his other clawed limb and twirls you around, falling back into position when the spin is done.

“… I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” You know he’s not lying about that. You can distantly recall when a certain mystery monster had told you the tale of a longing dragon who perched himself at the opening of his window to wait for a certain hunter's return.

“Yes, he was so determined to be the first one to greet you, why he even stayed sat at the window for 5 months. It was quite endearing hehe.”

“Doesn’t it take hundreds of years for you to erode? Maybe it’ll take me 50 years to decide, by then I’ll be old and grey and you’ll be perfectly fine.” You take a step forward before the gargoyle's grip on your body tightens significantly, shrieking when he suddenly dips you down unprepared.

His freed hand takes your other arm and lifts it up to rest on his shoulder. Green sparkles are faintly flying around his lips as he slowly leans into the soft skin on your arm. His face leans in and presses chaste kisses on your limb, the gentle texture of his mouth catching you off guard as it tickles your body. Now you get it, he must’ve cast a spell to temporarily soften his lips.

He had attempted to kiss you once without taking this precaution, in turn, you gave him a face filled with discomfort at the stone texture that kept peppering you.

You can still remember the hurt face he had on when he saw your dislike towards his affections.

On his ninth kiss, his forked tongue peeks out from his mouth, licking a stripe up your skin. He finally lifts you up after the assault on your arm, his face only a few inches away from your own. It would’ve been quite the romantic atmosphere, had your nose not catch a sharp smell, and a horrible wretched one at that.

“You could be on your last breath and I’d still wait for an answer. But I hope that won’t happen.”

“Who knows, I work a dangerous job.” what is it?

The both of you twirl in unison despite the lack of music, your bodies in tandem as they move to just the sound of your surroundings. Though, your body is a little more sluggish than his own.

That stench… Is too familiar.

Eventually, your last steps fade out as you stop in your tracks.

“Is something wrong dear hunter?” Your grip on his shoulder fastens, if he was human you’re sure you would’ve broken his shoulder.

“What did you do?”

A smile is lit on his lips, his head tilting to the side, giving you such an innocent look, like he did nothing wrong.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“The smell… Iron… This whole time I thought it was just the smell of the forest. But…” You swiftly pull a dagger out from your side, throwing it past his shoulder, the tip of the steel piercing into what sounded like wood.

He doesn’t turn back, only continuing to smile at you, as if you’re the only existing thing here, or more accurately, the only thing he cares about.

The bark of the trunk splits in half, falling to the ground, revealing the source of the stench. The top of the tree isn’t green, it’s red and brown.

4 pairs of hands stick from the leaves.

“You… What did you do Malleus–?!“ he’s quick to twirl you again, his grip on you tighter than it’s ever been. Despite your protests, he continues dancing as if you hadn’t seen anything.

You’re suddenly stricken with the memory of your first meeting with the beast, blood coating his mouth when he looked at you, pure admiration when he had finally met the muse everyone spoke so dearly of.

“Malleus, you—!“

“Tell me, dear human, was it not you who spared me?” He dips you down. “Was it not you who saw a beaten beast and allowed him to live?” He lifts you up. “Even as you walked away with a piece of stone you let go of one who’s rendered thousands over the years,” he pulls you in. “Dead” every action with your body is harsh, but not enough to hurt you, never enough to hurt you.

Because why would he ever wish to harm you?

He’d much rather smother you in affection, even when you’re exerting all your energy to kill him as he hugs you.

“It’s because you…”

“Looked so human?” He continues to keep you close, impossibly so, your skin melting into his, not from fawness, but fear.

“How did you know-“

“You’ve spared so many of us because we made you feel something in the moment,” he must be referring to everyone else… The look you gave him is dazed, caught up in the thought of every other monster you let get away. His fingers cage your chin in between them. “But don’t forget what we are.” Sparkles fly, temporarily blinding you.

When you open your vision, you’re greeted by the sight of Malleus, with the appearance of what he looked like if he was human, or at least similar to a human.

His skin isn’t rough and solid, his breaths are warm, and his hair is soft and pretty rather than a soft moss.

His eyes are a nice green, a pretty green. A color you would’ve enjoyed more had he been a human. Such a lively color shouldn’t be backdropped by crimson, yet, it is.

Behind him, several other trees collapse on themself, revealing the other tops, the same as the tree you had just seen. Views of stray limbs and vaguely familiar faces of hunters invade your mind, panic setting as you finally realize a question you should’ve asked long ago…

Why was Malleus so far from his castle?

Before you can react, your ears hear a faint whisper, eyes going heavy as little pings of thorns claw at your shoes. The last thing you see and feel, is his face leaning towards you, his finger loosening itself from your chin.

In a blink of an eye, he’s no longer the human you spared, but the monster you let escape back into the wild.

The fiendish of smiles is graced on his lips. Not because of evil, but because his smile, is so love stricken.

All because of you.

“Seems the little birdy fled the nest without permission.” Your eyes slowly flutter open, the familiar figure of a man bowing on top of you. “Now, I’ll forgive you as we weren’t expecting such a beast to appear-“

He’s immediately cut off in his sentence when a searing pain cuts through his chin.

“Augh—! How could you kick me after I spent precious time searching for you!“

“You’re the reason I’m here in the first place…!“

“I didn’t do anything!“ Despite your annoyance towards Crowley and all he stands for in your life, you can’t deny if someone had seen this scene play out in front of them, they would assume you two to be a father and his bickering child.

You attempt to stand to your full height, faltering at the pings of pain in your ankle. You suck in a breath, looking down as you nurse hurt skin.

There are briar thorns wrapped around your leg, a single rose adorning the stems, and a gentle green hue that contrasts the pure black of the floral life.

“Oh my, what were you doing last night?”

“… Night?”

“You’ve been gone for 36 hours my birdie.”

You don’t feel any different… Save for the prickle of thorns and fresh bite on your arm.

… Fresh bite?

Despite the indent, it doesn’t hurt, it’s like, he left it there as a reminder of your failures, at least to you. It could very well be his way of staking his claim on your heart.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get him when you could’ve, with your connections, you could’ve spared us a huge loss today…” you’re cruelly reminded of the people that lay to waste hidden in the trees. “We should let today serve as a reminder of what you must do.”

Crowley doesn’t look happy at the sight of so many employees who failed their jobs, yet he doesn’t look grieved either.

You… Truly, you wish you weren’t so softhearted during your missions. Maybe then, this could’ve all been avoided.

A/n: Like I said, this piece was from so long a goo, so i’m so sorry if the plot isn’t to anyone liking, but if it is, i’m happy you enjoyed it!!

[satoruhour]

UNDERCUT

a/n: based off a tweet that said gojo would purr if u touched his undercut. listened to peace piece while writing ✶

there is something about lying on sheets that match gojo satoru’s hair, while the gentle breeze of the autumn morning filters through your blinds. there are both birds singing in the trees and butterflies in your stomach from merely having your lover close to you; it’s second nature to wake up and crave his warmth.

undercut’s getting long. we’d have to trim it soon.

and when your silence and thoughts are interrupted by someone’s morning groans and hums from the glare of the tokyo sky, a smile naturally graces your lips. even now, your hand hasn’t stopped brushing through his locks.

“good morning, my love,” the expression he gives matches yours exactly: his chest immediately feels tight when he sees you, morning breath and all, he gets giddy and tingly and wants to kiss you all over. you’re wondering why he hasn’t done it yet.

slow like the morning, slow like these words, satoru props himself up with his elbows, easily reaching for your face before you both sink into a gentle, slow kiss. it’s so sweet that you’re sure it could turn (faux) insult into ardour and you don’t even notice you need air until the both of you break away and giggle softly at your flushed faces. 

“your undercut is growing fast, y’know. we’d have to cut it soon,” the tips of your fingers run over the short strands of hair subconsciously, mouth gaping open a little when satoru closes his eyes and hums at the feeling.

“do it again.”

you laugh, “okay,” and you do, softly guiding your hands over the fuzzy hairs and gaining content sighs and soft moans from the man. gojo has to hide in your stomach, needing to be closer to you as you continue your hypnotising gesture.

“like it when your hair’s touched, huh?” the other hums yet again.

“only when my baby’s doing it.” there’s a ghost of a smile in your stomach, possibly from hearing the flutters of the butterflies in your tummy.

his embrace tightens around you when he sits up, towering over you now as the sky turns dark for a morning shower. fickle-minded weather, satoru would say, click his tongue and shake his head and you grin harder imagining it; your lovers asks why.

“nothing, just thinking.”

“of me? you better be, darling,” gojo thumbs your waist under the shirt you’re wearing, sleep still evident in his voice in the way he slurs his words — it could also be that he’s terribly, deeply in love with you and is simply high off of your presence.

and if that wasn’t the case before, it is now when he leans in again for a rougher kiss, moaning into your mouth as you continue to stroke his undercut. he can taste the sun on your mouth and the imminent rain to come all on you.

“i love you like how poets write,” satoru whispers against your lips in between kisses, and he runs hot, the back of his neck heating up from how much he adores you; it almost burns like flames licking at paper. “how the rain chases the sun.”

gojo tears a little because how the fuck would he have gotten this much love under the home of one of the most powerful clans? essentially nothing — and now he has the closest resemblance of a deity in his arms who knows exactly how many spoons of sugar he likes in his tea and how kikufuku is made from one of his rambles.

“you’re okay, i got you.” you mumble, fingers prepared at his eyes (you heard him sniffle). “i love you too.” 

gojo’s heart is full when you reply to his confession, kissing you again (favourite thing in the world) and stifling smiles as the rain makes its first fall in the serenity of your room. he thinks of declaring his love, but is certain his love would overflow later at breakfast, at reading hour, at movie night.

satoru merely settles for calling you his sweet, sweet girl in between saccharine pecks and making sure he loves you louder than that morning downfall and every other downpour that’s sure to come.

if you know me i think you’ll know i have a problem with this gojo obsession

[lovebugism]

omggg im craving a halloween themed , rockstar!eddie x shy!reader at a halloween party , matching costumes and everything & he sees a ton of guys hitting on her & is like ???? my baby?

here you go lovie! hope you like it! — eddie takes his girl to a bar on halloween and gets jealous when guys hit on you like you're not already his (shy!reader, rockstar!eddie, established relationship, 1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The world didn’t know you before today.

You’ve been just Eddie Spaghetti’s girlfriend for so long — but now you’re Eddie Munson, up-and-coming rockstar and lead of Corroded Coffin’s girlfriend. The title carries a certain weight with it. You wear it with pride, but it weighs you down just the same. 

What’s weird about tonight, though, is you’re not sharing Eddie with the rest of the world like you thought you would. He’s having to share you, because everyone and their goddamn brother’s been all over you all night. 

Apparently, your coquettish rendition of The Bride of Frankenstein is making everyone else as crazy as it’s making him.

“God, go save your girlfriend, Munson,” Gareth jokes across the booth, laughing into his drink as he watches yet another guy stop you at the bar. “At least one of these assholes is gonna steal her from you.”

“She’s not property, dude. She can’t get stolen,” Jeff scolds from beside him, then flashes Eddie a sheepish glance. “But, yeah, the odds aren’t in your favor, Eds.”

Eddie pays no mind to his friends’ teasing — or the anger swirling like fire in the pit of his stomach. 

“Nah. She’s alright…” he mumbles into the rim of his glass. The whiskey burns his throat going down. It doesn’t match the flame rising in his chest at the sight of his precious girl talking to some douchebag dressed like Elvis Presley.

He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t think you weren’t a hundred percent fine. These bozos aren’t trying anything with you — hell, they can barely make conversation with you. You’re just entertaining it because you’re the sweetest thing on the earth.

It’s laughable more than anything.

He’s humored by it all. Not jealous. Definitely not jealous.

“Yeah, who’s the famous one here, again?” Jeff’s girlfriend jokes. She’d left to go to the bathroom with you but came back alone when you got stuck with dollar-store Elvis. She points to the rest of them with a long, manicured finger. “It’s you guys, right? Because I can’t really tell.”

“Fuck off…” Eddie grouses, forcing a grin while the rest of them laugh.

You return then, with a drink in hand and a frown on your face at the sight of your suddenly grumpy boyfriend. “You okay?” you wonder quietly, smoothing down your skirt when you slide into the booth.

The boy moves over to make room for you. “‘M fine,” he answers with a mumble that makes you assume otherwise. 

You reach a hand to his face, smoothing fluffy curls behind his ear. His cheek is warm against your palm. His faded seafoam Frankenstein paint job smears on your wrist.

“‘M sorry for taking so long. Some guy stopped me on the way over. I didn’t wanna be rude.”

Eddie shakes his head. Not a single part of him blamed you.

“It’s okay, babe. Not your fault.” 

He’s full-on beaming now. Just because you called that asshole “some guy.” It feels good to hear you say that, to know that that’s all he is to you — just some fuckin’ guy. You won’t remember him later, if you still do even now.

Honestly, you’ll be lucky to remember your own name at the end of tonight.

“He get that drink for you?” Eddie asks, nodding to the frosted glass in your fist.

You shrug. “Yeah. He bought it, but I watched the bartender make it, so it’s fine.”

He nods, proud and sparkling with it. “Good.”

“What is it?” Gareth wonders, squinting across the table.

“An Old-Fashioned.”

“You hate whiskey,” Eddie laughs, licking the alcohol from the plush of his bottom lip.

“Well, yeah, but he asked what I liked, and I didn’t know what to say, so I just told him your favorite drink,” you ramble, all mousy, as you drag the falling sleeve of your corset back up your shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment, still a bit overwhelmed by the attention.

Eddie’s grinning something fierce beside you. His chest swells with so much pride he thinks he might burst.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest fuckin’ thing?” he singsongs with a rosy grin, wrapping the ripped sleeve of his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. 

Then he kisses you. Like, really kisses you. 

It’s deep and intimate and sloppy. He opens your mouth with his and slithers his tongue inside. He tastes like bitter-sweet alcohol. You get drunk on him accordingly. 

The rest of the table gags.

Your lips click audibly when Eddie pulls away. His smile glistens with a mixture of your saliva, lips a deeper shade of pink and slightly swollen. You wipe your chin with the back of your mouth — some of Eddie’s face paint comes with it.

“Where’s he now?” the boy asks with a mischievous squint in his deep chocolate eyes.

You shrug, totally uncaring and just wanting to be kissed. “I dunno.”

“Still at the bar,” Gareth answers for you, snickering to himself. “Giving your girl the sex eyes.”

Your face screws up in disgust. “Sex eyes?” you repeat, nose scrunched.

The group laughs.

“Think you can get him to buy you a round? You know, for the table?” Eddie asks you. His fingers trace shapes on your bare shoulder. You have to fight back a shiver.

“You want me to go talk to him?” you gape, like you must’ve heard him wrong.

“I want you to go get us drinks, sweet thing. Work your magic, you know?”

He’s not in the most right headspace right now. You know this. He’s still high on the post-show adrenaline and mellow on the alcohol.  He’s jealous and in love with you and aflame with hatred for bootleg Elvis Presley. He gets rash when he’s raging, risky and unpredictable — a deadly concoction.

“Eds…” you hum quietly, brows scrunched like the idea pains you. “I don’t wanna make you mad…”

“You won’t make me mad, sweet thing,” Eddie assures, squeezing your shoulder. He presses a sanguine peck to your waiting mouth, then his voice gets all low. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll reward you after.”

He smacks one last kiss to your buzzing lips.

You blink at him until your senses return to you. You slide out from the booth and saunter back to Some Guy, who’s seemingly been waiting on your return this whole time. 

There’s a sudden sway to your hips now, but it’s not for him. 

It’s for Eddie.

The boy with the wild hair back at the booth, missing splotches of his face paint and wearing your lipstick knows this too.

[un-lawliet]

I recently found your blog and <3

I’ve been having some health issues lately and have been struggling so I decided to leave a request! Obviously don’t feel pressured to write! If the prompt doesn’t stick feel free to ignore!

High school Satoru X female reader who had a crush on him in for ages but she’s so shy and Gojos so popular so they don’t really interact. BUT she decides to bake him sweets and leave them on his desk and somehow he finds out it was her and asks her on a date.

CHEESY I KNOW >~< I feel like we don’t have enough fics of reader being head over heels in love with Gojo and it’s a must!

ANYWAY- again this is a ramble feel free to ignore MWAH

hi anon !!! id absolutely LOVE to write this ITS NO PRESSURE AT ALL :) thank you so so so much for the request- i hope you’re ok ! and i’m always here incase u need to talk <3

“Pretty.”

— in which Gojo has a secret admirer.

“Did you hear? Satoru Gojo has a secret admirer.”

“Oh Yea? Who?”

“Dunno, ‘pparently he’s going mad tryna find ‘em though.”

…

Your face was definitely burning, hands sweating and jaw clenched as you listen to the chatter of your classmates. Their voices morphing into the background of your busy mind, blending seamlessly into the slight disarray of (as you would describe it) your dire situation.

Blinking, you raise your hand to scratch the base of your neck, trying to pull yourself together less you reveal your crimes of admiration out-loud to classroom full of people who barely knew of your name.

You could see him, from where you sat, hunched over in your seat at the back of the classroom, your eyes squinted ever so slightly as the unforgiving sun spread her light through the window, gracefully imposing on your face falling directly into your peering eyes.

Leaning against the smudged glass of the vending machine, he had his head tilted back, laughing boisterously at a joke from his friend (the one who was always trying to hide the smoke from her lit cigarette)

In one hand you could see a can of soda you knew was far too sweet for anyone but himself, and in the other, you saw the small tin, decorated with the white and yellow details of pretty flowers and bee’s. Lid concealing the sweets in which you had baked just a day prior, sweets that you had hoped would act as a silent confession of your- oh you’re blushing again.

Your feelings for Satoru Gojo were undeniable, however unspoken. And you doubt you would ever get to a point where you would voice them out-loud to anyone let alone Gojo himself.

But you are unfortunately, still human, and humans have a tendency to want to be acknowledged, and after years of harbouring unheard feelings for someone, the bitter grasp of your own human desire overpowered your confident resolve of silence.

And so, you left a tiny box of chocolates with a tiny pretty note tucked in the back, with a silently cheeky “Enjoy” written in pink pen.

Glancing over to the vending machine once more, you watched as Satoru Gojo waved a hand in-front of his face, pouting as he tried pathetically to dodge the smoke blown at him by his friend, who grinned cheekily in response, flicking the now finished bunt towards the ground and stepping on it, moving her foot side to side to kill the remains of the flame.

You smile.

You had met Gojo two years ago, but had known of him far longer.

In the words of yourself (and probably everyone else who knew him) he was the epitome of perfection. Good in class, the best in any sport he took up and God he was beautiful.

Everyone knew him, the exact opposite to you.

You who quietly stumbles around her own feet, and apologises for even the slightest thing, despite it mostly never being your fault.

You were incomprehensibly shy, and so incredibly frustrated with your own reticence.

And yet two years ago, Satoru Gojo had asked you for a pen, you for a pen.

He had leaned back in his chair, during your math class, turned his head and nudged you instead of everyone else around him.

A pretty grin on his face as he sheepishly explained that he forgot to bring his own, and you had stammered and nodded handing him a pen as you gently said “You can keep it for the rest of the day, I don’t mind.”

“Huh? You serious?” He had replied, his head cocking slightly eyes crinkling under his sun glasses.

“Yea? I mean uh- yes!” Looking away from his gaze shyly. “It’s just a pen you know? I have plenty.”

He laughed, and you couldn’t help but look right back at him, your heart basically stopping as he winked, right at you.

“Thanks pretty.”

And your sure you had died, right then and there. Watching the back of his head as he turned back around, uncapping your pen as he moved.

Since then, Gojo had always smiled at you when he saw you walking past, and always without fail, you would sheepishly smile back, the familiar feeling of butterflies tickling the confines of your stomach every damn time.

The shrill sound of the bell rang throughout the classroom, and you stand up, taking your books with you with a sigh.

The clatters of chairs and bags zipping filtered through your thoughts and pulled you out of your self induced daydreaming stupor, calling you to join the rest of your classmates in exiting the confines of your classroom.

You glance back out the window once more before you move towards the door, and instantly your eyebrows lifted and you almost loose grasp of your balance as Gojo Satoru stares right back at you.

Simultaneously he smiles, lifting a hand as if greeting you and you scramble away from the window, head down, entirely embarrassed.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Could you be anymore useless in your “acting cool” facade.

Ever since you had placed your sweets on Satoru Gojo’s desk you had been a nervous wreck, terrified that at any second your feelings would be exposed and the entire school would point and laugh at your sweaty, flushed face.

Sniffing, you rub your eyes with the heel of your hands, trailing behind your peers through the halls, on their way home.

The lockers were always so crowded at the end of the day and you hated it.

You had no group to hide you from the conversations involving Gojo and his “secret admirer” have to hear every single in and pretend not to care.

“It’s creepy don’t you think? I mean why not just tell him you like him?”

“Maybe they’re nervous?”

“Of course they are? It’s Satoru Gojo for Christ’s sake, man’s beautiful.”

You close your locker, clutching the books and papers you need for your later homework, your bag left abandoned on the floor beside you.

Turning to reach for your bag, you feel another student collide into you. Your books crash to the ground, and you stare mortified as pages fly out, scattering everywhere.

The student doesn’t stop, just calls out that he’s sorry and that he’s late for a bus, you sigh.

You have to drop out, you think, there’s no recovering from this.

You bend down, apologising quietly to those around you who just glanced at you and continued on their way, and start to gather all your papers and books, heat burning your face.

“You ok?” You heard him just before you saw him, his teasing voice making your hands shake.

Satoru Gojo stood, a smile on his face as he leaned down to get closer to you, your eyes widen and you lean back on your knees.

“Um, yea-Yes everything’s good here..just dropped my stuff..” You trail off and end your broken speech with a fake, ugly laugh, internally you die as he nods and bends down to help.

“No, no you really don’t have to do that, I can manage!” You exclaim, hands moving rapidly in-front of you and he just laughs.

“I don’t mind helping ya, ‘kay?” He’s picking up random papers, no longer looking at you, his eyes glossing over your hand writing- a cheeky grin that you do not see flickers across his face.

You’re in a trance, watching as Gojo helps you, jumping when he glances at you and catches you staring, you busy yourself with stacking your books back into your bag, “Ok well, If you’re sure.”

“M’sure.” He’s handing you a stack of papers, ‘I’m very sure.”

The locker area door closes, signalling the absence of everyone else, you gulp.

“Suprised nobody helped you.” Gojo muses, standing up and raising a hand for you to hold.

You blush as you grasp it, it’s warm, you hope your palms aren’t sweating.

“It’s home time, people wanna get home.” You smile, rising to your feet using his hand has leverage.

Gojo let’s his hold linger before he lets go, you don’t notice, too focused on readjusting your top, fiddling with the fabric.

His sunglasses fall down his nose a little revealing the crystallised blue of his eyes, you swear the light causes them to glow as it catches his pupil.

You smile, eyes corrugating with what you hope looks like appreciation.

“Thanks Gojo.” And he smiles right back at you.

“Hey you know..” Gojo says, turning to ruffle in his bag, your eyes follow his movements, you watch as he pulls out a familiar box.

“Someone left these in my desk this morning, they’re really good..You wanna try?”

Your heart stops in your chest.

Your sure you’re bloods turning blue in your arteries.

Act casual, casual Y/N.

“O-oh that’s nice of them.” You mumble, your voice breaking slightly.

He offers you the box again, shaking it slightly to entice you with your own chocolates.

“Um are you sure? I don’t wanna take something that was made for you..” You look away from his sweet face to stare at the floor, then the ceiling and then back to the floor, there’s a crack right below your shoe.

Someone should really fix that.

“Oh come on! They taste great.” He grins, taking a chocolate and popping it into his mouth, letting out a dramatic “Mmm” as he chews.

“I’m sure they are..” You scratch your arm and then move your hand to the box, reaching in.

Your chocolates do taste nice, but you knew that already. Your taste testers from yesterday remaining as memory to your taste buds.

“Well?” His voice is teasing again, and you smile at him.

“They’re delicious.”

“Mhm.. and you know what else?”

He’s leaning closer to you, you try to stop yourself from leaning away, pushing aside your inane awkwardness, willing yourself to stay where you stand.

“They left a note too, wrote it in a pretty pink pen.”

“Oh?..How, how very uh- nice? of them.” You’re scrambling for sentence structure, staring at his stupidly handsome face.

He takes a page from your arms, and turns it towards himself, then lifts your note from out of his pocket.

Your eyes widen in realisation, and you step back, head turning to the door.

“Oh well, I have to go haha..” You trail off, shoving your stuff in your bag and beginning to walk to the door.

“You made me chocolates?” He asks, and you freeze, your eyes falling back onto him, and the soft face he regards you with.

He had turned the note and your paper around, your handwriting obviously present on both, you chastise yourself for such a huge oversight.

How can you deny it now? Oh God He has you cornered.

Embarrassment bubbles in the back of your throat and you desperately try to explain.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt, hands reaching out in-front of you as if begging him to hear you out.

“Huh-”

You don’t let him finish.

“I didnt mean to come off creepy, it’s just I- Well I- I think you’re really sweet, and you- You smile at me..sometimes, I just wanted you to let you know? And I’m sorry for how-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He says, his face falling, “You don’t need to apologise for nothing, I’m not mad.”

He walks towards you, “I’m just glad they came from you, that’s all.”

Hope? Is that what you’re feeling right now?

You dare to look at him, only to see him already looking at you.

“I-”

“I ‘smile at you sometimes’?” He nudges, “You made me chocolates cause I smile?”

“..It’s a very nice smile.” You reply, head dropping.

He’s laughing, it’s a sound that makes your heart flicker, and warms your chest, scarce of mocking you feel yourself breathe normally again.

Gojo tilts his head to look at you, his face glowing with joy, as he asks, “I was planning on going to the cafe just down the street..Wanna come?”

You pause.

“What.”

Standing up straight, he hands you the note and your papers, you hold them and stare.

“A date, I’m asking you on a date Y/N.”

Is this real?

Is this happening?

“Are you serious?” Your voice comes out shocked and slightly higher than normal, you don’t understand.

“They’re very nice sweets.” He repeats with a grin “And they come from a very nice girl no? Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“I- I just-”

Gojo, pulls the strap of your bag off your shoulder and slings it over his own, walking towards the door.

“C’mon let’s go pretty.” And he’s looking back at you, waiting “Else you won’t have a bag for tomorrow.”

You jump and follow, eyes still wide and mouth slightly parted.

And Gojo pulls you towards him the second you get close enough to touch, grasping your hand and tugging you with him, a soft smile on his face as he does so.

All is well.

masterlist <3

feel free the leave a request <3

a/n : all is not well, i’m sick as all balls right now- thank you my dear for the request..i know it’s taken me about 58 years to write this but i hope you enjoy it <33 i loved writing it and sorry for the wait. i love you !!!

[heyimflame]

Friendly reminder for all my mutuals. I'm an anxiety ridden pile of garbo and need to be talked to first in order to initiate a conversation unless I think of a funny bit to start one with.

Also I like being included in things please include me in things please please please please please please please please pleasd plea-

[1920sladydectective]

Best Friend's Mother Ch.2

Hello, you find scroll to find part one earlier on this account as an ask for the lovely @shinyshayminflower or read it on AO3 with the following link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61009999/chapters/155858899

This is Part Two of Three! Enjoy my Loves!

That wasn’t the last time. Not at all. Even if sometimes, as you lay panting and dizzy in her silk sheets, you wished it was. 

Mel didn’t know, there was no way that she could and yet sometimes her gaze felt like a dozen little blades, carving your soul to bits. She still curled into you on the sofa, painted your nails, and drank wine with you. She was still your best friend. 

But you weren’t being hers. 

If you were, you wouldn’t be babbling as a strap on wrecked you, firm hands bruising your hips with each violent tug. It was maddening, face suffocated into plush pillows as Ambessa broke you again and again and again. You were her little plaything, enthralled and leaking with no idea how to stop it. 

You’d sit, inhaling cereal and fruit as Mel rambled about a new research paper whilst her mother’s eyes would trail your every movement like her exhausted, ensnared prey. 

Four weeks passed like that. Every daylight hour was spent traipsing about with Mel and Kino, beach ice creams and forest hikes, upscale bars and drunken Wii Sports matches. Night would fall, Mel would stretch and yawn and place a kiss to your head, dismissing herself. Kino would have another drink, another match, then leave you to your ‘reading’. 

You would end up in her bed within the hour. Each greeting was soft and teasing, as if she didn’t expect you. 

“Good evening,” Her eyes glimmered, naked, always fucking naked “Need something,” 

“I-”

A clicked tongue. She made you say it every single time. “I need you,”

And you did, which was the worst part. You needed her gasps, her harsh touch and special, private laugh. The warmth in you was stoked to a destructive flame, arousal all too similar to affection as she stroked back your sweaty hair. 

It was just sex. It was just sex. It was just sex. 

The candle in her room had changed. You hated the citrus scent, it made you think of days cleaning coffee shop bathrooms and you’d mentioned it one night, head burrowed in her armpit. Now, as you allowed her to devour your lips, the salty seaside hit your nose. It was considerate, it doused the flames, it stopped mattering with her tongue on your clit. 

Ambessa’s kindness increased the more you gave yourself to her, pretty words slipping into your head as she told you about her day, and asked tenderly about yours. You were her Darling, her Sweet Girl. 

The gifts started and you had no idea how to make them stop. 

It started small, almost imperceptibly so. As you rushed out the door for lunch with Mel, your cheap lip gloss snapped, lid soaring onto Ambessa's foot. She promptly chucked it in the bin, snorting at you. That night, as she nibbled at your spent neck, she pressed a lip gloss into your hand. It was simple and sweet and from Dior because of a rich idiot lady. 

“Better than Collection, Dear,” 

“How would you know?” You scoffed, “You haven’t used Collection a day in your damned life,” 

“It was Mel’s first makeup when she was ten,” 

“I hate you,” 

Her silk pillow thwacked you, giggles falling from your tired lips. 

It stepped up after that. And up. And Up. And Fuck. 

Vintage Levi jeans, “Yours looked tired, Darling,” 

A trip to the hair salon with Mel, “Let me treat you girls, nice fresh cut and colour,” 

Your laptop shat the bed and the next morning a new one was handed to you at the table. Mel and Kino didn’t even blink, “Wouldn’t want your studies to suffer, Dear. Don’t mention it,” 

Linen pyjamas in several colours, each set worth more than your nine year old phone, “Sleep is essential, therefore so is comfort,”

Speaking of which, a new fucking phone, though admittedly it did fade away into battery death. 

All of this, you could grapple with despite the pounding in your chest, the gifts worth pennies to their giver and impersonal at best. 

The real clusterfuck was each little thing that saw into your soul. A silly sandcastle making kit, after a drunken ramble about no childhood beach trips. Lobster for dinner, because whilst you loved the rolls, you’d never actually had a full one. Soft massages at the end of a rough session beneath her, firm hands turning you to melted butter in minutes. 

Half way through the seventh week, Kino returned to Uni and Mel received an invitation to a fashion event in Brighton for three days. With your tentative reassurance that you could manage, that her mother wouldn’t eat you (a bold faced lie), you somehow had the house to yourselves. 

The daylight hours became hers. 

Slow, lounging mornings where you could rest easily in her bed. No tiptoeing past Mel’s door, each creak making you nauseous. Breakfast in bed, Below Deck playing as you crunch through bacon and listen to the sounds of her humming in the shower. Ambessa stays in flowing pyjamas, floating through the space doing whatever she pleased. The luxury of staying in her bed until early afternoon is so sweet it rots your teeth. She manages to drag you to the poolside by two and you realise it is the first time you’ve seen her in a swimming costume. She’s majestic about it, of course, all rippling muscles and plush thighs. The water parts for her with ease, her hair in a tight braid as she does seemingly a full exercise in the time you acclimatise to the temperature. Once her laps were done, she slipped out of the water, hips swaying. You watched her, eyes shifting from coy to wide as the tiny fabric was discarded and she jumped back in nude. 

Her face, sin and sunshine, beamed at you with a shockingly sincere grin. That night, as you ate spaghetti straight from the pot with garlic bread for cutlery, you realised you loved her. She seemed oblivious, her mouth unable to escape the red stain of tomato sauce as she crunched through enough bread to kill a horse. Ice cream and sprinkles for dessert, curled on the loveseat in the cinema as she muttered nonsense throughout the whole film, pawing at you and eating ice cream noisily. Two hours later you had no idea what Trading Places was about and you’d cum on her face twice. 

“That was a waste of time,” You muttered, “Didn’t even watch the film,” 

Ambessa laughed, “Well, I had a wonderful time,” 

Your second day together a small, white box was left on your side of the bed, appearing after your shower. She was in her office on a work call, but patience had never been your strong suit. Bright, cascading chiffon rested in the box, your dream dress sitting calmly as if you hadn’t gazed at it every week for four years. 

For Dinner, Sweet Girl x

The note had frogs dancing in your throat. Since your complex revelation the night before, you’d searched frantically for a way to stem the flood of emotion, to cut this tryst short. Each attempt fizzled on an unsure, romantic tongue. It was only a couple of weeks anyway, a handful of time and then you could be free. So dinner, whatever it would be, was manageable. You were pulled from your distractions by a rhythmic rip, rip, rip. Mina had gotten into the wrapping paper and was asserting dominance accordingly, idiot. 

DInner, it turned out, was a Michelin star restaurant that insisted on black out dining. You’d made yourself pretty as a bloody picture and you were shrouded in darkness. It was supposedly to increase the sensation, the food speaking to you with its layered flavour profiles as your senses could focus more heavily on taste. It was nonsense, with an upcharge so astounding they made sure you couldn’t see the bill to question it. That being said, fumbling around wine and plates in the dark was fun. Ambessa’s husky voice spoke to you through the darkness, telling you stories of similar restaurants in far off places, or prompting you to ramble about your latest read. The food was good, but you privately agreed to yourself that the catering for the party had been better. Gentle, sure and slight, a familiar finger stroked against your inner thigh. Wine caught in your throat, a stuttered gurgle as you kicked out hard to get her to stop. A man’s voice cried out instead. 

“Fuck, sorry,” You said, cheeks burning. 

Ambessa’s cheeks strained under her teeth’s pressure, barely keeping a cackle at bay, “Very smooth, Dear,” 

Dinner ended rapidly after that. You were dessert after all. 

Ambessa was at least gentle about removing this dress. It was folded neatly on the side, as she wiped your mind from you. Each surface was to be christened, glistening worship at every altar as the house became yours. Her face, so full of fondness and amusement, hung like a guillotine above your head. Danger lurked, trouble brewed, and yet. 

Your little holiday ending was an odd, smarting ache. Things were the same between you and yet the difference was a physical manifestation. Mel, sweet, perfect Mel.

She had grilled you about everything in her absence, your cover story a bland tale. Books, some thesis work, a swim or two. Truth bled into the lies, your conscience desperate for small drips of relief. Trading Places is a good film, you’d said, ended up watching it with your Mum as if it was movie night. Mel had laughed, calling you a creature of habit. 

Week nine of the ten week holiday began and you were destined to leave in six days time, roadtripping back to Edinburgh. Lines had never seemed blurrier. You were reticent to leave, her words like honey coating every part of you they touched as she spoke amorously of the summer months that had slipped by. It was clear she cared, each word dripping with something you dared not call love

Another party, smaller this time, on your last full day. A barbeque with newfound friends and a few of Ambessa’s actual associates. It made you resent Mel for suggesting it, resent Ambessa for agreeing and resent yourself for placing the blame in all the wrong places.  Ambessa had chattered to you casually that morning, listing off recipes and plans, ignoring your suggestions and reheating your tea twice as you forgot about it. You laughed, picturing what it would be like when you came back here, how many new recipes she’d force you to try. How many of them she’d actually bother to cook herself.

It was nice enough, more homely than the grand party, with buckets of beers and self-serve salads. You finally beat Viktor at Chess, though the success felt stolen as he was so drunk his eyes were shut. Mel and Caitlyn were currently trying to wrestle Jayce and Vi for the music controls. It would have been fun, and yet. Ambessa was far away, another island dancing in view, promising a greatness that was out of reach. The heated glaces were few and far between, the touches brief and the smiles standard as a necessity. You ached to lose her, it would be so long before you saw each other again. That was the sentimentality talking, you begged it to shut up with a wagyu burger. 

Mel, drunk and happy, wanted a girly sleepover for the last night in the house. It crushed your heart twofold. You would miss time with Ambessa, you were the worst person perhaps ever for thinking of that first. Still, with a heavy heart, you giggled in her four poster bed with a bottle of white wine and green, slimy face masks. 

Neon numbers showed it was four am and Mel Medarda was sleeping like a log. Carefully, each cell tensing with strain, you extracted yourself from the room and slipped down the hallway. 

She was there, as you knew she would be even after her distance at the party. Her face was warm, soft and hazy as the weight of the moment settled. You started the dance, practiced and smooth now, but she took a new step. 

“I need you,” It was half choked, your body crushed as she took you into the room, kisses thundering all over your skin. 

It was bliss, a gentle lovemaking she had never permitted before, with trembling hands and docile eyes. Nothing mattered outside this room, outside the rocking and the groaning, her lips kissing your ear with each back and forth movement. It soothed a part of you, so desperate for her care and attention. 

Once full of each other, you allowed yourself the indignity of clinging to her. She traced shapes along your stomach, reminding you that you were her special girl, so perfect and warm, so delicious. You felt almost delirious, trading heavy kisses for romantic words. You loved her and maybe she was showing you that was okay.

Morning came and with it the end of your perfect summer. 

Breakfast was served and eaten slowly, the Land Rover piled high with Mel’s opulence and admittedly now some of your own, courtesy of Ambessa’s constant material kindness. Mel seemed reluctant to leave too, her whispered confessions that this was the calmest time she’d ever had with her mother echoing in your head. Rictus returned, as if like clockwork to service Ambessa as you left, lest she be left to her own devices. 

He walked away to his chambers to unpack and the list of things for the journey back to Uni was consulted. Once. Twice. A short trip up to my room and we’re ready, your friend assured. 

Time slowed as Mel ran to grab the last of her things, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. 

“Well,” You chuckled nervously. 

“It was so good to have you, Dear,” Her voice sounded wrong, the warmth fleeting as you tried to chase it. Where had your Ambessa gone?

“Yes, um Thank you,” You said, shoved onto the wrong foot, affection flickering, “I have your number so I’ll ring you when I’m back,” 

As her face dropped, your heart did, “Whyever would you need to do that?” 

Oh Gods. Her pampering, each trinket and trophy you wore and used, each shared dinner and tender laugh pushed you into a foolish forgetting. No amount of love making and promises of devotion had changed her initial terms. 

You were a toy, remember?

“I-I don’t know,” You stammered, “Just in case,” 

“Just in case,” Words lined with pity, her golden gaze condescending. Oh darling, it teased, you didn’t fall in love did you?

Your Ambessa was gone. A figment of imagination, fuelled by summer sun. Part of you hoped she used to be nice, used to be yours and that this was a fearful change of heart. 

A patronising pat to the cheek, words you didn’t hear as you faded into the background. 

Down the Guillotine slammed.

[bruisedboys]

can I request eddie and shy!reader with reader’s first kiss?! I imagine he’d be so gentle with her!

I want him to be my first kiss so bad!! waiting for him to be real so he can kiss me tbh

summary: eddie gives shy!you your first kiss

shy!fem!reader 0.9k words

Eddie thinks you look really pretty.

He’d tell you so but he’s already told you twice tonight, and he’s pretty sure if he says it again you’ll burst into flames on the spot. You’re quite shy — it’s endearing and very adorable but it also means Eddie has to be more careful of what he says and does. He wouldn’t want to scare you off.

He watches you pore over a book, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He badly wants to tell you how lovely you look. In a t-shirt that’s too big for you and a pair of sweatpants. Your hair all messy pretty and tucked behind your ears. He holds his tongue, turning back to the old band tee he’s hacking the sleeves off on his bedroom floor.

“Eddie?”

Your voice breaks the comfortable silence you and Eddie had been sitting in. Eddie puts down his scissors and looks up. He likes the way you’ve said his name, like he’s the only person ever. He’s sure he sounds similar when he says your name. He smiles at you.

“Yeah?”

You shuffle forwards on his bed, sliding to the edge until your legs dangle off. Eddie’s struck, yet again, by how beautiful you are. It takes all the breath out of his chest.

“Um.” You pause then, and get this nervous look on your face. Eddie knows it well. You’re often nervous around him.

He sits up straighter. By the looks of it you’re wanting to tell him something. Or ask him something. “Yeah, honey?”

Your eyes flick to Eddie and then back to your hands where they’re twisted in your lap. Eddie sees the tap tap tap of your foot, the wringing of your hands. He shuffles forward on the floor and gets a hand on your knee, fingers curling around the bottom of your thigh.

“What is it?” He asks softly.

When you answer your staring at your lap, determined to avoid Eddie’s eyes.

“Well … I just. I was reading that part in The Princess Bride, the bit about the five kisses? And I just wondering …” You reach up and scrub the back of your neck awkwardly. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?”

Eddie balks. He was not expecting that. It’s a big question — for you to ask and for Eddie to answer. He has his own reasons. The biggest one being he’s afraid to scare you off, to mess up maybe the best thing in his life right now. Not only that, but he knows how tentative you are about relationship stuff. It’s all new to you.

The silence stretches too long. Eddie rushes to break it before you think he’s gone and backed out on you.

“Oh.” He says, more flustered than he’s ever been with you. Normally you’re the flustered one. He’s realising now how hard it is being on the receiving end. “Well, um. I … I guess—“

“Do you not want to?” You ask quietly, interrupting Eddie’s rambling.

Eddie stops short. “What?” He stares up at you. He can hardly believe you think that. Of course he wants to kiss you — he’d kind of thought you wouldn’t want him to. “No. No, sweetheart, that’s not it. I just. Well, I just wanted to wait until you were ready … “ He pauses, catches the look on your face, like you’re waiting for something to happen. “Are you ready?”

You bite your lip. Not for the first time, Eddie wonders what it would be like to kiss your lips. You nod very slowly.

“I think so,” you say. You’re staring at his mouth now.

Eddie nods so quick he almost snaps his neck. He hardly cares.

“Okay,” he says earnestly. He scrambles to his feet and then moves to stand in front of you, your knees pressing into his legs.

You blink up at him. Eddie can’t resist taking your face in his hands. Your skin is hot to touch. He imagines his face would feel the same.

“You’re really pretty,” he says despite himself. Even though he’d promised not to tell you again until at least tomorrow.

“Eddie,” you chide softly.

Eddie just grins. “Are you sure you want to?” He asks you, struggling to hear himself over the thump of his heart in his ears. He very much wants to give you a Princess Bride worthy kiss right now.

You nod around his hands. “I’m sure,” you say.

Eddie leans in then. His hands on your face, pulling you gently towards him. His eyelids fluttering shut. It feels different but it feels right. He’s about half a second away from kissing you when you say,

“Wait.”

Eddie opens his eyes. You’re so close he could count your eyelashes.

“What?” He whispers back.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” you say. Your breath fans over Eddie’s mouth, your lips ghosting over his. It takes all his might not to kiss you right then and there. “I don’t know how,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” Eddie tells you. It is okay. And he’s maybe a lot more honoured than he should be that he’s gonna be your first kiss. “You’ll learn.”

“You’ll teach me?”

Eddie looks at you and thinks yeah, he’ll teach you. He’ll do literally anything you could ever ask of him. “Of course, angel.”

“Okay,” you say. You smile and Eddie thinks if he doesn’t kiss you now he might pass out.

He kisses you. He doesn’t pass out but he comes pretty close.

-

[swirly-strawz]

some doodles of Samadhi Fire MK

If you’re interested in my ramblings about this ⬇️

I wanted to explore the angst that this AU would have and I’ve thought about a bunch of things

1. Guilt

Oh boy, where do I even start? Everyone’s a mess in this, with MK being the biggest mess. I’ll ramble about the ones I thought about.

For MK, he feels guilty about losing control since the others are in a close radius. He screamed his problems out on Wukong, lashing out and crying. What’s worse is that his mentor even walked through the flames for him, getting some burns in the process. The hug was short but it’s what he really needed at the moment.

Wukong feels guilty, his student was screaming about how he felt abandoned because of HIM. Wukong swore to protect MK and yet there he was, crying, raging, burning, etc. He apologizes for leaving him alone, for not being there for him as he walks through the red and purple flames, towards MK. His heart broke as MK shoved him away, looking at him with eyes filled with defeat and sorrow before flying away.

Mei hates herself for not being the one to step in and help her best friend. It took her a few minutes in this disaster to do something, to be there for MK like she always have. But before she could act on it, Wukong swoops in and goes into the fire. Mei wishes that she was hugging MK at the moment when the flames disappeared, not for long though. She runs after MK, reaching out before he leaves a red trail behind as he flies into the sky.

Tang was the one who finished the ritual, who inflicted such unimaginable levels of trauma upon his son. Why did he do it? Why did he listen to the shadow monkey? How could he? He felt so sick, the Samadhi Fire is not something that can be tamed. It can burn anything and anyone, even immortal beings. Pathetic. Useless. Horrible. Responsible. He doesn’t know why no one blames him for what happened, sure they didn’t know MK is the fourth ring, but he’s still the one who caused this to happen! How can he trust himself anymore when he bears the hands that afflicted pain upon his son?

2. Pressure

MK would feel more pressure on his shoulders, now that he has this burden to carry. He learned enough so that the Samadhi Fire is more docile and less chaotic. But that isn’t enough! After the event that occurred in the ritual area, he’s still processing this life. His mind is scarred. He’s so frustrated, he could hear LBD laughing and taunting him at the back of his mind. Why is this so hard?! He’s the Monkie Kid! The world is in danger! He can’t rest right now! If he doesn’t control the fire, the world will burn because of him! Everyone will die!

3. Aftermath

I think after S3 in this AU, MK wouldn’t be as cheery and energetic as his canon self. He would act more as if he just got punched in the gut. Like how Mei acted more rash, impulsive, and impatient, MK would be more on edge, tired, short-tempered, not to the point of being an asshole though. I think he also would be more stressed because of the trauma he faced from the Samadhi Fire. Even when he fully wields it, he’s afraid of accidentally losing control again. MK is more prone into acting feral and pissed off as S4 proceeds. He would lose his shit faster when Azure reveals his true plan.

[wh0rrorb4by]

birthday wish - kuroo

tw: stepcest, virginity loss, very slight mention of food play, size, says big brother so many times srry, brief mention of panty stealing, brief mention of a cnc roleplay fantasy, creampie

word count: 3k

18+

a/n: i KNOW i'm late to kuroo's bday but i got too busy 😭 but happy birthday to my scorpio king 🩰🎀. this was a lovely request, so sorry it's late but i had so much fun writing it. 💗💗

older stepbro kuroo who only wants one thing from his baby sister on his birthday.

he smirks to himself when the door to his room cracks open, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway. it’s midnight now, and he’s officially one year older. he doesn’t have to turn to know it’s you walking towards him. he recognizes the patter of your feet against the hardwood floor, smells the perfume he likes most on you fill the room. his mattress dips as you sit beside him, careful not to disturb him.

“happy birthday,” you whisper. “are you awake?”

he cracks an eye open to see a light in your hands that illuminates your pretty face. a cupcake piled with pastel pink frosting and a single lit candle stemming from it.

“yeah, i’m awake,” he mumbles, turning onto his back to get a good look at you. “what’s all this?”

“it’s for your birthday, silly. quickly blow it out, though, it’s melting.”

he shifts to sit up, closely watching as you turn your gaze and flush at the realization that he’s shirtless. he'd normally tease you, but decides against it, closing his eyes for a moment to pretend he’s thinking of a wish. he already knows what he wants. you both do.

he blows the flame out quickly and you smile, pulling the candle out and dropping it in the waste basket near his bed.

“i hope you like the cupcake, there’s a whole batch of them downstairs. and i hope you don’t mind the pink frosting, it was the only color i had. it’s extra sweet, though, the way you like it.”

he likes when you ramble. you do it when you’re nervous, which you seem to be now that you’re alone with him. you haven’t let him this close to you in a while, nowadays always squirming and fidgeting and finding excuses to get away when he comes near. he was worried he’d have to hold you down like he did when you were kids, not let you up until you were ready to be sweet again, maybe make you give him a couple kisses to make it up to him. he couldn’t blame you for being skittish, though. you’re a shy thing — always have been. and since your last talk about his birthday gift, it seemed appropriate that he let you come to him.

“go on, taste it for me. tell me if it’s sweet enough.”

he obliged you, scooting closer to you on the bed and wrapping his big hand around yours, guiding it up to his mouth as he slowly bit into the small dessert. it was sensual. he held eye contact to make you squirm.

“mmm,” he hums, tracing his thumb over yours. “that’s good, baby. delicious.”

it’s true. he loves when you bake. makes him want to play house with you, envisioning himself coming home after a long day to find you in the kitchen wearing your cute little apron — he imagines bending you over the counter and fucking your brains out, or licking frosting off of your clit until you cry.

“i know you didn’t want much for your birthday, but you should at least blow out a candle on your big day.”

you haven’t quite relaxed yet, still a little twitchy as he sets the cupcake aside on his beside table and scoots even closer to you. you’re hyper aware of his shirtless body being so close to you, towering over you even while sitting down, his muscles making him feel even more intimidating. you took a breath and leaned into him, trying to calm your racing heart. if it beat any faster you were sure he’d hear it.

“don’t remind me. your big brother's getting old,”

you giggle at that. he says it every year, always complaining about how every birthday is a reminder of his "aging." he swears his birthday isn’t a big deal, that he never wants a fuss about it. this year, he encouraged your parents to take the trip they’d been planning early — he practically shoved them out the door to convince them that he really didn’t care that they’d be gone the whole week of his birthday. they finally conceded, leaving the two of you all alone — the birthday boy and the only gift he’d ever asked for.

“but really, thank you for the cupcake. it’s sweet, just how i like it.”

and before you know it he’s leaning in, cupping your face in his big hand and pressing his lips to yours. it's a sweet kiss, tastes like vanilla. it’s not unusual, either. your big brother always kisses you on the lips, even when he’s shirtless or walked into your room unannounced and found you only half-dressed. he sometimes makes you sit on his lap and press your chest against his and give him long kisses, his big hands rocking your hips back and forth until you’re all flustered and sticky down there, and then he teases you endlessly. you like the affection, though. he’s always been comforting to you, and he’s always reminded you how important it is that you two are close, that physical touch is just another way for brothers and sisters to bond. but you’ve been avoiding that closeness recently, ever since he came to your room late the other night and told you what he wants for his birthday.

he traces your bottom lip with his tongue before pulling away, leaving you breathless and flushed.

“was that the only present you have for your big brother? hm?”

his voice is lower now, sort of raspy, and you’re fighting not to whimper at the way he talks in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. your fingers are tangled together in your lap because you feel like you have to hang onto something to ground you. your heart is pounding against your ribcage again.

“n-no, i’m… i wanna give you something else.” you can barely speak. you’re cursing yourself because you wanted to be sexy. you wanted to get this right.

“oh? what’s that?” he kisses your jaw and you gasp. your palms are against his hard chest now, and you’re stuck between bringing him closer and pushing him away. but that’s how you’ve always felt about him. torn between what feels good versus what feels right. but at this point, pleasure is winning the fight against your morals. it always has.

“my… my— don’t make me say it,” you whine, reaching forward to hide into his chest. he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and laying back down against his pillows. you’re on top of him, face buried into his neck in embarrassment, his hands rubbing up and down your back and tangling in your hair. “gonna give you something special.” you mumble, and he lets out a soft groan.

“yeah? my baby sister’s gonna make her big brother happy? hm? look at me,” he tugs your hair so you have no choice but to gaze into his dark eyes. "you gonna let your big brother stuff you full of cock?"

you whimper, nodding your head as best you can with his firm grip on your hair. you were already wet before you came into his room, anticipating how the night would go. you'd been planning it ever since he told you it's the only thing that would make his birthday a good one. you wanted to please him, wanted to make your big brother happy. you wanted to stop feeling like a dumb little virgin who can't even get herself off properly after her big brother teases her 'til she's crying from frustration. you were sticky now, could feel your own wetness in the frilly panties you wore -- the cute little white ones that go missing from your drawer all the time. you figured he'd like you in them tonight.

"y-yeah...i'm gonna let you take my... my virginity. want you to do it, 'c-cause i love you so much." you're stuttering and stammering, blushing furiously. you hardly recognize your own voice, sounding all whiney and desperate because you want it so badly. you've never been able to put it into words, but you're forcing yourself now. you're all shaky and your heart's racing, but you feel better at the way he grunts at your words, jerking his hips up to let you feel his hard cock through his sweatpants. you gasp, and before you know it he's flipping you over, pinning you beneath him as he grinds his bulge into your crotch.

"that's it, baby," he says, his voice low. he helps you slide your sleep shorts down your legs and throws them somewhere behind him, gazing down at your cute little panties. the only light in the room is from the hallway, but it's enough to see the way the fabric clings to the wetness of your pussy, and the sight of your bare breasts when he pushes your camisole up. "tell me you wanna be full. tell me you want your brother's big cock to stretch you out."

he slides his own sweatpants down, revealing his full length to you. it's so big you gasp, shyly reaching out to run your much smaller hand up and down it gently, making him throw his head back with a low moan. you can feel the individual veins running along it, and the way his fat tip bulges out and leaks precum. you're all teary-eyed now, worked up and squirming because you're getting nervous. but you say the words anyway because you want him to give it to you, you wanna take him all and make him proud.

"w-want my brother's big cock to— to fill me up," he grips your hand in his and makes you run the length over your clothed pussy. "oh, feels so big. 's not gonna fit." you whine as the tip softly prods at your much smaller entrance through your soaked panties.

“don’t worry, little one, i'm gonna make it fit.”

he pushes your panties to the side and uses his thumb to play with your pussy, smearing your wetness around and giving your clit a gentle rub. you buck your hips up involuntarily to meet the stimulation.

“always wanted to push your panties to the side and make you take me whole, bratty girl always walking around in short skirts and cuddling up next to me,” he breathes, now dipping his thumb into your entrance. even that’s an adjustment for you, and he groans as you whine and squirm at the intrusion. “but, oh, baby, you’d hate me if i did that. i’d have to hold your face down to keep people from hearing your screams. or maybe just choke you really hard.”

you shake your head, pouting up at him.

“no, don't say that. could never hate you, i love you.” you cry, not really registering what he was telling you. he replaces his thumb with his pointer finger, thrusting it a couple times before adding his middle. you’re gasping, spreading your legs a little wider as he curls them inside you. he reaches deeper than you ever have with your own.

“you can hardly take my fingers, baby. if i held you down on my big cock and fucked you the way i want to, you’d never be able to look at me again.”

you still think he’s wrong, but you’re in no position to argue. you’re lightheaded at the way his fingers are pumping into you, the heel of his hand repeatedly bumping against your throbbing clit. it’s messy, and you’d cringe at the sound of your pussy gushing every time he sinks back into you if it weren’t for how good it feels. you feel an orgasm building, slowly started to burn through you as you moan.

“i-i’m gonna— i’m gonna cum,” you breathe. “don’t stop, please.” his lips are on yours as soon as you get the words out, his tongue sliding into your mouth and tangling with yours. it’s enough to push you over the edge, cumming around his fingers with a squeak. he helps you ride it out, moaning into your mouth as you clamp down on his fingers before he pulls them out. you’re breathless, only half-aware as he breaks the kiss and smears your essence all over the crotch of your panties before sliding them off you and tossing them to the side. you’re not aware of it in the moment, but you’re never getting them back. you’re not aware of anything, actually, still recovering from your climax. you’ve never been able to release like that on your own, always crying out of sheer frustration because you can’t get yourself to that point. shame was the only thing keeping you from knocking on your brother’s door late at night and asking for help — he’d never let you live it down.

“that’s it, baby, breathe. feel good?” he chuckles as you only nod, still a little twitchy in the aftermath. “good, baby, i want you to feel good. this next part is gonna hurt, okay? so just relax for me,” he says softly. he grips your legs and pulls you closer to him, spreading them a little wider and lining himself up.

"ready?" he asks, and you nod. you can’t imagine anything ruining the blissful state you’re in right now, but the stretch that comes from his fat tip nudging itself into your entrance brings you back to reality. he pushes in slowly, carefully watching your face for signs of distress as he fills you. he can feel your walls clamping down on him and it makes him dizzy, even more so when he meets a little resistance.

“here we go, baby. big stretch, that’s it,” he grunts, bringing his hand to the side of your face. he can feel the tears slipping past your eyes, sees the way your mouth drops open in a silent scream as he pushes deeper into you. your gasping, panting as you try to adjust to his size. he’s as gentle as he can be, but he feels the sweat running down his back as he fights the urge to drive himself in to the hilt. it’s better than he imagined, warmer and tighter than he ever thought possible. and your watery eyes gazing up at him, your arched back and trembling legs and small hands kept cutely to yourself, they all make it so much better. your innocence is laid out before him, and he’s destroying it with his bare hands.

“i’m almost all the way in, baby. you’re doing so well for me, taking your brother’s big cock so well.”

you both gasp at the way you clamp down around him, his body shuddering and almost collapsing on top of you. he almost feels like a virgin himself, feeling like he could shoot a full load of cum into you before he’s even started thrusting.

“j-just push it in— ah, s-so big, wanna take it all." you whine. fuck, he thinks, you're perfect. before he can really think about it too much, he's thrusting his hips forward, burying his length inside you to the hilt. you both gasp at the feeling, and you almost scream when he pushes down on your tummy to feel how deep he is.

"oh, fuck, baby. you feel me right here?" he presses his big hand down on the bulge again and you think you might faint. the stretch still stings and the depth of him still aches, but there's pleasure in it. "'m gonna get you used to it, baby. gonna break you in, keep you cockwarming me every day from now on. never wanna leave this pussy."

you nod along dumbly because you want it, too. never wanna go without his cock again. wanna be a good little sister and take it forever.

he gives you a slow, experimental thrust that makes your eyes roll back, then another. it's still not a perfect fit, but you're getting there. the dull pleasure starts to grow with each slow roll of his hips into you, and before you know it you're weakly mumbling for him to go faster. you hear him chuckle, but you don't care. all you can focus on is the way he curves upward inside you, his cockhead nudging the spot that makes you whine every time he thrusts into you. you think about his big cock leaking precum against it, against your womb, and you feel dizzy.

"f-faster, please... i can take it."

he obliges, less concerned for how it might hurt you and more concerned about how he's going to keep from cumming early. you've got such a tight grip on him, he's in heaven. he's already thinking of round two — maybe he'll make you ride him, or he'll bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you from behind. he wants you in every position. he wants to fuck you in your own bed, on those pretty pink sheets, and maybe he'll make you hold your teddy bear while he stuffs you full. he'll make you tell him to stop, that you don't want it, that big brothers shouldn't touch their little sisters down there. you'd do it, because you love him so much. you like what he likes. you do what he tells you — you always have.

he's nearing his end just thinking about it, sweat running down his abs and his temples. he's pounding into you now, and you're starting to sound like a squeaky toy, high-pitched noises escaping every time he pumps into you. he can tell you're getting close.

"h-hurts," you choke out, and he almost stops. "hurts but it feels s-so good. i'm gonna— oh, i feel like i'm gonna cum. i'm gonna cum again."

his thumb finds your clit, massaging circles into it to get you there faster. he can't hold out much longer, so he's relieved when your back arches and your legs start to tremble again. and the grip on his cock gets impossibly tight around him, sending his own release crashing through him. he cums with a groan, quickly pinning your thighs against you to fold you into a mating press. you're crying and gasping and babbling about how much you love him as he empties his load into you, and he can't think of a better way to kick off his birthday than with his baby sister thanking him for taking her virginity.