#god i love the weed thing so much and we’re only on the first part

[mishmash-webster]

So, Jonathan’s interest in weeds/invasive plants…

how coincidental, don’t you think?

that he’d be fond of something generally stigmatized by society…

that springs up without warning…

that’s generally considered a pest…

and is persistent, resilient and difficult to get rid of…

… Hmm.

[punk-in-docs]

🕷Your web,I’m caught🕷

Eddie Munson x Pencils (OC) slow burn series, Part I

7.6k words 

Summary: Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. The laugh. The cigarette smoke.You weren’t even suprised. 

Who else could it be-Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

Authors note; So, I wrote this because I probably have Eddie Munson brain rot, and because I just love this funky lil freak ok? It’s kinda long. No smut (yet) I might do more parts. We shall see. ~ (any feedback or comments are very much welcome folks)

It was through Hawkins like wildfire on bone dry kindling. One spark of friction and the whole thing soared to churning flames in a hot second.

No survivors.

Kyle Rothman’s parents were going to visit family in Elwood for some big fancy party.

 Anniversary, you’d heard. Funeral, someone else had bemoaned.

 Eight o’clock Friday night. Kyle’s House on 1280 Abalone Drive. Bring your own beer. 

This is how you found yourself bundled unwillingly into the plump passenger seat of your friend Linda’s station wagon come Friday night.

Bouncing along on the safe suburbia streets to a godawful party, peppered with the usual dumb jocks and poisonous cheerleaders. The freaks and nerds tended to stay in their own lanes. Keep well away.

Lucky fucks.

Two six pack of Coor’s sat rattling at your feet. She’d spent half an hour teasing your kinked hair all big, and persuading you to slick on some blue eyeliner and glitter. You drew the line when she approached you with this tube of waxy fuschia lipstick.

You batted her hand away with contempt and let her slip huge plastic blue earrings in your ears instead. It goes with your top. She’d chirped.

Technically, her top. It was a loaner.

Really, you’d tried so goddamned hard to weasel out of it.

You considered pulling an all nighter as an excuse. A painting you’d forgotten to do for art class. A Chem lab final. The fact you didn’t take Chem non-withstanding. Or a sudden very fast acting sick spell to dodge the draft.

Mom’s away. It’s me and Charlie. And she’s on nights now. I can’t leave the house, Linda.

Your door has locks, now doesn’t it? Don’t be square. We’re seniors. One little party to take the edge off.

I’m good with my edges the way they are, thanks.

She wore down your stubbornness with the sugary sweet relentless attitude. Harder than grainy sandpaper against your onerous mood. She won. Softened you into submission. Ground you down and drowned the fight out of you with her strong army of ‘pretty pretty pleases’.

With a heap of maraschino cherries dumped on top for good measure, she wrapped you round her little finger like a silk ribbon with promises of movie nights and lots of beer. Pizza too. And her eternal love and devotion. She promised to buy you some weed. Give you her Soul. Her first born.

She really really wanted you to go with her to this fucking party. God knows why. She’ll spend the night with her jock. Not you.

She sat next to you in the drivers seat. In her hot pink tiered skirt and skinny white high heels. Blond curls all frizzy and piled half up on her head with a pink scrunchie.

Her little lilac purse with a long strap sat perched on your hip. Containing four condoms, gloss, and a pack of lifesavers zipped securely inside.

Told you right away what kinda night she was expecting to have.

She’s brimming with energy cause her meathead is going tonight too. On the basketball team and practically a clone to High School royalty, Jason Carver. And her new squeeze is persona-non-grata with her strict parents for bringing her home once past curfew, and half cut. So this is one of the only chances they get to make out and do hand stuff in the guest bedroom.

Atleast someone’s excited for tonight. And thank god it’s her. You want to stay festering in the land of piss and vinegar with a scowl slapped on your face. Razor slashes of your glaring eyes landing on all those preppy idiots.

Because you liked to sit at an easel, armed with your mad array of bold paints and a brush. And you actually liked and were good at it. That instantly afforded you some hatred from the athlete crowd.

Linda reaches over and nudges you with a bony elbow. Knocking you out your self imposed funk. You side eye her for being a pest. She sing-songs cheery cooing words at you over husky Joan Jett on the radio. Words all prim and sickly like butter wouldn’t even melt.

“C’mmooon. There’ll be drink. I heard that Jason is bringing some of his dads liquor.” She trills away like tweetie pie.

“There’ll be a lot of jocks too. Lot of jocks on a lot of drink. They won’t know the difference between a viable mate and a wet hole in the ground.” You pointed out. Scuffing the door with the tip of your shoe. Black. Faux leather kitten heel boots.

She’d shoved those at you too. The boots. You wore the same size. Annoyingly. Instead of clinging to the comfort of your usual paint spattered reeboks. She wrinkled her nose up and tore your sneakers away from your grip. Turned away to dust more neon pink blush on her cheekbones.

“You’re gross.” She grimaced at you as she turns a corner. The bracelets on her arms slap and click together as she shuffled the wheel.

“Gross but right.” You poured back. Flicking hair out your eyes. It felt stiff and dry with all the stuff she rubbed and sprayed on it. The noxious chemical stink of too much hairspray and her candy-like Revlon perfume choked the interior of her car. You usually kept your hair back with a scrunchie. Possibly with a pencil or a paintbrush tucked into the bun.

“Just try and not be a catty bitch. Get a drink. Have a dance. Take that iron rod out your ass for once.”

“Its good for my posture.” You sniped at her as she smacked her glossy lips together in the rear view - not checking the car behind her or anything important like that.

“Pretty bad for your sex life though. Yours is particularly tragic right now.” She shot back dryly. Dry as sand and that dig was below the belt.

“Volume series tragedy is what I was actually aiming for.” You grinned at her. Layering the charm on thick.

Not letting her blows have anywhere to land. You scooped up her words and threw them back at her before the typical Linda shrapnel got it’s chance to pierce your skin.

It had been a while, sure. But that didn’t mean you were going to a kegger, to get blackout wasted, and end up dry humping the nearest small dicked athlete in a letterman two tone jacket. You liked to think you had taste. And a little modicum of class.

“You know I don’t get to see Jonny very often. Not since he made the team. I’d look like a loser turning up tonight all by myself.” She whines. Bitching. Stomping her foot on the gas pedal like a brat.

“Next thing I’ll have to start having to sit with the freaks at lunch. Christ, can you imagine?” She scoffs. “Me at the losers table with freak Munson and the rest of his social rejects.”

You gave her a look for that. Blasted her your chilly side eye for her small mindedness.

They were nerds, sure. Into D&D, metal music or band.

They weren’t lepers.

God forbid you ever said this aloud. But, you actually admired the way that some people didn’t conform to the mind numbing rules of popular or preppy. You liked that they cared enough to be themselves. Fuck what others say or think. The punk attitude clinging deep in you found it ballsy and brave.

Maybe they were all braver than you were- hiding yourself away in art class or the Library day after day instead of having to decide what table you’d be sorted onto. Or welcomed at. Chained too.

You weren’t entirely sure Linda would save you a space at the table with the royalty. You didn’t belong there. Your clothes weren’t preppy and cute. You didn’t wear bubblegum neon colours. Or trade gossip. You knew who Siouxsie and the Banshees were. That most likely tipped you into nerd territory. Loser crowd recruit.

You’re sure there’d be a place carved out, so where, for one the arty type, like you. Eternally graphite smudged hands, or flecks of paint dried gummy in your hair. Leafing through your sketchbook and scribbling away. Eyes down, plugged into your Walkman and latest Talking Heads or Smiths cassette.

“Could you be more of a stuck up snob?” You asked with rising hilarity in your voice.

“Yeah.” She preened. Slowing down to make the dreaded turn onto Kyles. Bounces the huge clunky thing onto the nearly busy, paved driveway.

“I am dating a jock now, you know.” She hums. Pleased with herself.

Your eye roll was almost audible.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands after and check for crabs.“ You bat your mascara thick lashes all sickly as you coo the words at her.

You grab the beers and grumpily make your feet leave the car. It’s a trudge but you manage it. You slam the car door because you needed to direct your still seething annoyance somewhere.

She bumps her door shut with her hip and properly wiggles her feet into her heels. Long tanned legs of hers bare and peeping out her pink skirt. A gauzy white top and swingy pink earrings stood neon out her bouffant blonde perm. You weren’t flashing nearly as much.

You wore your white leather jacket with the squeezing black and gold belt she nipped around your middle. Made your tits look awesome, and bigger, her words not yours. Her bright blue top that hangs off one shoulder. Soft black jeans and her back heeled pirate boots which click as you walk. She’d been obsessed with Adam Ant for a while.

Onto your wrists she’d threaded yet more bright jewellery. And the plastic hoops dangling from your ears, you kept on having to untangle it from your hair every four seconds. Your wavy fringe kept on flicking in your eyes.

You stand with the beer and look up at the split ranch style house in front of you. Cicadas humming already. The lawn is green and fuzzy short and the street lights cast a dozy orange thrown into pools everywhere. The house is set back and stood alone. Well spaced out from the neighbours. It backed into the tall dark woods. No risk of noise complaints.

Brown wood and overhanging eaves. It’s a big place. Each window lit up a drowsy yellow. And crowds of voices roils. The tell tale whump-whump of whatever lame ass pop music is blasting along and pulsing at the walls and shaking the windows from the inside.

You step towards the front door. Linda actually scurries along in her heels. Jason’s jeep parked right upfront means the cavemen had already descended. She fluffs her hair and grips the door handle. Slowly jerking it open. It was too loud to hear knocks anyway. The party was in full swing already.

The first thing you do when you come inside? Wince.

Club Tropicana is bellowing loudly through the house on what is very clearly very deafening speakers. The drum beats drown your ears. The thrum of the base plucks the air. You feel the thud of it through the thick squashing carpet.

Someone’s made a vain attempt to party up the place. Twinkle lights glimmer in the living room where many bodies are dancing and throwing hands in the air. Fierce chilli red. Neon green. Sapphire sea blue, spots of light dotted and swimming around the dark ceiling where the lights were poorly tacked. Last minute attempt you’re guessing.

Red cups sloshing drink everywhere. Half drunk beer cans and bottles stood on every flat surface. Some toppled over and leaking dark dribbled spots into the carpet. The dank smell of cigarettes and some musty weed clouds the air.

High schoolers are strewn across the couch. Some making out. Two seconds from dry humping right in the open. Some were chatting. Laughing at their own drunkness. Crowding the narrow hallways.

Linda scans around the crowds. Flirtily shimmying her fingers in a wave when she sees her Jock. She almost bounces on the spot. Giddy smile splitting her lipstick.

Her boyfriend lumbers across and you’re quickly forgotten on the doormat. She takes her purse off you. And one of the six packs.

“Bye?” You state to her with a frown as she preened and laughed as they joined hands.

“Find you later.” She breezed. Her smile was so wide. Cheeks full of blush. Fake and real.

“Wrap it before you tap it.” You growl at her. Narrowing your eyes to pin slits. She flips you the bird when she totters off after her gorilla in basketball threads.

Not four seconds later they’re wrapped around each other like leeches. Tongues down throats. Waxy glossy lipstick all over their chins. He whispers something in her ear when they break apart and they wind through crowds headed for the stairs. Beer forgotten. She’s giggling he’s got a shit eating grin on.

That had taken all of eight seconds past your feet crossing the doormat before your abandonment.

When Four Tops starts blasting. You’ve decided; you must seek out some liquor. You can’t be forced to suffer this indignity of a night in any kind of sobriety.

You growl to yourself. Your mood just plummeted so way far down it could be in the South Pole by now. A pit of acid and spiky nails and broken glass was your stomach. Mood went from foul to fouler.

Armed with one six pack, you heft your way to the kitchen. Pushing past dancers and athletes that line the doorways. Elbow past a couple very loudly making out. They don’t even notice your shouldering byYour reward for basically commando busting your way through crowds is the sight of the kitchen. For some reason the lights are off and purple lights are drowning the room. The colour of Lilac and moody nightshade bruises. A huge bowl of ruby red punch half gone sits on the island. Spiked no doubt. Fine by you.

Liquor bottles stand with tops ripped off, cheap whiskey and vodka. Beer kegs on rosy towels on the floor in the far corner. Red solo cups are scattered everywhere. Crushed, used and not. Chips are half eaten in a messy bowl. Popcorn too. Spilled all over the place. You didn’t envy the cleanup.

You grab a clean one and dunk it into the punch. It spills down your fingers and you suck the drips away. Sip some. The terrific cheap sugar of something that tasted like it was trying to be fruity, combined with the bitchy bite of vodka. Perfect.

You lean against the counter and nurse a cup. You dive back for another. The first slipped down way too easily. Cherry red staining your tongue. Vodka seeping into your legs and arms with its lazy sluggish heat.

You wrap one arm around yourself and stand leaning against the counter. The granite dug into the back of your hips painfully.

Some Basketball jocks who barely lift their eyes to regard you as a form of life, bustle rudely past and knock into you. Sloshing your cup to spill down your top. Drink rolls in drips off your chin.

“Watch it loser.” One of them drunkenly snickers at you. Tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder as they go to draw more shitty beer from the keg. His friend laughed at his crass remark to you.

Fuckin meatheads.

You scoff under your breath. Mood sour you slam your hand down on a can of beer and take your still somewhat full cup out the back door you can see left wide open the other side of the island.

You mumble a curse word at them loud enough to hear as you slip past. “Pricks.” You catch one of their hands with their cups so they drop it by surprise.

“Bite me, babe.” One slurs. Leaning over and holding the handle. Opening his arms at you like some twisted invitation. His gruff words didn’t threaten you.

You turn your head and spit words at them. Eyes narrow under your frizzy fringe. The drink helping get your tongue bold.

“Go find some balls to play with. Idiots” you snipe as you feel the delightful sensation of stepping out the house and into the dark back yard.

You brandish the V’s at them with your fingers and your chipped blue nail polish as you slip out the door and into the mild night. Shoes clicking down the steps. You hear their sneers as you leave.

“Stupid bitch.”

You walk around the perimeter of the pool. You don’t want to know why there’s floating beer cans and a bikini top strewn at the bottom.

You keep walking. Your feet only just unsteady. Out towards the very far back of the yard. The dark border of the trees seemed threatening. Huge towering trunks and dark leafy tips barely grazed by the starlight. Silent sentinels of night. No light snuck back here. Barely any orange light from the street or the rooms of Kyles house reaches all the way out here.

There’s ratty lawn chairs and a couple of empty cans rattling around on the lawn. Evidence that some people were partying here before you. But went back inside to dance or drink. Or went into the huge woods looming just behind you for some clandestine privacy. Or to try and scope out a bedroom.

You take your jacket off and spread it beneath you before you settle down on the end of a blue lounger. The plastic creaks with your weight. Sinks just a bit into the spongy grass. You sit yourself down and take your first deep breath.

You look at that busy house down the slope of the garden. The trash floating in the blue square sear of the pool. The windows limned in yellow. Crowds jump and burst within. Many voices and thudding party pop carry out to you. It’s a Madonna song now. Drifting up the grass that freckled, speckled with slithers of ochre light from the street. The other half carved in dark linear shadows.

You were drunk. Slightly. Not wanting to be here. Definitely. On the peripheral like a distant planet in orbit. Trying to find the place you could belong too. You didn’t know if you ever would. For some people it seemed damn easy. The need to fit. To be.

You had your art. Your drawings. Your craving for your Walkman and the solace of your music and what that bought you. Your job at the record store which you live love loved. Even though your boss, Sal, who was mercurial and was all cynical-moody as anything. But underneath that crusty exterior he was good to you. You still loved it.

You had a sad set of dreams pushed back, way back, nesting under your skin.

One day maybe if you were very lucky, you’d be far outta this town living them dreams. You sure as shit hoped so.

It wasn’t so bad. When all was said and done, at the very least, you didn’t just melt into an easy personality to please other people. Slap on a fake persona to get others to like you. Paste it on every morning. Beam a smile and wear things falsely. You couldn’t bear being that shallow just to have girlfriends to chit chat with at lunch. You couldn’t live that way.

When you tip your head back. You find yourself all of a sudden laying back. Body dizzy. Mind swirling. That punch was strong. You suspect it wasn’t just vodka. Maybe some tequila thrown in there too. You drank it too quick to decipher.

You don’t fight the movement. Spreading back. You can see stars. The majesty of the heavens. All those endless scattered white pearls that wink and shimmer in the endless blue between spots of murky smeared cloud.

After a long minute, you sit up to keep on knocking back your drinks.

You toss back more red vodka punch and don’t stop until the cup is empty. Red dregs. The wonderful snap of vodka makes you hiss through the sting as you finish it.

Nothing is stopping you tonight. One down, then you’re cracking open the cold beer. The satisfying hiss and the hoppy cheap mist spurts over your fingers.

“Here’s to edges.” You toast your beer up to no one. “Mine in particular.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Your tongue loose. You welcomed the sensation. Let it bleed through you and unwind the taut bowstring of your tension. You could really use a smoke right about now. You have to hide them at home. Charlie wouldn’t approve.

You swig the beer. It’ll have to do. It’s definitely cheap and tasted like it. But it’s cold and you just need to unwind your tightening steel wire spool of anger.

Fucking Linda. Fucking Jocks. Dragging you here only to ditch you in favour of sucking face and now probably busy right now sucking other body parts with her gorilla of a boyfriend.

You kick one of the crumpled cans on the lawn with your pirate booted foot. The resounding crunch and rattle comes off far far louder than you’d thought. Knocking off into the trees. Bouncing back like a slap, off the house.

It’s then you hear that maybe you didn’t have as much privacy as you had previously thought.

An odd sort of whispered hissing starts growing louder. The steady crunch of a twig being broken underfoot. Rustling of brittle paper leaves under a sneakered foot. The distant tang of Marlboro smoke curling around the trees.

Someone. Or more than one someone, was in the woods behind you.

The voice comes again. Deep enough to be a guys. Pitchy enough to still be a whisper. “The fuck was that?”

Another voice answers. Louder. Confident. Whispers not tamping down his volume. His tone is mocking.

“Look man, I don’t have all night. Quit wasting my time. 25 for a half ounce. Or I walk away right now and take the sweet stuff with me.”

Your drunk head strains to hear more. You lean further back. Like that will make one scrap of difference. You slosh down more beer and listen through the breeze ruffling the imposing wall of trees.

You hear some more rustling. The unsteady shuffling of feet. A sighed huff. The slap of something into an open palm.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The sarrcy confidence voice answers. There’s a soft rustling of a plastic baggie.

“Whatever, freak.” Comes the grumble.

“My, my, Such manners. You kiss your mommy with that mouth.” Sneers back the voice. Lilt of humour and sarcasm composing his words.

You turn your head back to see someone break out the shadow swallow of the tree line. A guy in a letter man jacket breaks away and stalks drunkenly through the garden on wobbling legs. Shoving something like a crinkly plastic bag down deep into his pocket. Green and white baseball cap backwards on his head.

He doesn’t seem to notice you sat in your spot. When you raise your beer to take another sip your movement catches his eye. He almost trips over his own feet. Frowns at you.

“What you staring at, loser?” He barks grumpily at you. Bit his teeth around the insult.

You don’t offer a response. You swallow your retort down.

Something about pot making you lose brain cells, him not being so stupid as to take the risk. Needs all the help he can get.

You kinda hate yourself for staying silent But you let it go. You chug more beer. And just try and sit here and not feel.

He turns back and lumbers his stupid way back towards the house. Feet stomping over empty beer cans. You swallow down more beer and watch the party continue on without you.

Apparently, so was someone else.

A sudden flick coming from behind you makes you startle. Twisting back. A lighter being struck to life as this amazingly noiseless person behind you finally came out the tree line.

“That was one hell of a charming duuude.” Mocked the voice. Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. You weren’t even suprised. Who else could it be-

Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

The undisputed ruler of the geeks table in the cafeteria. Adored by his crowd of younger freshmen. His followers. His little band of devoted lost sheep. Recruited to the dark side to play his sadistic D&D campaigns. This older senior who was always gilded in chunky metal rings, chain bracelets, and rock and roll.

Something about him from afar shrieked messy danger; whether it was the careless swagger he walked with, or the unpredictability of when he’d burst into something crazy or unstable.

Climb on tables, throw food, shout at the top of his lungs with his hands cupped beside his mouth. Antagonise Jason and his pack of Jocks every chance he got. Spray paint ‘Hail Satan’ in glaring neon red across Principal Higgins door like he did last semester.

That last one was technically a rumour that it was him who did it, but you still kinda believed it to be dead true. It seemed his style.

He saw how you’d sprang around to look at him. Heart kicking in your chest as he made you jump.

“Sorry. Shit. Didn’t mean to startle you there.” He held his hands up. Skull bandana in his back pocket flapping against his ripped jeans. Orange tip of the cigarette burned bright like an evil eye in the dark. Lighting up his face and his pillowy lips.

His earlier cocky confidence seemed to have been flipped away, perhaps as a sign of how genuinely he meant his words.

You watch him slowly saunter across to where you’re sat. Nimble footsteps on the soft grass in his sneakers. The only noise coming from how the chain on his jeans swung into his legs. The zips and some of the metal badges on his jacket shining dully in the night air.

The deep tar pit of those black eyes tugged you in. The frizzy rockstar mane curling down to his shoulders. Sticky Ink black, echoing the shade of his eyes. The messy cut of his Jean jacket draped over leather. That blood red demon blazoned on his white raglan Hellfire Club t-shirt - you’d never seen him wear anything else.

“You’re the least scary thing I’ve come across tonight. Trust me.” You tell him. Sipping more beer. Hearing it slick around against the sides of the can.

You weren’t sure why but him being here had you on edge. You didn’t get nervous walking through a whole house of preppy morons. But here, now, you notice nervousness crunching down on your stomach.

Why nervous?

Not because you were scared of him. You felt safer alone with him out here than any of those knuckle-heads inside.

You think in some warped kinda way you wanted to impress him-

Ok, where in the cursed fucking pits of hell had that proclivity bloomed from?

He stops a decent distance away from you. You couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. He was looking at you warily.

You stared at the grass below your borrowed pointy leather shoes and the half empty warm beer in your hands.

“Are you, uhm. Alright?” He seeks. Gone was the earlier plucky confidence. His voice is fully tender.

“Oh I’m just peachy, thanks.” You smite nicely at him. Voice dripping dark sarcasm.

Those wild black eyes narrow with more concern.

“Sure about that?” He checks. Voice tipping up. Smoke exhaling from his mouth.

You summon the courage to look over at him. Bewildered.

He explains by tapping his finger twice under his eye. Still looking intrigued.

You shrink in self consciously. Folding in. Wipe under your eyes. When you bring back your hand, mascara sits weepy and smeared on your finger. Probably running under your eyes a little in your annoyed frustration. You hadn’t realised.

You sniff and wipe your eyes. Who cares anyway. No one was looking at your makeup. They weren’t bothered with you. That stung. But it was true.

Eddie was the first person to actually acknowledge you as a fully fleshed human being. To actually speak to you.

“It’s nothing. Really.” You assure him. Smiling mildly. Unable to believe the guy who had the words loser and freak tossed at him like bullets every damn day is asking you if you’re okay.

“Don’t worry I’m not so wasted that I’m out here sobbing by myself. You don’t have to deal with an emotional girl.” You consider your mood. “Maybe a pissed off one though-“ You added softly.

You loosened your grip on your beer. Flicking your fringe out your eyes again.

“Hey-“ He starts. And it’s so sweetly tender it makes your lungs skip. His voice seems to deepen a little from that anarchistic shriek and shout you often hear from him.

You peer over under your kinked fringe. He thinks how freakin adorable it looks on you. Hits him like a freakin clap of lightning.

Your hair all wild and teased, back combed to hell, and then those eyes. Doe, bambi, sparkling eyes shining in the dark. Side of your face caught all caramel smooth in the peachy-orange light from the street. Despite the smudged eye makeup blacking under your eyes, actually, he kinda likes that dark smouldering look.

You’re fucking pretty.

Fancy that. Eddie Freak Munson talking to a real pretty girl at a High School party. What’s becoming of him?

“You’re out here drinking alone, sweetheart. I just put two and two together is all. My mistake.” He admits sheepishly. Meshing his fingers together as he spoke. Animated. You watched the way his rings glinted in the darkness. Cig wobbling on his lips as he spoke.

“Well. It’s coming out four. Munson.” You admitted gently.

Your very girlish instincts did a little elated hop with the way he called you sweetheart. Those idiots inside had called you a bitch and loser. He had called you sweetheart-

“You know my name.” He grinned all boyish. Hands on his hips, clasping onto a belt that had a handcuff buckle.

“Colour me impressed.” He flits a wink at you. “I didn’t know we were on a surname basis.”

“You’re the local troublemaker and weed dealer. Of course I know your name.” You answer. You didn’t live under a rock.

“Mommy and Daddy have my picture pinned on the dart board at home, huh sweetie?” He tilts his head again and grins all wide and playful. Framing his face with his thumbs and hands like a mock photograph. Smoking cig trickling lazily up to the sky.

He walks a slow circle around you on the lounger. He can’t keep still evidently. Kicking beer cans out the way. Kicks one down the slope of the lawn. Comes back around you like he’s assessing you coolly. Casually. Grey smoke trails in his wake.

Something tells you he’s almost proud of the accomplishment of being considered near infamous. Anything but the poisonous fucking trap of being considered ‘normal.’

“Yeah. They show me a picture of you every morning. Your face slapped over wanted posters serve as a warning to parents all over Hawkins county.” You joked with fake gravity. “I might be indoctrinated into your dangerous devil D&D cult if I don’t watch out.”

“I relish the chance to corrupt more innocent souls. Especially pretty ones.” He says in a mock gravelly devil voice. Sticking his tongue out at you. Widening his eyes to look scary. It makes you almost spit out a mouthful of beer for laughing.

He’s a goof under all that threatening metal persona. You suspect a soft warm heart of gold lurks under that denim and leather chest too.

You offer out the can of beer to him. “Sorry. It’s a little warm but-“

He smiles and stands for a moment. Assessing you. Eyes growing almost warm.

“Poisoned, Snow White?” He jokes.

“I don’t need that on my conscience. Not to mention the stoners in school would flay me alive for taking you out.” You comment. Waving the can out at him between two fingers.

“Sold.” He says.

He drifts in just close enough to take it from you. His rings clack against the thin metal. Crosses and skulls and all things bad bad bad and demonic adorn his hands.

“Sharing beer and we’re not even on a first name basis.” He says as he takes it and pulls back a swig.

You absolutely kick yourself for the way you watch his neck elongate from tipping his head back to drink. Hair down his back. Wavy over his shoulders.

You give him your name. First and last. It tumbled out your mouth before you could stop it. Your drunkenness sliding you right on into trouble.

He raised the can at you in a salute. Repeated your surname at you. Rolled it around his mouth. As if he was tasting it like he was the beer.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He smirked as he did a mock bow and dipped his head at you. Swigging the beer once more.

You bite your lip and wipe your clammy hands on your soft jeans as you turn away and force yourself to look at something much less- distracting. Dangerous?

You settle on looking at the house. Music still bouncing out the place. Voices spilling out boisterous. You watched a guy stumble out the back door to puke into the bushes by the kitchen window. Maybe a newbie.

Eddie saw it but ignored it. Kept his dark gaze stuck on you instead.

“How’s it you ended up out here?” He asked. Passing the can back to into your hand. You take it and cold silver rings brush your hand. Sparks skip over your skin.

“Well. Firstly the music-” You grimaced.

He chuckled archly.

“Fuckkkk I know right? This party could totally use some Motörhead.” He proclaimed.

“Or some Talking Heads.” You agreed.

His eyes lit up. “Stop making sense.” He said approvingly. You smiled at the inside joke.

“I did actually come with someone. But they ditched me before we were even in the front door. They’re upstairs right now, and probably having sex on the pile of coats in the guest room.” You estimate.

 You watched Eddie’s brows raise up a little. Ballsy.

“That’s real shitty.” He states without hesitation. But that smile is creeping back.

“Tell me to get lost if it is none of my business. Sweetie. But uh, did you come here with a��� boy. A boy who is maybe a friend. A boyfriend?” He seeks slowly. His head tilting. Rolling his hands as he talked. Manic sprinkled on manic.

Leaning to one side as he asked. That floppy hair leaning over his shoulder. Coming closer and making an unsure grimace as he slowly chewed over that last word. Cig at his side between two fingers.

You shake your head for no. His eyes glint a little.

No boyfriend. Knows who Talking Heads are. Goddamn it, he may have to start turning up the dial to flirt with you some point soon.

His smile turns up at the corners. How have you never noticed that under that manic rock n roll energy it’s actually such a great smile.

He takes another drag and spun away for a second to toss away his cig before it burned out. You hear the way the chains on his arms hit the leather jacket across his chest.

You clarify as to why you were here. How you were dragged along here by your teeth.

“My party friend, Linda, dragged me here. Blonde perm. No braincells, lots of leg and hormones. Idiot Jock strap for a boyfriend.” You explain.

“Alright for some.” Eddie grins at you. His eyes look sharp as black ice in the dark.

“I guess.” You smile. Stretching your feet out. “Maybe not for her though.” You snark in dirty insinuation. It makes him smile across at you.

You both laugh at your joke and it softens him a little to see it.

He spins away and suddenly hops up onto the lawn chair near to you. Flurry of energy. Standing on it and trying to keep his balance. You looked up at him where he stood. Dirty sneakers balancing on the plastic slats.

“I swear I do know you from some place.” He says. A calculative look on his face. He repeats your surname again. Tasting it in his mouth. Arms now crossed over his chest. He leans towards you so slightly. Bending down.

“Uh, School?” You state obviously.

He clicks his tongue. Looks mischievous. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

That figures, actually.

“Big building. Students. Teachers. Classrooms. Finals.” You explain.

He’s walking up the lounger. Testing precarious steps on the cracking plastic. “It’s vaguely familiar to me.” The chain on his leg swings again with his steps.

“We had a history together in middle school. Mrs Grey’s class.” You offer. Though he’d looked different then, his mannerisms weren’t dissimilar to now.

Just now he had the demon tats and rocker hair to back it up.

“We did?” He questions. Or states. He’s unsure. Or testing the waters. You can’t tell. His mystery is his charm. Unreadable expression.

You remember some of his antics. You doubt he’d ever turned his eyes toward the classroom board even once the whole semester.

On the days he deigned to turn up, he usually spent more time scribbling his own little lyrics or campaign ideas over the assignment paper he’d been given on his desk. Or drawing devils, monsters and skulls with leering forked tongues, in a thick stubby sharpie. He took tormenting your teacher as a personal mission.

Any time he was called on, he answered with bite, with wit and a - deeply buried disguised - degree of intelligence that meant he could walk this class - if he really, really wanted too. You found it almost admirable. It was almost enough to make you develop a crush on him.

His dislike for conformity and following the establishment rules had him cemented as this jagged little pill of a troubled guy who couldn’t care less about school. Or grades. People looked at him and saw no more than trailer trash trouble. The rebel Munson kid who lives in the trailer park off Kerley.

“I’m memorable from all the way back then?” He asks. Doubting he was even worth remembering from last week. Let alone going back years.

“Yeah. You made me laugh.” You tell him bravely.

Whether it was the way he snuck in late, or asked to borrow a pencil. Threw balled up pieces of paper at the popular crowd to antagonise. Made stupid distorted faces behind Mrs Grey’s back. Contradicted her til she was red in the face.

“I sat behind you, didn’t I?” He remembered. Then he snaps his fingers. His chain leather bracelet jangles. “Pencil girl.”

You nod. “Nice nickname.”

He drops suddenly in a jump to the ground. Burst of energy. Sits himself facing you on the end of the lounger. Knees spread. Holds out a flat hand to you to shake.

“Nice to properly meet you again. Pencil girl.” He grins at you.

You blush. You actually feel your blush crawl it’s molten way up your cheeks. Eddie Munson is offering his ring clad hand out for you to shake.

You meet his eyes as you look over and take it. Slip you palm into his warm one. Clutch of metal surrounding your fingers as you shake. The brackets on your arms clack together as you jerk your arm.

“Nice to properly meet you too, Eddie.” You grin.

His eyes look warm as he beams at you. Those dark eyes all melting and dark liquid chocolate in their gaze. Your knees almost brush his ripped jean kneecaps where you’re leant over to shake his hand.

He seems awfully unconcerned about letting go of your hand any time soon.

Because he’s come closer to you, you can smell the beer on his breath and the the sharp acrid of cigarettes woven into his clothes. Along with some faintly tangy scent of weed, powdery laundry detergent.

Up close he’s even more terrifying. Those wild eyes bordered in shade by that even wilder tangle of hair.

“How come I rarely see you around. Pencil girl.” He asks genuinely. Sliding his hand out of yours at last. When you break away to look at his hand sliding off yours, you only realise then you’d been staring.

“Well I do actually go to my classes.” You tease.

He clutched over his heart like he’d been pierced with a mortal wound. Choked, Gasped your name.

“Mean.” He grins. Those melting eyes turn all puppyish. Holding the space over his heart like it hurt.

“I guess I mostly live in the Art classroom at school. Or the library. That’s where I am most days. Most lunches and my free periods.” You tell him.

He smirks. You can’t tell what that means.

“You’re telling me you’re secretly one of us.” He lowers his voice to a whisper.

You frown. Oh it’s a good look on you. It bunches up little wrinkles between your brows.

“One of us?”

“A freak.” Eddie grins. His grin slowly grows.

“Is that an official diagnosis? Dungeon master?” You ask him.

Twisting to fully face him where you sit on the lounger. You feel Linda’s top slide down your shoulder. Your bra strap is showing. Eddies eyes flick to it for the barest second.

“Totally. I hereby brand thee. Fellow freak. Pencil girl. Welcome to the club.” He puts his hands over his hair, mimes placing a crown on your head. Arms outstretched around your head. Surrounding your puffed up hair.

You smile. The scent of warm old leather and cigarettes smacks you in the nose. He waved his fingers either sides of your temples. Your stomach squirms. Butterflies kicked to life.

He’s a freak. And a goof. And so are you.

And, oh christ, you think you might like him-

“Great. So when’s my swearing in ceremony. What do we do? Sacrifice virgins or goats, what?” You play around.

“Friday nights. I’m afraid the sacrificing of virgins is messy. But necessary.” He waggles his brows. Trying to look serious. You doubt he ever looked serious in his life.

You snort. You can’t help it. You cover your mouth. He shakes with laughter too. Chest bouncing with it.

Your head is swimming drunk and you can only just believe you’re sat out here shooting the shit with Eddie Munson of all people.

And for once in your life, you’re enjoying one of these terrible shitty parties.

The new music dancing across the lawn catches Eddies ears. The mellow base and chirpy singing.

He rolls his eyes over to the house in disgust. ‘Just the two of us’ is crooning across the lawn. Tacky. Saxaphone riff, and Bill Withers smooth whiskey-dulcet voice.

“I’m gonna be puking in the bushes soon if they carry on with that shit.” He nudged his head across to the open door. The golden rectangle of the kitchen door that glowed in the night. Spilling light up the slanted yard.

“I think, my friend isn’t going to be surfacing any time soon.” You wince at the thoughts and all that could possibly entail. Whether or not she’d bother to come find you. Skirt twisted around her waist. Lipstick all smeared around her puffy mouth. Hair mushed. Cheeks glowing.

You should go and find her. But- you really don’t want too. Nothing could move you from this lounger.

“I should go back inside.” You say out loud. You stay stock still.

Eddie shoots you a look. Disbelieving.

“Listen. Anyone who sits on the outskirts of this fuckin idiotic makeout party and listens to Talking Heads is plenty alright with me. You’re better off.” He points a thumb into his Hellfire clad chest when he says ‘me’.

Where his t-shirt was disturbed, you see a dark triangle of a guitar pick on a necklace around his neck. Some ink on his skin. You want to see just exactly where those tats end and begin.

Your gaze is drawn to the house as a gang of jocks come out to the back yard. Some to stand and chat with their friends. Some to smoke. They seem to have clocked you both. Eddies mood changes.

“Let me give you a ride home, pencils.” Eddie says suddenly out of nowhere. His voice took on a deeper tone. Duller.

You aren’t sure you heard him right. What?

You turn back and see a very sincere look stained across that anarchistic expression. His eyes almost deepen.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

“Not often. But just then? Yeah. I wouldn’t feel right walking away, leaving a pretty girl like you alone and vulnerable out here. Not with that crowd of assholes circling.” Eddie says as he scans along the row of them with, clearly, no love lost in his tone.

“Uhm.” You churn over your thoughts. Fragments of choppy sense returning to your tipsy head. “Yeah ok, Sure. Thanks.”

Eddie smiles. That palm of his is offered to you once again. And you take it.

You wobble on your feet on the soft grass.

He smiles. Steadies your elbows with his hands. Both hands clutching on for your safety. He draws you close. Just a little. His dark eyes dart with slight starlight.

“Us freaks gotta stick together. Man.” And then comes that rock n roll mischief smirk. Your belly melts.

You think you like being a freak after all.

 ~

🕷 Fancy a sneak at the next part? 🕷

[artzee-bee]

End of all things [1] | Chat Noir x witch!reader

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug (Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir)

Summary: Y/N had been Chat Noir’s friend and moral support for a long time now. Even though she had magical powers too, she never liked getting involved with akuma attacks, but now, as Hawkmoth’s gotten control of the miraculous of creation, she couldn’t stay indiferent anymore. She had to save her friend and Paris!

Genre: Mostly angst? A little fluff

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of death/dying

A/N: This was requested, but as I was writting it, it got very long and I’ve decided to post it in 2 parts. I’m not gonna post the request just now, so as to not spoil the rest of the story but Part 2 will be coming out on friday!!!

Part 2

~~~

Chat was pacing around the room, waiting for you to be done with your potion. You had heard from your parents that there had been a new akuma attack today, but as the news reported, the two parisian heros took care of the problem in no time. For this reason, Chat’s presence at your house felt unusual. Normally he would stop by when he needed to rant, when he was in need of comfort and reassurance but the fight today went well, so what could possibly be bothering him?

“Ok, I’m done” you said, screwing the cap on the little bottle and placing it on your shelf “Wanna talk?” you asked, to which Chat gave you a shy smile

“Yeah, a little”

You made your way to your bed, motioning for him to follow you. You got under your covers and passed him his favorite plushie, a cat to no one’s surprise

“So what’s up? Is it about the fight today?”

“Well no it’s more like a...personal problem?”

“Oh…”

“Claws out” in a rush of light and electricity, the infamous hero vanished before you, transforming into Adrien Agrest

“Well, what is it?” 

Adrien revealed his identity to you months ago. You first met him as Chat, but when you really got to know each other, he decided you needed to know all of him. Well, he needed you to know all of him.

You listened to him rant until way past midnight. Until you were both too tired to stand up straight, so you laid down in your bed, covers up to your necks, muffled stories told in between yawns. You listened carefully, giving him your full attention. He fidgeted with the collar of the stuffed toy and you used your magic to make 2 hot chocolates. Eventually, everything that needed to be said, was said. You offered Adrien to watch a movie, since that always cheered him up, but he refused

“It’s late and I have a photoshoot early in the morning. My makeup team will be angry with my dark circles anyways, better not make it worse” he joked

Adrien transformed back into Chat and you cast a safety spell on him, which you did every time he left your house late at night. He always teased you about being ‘too protective’, but deep down he found it sweet how much you cared and wanted to know that he would get home in one piece.

“Night Chat” you said, wrapping your arms around the hero

“Good night Y/N!”

The next few days went by quietly. You hadn’t run into Adrien at all, but you texted a bit back and forth. Sunday evening however, things took a toll for the worst. You turned on your tv, ready to catch up with your show when you heard Nadja Chamack’s voice doing the news report

“It seems as though Rena Rouge and Chat Noir are struggling to stay on their feet! They have taken shelter under a fallen bus, leaving Ladybug alone to defeat Hawkmoth'' your pulse skyrocketed. As you watched the screen you could see Chat and Rena off to the side, struggling to catch their breath. Rena seemed to be in pain while Chat was trying to help. Ladybug was using her yoyo the best she could in order to protect herself from the supervillain, who was wielding his cane like a sword over her head. The fight was clearly going in Hawkmoth's favour! You grabbed your jacket and ran out the front door and onto the empty streets of Paris, towards the Eiffel Tower, where the fight was taking place. 

People screamed at you from their balconies to go home, warning you about the fight and the danger you were putting your life in but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how they needed you. Chat needed you! Every late night talk and every inside joke shared between you two replaid in your head like a broken record. Behind Chat’s tough mask, his alter ego of hero and protector, was the fragile figure of Adrien Agreste. The young blonde boy who cried during romantic comedies, who liked to have his hair braided and forgot how to speak when someone complimented him. If you didn’t help, the heros would loose and he would most likely die! Alongside Ladybug and Rena who, even though you didn’t know their real identities, were still young girls. As you ran down the street, you heard kids crying inside one of the homes. You ran past but at the last second you heard Nadia’s voice coming from their tv

“Ladybug was akumatized”

You approached the Eiffel tower from the side, where you could see everything going on. In front of the tower, right next to Hawkmoth, stood Marinette Dupain-Cheng, dressed in a tight, dark red suit, darker than Ladybug’s. Black butterflies replaced the dots of the heroine's suit and the purple butterfly mask of Hawkmoth’s control was shining over her face. Marinette was Ladybug! She did, in fact, get akumatized. On the other side, you saw Rena and Chat, struggling to stay up right. They were obviously in a lot of pain and extremely tired, but Hawkmoth was merely mocking them.

“After all this time” Chat spoke up, but his breaths were shallow and rapid “I thought you’d know one thing about us! We don’t give up without a fight. Never will. Especially not against you” and with that, the two ran at each other.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, you know?” he said “We don’t have to fight to death. I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience. All you have to do is give me your miraculouses willingly. The town will be safe, you will be safe! It’s the most heroic option you’ve got. You won’t be any good to Paris if you are dead”

You knew this was not just another fight between them. This was it. Either the heros won or everything they’ve worked for would be lost. Hawkmoth would win and get his hands on both miraculous and god knows what kind of destruction that would bring not only upon Paris, but the world. You focused all your energy in one spot in the air, right between where Chat and Hawkmoth were supposed to clash but before they could reach each other, you sent a wave of energy that blew both of them apart, like a bomb. Hawkmoth flew back into the Eiffel tower while Chat hit the pavement with a thud. Confused and certainly disturbed, both of them began looking around for an answer as to what happened when, finally, Hawkmoth’s eyes landed on yours.

“Aha, miss Y/L/N. What a spectacular honor to finally meet you!” you didn’t reply, instead you stood tall, maintaining eye contact

“I know a lot about you. Seen a lot. Felt a lot of your emotions. None of them can compare to the powers I’ll have with the two miraculouses. With Ladybug’s earrings and the guardian under my control, I’d say my mission here is almost over’’

“Y/N get back!’’ Chat screamed but you were too involved now to run. This was your fight too.

“It is time you give up Hawkmoth. Paris is not yours, neither are the miraculouses. We will destroy you, no matter what it takes!”

“Listen to yourself, kid! <<Destroy me>>? The most you can do is pull a rabbit out of your hat…” before he could finish his sentence, you snapped your fingers in his direction and instantly, the ground around beneath Hawkmoth and akumatized Marinette, fractured. From within the cracks, many tangled plants came out, encapsulating the 2 villains. You sprinted towards Chat and Rena, ignoring the signs of struggle coming from the prison of weeds.

 Alongside the two superheros, you hid inside a corner coffee shop, which was now empty.

“Y/N, you need to leave!! You are putting yourself in too much danger!” Rena told you, as she collapsed to the ground from exhaustion

“Stop with that already! I am here and I’m not going anywhere!”

“Yes you are!” Chat looked at you. His voice was calm and yet, his eyes were filled with disappointment “You are not a superhero. This is our job!”

“You need help”

“No we don’t!” Chat had never, in all your years of friendship, raised his voice at you, let alone yell “ You need to stay safe! You could die! Hawkmoth doesn’t care about anything if it helps him get what he wants! I am ready to take that risk. Rena is too” you both turned to the red headed hero, only to see her slowly nod “But I can’t allow you to take it”

“You can’t tell me what to do”

“I don’t want you to die!” he screamed again “I love you and I will never forgive myself if you don’t come out of this alive!”

Before you could say anything, you saw Hawkmoth and his minion, through the cafe window, cutting through the last of the plants and escaping your trap. You grabbed Chat’s arm and pulled him to the floor, from where you could not be seen

“We’re in this together now” you said in a stern voice, looking the blonde kid right in his eyes “Whether you like it or not '' this time, he simply nodded.

You stuffed your hands into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out 3 little bottles, containing a mate, green liquid. You had prepared one for each of the heros, now you’d only need two.

“Here, drink this!” You handed each of them one “Regeneration potion. Should put you back on your feet.” as soon as they finished drinking the brew, you could see color coming back to their faces

“Where’s Marinette’s akuma??” 

“Her necklace” replied Rena “It’s a gift from her kwami”

“Got it. You deal with Hawkmoth. I’ll bring Marinette back!”

Chat and Rena exited through the front door, grabbing Hawkmoth’s attention. He called out to Marinette to attack, but before she could take a single step in your direction, you had snuck up behind her. Using a simple invisibility spell, you managed to exit unnoticed behind the two heros. It finally felt like the fight had truly begun. From the corner of your eye you could see Chat and Rena doging Hawkmoth’s attacks while you, were doing your best to get your hands on the stupid necklace! Even though she couldn’t see you, Marinette seemed to almost always know what your next move was. She would expertly block all your attack and would keep you an arm’s length away at all times. Finally, you had enough and in one swift motion, you pinned her back to your chest, ripping the necklace away. A wave of black and purple took over the both of you and when it vanished, all you were left with was a half unconscious Marinette in your arms. You dropped her to the ground slowly as she was coming back to her senses. You wanted to talk to her but your thoughts were driven away as you heard Chat scream bloody murder.

On the opposite side of the platza, you saw Hawkmoth rip Chat’s ring off his finger, forcing him to detransform. The exhausted figure of Adrien Agreste fell to the ground with a thud. Hawkmoth had, indeed, gotten his hand on both the miraculouses.

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part One)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Dreams turn into reality on smokey breaths. Inner turmoil melts away with the touch from warm skin. Promises make the evening decisions go from complicated to deliciously easy.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw soft drugs (marijuana)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 4421

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitersmoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy  @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @marriedwithmarktuan @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @killerqueen1985 @ccweasley @bluscryn @deluxeplanteater @ohtorchio @messyhairday-me @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic​ @fuckim-so-gay @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @petit-poussin @fedorable-killjoys​ @luvbadass​ @buttercup-beeee​ @navs-bhat​ @etaerealboyv​ @tryymebitch​ @mell-bell​ @fenhakwe​ @solacestyles​ @softforlukescurls​ @vicsangel​ @theimpossiblehologramtree​ @alina-exe​ @cherricola66​

***

Soft skin against his fingers. A hand running down his chest to his pants. Heavy breathing filling the room. The flesh underneath him felt warm and welcoming, hot to the touch and begging for more. Her perfume filled his senses as she pulled him close. Nails running down his back. Whispers of "amore mio, just like that", "keep going,” “cara mia, vita mia, please".

A “Dami, fuck” leaving her lips as his hand started gripping her thighs. Running between them, as she threw her head back, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling on it. Biting her neck. Coaxing more moans out of him, on a mission to make him lose his mind. She was heaven on earth. Supple breasts moving with every breath as he let his mouth descend on them, one at a time, desperate to consume all of her. Kissing every inch of her, exploring her until he knew about every curve, every ridge, every little spot of her body. He wanted to know all the secrets she ever had. Drawing noises out of her that he wanted to keep hearing for the rest of his life. Her hands on his shoulders, on his back, on his arse. Pulling him further into her. Letting his mouth wander lower, getting wrapped up between her legs. She looked at him with dark eyes, nodding, and he was ready to suffocate in between her thighs.

Wait, was he actually suffocating on her thighs?

Damiano woke up with a start, face pressed deeply into the pillow, restricting his breathing in a way that was much less sexy than the one in his dream. A circle of drool had escaped his mouth and dropped onto the pillow. Well, that's embarrassing, he thought to himself.

He was in the middle of pushing himself up and out of bed, highly aware of the situation in his boxers - only to be interrupted when a knock on the door startled him. Trying to wrap the sheet around him, suddenly overly self-conscious of his state, he hastened to the door, almost tripping several times on the way. When he finally unlocked and opened it, he just about let his head appear in the opening, awkwardly hiding between the door still. Y/n’s face was painted in confusion. He forgot how stunning she really was, his brain not even coming close to painting her image in his dreams.

“Yes, hi, good morning, I’m up! I’ll be down in an hour!” He was rushing to finish his sentence, not giving her a chance to reply before he let the door fall back into its lock. A deep breath out. Her face instilled in his mind like a photograph, unable to be separated from the extremely vivid dream he’d just had. He felt bad. He had essentially slammed the door in her face while wrapped up in a bedsheet. Not a very good impression considering he liked the woman behind the door. This was going to be such a long day.

***

“Why are you so awkward?” Victoria nudged Damiano as they had settled on a couch on the bus. He had been looking off since she had first seen him that morning, which was odd. Especially considering he was usually more of an early bird than the rest of them. “Sleep badly? Bad dreams? Good dreams? Or did you scare Y/n away again with another morning wood incident.”

Damiano’s face burned up as if suddenly ignited, making Victoria gasp.

“Oh my god, did you?!” She smacked his chest with her hand as she let out a gasp.

“I wasn’t even aware you knew about the first time,” Damiano mumbled, slumping down deeper into the seat. Crawling into the shirt he was wearing. Anything to get out of this conversation.

“Word travels fast on tour, you should know that by now,” she giggled, repositioning so she had her legs spread across his thighs. “So what happened?”

“I’m not going to talk about that with you,” he scoffed. Victoria’s grin only spread further, though. She was loving this side of Damiano more than she would like to admit - shy, awkward, unsure of himself. He was one of the best people she knew, an amazing frontman, a talented musician, a loyal friend. Yet with one little addition to the team he had turned into a quivering mess.

“You know I’m just going to ask Y/n what happened, right?”

“Yeah good luck with that, she didn’t even notice. At least I hope not.”

“Wait - so you hid your boner from her? I mean, at least you didn’t traumatise her again. What happened though, did you have some good times before the wake-up call?” She once again nudged him obnoxiously, loving how uncomfortable she was making him. “Did you have a wet dream? Did- Oh my god, you’re blushing, you did have a wet dream! Tell me everything! Was it hot? Did she go down on you or something? Did you see her tits?”

“Fuck off Victoria, I’m not telling you anything, now stop! It’s no like-”

“Hi! Attention, everyone! I know it's early and everyone is probably still asleep. But - announcements! That includes you Thomas,” Y/n said pulling the curtain of the guitarist’s bunk back so he could listen too.

Victoria noticed how their assistant didn’t seem spooked by Damiano’s presence at all - it seemed like he had been right after all. She hadn’t noticed a thing. If only those two would stop playing cat and mouse and finally do something, anything, she thought.

"Now, I know we're all excited about going to Amsterdam today, and I'm not looking at anyone in particular here," she explained as she shot a pointed look at Damiano that no one missed. "But I have one ground rule: no weed before the show. You got tomorrow off, so whatever you do after the performance tonight is none of my business. But god help you if I find you with a joint in hand any time before that."

She smiled, but Victoria had no doubts she would be deadly serious if it came to it. Y/n passed out a map of the local area, highlighting the Leidseplein in the middle of town, and in red circles were the venue, the hotel they were staying at, restaurants, and several coffeeshops, all within easy walking distance.

“Do with that what you like,” she concluded. ”As long as you do it after the show.”

***

The band had gotten to the venue straight after lunch, excitedly discussing some new covers they were thinking about playing that night. Soundcheck consisted of a number of conversations all at once, trying to figure out how to change the setlist. Damiano found himself participating less, instead, staring down at Y/n sitting in the audience. She was busy writing in her notebook, the seats next to her taken up by her bag, folders, and laptop. He knew she needed a break. They all worked extremely hard all the time, so it wasn't difficult to spot the signs of a fellow overworked person. He made it his own personal mission to get her to go out with them that night. Spend some time outside of work, see the city, anything that made her put her phone down.

As day turned to night, the concert loomed on the horizon. As soon as they hit the stage, it was clear it was going to be a good night. Amsterdam was the best kind of crazy. Going from Zitti e Buoni into Billie Eilish's Bury a Friend, the crowd went wild. Damiano noticed with amusement that Y/n was absentmindedly dancing along from her spot on the side of the stage as well. His attention had only been diverted towards her for a second, he was sure, but it was enough to suddenly feel something hit his head. Soft, red fabric.

"Was wondering when the first of those would come around," Damiano chuckled into the microphone in between songs, swinging the bra around a few times, before draping it across his mic stand.

Yet as much as the energy of the audience rubbed off on the band, all of them felt like collapsing after the show, feeling like they'd given it more than their all. A perfect chance to unwind for the night, in a way only Amsterdam really knew how. It was legal, after all.

***

“I am absolutely not getting high with you lot.”

Everyone was gathered in Y/n’s hotel room more or less uninvited. It seemed like they were dying to drag her along on what was supposed to be one of the best nights out on that tour. After getting ready, they had simply stormed in as soon as she had opened her hotel door. Now they were perched on her bed, her desk, and her armchair, trying to convince her.

“I gave you all a map to see where you could go. I, for one, would like to stay in my room, just me and my bed, and sleep till my alarm in the morning. That sounds like a brilliant time in my book.”

“Boring!” Thomas shouted, hurling a pillow from the bed at her that she quickly caught and threw back with much less force.

“If you come out with us, we’ll be ready before your wake-up call for the rest of the week!” Victoria tried to bribe.

“If you come out with us, we’ll have breakfast ready for you every day!” Y/n shot a look at Thomas, knowing fully well this was not going to happen. The idea alone made her laugh.

“If you come out with us, you can keep me company while the other three go crazy?” Ethan finally offered. She knew she was close to giving in, no matter how wrong it seemed to blur the lines between working relationship and friendship. She barely even agreed to drinks when she was on the job, and technically, she considered herself to be on the job 24/7. Yet these four had grown close to her heart so much more than anticipated.

Out of nowhere Damiano appeared next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulder. The way his fingertips brushed her neck as he did so left goosebumps. “Come on, darling, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

It turned out, that was all she had needed to hear.

***

The coffeeshop didn’t differ much from the usual pubs and bars; people stuffed in every corner, a low murmur of talk with the occasional loud laughter over the music playing in the background, tables full of glasses and bottles. Only the smoke lingering in the air, its distinct smell, and the relaxed atmosphere let on that it was a slightly different kind of place. Y/n made short work of weaseling through the crowd and securing a table at the far end of the place, just enough space to accommodate all of them, as the others went to order.

“Do you want one as well?” Damiano asked as soon as he had let himself fall onto the couch next to her, already preparing to roll a joint.

“I think I’m getting a second-hand high just sitting here. Maybe take a puff of one of yours, but I won't be able to finish one myself."

Damiano nodded, licking the inside of the blanks as he prepared his joint. Victoria came bouncing in like a tidal wave - her usual fashion - and crashing into the others already sitting down. As soon as Damiano was happy with his creation, she snatched it out of his hand, making short work of lighting it and taking a drag.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Make another one,” she grinned, obnoxiously blowing the smoke into his face. Rolling his eyes, Damiano quickly prepared another one for himself, everyone now happy and content with their smokes, until only Y/n was left holding at a glass of water.

She preferred to observe the scene from her little advantage point in the corner like she so often did. The mellow music in the background was loud enough to underline the atmosphere but quiet enough to easily talk to everyone around you without having to shout. She liked this much better than loud bars in the evening. Most people were minding their own business, in small groups or pairs, some on their own. Victoria was quick to start chatting to a pair of girls sitting at the table next to them. She wasn’t going to lie - while not her usual spot, she didn’t exactly feel uncomfortable.

A hand appeared in front of her face, seemingly out of nowhere, and it took her a second to realise it was Damiano, trying to pass her his joint. She hesitated - still not convinced whether she should be smoking at all, but one look into his eyes only proved to her that she was weak to his suggestions. Parting her lips ever so slightly, she let him push the blunt between them, his fingertips grazing her. She took a drag, careful not to breathe in too much too quickly, before releasing the joint. Damiano pulled it back towards himself immediately, putting it back between his own lips, and she felt hypnotised. The moment came to an abrupt end when a cough took hold of her.

“Easy, easy,” Ethan soothed from the other side, his hand on her upper back. “Breathe.”

Everyone around the table seemed to be looking at her now, but she quickly got her composure back, holding up her hands in a gesture that was meant to signal she was fine.

“Fuck,” Y/n choked, taking a drink from her glass to wet her throat. “This is why I don’t smoke.”

“Wrong,” Thomas threw in. “This is because you don’t smoke!”

Y/n shook her head, giggling at the guitarist and the know-it-all look in his eyes.

“Up to try again?” Damiano whispered in her ear as the attention had finally ceased to be on her. She found herself staring into his eyes once again, a fluttery feeling erupting in her stomach at having him watch her so intently, at being able to capture his attention so easily.

The look on his face was enough to get her to try again. And again. And again.

She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but for once, she genuinely didn’t care. The people around them had changed, old ones leaving, new ones arriving, but the music stayed the same. She wasn’t quite sure what the joke Thomas was telling them was about, but she found herself giggling along nonetheless. This was the best she had felt in forever.

Unaware of what she was doing, she leaned back, finding Damiano’s arms carefully wrapping around her, holding her softly. To her own surprise, she was sinking into him.

“Having fun?” He asked in a voice so low she barely heard it. A voice so soft it made her heart melt. She nodded, slightly twisting around in his embrace to look at him again. She couldn’t get enough of his face. She’d stay and study it for all of eternity if he let her.

"Have you ever seen brown zircon?” She suddenly asked out of nowhere. “It's a gemstone that looks like they made sparkly salted caramel bonbons from rock. They mine it in Tanzania, I think? Your eyes sparkle just like that." She grinned at the man beside her. "I can attest to that from this angle at least. It’s like the one scene in Aladdin! 'She's got these eyes, and this hair and…’ Ah oh god, what am I doing?" She couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she was being. She found her face resting on his shoulder, completely content. His eyes never wavered from her face, listening closely to what she had to say.

Then Y/n watched her hand brush Damiano’s hair to the front, attempting to style it in a slightly different way. “Did you mean to look like Eren Yeager or was that some sort of subconscious coincidence? Not that it doesn’t look good, of course.”

“You watch Attack on Titan?” Dami looked down at her with surprise.

“No I don’t, but my friends do. So you learn the names of the people they yell at through the TV screen very quickly,” she laughed, remembering the way her friends would huddle in the living room, shouting at whatever the characters were doing wrong in their opinion.

“The more I get to know you, the more I’m convinced you’re my kinda woman, you know?” he mumbled, a smile grazing his lips. The more she looked at him, the more she felt her brain shutting off and her heart taking over. Or was it the high? She wasn’t interested in trying to differentiate.

Once again, he pushed the joint between her lips, holding the eye contact and it felt so much more intimate than it should have. It felt like her nerves were on fire. When he pulled his hand back again, she wanted to grab onto it, keep him in place, keep the moment.

I could stay in this forever, Y/n thought to herself.

"Also, I'm not religious by any means, but whatever God was responsible for creating you sure took their sweet time doing it…" The words spilled from her mouth before she realized she was talking, eyes flicking back and forth between his. "You know?"

She caught herself looking at his lips. A small blush grew on her face as she looked away. Staring out into the room, out at the people sitting next to them at other tables. Something distracting to take the rising heat off.

***

Damiano could feel his defenses wearing away. All ideas of staying away completely vanished into the smoke that lulled them in as he was holding her in his arms, her back leaning against his chest. He could feel her breathing, giggling at nothing at all, or maybe something Victoria had said but he hadn’t heard.

“If anyone’s been made by the angels, it’s you, amore,” he mumbled more to himself than anything, but she had heard him. Another chuckle running through her body. The atmosphere was fogging up his brain. He watched in amusement as he let a finger run up her arms, from her wrist to her upper arm where the fabric of her shirt began, and goosebumps appeared as if standing tall in a row. He tried it again on the other arm, getting the same result.

“What are you doing?”

She was turning around in his arms, just enough to look at him without removing herself from his embrace. He wondered if it was the dim light or if she was always this radiant. His hands travelled to the elastic that was holding her hair together and carefully removed it, eyes on her. Her hair fell around her face, framing it beautifully in its typically wild manner.

“I…” Her eyes seemed to twinkle as the light of the bar reflected back at him through them. “I don’t know.”

He looked away, suddenly insecure. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep his hands off her, now less than ever. He wanted her. Wanted her all to himself. Wanted to keep holding her like this forever. There was no denying that.

“You’re sweet.”

Her voice took a second to get through to him, but as it did, he turned his head as if in slow motion. All he had wanted to do was look at her again, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, her lips were on his.

***

All Y/n had done was lean forward to press a kiss against his cheek. Now their lips were meeting and she didn’t know how she had gotten there. She wanted to pull back - no, actually she didn’t. But she thought she should. Though the spirit was willin - to pull away, that was -, the flesh was weak. Delving deeper into his arms, she found herself kissing him like she meant it. Her hands found his chest, feeling the rising heat from his skin. Being closer to him than ever before was driving her crazy. His soft, warm lips against hers. Just the tiniest movements, as if he was afraid of breaking her. She let herself enjoy it. For a moment. That was all her brain allowed before switching back to the rational part. She pulled back in surprise.

She moved out of his embrace, stiffening at the contact. All of the twinkling lights of romance that had just appeared around them now popped as the kiss ended.

I just kissed my boss. I just fucking went and kissed Damiano! I am so, so fucked.

Yet, she couldn't deny that she wanted to kiss him again. And again, and again until they ran out of air to breathe. She looked back at him and the expression on his face said it all. His lids lowered, a small smile appearing on his face. Eyes twinkling in the soft light. He hadn’t wanted the kiss to end either. Either that or the weed was affecting him more than she had thought.

But as cold air started to seep in between them he blinked a couple of times, only now noticing that she had pulled away.

"Sorry - about that. I was trying to- I wasn't trying to kiss you. Well, I was - but not on the mouth. That would have been very forward of me. I would never. That's not me. I don't know how that happened - sorry." Y/n rambled on, unable to stop talking.

Damiano smirked, pecking her cheek. "Y/n, it's fine, you're fine. I turned my head and we kissed. It happens." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. As if this was some sort of common occurrence. As if she was panicking for nothing. Was she?

***

Damiano desperately tried to hide the turmoil inside of him. It happens?! Damiano, what the hell are you thinking! Not the right thing to say in this situation! Now it just looks like you’d kiss anyone, great. He looked down at his hands, fumbling with his rings. Trying to get his breathing back under control. He needed to be cool.

"I mean - not that I didn't enjoy it. You kiss good!"

You kiss good? What the? That wasn’t even English. He was well and truly losing his mind.

***

Y/n took a deep breath, sitting back in her seat, making sure not to be as close to Damiano as she had been before. Victoria and Thomas had migrated to get more drinks and Ethan was deeply entrenched in some conversation with a man next to him. Luckily the rest of the band hadn't seen what just happened. Grabbing her glass once more, the cold wet condensation gave a stark contrast to her warm skin.

The kiss still left a tingly feeling on her lips. Quickly looking at Damiano, she met his eyes. He had not looked away yet, it seemed. She watched as he bit his lip in contemplation. Whatever was playing on his mind, Y/n didn't know. His words left her believing he wasn’t quite as put together as he tried to pretend. He certainly wasn’t making much sense. Although, she wouldn’t dismiss his compliment of her kissing abilities. She wondered if he would think similarly if they did it again, or did more than that…

Her wandering thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud crash. The culprit was quickly spotted. The middle of the coffeeshop, which had been empty of people until then, now had Thomas lying on his front, surrounded by liquid and broken glass.

Y/n didn’t hesitate, jumping up to offer her aid. The worry only lasted for a second though, until Thomas turned on his back, giggling maniacally. She barely managed to kick some shards out of the way before he could roll onto them.

She let out a deep sigh at the state of the guitarist, before quickly apologizing to the people at the bar.

“Everyone help me grab Thomas, I think this is our sign to call it a night.”

***

Y/n thought she’d have an easy time going to sleep. The effects of the joint were lingering, plus, the day had just been plain exhausting. Yet, as her head hit the pillow, she felt restless. Her mind kept circling around Damiano. The way he had looked at her. The way he had looked in general. She had seen him basically naked at this point, but she still thought about how it would be different up close and personal. She wished she had been able to read his eyes more. Had he been thinking about the same things she had? Had he wanted to kiss her again and again, get lost in that bubbling excitement of finally being close, finally let his hands wander to new places? She wanted to pull his hair. See what kind of sound would leave his mouth when doing so.

She wanted his hands and his lips, all of him really, badly. She wanted to know what he felt like when he really kissed her. What his fingers would be able to do to her. Biting and moaning. She desperately needed some release, wishing it would come from him, but knowing there was no chance, at least not tonight. Her hand wandered between her legs as she let her mind run wild. Imagining it was him instead, letting his fingers run along the inside of her thighs, exploring every inch of her. How he would treat her just right, hit all the right spots, do so much better than her own fingers ever could. The words he’d whisper in her ear, seducing her with his mother tongue, breath fanning her skin. How he would kiss her senseless. Feeling the rhythm of their bodies take over. Watch his tattoos start to glisten with a sheen of sweat from what they would be doing.

She found her release almost embarrassingly quickly, burying her face in her pillow. Her body felt more at ease, although her heart was still craving something more. She had almost calmed down, getting her breathing back under control. In a moment of clarity, she checked her phone to see when she had to wake up the next day, when the sound of a moan caught her attention. One that definitely wasn’t her own, but seemed to come from the room next door.

Damiano’s room.

[tojiaesth]

boyfriend

gojo satoru x f!reader

summary: you and gojo had some sort of unspoken agreement in which you refused to adhere to labels and instead chose to have fun. except neither of you would ever admit the hold you had on each other.

warning: heavy smut, 18 +, minors dni, fingering, oral (fem receiving), rough handling of reader, marking, dom!gojo, sub!reader, choking/breath play, overstim, raw sex, tummy bulge, ?slight breeding kink, jealousy and possessiveness, mentions of drugs and alcohol.

tags: college au, fratboy!gojo, friends with benefits, unlabelled relationships, bisexual!gojo, bisexual!reader, fluff at the end <3

A/N: inspired by ariana herself <3 so i recommend at least listening to the song before you read, if you’re like me and can’t read and listen :p

It was loud. That was the first thing you picked up on before you even entered the sweaty house. Your friends begged you to come, as if there weren’t parties every week and missing one would change the world. You struggled to find a parking space, choosing to walk the rest of the way. The deafening thump of bass could be heard a few blocks down and you wondered how there was never any noise complaints.

Satoru probably threw money at them.

You smiled, it was such a him thing to do. The cold air nipped at your dress, having left your coat in your car. You had chosen to wear an emerald green satin body con dress that stopped mid thigh. It accompanied a criss cross pattern that exposed your back. You first saw it online and had fallen in love, it partly being the reason why you had said yes. You wanted him to see you in the dress, already craving the dark look in his eyes when he was turned on.

Gojo Satoru, college senior, with his charismatic personality had a very big presence at the college. Almost never alone and surrounded by a group of admirers, both men and women fell at his feet. If someone had told you back in your first year that you’d be sleeping with this man on the regular you’d think they were crazy. He honestly, despite being very handsome, was not your kind of man. Too pretty, very cocky and had serious commitment issues, bedding half the campus. But it had started at the beginning of the year, your friendship groups overlapping as you had grown close with Suguru Getou and Shoko Ieiri having been studying the same subject. You found yourself around him a lot, eventually going out with just each other and things quickly progressed.

Soon enough he was between your thighs, lapping at your cunt with fervour and sucking gently on your clit, two slender fingers hitting that spot. He did that a lot, seeming to relish in the way you fell apart on his tongue, your slippery walls pulsating as you softly said his name like a prayer. He’d nonchalantly get up, sometimes not even asking for anything in return and it surprised you. You pegged him as more of a receiver than a giver but it suited you fine.

You became pretty popular on campus as you hung out with them, attending parties and making life long friendships. You usually weren’t someone who slept around, but that quickly changed. So did your care for a steady relationship. You were 21, life was short, you had a great body and a pretty face, opting to have fun.

You found yourself caught in Gojo’s trap, legs wound around his waist on a weekly basis, his hard cock driving into you with such force you thought you’d break. Your legs clenched just thinking about it, a thin layer of slickness coating your panties.

Your thoughts were brought back to reality when you entered the frat house, NalinA by Block B was being blasted at full volume through the house and you already felt a course of excitement run through your veins. You couldn’t wait to let loose and find your friends. The house, just short of a mansion, had been decorated with l.e.d lights, a soft red and blue glow painting your skin. There was alcohol everywhere, sweaty bodies and the strong smell of weed.

“Y/N! Over here.” You looked over to see the majority of your friends on a sofa, catching sight of Satoru with a girl on his lap. His hand was caressing her ass, as she pouted saying something to him. She was pretty, and you tried your best not to care. Their faces were sweaty, with cups in their hands, indicating they had stopped dancing. You walked in their direction, plopping yourself next to the person behind the voice.

“Hey Mei-Mei. You look hot.” You said casually and she automatically pulled you to sit on her knee. You smiled and took her cup, whatever bitter liquid sliding down your throat. You and Mei were another short lived fling, sleeping together a handful of times and besides Satoru, no one else could compare to that sinful mouth of hers. A queen at teasing, she brought her hand to your waist and lightly began tracing shapes with her fingers.

“You look hot, that dress is making me want to do things to you.”

You chuckled as you stared at each other, tensions running high as the song changed to one you were familiar with. You wanted to dance.

“God, please make out.”

You ignored the annoying comment from Sukuna who was sat diagonally from you, blatantly checking you out. You told him to shut up, your mouth twitching as he looked completely unfazed. Looking away, you ran your fingers through Mei’s soft hair,

“Come, let’s dance.” You whispered, breath hot on her ear as she shivered. You loved how easily you could fluster Mei, knowing the more you worked her up the more she’d punish you for it later.

You both got up and your arms were grabbed by Shoko,

“We’re coming, we’d rather not watch Sukuna hunt for a girl like an animal or Gojo practically fuck in front of us.” She said, shuddering and dragging a very amused Getou. Your eyes flickered to Satoru, finding that he was already watching you. The girl was now straddling him and the buttons on his shirt looked undone, his hands rubbing circles on her thighs. He refused to break eye contact with you, kissing her neck as she moaned, smirking as you looked away, grasping Mei’s hand.

You don’t know what he was trying to do, but it pissed you off. It annoyed you more that he’d groan in your ear some nights, grabbing your neck and claiming you were his and his only. Not wanting you to touch or look at anyone else. The next morning? Business as usual as he was all over some girl. You deducted that him saying those things to you were just in the heat of the moment, recalling how your clit would throb as he would rub slow circles, staking his claim. You liked how possessive he could get, the rough sex, and how occasionally he’d surprise you with a gift. All without having to actually be in a relationship.

You didn’t care about labels and neither did he. So why? Why did his eyes say, he wanted you to get jealous? You sighed, these mind games and mixed signals were your least favourite part of Satoru.

The beginning of an all too familiar riff began to thump through the walls and you all squealed in delight. As ‘Do I Wanna Know’ began you swayed your hips and lip synced, literally letting your hair down as Mei came up behind you. Shoko began recording you without your knowledge, watching as your head fell onto Mei’s shoulder, her hands ghosting around the space between your breasts, purposefully ignoring how your nipples hardened as she whispered something lewd into your ear.

“She’s gonna kill you if you post that.” Suguru watched as Shoko posted the video to her story, her eyes shining with amusement as almost instantly people replied asking who you were.

Satoru on the other hand could not take his eyes off of you. He studied you as you wrapped your arms around Mei and he was exasperated. She was addictive, he thought, those pouty and full lips had a hold on him, his dick twitched thinking about them wrapped around him. Her body was something else, those breasts of hers heaving against her dress. Shit. He almost got hard. The girl currently giving him a hickey was just not doing it for him. In fact no girl or guy was, he had tried countless times only his encounters with Y/N fulfilling his desires. In spite of that, he would not tell her this, not wanting to ruin the game of cat and mouse they had going.

“Satoru, let’s go somewhere.” The girl whined, hips grinding against his crotch. He suddenly got up and pushed her off of him,

“Nah, not in the mood. I’m sure Sukuna would be interested. He has a habit of going after my sloppy seconds.” Gojo snapped, sick of the way he was gazing at you, eyes darkened with lust.

He ignored the girls cuss words directed at him as she stormed off and Sukuna snickered, looking up from his phone.

“She’s fuckable but I have my eye on something else tonight.” He thrust his phone in Satoru’s face, only to be met with Shoko’s story, full of Y/N dancing suggestively.

He willed himself not to show anger and hummed,

“Like you could pull her.” His voice dripping with fake amusement as Sukuna tensed in irritation.

Satoru walked in the direction of his friends, still dancing crazily and singing very out of tune to ‘Kiss me more’, you were now dancing with Suguru and laughing loudly as he tried to attempt some sort of dance move so terribly, Satoru could not decipher what it was supposed to be. Your lips were glossy, eyes twinkling as he picked you up and twirled you around, ribs hurting from laughing so much. You never laughed that much with him.

Satoru pursed his lips, he was just so irritated. Suguru put you down when the song finished and you fixed his hair that your arm had messed up,

“Your hairs gone so long now, I love it.” You said cheerily, fingers twirling on a stray strand as Suguru bent down slightly so he could hear you over the music.

“It suits you.” You stated softly, unable to look away from his intuitive eyes. The lights were casting a glow across his face, bringing his jaw to attention as you traced it slowly. He was a different kind of handsome you thought, more your type than Satoru was and you thought about how his eyes were a warm brown, compared to Satoru’s cerulean ones. You scolded yourself internally for still finding ways to think about Satoru, you just couldn’t shake him.

Suguru smirked and focused on the feeling of your hands, now running through his hair and eventually resting on the back of his neck. You smelt so good, he thought, he wanted to kiss you. He leaned down and you realised his intentions, your hands paused on his biceps that were coated in tattoos. As you closed your eyes, thoughts wild and slightly clouded by the shots you did with Shoko, you braced yourself to kiss the god-like man that was Getou Suguru, pulse racing.

“Y/N!” Your head automatically snapped at your name being called, sheepishly looking at Suguru whose eyes were now filled with something you couldn’t quite figure out. Satoru was in front of you both, promptly grabbing your hand and dragging you away. Eyes bewildered you looked back at Suguru who looked entertained at the whole situation. You found yourself at the focus of everyone’s stares, all curious as to why Gojo had a dark look in his eyes.

“Satoru, what the fuck? Let go-“ His large hands were gripping your smaller ones hard, uncomfortably squishing your fingers together. He said nothing, back to you as he hauled you up the stairs and into his room. His door slammed as you stumbled into the dimly lit room, turning around in utter confusion at Gojo’s behaviour.

“Fuck, what is your problem?” You were enraged at how he just did what he pleased with you and how you just let him. You massaged your wrist, now slightly red at Satoru’s force.

“Why the fuck would you try and kiss him? Seriously, Suguru? You’re such a fucking whore.” Gojo clenched his jaw, finding himself even angrier at the thought of you underneath Suguru, moaning, sweat dripping off your backs.

You were baffled. A whore?

“Firstly, you’re literally the definition of a whore and secondly, why the fuck do you care?!” You stepped closer to him, cheeks flushed in anger at Satoru’s audacity,

“You have no fucking right to care about who I fuck. Got it? You’re not my boyfriend.”

Satoru moved closer to you, your nose in line with his chest as the man’s eyes changed suddenly. For once, he had no comeback or witty remark, you were right but he’d had enough. Just the thought of his best friend between your legs snapped him into action and he had to come to terms with his feelings. His fingers lifted your chin, your eyes willing itself not to melt at his touch, goosebumps already littering your arm. He silently moved to your lips, thumb pressing against your mouth, encouraging you to open.

You were so unbelievably confused, this man blew hot and cold. One minute so angry he couldn’t speak and then next initiating a kiss.

“Satoru-“

His lips were against yours before you had time to think, furiously pressing against them and swiping his tongue across. You relaxed into his touch and opened your mouth. His tongue found yours in an instant and lightly sucked it, your breathless moans pleasuring his senses as his hands pulled your body closer to him. He explored your body, cupping your ass while you simultaneously wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers drowning in his soft white locks. Eventually he pulled away, cupping your face gently like you were a porcelain doll,

“I don’t want you to see anyone else or kiss them like that. I’m not playing any more games. You’re mine.” He stated firmly, blue eyes framed by his ash coloured lashes, gazing into your soul.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tease him. Gojo...was serious. All those extra knowing glances you’d give each other, the fiery arguments, the passionate sex, the pang of jealousy at his lips on another girls neck and the way his eyes would linger a little too long when you spoke to a guy, you realised the both of you were stupid. Too busy trying to convince yourselves you didn’t care you both buried your thoughts away, afraid to articulate them in case you were rejected.

You found yourself repeating after him, his eyes almost hypnotising you as you stuttered,

“I-i’m yours.”

Satoru lightly kissed you on the lips and motioned you to jump up, supporting your legs as you wrapped them securely around his waist. He gingerly placed you on his bed, hovering over you as his hands slowly rid up your leg, ghosting around your inner thigh and you suppressed a moan. His touch was magnetic, something as simple as stroking your thigh with Satoru becomes so much more, a tingly sensation jolting through you when his hands brushed between your clothed folds. Meanwhile he began kissing his way down, starting with your neck and sucking furiously at the spot above your collarbone. You mewled against him as he licked the now marked spot, your hips desperately finding his to grind against.

“Patience, baby. I’m taking my time with you.”

You whined at his remark, you just needed him inside you, now.

“Such a whiny brat.” His voice slipped through your ears like silk as he slowly slipped the straps of your dress down your shoulders, the new stimuli adding to the experience. You were never more glad to have not worn a bra. He focused on your exposed breasts, nipples hard and swollen and he groaned at the sight.

A warm sensation reached your nipples and you cried out in pleasure, looking down at Satoru lapping up your soft mounds. His seductive gaze ripped through you as he began to trace slow circles with his tongue. His fingers kept your other breast occupied, rolling around your left nipple with his fingers, constantly switching sides and worshipping them.

His attention switched to your lower stomach, kissing your skin with affection as you anticipated his lips between your thighs. You could feel the damp spot slowly spreading on your panties and the swell of your clit, begging to be touched.

“Fuck, Satoru you tease.” You breathed out in gaspy moans, he had completely removed your dress by now and was blowing warm breaths against your knickers. Satoru brought a single digit to rub against the wet spot, moaning as he felt the tent in his pants. He loved teasing you but it required self control, wanting nothing more than to release his large cock from its restraints and into your warm hole, throbbing at the thought.

He finally pulled your panties to the side at your delight and your whimpers filled the room as his fingers brushed against your soaked clit. He played around with your pussy, stroking up and down and noting the creamy juices that were flowing out your hole. The sight of his fingers coated in your juices and he almost came right there. The lewd squelching of your cunt was slightly covered up by your cries of pleasure as he entered two slender fingers inside you, stimulating your sensitive walls. He reached down and took your clit into his mouth, humming at the taste.

“F-fuck, right there Toru” You moaned, attempting to wriggle but Satoru quickly used his arms to clamp your thighs into place, his sensual mouth causing white dots to appear in your vision. Your stomach fluttered at the slow, familiar build up of your climax, not even embarrassed that he had only been eating you out for five minutes. You were just so sensitive today and paired with Satoru laying claim to you, your body was responding to each and every one of his touches.

“Ah, k-keep going baby, fuck. You’re so good at it.” The praises fell from your lips as the deep pleasure in your stomach changed, indicating you were near.

Satoru was persistent, his insatiable need to feel your cunt quiver against his tongue caused him to add one more digit, scissoring his fingers against your gummy walls. He could feel you frantically clenching, chuckling at his inability to move as fast as his fingers were in a death trap. He kept his eyes on you, watching as your hand came up to your mouth to stifle your sobs, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“I’m close.” You whispered and you made a mistake of looking down at Satoru, his tongue was pressing down against your sensitive nub, saliva dripping onto his bed. His fingers went even faster, determined to make you cum.

“Shit, shit, shit. I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me princess.”

That was all you needed. You legs squeezed frantically against his head, the euphoric sensations causing your back to refuse to rest against the bed. Satoru paid no mind to your repetitive whimpers as you began to come down from your high, his lips still stubbornly attached to your clit. It was too much, the previously pleasurable feel was now borderline painful, his sticky fingers removing themselves from your cunt.

You legs jolted occasionally each time he purposely grazed the bundle of nerves, continuing his efforts by using his tongue to tease around the now sensitive area, chuckling when your hips wriggled.

“Delicious.” His velvety tongue swiped his lips and he brought his fingers into your mouth. The tangy but familiar taste of your undoings were accompanied by his soft fingers, swirling around your tongue until your saliva created a mess.

“Shit, you’re so hot.” He groaned, the twitching of his cock was unrelenting. You pressed your legs together, the achy feeling of need returning. Reaching to kiss him, your hands started to undo his belt buckle,

“I want you.” You whispered, unable to look away from his eyes.

His lecherous eyes stared back at you, his fingers curling around your back as he brought you closer, now hovering above you.

“I want you too.”

In one swift movement, his cock was freed and he entered you, the new feeling causing you to cry out as he slowly bottomed out.

“Shit, you’re clenching like crazy baby.”

You couldn’t even reply, his thick shaft splitting you open, Satoru stared down at how you sucked him in, a creamy ring of your juices at the base of his cock. You felt him harden even more, he hadn’t wasted any time by helping you adjust. He started a rough pace, watching your perky tits bounce as he reached down and placed a nipple into his mouth. You were truly addicting, he thought, your whimpers becoming louder with the sticky sound of your cunt. Your pussy seemed to fit him like a glove, Satoru’s eyes wandered towards your soft tummy, at the faint bulge of his devouring and his eyes widened, using a hand to press against it and his ears welcomed your high pitched gasps.

“What’s the matter baby girl?” He cooed, chuckling at your stifled sobs and flushed cheeks.

“‘is too much...” You managed, barely able to communicate as he fucked you dumb.

You were so sexy, he thought.

You scooted away, his rough movements almost resulting in your head banging against the headboard but without missing a beat Satoru pulled you back, cock sinking into you with a new sensation.

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart. You’re gonna lie there and take it.”

His hands ghosted at your waist, using the soft tissue as a grip as he forcefully used your body, eyes unable to look away at how you took his thick, veiny member. Your pussy twitched as he licked a stripe at the side of your neck,

“Oh...you like that?” He muttered, sucking on your weak spot, he groaned when you tightened against him, knowing the tip of his cock was red and angry, your walls were too much.

You blink, eyes glossy and lips swollen from his kisses, Satoru’s marks were littered across your body, evidence of his ravishing as he continued his strong pace, cock driving into you with hunger. Your moans changed pitch,

“t’s...too much...can’t...too big.” You babbled, a new, insurmountable pleasure was ripping into your stomach.

“It’s too big?,”

Satoru wrapped his slender fingers around your neck, pressing down lightly as he smirked,

“I know.”

Your breath was slowly snatched from you as he gripped your neck harder, it somehow heightening the feeling of him around your cunt. His groans were turning you on, you always loved how vocal Satoru was.

Satoru paid attention to you, removing his hands and watching as you gasped for breaths. He grinned at how crazy your pussy went whenever he did that, he had really met his match. His cock twitched, indicating his nearing climax and you creamed shamelessly around him when his thumb lightly brushed your rosy clit. Your legs had gone to jelly at this point, but you securely clamped them around Satoru’s waist, bringing him even closer as your eyes closed in pleasurable agony.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock?” The way you cried and babbled nonsense, mouth messy with saliva as you drooled around his fingers, Satoru pressed at the pad of your tongue, cerulean eyes gleaming at where you connected. As he sinked into you again and again, the intemperate need to feel you squirt around him, he took your soft mounds into his mouth once more and before he knew it, you let out a long, drawn out moan as you found your release.

The white hot pleasure against your stomach snapped and as you orgasmed for the second time, a new warm sensation splashed against Satoru’s cock. Your juices dripped onto the bed, your pussy quivering and legs shaking as you rode it out.

“Fuck.” His azure eyes twinkled with amazement and you didn’t think he could possibly get any harder, as his member remained snug against your cunt.

Satisfied at your mess and how your slimy walls squeezed so torturously against him, Satoru’s own release was not far behind. With one last sound of pleasure, another warm feeling filled your pussy, spurts of the familiar white liquid spilling out of you as he slowed down his thrusts, emptying his balls into you with his repeated moans.

He pulled out, watching the results of his orgasm dribble onto his sheets. Using his fingers, he pushed the remaining liquid deep into you as a low moan escaped your lips. He brought his coated fingers to your mouth, and you licked them clean, humming against him.

As he hovered over you, his captivating eyes caught in the moonlight peaking through the curtains, illuminating his spacious room. He was so beautiful, you thought, mind now unclouded as your high disappeared. Instead, a lighter but warm feeling fluttered through you as Satoru bent down to give you butterfly kisses across your stomach.

“You’re gorgeous.” He whispered and he felt you smile against the top of his head, white tendrils tickling your nose as he placed himself on your tummy, careful not to crush you.

A comfortable silence lingered in the air, for the first time neither of you needed to fill it in with pointless words. You stroked his hair, content that he was still here and showing you affection even after sex, a concept new to the both of you.

After some time, with the both of you deep in thought about each other, Satoru’s head lifted and he made eye contact with you.

“I meant what I said earlier. I know this is new to the both of us so we can take it slow and I’ll probably fuck things up a few times but...I really do care about you, Y/N.”

Your eyes softened, as he glanced nervously at you. You had never seen him so vulnerable before and somehow it made you like him even more.

You extended your arm, your fingers tapping against his cheek,

“I care about you a lot too, Satoru. More than I’d like to admit.” You looked away, confused at how quickly the atmosphere changed from the desperate grappling of hands against skin to soft eyes and shy kisses. You were shy around him. You really did care about him but you also weren’t the best at articulating your thoughts, Satoru was always one upping you with his smooth talking.

His smile softened before his eyes changed, amusement dancing across his face.

“Well why wouldn’t you like me? I’m amazing.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, his hands grabbing you and placing warm kisses around your neck. You melted into his touch, only now realising he hadn’t even properly undressed, unlike you who was completely bare.

He paused as you wriggled uncomfortably in the messy and slightly damp sheets, the both of you a tangle of limbs.

“Is this a bad time to ask if you’re on the pill?”

You stared at him.

“You are such an idiot.”

[drakenology]

Yeah, My Boyfriend’s In A Band

guitarist!todoroki x fem!reader

summary: something straight outta wattpad! you go to a rock band’s concert and stand front row of the stage. The band’s vocalist /guitarist catches your eye and.. well, the rest is history! this is the story of how you first met.

author’s note: soooo.. how yall been? i kinda said fuck it to the schedule i made. why force myself to make content when I just can’t ya know? I’d much rather upload content when it’s at it’s best. so enjoy! I used some lyrics from some of my favorite rock songs for this, can you guess em? Also the art work above isn’t mine!

warnings: smut (duh.), drug use (weed), size kink, pinch of daddy kink, spitting, degradation

It was a hot Saturday night. You were all dressed up and excited to see your favorite heavy metal band the Diaspora play in your city. You were a huge fan, their posters adorned your bedroom walls. You’ve been a fan since they first came out as a cover band.

The members were all pretty fuckin cute, especially the band’s front man. Todoroki Shoto.

He was so handsome; black and red half and half hair, grey sullen eyes, the sexy scar on the left side of his face only adding to the edginess of his visage. His tattoos coated his left arm in a sleeve, his eyebrow pierced as well as his lower lip. He was fucking hot. Obviously not the kind of guy who would pay any attention to you right?

You threw on the Diaspora t-shirt you bought just weeks before the show and tied it in the back so it could be a little cropped and called your uber, frantically spraying perfume in a panic that you were going to be late to the concert. You ran outside, saying goodnight to your roommate as you rush out the door and jump into the car.

“Hey. I’m Shoto Todoroki and I’m the lead singer and guitarist for the band The Diaspora. Hope to see you guys at the show tonight at 8.” You hear as smoothe and sultry voice play over the radio.

You swoon and text some buddies who were also going to the show in excitement, the rush going straight to your brain in a haze as you blast some of their music in your headphones.

When you arrive to the stadium, you spot your best friend from highschool Nejire Hado. You two actually grew up together and even graduated together. It was like you two were sisters, inseparable since birth. Nejire saw you and waved excitedly, squealing with glee and motioned you to come to her spot in line.

“Y/N!!!! Over here!!” She yelled, causing you to run over and jump up and down with her.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here!” You say.

“Me either! Hey, did you hear? There’s rumor’s going around that their having an after party after the show! We have to go, Y/N please say yes.” Nejire rambled, clapping her hands with an inability to contain her excitement.

You look down at your shoes, unsure at first. What if you aren’t even allowed inside? It could be VIP only.

“Fuck it. Let’s go!” You say, causing Nejire to scream and laugh with joy.

Suddenly, the band’s security comes outside to greet the fans waiting to come inside for the show.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please enter in a single fil-“ the poor guy couldn’t even finish his sentence before hundreds of eager fans rush past him and squeeze into the stadium doors, running as fast as the could to get to their seats.

Luckily for you and Nejire, you had front row tickets. Those days of refreshing the page for them as they sold out every second really paid off. You grab Nejire’s hand and run inside, elbowing and clawing your way through to your spot with your best friend by your side. The lights suddenly go dim and the crowd goes insane.

The show’s about to start. You heart seemed to float up into your throat as you stood sweating and nervous, Nejire screaming her head off and jumping up and down when the band came rising up from the bottom of the stage. Smoke covers them for a while until it clears and all you see is Todoroki standing above you, the real him finally being exposed to you as you gaze from the crowd.

He was even more handsome in person. Tonight he wore black jeans and a white band tank top ,showing off his muscular and tattooed arms. Chains hung on his hip and his boots as he propped his foot up on the amplifier in front of him.

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” He screamed into the mic, causing the crowd to scream impossibly louder. He smirked, causing you to feel woozy just seeing him look so smug, as if he knew the effects he had on his fans.

You could’ve died right there a happy woman as the band started to play their hit single, the gritty sound of the electric guitar sending chills up your spine as you and Nejire headbang and dance to the music. You sing along to the top of your lungs, watching as Todoroki owned the stage. You gaze up at him again to see something completely and utterly unbelievable.

He was looking right at you.

You gasp, your eyes widening as you lock eyes with him. Shoto kneeled down towards you and reached his hand out to you. You almost scream and grab his tattooed hand with both of your own and smile at him, keeping your eyes focused on his. Shoto took your hand and kissed it as he sang a pretty racy part of his song to you,

“I wanna take you home.” (sleeping with sirens fans?? your nickle aint worth my dime???? NO?)

Oh. My. God

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! Y/N, HE-“ Nejire screamed, just as excited as you. You stood there shocked and flustered, staring into space. Todoroki fucking Shoto just kissed your hand. Shoto smirked and let your hand go, continuing the rest of his show in hopes you got the message. He wanted you. It was common sense that you go to the afterparty now.

The show continued for another 2 hours, Todoroki now dripping in sweat from the hot lights shining upon him and his band.

“Thank you all so much for coming out. For those invited, I’ll see you all at the afterparty! Goodnight everyone!” Todoroki bellowed to the crowd, causing them to cheer him and the band off the stage.

You stand there, high off of every guitar riff and belt from the performance feeling sad that the concert was over. But a rush of hope filled your heart in knowing that you were going to see Shoto again soon. You and Nejire walk out of the stadium hand in hand as you discussed the plan to get to the party.

“So the party is not too far from here, exactly 15 minutes away. We could totally call an uber.” Nejire explains, saying that it’s going to be held in Todoroki’s mansion.

When you both arrive at Todoroki’s Mansion your jaws drop. A huge fountain greeted your uber driver’s car, cobblestone driveways leading you towards his front door. There were hedge sculptures all over the front yard and expensive cars adorned the driveway as you and Nejire step out of the car to see the line to get into the party. Damn. More lines.

You approach the security guard; the same one from earlier that night with a nervous wave.

“U-Um excuse me sir, we’re on the list..” You said unconfidently. Nejire nervous laughed and nudged you for sounding so unsure after giving you a long confidence pep-talk in the car.

“Sorry, kiddo. I’m not seein’ an ‘Y/N’ or a ‘Nejire’. Back o’ the line, ladies.” The security guard huffed, hardly even looking at his list.

“Nah it’s cool, Ben. Let them in.” You hear a familiar voice utter before you get the chance to turn around and walk to the back of the line. Sure enough it was Todoroki standing there, joint lit and eyes hazy. Clearly stoned.

It was like he got more gorgeous as you got closer to him, your cheeks heating up as you realize you’re literally standing in front of your fucking celebrity crush. Nejire squeals and runs inside to go find the drummer and get his number, she says drummers do it harder.

Shoto took you by the hand and led you inside the rager in his foyer. The smell of beer and weed absorbs your nostrils as you walk inside with Shoto in hand, watching as Nejire talks up the drummer with ease as if she already knew him from way back when.

Todoroki sat down on the most comfortable couch you have ever sat in with you next to him, taking a big drag of his joint and motioning it towards you.

“Wanna hit? It’s not laced. Promise.” He said cooly, slowly blowing out the smoke. You take it and take a hit, coughing a little as you puff out the smoke.

Damn this must be what rich people smoke.

“Good huh? Grew it myself. Heh.” Todoroki laughed a little as he watched you take another hit.

“Shit. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, finally.” You say, nervousness coating your tongue. Shoto gave you a warm smile, his hazy eyes gleaming in the dim lights of the room.

“Gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl.” Shoto said, kissing the same hand he did at the concert.

You heat up, your panties becoming slightly wet at him touching and kissing you. He smirked and grabbed you by your chin to make sure you look him directly into his grey orbs.

“When I saw you in the crowd, I almost couldn’t keep my eyes off you.” He said into your ear, causing your mind to block out any outside sound that wasn’t his voice. You gulp, blinking dumbly as you try to find the words to say something.

“I-I, um. Th-thank you.” You say, looking down into his lap. Shoto pulled away to smoke his joint a little more. You two talked all night, everyone around you both becoming irrelevant as you seemingly grow closer together.

Strangely, none of the rumors about Todoroki were true. He wasn’t this stuck up asshole the media made him out to be. He was calm and gentle, the sweetest guy you’ve ever had the pleasure of having a conversation with. You learned so much about him that night. He was so misunderstood.

You’re high now and completely hazy as you and Todoroki make out on the couch. You’re not sure how you two even got to this point but you loved it. One thing led to another and now you were straddling him on the couch, his hands in your back pockets as he groped and squeezed your ass.

Your lips mingled as you moan into the kiss, Todoroki’s tongue slipping into your mouth to make home of it. The kiss got so hot your pussy was sopping wet underneath your jeans as you mindlessly grind against him for some kind friction.

Todoroki pulled away and started kissing your neck, damn near ripping your clothes off in front of the entire party. You’re gasping and grabbing at his clothes, forgetting where you are as you become desperate for him. You wanted him so bad and you knew he wanted you too.

“Wanna get out of here? Go upstairs I mean.” Shoto asked, huffing into the skin of your neck as his hard dick poked at your thigh.

“God yes.” You say breathily. As soon as he got your consent he carried you upstairs, the party raising their glasses and their blunts in celebration for Todoroki getting some.

“YES! Y/N tell me everything okay!?” Nejire yelled drunkenly, pulling away from her makeout session with the band’s drummer. You giggle and wave down at her, Todoroki laughing softly as he watched the interaction between you and your best friend.

“Just so you know, princess. I’m not going to go easy on you.” Shoto said, pinning you against the hallway wall.

“I don’t want you to.” You mewl, leaning into his neck to nip at it. Shoto let out a low chuckle and nearly kicked down his bedroom door, tossing you onto his luxurious california king bed.

You take a quick look around his darkly colored room, black walls with coordinating grey funiture. Posters of his inspiration adorned his walls, almost similar to your room just $100,000 richer. He had a mirror above his bed as you look up at your reflection you see Todoroki crawl on top of you, unbuttoning and pulling your jeans off in one fell swoop.

You’re immediately embarrassed, forgetting it was laundry day at home so you threw a thong on because you didn’t have anything else to wear. It was black and lacy and oh so skimpy you quickly move your hands to cover up in shame, Shoto grabbing your wrists and pinning your hands above your head.

“Heh. How’d you know I love lace?” Shoto teased, practically salivating at the sight of your smooth legs beneath him. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Shoto said, running his hands along your sides as if he was a lion playing with his prey before he ate it.

You bit your lip, dripping and hungry for some kind of touch in the places you needed him most, your nipples prodding at the thin fabric of your band tee. Yeah, you forgot to wear a bra. Shoto pulled your shirt above your head, tossing it somewhere and hissing at the sight of your bare breasts.

“No bra either? Man.. it must be my birthday. I’m gonna have fun with you, princess.” Todoroki says taking a nipple into his mouth, not breaking eye contact with you as he suckled gently following with short lick causing your entire body to catch flame.

You start moaning miserably, your whole body begging him to take you. Shoto pulls away from your nipple with a light pull of his lips and slips his hand down to your slit, caressing it agonizingly slow to tease you. He takes his other hand and presses his thumb to your lips.

“Open your mouth.” He rasped. And you did, sucking on his thumb as he rested it on your tongue making Shoto moan at the sight, humming a ‘good girl’ under his breath. Shoto held your mouth open and spit, pulling you into a sloppy kiss as he plunged his thick digits into your needy hole.

You arch your back off the bed, biting down onto Shoto’s lip as he finger fucked you without mercy. Your moans filled the air, Shoto watching you intently as he took your breast into his mouth once more.

“Sho- ah! I-I’m gonna-“ You bellow, trying to hold onto something for dear life as he brought you closer and closer to your peak.

“That’s daddy to you, princess. Try again and maybe I’ll let you cum around my fingers.” Shoto hissed, slowing his pumping fingers a bit to ensure you got the point.

He was in control. You pant, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath only for it to get caught in your throat again. Desperate moans fall out of your mouth as you beg him to let you cum.

“D-Daddy!~” You gasp, Shoto leaning into your neck, his ear right next your mouth as you scream for him. You collapse into his arms, fucked out and stupid off Todoroki’s strong fingers. All those years of guitar weren’t for nothing.

“That’s it baby.. fuck, you made a mess.” Shoto cooed, slowly dragging his fingers out of you as he watched your slick stick to him sloppily. At this point, he’s so hard you can clearly see the veins in his dick jumping out of his pants, his size making you wince in pain before he even entered you.

“Think you can take all of me, princess?” Shoto asked, throwing his contricting pants and boxers somewhere across the room, releasing his impressive size for you to see. You gulp but nod, licking your lips at the sight of him.

Shoto smirked at your reaction and pumped himself a few times before teasingly tapping the head of his dick against your clit, causing you to yelp from the sensitivity of your abused core.

“Pleaseee.” You whine, Shoto grabbing you by the neck and choking you almost to tell you to shut up and be patient. He wastes no time in plunging into you, the thickness of his dick stretching your walls with a delicious sting.

You claw at his back as he bottomed out, gasping sharply as he filled you completely.

“Am I hurting you?” Todoroki asked with what little sympathy he had left in his body. You shook your head no, moaning as he stayed still inside you.

“P-P-Please move..” you mewl, chewing your bottom lip. Shoto smirked and began rutting his hips into yours at a rough pace, not really caring if you adjusted to him or not. Hard slaps and the sound of your whiny moans filled the room as the headboard of his bed slammed against the wall, probably alerting the entire party downstairs.

You’re screaming now, a moaning mess beneath him as he split you wide open. As your eyes rolled to the back of your head, Shoto throws your legs over his shoulder and starts pounding into you.

He’s going to make sure you’re unable to walk straight for the rest of the week, marking you as his.

“Fuckkk, daddy. S-Slow down.” You pleaded only for Shoto to ignore you and continue his pace, laughing at the shocked and fucked out face you were pulling.

“Told you I wasn’t taking it easy on you. Did you forget already, princess?” Shoto breathed, moving his hands to rub shallow circles into your clit.

Your toes curled up tightly as your orgasm ripped through your body, your moans reaching a cresendo as your scream Shoto’s name.

He hissed as your walls fluttered around him, your pussy gripping him tightly as he fucked into you continuosly.

“I hope you didn’t think I was through with you just because I made you cum. I’m not done yet, doll.” Shoto muttered through your pathetic whines for him to slow down.

He cooed praises at you, a “good girl” here and a “you take my dick so well” there until his thrusts got rusty and sloppy; a sign he was close to cumming.

“Shittt, where do you want me to-“

“I-Inside m-mee! Fuck, cum inside me!” You shriek. And so he did, fucking his hot stickiness into you for a while as you both moan and pant. Shoto rode out your climaxes for a while before slowly pulling himself out as he watched his cum ooze out of your abused pussy.

As Shoto flopped on the bed next to you, you both stare up at the mirror on his ceiling. You’re both sweaty and your hair was a fucking mess from being tossed around the bed for what seemed like hours.

“Shit. Probably late as fuck by now. You wanna stay the night?” Shoto asked, taking your hand and famously kissing it once more. You smile and nod, unable to form coherent sentences as you feel yourself doze off.

Todoroki jumps from his bed and opened the door, screaming from the top of the stairs, “Oi! All you motherfuckers can fuck off home!Party’s over!” You laugh and throw a pillow at him.

“Don’t be so mean, Sho. Uh.. C-Can I call you Sho?” You ask embarrassed.

“You keep fucking me like that you can call me whatever you want, angel.” Shoto groans, grabbing you by your face and kissing you sweetly.

“Honestly, I wanna go again. You down?”

[riainceol]

Kemrit - Track by Track

Deeply concerned that the amount my Id runs my music is going to be unavoidable if i write in depth about it but let’s talk about my debut EP.

First off we’re gonna define an EP, what makes an EP different to an album? For me there’s generally two things. Length and cohesion. Kemrit is not a cohesive record, so it’s not really a representative of what I’m writing. It’s a collection of moods and vibes, basically. It’s also less than 7 tracks. 7 tracks is iffy but if it’s 8 or more, by my standards we’re veering into album territory. I know that traditionally an EP was made for a 6” or somewhere between rather than a 12” but honestly… it’s 2022.

The artwork is a photo of the inside of my jeans pocket that my phone took by accident, but I thought it would be funny to use it as artwork, I also thought it would be funny to name it Kemrit. “Hello, Kemrit thee forg here!”.

I’m giving away all my secrets.

The idea was basically, I’ve written this stuff and I need to get it out. So it was a very soft release. But I’m still happy with it.

In the Bleak Midwinter.

I wanted to write a song that was about the White Wall of Whale. I love Moby Dick, the idea that Melville tries to push in the book, that not only is Ahab’s revenge ultimately destructive, of himself and his crew, but is also pointless, as all creatures are equal and nature doesn’t care one way or the other because we’re part of it, had a big impact on me. The motive behind this track was, let’s write a song about dying in the snow. It interpolates Carol of The Bells and it’s just good riffage, but very simple.

I tend to want to do more. You don’t have to, it’s kinda better to be more quick, centred and simple with music but I have these stupid fucking standards for my own stuff. This song kills live though so my standards are clearly wrong.

Uisce (Water)

A lot of my inspiration is from nature. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Ireland is a fucking beautiful place. I’ve grown up not far from the coast, and have always loved the sea. Uisce was inspired by the push and pull of the waves on the shore. I deliberately kept this simple, along with the other more atmospheric track on this EP. I was having an issue about trying to force it, lyrically. Thankfully that’s not as much of a problem, especially when I write heavier stuff. But I wanted to make a mood more than write songs.

The Hound

This is the weakest song on the record, I’ll hold my hands up and admit it. I got too in the weeds, I didn’t do a good enough job with the vocals and the production and I got too enamoured with the lead lines but this is a LEARNING exercise. We’re gonna fuck it, it’s okay to fuck it.

I wanted to write a one note riff like Lamb of God and ended up writing a fucking weird abnormal time sig Tool style riff instead. That should have been my first clue. I like wolves, I like the idea of wolves as both an animal and as a metaphor for dissidence. We used to have wolves in Ireland, we kept them as pets the same as dogs. In part of Cromwell’s efforts to “tame” Ireland he killed them all.

I don’t think I would play this one without some major rewriting.

Oíche Maith (Good Night)

This was the first full piece of original music I’d written in 8 years. I wrote this piece of music looking out the window at nature and the sunset, and decided I was going to just do my own music again.

So here’s the thing, I WAS recording covers. Here’s one of them.

https://on.soundcloud.com/LVLA6S9rZ9cgawsD7

I had been playing covers in 2019 acoustically and I wanted to have some recordings I could point to and say “hey this is how I am, these are the kinds of versions I do” but then the pandemic happened. And it was like, “you can make music, it doesn’t have to be songs, it could be a mood, something as simple as this.”

And so I did.

I’ve never played this out but it’s only because I haven’t got the right setup for it. I love this piece.

Ashes.

I never got to learn Irish in school. Due to circumstance and stuff like that. I grew up in the north, then the nature of my schooling kept me from having lessons (there are plenty of people in the North who learned Irish in school). I have always been bitter about that. You might have noticed that I’ve been working on that somewhat. But this song is about my anger and my impotence about my native language.

My native language is an unfamiliar tongue. As it is for anyone who doesn’t come from a native family or was raised and schooled in Irish. That shit fucks you up so bad.

I could never write verses so I ended up butchering the Our Father as Gailege, and drowning it in effects to represent the distance to the language I felt. That might change in the future, both the way the song is written and my relationship to my language. But this was a big cathartic song for me and it’s the one I’m most proud of on the EP. Even if it’s not where I’d want it to be now.

That’s a track by track on my first EP. It’s been fun looking back at these with a bit of distance, thanks for coming along with me for the ride.

[salsdemise]

Can I request a Sally face x reader fic? Possibly a confession and first kiss an da party or something like that, thank you!

Hey anon, sorry if this is bad, I'm assuming you meant sal, and if not just lmk and I'll re-write this for another character if you want.

Warnings: Underage drinking, underaged smoking, parties, y/n used in place of your name, really awkward with the confession part? idk how to write those

word count: 1479

other: gender neutral terms used, sal's speech is in blue bc sometimes its unclear whos talking bc i didn't know what to put between the words spoken lol playlist listened to while writing: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SMv6Go27KIcbfL07wkQ4m

This party wasn’t where you wanted to be right now. Hell, you’d rather be at school, getting pushed around by the kids in the hall right now. Anywhere was better than this loud, flashy,party filled with the smell of cigs, weed, alcohol and sex wafting off of every teen you passed.

Why you had come to this party in the first place had slipped your mind, as now you were more focused on not getting backed into a corner with a potted plant by a group of your peers. Maybe it was because your friend Larry wouldn’t shut up about how fun it was going to be, maybe it was because you would have felt bad saying no, or maybe it was because you certainly weren’t going to pass up on an opportunity to potentially hang out with Sal Fisher, your long time crush and close friend.

Holding your now empty red cup, you navigated your way through the crowd of drunken and dancing teens, most who were nice and giggly as you passed, slurring apologies at you if they bumped you.

While you weren’t all sober yourself, you had enough remaining cognitive ability to form full thoughts, and the only one on your mind was finding one of two people; Sal or Larry. You had no doubt Larry was off smoking with gods know who, so that left one option, and if your brain wasn’t mistaking you, you had seen the electric-bluenette near the door to the backyard in the kitchen not too long ago. So that’s where you set your sights.

When you arrived at the kitchen, you were happy to know that you were indeed correct on where you had last seen Sal, just outside on the patio, sitting hunched over a cup, the bottom straps of his prosthetic undone and dangling. Murmuring a few ‘excuse me’s at the teens you passed on the way, you made your way out to the back, opening and exiting the door and catching the bluenette’s attention. Seating yourself next to him, you said nothing, not sure of what to say.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show. Lar said you were coming, but I thought he was bluffing again,” Sal spoke, sipping on his drink.

You laughed at this, “yea, no, he actually convinced me to come. Not sure how, but he did. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see you here either. You always talk about how much you hate parties, especially ones that have inebriating drinks,” you set your cup down next to you, and a small breeze knocked it over as soon as your hand left it.

“I don’t, hate em. Managed to get someone to get me something non-alcoholic, though. What have you had to drink?” He motioned to your, now rolling, red cup to emphasize.

“Oh, nothing too strong. They had a punch bowl in there so I took some of that,” thinking back to it as you spoke, it was odd the hosts of this party put a punch bowl out at a party with no need for it. However, you and Sal both seemingly shrugged it off and continued talking.

Conversation between the two of you had always come so naturally, switching between topics and tones, talking about people, your home state, his home state, and the likes.

“Man, I cannot believe he did that! It was like, super awkward between us for a week,“ you laughed, finishing a story about how Larry had tried to ask you out when high. Luckily the guy wasn’t too upset and took no for an answer.

“Hey, y/n, about asking people out...have you ever done it?” Sal questioned, messing with his sweater sleeves now that his drink was gone and his cup had also flown off.

“Oh, uh, not like, here at Nockfell, but in the past I asked a guy in my grade to go to a valentine’s day dance with me. Why?” you responded, tilting your head at him.

“I want to ask this person out, but I’m not sure how.”

“Oh. Well, what do they like? How long have you known them? And how close are you two? You can’t just ask out a random person you barely know, it won’t go well.”

“Well, they like a lot so it’s...kinda hard to put into words. I’ve known them for years now, and I’d like to say we’re pretty close.”

Thinking, you went quiet. As much as it hurt you to know your crush liked someone else, you were going to help him as best you could.

“Well, I’d give them a note, personally. I’d probably piss myself if I tried to tell them upfront. But it depends on how you wanna do it.”

Sal quietly thinks for a few seconds before standing up and fixing his mask, “Thanks for your help dude. We should get going, I’ll go find Larry and we can get out of here.”

You nod, standing and following Sal back into the house, heading for the front door while Sal went off to find Larry. With your mutual friend acquired, you all left for home, depositing Larry at his place and heading to your own beds, tired now that the social buzz had worn off.

Over the next week, you and Sal talked less and less, notes popped up in your locker, and small things like patches, stickers, pins and snacks appeared with them. You were confused to say the least. You loved everything this admirer gave you, and the notes were adorable, even if they were typed and printed rather than hand written, but you wondered why Sal had stopped talking to you as often as he did.

As the weeks progressed, you had started to like the secret admirer that was leaving you small gifts and notes reminding you how much they liked you. But the most recent note, which you had gotten on a sunny and warm Wednesday, really caught your attention. This time, it was handwritten in blue pen ink, the handwriting surprisingly neat, completely eliminating who you thought it was.

The note read: “y/n, meet me in the courtyard during lunch/break time. -<3”, and not wanting to disappoint, you waited with an uneasy shake until lunch came around where you went straight to the courtyard. Seeing no one, you sat on the ground by a tree to wait until your secret admirer got there.

10 minutes later, the heavy doors opened and closed with a thud, catching your attention and causing you to look up where you saw Sal, mask in hands, and looking down.

“Sal? Are you the one that wanted to meet me here?” You were..puzzled to say the least. Sal had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you thought he liked someone else like Ash, but it seems you were mistaken.

“Uh, yea, I am. I know you’re..probably upset at me for not talking to you in the past few weeks, but I didn’t want to say something stupid too soon. I hope you’re not too mad..”

“Sal, I’m not mad. I thought you were busy trying to get your mystery person to like you..and I guess I was right, but I didn’t think it’d be me..”

“Who else would it have been? You and I are as close as Larry and I are, we like the same things and I’ve known you since you got here. Hell, I’ve been pining over you for years now, but last year when Lar told me he was gonna try and shoot his shot, I tried to get myself to like Ash so I wouldn’t feel like shit if you said yes.”

“Oh, Sal. I thought it was Ash, you talk so much about her sometimes, I thought you actually liked her.”

“Oh, no, I don’t. She helped me with this, actually. Which reminds me, if its not obvious already, I really fucking like you. Like, you make me feel happy and just thinking about you makes me feel like I’m on cloud nine.”

Smiling at his words you stood to go over to him, putting your hands on his shoulders so he would look up at you, “I like you too, Sal. Like, a lot. I have for a while, and when you asked how to ask someone out,I..it hurt a little bit.”

Saying nothing at your words, Sal moved forward and wrapped you in a hug, his mask landing in the grass behind you two. Before you could return the hug, Sal backed up and his hands grabbed your face pulling you in for a kiss. Giving you time to react this time, you kissed back, your hands placing themselves over his.

Now, sitting at a college party with your boyfriend, you think to yourself, ‘Maybe parties aren’t so bad after all.’

[palbabor-writes]

Adhesion

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, TA/student dynamics, tw.mild drug use, tw.bribery, tw.recording without consent, tw.dubcon, brat taming, fingering, cucking 

Words: 8,915

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man. 

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

Notes: i bribed @libiraki and this fic is my part of the bargain. you heard it here folks, full stop, i am trash. 

this story falls under the University AU that i’m working on: Licentia Docendi - the first fic is Practicum & is all about Professor Shigaraki. For Adhesion, Dabi is a TA: Teacher’s Assistant in a college chemistry class. 

my reward for completing this is User 433 by libiraki. go read it, it’s killer & i’m so fucking pleased my nefarious deeds have paid off.     

Adhesion ad·he·sion /ədˈhēZH(ə)n/ noun the molecular force of attraction in the area of contact between two unlike bodies that acts to hold them together

What time did he say this was supposed to start at? There’s no way you’re late. Did he tell you the wrong room number? You paw into your low slung backpack and wiggle out the [Teacher’s Assistant (TA) handout for Organic Chemistry II]. Nope, you’re not in the wrong room, so it looks like he’s the one who’s late. 

Not too surprising, judging from his appearance. 

You’d only caught a glimpse of him that morning. He’d sauntered to the front of class when the professor had finished with the preliminaries of the syllabus and introduced the lanky man with inky black hair and some of the scruffiest clothes you’d ever seen, as nothing other than, DABI. No last name, no other credentials, just a simple, ah, here’s the TA for this class; he’ll give you a handout on meeting times and be sure to follow his lead with the labs. This Dabi fellow hadn’t even grunted out a hello. He’d merely waited, hands tucked firmly into his jacket pockets, and dropped down from the raised platform once the professor finished his brief introduction. 

You tend to avoid the TA sessions. They’re usually just reviews and endless reminders on the readings, and study prep has never been a weak spot for you, but this semester is different. You’re a junior and you’ve got to push through six classes this term if you want to graduate on time. You haven’t slacked off, haven’t taken less than a full course load. No, it’s just bad luck that they only offered organic chemistry during the Fall term this year.

Thanks to the addition of Organic Chemistry, now all of your classes are heavy sciences. Ick. Well, it’s the price you’ll have to pay for your pharmaceutical degree. It’s not that you don’t like the classes. Honestly, they’re fascinating, chock full of information and techniques that you love to dive into. Nah, it’s not the material of the classes themselves, but the course load and labs that’ll be your downfall if you don’t keep pace. 

So, here you are, waiting in an empty room in the library’s basement for the errant TA of organic chemistry to show. You’re a little shocked that no one else has come to this session. Maybe they’ll try for the other times, or they might be under the blissful impression that they can score the ‘A’ with no outside help. Who knows? 

You’re twiddling with your phone and debating leaving when the study hall door opens. His dark hair is the first thing you notice. It gleams in the bright light of the fluorescents, and you’re distracted by the sheen. It’s almost a little too black. 

It’s not that it doesn’t fit him. If anything, it makes the angled features of his face and neck stand out and draws your eyes to his pale patches of skin. They’re patches because his collarbone and lower neckline are wrapped with spiraling whorls of tattoos; they’re everywhere. How had you missed that? Was his jacket zipped up when he stood in front of the class?

“What’s up?” he calls out, tilting his chin at your wide eyes. He pauses beside the table you’re sitting at and regards you frankly. His eyes are half hidden by his fringed mop of hair, but you can see that they’re a vibrant blue. It’s a haunting color, almost otherworldly. You don’t particularly like the coldness that’s reflected at you, so you focus on the rest of his face instead. He’s got a few nostril piercings, three little studs that shine out when he wrinkles his nose at your bewildered expression. 

“You hard of hearing or something?” Dabi scolds, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. You shake your head and loosen your heavy tongue, finally pulling your gaze away from him. 

“I-I’m here for the TA session.”

“No fucking way!” he mocks, a barked laugh escaping his quirked lips. “Alright captain obvious, let’s get you set up so I can go about my day. Sign this and I’ll give you the power point slides for this week.”

He yanks his backpack forward and tosses a few mismatched papers your way. One is so badly crumpled you have to iron it out with your arm, ignoring the slight stick that clings to one side. Ah, it’s a sign-up sheet. But, hang on, isn’t he supposed to poll the class on these meeting times? He can’t just pick the times himself, can he? You’ve never seen that before. What’s going on?

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to ask which time works best for us before you set the schedule?” you question, sliding the paper back to him. 

His long fingers catch the sheet before it can tumble off of the narrow table and he gives you a wolfish smirk. “Ah, you’re gonna be one of those,” he grumbles, pulling back one chair and flopping into it, splaying his long legs out in front of him. 

“Tch, what do you mean by, ‘one of those?’ I’m not some green freshman, I’ve been to TA meetings before. You ask us for the times.”

“Hmph, okay. Let’s put it this way then, you’re here now, right?”

“Yeah. I–”

“So it’s fair for me to assume that you can make this time?”

“I can today, but what if it’s a one-time thing? What if I have another class or a job?”

“Do you?” his voice drops as he lingers on that ultimate word, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, blue eyes watching you closely. 

“N-no, I don’t personally have any objections to this time. But what if others–”

“Others?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, do you see anyone else in here? We’ve been talking, what, five minutes? And I was, eh, almost fifteen minutes late? That sound right? Hate to say it, but I think it’s just gonna be me and you babe.” 

“Ew. Don’t call me that! It’s (F/N)(L/N). Gross, who does that? Babe? You don’t even know me,” you sputter, leaning away from his hunched gaze, earning yourself another clipped chuckle. 

“Ooh, so sensitive! Alright, miss. “I’m not a freshman,” if there are no more objections from the peanut gallery, go ahead and sign this so I can conclude this session. Don’t particularly like chatting with you either, since you’re taking years off my life with these pointless questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a dick,” you bristle, crossing your arms and glowering down at the crinkled sign-up sheet that Dabi’s pushed back toward you. 

“Damn, we’re already talking about my dick! I usually reserve that kinda thing for the third week, but I’ll let it slide. Now, be a good little girl and sign that paper for me.”

A month in this whole TA arrangement hasn’t gotten any easier. 

Half of the time Dabi doesn’t even show up, opting to text you the notes and study guides, waving you off with some vague excuse, or promise to make it up next time. The days he appears for the session, he’s always late and glumly sits beside you in the vacant study hall, tinkering with his phone and doing his best to avoid any kind of work. 

But today? Today takes the cake. 

He’s got his booted feet on the table and is taking quiet hits on his vape pen, exhaling long breaths of clear steam into the study hall. “Dabi,” you hiss across the room, aghast at his cavalier attitude. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here! Wait. Oh, my god! Is that weed?”

“Shhh, Jesus. Keep your voice down, mom,” Dabi sneers, puffing a wisp of smoke your way. “Why don’t you try focusing on your work, huh? You’ve got twelve more molecules to stabilize and your functional groups are a mess; you don’t have time to worry about me. Come on, chop, chop. I’ve got places to be.”

“Ugh. Places to be. What a load of bullshit. You know what? I wonder what might help me speed things up? Oh! I know! What if you did your job instead of getting stoned out of your mind?”

Dabi swivels around in his rolling chair, lowering his legs from the table and cocking a dark eyebrow at you. He’s foregone his tattered jacket today, and the sleeves of tattoos that lace up the chorded muscles of his arms are on full display. He’s done that on purpose, the bastard; likely noticed that you like to stare at them, your eyes engrossed by the shadings and designs. Not your fault you like some of the artwork. You’re not looking at him, not admiring any kind of twist or pull of his forearms. Not thinking about how nice they look when he wears a low cut shirt, or rolls up his sleeves. Nope, you promise yourself, careful to keep your eyes down and on your notes, it’s not that.  

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man. 

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

“Such a fucking sour puss. I bet you’d look a lot prettier if you’d wipe that scowl off your face every once in a while. Lemme see what you’ve got,” Dabi snorts, sauntering out of his chair and bending over your work. 

His tattooed arm braces itself beside your shoulder and the exposed skin brushes against you, making you unconsciously scoot awkwardly to one side.

“Don’t get so close,” you chastise, doing your best to ignore the pull of his cologne. It’s got a hint of patchouli and oranges, and it mixes so well with the cloying sweetness of his lingering vape smoke that it makes your head swim.

What’s he doing? This… well, it’s not like him. He never “checks” your answers, he usually just tells you to submit it to his email and he’ll get back to you later, which he never does. You don’t like this. Nope, not one fucking bit.

He takes his time studying your work, one long finger etching its way across your scribblings. His skin is warm; almost too warm. The heat of it against your clothed side makes you shiver and you duck your head at your unbidden reaction, balling your hands into fists and scrunching them against your tense thighs.

When he finally replies, he dips his head close to your ear, keeping his voice low and steady. “Not bad, (L/N). Nice to see you have some capacity for development after all.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you huff, whipping your head to his.

Oh, that’s right; he’s close.

The lazy smirk he gives you stretch his lips over his teeth and his eyes fall to a half mast as he leans closer, ghosting his breath over your face. “It means, you did a good job, babe. I’m impressed.”

You must be gaping at him; there’s no way that you’re not, but you can’t fucking think, not when he’s so close. If he wanted to, he could close that gap and he’d be against you. His lips look nice from here, smooth and pink, and you suddenly have a wild urge to see what he tastes like. Heart pounding, you feel yourself tilting your chin upwards, your lips parted, tongue dancing across the open plushness, dampening them, waiting, hoping that he’ll just…

“Practice your Lewis structures. Some of those compounds look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi replies, pushing himself off of the table and peering down at you, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed mirth. “But, you’re on the right track. Finish this shit up. Gotta go.”

“W-what?” you sputter, trying to quiet your pounding heart and steady yourself, upended by his short-lived…seduction? What exactly was that?

“Already told you, got some place to be. Send me the screenshots, if you wanna’, but I’m prolly’ not gonna look at them until after the weekend. Well, see ya’ around, (L/N).” And, with a last wave, he snatches up his backpack and saunters out the double doors, leaving you alone.

“So what are you thinking? Just go up to the dean’s office and ask to file a report against him?” your boyfriend questions, his voice hazy and distant through the filter of your earbuds. You’d called him a few minutes ago, once you had a good signal and filled him in on, well, most of the details. 

After Dabi left, you’d gathered up your things and paced the floors of the library, debating your next move. He’s not doing his job. That much is a fucking given. You’d even talked with a few of the other students in your class the other day and they all said the same thing: He’s lazy and he can’t be bothered to help. Apparently, you’re the only student who had one on one sessions with him, but the group meetups sound worse. They told you he usually just opened the textbook and asked them to copy down definitions, and those were the days when he showed up for the meetings.   

“Yeah, and today he really outdid himself. The jerk basically… well… he’s not doing his job,” you flounder at the omission of Dabi coming onto you. If you’re honest with yourself, he hadn’t really done much, and you’d been the one who was surging forward, suddenly tempted by his closeness, his scent, and those rippling sets of tattoos and bright blue eyes. No. Stop it. It’s the last straw, you remind yourself, shaking your head and refocusing on the familiar tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m sick of it. Midterms are coming, and I’m not about to let him hold the fate of my GPA in his stupid hands.”

“Go get em,’ love! You’re totally right, you’ve worked so hard and you shouldn’t have to put up with some middle-aged asshole’s antics. It’s been a crazy week for you, so dinner’s on me tonight. Wherever you wanna’ go, name the place and I’ll make sure we get a smile back on your face!”

That… that’s so like your boyfriend. He’s always so sweet and caring. Always looking out for you, ready to pick you back up and dust you off each time you feel you’ve fallen short. He’s perfect. He’s all you want, all you need… right?

Goddamn it, you think after you hang up your phone and hop on the elevator that will whisk you up to the dean’s offices, you’d almost kissed your TA. Here’s your boyfriend, being the most supportive and loving thing in the entire world and all you can think about is how fucking good Dabi’s cologne had smelt has he leaned over you. Some partner you are. 

The dean’s office is emptier than you expected. There’s a single secretary, who is sitting behind a low desk, twirling a dark lock of hair and skimming over the pages of a magazine. She looks up when you clear your throat and a practiced smile lifts her lips. 

“Hey there! How can I help you?”

“I uh, need to file a complaint against someone in the College of Sciences,” you explain, dropping your heavy backpack from your shoulders and scratching at the back of your head balefully. You’re likely not the first one to file a grievance against the Dabi, so why are you suddenly bothered by the idea? It’s not going to get better. Just remember all the shitty, half-baked sessions he’s made you sit through (Y/N) and get this over with. 

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that! Let me grab you the registry of TA’s and adjunct professors,” the secretary chirps, pushing her rolling chair across the wooden floors to snatch at a heavy binder on a shelf. 

“I can, um, just tell you his name. If that makes it any easier,” you quietly reply, one foot tapping agitatedly against the other. What is this uneasy feeling that keeps zinging through your mind? It’s going to be an anonymous complaint. It’s not like he’ll ever see it. He likely won’t even know it’s you. Some of the other students had discussed the idea. He could think it’s one of them, not you.  

“No, no,” the secretary replies, sliding the binder across the glass counter of the desk. “It’s no trouble at all! Just search for their name and fill out all the particulars on the university system. Doing our best to reduce waste! Gotta keep that paper trail down! We’ve got a little kiosk outside, close to the elevators. It’ll help you with all the details, just click on the form and it will file it into our online system. The dean’s office closes in fifteen minutes, so be sure to bring the binder back as soon as you’re done!” 

“Uh, ok,” you mumble, hefting the thick book into your hands. “Do you want me to take it with me, or just look it up here?”

“You can take it out there! It’s sorted by department, for ease of use, so it shouldn’t take you long to find them.” 

Great. 

You lug the binder to one of the many empty tables outside the sliding doors of the office. Slipping your backpack into a vacant chair, you flip through the lists and sections. Chemistry, chemistry… ah! Okay, you’re in the right section. Now to find Dabi, should be easy enough.

Yeah, no. There’s no one in here listed as “Dabi.” What the hell is this? Some kind of elaborate scheme? Is he just a random student who’s fronting as a TA? It would explain some of his general disinterest, but he knows more about molecular chemistry than anyone you’ve ever met, and that skill isn’t exactly a common parlor trick. 

Oh? My secret talent? Well, I can tell you about isotopic labeling and the exact timing of the reaction speeds! Wanna hear more? 

No. No one does. Plus, the professor had introduced him to the class on the first day. He knew him and Dabi’s not exactly inconspicuous. There’s gotta be something you’re missing. 

You close the heavy book and make your way back into the office, fingernails tapping out a disjointed pattern against the plastic of the binder. “Hey, um, sorry to bother,” you begin, tilting your head and biting your lip at the secretary’s beaming face.

“No bother! Did you find them? Everything work okay in the system?”

“No. I, uh, couldn’t find their name? He said his name was Dabi, never gave us a last name so, um, that’s all I have to go on,” you explain, placing the binder back on her desk and praying she’ll give you some kind of explanation.

“Ooh! Dabi! Sorry about that, he’s a special case, since he goes by his nickname. He’s under the adjunct section. I believe his last name is Todoroki,” she twists the book toward herself and flips through the pages at an alarming rate, eyes skimming over the names. 

“Here he is! Touya Todoroki! They don’t put nicknames, or preferred names, since it’s an official listing. He’s a brilliant man and one of our brightest junior professors. I know the university is hoping to snap him up this coming semester, get him on track for a tenured position. 

He’s a little unconventional, but he’s a super nice guy and… oh! Wait a minute, you wanted to file a complaint against him, right? I’m so sorry, here I am, running my mouth! You want a pen and paper? So you can jot his university number and info down? Lets me keep the book in here. Four minutes to closing after all, might as well save you the trip back.” She whips out the procured sheet of blank printer paper and a university stamped pen, holding them both toward you, a friendly smile still crinkling her eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, a little bewildered by her chatter. From the sound of it, Dabi’s got some university backing and is a ‘nice guy’. Coulda’ fooled you. Doesn’t matter, you think, crossing the t’s of his first and last name; he’s likely just skimming by on the promise of tenure, and the sooner the school knows about his lackadaisical attitude, the better. 

You’re typing in Todoroki, Touya when the secretary closes up the office of the dean, flicking off the lights and waving a goodbye to your tensed expression. A few minutes later, the elevator swallows her up and the only sound that fills the empty space is the clacking of the keys as you finish typing out your complaint. 

Alright. Got most of the minor points out of the way. 

Inattentive to the lessons, frequent absences, missing materials, smoking in the library; you’ll leave out the mention of weed, it’s not like you can claim innocence on that charge yourself and you’re not looking to have the guy arrested, just stripped of his TA status. You could mention the near kiss, but it feels too vague, and it’s not like he made a move on you. No, all that shifting forward rests squarely on your own shoulders. Damn it, stop thinking about that! You’ve got a boyfriend, someone who loves you, who’s going to take you to dinner! Hit complete and get the fuck outta’ here, before someone–

“Whatcha’ doing?”

His voice makes you jump half a foot into the air, your right knee contacting the protruding keyboard of the university kiosk. “Fuck,” you hiss, twisting around and hunching over at the bright spots of pain that flash across your vision as you rub your fingers over the hurt. The soft footfalls of his approach snap you out of your dazed reverie and your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

He’s got a loose fitting white shirt on and you can see the coiling of his tattooed muscles under the thin fabric. His chin is lowered and his eyes are distant pinpricks of blue flame in the low lights. Booted feet take a few more steps toward you, but he pauses beside the table that your backpack is sitting on, hands sliding into his dark jeans, waiting for your response. You gulp back your nerves and lift your eyes to his, hoping some of your ire and defiance will shine through. “I’m putting something into the system,” you reply, your voice holding steady as you re-straighten your spine. 

“Can see that,” he counters, head tilting, dark hair falling to one side of his soft jawline. “Why are you doing it up here? This is the College of Science’s dean’s office. Most people don’t come up here to adjust their university login. So let me ask you again, whatcha’ doing, Ms. (L/N)?”

“Filing a complaint,” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists, shoulders rising and fall with your quickening breaths. That’s right, asshole, and it’s a complaint about you. How do you like that? Not much you can do about… about it now…. oh, shit. Fuck.  

You haven’t hit the enter key. 

The fucking e-document is just sitting there, unattended and completely vulnerable. He might not have seen that you haven’t sent it through and if you could just step a few feet to the right, then you can slip one finger against the keypad and hit that all important “enter.” 

You look up at him again, praying he won’t notice you scooting your shoes backwards, doing your best to keep him wholly focused on your face. “What did you expect?” you taunt, eyes narrowed, arms wrapping around your back, fingers unconsciously stretching out, feeling for the lift of the keyboard. “You’ve been shit. Midterms are in a week and half of the class says you’re not showing up for their sessions. Don’t look so shocked. This can’t possibly be your first run in with something like this? No wonder you go by that silly name, Dabi. What’s the matter? Upset that I know your actual name now?”

As you ramble on, his face has dropped all pretense of blank civility and now his entire body is hunching forward, shoulders curving, hands pulling free of his pockets and coiling outward, reaching, palms tilted upward. 

“So much fucking talk (Y/N). Looks to me like you forgot that last step. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” he begins, a wicked grin twisting across his lips, not quite reaching the glare of his narrowed eyes. “Ah, babe. Why you gotta be this way? Make you a deal, huh? Walk away now and I’ll forget the whole thing. No repercussions, no questions asked. Never even saw you up here, scout’s honor.” 

The keyboard is close; you can hear the hum of the monitor, buzzing as it holds the screen with your complaint against Touya Todoroki steady, waiting for your inspection, for that final command. Dabi is close, his looming form heavy against your wide eyes, but it’s now or never. You’ve got to turn around, got to let the predatory lumber of your ill-appointed TA slip from your mind, you have to do this. It doesn’t matter what kinda promises he’ll make to you. That changes nothing, absolutely nothing. 

Now! Do it now!

You whirl around, hands shaking as they search for the right keystrokes, the right submission link. It feels like minutes have passed, not seconds. Even though you’ve pressed all the buttons and heard the computer chime, a sent message alert into the sudden, reverberating silence, you can’t take your eyes off the burning gleam of the screen. Not until that thank you pops up. 

He’s still behind you. You can hear his boots as they click across the wood. His movements have slowed, but he’s still advancing. It’s too late for you Dabi, you think, watching as the submission page fades to a pleasing orange, the school mascot waving a large “Thanks!” as it dances, close to the bottom of the page. You did it! There’s nothing he can do. Nothing that–

His powerful arm drapes across your stiffened shoulders, his wrist popped beside your face, fingers dangling lazily into the open air. “Ahhh,” he sighs, leaning over you, resting his head beside yours. You half turn your face to see him, aghast that he’s so close again, that he’s touching you, holding you in place with his weight. His muscled side presses against your back, leaning heavily into you as he gives you a rakish smirk. “Well, looks like we get to do this the hard way.”

“What the fuck? The hard way? What does–hey! HEY!” He’s stepped away from you, and that arm that was braced over your shoulders shifts to the back of your neck, ramming your face down into the keyboard, mashing out a random string of commands. Your nose stings from the impact and your eyes wince shut, protecting themselves from the threat of the black letters. 

“Warned you about sending that,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s stroking a hand down your head, tangling his long fingers in your hair, pulling at the strands until you’re groaning in pain. “Now we have to do this another way. Gotta even the score, don’t we? Need to make sure you’ve got some kinda blemish on your record, too! I know that secretary filled you in on my upcoming tenure. No way she didn’t. She’s a fucking leaky faucet and I know you had to ask her about my name to fill out that complaint. No, no. We gotta fix this, babe.”

His voice has dropped into a terrifying lower octave, his words sharp, barbed, lancing into your mind like a showering of sticks and stones. He fucking sounds like he’s seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. The hand that’s wrapped around your hair is tugging against you in earnest, jerking your neck away from the threat of the keyboard, forcing you to look up at his leering face. The pupils of his eyes are blown, the black eating away at the shine of the blue until there’s almost nothing left. His teeth are bared in a grimace and his cheeks are pinched, making the silver of his piercings stand out against his flushed skin.

You do your best to gasp out another set of questions, but he’s yanking you back, holding you against his broad chest and wrapping those ink sleeved arms around you. They coil over your stomach and across your breasts, digging into the globes and heaving them under his forearms. His lips are tracing over your arched neck, teeth nipping against your bared pulse. 

“You always smell so good, babe. What are you wearing? Hmm?”

“W-what… get off me! You sick fuck! Why are you… ow… damn,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin, gnawing and pulling until you’re writhing in his arms. You keep attempting to slip away, to shift your feet forward, but that mouth of his won’t let up. Each time you shake yourself free from those quick pants and hums he’s dashing across your neckline, he moves to another spot, or his hands cup and squeeze at your heaving chest and shivering waist, distracting you. 

“Mmm, this is unexpected. Looks like you just might enjoy what’s about to happen,” Dabi teases, licking a wet line under your jaw. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”

You exhale a shuddering breath and remain perfectly still, hoping your feigned submission will lull him. Thankfully, it works. He chuckles and spits something out about being a ‘good girl,’ but when he moves back, his arms unlacing from you, you stumble forward, one heel raised, cracking down over his booted feet with as much force as you can muster. 

Dabi hisses out a string of low curses, his body coiling over itself protectively. You do your best to squirm out of his grasp, but one of his broad hands reaches out for you, snatching at your leg and forcing you back to him. The sudden shift jolts you off your feet and you tumble to the wood, your palms skinning against the uneven surface. 

“Stop it!” you shout, kicking your feet, trying to dislodge his iron grip. 

“Kick me again and I’ll knock you out,” Dabi threatens, lowering himself to your level and jerking you underneath him, trapping you, bracing his knees on either side of your hips. 

“Fuck you,” you screech out, bucking upwards, trying to dislodge his weight.

“That’s the idea,” he croons, long fingers curling under your clenched chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you and stop acting like you don’t want me. You were practically salivating for me this afternoon. I bet you’re already wet. Let’s find out, hmmm?”

His other hand drifts to the clasp of your jeans, flicking past the barrier of your button and dipping his hand into your pants. His touch lingers around the elastic band of your panties, yanking and teasing at the seam as he works your zipper down. Unconsciously, your traitorous hips roll under him and he gives you a sharp grin, blue eyes blazing. “There you go, babe, just relax. Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you,” he whispers, his voice catching as his touch slips downward, tapping across your curls and snagging against your slippery folds. “Maybe… ahhh… look at that,” he moans, a satisfied grin lifting those tempting lips of his. 

His middle finger brushes between your quivering flesh, gathering droplets of your arousal onto his finger pad. You choke back a staggered breath and your head flops weightlessly against the floor as you arch pitifully into his hand. One of his nails digs into your clit and faint stars pulse over your eyes. “S-stop it,” you stutter, unable to control the shiver that echoes up your spine.

“Tch,” Dabi scorns, adding the pressure of another finger. “Figures,” he continues, his mouth dropping into a pleased smile as you writhe under him. “I thought you liked being difficult. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mad, you know? So what happened to all that vigor, (Y/N)? Not gonna struggle anymore? I’m disappointed, I was hoping you’d keep it up.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, your fingers lifting from your side, grabbing the loose collar of his shirt and jerking him to your waiting lips. You can feel the lift of his grin, but he allows the caress, sharp nose digging into your upper cheek. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. But, if you have to endure it, it’s only fair you get a little bit of enjoyment out of this sick power play, so you nip at his lower lip, giving him soft presses and sharper pulls. Dabi, for all of his earlier barbs of prowess, is a bit taken aback by your sudden interest, his hands cupping at the back of your head, urging you on each time you maneuver away from his open-mouthed kisses. 

“You want to fuck me here? Right in front of the elevator?” you question breathlessly, fingers coiling into his dark hair, carding through the rough strands until he’s groaning above you. 

“Nah,” he pants, pulling away from your lips and leaning back. His fingers are still working their way against you, but it’s not enough friction and you wriggle under him, slipping him from your clit. “The fuck are you doing, babe? You gonna try and make a break for it again?” he laughs, pulling his hand from your pants and licking at the faint sweetness that you’ve left for him. 

“Why bother?” you reply, twisting your neck, your head dragging over the grains of the flooring. “You’re just going to catch me. I don’t know my way around this part of the building, so even if I got away, you’d only find me and I don’t really like being tossed around. Not good for me, you know? Why do you care? I thought you said you were gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I am,” he assures you, one hand snagging under your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. “Just wanted to know what changed.”

“Nothing,” you barb, tugging your chin free and fixing him with a pointed stare. “This whole thing means nothing. I’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s buying me dinner tonight, so, just get through this and I’m free to go, right?”

“A boyfriend,” Dabi muses, knees tightening around your hips. “Should we call him? I’d hate to think how he’d feel about all this. Knowing that his girl is letting her TA take advantage of her this way.” 

“Hmph,” you snort, arms bracing under you, pushing yourself upward, doing your utmost to level this shitty playing field he’s laid out for you. “Like you give a shit.”

“You’re right,” he affirms, hands snatching under your arms and pulling you out from under him. “I couldn’t care less.”

His office is small. 

You keep a sharp eye on the door, watching to see if he locks it. Fingers crossed, he’ll get himself off and that’ll be the end of this. But that tone he’d shifted into, when he’d told you that you’d need to fix this, to erase the complaint, to walk it back, that made your spine tingle and skin prickle. There’s something else, something he’s not telling you, he’s a smart guy, there’s no way it’s this simple. He’s paced behind his desk, fiddling with something in one drawer, his eyes lifting to observe you each time you shift on the couch he’d gestured for you to sit on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice a dull monotone. You don’t care, you remind yourself, hands wrapping around your stomach. No matter how good he looks, or how skilled his fingers are, you don’t care (Y/N) and it’s pathetic that you have to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Just making sure everything is ready,” he answers, eyes flicking over you. “Take off your pants and shirt, but leave your bra and panties on.”

“Huh?” you question, shoulders tensing as you glare up at him. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” he responds, closing his desk drawer and stepping back to you, kicking his boots and socks off as he gets closer.

“I-I guess not, but I don’t understand why you–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all when I’m finished,” he reassures you, kneeling on the floor and propping an elbow against his tattered couch. “You can make a show of taking your clothes off, I won’t mind.” 

“You’re revolting,” you snarl, curling your fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up. 

“Mmm,” Dabi agrees, one palm rising to run over your exposed skin. “Whatever you say.” 

“Ugh,” you grunt, popping your hips up and yanking your jeans down your long legs, not wanting to give him too much of a viewing as you pull them along your calves and onto the floor.

“Cute,” he murmurs, one finger racing along the lace of your panties, curving around your hip and onto the soft skin of your ass. “Oooh, did you wear these just for me?” he asks, cupping a broad hand under your soft skin and tugging it into his palm. “Love a girl in a thong,” he murmurs, fingers pressing and lifting into the plush flesh.

“Stop it,” you groan, lifting your hips up, depriving him of his lecherous grip. “I’d never do anything for you.” 

“Always such a stuck up little thing, let’s see if I can’t change your mind,” Dabi laughs, pushing you back and splaying you against the haggard cushions. His long fingers hook under the band of your thong and steadily work it over the curve of your hips and down the line of your calves. Instinctually, you clamp your thighs together, rubbing against the ache that’s budding between your clenched legs. 

“Come on,” Dabi encourages you, slapping his hand against your round thigh, smoothing his palm over the redness that he’s left behind. “Open up babe, let me see you.” 

“Don’t, ah—” you bite out, leaning away from his ravenous gaze and bracing yourself on your elbows as Dabi leers over the sight you’ve been forced to open for him. He glances up at you for a single moment, the blue of his eyes ensnaring your attention and leaving you gaping against the cushions. Seconds later, he’s diving between your spread thighs, his curious tongue lapping over the exposed folds of your cunt.

He slows his licks as he passes by your clit, pausing against the bud before wrapping his lips around the nub, sucking a swift rhythm over you. Your feet rise from the floor to brace against his broad shoulders and you coil your hips upward, urging him on, your head falling into the swath of pillows that rest under your neck. Tense fingers wrench into the cushions and you give a soft gasp, your lips stumbling over his name.

“What was that?” Dabi asks, lifting his head from your curls, lips wet with your slick, his blue eyes watching the contours of your face.

“Fuck you. I-I know… I know you heard me… D-Dabi,” you moan, hissing when he brings a digit against the quivering ring of your entrance. 

“Dabi, huh?” he ponders, letting the edge of his fingernail tease over you. “Don’t know if I like that. I think I’d much rather hear you screaming out my name, my real name.” 

“What?” you question, popping your head up and giving him a blank stare.

“You remember,” he grins, poking out his tongue and dragging it over you, smiling as you buck under his hands. “Come on,” he taunts, sucking at your clit again. “I know you know it. Go on, say it for me.”

“Wha-what’s wrong with Dabi?” you smart, bracing your feet against the couch and forcing him to insert his wavering finger, digging it forward until it hits the second knuckle. 

“Nothing, I just wanna’ hear how the other name sounds. I want to know what it’s like when you’re choking on it, barely able to gasp it out cus’ I’m making you feel so good. Come on, (Y/N), indulge me, huh?” 

“Fine,” you huff, legs trembling as he shoves another finger into you, curling them upward, poking and prodding until you’re squirming. “Keep going. Make me cum all over your mouth, Touya.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Dabi hisses, his teeth catching over your clit. “That sounds real nice, baby.”

His lips seal over you again and he drags another finger into you, stretching you until you feel you’re close to bursting. It’s a low ache he’s working up, but you love the burn. It’s not like your boyfriend can’t do this, but you’ve never worked up the courage to ask. How do you even go about that? Hey, I want you to pin me down and… no. That doesn’t matter, you remind yourself; fingers sinking into Dabi’s black hair, pulling him closer. You just need to get him off and get the hell outta’ here. Don’t think about it. Just relax and get this over with. 

“You need more, don’t you?” Dabi questions, tilting his head and cracking one cerulean eye open, watching as you writhe and cant under his skillful hands. 

“I-I just need…” your voice fails you as he resumes that suction, tugging your engorged clit between his sharp teeth and giving you a few rapid fire nips. “Al-almost, just… keep… oh fuck…” you sigh, thighs tensing around his dark head. His fingers speed up that sinful drag and he wriggles them forward with each push, tapping and stroking over the spongy patch of nerves within your cunt. 

Then, right when you’re breaths away from a mind blowing release, he yanks his fingers from your sopping pussy, laughing as you pant and whine for him. “Ahhh, come on babe,” he sneers. “Why would I reward you when you’ve been such a fucking pain?” 

You openly gape at him, your eyes blinking back dots of frustration and distant flashes of lingering starlight arousal. “What the fuck,” you pant, shifting away from his slicked lips and crossing your legs. “Wh-what what was that for?”

Dabi pushes himself onto his haunches, licking the last traces of you off of his fingers before digging his hand into his jean pocket. He returns with a small remote and waggles it in front of your aghast expression. “Got all I needed,” he informs you, flicking it toward a bookcase. You swiftly whip your head to the shelves and spy the tiny camcorder resting above the topmost set of books. 

“You fucking ASS,” you screech, hands reaching for the dangling remote, not caring that your sopping pussy and half naked breasts are on full display. Dabi hovers the remote above the two of you, cracking that all too familiar grin over his thin lips.

“So, about that complaint,” he taunts, scoffing at your desperation, leaning on his heels to watch you scramble up from the frayed pillows of his couch. 

“Y-you, why… I… give me that! You can’t record me without my permission!”

“Awe, babe,” Dabi barks, his laugh echoing around the small space. “Too bad for you, huh? I don’t need two party consent.”

“That’s for phone calls,” you bite out, finally snagging his wrist, yanking him toward you. 

“Who said the video was on?” 

“You fucking jackass! That’s why you wanted me to say your name!”

“Calm down, I won’t release it if you walk back the complaint,” Dabi counters, letting you pull him closer, his lips teasingly reaching for yours. You dodge his touch and fix him with a pointed glower, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing. 

“This sounds like a well oiled routine,” you accuse, dropping your hold on him and crossing your arms over your exposed stomach. 

“Tch, you jealous?” Dabi sneers, cupping both of his hands under your bent elbows, forcing you to lean into his hold. You shake your head at his accusation and grit your teeth, tilting your face away from his seeking touch. 

“What are you going to do about this part? Where I’m yelling about what a son of a bitch you are?”

“Edit it out,” Dabi informs you, lips latching onto the hollow of your throat, teeth worrying your tender skin between their grasp. “Again, if you walk back the accusation, all of this goes away.”

“What if…” you pause, biting your lower lip and shrugging Dabi off of you. He leans away, bright eyes studying your face, pausing at the dip of your lips, following the pink indentations that your teeth leave behind. “What if I wanna’ fuck you?”

“Oh?” Dabi hums, nose flaring, making those three tiny piercings gleam under the low light of the moon that’s streaming through his window. “Now you wanna’ fuck me? You sure about that? Not that I blame you, I’m pretty good, pretty big, too.”

“Ugh, don’t say shit like that,” you reply, lifting a shaking hand to his neck, tracing your fingertips over the indentations of his tattoos.

“Hmm,” he groans, already leaning into your touch, his skin prickling under the gentle strokes of your fingers. “One condition. I get to record it. This time with the video on.”

“Fine,” you confirm, coiling your hands into his inky hair. “Never know, you might want it for later.”

“For what?” Dabi asks, yanking himself away from your intoxicating strokes to jerk his white shirt over his head. You shake your head at his question, not wanting to think about the ramifications of this situation, distracting yourself with the new patterns and whorls of dark ink that are bared to you. He twists back to the camcorder, hitting a few buttons before tossing his remote across the room, the plastic clattering over the wood.

You can just make out the outline of wisps of blue flames beside his ribs when he kicks his pants and boxers down, finally lowering the curtain on the dip of his hipbones, displaying his straining length to your ravenous gaze. He’s covered in piercings. A silver Prince Albert is gleaming at his tip, catching the drips and bubbles of pre-cum that are hovering against his slit. His cock curls proudly toward his stomach when he releases it from the thin protection of his boxers and you catch sight of the Jacob’s ladder that climbs up his impressive girth. Unconsciously, you gulp in a swift breath and shake your head, not wanting to show him your wavering uncertainty. 

He’ll undoubtedly be the biggest cock you’ve ever taken, and you’re not sure that he’s stretched you out properly. He’d paused too soon and you can still feel the shuddering echoes of your faint brush with release travel up your spine as you gape at him. It’s not enough… it’s not…

“What?” Dabi questions, one black brow arched. “Worried I’m too big for you?”

You’re about to respond when he shoves you down and maneuvers you sideways, stretching you along the cushions, his hand a steady pressure against your windpipe, choking out any reservations that threaten to escape your lips. He’s on top of you seconds later, the sheer weight of him pinning you under him, and you let out a whine when he spreads your legs, popping the brittle muscles of your hips in his rush. 

“I’ll make you like it,” he promises, looming over you, his lips tracing up your neck as his hands dig under your back, unfastening your bra and stripping you of your final defense. “You’ve got a nice rack, babe,” Dabi praises, lowering himself, ghosting over your peaked nipples, tongue lapping out to dip over the puffy areola. 

“Stop saying shit like that, I might think you mean it,” you snarl, throat catching on your gasps of strained pleasure. He sucks one stiffened peak between his lips and suckles, hard. The pressure makes your back bow off the cushions, fingers reaching for him, clawing and scratching your way down the muscled plains of his back. 

“Mmm,” Dabi groans, popping his lips free from the distraction of your nipples. “Do that again, but put some effort behind it.” 

Well, why let him down now? You dig your nails into him, yanking until you feel his skin part under you, splitting from the drag of your touch. “Fuck, yes,” he grunts, his hips jerking into you, blindly seeking your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Dabi warns, teeth biting the hollow of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you until all you can say is my name.” 

He blindly reaches for your hips, two fingers searching for your cunt. Once he finds it, he grasps the swollen length of his cock, jerking himself a few times, splashing his hot pre-cum against your inner thighs. There’s no warning, no call for preparation, or a quick kiss, instead there’s just the heady press of his hips and the weight of his length as it splits you in two. Your neck arches off of the cushions and your hips fall away, shying from the keening sting that he’s thrusting into you. A low hiss slips from your lips and your toes curl, legs unconsciously wrapping around his thin waist, heels digging into the soft dip of his back. 

“F-fuck,” Dabi chokes out, hands bracing themselves over the swell of your hips. “You’re fucking tight, babe. Goddamn it.”

“Dabi,” you moan, curling upwards, praying he’ll give you a few more seconds, positive you’ll shake yourself to bits if he tries to move now. Your hand finally lifts from his back and makes its way toward the crest of your thighs, desperate to tweak and roll your pulsing clit. Once you’re inches away, one of Dabi’s hands unlatches from your waist and snatches your seeking fingers away. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, lips rising to suck against the lines of your neck. “Only if I tell you,” he continues, warm tongue dipping and licking over your ear. “Understand?”

You nod, still reeling from the steady stretch of his cock as he tugs it out of your sopping cunt. It pricks and bites and your heels do their best to restrict his movements, pinning themselves to his lower back and grinding down. He ignores your hints and starts a steady push and pull within you, the rungs of his piercings catching on the edge of your leaking pussy. Each thrust snags against a piece of you that sends a scattering of sparks and stars over your vision and you coil yourself forward every time he yanks back, anticipating that ignition, that ache, as he braces himself to slip into you again. 

“How the fuck are you still so tight?” he complains, hands jerking your chin upward, demanding that you kiss him. The bittersweet sting of pain is still too close for you to get into his caress, so he soon gives up, finally settling the pad of his calloused thumb over your clit. “Is this what you need?” he asks, hips lancing into yours, picking up the pace of his ruts. You nod as your teeth chatter, a thin slip of drool escaping your parted lips. Dabi grins at your overwrought expression and his tongue laps at the traces of saliva, nose pressing into your skin, his hisses of exhaled air hot against your cheek. 

“You’re getting real tight (Y/N). Wanna cum? You wanna’ cum on my dick?” he asks, his voice shaking with effort, trying to ignore the insistent envelopment of your slick cunt. “Hey, come on, answer me!”

His deep pitch of exasperation snaps you out of your stupor and you fix your hazy attention on him, closing your swollen lips and giving him a cruel smile. “I don’t think you’ve done enough,” you taunt, a laugh bubbling from your throat. “Looks like you’re gonna cum first. Turns out you’re not as impressive as you think, huh, Touya?”

He’d usually ignore you, keep pressing and teasing until you’re putty in his hands, but it feels too good. It’s too much. Your fucking cunt feels like heaven and he can’t help himself, thrusting and pounding into you like he’s fucking fifteen again, all hormones and no finesse. There’s nothing he can do to stop himself, it’s too good, it’s just too fucking good.

With a half-formed groan he spills into you, his cock pulsing and swelling, hands bracing themselves against the swell of your hips, lifting you to him until those dots leave his vision. “Fuck. Fuck, that was… you were… God. That felt so fucking good.” 

You sprawl under him, your eyes languidly meeting his as you crack a sly grin. “Ahhh, Touya, like I said, you were so close. Too bad. Thought you’d last a little longer. Haha! Maybe next time, hmmm?”

Tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @evesmores​

notes: editing always takes me so long :((((

[hops-hunny]

Hello?

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Black!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Request: N/A

Summary: Neville and (Y/n) get high together often.

Warnings: drugs( weed lmao), swearing, making out

A/N: This was based on the specific lyric below from Hello? by Clairo ft Reji Snow. Pothead confident Neville is my favorite headcanon dfregfefe. I also felt like writing for Neville bc after reading a lot of @lxngbottom​‘s fics I was DEEPLY inspired.

“Are you into me, like I'm into you?

Do you wanna do the things I wanna do with you?

You're so close, and yet so far

I wonder how you look when you're in the dark”

The Weasley siblings all found themselves in absolute bliss when their parents told them they were going on a getaway. Apparently Arthur had learned about muggle spas and thought it’d be a lovely idea to take his wife to one for a much needed vacation after many years she had been caring for her children (and sometimes their guess) without barely any breaks. The gaggle of gingers all found it to be quite a wonderful idea too, but for other reasons. Although they had varying reasons of why they were excited for their parents to leave the house, Ron’s being wanting to invite over the other ⅔ members of the Golden Trio, Ginny wanting to wear that skirt that her mum always told her was ‘just a tad too short, dear’, and lastly Fred & George wanting to try out new and exciting inventions there was that one thing that tied them all together: wanting to get blazed out of their fucking minds. 

However, as quickly as that mischievous glint formed in all their eyes, their mother said something they all dreaded.

“Oh and by the way, we’re leaving Percy in charge!”

A collective groan was shared as the boy in question held a proud and cocky smirk that once again, he was the most trusted out of his siblings. However as per usual, Fred and George were not giving up that easily.

“What are we going to do?! You know Percy will rat on us!” Ron whispered yelled at the other three through gritted teeth. They all sat around the quaint little living room, distressed at what to do. Ron had already sent a text (is that what they were called? He wasn’t used to the muggle technology (Y/n) had got them all to use) to both Hermione and Harry telling them to pack their bags. He’d never live it down!

“Oh relax dear brother of mine! Me and Freddie here suspected something like this would happen so we came prepared. Right Fred?” George said with a smirk as he looked to his twin to the right of him. George nodded before pulling out an envelope.

“Exhibit A also known as ‘Blackmail dear Percival Into Leaving the House for the Summer.” he grin grew wider as he opened the envelope pulling out the photos. In the photos, Percy was shirtless during a party in the gryffindor common room. He had a half drunk bottle of fire whiskey in one hand and a blunt in his other which was held to his lips. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if dear ol’ mum and pop anonymously got pictures of their golden boy doing such awful acts?” he cooed, feigning a voice of disappointment.

“While you two idiots may not be helpful for jack shit else, leave it up to you to have a plan to get into trouble.” Ginny said rolling her eyes, a small smile forming on her face. “Well I guess that’s settled then. I’ll hit up (Y/n), Ron you hit up Nev and tell him to bring the loud. Lots of it too!”

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

That’s how they all ended up where they are currently. ‘Exhibit A’ was more than enough to get Percy packing his bags and leaving for a friends house after their parents had left. And of course, Hermione, Harry, (Y/n), and Neville had all shown up at the Burrow bright and as happy as ever. 

Although many people dealt around Hogwarts, Neville’s weed was always the best. He grew custom strains which were infused with other magical plants that had all sorts of properties. You wanted it to taste and smell like cheesecake? Done. Something odorless that packed a mean punch? Also done. He took good care of his product and went through the precautions to make sure it was not only safe but also that he didn’t get caught. He wasn’t always an avid weed smoker though. Originally, a friend had suggested it to him to help with his anxiety which had increased over the years but eventually it became less of an anxiety reducer and more of a favorite pastime. And hell, it left him with a pretty fucking nice amount of galleons in his pocket. It was also how he had met her.

He looked up at her form as she sat across the shed, looking as radiant as ever. She was laughing at something but he didn't know what over the sound of the music. One of his favorite things about her was how beautiful the whiteness of her smile was in comparison to her rich brown skin. It drove him absolutely nuts. It had only been a few weeks since he last saw her but as usual there was something new about her appearance.

He let his eyes wander over the work of art that was (Y/n). Her hair was different, her usual shoulder length black box braids had been swapped our for a beautiful set of honey blonde faux locs that stopped at her waist. In addition to her septum, she now had a nose ring on the left side of her nose and- was that a smiley piercing? Her skin was glowing vibrantly under the different hues of gold of LED lights that corresponded with the music. His eyes shifted down to her chest. 'Hm, she finally got the other one pierced' he noted due to the fact that her crochet bikini top left only the best bits of her breast to the imagination. And then he got to his favorite part. Her legs. Her supple, plush, smooth as glass legs. This wasn’t the first time he had stared at them longer than needed. He couldn’t help it, they were so fucking thick. And, were those his shorts? She must've stolen them from him last smoke sesh. He didn't mind though, she pulled off those denim shorts well and they hugged her in all the right fucking places.

“Bloody hell Nev, what’s taking you so long to roll the joint? Are you already that gone?” Ron groaned as he threw his head back. Neville looked down at the half rolled blunt in his hands, continuing to lick and roll it skillfully.

“Shut up Ron, just hit the fucking bong and leave Neville alone. Ol’ dramatic ass.” there was that honeysuckle voice he loved. God he could listen to her talk for fucking hours. I mean he had before. Her voice was sweet in the center and rough around the edges, a thick american accent still prominent in her voice. He smiled at that, looking up at her to find her already looking at him. As he continued to roll, he licked a fat strip on the wrap before shooting her a wink. 

“Thank you, petal.” he murmured quietly knowing she hadn’t heard as he looked back down at his hands finishing up. He grabbed the same lighter that he carried with him everywhere before lighting the end. As he was about to take a hit, a certain pair of gloss coated lips leaned over his shoulders taking a hit as she wrapped her arms around his upper half. 

Ron groaned again in irritation. “I hate it when you get the first hit! You always leave that damn sticky shit all over the blunt.” as he glared at the girl. She giggled before crawling off the wraparound couch taking her place next to brunette ruffling his long shaggy hair. He had been growing it out recently for no particular reason (definitely not the girl to his right).

“Ron you always buggin on something, nigga shut the fuck up! That’s why when you hit the blunt you leave it wet. Ol’ soppy mouth nigga I swear to god. Share with Mione.” she retorted as she leaned into Neville’s side looking up at him. He smiled down at her before wrapping his arm around her bringing her impossibly close. They both loved each other's touch when they were high. Whenever he’d touch her in one spot, (Y/n) always felt it in another- especially between her legs. She leaned up, kissing his freckled cheek with a smile. “Hey sir, how’s my favorite doing today?” she questioned as he bent down, placing a kiss right below her ear. 

“You know I’m always content when you’re next to me, flower. You don’t even have to question it.” he whispered in her ear before pulling back. She felt her face heat up as she rolled her eyes shoving him lightly. She crawled in his lap, straddling him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He instinctively moved one to her waist, stroking the smooth exposed sepia skin that was there for his enjoyment.

“You always talking some mess, Nev. Why don’t you do something bout it?” she said, motioning for him to hold the blunt up to her lips. He ignored her, looking into her eyes as he took a fat rip. He removed his hand from her waist, gripping her cheeks with it, rings digging into her skin. He leaned impossibly close as he shot gunned the smoke into her mouth. His lips hovered impossibly close to hers. ‘Finally’ she found herself thinking as she closed her eyes. However, the feeling of his soft pink lips never hit hers and she opened her eyes to find him smirking at her.

“And ruin this little game we have? Never.” He said, finally passing the blunt to her. If he had to be honest with himself, he was scared shitless. He was afraid if he actually did make that final move, jumped that final obstacle that she would be gone from his life. Sure, they made out all the time. It was normal for the two of them to get quite handsy with each other during smoke sessions but he found not even that being enough. He didn’t just wanna have his hands on her when he was high or wasted out of his fucking mind, he wanted her all the time. He wanted to sneak into each other's dorms and cuddle till wee hours of the morning. To carry her things to class for her. He wanted to live, breathe, and sleep (Y/n). But, is that what she wanted? He never knew. 

She sighed softly to herself, contemplating. It was very apparent to her that Neville wanted her just as badly as he wanted her. So, why had he never jumped the gun? Did he not want more? Was he really content with this little cat and mouse game they had? He couldn’t be, she knew who he was at heart which was a romantic just as she was. She was pulled from her thoughts as she heard the familiar beat of Hello? by Clairo ft Reji Snow. She smirked at him, leaning her forehead against his as she began to grind softly on his lap.

“Are you into me? Like I’m into you. Do you wanna do the things I wanna do with you?” she sung to him softly, her (e/c) eyes meeting his hazel ones. He moved his hands up and down her body as she continued to grind her hips down on his. He let his hands travel to her ass, gripping it firmly. She leaned back slightly as she hit the blunt before returning the favor he had earlier. “You’re so close, and yet so far. I wonder how you look when you’re in the dark.” (Y/n)  continued singing as kissed up his neck, nibbling at the junction of his jaw and neck. He took one of the hands from her ass, moving some of the locs that had fallen into her face. He quickly tossed the blunt out of her hand into the ashtray in the table in front of them before leaning in and kissing her with such strong intensity.

The honey blonde haired girl moaned softly, already putty in the boy’s hands. Neville always knew exactly what to do with his hands. Where to kiss, where to tug, where to bite. Anything but actually dealing with the problem between her legs. She tangled her hands into the back of his hair, matching his lip movement. As he continued holding her ass with one hand, he used his other to stroke her cheek gently. A stark contrast to the kiss they were in which was wet, rough, and fast. He trailed his tongue over her lip which she gladly accepted. Their tongues danced together lazily as sweat began to build up on both of them. She pulled away partly, a trail of spit connecting them.

“Take this dumb ass jacket off. It’s the middle of July.” She grumbled as she began to unzip it, leaving him in some muggle band shirt she had gotten him one year from the states. She leaned back in, continuing to move her hips to the beat of the song. Neville began to move his hips up to match her movements. “Oh? So you got moves now huh? Who taught you those?”

“Don’t play dumb petal, you know you did.” He responded before gripping at her neck with his ringed hand. She gasped softly, looking into his blood shot blown out eyes. The music, the lighting, his touch? It was all much too much to handle. Her senses were overloaded by pleasure, the jane in her system. He tightened his hand some, leaning in closer. “You’re driving me absolutely mad, darling. Do you know that? I’d do anything you asked me to.” the movement of her hips had stilled but he kept going. She could feel the imprint of his member through his pants. Suddenly it was the only thing (Y/n) could focus on.

“Them Ravenclaw girls weren’t lying then, huh? You packin like that Nev?” she said suddenly. She knew he had asked her something a second ago, but the weed was really starting to hit. Her brain was foggy and hazed, the only thing she could think about now was him. She took one of her manicured hands, trailing it down his shirt till she reached his crotch. She gripped it in her hands, eyes widening slightly. He chuckled softly, catching her attention.

“Don’t act so surprised. You know I used to get around quite a bit.” He said, moving so his tent was resting against her inner thigh.

“Used to?” she questioned, laying her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed. She took in his scent sighing softly. Neville always smelled like a mix of lavenders, cologne, and that loud. She knew it from anywhere, especially when she smelled it in the amortentia they brewed during potions that one time.

“Yeah I don’t really pipe girls like I used to.” He moved his hands up, embracing her close as he kissed the top of her head. “Ever since a certain pesky little American girl started making their way into my life, she’s all I could think about.” she rolled her eyes some, punching him on the arm as he began to laugh.

“Don’t fuck around like that, that shit aint even funny.” she grumbled, pouting as she crossed her arms. “I thought you had an actual answer!”

“On god that was my actual answer, (Y/n)! You asked why and I told you why. Absolutely anyone could tell I’m mad for you.” Neville said as he uncrossed her arms, holding her small delicate hands in his large ones. He intertwined their hands, her sharp acrylic nails digging into his hands slightly. “Did you know when Keaton Willis asked you to Hogsmeade, I was so mad that I wouldn’t sell to him for 3 months?!”

“But I didn’t even go with him! Me and you went together to go get ice cream, remember?”

“So?! He still fucking asked you. I’m getting heated just thinkin’ about it.” He mumbled as he looked away from her. He pulled her closer, resting his head on the top of hers. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you dating such a loser. He’s not even a good guy and he’s always fucking short with his galleons when he buys. I have to practically hound the guy for my money. Yknow what? Fuck it.” he looked up at the brown skinned girl before holding her face in both his hands. He took in her features. Her plump lips, edges laid to perfection, face ‘beat to the gods’ as she would say. “Go out with me. Be my girl, petal. I can’t bear you not being mine for another second.” he said. She pretended to ponder for a bit before she looked back at him.

“Depends, will I get free weed? I expect free weed from dating the weed man, you know.” she said with a giggle. He rolled his eyes shaking his head.

“You already get free weed! Don’t pretend you don’t.” he said loudly, catching the others’ attention.

“What? Nev that’s not fair! You always make me pay and we’re mates! What happened to bros befo-”

“Ron you finish that and you ain’t leavin this shed with an eye, I can promise you that boy.” she whipped her head around quickly, glaring at the boy. Ron quickly shut his mouth knowing first hand that her promises were never empty. He gulped slightly before nodding, turning back to Hermione who handed him the bong muttering something about how he looked like he needed it.

“But to answer your question, Nev baby, I’d love to be your girl. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than doing so.” (Y/n) leaned forward, leaving a lip gloss print on his cheek. 

“Well I’m glad you said yes because it would’ve been very awkward explaining to everyone tomorrow where that hickey on your neck came from.”

“Nev!”

[psychdelia]

max showed up on his doorstep with blotchy red cheeks and puffy wet eyes, board discarded on his lawn as she pounded on the door with her free hand, holding a shoebox in the other.

“okay, okay!” steve called out as he rushed downstairs. “i’m coming! jeez.” he huffed as he opened the door, ready to bark out a what, shithead? because who else would show up to his place and pound on his door for a minute straight?

except his mouth snaps shut when he sees her shivering in the winter cold and cheeks still damp. it’s been about 4 months since billy died and he hadn’t seen max in this state for a couple months now. he thought things were getting better.

maybe not.

“max.” he frowned. “what’s wrong? what happened? are you okay? are you hurt?” he asked, the panic in his tone increasing with each question.

she just shoved the box into his hands, giving him a determined look. so similar to billy’s. too similar.

“i found this in his room.” he can hear the suppressed tremble in her voice as she fights the urge to cry again. “i never gave it you because i thought maybe,” she frowns, looking down. “maybe he-“ she lets out a shaky breath. “but he never came back so it’s yours now.”

then a switch is flipped and she’s suddenly glaring up at him, yet another expression too similar to billy’s.

“you can’t tell anyone.” she clenches her shaking fists. “if you tell anyone what you find in there i swear to god steve i’ll hurt you.” her upper lip is twitching into a snarl and steve is genuinely scared of this little fiery teenager.

“jesus, max,” he sighs. “first of all, you two are way too goddamn similar for not being blood related.” he ruffles her hair with a free hand. “second of all, you can’t just tell me what’s in here?”

“no.” she shakes her head as she bats his hand away. “just,” she plays with the hem of her jacket nervously. “just keep an open mind.” she frowns. “we’re not from here. things are... different back home.” her shoulders sag a little and he can tell she misses home. misses life before hawkins. “promise you won’t tell anyone?” she looks back up at him.

he frowns as he stares at the box in his hand before nodding. “promise.”

“good.” she nods. she rubs harshly at her face with her sleeve before turning away to walk to the lawn.

“you need a ride?” he calls as she grabs her board. chuckles when she rolls her eyes, tosses back an i can get myself around, steve. then a quick thanks, though. see you around. then she’s taking off.

steve practically sprints up to his room after that. sets this mystery converse box down in front of him on the bed as he sits, unsure of what to expect. maybe porn mags? weed stash? who knows.

so, naturally, he dumps it all out on the bed. stares at the pile of magazines, books, seashells, pictures, papers. the first thing he grabs are the magazines, expecting to see a half naked chick on the cover. he freezes when he finds a half naked man instead, clad in leather.

drummer. drummer. drummer. all of these are the same magazines, different issues with different men. he wonders if they’re targeted towards women, but then he’s opening them up and finding men... with other men. figures maybe hargrove had been holding onto them for someone else because there’s no way in hell these are his. no, no, no. that boy was straight as hell. loved to show off a different girl hanging off his arm every week, made shows of flirting with both girls and women.

but then he’s grabbing a polaroid dated 1983 and it’s billy with shorter hair and fuller cheeks kissing another boy with a big smile and lovesick dopey look on his face.

holy shit. this can’t be real. billy hargrove wasn’t gay. he couldn’t be. he was the womanizer, ladykiller, heartbreaker of hawkins. he loved women and they loved him 10 times more. none of this makes sense.

he grabs the journal next, the leather on the cover worn and threadbare. the first entry is dated from 1983 and the last just a couple weeks before starcourt. right before he got possessed.

steve sets the journal aside, opts to look at the other pictures and items billy had stashed away before he reads about the last three years of the guy’s life. there are a couple pictures of a blonde woman with striking resemblance to billy, the same saint christopher pendant and thick silver ring billy wore present around her neck and finger. some of them feature billy when he was a baby, toddler, kid. he finds jewelry that seems feminine, womanly. figures they must’ve been his mom’s.

there are also some california souvenirs. he finds seashells and movie, concert tickets that read “san diego” on the top. there are also some books steve remembers he was supposed to have read or heard about in school, but also some more he never heard of.

at the very bottom of the box he finds expired makeup and empty hair product. there’s black and dark blue eyeliner and mascara, baby pink lip gloss. nail polish in black, dark red and a deep purple. in some polaroids, the slight sheen of the gloss and his dark, thick lashes are barely visible, but he still catches it.

steve can’t help but chuckle when he finds some candy wrappers and leftover weed grinds at the bottom of the box alongside the butts of joints and empty cigarette packs. marlboro reds. there’s scrunchies, too. shimmery and purple, probably stolen from max.

once’s he’s finished digging through hargrove’s secret belongings, he leans back and sticks his nose in the journal. it takes him the rest of the day and all night to read it from cover to cover.

the beginning is mostly about missing his mom and hating his father, documenting his abuse. there are a few pages about his crushes and boyfriends, allowing him to figure out that the boy he was kissing in the polaroid is named santiago, but billy calls him santi. once he reaches the end of san diego and beginning of hawkins, billy’s tone and messy scrawl is full of hurt, anger, and melancholy.

and then steve’s name pops up. KING STEVE in all caps, taking up nearly half the page. there are hearts around his name, alongside a big drawing of a dick. below, billy writes about feeling like a foolish schoolboy with some stupid crush on some guy with a huge dick he saw in the showers. steve’s already blushing and it only deepens when he gets to the part about billy wanting to feel said dick in his hand, his mouth, inside of him.

he has to take a break after that. doesn’t realize things only get spicier until he gets back to reading and finds out billy’s jerked off and fingered himself open to the thought of none other than king steve. his eyes immediately flick to the half empty jar of vaseline, finger-shaped holes indenting the jelly.

he spends the rest of the night reading about billy’s remorse and guilt towards him and lucas after that night, how billy still wants to hop on his dick and kiss him stupid, his and max’s relationship and how it’s gotten better even though they still blame each other for the move.

it’s both of their faults, steve realizes. billy missed his curfew for a boy and max had no choice but to lead neil to him.

along the way to the end, a couple pictures of steve fall out of the journal. pictures that steve has no idea how billy acquired. some are from school yearbooks, others just random polaroids that might’ve been taken by tommy or carol or jonathan. when he finally reaches the end, he reads about billy’s pool job and plans fo move back to california for college as soon as he graduates.

i know it’s stupid but i’m gonna miss him. his stupid hair and big brown eyes and pretty face and pink lips. i didn’t know anything about the guy but i wish i could drag him out of this shithole and take him home with me. i still haven’t apologized to him. maybe kidnapping him and showing him the ocean would count. but i can’t fall for a straight boy, no matter how big his cock is. i don’t get to fall for someone i hurt. it’s not fair. none of this is fair.

that’s the very last entry. it’s 1am and steve is wide awake. too awake. before he thinks too hard about what he’s doing, he’s shoving everything back into the box and flooring it to robin’s house. he knocks on her window incessantly until she opens it with a glare and he’s pushing his way inside before she can greet him with a snarl.

“billy hargrove was gay and in love with me and-and and jerked off to me and,,, pretended his fingers were mine and his dad was hurting him and his mom left and he was alone, robin.” he’s rambling, eyes wide as he paces the room with the box in his hands.

“he was s-so hurt and alone and no one paid any attention and now he’s dead because of a monster in some town he got dragged to as punishment for being gay and,” his voice cracks. “he’s gone.” he whispers brokenly as he shoves the box into her hands.

robin is very confused and surprised but all she knows is that her best friend is in distress, so she sets the box down and grabs his hands.

“steve. look at me.” she only continues when he does. “sit down and talk to me. let’s go through everything together, okay? just calm down and breathe.”

by 3am robin’s looked through the box and the majority of the journal - steve dog-eared the important pages and she’s a fast reader - and she’s just as shocked as steve, apparently, if her bewildered expression and silence is anything to go by.

“robin? rob, say something.” he urges. “please. i need you to talk to me.”

“holy shit.” she finally raps. “steve, i’m gonna ask you a question and i don’t want you to freak out, okay?”

he nods.

“do you think you could’ve... reciprocated billy’s feelings?”

he opens his mouth to answer but halts, eyes wide and crazy as he stares at her.

“i-“ he gulps. “maybe?” he croaks out. “i-i think so? maybe yeah. yeah.” he nods.

“so you’re bisexual.”

and that’s throwing him on a whole other whirlwind. steve’s had too much thrown at him for the night and he doesn’t have it in him to deal with a sexuality crisis on top of everything.

but billy’s pretty. so fucking beautiful and steve can’t admit it just yet but he wishes he were still here. he wishes he could travel back in time and reach out to billy and save him from the horrors of hawkins but also kiss and fuck and love him properly but now it’s too late and steve and billy have one thing in common.

they’re both alone. lonely. so much love to give but no one to receive or give back.

“bisexual?” he chokes out.

“you like both. boys and girls. like david bowie. and david bowie’s awesome. you’re kinda awesome too, i guess. for a dingus.” she playfully punches his arm and it makes him feel better for all of 2 seconds until it’s hitting him again that the person who wanted to love him is dead. died right in front of him.

“do you have hot chocolate?” she nods. “with marshmallows?” she nods again. “can i have some?”

he feels like he’s about to faint. completely black out. wonders if he looks pale to robin. he needs something warm and comforting and hot coco will do the trick.

———————————

billy comes back in february. hopper and joyce gathered everyone up in joyce’s living room early february. sat everyone down to announce that hop had gotten... a call. a call from some doctor named owens who hop has a history with, the same doctor who helped will.

owens was nursing billy back to health in some secret lab in indianapolis, hence the funeral with no body. apparently billy was in comatose, then a medically induced coma when his brain woke up but he wasn’t strong enough to just yet. then, when he did wake up, he had to relearn how to eat, write, walk in physical therapy, alongside the heavy emotional therapy.

owens hid billy from the world until he was ready to be exposed to it again. then he called hopper one afternoon and told him to come pick the boy up.

max was angry. screamed and yelled until she was reduced to tears in joyce’s arms. the other kids were shocked and confused. didn’t know if they should be happy or scared. will and el were the only positive ones. nancy and jonathan were mostly shocked and indifferent, numb to these crazy surprises the shithole town throws at them. steve and robin just stared at each other knowingly, a million thoughts racing their minds.

a week later they were all in joyce’s living room again, nervously anticipating hopper and billy’s arrival. everyone looked up when the doorknob began to jerk and the lock turned, their eyes trained on the door as it opened to reveal hopper standing beside billy.

billy. clad in a big hoodie, gray sweats and converse. the same ones that were once in the box steve has hidden under his bed. his hair is long now, flowing freely and curling wildly at the ends, looking so soft with the lack of product. he looked tired, fading blue bags under his eyes. he hadn’t lost his tan, steve noted, and looked a little softer around the stomach and legs. for someone who went through all the shit he did, billy looked good. healthy.

max got to him the second he stepped inside, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. he immediately clung to max, holding her tight and whispering a shaky, wet hey, shitbird, only audible to her, resulting in her wet laugh. the siblings stayed like that for a few moments before pulling away to let billy see and greet everyone.

joyce had demanded they all not coddle billy because it would be suffocating and he probably couldn’t deal with that. except now she was serving and feeding him a million things, coddling him just like any other mother would. billy was hesitant and tense at first, but slowly relaxed, especially when he was given cookies.

sweet tooth, steve distantly remembered. billy has a sweet tooth, if the candy wrappers and lollipop sticks in the box were anything to go by.

everyone takes turns greeting and talking to billy. steve’s last in line to have his quick one-on-one with the guy and by the time they’re face to face, everyone’s sitting together, talking and laughing and eating.

“hey,” steve greets with a small smile. he can feel robin’s eyes on him and not-so-slyly flips her the bird, his eyes trained on billy and only billy. “it’s good to have you back.”

“you know you don’t have to say that, harrington, especially if you don’t mean it.” billy tries to joke but his eyes and smile are sad. “i only died for, like, two minutes. not a big deal.”

“shut up, man.” steve rolls his eyes and chuckles. “i do mean it.” he chews on his bottom lip nervously, doing a quick scan of the room to make sure there are no eyes on them before he looks back to billy.

then he’s reaching out and grabbing billy’s hand. running his thumbs over the scars along his palm and knuckles. he looks up to find billy confused and blushing. he smiles before pulling billy into a tight hug.

“you look good. so good.” steve whispers in his ear, getting a whiff of generic coconut shampoo. he has one arm wrapped tight around billy’s waist, holding him close with their bodies flush. he slides his free hand down and rests it on billy’s ass, barely squeezing. he chuckles when billy jumps a little.

“harrington.” billy chokes out, voice wrecked. “what’s your hand doing on my ass?” steve can feel billy’s lips moving on his neck and it makes him shudder.

“just doing what i should’ve done a while ago.” he sighs, content, just holding billy’s warm, very much alive body close to his.

“if you wanted to get in my pants, pretty boy, all you had to do was ask.” billy flirts with a smirk steve can feel on his neck. then he pauses. “you’re not fucking with me?” he asks, tone serious.

“nuh uh.” steve shakes his head. “actually, uh,” he pulls away just enough to meet billy’s eyes. “max gave me your shoebox.” he watches as billy’s eyes widen and go fiery. “hey, no, don’t get mad at her. it’s not her fault. she didn’t know you were comms back.” steve reasons. “plus, now i know big bad heartbreaker billy hargrove has a crush on little ole me.”

“who says i still do?” billy raises his eyebrows, as if his hands aren’t tightly holding onto steve’s shoulders and he’s not blushing and making heart eyes at the guy.

steve’s not too bright, but he knows when people have a crush on him. he’s always been bright in the language of love. and sex, for that matter, as billy will eventually find out when he inevitably get lovingly and romantically railed and fucked into steve’s mattress later that week.

“just have a feeling.” he shrugs, giving billy’s ass one last squeeze before he rests his hands on his hips with a grin.

[darthwheezely]

a change of heart - g.w.

summary: falling out of love was the last thing they had wanted.

pairing: muggle au!george weasley x reader

warnings: mentions of break ups, sex, cussing, ouid, heartbreak, no happy endings, apathetic!george, domestic fights, mean!reader (at times), insinuations of depression, toxic relationship

a/n: this is my first angst without a happy ending and honestly it feels very last 5 years to me and i was in a bad mood yesterday so this happened i love you all mwah xoxo

are we awake?

am i too old to be this stoned?

George blinked in what felt like slow motion at the crumbling ceiling above him as he took another long drag of his joint. He breathed out, his lungs and mind relaxing under a slimy green haze. The bed was spongey, destroyed from one too many sexual escapades and one night stands and full body tantrums that left him kicking and screaming.

His mind never really woke up after the day you packed up and took the bus downtown back to your parent’s. He usually laid there in a collapse of old cassette tapes and cannabis flecks, generally shirtless and wearing wear bleached boxers and lost.

George was never really awake after you.

was it your breasts from the start?

they played a part

You were stunning to him that day in London. You always were. That hadn’t been any different. But the day you walked into the pub everything about you just ached to be adored, he thought. He wanted to know what it was like to attach his mouth to the skin of your collar bone and nibble, knead at your breasts and have his fingers gripping your thighs the second you struck up a conversation.

“Two whiskeys and a beer later and I still don’t know your name,” he gave a little half smile and watched you bite your lip, a chuckle erupting from your throat.

“Y/N.”

“No last name?”

“Don’t need one, not yet anyway. You?”

He looked at you softly and nodded to himself.

“Let’s see if I can change that. I’m George.”

George needed you. Or at least, he thought he did.

for goodness’ sake

i wasn’t told you’d be this cold

He passed out on the couch, the old and relatively shitty TV left on static due to inactivity and refusal to be fixed.

You were supposed to have date night. At least, that’s what George thought. He knew you’d be out and about all day at work and then picking up dinner on the way home, but when you stumbled through the door at 2am, he shot awake. And in a flash of anger, he just picked up on the idea that date night didn’t really matter to you then, at least not tonight.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me,” you had growled, looking at him with streaks of mascara running down your face. You sniffles and wobbled off to the bathroom, leaving an albeit confused George on the couch. He listened to you cry in the bathroom, and suddenly realized it didn’t matter if you were pissed at him or scared or whatever was happening.

At least you came home.

you smashed a glass into pieces

that’s around the time i left

“Fine,” you had shouted, picking up the now empty wine glass from the table and throwing it at the cabinets across from you.

The night had started off fine, the dinner was neutral - that had been your new normal with George. Neutral. You two weren’t really angry anymore, just tired. Until you both got in that heated argument and were screaming, the radio getting blown out your earshot due to the high intensity yelling in the room.

The minute the glass hit the cabinet you jumped ever so slightly, not really realizing you had done it, but knowing the lashing out of yourself had scared you just enough. You had let out a choking whimper and quickly enough, your boyfriend had rushed over to you and held you up.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed against his chest. “Georgie, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me anymore.”

He knew you weren’t really apologizing for a wine glass, or missing a date or two. He knew it was everything, and the idea that you were getting blamed for it all in your mind due to things you didn’t feel safe telling him about crushed him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, his nose and mouth pressing into the top of your head.

He pulled off the top of your head, brushing the tears from underneath your eyes “I love you so much, and you can push me away as hard and as much as you want but I’ll come right back, every single time.”

You nodded and fell back into his arms, and George regrettably swallowed.

He had just made a promise he knew he wouldn’t keep.

then she said, "i’ve been so worried about you lately"

"you look shit and you smell a bit"

“George,” you had cleared your throat and sat up a bit straighter in the chair.

It had been approximately two months since he had pushed away from you, and since then you had heard radio silence from the man that had stolen your heart and left your mind mush. But here you were back in the apartment at the behest of Fred who had been, admittedly, “worried fuckin’ sick” about his younger twin.

The apartment was disgusting. Dishes from weeks left in the sink that had most likely caked mold and other major nastiness. Everywhere it smelled like cheap beer and even cheaper weed. It was nauseating to be at the dining room table, looking at the face that used to be George Weasley, but was now puffy, like he’d been getting over crying every single day, his eyes red rimmed and purpling, his usually pale but still vibrant skin tone sallow and raw.

“Georgie, they’re worried about you,” you said softly. He snorted and took another bite of his Ramen.

“George, you look shit, you’re just a-a shell, and your mom has no clue what’s going on, Fred can’t keep up with demands for the record store without you and god, everyone just misses you-“

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he cut. He clenched his jaw before finally looking back up at you, nodding ruefully to himself.

“You saw to it that I always was.”

i feel as though I was deceived

i never found love in the city

i just sat in self-pity and cried in the car

“Pass the damn thing, Fred, Jesus, you bong hog,” George playfully slapped his older brother on the chest. It was their best friend Roger’s nineteenth birthday, and as such, it was 4 in the morning, everyone either knackered as hell or making out in the corner. But Fred always opted to light up with George, especially since he knew it’d be the last time before the Big Move to the City as they referred to it.

“I am, I am, calm your tits, mate!” Fred had puffed into the air, sliding the bong to his brother and watching him inhale. He coughed, George always coughed - as much as he said he was the more mature and worldly one, he still got these little flashes that proved only to Fred that George was his baby brother.

“You know what I’m gonna do once we get to Londontown, Freddie-bomb?”

“What would that be, Georgie?” He smirked, leaning back against the couch. George grinned to himself and finally looked at Fred.

“I am going to find the most beautiful girl and marry her outright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And she’s going to have the most gorgeous mind - her brain, y’know. And and we’ll talk about music and art and shit I don’t care sex and whatever the hell else she likes, and I’ll buy her flowers and perfume and pretend I know what I’m doing because I’m a dumb kid and hell, I’ll fall in love so fast...and I hope she does the same...”

George sat in his beat up old Volvo, took in a shaky breath, and started to sob. His fists delivered downward strikes against his steering wheel at his memories, the feelings of love and joy he knew were still there begging to be freed.

But for now, he’d cry.

oh, i just had a change of heart

The answering machine clicked on, the voicemail ringing through the silence in the bedroom. “Hey, Y/N...sweetheart, we - I - can’t do this anymore,”

i just had a change of heart

“It’s not your fault, baby, but...angel, we can’t do this anymore,”

i just had a change of heart

“I loved you so much and we’re killing each other and I-I couldn’t do anything to stop it except hope that it would pass one day, because we could always make it pass, we could do that,”

i just had a change of heart

“But baby, it’s time to...it’s time to stop. For now, at least until things are better - until we are better,”

i just had a change of heart

“Until we can fall back in love again...I just know we can.”

The machine stopped clicking.

taglist! @whizboingies @harrysweasleys @wandsandwheezes @valwritesx @lumosandnoxwriting @amxrtentias @mothermantids @cyliamarti @shakinganxiety @godricsswords @rosietoesy @jorduhnn @sinfulweasley @wand3ringr0s3 @jaywritesstuff0 @anchoeritic

[hotshotsxyz]

would you love me for the hell of it?

buddie (2.4k) (read it on AO3)

As stupid as it seems now, Eddie always thought they’d have more time.

He should know better. If the bullet wounds that riddle his body weren’t evidence enough, the scarring that he knows twists across Buck’s leg should have been. It wasn’t, though. Despite everything they’d been through, Eddie always thought they’d have enough time.

Now, though, as he opens the door to find Buck already standing in front of it, he knows they’ve finally run out. Eddie draws him into a hug without a second thought. There’s no space left for pretenses.

“I didn’t even knock,” Buck says into his shoulder. Eddie can hear the unsteadiness in his voice and it breaks his heart all over again. None of it was supposed to happen like this.

“I was coming to find you,” Eddie says thickly. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I couldn’t stop checking the time, so I turned it off,” Buck admits. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie let’s go of Buck, but only long enough to grab his hand and pull him inside. “It’s okay,” Eddie says softly. “I get it.” And he does, god he does. He’d unplugged the microwave hours ago, just so he didn’t have to see its mocking green numbers staring back at him.

“Buck!” Christopher exclaims from the living room floor.

“Hey, buddy!” Buck says, crouching next to him. It amazes Eddie that, even now, Buck manages to exude the bright, beautiful energy he always has in front of Christopher. He kind of loves him for it.

It’s not the first time Eddie’s had the thought, but it might be the first time that he has no urge to run from it or to push it down until he can put Buck neatly back into the best friend slot he’d occupied in Eddie’s mind for so long. What’s the point in all that now? Whatever he’d been afraid of losing, there’s a countdown on all of it now.

Christopher’s explaining his drawing in detail to Buck, and it makes Eddie’s heart ache. Sure, Chris has been growing like a weed lately, but Eddie’d figured he had a year or two left of this at least.

Maybe time has always been the enemy, and he’s just the last one to work it out.

Thank god for Buck. As much as it hurts, knowing with certainty now just how good Buck is at pretending to be okay, Eddie can’t help but be grateful for Chris’s sake. He sits down on the couch next to them and puts his hand on Buck’s shoulder, just because he can. Buck looks up at him questioningly, and Eddie offers him a small smile. Buck nods and smiles back, but Eddie can read the sadness there.

“Can we watch a movie?” Chris asks eventually.

“Yeah, mijo, pick one out,” Eddie says, opening the Netflix app on the TV and handing Christopher the remote. “Me and Buck will make snacks.”

He stands, knowing Buck will follow.

In the kitchen, Eddie allows his facade to crack, just a little. He rests his head tiredly against Buck’s shoulder, smiling a little when Buck’s arms automatically encircle him.

“I thought you’d be with Maddie,” he says softly.

Eddie feels Buck shake his head and swallow. “I saw her, Chim, and Jee this morning. But I needed -- god, Eddie, you have to know.”

Eddie pulls back and looks Buck in the eye. He sees love reflected there, just like he always has. “I do,” he says softly. “Me too.”

Buck lets out a wounded noise and pulls Eddie back into the embrace.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Eddie whispers, eyes burning with unshed tears.

“No place I’d rather be for the end of the world,” Buck jokes weakly. His hands tremble against Eddie’s back.

None of it was supposed to happen like this. The comet was supposed to pass close enough to Earth to be a spectacular show for anyone in the Eastern hemisphere, then continue its way around the sun and back out into the Kuiper belt. Hell, Chris has been excited about it, Buck too. They’d been talking about it for months, Buck helping Christopher learn everything he could about where comets came from and what they were made of.

And then something happened. Eddie doesn’t really understand it, but he keeps hearing words like dark matter and quantum mechanical black hole and gravity wells. The gist of it, though, Eddie gets. Something changed the path of the comet, and instead of passing them by harmlessly, it’s now on a collision course. The entire world got less than two week’s warning.

The comet is something like eleven miles wide, he’d heard on the radio. Large enough for an extinction-level event, Buck had told him quietly.

He knows that there are people around the world frantically working to prevent that. He also knows that the odds are bleak. It all came down to time, all over again. There wasn’t enough. There never is.

“Am I doing the right thing?” Eddie asks Buck softly. “Not telling Christopher?”

The fierceness with which Buck answers surprises him, though perhaps it shouldn’t. “He doesn’t need to know. You’re doing the right thing, Eds, he shouldn’t have to face this. Either the world doesn’t end, and we scared him for no reason, or…” Buck trails off, but Eddie gets his meaning.

Eddie swallows and nods. “You’re right,” he says. “He doesn’t-“ he cuts himself off and shuts his eyes tight.

Buck squeezes him again. I’m here, the gesture says. Eddie squeezes back.

The movie Christopher picks is one they’ve seen before, and Eddie’s grateful. It’s easier to tune it out, to keep his eyes on Christopher and Buck instead.

When they’d returned with snacks, Christopher had immediately asked if he could sit with Buck. Buck had turned to him, expression stricken. The sentiment was obvious.

“Only if Buck sits with me,” Eddie’d replied. They’d ended up pressed together from their shoulders to their ankles with Chris sprawled out across both of them.

It’s the kind of domesticity Eddie’s caught himself daydreaming about more than once.

When the movie ends, Chris asks to stay up and wait for the comet. Of course he’d remembered it’s tonight. Eddie doesn’t know why he expected otherwise.

“No, buddy, we’ll watch the video tomorrow,” Eddie says. The lie tastes like ash on his tongue.

Chris begins to pout, but Buck steps in.

“Trust me,” he says. “If we wait until tomorrow, we’ll get to watch the best video, instead of some shakey news camera. You wouldn’t want to spoil that, would you?” Buck asks, pasting on his most infectious grin. Knowing it’s fake makes Eddie’s chest ache.

“Tell you what, though,” Eddie says, “how about we all have a sleepover in my room tonight?”

Christopher cheers at that.

Eddie smiles. It’s small and it’s watery, but it’s real. Buck presses his shoulder further into Eddie’s, a comforting pressure.

“Go get ready for bed and pick out a book, okay?”

Christopher grins and slides off the couch. The tears that have been threatening at the corners of Eddie’s eyes all night long return with a vengeance, and as soon as Christopher disappears around the corner, they finally fall.

His shoulders shake silently, and Buck pulls him to his chest. Buck’s warm fingers card through his hair, and he could swear he feels the ghost of a kiss pressed against the top of his head. Under any other circumstance, the thought would be electrifying. Now, though, it just makes the ache inside him grow.

In another lifetime, they could have had this. Decades, maybe, of unrestrained affection. Love. God, what had they been waiting for?

He feels the unsteadiness of Buck’s breath and knows without looking that he’s crying too. Mourning the same thing, Eddie suspects.

He hears Christopher making his way back towards them, and reluctantly pulls out of Buck’s embrace. He does his best to wipe the tears away and school his expression, but if the way Christopher frowns at him is any indication, he isn’t successful.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks, looking between them.

Eddie pulls him close and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Everything’s okay,” he says softly.

“Your Dad and I were just talking about something sad,” Buck says, “but you don’t need to worry about it, okay?”

“What was it?” Chris asks.

Buck looks panicked and desperately sad, all at once.

“There were some people we couldn’t save,” Eddie says. This, at least, feels something like the truth. “And that made us feel sad, buddy.”

“It’ll be okay,” Christopher says seriously, looking at both of them in turn.

“You’re right,” Buck says, sounding a little choked up. “As long as we’re all together, it will be.”

They settle in Eddie’s bed and read a chapter from Chris’s book, the fifth in the Percy Jackson series. They’re barely halfway through it, but part of Eddie wants to push through the rest. He wants to know how it ends. Wants Christopher to know. Christopher should get to —

Eddie screws his eyes shut. Christopher should get to graduate, to fall in love, and to have kids of his own. He should get to grow old and gray and he should get to finish his damn book.

It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

All of the things Chris has been through - losing his mom, the tsunami, nearly losing Eddie - what’s the point of it all if he doesn’t get to grow from it, to heal past it?

Eddie wants to scream and cry and punch something. Instead, he keeps reading, steadily as he can, until Christopher is fast asleep between him and Buck.

After a few minutes of silence, both of them watching the steady rise and fall of Christopher’s chest, Buck taps Eddie’s wrist and nods towards the hall. He slips out of bed, and Eddie follows, careful not to jar Chris.

He finds Buck leaning against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed. Eddie stands next to him, mindless of personal space. It had always been an afterthought between them, anyway.

“I’m in love with you,” Buck says casually, after several moments of silence. He opens his eyes and tips his head forward, gaze landing on Eddie. “I can’t even remember why I was so afraid to say it.”

“Me too,” Eddie says. He laces his fingers with Buck’s. “I’m in love with you too. I have been, I don’t even know how long.”

Buck chuckles softly, sadly. “We have the worst timing,” he says, turning his entire body towards Eddie.

Eddie turns to meet him, and Buck’s hand comes up to graze Eddie’s jaw.

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie asks, surprising himself. It shouldn’t feel like such a leap, but it does. It’d be terrifying, but Eddie’s always trusted Buck to catch him when he falls.

Instead of answering, Buck leans in and brushes his lips against Eddie’s, soft and gentle and everything and altogether not enough. Eddie chases him as he pulls back, capturing him in a deeper kiss. It’s hard and desperate, yet somehow achingly tender as if their bodies know that their first kisses will almost certainly be their last.

Buck lets out a half-choked sob and buries his fingers in Eddie’s hair. He doesn’t let go, even as they break the kiss, just leans their foreheads together. Somewhere along the line, Eddie’s fingers have fisted in Buck’s shirt. He doesn’t let go either.

“Eddie,” Buck says, raw and grief-stricken.

“Evan,” Eddie whispers. It’s only the second time he’s used Buck’s given name. If the way Buck’s breath hitches is any indication, he notices too.

Buck kisses him again then, filthy at first, then slowing into something sweet. In another lifetime, Eddie could spend hours like this, trading kisses with Buck. In this lifetime though…

Eddie cups Buck’s jaw and pulls back. “I love you,” he says because if this is his only chance, he’s not going to let Buck doubt it for a minute.

“I love you, too.”

Eddie takes Buck by the wrist and pulls him back into the bedroom, turning off lights as they go. They break apart just long enough to settle on either side of Chris, facing one another. Buck throws an arm across both of them, and Eddie brushes an errant lock of hair from Buck’s forehead.

The minutes tick by slowly as they lay in the dark, until Eddie finally speaks.

“If there’s something after all this…” Eddie whispers, “Promise you’ll find me?”

Buck lifts his arm and holds out his pinky finger. Eddie wraps his own around it.

“I promise,” Buck says.

It means something. It has too.

Eddie doubts he’ll sleep, but somehow, in between listening to Christopher’s breathing and watching Buck watch him, he slips into a dark, dreamless slumber.

The sunlight that wakes Buck is warm on his face, just like the sheets that pool around his waist. He wants to luxuriate in it, to let the sweetness of sleep pull him back under, but this time of year, if the sun’s already out, he’s late for work.

Buck’s eyes fly open. The sun’s out. He’s in Eddie’s bed. He’s late for work. Holy shit. He doesn’t even try to contain the grin that spreads across his face. He rolls over and shakes Eddie’s shoulder.

“Eddie, Eddie, wake up,” he whispers excitedly.

Eddie lifts his head, looking rumpled and adorable. He grumbles something completely unintelligible, and the smile on Buck’s face gets even wider.

“We’re late for work,” Buck says, practically bouncing.

“Shit,” Eddie says, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“Eds, you don’t understand. We’re late for work.”

The sleep clears from Eddie’s face almost as quickly as it had from Buck’s. “Oh my god,” he says, taking in the decidedly intact world around them. “It missed. Buck, it missed!”

Eddie surges forward, mindful of the still-sleeping Christopher between them, and kisses him square on the lips. They’re both smiling too hard for it to go anywhere, but it’s still the best kiss of Buck’s life.

Eventually, they’ll get up. They’ll distract Christopher with pancakes and turn on the news to learn that the global joint effort to divert the comet (“They nuked a comet, Eddie! That’s insane!”) was a success. They’ll find Christopher the video they promised, in a press release from NASA. They’ll let him see the comet’s bright blazing path across the sky, but they won’t tell him just how close it came. They’ll text Bobby to let him know they’re running late. They’ll receive a reply to let them know that, just this once, it’s okay. They’ll do all of these things in time, but for now, they bask in the simple joy of being alive and together.

Another lifetime, Eddie had thought the night before. No, he’s going to make this one count.

[sophiamcdougall]

So, there’s something I think is missing from the Booker Discourse and the focus on anger vs forgiveness, and whether Booker’s “punishment” is too harsh and who’s responsible if so, and its absence is beginning to slightly disturb me and it’s this: They don’t punish Booker. At all. 

No, really.

It’s one of the things I really like about the film -- how compassionately it treats Booker, both on a narrative and on an inter-character level. In most genre films wrongs against the good guys are usually settled with riproaring vengeance, even if in some the hero conveniently gets not to be the one to enact it directly.  But in the moment Booker’s betrayal becomes clear, character beats we have taken for mere melancholy click into place as heartwrenching grief and suicidal depression. We’re encouraged to grieve for him. We see Andy and Nile’s empathy for him. We see Nicky urging Joe to stop shouting at him even before they yet have any hope of escape. We don’t see a  moment of explicit compassion/restraint from Joe, but he does instantly put aside his anger to accept Andy’s decision that Booker’s coming with them, and does nothing to sabotage that choice. (In fact, it’s unthinkable that he would, but in plenty of action films it wouldn’t be.) And I agree with some of the arguments I’ve recently seen – the intensity of Joe’s fury isn’t necessarily a measure of how long it would last.

And then, as I say, they don’t punish him.

They don’t beat him up. They don’t work off steam killing and re-killing him. They don’t leave him for Kosak, or for the police. Of course they’d never do a full Quynh on him but putting him a box for ... a year? Six months? A week? It would be an option. They don’t do that, either.   

They simply stop hanging out with him. And they have the extraordinary grace to promise this won’t be permanent. And Andy, whom he shot in the back, sees him off with a goodbye hug.

I’m seeing a lot of debate about whether Joe (hotheaded, passionate) vs Nicky (still waters run deep) is The Angry One and which one of them might, by contrast, have been totally fine letting Booker back into the group immediately. I think you can plausibly headcanon the first part of that various ways. Personally I think Nicky would take a more severe line than Joe, although, as I’m about to argue, I don’t think that necessarily has to mean he’s “angrier”.)

What I don’t think you can plausibly headcanon is that either would actually be “fine” taking Booker back immediately, or any time soon.

Now I want to preface this with pointing out that anger is a completely natural and appropriate response to being hurt and whoever is The Angry One out of Nicky and Joe, has every right to that feeling. And to be fair I don’t think that’s really being disputed. But there does seem to be the idea that The Situation  – Anger = Everything’s Fine Now! And I do think it’s slightly ... victim-blamey, like the barrier to HEA isn’t what Booker did, it’s how long the people he hurt retain one specific emotion about it.  Whoever’s angriest is being staggeringly generous to Booker, and the result is 100% compatible with their not being “angry” at all. It’s compatible with “forgiveness” having already taken place. Just for a minute imagine writing to ... Captain Awkward, or Dear Prudence or Reddit Relationships. And explaining that your friend placed you in the power of people who wanted to hurt you, deliberately exposed you to very serious danger and your worst personal fear, and caused you to watch your partner trapped and in pain for somewhere in the ballpark of 48 hours ...  BUT, he is going through some very bad shit, guys, and you really do feel for him. Imagine what the response would be.  (”My friend wanted to commit suicide-by-cop, so he planted weed/guns in the car with me and my husband in it and called the police, although he knows we both have a particular phobia of cops after what happened to another friend who was arrested a while back. Oh and he attacked our other friend, because he wanted to be totally sure the cops would come for him, but he only meant to knock her out not to nearly kill her and he’s depressed and very sorry. I still want to put our friendship on a break. AITA?”)  They would yell at you to oh my god get away from him WTF how is this even a question please get some therapy learn to love yourself. 

And if you repeated that he’s really sad! And it went down worse than he thought it would! And you don’t want to hurt him! they would yell that it’s not about hurting him it’s about protecting you.   Just ... think about it. Imagine you’re either Joe or Nicky. Assume your anger has already completely evaporated, whether you think that’s in-character or not, and imagine you feel truly sorry for Booker. Take the most generous stance on what he did that you can. Fine. But every time you turn your back on him, or see him go off on a mission alone with one of the others ... how do you feel? Even if you don’t think he’d actually do this again, do you feel safe? 

 And imagine trying to recover from the trauma of what just happened to you. Imagine how much it would help to take refuge in all the soft, “family” touches which were also such a refreshing distinguishing feature of this film. Gift exchanges and bets and TV and hugs. Imagine trying to do that with the person who put you through it right. there.

 Nicky and/or Joe could honestly wish Booker no suffering at all, nothing but recovery and healing and peace, and Booker would still be a walking PTSD trigger and working/socialising with him would be downright self-destructive. 

Now, of course this is unpleasant for Booker because he’s already lonely and self-hating and it’s difficult -- though not necessarily impossible! -- for any of them to form a support system outside the group. But that really isn’t the team��s responsibility and, what is really the alternative? 

Maybe it’s being framed so much as “punishment” because Andy says “there has to be a price.” And there does; the consequences of Booker’s choice will unfold in some way whatever they do. The team do not have the option of simply resetting to normal, even if they wanted to. The only question is only who carries the weight of those consequences and how. Should Nicky and Joe have to pretend to feel comfortable around Booker, should they force themselves to go through the motions of friendship – hug him, smile at him, pass him a coffee – while their shoulders go up around their ears whenever he’s in the room, regardless of what that means for their own healing?

The injustice of that should be obvious but even if they did it, even if they made that colossal sacrifice for the person who just hurt them, would it really help Booker? Imagine being him and settling down to watch the football beside Joe and knowing what he likely remembers whenever he looks at you. Honestly, I don’t see that being a healthy path to recovery for him either.

Or OK. Maybe they don’t put on an act. They  keep spending time with him, but they don’t try to hide the nightmares and the flashbacks or the way their smiles drop whenever he comes into the room. Maybe they flinch whenever he gets too close and sometimes they yell at him but they all have to put that on hold every time there’s a mission and somehow they also they try to be his therapists?

I don’t know, it sounds a lot kinder to everyone to just get some fucking space.

Not hanging out with someone who gravely hurt you isn’t punishment, it’s basic boundaries and self-care for you and I’m beginning to worry about what it means that many of you don’t seem to know that.

[trying-to-get-somewhere-real]

Hannah on This Might Help podcast (aka Jean is like being in a sensory deprivation tank)

hello, I am back with another hannah podcast write-up! (since a few people seemed to like the last one) This Might Help is a podcast where people call or write-in ahead of time and leave messages seeking advice, and then the host and guest answer them on the show. it is way less frivolous and comedic than the candy one—and while they talk around the fringes of hacks and the impact it has had on hannah’s life, there’s not really focused discussion of it (w one important jean-related exception)—but it’s still funny in places and I liked it, though probably less overall than the last one. 

[spoilers below so beware]

highlights:

--this part does not come until the last 15 minutes but it’s obviously the most important thing so I’m putting it up here: some hero wrote in asking “how do you act in front of god aka jean smart?” quoting hannah’s response verbatim bc it is A Lot: “every time I meet her gaze I dive directly into the depths of the ocean deep, I lose myself and I wake up and we’re moving on to the next scene. I have said this many times, that jean is both a god and the most accommodating, loving, supportive person, the most patient person. if you met her, before you had the chance to feel intimidated and scared and like omg this is jean smart, she would say something to you and make you laugh, or say something to you and make you feel comfortable. she goes out of her way to create that comfortability and that ease, so that you do actually feel like you’re seeing her as the very gorgeous and lovely human being that she is. it is like a sound bath um, like a—what’s that thing when you’re in your body temperature water and it’s dark? [host answers: sensory-deprivation tank?] sensory deprivation, exactly, it’s…she makes you feel very comfy. it’s very nice.” the host then pointed out that hannah is one of those people that describes a sensory deprivation tank as something good…which isn’t the case for everyone.

ok other less exciting, but still interesting stuff:

--hannah has been in therapy with the same therapist for 15 years

--she talks a bunch about her history as a competitive cheerleader (stuff I’ve heard on several other podcasts before) as her first sort-of experience with performance, and the super intense, military-like, if-you’re-not-first-you’re-last mentality of the sport. also, she decided she wanted to do cheer after watching Bring It On for the first time. #gay

--for most of high school and the first half of college, her identity was essentially defined by being a stoner, though she doesn’t smoke much anymore. (the degree to which hannah is basically ava—I mean, not exactly, but the overlap is more than I’ve personally ever experienced with a character/actress I’ve loved before—never ceases to amaze me). she later answers an ask about the most fun she had smoking weed with a fellow comic, where she says she has to feel really safe to smoke with someone bc she will just talk talk talk talk talk. 

 --for a long time she thought she should only be a comic—“be pure”—had gotten into a good place with her comedy, and did not like the idea of trying something new and having to fail a lot again (cue me lmao that she basically got the first thing she tried to get and it was this amazing). hacks obviously changed her perspective on that.

 --she talked briefly about how she’s dealt with the hugeness of hacks: she said she first and foremost feels really fortunate bc it’s a dream situation, but she’s struggled to remain present in the lives of people she loves because she is overwhelmed with appointments/events/meetings, etc. and very bad at multi-tasking

 --first advice question (from another bi woman) was: “can you find fulfilment in a relationship with just one gender?” – hannah was super kind in acknowledging that this is a question that she and so many bi people wrestle with; she said that the beauty of queerness means when you’re with someone who fully sees you, you can express all the parts of yourself safely; various people come in and out of our lives, and as long as you’re open to that and respectful to the person you’re with at the time, you can open your mind to the possibilities of various loves/different loves at different times; she mentioned the role of internalized biphobia in this and the idea of your identity not being dependent on your partner at a given time; she admitted that she doesn’t 100% know the answer and is still figuring it out for herself

--not covering every advice question, but some other, written-in “speed round” ones of interest:

--shout out to whoever wrote in with no question just to say hannah was great in hacks; I hope it was one of you!

--some dude wrote in: “how can I overcome my depression when my wife isn’t supportive of me? and hannah’s initial response was “oof passive-aggressive baby, wow” (I truly love her w my whole heart, in case you didn’t know), but then after suggesting they needed more info from this guy to provide a helpful answer than his one sentence ask, she gave some good general depression advice

--jean question: see top

thank you for coming with me on this journey friends! i am very attached to my url but seriously considering at least changing the blog title to “jean smart is a sensory deprivation tank”

[therealvinelle]

I would 100 percent love a rundown of every vampire and how they would react to the option to be human again.

... every vampire..?

I guess we’re doing this.

Afton is more useless to the Volturi than ever. This changes nothing, in part because nobody notices. Afton dies of old age in a cry for attention.

Alec can have puberty?! Get tall? Have sex? Sign him the fuck up. Alec spends ten years as a human. Unfortunately it turns out he has the worst genes, so he stops at 5 feet and doesn’t grow an inch taller. He is Volterra’s short king. Even more unfortunate is the fact that the ladies still see him as a kid and would feel weird about sleeping with him, so no luck on that front either. (Somehow, Jane is both taller and gets all the hawt dewds)

Alice would not like this at all. Having a human is nice, that’s fun. Alice loves her Bella Barbie. Being a human? Oh god no.

Alistair’s whole thing is that he’s living as a hermit because he’s terrified of everyone and everything. If he became human again, he would still be a hermit, but lacking any of the survival skills or basic equipment that human hermits accrue he would quickly die out there in the wild.

Amun might just be the oldest vampire in the world, and he has been a god. Going back to being human would be too low, it would be the greatest humiliation imaginable. Hard no from Amun.

Anne was Victoria’s sister, the two girls were impoverished and Anne prostituted herself to feed them. Since she was executed by the Volturi within that same century, she would be returning to that same, horrible life. All the nopes, Anne gets her creator to turn her again.

Aro would be very practical about it, I think, and find someone to turn him back before the plague got him. Though I’m sure he’d be too curious not to try for himself the modern, global, human cuisine, so whoever was turning him has to sit by and wait while Aro drinks all the margaritas and eats all the sushi. And probably human flesh, gotta know what it tastes like from the other side

Athenodora has spent a very long time in that tower tripping on Corin’s gift. As she walks into the Volterra town square she has a full on Plato’s cave allegory epiphany, as she realizes that the tower was a fever dream and the real world is blurry and she doesn’t want to eat anybody. She comes to the conclusion that vampires aren’t real.

Bella would feel like Cinderella at the end of the ball, her beautiful gown turns back into rags and she’s an unworthy human again. Edward is overjoyed she smells delicious is fragile again and refuses to turn her back. Heartbreak ensues.

Benito invented newborn wars, he’s got a million enemies. He better become a vampire again immediately, or he’s dead.

Benjamin is the avatar, which is great. He lives in hiding because Amun has him convinced that Aro would enslave him, which is less great. Being human would not solve this.

Boris was living his best life being a fake Russian noble in the court of Versailles. Being a fake noble as a human is just not as fun, and he finds himself a vampire to get turned back.

Bree was miserable as a vampire, but her life wasn’t great to begin with. She was homeless and starving. I imagine she’d say no to humanity because she had nothing to return to, but this would be a survival move that had nothing to do with what she wanted in life.

Caius has no time for this nonsense, he turns back immediately.

Carlisle I’ve outlined in this post, but to repeat it here he is quite happy being a vampire, humanity has nothing to offer him. His ridiculously large network of friends would be put to good use once again as he tries to find someone who’ll turn him. (He has a surprisingly hard time, as no one wants to risk being the asshole who ate Carlisle Cullen. He eventually comes crawling back to a delighted Aro)

Carlisle’s creator is the lowest of the low, trash who lives in the slums, gets caught by humans, eats half a mob and then lets a newborn loose in the middle of London. This guy is a slob who does not have his life in order. Without vampirism, he starts shooting up under a bridge and dies within a few weeks. He does not get turned back into a vampire because nobody’s touching that.

Carmen would probably want a baby before turning back. The problem with trying to raise a human child as a vampire is that children bleed all the time. Eleazar Jr. scrubs his knee, Carmen goes full Cronus on her son, and Dostoyevsky is proud.

Charles... I don’t know if anybody agreed with my post on Renata, I for one think Luca is horrifying, and based on that Charles would turn back immediately because he’s not leaving Makenna on her own. Not to mention, Charles is one of the few vampires in Twilight who chose his fate.

Charlotte and Peter are living happily, thinking the Cullens are crazy for appreciating humans, so no changes there.

Chelsea might actually be a bit allured by humanity, since this way she can find out once and for all if she can form organic, normal relationships. However, she’s been a vampire for millennia, which makes it impossible for her to relate to humans. She makes no friends, and comes to believe that she is unlovable. She becomes a vampire again and, after an extended existential crisis, eventually becomes Marcus.

Corin would want to try all the human drugs. Gotta find out if weed is better than she is! Unfortunately half of Volterra is hooked on her, and she’s turned before she can find a good dealer.

Didyme would immediately suffer a brain aneurism, and die. Marcus becomes Marcus, but this is ultimately the better timeline since Aro can mourn his sister normally.

Diego’s life was pretty much over since gang members were out to get him, so he’s not returning to humanity anytime soon. Although vampirism means that now everyone he meets is a potential gang member out to get him (indeed, Victoria gets him), so maybe humanity would appear comparatively peaceful.

Demetri seems to be having a cool time being a vampire, so back into the ranks of the unholy he goes.

Edward, oh boy. I can’t imagine it, and I don’t want to.

Eleazar is a pretty self-righteous and sanctimonious fellow, I am sure he would not only choose to remain human, but talk about how noble it is that he’s staying human. He would not enjoy being human.

Emmet would be a miserable human, but to turn back would be to turn his back on Rosalie, and so he would dutifully remain, even as he grew to resent her for it. Once again I have a post.

Esme would not want humanity given the choice, but if she suddenly is human then provided Carlisle was as well, I imagine she would want to get a do-over. However, trouble is that if she wants to have a baby, then she’ll have to stick around with said baby as well. Sticking around means remaining human. Honestly, I’m not sure where that would go. Terrible places once Carlisle runs off to Italy, I’m sure.

Felix is another dude who seems pretty happy with vampirism. He sticks his hand into the first fanged mouth that he can find.

Fred is having a good time as well now that he has left Victoria’s army, no arguments here.

Garrett seems quite happy to be a vampire, although he enjoys new things enough that I think he’d want to spend a few years experiencing things from this human perspective. Alas, he’d have pictured the life human influencers and fictional humans were leading - it can’t be too far off, right? Well, real humans need jobs and housing and health insurance. One thing leads to another, and Carlisle finds himself bankrolling Garrett’s human adventures.

George is a seriously amazing guy who goes around pretending to be a demon called Astaroth and making fake demon deals with people. He’s an amazing conman, but his whole schtick depends on being a vampire, so it wouldn’t work if he were human. Vampirism it is.

Heidi apparently lived a terrible life as a human and was pity-turned into a vampire, so I don’t think she’d have any happy associations with humanity at all. She buys the first ticket back to damnation.

Hilda was a feminist bleeding heart who made suffering women invulnerable. Vampirism, to her, seems to have been salvation, with humanity a miserable state. Hard no from Hilda.

Huilen didn’t want anything to do with this supernatural horrorshow that killed her sister, and I imagine she’s one of the few who’d actually fare well as a human again, even though time has passed.

Irina drowns her Laurent-shaped sorrows in booze and men.

James would be furious with everything for letting this happen to him, and want to be turned back again.

Jane, like Alec, is overjoyed that she can have puberty again. This works out great for her. Like a middle school goth phase, she sort of pretends that whole 1200-year-stint as an actual twelve-year-old didn’t happen, going “oh, yeah... that” when it’s mentioned.

Jasper isn’t eating people anymore, praise Jesus. I think he’d actually fare quite well, he’d become a dusty professor in philosophy at some college and the violence would truly be behind him.

Joham is a monster and I imagine his children would eat him before he could get turned back. Good on them.

Kachiri is quite happy with Senna and Zafrina, she wouldn’t want that to change.

Kate loves Garrett very much, but there are all these human men she won’t have to worry about killing..?

Kebi was a slave who was chosen by Amun to be... well, his slave forever. As an unchanging vampire she’s stuck, but humanity could represent real hope for her, the only hope, really. Hard yes from Kebi.

Kristie is one of the two Victoria recruits who managed to turn the army into a high school, where you were either in the right clique or you were a square. Kristie is clearly an opportunist who’ll make the best of any situation, human or vampire.

Kumboh is a highly eccentric vampire who works in a mental hospital and gets attached to the humans there, to the point where he dies for one. This is not a man I can predict.

Laurent spent his existence in a pursuit of power without understanding what power is, and ended up stuck with the white trashiest vampires ever to white trash. Several logical leaps based on 18th century French Versailles logic later he endeavors to marry into the British royal family.

Liam is living quite happily with his wife and surrogate daughter, and even if he wasn’t then Siobhan is going to want her hubby back. And what Siobhan wants, Siobhan gets.

Luca is quite happy being the family patron who sometimes takes niece-brides (or family demon who keeps stealing their daughters), so he would want his fangs back. But, I’m sorry but I think he’d seize the opportunity to impregnate one of his descendants, because if this guy is all about preserving his family line then I can’t imagine he’d be able to resist a son.

Lucy, like Maria, would be in so much trouble. Honestly, I think Maria would eat her immediately. Easiest way to get rid of competition.

Maggie might want to grow a bit older and less emaciated before turning, but like Liam, Siobhan’s gift would see to it that the coven became whole again.

Makenna wanted vampirism once, I imagine she’d want it again. She seems quite happy with her life.

Marcus is finally able to kill himself. Happy days.

Maria would be in so much trouble. She is a human in newborn war territory, all the vampires around her have terrible control, and the ones with good enough control to turn her are enemy army leaders who want her dead. She is forced to make a phone call to Jasper and ask if he can put in a good word with Carlisle.

Mary (Carlisle’s friend), it’s been over a century and she’s still living alone. Sounds lonely, so maybe she’d be down for the change.

Mary (Hilda’s coven) is living that feminist liberation life with Hilda, and humanity would throw her right back into poverty and misery. Big nope.

Nettie would be eaten by Jasper, since Maria already ate Lucy.

Noela is a member of Hilda’s coven, meaning her life was awful. She would not want it back.

Peter is living happily ever after with Charlotte, it’s a good life. Peter does not want things to change.

Randall was turned in the 1960′s, so I’m sure he’d want some of that sweet weed again.

Raoul was a gangbanger and humanity is better off without him. So are vampires.

Renata had awful circumstances around her turning, and nothing to return to. Her human family either sold her out or were unable to protect her, my money’s on them thinking that her fate was a great honor, and either option makes them someone I imagine she has put behind her. As it is now, she has purpose with the Volturi, and no one is making her be anybody’s bride. She would not want things to change, nevermind becoming human.

Riley thinks he has found true love and glorious purpose, and would remain the way he is.

Rosalie would be delighted, but she has poured years of bitterness and crushed dreams into the dream of the perfect human life. Reality wouldn’t live up to her ideal and this time she can’t blame vampirism. I think she’d start drinking.

Santiago presumably has an alright time being a vampire, he has purpose and community with the Volturi. No changes here.

Sasha wanted a big ol’ family, turning first her niece and then women who resembled her niece enough to look like her sisters, so I imagine that, like all good Denali women, she’d seduce a sexy human male and give herself a few more daughters. Disaster would ensue if they were sons, or not blondes.

Senna is living happily with her girlfriends, let nothing disrupt that.

Siobhan’s life is great, with her gift her life will be as she wishes it to be, and she seems to truly enjoy being a vampire. It wouldn’t even be a question for her.

Stefan and Vladimir (no, they don’t get individual entries) are has-beens. Without vampirism, they would be greater has-beens than ever. This makes Aro’s century, and he makes it clear to the vampire world that no one is to turn these two back. Their lives suck and then they die.

Sulpicia is above pesky human sustenance, the mere thought is revolting. She accidentally starves herself to death.

Victoria would be at once more and less paranoid. Her gift isn’t going haywire telling her about all the danger, but she’s a human, so all is danger. I think she’d start drinking too.

Victoria’s NPC army recruits are newborns who love that sweet sweet blood, ain’t nobody turning their back on that.

Tanya would be so fucking happy, oh my god. She can bang all the dudes, and she won’t have to worry about killing them! She forgets that human women have to worry about STDs and pregnancies. Now she has chlamydia and a baby.

Tia’s big problem is that she’s stuck living with this ancient and bitchy loser who takes himself way too seriously. Vampirism on its own is great, she’s down for that.

Unnamed tracker formerly employed by the Volturi was relieved of his duties in the most “oops, you’re useless now” way possible. That hurts your self esteem. Becoming a powerless human would hurt it even more. Unnamed tracker formerly employed by the Volturi does not want this.

Vassilii would grow up, and have a host of issues because being a toddler with memories of bloodthirst and killing people is bad for child development.

Zafrina is having a great time with her girlfriends and her illusions. And it’s been a very long time since they were human, I don’t think anything remains of their culture. At least not anything they’d recognize.

Hope this answers your question, anon...

Edit: Added Carlisle’s Creator, Sasha, and Vassilii. If I’ve missed anybody else, let me know.

Edit 2: Added Bree, Diego, Frank, Kristen, Raoul, Riley, and Victoria’s NPC army recruits.