#how do you look at this and go “yeah no mike's not in love with will”

[holdinsteddie]

prompt: scarf

(for @miss-bushido , originally posted on bsky here)

[cw: omegaverse]

Okay, so.

The thing is— well. Eddie doesn’t really know what the thing is, is the thing.

Let’s backtrack: Eddie is an omega. Not a very typical one, mind you, but he is one and actually likes being one, despite what others might think.

He loves nesting and scenting his friends and making people feel welcomed and loved. Yes, he can have a prickly exterior and has been known to growl or hiss should the situation call for it (and sometimes when it doesn’t), but the fact of the matter is he’s actually very soft and squishy. A melty-ball of tender omega goop wrapped up in a spikey metal-head exterior. He can be multidimensional, okay?

Anyway. Back to backtracking:

Eddie is an omega.

Steve Harrington is also an omega, much to the surprise of basically all of Hawkins when he’d first presented.

Eddie had been surprised too, until he actually got to know Steve after going through Literal Hell™️ together.

What better pack bonding than defeating an evil inter-dimensional wizard that looks like the human(?) embodiment of an STD, right?

Eddie learned that while he loved being an omega and that it fit him in a way that worked for him, Steve seemed born to be an omega.

Yeah, he could be bitchy, but he loved and cared for the pack’s pups with all the love of the force of 500 moms, give or take. He was like, the epitome of Omega Mom. Always making sure that everyone was properly scented and well fed and had unlimited access to the pack nest he’d set up in his house. And during the winter, he was wrapping everyone up in scent-thick winter gear.

The pups (re: Mike) had complained exactly one (1) time about it. Steve hadn’t said anything, but had looked so sad that Robin had growled in the way that only pissed-off alphas can and had scared the shit out of everyone present. (Eddie included).

Anyway, sorry, keep getting distracted. All of this to say: Eddie is confused.

Because Eddie is an omega, and Steve is an omega, and if it were anyone else, Eddie would think that he maybe possibly might be… being… courted?

Because, that— that’s what it’s starting to feel like.

It had started a few weeks ago, when Steve had wrapped a scarf around his neck before sending him off to play with the pups in the snow. It was thick and warm, a deep black color with delicate silver accents only visible when you look closely. It was beautiful and had smelled so strongly of Steve’s woodsmoke-and-basil scent that he had kept his nose buried in it the entire time he’d worn it.

And if he’d sighed despondently when he’d hung it back up in Steve’s coat closet, that was between him and God.

(And maybe Max. She’d given him a knowing smirk that had drastically increased his blood pressure.)

Which is why he was surprised when, a few days later, he’d finished up his shift at the shop and walked out to his van only to find that same scarf wrapped around the driver’s side mirror.

He’d stared at it for a moment before slowly approaching and carefully unwrapping it.

And because he was a weak, weak man, he’d immediately brought it up to his nose and inhaled deeply. God, he loved Steve’s scent so much — it made him think of dinners cooked over a fire, hearty and warm and home.

Eddie hadn’t thought about it much at the time, and had brushed the sudden re-appearance of the scarf as Steve being extra thoughtful and doing rounds on the pack.

Eddie had worn it home (and maybe had snuggled it a bit, shut up Wayne) and then the next day he’d made sure to drop it back off at Steve’s.

But then it had reappeared the next day, this time at the coffee shop waiting for him at his usual spot.

And it kept reappearing, anywhere and everywhere, no matter how many times he returned it to Steve’s.

Which is how we get to now, with Steve standing in Eddie’s room, just outside his nest with an angry pout on his face and his hands on his hips, and Eddie having no idea what the fuck is going on.

“Why won’t you accept my courting gift?”

Eddie understands each of the words Steve said individually, but he can’t for the life of him comprehend what Steve is actually saying to him. “…What?”

Steve huffs before holding out the scarf he’d apparently been holding the whole time.

The familiar black wool with the silver thread causes Eddie’s heart to skip a beat or three, and all Eddie can do is stare at it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a part of him is screaming courting gift?? cOURTING GIFT??!! on repeat.

“What.” He gives himself a mental pat on the back for actually being able to get a single coherent word out.

The hands holding the scarf drop a little. “Look, I just—“ Steve starts, and Eddie tears his gaze from the scarf to Steve’s face.

He’s shocked to see that Steve looks… nervous, but not in a good way. “Is it— Do you— Do you not like the gift? Because I can get you something different. I’d already started making this before I’d thought to ask Robbie what I should get you but she said you’d lo— you’d like it and I thought— I just—“

Steve takes a deep breath and Eddie thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe entirely. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Steve keeps his eyes closed as he quietly continues, “I just need to know if you’re, if you’re rejecting the gift or if you’re rejecting me.”

A wounded noise punches itself out of Eddie, and before he can think, he’s tackling Steve into his nest.

Steve goes down with an oof but otherwise doesn’t resist as Eddie begins to shuffle him and his nest around until Steve is at the center, surround by all the softest and most comfortable parts of Eddie’s nest.

“Eddie?”

“Steve.” Eddie cradles Steve’s face between his palms and looks down into beautiful, confused hazel eyes. “Stevie, baby, honey, I am so, so fucking stupid.”

“Hey,” Steve retorts, brows furrowed, and Eddie wants to consume him whole.

“No, shut up. I’ve been stupid, Stevie, so stupid. You wanna know how stupid?” Steve opens his mouth but Eddie doesn’t let him answer. “I had no idea you were trying to court me.”

The way Steve freezes underneath him would be comical if Eddie didn’t feel like he was about to vibrate out of existence.

Steve blinks at him. Eddie blinks back.

“…you really didn’t know?” Steve looks so genuinely perplexed that Eddie can’t help the hysterical laugh that barks out of him.

“Didn’t have a fuckin’ clue, sweetheart.”

Steve blinks again, and his face smooths out. “Oh.” Then Steve looks up at Eddie through his lashes and Eddie wants to launch himself into the sun. “So, if I tried to give you the gift now…”

Between one blink and the next, Eddie grabs the scarf and wraps it around his neck way too many times. “Steven Harrington I am never taking this off ever again.”

Forget launching himself into the sun, all he needs to do is look at the way joy blooms in Steve’s expression to feel like he’s on fire. “Yeah?” Steve breathes.

Eddie nods vigorously, and because he feels so happy he could float, he flops over on top of Steve and attaches himself like an octopus.

“You’d better court the hell out of me, Harrington, ‘cause I’m gonna court your ass off.”

Steve laughs, and Eddie can’t wait to never get tired of the sound.

send me a 📝 and a one-word prompt and i will try and write a lil microfic for you!

[steddieas-shegoes]

kaboom

for @steddieholidaydrabbles popup event prompt 'fireworks'

rated t | 896 words | cw: injury | tags: fireworks, established relationship, hurt/comfort, steve has ptsd

also on ao3

🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆

Steve doesn’t like fireworks, but at least he’s over the sheer panic he used to feel every time they went off. He usually stays inside when they happen, has music playing as a distraction. Last year, he managed to sit outside while Dustin and Mike set off a few small ones in his backyard.

This year, Eddie’s insisting on putting on a whole show. There’s not enough people in town to care about their illegal fireworks, and even if there were, Hopper would write it off. He made them swear they’d be careful and Eddie grinned as he held out his pinky and said he’d only explode things in an open space.

He’s timed everything to music. Steve is in charge of pressing play at the right time and switching tapes at Eddie’s cue. They practice with Eddie making loud explosion sounds and Steve manages to get it mostly right.

The kids are all sitting on towels in the yard, waiting for the show. All the adults are standing by the house, just in case they need to call 911 to put out a fire. Steve is watching Eddie walk through his set up one more time to make sure he has everything in the right place.

When it starts, everything is perfect. The kids clap and cheer. Even Hopper smiles and pulls Joyce close to him as they admire the first set of shimmering explosions.

Even the first song transition goes well, and Eddie gives him a wink and blows him a kiss. Steve rolls his eyes but pretends to catch it and holds it to his chest, just like he always does.

And then Eddie lights the second set.

It’s fine for the first second. Everything seems normal.

And then a loud pop echoes around them and Eddie yells out.

“Fuck!”

Steve stops the music immediately. No one else seems to think anything bad’s happened, but Steve knows that voice, that tone.

He hears it in nightmares: the pained yelp that comes just before too much blood and no help and-

“Eddie!” Max’s voice startles Steve from his panic. She’s standing, but El pulls her back down as Hopper rushes over to Eddie.

He’s watching Hopper check him over, frozen to his spot on the ground. He wants to move, wants to help. Whatever is happening can’t be good for Eddie to risk his show.

“He’s okay,” Joyce is saying quietly in his ear, her hand rubbing his back. “Burned his hand. The firework was faulty. He’s gonna be fine.”

He nods, but he still feels paralyzed.

At some point in the last year, he’s gotten comfortable. He hasn’t had to rush to defend his loved ones since El saved them all. The nail bat is so far back in his closet, he doesn’t even know if he can get to it.

But a nail bat won’t protect Eddie from a faulty firework. He knows that, but he’s still wracked with guilt.

“Steve. Baby.” Steve looks up to see Eddie holding a cold beer can to his hand. “I should probably get some ointment on the blisters and get a real ice pack. Can you help?”

“Yeah,” Steve chokes out. “Sorry. I can help.”

Hopper is standing just behind Eddie, giving him a sad smile. As Steve stands to accompany Eddie inside, he hears him telling the kids the show is over, but there’s plenty more popsicles and sodas to indulge in.

Once they’re in the bathroom, alone, Eddie kisses him softly.

“I’m okay,” he reassures. “Gonna leave a nasty scar on my thumb, but I don’t think another scar is gonna make much of a difference.”

Steve nods as he pulls out his first aid kit. He’s used to cleaning up blood, or icing a bruise, or pulling a stinger out of a hand or arm. This is different and he’s going in a little blind.

Eddie takes the ointment from the kit and holds it out to Steve. “This first. Use more than you think you should.”

“You seem to know a lot about how to handle burns,” Steve says as he does what Eddie told him to do. He still feels a little like he’s just going through the motions, but at least he can help. “Do this often?”

“Used to play with matches and lighters a lot as a kid. Nothing serious ever happened, but Wayne was usually at work so I had to figure it out.” Eddie hisses when Steve rubs along the edges of the blister. “This may be the worst one. Now gauze and wrap it tight.”

Eddie winces as Steve finishes up.

He kisses his hand gently, then shakes his head.

“Maybe we leave the fireworks to the professionals next year?” Steve asks him.

“But my show was gonna be so good!” Eddie stomps his foot. “I just have to check them all better first. This was a freak accident. Won’t happen again.”

Steve raises his brow and lets out a breath. “I don’t think I want you to risk it. You wanna go have a popsicle?”

Eddie smirks. “You just wanna see me licking something.”

Steve shrugs. “I’d love a distraction from what just happened and nothing gets me more distracted than your tongue.”

“Fine, but only if I get to use my tongue on you later,” Eddie winks and shuffles out of the bathroom.

[koobyers]

he literally was not fucking listening i swear to god. he was like "yeah yeah but DAMNNN THOSE LIPS MAN" cause the way his eyebrows twitched slightly, the way he looked at will's lips, the little smile, the way he looks at him?? he's so whipped i can't. mike wheeler more like mike queerler

[brionysea]

when max is depressed we know something's wrong because lucas says with his words that he knows something's wrong but when mike is depressed we don't think anything of it because will's right next to him rolling his eyes about how stupid straight people are

[cherry-treelane]

everytime i feel bad and stressed about my life i remember that i might be in a troubling situation and having a bad time but im not season 4 fiona gallagher in the clink after leaving crack on the counter which my 3 year old baby brother happened to ingest resulting in a fatal near-death experience thats wracked me with never-ending guilt and forever altered my life

[crossbackpoke-check]

philadelphia where love goes to…..be reborn?? crazy stuff happening here!!

i-

yeah you know what, that narrative makes sense, continue 🤝 philly

[munsonsmixtapes]

Flattery Works With Me

Eddie Munson x shy!fem!reader

summary: with a predicament, the boys beg you to ask Eddie to postpone a DnD session because they know he will do anything you ask

part two

The conversations that were happening throughout the cafeteria rang in your ears as you headed to the table that you always sat at. The usual suspects were all there and you were going to take your seat right next to Eddie just like always. 

You were nervous to speak to him, not only because you were shy, but also because you had been meaning to ask him if the DnD session for that night could be postponed because you had a lot of homework. But you knew how he felt about that sort of thing so you were dreading it, hoping that he would agree just this once. 

Before you could sit, though, you could see Dustin, Lucas, and Mike all arguing a little ways away from the table. From the looks of it, it seemed to be pretty heated and there was no way you were getting in the middle of that. You hated hearing people argue, the loud voices always making you feel anxious because you didn’t have control of the situation. And you liked having control, craved it, even. 

But as soon as you set your tray down on the table, Lucas waved you over. You didn’t know what he was wanting, but you reluctantly made your way over to the boys, your curiosity piqued. You now had to know what their little spat had to do with you. 

“What’s going on?” You asked and Dustin was about to speak before Mike cut him off. That was something that happened often considering that Mike didn’t like how slowly Dustin would take to explain the situation. 

“Look,” he said, looking you directly in the eye. “We have a prior commitment and can’t make it to the session tonight.” You just knew that they were only telling you that because they wanted you to ask Eddie. 

“Correction: Mike was out late with El last night and got grounded so he can’t go to the session,” Lucas corrected with a roll of his eyes. 

“We were wondering if you’d talk to Eddie for us?” Dustin looked at you with hopeful eyes and the smile on his face made you want to pinch his little cheeks. 

“Why me?” You knew exactly why, but you wanted confirmation that Eddie did feel how you thought he did. That you weren’t just being delusional. Because that had happened so many times; you having a crush on someone and your feelings not being reciprocated in any way shape or form. 

“Are you kidding? The man is in love with you.” You scoffed at the comment, but couldn’t help but feel heat rise to your cheeks. Could it have been possible? You supposed you were going to have to ask, but you just couldn’t get yourself to. Asking him to postpone the session was one thing, but asking if he had feelings for you? Absolutely not. 

“Yeah, he’ll do anything you say.” There was some truth to that and if you had more confidence, you would have tested just how far you could get by batting your lashes and putting on a flirty tone. “So will you please ask him?” You were going to ask him anyway, but now there was pressure on you to actually make the move.

“Why don’t you ask him?” You didn’t understand why it had to be you. Surely he would have postponed it for them, right? 

Mike rolled his eyes and made a beeline for Eddie and you watched the conversation, barely picking up what they were saying, but Eddie definitely didn’t look happy. He then waved Mike off and the boy gave you a look as if to say “See?” 

“I told you, he won’t listen to us. But with you? I think we have a shot.” 

“I don’t know,” you shook your head. You really didn’t believe them, because why would Eddie have been interested in you? You had barely uttered a full sentence to the man in the few months that you’d known him so there was no possible way that he could have liked you like that. 

“Please?” Dustin begged one more time and the three of them jutted out their bottom lips, their eyes pleading. God, you really were a pushover. 

“Well, I do have a lot of homework to do tonight.” 

“I knew she’d do it,” Mike nodded with a smile and you ignored him, taking a deep breath and heading over to the metal head who was sitting at the end of the table. 

Eddie took no time to turn to you, a bright smile appearing on his face. You were so pretty that it was unfair and he kept wondering to himself what he had done to have been so lucky to have you in his life. He thought your shyness was adorable, the way he’d have to lean forward to hear what you were saying because of how soft spoken you were. 

And the dresses you always wore nearly killed him. The way they swung when you walked and how everyone would stare at you in the school hallway, he wondered how you didn’t realize just how beautiful you were. Surely you had to have known, but with the way you were always so surprised when he complimented you, it was clear that you had no idea. 

“Hi, Eddie,” you greeted him, trying your best to maintain eye contact with him, every time you caught sight of that beautiful brown color, you knew you’d be a goner. They were hypnotizing, so fucking pretty that it should have been a crime. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiled, turning fully in his chair to face you. “Take a seat.” If he knew it wouldn’t have made you uncomfortable, he would have offered his lap. 

You hesitantly sat in the seat next to him and he could tell you were uneasy, your anxiety palpable. He let his hand inch towards yours underneath the table, letting his pinky stroke yours gently as if asking for permission to take it. Without a word, you wrapped your pinky around his, ignoring his gaze, unpacking your lunch with your free hand.

You felt your anxiety melt away as you felt his pinky squeeze yours gently, as if to tell you that he was right there for you. And he was. He wanted to make sure that you were okay, because at that point, you were his number one priority and he would stop at nothing to help you. He wished it was possible to go into your mind and quiet the voices that were always whispering to you.

“Can I ask you something,” you asked, feeling your hands shake as you realized what you were about to do. Your voice was barely above a whisper, but Eddie just leaned forward so he could hear you. His hearing wasn’t that great anyway, but he actually kind of liked that you were so soft spoken so he had an excuse to get closer to you. 

“Anything,” he replied, giving your pinky another squeeze and you beckoned him forward. Eddie leaned closer to you with no question and you nervously reached up and tucked some hair behind his ear, cupping your hand around it before leaning in and whispering into it. 

“I-I have a lot of homework to do tonight and I was wondering if it’d be okay if we postponed the session tonight?” You asked and felt your heart hammering in your chest as you waited for his answer. You pulled away from him and bit down on your bottom lip and Eddie had to stop himself from staring, wanting to pull your lip from your teeth and kiss you, not giving a single fuck about who was looking. 

You were so goddamn adorable that he felt his chest ache. Didn’t you know that he would do anything for you? Just one bat of those eyelashes and he would have even been willing to commit murder if it meant that you would give him even a sliver of a chance. 

“Yeah,” he nodded his head furiously. “No problem. You know flattery works with me," he winked, giving you a nudge. He hadn’t even given his decision a second thought as he stood up from the table, his mushy feelings subsiding as he took on his authoritative role. 

“Alright, everyone listen up,” he said, his voice a little too loud for your liking. “The session tonight is being postponed until next week because y/n has homework to do.” You turned to the others at the table and they all groaned, digging into their pockets and pulling out money that Dustin was gratefully taking, thanking them all for the cash. 

You could hear grumbles from the others, upset that not only was there not going to be a session that night, but also because they now were out five dollars. It was seemingly a lose-lose. You turned to Eddie who was already looking at you, a warm smile playing on his pretty pink lips. 

He then leaned down and put his lips right by your ear, his hot breath on your skin making you shudder. His hand fell to your shoulder and the way his hair was fanning around you made your cheeks heat even more. 

“I can help you with your homework if you need it.” He pulled away so that your faces were only inches apart, that stupid smirk still evident on his lips. 

“I-I’d like that,” you nodded. 

“It’s a date,” he said, shooting you a wink before sitting back down in his chair. You lowered your head and began eating your lunch, letting yourself come up with things to do with Eddie because there was no way you were actually going to do your homework.

[cosycryptid]

Modern AU where the party have a famous paranormal investigation and unsolved mysteries youtube channel. Steve is in the background of their first ghost hunting video because he wasn't going to let them go and stay overnight in an abandoned building without supervision. Their audience finds Steve's sarcastic comments and parental attitude towards the kids really compelling and most of the comments on that video are begging for him to become a regular in their on location videos. Before long, Steve is a reoccurring presence in their videos playing the skeptic/concerned parent role.

For example:

Dustin: I’ve connected the dots guys. This must be the work of a demon.

Steve: You didn’t connect shit. It's just an old creaky building.

Dustin: I’ve connected them.

—————————————

In an abandoned hospital.

Max: Hey this giant metal door has some kind of engraving on it.

Lucas: Oh cool, it looks like old graffiti.

Steve: Yeah that’s great, do you know what else it looks like? Rusty as shit. Now get back here and don’t touch anything because your parents are gonna be so pissed if they find out you had to get tetanus shots at 2am on a Saturday because I let you wander around an abandoned hospital with a bunch of shady ass camera men. No offense.

Camera man: None taken.

Mike (from the doorway): Guys! Will, El and Dustin found an operating theatre and there are a bunch of old scalpels and needles and stuff in there.

Max: Awesome, let’s go.

Steve: No! No! Let’s not go! Let’s stay as far away as possible from the room full of potential infections. Where are Dustin, El and Will? They didn’t go inside the room, did they?

Mike: See, I could answer that, but I don’t think you’re gonna like it.

—————————————

While exploring a ‘haunted’ hotel:

Mike: Hey look, all of Steve’s bitches are in this room.

El: There is nobody in there.

Mike: Exactly.

He turns to look directly into the camera with a sly grin and the others start laughing.

Steve: Yeah, yeah. You’ll be laughing when I drive home without you.

—————————————

At the same hotel.

Steve: Dustin. Your little light box thing is broken, it’s been flashing on and off for the past five minutes.

Dustin: Oh my God, Steve! That means it can sense a spirit. Why didn’t you say anything?! Did you not listen to my long and detailed explanation of how the equipment works?

Steve: I’m gonna be so honest with you. No, I didn’t.

—————————————

On their Mothman episode trip to point pleasant.

Steve, staring at the statue (we all know which one): Ok, but why is he kinda…

Lucas: Please stop talking.

Dustin: No sexualising the cryptids please, Steve.

Steve: If they didn’t want anyone to sexualise Mothman, then why would they give his statue such a defined ass and abs?

Max: I mean, he’s not wrong.

—————————————

Eventually, Steve gets peer pressured by the comments into starting his own channel. And since he still has no idea what he wants to do with his life, he decides to go ahead and do it.

At first his audience are super confused because his content is a hard pivot from the supernatural and unsolved mysteries content people are used to seeing him in. He mainly reacts to DIY haircare videos and gives tips on how to do what the people in the videos were trying to do properly without risking ending up bald.

He also makes wholesome baking videos, and has a side podcast with Robin, where they talk shit for 3 hours about anything they want - usually celebrities and assholes on the internet - as well as having a segment where Robin makes Steve watch a movie he's never seen and they review it. People who came from the paranormal channel still love his content because he’s funny and sassy and his videos are surprisingly helpful at times. He’s soon catching up to his friends in subscriber numbers.

Eddie and his band have a channel where they upload music videos, live performances and backstage/tour vlogs. They also make the occassional song covers where they take requests in the comments for metal versions of pop songs. Eddie also has a side channel where he runs D&D campaigns with other influencers (he hates that word).

One day he’s doing a Q&A and when someone asks which influencers he’d like to invite for his next campaign, he mentions Steve and says he’s been secretly watching his videos for a while and they’re kind of a guilty pleasure. He’s even tried some of Steve’s hair care tips because his hair was looking a bit frazzled under the heat of the lights on stage and it was getting in his way during performances. Now he swears by them because his hair has never looked or felt better.

Steve’s never seen any of Eddie’s videos but he starts watching them after that, he particularly likes the metal versions of pop songs because it makes the genre more accessible to him. Sometimes he makes joke song suggestions in the comments. Every single time, the song he suggested gets covered.

The boys are all insanely jealous of this new development because they’ve been fans of Eddie’s channels for years and have been bringing up references to some of his campaigns in their videos to try and get him to consider them for the next one, but so far have had no luck. Meanwhile, Steve, who doesn’t even know the first thing about D&D has his full attention. Steve was going to ask Eddie to consider asking them out of the kindness of his heart, but after they’ve given him a little too much attitude over it, he decides he’s gonna join the campaign instead just to spite them.

Cue Steve going from completely clueless to kind of a decent player and the two of them going from fascinated with each other to constantly flirting and appearing in each other’s videos.

[writting-stuff-sometimes]

Or you just told us to do it...- Lando x F reader

Summary: Y/N is the McLaren community manager. Lando leaves a comment on the latest Mclaren post, y/n is not happy about it.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive

Word Count: 1.2 K

Notes: My romance book delulu mind instantly thought of something when reading Lando's response. I'm working on the Play with fire part 3 but it will be a long one

Your job as a McLaren CM was awesome, as it was stressful. You had two young drivers and complete freedom from the managers to do all sorts of trends. And you would if you weren't dealing with a PR nightmare and a black cat.

As much fun as it was when the two of them were in the mood to record stuff, sometimes it could be a torturous nightmare if one was in a funky mood or couldn't deal with pr at that moment.

But after the last race and all the comments on the most recent McLaren post about Oscar deserving more support and Lando being a spoiled diva, plus all sorts of posts on social media about the two of them doing an eventual Hamilton vs Rosberg. The heads of coms had requested to do as much damage control as possible. So the moment you walked in the garage and saw a tyre trolly laying around, you got an idea.

You sent the drivers a text requesting their presence at the garage entrance.

Both drivers knew why you wanted them, so they stalled as much a possible, making you wait over 45 minutes.

"Hey, sorry for the delay." Oscar said with his classic half smile

"Yeah, sorry for the delay. We didn't really want to come." Lando spoke both their minds. Oscar just turned towards him with a look of disapproval but held back a smile.

"I'm just doing my job, guys." You lifted your hands in defeat.

"So, what dance are we doing today?" Lando walked and took your phone from your hand.

"No dance today." You said, yanking the phone back and trying to hide your blushing cheeks. "This will be super simple. You'll push each other on this trolley." They both stared at you, not a single emotion on their faces.

"You're serious?" Oscar wasn't usually so critical, and it almost made you doubt your idea, but you were certain this would please the fans.

"C'mon you guys, this will be gold. It's fast, easy, and the fans will love it."

"You've become so good at describing Lando" Oscar said and then laughed silently as he inspected said trolley.

"I ain't that easy," Lando tried to defend himself

"Or lovable," you replied softly, looking down at your phone.

"Hey, I heard that." Lando turned to look at you, offended.

"Anyways, please, help me with this, and I won't bother you for the rest of the day."

"Promise?" Oscar asked.

"Promise" You answered, crossing your fingers in front of your heart.

"Fine, c'mon Lando, before she comes up with another weird trend."

Both drivers did their best to look entertained, and as much as they hated your idea initially, they ended up having a good 20-minute play date with the trolley, giving you enough material for the day.

After they were gone, you posted the video to Instagram, and like you imagined, it got tons of reactions right away.

At lunch, you checked your phone again, reading through the comments and smiling at your success. Most of them were positive and praised how fun both drivers looked; a couple of mean ones remained, but this was normal. Then a blue check mark caught your eye.

lando "Or you just told us to do it..."

"I'm going to kill him," You said out loud.

"Lando?" Mike, the engineer eating beside you, turned to look at you, amused.

"Who else?"

"You two are like an old married couple." Mike said as he took his coffee and walked towards the exit. "Don't hurt him much; we need him for quali" Mike shouted back as you took your stuff from the table and stormed towards his driver's room. If you weren't so angry, you would've been worried about people thinking about you and Lando as a married couple.

You knocked a couple of times, but there was no answer, then opened the door to find an empty room. You weren't about to search for him around the entire track and make a scene out there. He had to eventually come back, so you decided to sit there and wait, reading the comment whenever you felt the anger was easing down.

Finally, after an hour and a half, you heard his distinctive laugh approaching.

When he opened the door, his eyes went from amused to worried in two seconds, your expression far from friendly.

"Jon, can you give us a sec?" Lando asked his trainer without taking his eyes off you, as if you were an animal about to attack their prey.

"Told you it was a bad idea." Said the trainer before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Lando walked towards you, but you stretched out your arm, your hand on his chest, making him stop at arm's length.

"Are you trying to get me fired?" You asked, staring right into his soul.

"I was just messing with you."

"No, Lando. You're messing with my job."

"C'mon, it was just a comment." He pushed your arm to the side and walked to hug you tight against his chest. Your arms stuck to your sides, not wanting to fall for his sweet cologne or warmth.

"No, it wasn't. I got specific instructions from coms! We needed this to ease the shit going around"

"People will always say shit" He spoke against your head, his tone slightly tinted with sadness. Social media hasn't been the same for him, at least for the last couple of seasons. The moment you felt his sadness, you couldn't hold back and placed one arm around his waist; he wasn't fully forgiven yet.

Your phone rang in your free hand.

"Ugh" you pushed yourself away, just enough to lift your arm and read the message.

Steve Hello, can you stop by my office in ten?

"He's going to fire me." You let your head fall back and sighed.

"I'm sorry," his voice filled with honesty. "I didn't think."

"Sounds like your MO."

"Hey, unnecessary rudeness."

He hugged you tight again, giving a kiss to your exposed neck.

"If you forgive me, I will let you film me later in our room; I bet the fans would love that," he whispered in your ear. As much as the comment had you blushing and feeling warmer than the scorching sun outside, you had an uncomfortable meeting with your boss to think about.

"If you want to get me fired, just say so. I will sign my resignation right now."

"Fine, we can tape that, and I will let you keep it for personal use."

"You're unbelievable."

Your phone rang again.

Steve Sorry, something just came up. See you in an hour.

"Excellent, extend the torture" you sighed loudly again.

"I'm really sorry" Lando spoke against your neck, giving you goosebumps. "How about I make it up to you?"

You stared at him, eyebrow raised and a serious look on your face.

"I don't have to be out there for another 40 minutes; we can have some nonsocial media-approved fun." He started laying open-mouth kisses to your neck as he took the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

"And what are we doing for the other 35 minutes?"

"Forget it." He said, unwrapping his arms and turning to walk towards the door.

"Come here." You took his McLaren-issued shirt and pulled him back to join your lips. He had done it bad this time, but Steve was probably just going to give you a slap on your wrist, and you would just blame it on Lando.

__________________

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[steddiehyperfixation]

@steddiebingo prompt: dog | 1.1k words | G | (inspired by this post i saw like two years ago lol)

“She looks familiar,” is the first thing Robin says when she walks into Steve's house to meet his new dog. Well, it's one of the first things she says, aside from the immediate incoherent cooing and baby-talk aimed at the newest furry member of Steve's family.

“You've seen my dog before?” Steve asks, just the tiniest bit worried. He got Shadow from a rescue shelter, and he’s really hoping she's not just a runaway who ended up there by accident and has a loving family that's missing her somewhere.

“No, dingus,” Robin says, looking up from where she's crouched on the floor scratching Shadow behind her shaggy little ears. “I just mean she looks like someone—like a celebrity or a person we know or something.”

Steve crouches down beside her, giving the dog some love too. “She looks like a person?”

“She looks like a dog, but she bears a resemblance to a person,” Robin corrects. “I just can't place it.” She studies Shadow’s face, then glances at Steve. “You really don't see it?”

“No?” Steve shakes his head, running his fingers through Shadow’s curly dark brown fur and smiling as her tail wags even harder. “I just picked the cutest dog at the shelter.”

“Huh.” Robin’s thoughtful frown lasts about a second longer before she nuzzles her nose against Shadow’s and giggles when the dog licks her face in return. “Well, she is very sweet.”

Yeah, she likes you,” Steve says, heart warm at the sight of his best friend and his new dog both happy and getting along.

“Of course she likes me,” Robin grins proudly, kissing Shadow’s shiny black nose. “Animals always love me.”

Steve grins back. “How could anyone not?”

-

“Don't you think she looks like someone?” Robin evidently has not given that theory of hers up yet, because she asks it again several days later when the kids are over, all of them already dropped to the floor to fawn over the dog.

Steve had been a little nervous about having Shadow meet so many new faces at once. She's not a delicate puppy by any means—roughly two years old by the shelter's best estimate and already fully housebroken and well-socialized—but still, Steve hadn't wanted to overwhelm her. He clearly had nothing to worry about; Shadow bounds happily from kid to kid, basking in all the attention being lavished on her.

“She has a very human hairstyle,” El says helpfully as she ruffles the mop of curls on the top of Shadow’s head.

“Yeah, you could tie bows on her ears and they'd look like little pigtails.” Max encircles her fingers around Shadow’s frizzy ears and lifts them to illustrate her point, loosely enough to let go immediately when Shadow huffs and shakes her head free.

Mike snorts. “She kind of looks like Nancy’s eighth grade yearbook photo.”

“Yeah, when she had that really bad perm,” Will agrees.

“Or like Dustin’s Snow Ball look,” Lucas teases instead.

“Hey!” Dustin and Steve both protest indignantly—they worked hard on that look.

“Yeah, pretty sure neither of those are what I was thinking of, but thanks,” Robin says, rolling her eyes as the kids devolve into unhelpful bickering.

-

When it's Eddie's turn to come by and meet the dog, Robin brings it up again, intercepting him at the door. “Okay, you have to tell me if you think she looks familiar, because I’m so sure she looks like someone, I just can't figure out who and it's really bugging me.”

“Oh my god, not this again,” Steve makes his exasperation known from the kitchen where he dumps a cup of kibble into an expectantly waiting Shadow’s food bowl before heading towards the front door.

“Steve doesn't see it,” Robin continues. “He’s always just like, ‘Oh, I don't know, I just picked the cutest dog at the shelter-’”

“I do not sound like that,” Steve says in protest to the deep, dumb voice Robin put on to mimic him, coming up behind her.

“Yes you do,” she states. “That was literally a direct quote.”

“Anyways.” Steve rolls his eyes and pushes Robin aside to give an amused Eddie room to actually enter the house. He gestures towards Shadow, who’s wolfed down her food in about two seconds flat and is now excitedly prancing over to greet the new person at the door. “Meet Shadow.”

Eddie's face immediately breaks into a grin. “Hi, Shadow!” He crouches down, arms outstretched to allow Shadow to jump on his shoulders and lick his face. “Metal name,” he says, turning his head to keep his laughing mouth out of range of Shadow’s tongue and looking up at Steve with approval sparkling in his eyes.

Steve feels strangely bashful all of the sudden, something almost shy in his smile as he gives a modest shrug and says, “It's the one she came with.”

“Still cool.” Eddie grins. Shadow’s investigation by licking and sniffing has calmed down enough for him to safely turn his face back towards her, and he ruffles her long curly ears. “Look at her, she even looks like a rocker.”

“Oh my god, that's it!” Robin snaps her fingers and points at Eddie and Shadow. “She looks like you! That's who she looks like.” Her eyes are wide, excited to have finally figured it out. She looks at Steve and announces it again, “She looks like Eddie!”

“Huh.” Steve blinks, considers it, studying their appearances. It barely takes a second for him to start to see it. Matching frizzy dark brown hair; the same adorably big, soft brown eyes. “Yeah, I guess she kind of does.”

Eddie laughs, also studying Shadow’s face. “Oh, yeah, I see it. We have the same hair,” he agrees, then pauses. “Wait a second—” His grin solidifies into definitively more of a smirk as he looks over at Steve and raises his eyebrows. “‘The cutest dog at the shelter,’ huh?”

“Wh- oh. Shut up.” Steve feels his face begin to burn as he realizes the implications of that. Robin snickers, and Steve cuts her a glare too. “Shut up.”

Eddie does not shut up. In fact, he stands up and sways into Steve's space. “Do you think I'm cute, Stevie?”

Steve looks away, cheeks still warm, pressing a hand to Eddie's chest to push him away. “I think you're insufferable.”

“And cute,” Eddie teases again, leaning right back in the second Steve drops his hand.

Steve takes a deep breath, rubs his hands over his face and then through his hair. “Yeah,” he admits, finally looking back at Eddie. “Yeah.”

“Okay, um- do I need to leave?” Robin points her thumb over her shoulder at the door, taking in the way both boys are looking at each other.

Eddie and Steve take a break from staring intensely at each other to turn their attention towards Robin and say in tandem, “Yeah.”

[beloveds-embrace]

brain empty only thought - TF141 are all dancers for magic mike in london and give their stage manager a private show

I love your brain anon 😩 taking free liberties with whatever a show manager does here fyi lol but i also tried to watch an actual magic mike show but i turned into a blushing mess and had to stop halfway. Fair warning tho, i’ve never written anything quite like this 😭 all of this is safe, sane and consensual

You are such a good stage manager to them, though, always ensuring everyone is on the same page, communications are going well, all props are set and the most important thing in your opinion; all the dancers are doing well. You always make sure there are plenty of drinks, they’re well-slept and ready and-

You do so much for them, such a good stage manager. It’s only right that they spoil you with a private show all carered to you, in a private room where they make you sit down on chair placed right in the middle.

Have you seen this choreography before? Yes. Are you in any shape or way ready to have Kyle kneel in front of you on one knee, gazing up at you like you are star, and spread your thighs open so he can nuzzle his face right between your tights? You aren’t.

“Smell so fuckin’ good, pretty.” Gaz mumbles, groaning low against your skin.

Your face is flaming red, feeling him kiss the soft pudge of your thighs before he slides up with a wink so Johnny takes place on your lap, leather jeans tight on his ass and bulge. He takes your hovering hands, and places them on his thighs while he grinds against you, hips pressing together.

You can barely bite your noises back, clenching your thighs shut.

“No staying silent, bonnie,” he croons, thumb rubbing your lips. You hadn’t even realized your mouth was slack and open until he pushes his thumb in for a few seconds, and you obediently, impulsively, suck on it. His eyes darken, and he leans to kiss the corner of your lips, hovering over your lap. “Good girl.”

It takes everything in you not to whine out loud, drenched between your thighs.

When he moves off with another kiss, it’s Ghost who kneels in front of her, the music slower now, deeper. He takes her hands, kissing her palms through his mask and guiding her hands to the buttons of his silk button-up that bared his defined collarbones already, scarred skin glowing the more you reveal of him.

God, you want to bite him so badly.

“Look at me, doll.” He orders, and you so easily obey you can see the crinkle in his mask. Like a snake, Ghost twists his body so his back is across your knees, shoulders and head on your lap, peering up at you with his legs spread and holding his body up.

“Si-“ you whine at last, resolve breaking. He pulls your hands down his shoulders, and you take the hint by caressing his pecs, his abs, the strong muscles taut under your exploring hands. Feeling just a little bold and knowing he doesn’t mind, your fingers tease along his belt.

“He’s so fucking handsome, isn’t he?” Captain Price croons behind you, big hands settling on your shoulders, dipping into your blouse to toy with your bra straps. “All my boys are. But you’re our girl, aren’t you? Our pretty, beautiful girl, always working so hard for us. My boys adore you, sugar.”

Your mouth dries up, staring up at him, hands still on Ghost. “I…”

“No words needed, doll.” he scoffs, smug the way only a man who knows how easily he can command a room can be. His hands leave your skin and before you can pout, he’s reaching under your thighs to carefully pull you up while still being mindful of Simon. He sits in your chair, you on his lap and Ghost still under your touch. “Let us spoil you, yeah?”

And who are you to even think about saying no to such a beautiful, tempting offer?

[kunareads]

brat | track three

club classics

producer!suguru x popstar!reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 4k

content: drug/alcohol use, angst, emotional distress + kind of spiral, jealousy + insecurity

taglist is closed!

18+ please <3

Billboard — FESTIVAL SET OR CULT INVITATION? CLUB CLASSICS DEBUT PROVES THE BRAT MOVEMENT HAS NO CEILING

Pitchfork — THE CHURCH OF CLUB CLASSICS: GETO AND YN TURN A PERFORMANCE INTO A POP CULTURAL RELIGION

Complex — IN THE ERA OF THE RELATABLE POP STAR, YN AND SUGURU GETO ARE SEALING THEIR LEGACY INSTEAD

LOLLAPALOOZA NIGHT TWO HEADLINER: YN AND SUGURU GETO

vroom vroom / i love it / speed drive / hot in it / 360 / club classics

your breath comes short as you spin into the final chorus of 360. the bass shakes the barricades. your hair sticks to your neck and your feet ache, but it doesn’t matter. nothing does when sixty thousand people are screaming their favorite song back at you in unison.

when you're in the party b-b-bumpin' that beat 666 with a princess streak

they finish it for you. you take the moment to turn toward suguru—lit in strobes and stage smoke at the boards behind you. his hands stay on the mix, but his eyes are locked on you. shining and a little disbelieving.

and for one strange second, you can’t believe it either.

because not too long ago, the two of you were bottom-row filler on this very lineup. you were the set they tolerated while waiting for someone more famous. now it’s your faces on the livestream banner, your names on the wristbands. the two of you burning bright in front of the biggest crowd you’ve ever seen.

it’s so good it scares you a little.

the last loops of the track dissolve into the night as you take your place next to him. “lollapalooza,” you call into the mic, catching your breath as suguru adjusts your mic cord. “still with me?”

the answer is deafening.

the lights drop.

then they strobe white—blinding, baptismal. your smile glints on a dozen screens like a warning shot.

it starts as a pulse and a warped right now vocal.

“alright,” you say, pacing to the end of the catwalk. “if you came to stand around and look pretty—” you grin. “get the fuck out of my pit.”

screams.

“if you came here to dance to us,” you raise your free hand. “make some fucking noise.”

they do. loud enough to startle you. loud enough to rattle the stage. you crouch down, mic to your lips, voice low and threatening against the bass.

when i go to the club, i wanna hear those club classics club classics—club, club classics

by the third repeat, they’re screaming it back like they’ve known it for longer than twenty seconds. you spring into the post-chorus, bouncing loose and electric, your pulse loud in your ears. when you catch suguru’s eye again, he’s mouthing it back to you with a wink:

yeah, i wanna dance to me i wanna dance to SG

you spin back toward the crowd, catching flashes of smeared eyeliner and poppers and arms outstretched. they’d follow you off a cliff right now.

sweat marks all on my clothes, tight like mike kinda flow yeah, i wanna be blinded by the light, lights, lights

a phone appears, shoved toward stage. security hands it up. you grin, flip the camera, and run.

the lights smear in your vision as you bolt. your heels almost betray you when you toss yourself into his space, but suguru catches you easily, one arm wrapping around your waist to steady you with a laugh. the video catches both of you beaming into the lens with the knowledge that the world is turning exactly how you asked it to tonight.

he builds the bridge. you pass the phone back without looking, hips still moving, one hand up high.

put your hands up and dance yeah, i’m gonna dance all night, that’s right

and they obey. ten thousand hands. then thirty thousand. then all of them reaching, dancing, worshipping.

the outro detonates—bass pulsing, strobes slicing, bodies surging like tide. and center stage, shoulder to shoulder, you and suguru shine like myth.

the sound cuts. the lights drop. your heart keeps sprinting.

in the dark, suguru kisses the top of your head in benediction. and you believe it. that the two of you were born for this. that every eye on you is a prayer you deserve.

@/ynsdaughter: “i wanna dance to SG” i don’t care if it’s fake i need them to get married like yesterday

@/angelbrat: huge day for bisexuals and music historians everywhere

@/suguruscream: suguru always so serious on stage until she gets close. then it’s just ☺️❤️‍🔥

backstage is chaos.

a manager shoves a water bottle into your hands. production assistants bark about press. security yells about routes and crowd control. stagehands blur past in neon lanyards with too much urgency.

but all you see is suguru.

backlit by the stage, hair plastered to his temples, chest rising fast under a sweat-soaked t-shirt. and he’s smiling. just for you, like he knows everything’s changed.

you don’t realize you’re laughing until he pulls you in—arms tight around your waist, lifting and spinning you once.

“i told you,” he murmurs against your ear. “you fucking killed that.”

you’re still giggling when he kisses you. quick and dizzy, one hand cupping your jaw. your makeup’s a mess and his hair’s undone. but the world feels perfect in that distorted, glittery way.

everything moves in fragments around you. voices come from too many directions, hands pulling you in and out of outfits you don’t remember picking, your face wiped and redone with practiced hands. and then, just as suddenly, it’s quiet.

the car feels like a haven. cool and comfortable, sealed from the noise outside. city lights strobe past tinted windows in slow motion. your legs drape over suguru’s, his fingers tracing light lines on your thigh. neither of you say much. just the occasional whisper, the occasional kiss.

you can still hear it—i wanna dance to me, me, me, me, me. he looks at you like he doesn’t want it to end.

and you don’t wonder if he’s distracted.

you don’t ask what was bothering him on his phone all morning after that night with satoru. or if it even mattered.

you don’t think about it—because this is easier. his undivided attention feels like resolution. like you were right to let it go.

the car slows to a stop. outside, the afterparty’s already a circus—paparazzi this time, not fans. velvet rope, flashbulbs, a security perimeter.

you blink back into the present as suguru leans in, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

“ready?”

you nod. smile. take his hand when he offers it.

flashes go off the second your heel hits pavement. someone shouts your name. someone else yells his. suguru doesn’t let go of you.

the room changes when you walk in together.

or maybe it doesn’t. maybe it was always tilted toward you, eyes snapping to where you entered and refusing to look away.

you’re the last ones on the list to arrive. everyone that matters is already here.

a couple of execs nod from a booth. someone starts a wave of applause. a drink is pressed into your hand—“fucking unbelievable,” someone says. **you don’t know who, and it doesn’t matter. people keep coming—hugging you, whispering praise, passing joints. you let it wash over you. revel in the feeling of being known and wanted.

the high has softened, gone warm and syrupy. everything feels elastic. expansive. your body’s still catching up to the size of your name.

somewhere in the back of your mind, something claws at the edges—soft and stupid and scared. but you smile wider. drown it in praise.

suguru stays close.

his hand rests low on your back, thumb dragging over exposed skin. you glance at him over your shoulder and catch the look in his eyes. it’s not professional. a little admiring, but mostly hungry.

he leans down, lips barely brushing your ear. “everyone loves you,” he says. “gonna tell them who you belong to?”

you turn around fully to meet his gaze, lashes heavy, smile dangerous. “you want me to make a scene?”

he laughs, low and sharp. he doesn’t care if you’re bluffing. he wants you to try.

“come.”

he doesn’t wait for an answer—just takes the drink from your hand, sets it down without looking, and tugs you by the wrist into the center of the room.

the music thickens as you follow—slow, syrupy, slipping into something obscene. he spins you into him, your chest brushing his as you fall into sync. his fingers drag down your spine, the other hand settling at your lower back, guiding you like he has a hundred times in his head.

you show off a little. hips fluid, eyes teasing, smile pure. you sway close enough to breathe each other in. close enough for him to feel you. close enough that it’s obvious to everyone watching.

he just studies you at first—your jaw, your lips, the slick line of your collarbone. you get the sense that he’d drop to his knees right now if you asked nicely.

then he leans in, voice rough. “you don’t know the kind of thoughts you put in people’s heads,” he says. “in mine.”

and maybe you don’t. but you can feel it in the way his hands flex. in the way the room spins around you and not the other way around.

you laugh, lazy and lethal, drunk on the way he watches you. then you twist in his hold, press your back to his chest. his arms lock around your waist. he inhales at your neck, mouths at your jaw like he wants it branded. doesn’t care who sees. someone snaps a picture on film. someone else whistles.

it takes a few songs before you both drift off the floor—laughing and tangled in each other. your section is tucked in the far corner of the lounge. it smells like weed and expensive upholstery and bottle service tucked into ice. a bouncer lifts a velvet rope to let you in.

suguru drops into a low couch, gaze climbing your legs in a habit he hasn’t even tried to break. as far as he’s concerned, you’ve always belonged in his lap.

he offers a hand.

you take it. step between his knees and let him guide you down until your weight sinks onto him, legs draped across one of his. he exhales immediately, relieved and possessive.

his hands find your waist first. then your thigh. then the bare stretch at your ribs. each touch is slow, sunk, claiming.

you loop your arms around his neck. feel the sweat at his hairline, the chain at his throat. he’s warm—in his lap, his chest, the fingers dragging up your leg with a pace that’s not quite innocent. you kiss the corner of his jaw, grinning when he turns into it automatically.

“i should take you home,” he murmurs, voice thick with reverence. “take this dress off you. thank you for tonight.”

you laugh, light and breathy and buzzed. wanted. chosen. undisputed. “are you asking?”

his grip tightens. he presses a kiss below your ear.

“i’m telling you,” he says. “let’s leave.”

thank god, you think. the yes is already forming on your lips. but before you can say it, a voice cuts in, too loud and too close.

“sorry,” someone says. “i hate to interrupt—fuck, you guys were unreal.”

you blink up, disoriented by how quickly the moment unspools. a label rep—important enough to recognize, intrusive enough to resent.

“i just—can i steal you for two seconds? a couple people want to talk VMAs. logistics stuff. you’re the only person who can actually speak to it—”

suguru’s head drops to your shoulder with a low groan. you kiss his temple before sliding off his lap. he catches your hand before you go.

“go do your thing,” he says, lifting your fingers to his lips. he presses a slow kiss there, a little smug. “i’ll be right here.”

@/cultyn (story) 📸 : wide shot of the audience from stage 💬 : you had to be there

@/cultgeto (story) 📸 : black and white photo of reader twirling at the afterparty 💬 : i wanna dance to me 💿

the MTV reps are all smiles and champagne, talking lighting setups and impact and career-defining moments. someone calls you visionary. you lead the conversation and it feels easy. the kind of thing that would’ve paralyzed you three years ago but now feels like momentum. you could do this all night.

but you don’t really want to.

you want to go back to him.

it’s all humming inside you now—the things you used to dream about. the performance. the power. the boy. your set still rings in your teeth and the heat of his hands still aches in your thighs. your body’s drunk on it. your mind, too.

you round the corner. everything tastes like sugar. someone calls your name. someone else reaches for a hug. you smile, brush shoulders, keep moving. you’re thinking about his lap. the way he said let’s leave. his hands on you.

you expect to find that lazy grin as you near your section. the sprawl. the suguru-specific pull he doesn’t seem to notice.

but what you see first isn’t him.

it’s her.

sugar-pink nails on suguru’s tattooed arm. a giggle too bright for the hour. mila hart—pastel and perfect and glowing like a bad omen. laughing at something he said and easing into his space like she belongs here.

and she doesn’t.

you saw the guest list three days ago—she wasn’t on it. this velvet-roped, bottle-service corner of the lounge isn’t for surprise guests*.* no one’s here by accident.

at this hour, in this fucking room? that kind of access has a signature.

your eyes move back to suguru and your mouth goes dry. her hand drifts to his chest. she’s standing too close. she’s breathing the air you were in less than ten minutes ago. the air that belongs to you.

the music feels weird suddenly—dissonant and too sharp at the edges. your fingers buzz, and the base of your neck aches. you recognize it—you’re coming down too fast. you missed the cue to slow it down.

and suguru—

he doesn’t look caught. doesn’t lean away. doesn’t seem to notice at all. just stands there, drink in hand, smiling like he’s immune to consequence.

maybe he is.

because this is what power looks like, isn’t it? the casual kind. the kind that lets things slide because it can fix the mess later.

you recognize it. you have it too.

maybe he’s done this before. maybe he wants her there.

or he hasn’t noticed. he’s too polite to move her hand. he’s caught mid-conversation.

none of it holds.

because the cruelty isn’t mila’s hand or her dress or even the way she looks at him like she won something. the cruelty is the sudden, yawning absence of what you thought was clarity.

your brain starts slotting the night together again. the way he looked at you like he’d bring the stars down if you wanted them. i should take you home. the kiss to your hand. i’ll be right here.

and now this.

now her.

and still, you enter.

you thank the bouncer for lifting the rope. your smile slips back into place like nothing at all just broke in your chest.

suguru doesn’t see you at first, too focused on the story he’s telling to someone else in the circle. one hand loose at his side, his drink in the other. that easy grin. that relaxed, commanding posture.

you’re surrounded before you can think harder—girls you’ve danced with, recorded beside, shared stylists and secrets and cigarettes with. one lifts your hand like a trophy, another kissing your cheek.

there’s a flash of recognition, of celebration, the room itself seeming to brighten just because you entered.

you fucking murdered that set. you’re unreal. i think hot in it is my new favorite—

you laugh. thank them. tilt your head just right for instagram stories you’ll end up reposting. someone hands you a drink. someone else plays a shaky clip of the crowd screaming, and you pretend to be surprised like you didn’t watch it happen from the stage.

somewhere in the excitement, it hits: you weren’t high on triumph.

it was him.

the warmth you’ve been riding all night? it was his hand on your waist. his voice in your ear. the way he looked at you.

you glance behind you instinctively.

he’s already watching. not cold. not distant. that same familiar softness—sure and centered. he smiles, and it feels like a lie he doesn’t know he’s telling.

and it might have helped—might have grounded you—if mila hadn’t brushed imaginary lint off his shoulder in the exact same moment. casual and intimate, like it’s her place to do that.

he doesn’t look at her. doesn’t notice, because his eyes are on you. and it hurts anyway. because you know you’re not making it up.

the girls pull you for one last round of photos. digital cameras flash, drinks clink, someone calls your name for a video that ends up blurry and chaotic. and when the moment finally starts to dissolve—when the conversation shifts to the next thing—you turn back toward the couch.

you see her leaving.

mila blows a kiss to someone—maybe no one in particular. says goodbye like this was her space all along. suguru gives her a half-hearted wave, doesn’t pause his conversation. she vanishes just as easily as she arrived. like she was never really here.

like you imagined the whole thing.

you want to feel better about it. you really do.

but you don’t.

you lower yourself into the seat, fingers closing around the chilled neck of a bottle before you’ve even settled. you pour a shot of something clear, movements measured, like control can be reclaimed in ounces.

and then he’s there.

no delay, no hesitation. as if he’d just been waiting for you to finish your conversations so he could take his place beside you.

he sinks down, knees brushing yours, and reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with careful fingers.

“missed you,” he says softly.

you tip the shot back. “wasn’t gone that long.”

he doesn’t respond. just watches you for a second too long, his thumb grazing gently against your cheek like he’s realigning both of you. like it matters to him that you’re still with him, still here.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

and that’s the pattern, isn’t it? both of you knowing, never naming.

he takes the empty glass from your hand and sets it down for you before shifting closer. his mouth tilts—not quite a smirk. something gentler. almost shy, if he were capable of that.

you feel him waiting for the moment to settle.

so you let it. you lean in.

you want to feel the ease. you want the consistency of him, the way he always finds you in the noise.

he tucks your knee over his and rests his hand there, thumb pressing into the soft part of your thigh. you settle into the warmth of him. his cologne, the rise and fall of his chest. close enough to convince yourself that maybe this is still the version of the night that made sense.

for a second, it works.

he murmurs something into your hair. a private thing. low and fond, and probably dumb. you don’t catch all the words, just the stupid softness that makes you want to kiss him despite everything.

you’re already turning your head to ask him to repeat it when his phone lights up on the table.

mila you looked good tonight. thanks again for the invite. wish i stayed <3

your stomach turns. not violently, just enough to make your spine go rigid.

he doesn’t see it. he’s too close to catch the screen, his undivided attention back on you. right where you’d wanted it a few minutes ago.

you stand slowly.

“be right back,” you murmur.

his brows draw in slightly. “you okay?”

you nod too fast. “mhm.”

and you go.

you don’t rush, but you don’t look back either. you smooth your dress as you walk, smile ready to spring back into place if anyone looks too close. the hallway’s freezing. or maybe it’s just the warmth bleeding out of you.

the bathroom is white tile and fluorescent light. too bright, too clean. you lock the door behind you and sit on the toilet lid, hands slack in your lap.

your skin still sparkles, but nothing’s glowing anymore. nothing’s buzzing. just your pulse retreating inward, slow and strange.

you don’t know mila personally, but you know enough. she’s what they mean by relatable. sweet and soft and easy to root for. the version everyone’s supposed to want.

including suguru. that’s why it feels like a glitch.

you were never the traditional pop girl. you’ve always known that. you never even wanted to be.

but tonight, you’d give anything to feel like someone he could explain. someone with a PR-approved personality and soft edges.

through the door, you hear it—your own voice, muffled but unmistakable.

when you’re in the mirror, do you like what you see? when you’re in the mirror, you’re just looking at me

you don’t laugh. you don’t cry. you don’t even blink.

you just sit there, perfectly still, trying to feel like the girl who meant it.

but eventually you stand. you reapply your lipgloss. fix your hair. you come back like nothing happened.

suguru lights up the moment he sees you again. you’re not sure what to make of it, but you let him touch you. hands to your waist and lips to your temple. it feels almost too easy now. and you hate that it works. that you want to let him fix it. that you’re not sure what you’d do if he didn’t.

the section’s more full than you left it—more label people, more phones, too many hands. someone clinks a glass.

“a toast to the stars of this festival. tonight changed everything,” they say. it sounds suspiciously like a warning. “that was a fucking performance.”

a cheer goes up. someone offers you another drink. you wave it off. someone else taps their phone to yours for the picture.

suguru leans closer, chin brushing your shoulder. “you were perfect,” he says.

you smile again. and mean it, kind of.

but you’re not fully here.

your mind is still hovering somewhere before the text, the pastel, the interruption by the overeager label rep.

you think about the way he looked at you earlier—how it felt like the only girl in the world. and how maybe he’s just good at that. maybe it’s not sacred, and it never was. maybe mila’s seen that look too.

the toast fades. conversations resume. you turn into his side.

“can we go?”

it comes out smaller than you meant. like a white flag.

he studies your face a second too long.

then nods. “yeah.”

you nod too.

and the worst part is—you’re not even sure he did anything wrong.

just that you feel stupid for thinking any of it meant something.

for needing it to.

@/deuxmoi BLIND ITEM: pastel princess spotted getting very cozy with a certain dark-haired hit maker at a lollapalooza afterparty. insiders say she wasn’t on the guest list.

[whambamsami]

private show pt. 3

summary: they bang! yay!

pt.1 pt.2

warnings: 18+, smut, language

note: i did not proof read this at all so if it drags/if there are any errors please let me know!! will def be cleaning it up a bit, so so sorry if it's all over the place! love u! <3

You’re just about to cave, to beg for him to just take you right there.

Then the door slams open.

“What the fuck?”

Bucky doesn’t move.

You jolt.

But Bucky?

He lifts his head-slowly-his breath still warm on your throat, still pressed flush against you, and turns lazily toward the doorway.

Nick is standing there, red-faced, chest heaving, clearly already halfway through a meltdown.

“You think this is funny?!” he snaps. “You drag her in here and start humping her like you-”

“Humping?” Bucky repeats, slow and amused. “That what you think this is?”

Nick glares. “Get off her.”

You don’t move. Neither does Bucky.

In fact, his vibranium hand just slides a little further down your thigh, claiming without question.

“If she wanted me to stop,” he says, gaze still on Nick, “she’d say it herself.”

You lock eyes with your scummy boyfriend- ex-boyfriend- for what you earnestly hope is the last time, and manage to spit out, “Get the fuck out. Don’t ever call me again.”

Nick twitches. Like that hurt. Like he suddenly notices just how uncomfortable it might be to see your partner in a position like that. 

Fair’s fair, you think bitterly. 

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“Was your girlfriend.”

The silence hits like a slap.

Bucky leans back slightly, cocky and calm as ever, like he’s been waiting for this moment. He looks almost proud.

Hey, Nick?” he says, voice smooth. “Happy birthday.”

Nick’s nostrils flare.

“Thanks for the present,” Bucky finishes, emphasizing with a gentle squeeze on your leg. 

Nick lets out something between a growl and a gasp and tries to step forward, but security is already closing in.

Two massive bouncers step inside, arms crossed, unfazed.

“Time to go, sir,” one grunts in a way that makes it clear that it isn’t an option. 

“Have a good night, Nick,” Bucky calls sweetly as the bouncers drag him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll take real good care of her.”

The curtains swish behind him, the noise of the club softening again as if the room sighed with relief. 

Your heart is beating so fast you swear you can hear it. 

You’re still shaking- blood buzzing, dress rumpled under Bucky’s unmoving hands, skin flushed.

And suddenly, it all feels like too much. 

You shift out from under him, standing quickly and smoothing your dress down, trying to look like you’re not unravelling from the inside out. Your face is warm from adrenaline, arousal, and now, embarrassment. 

“That was… Jesus,”, you force a little laugh, “that was a lot.”

Bucky still isn’t moving. Just watching you scramble for your purse, for whatever scraps of dignity you might be able to salvage. Not saying anything, like he didn’t almost just pull an orgasm out of you with just his hips and his mouth and the sound of your name in your ear. 

So you continue with your rambling. 

“Anyways, thank-”, you clear your throat. Try again. “Thank you for stepping in. Helping.”

 He tilts his head, like he’s curious. 

“Helping?”

“Yeah, stepping in. White-knighting a little. Very Magic Mike. I appreciate it.”

You flash a smile that feels paper thin. 

That made him laugh a little. 

“You must think really highly of me,” and he slowly rises off the couch, eyes never leaving yours.

That one made you laugh.

“I think you think highly enough of yourself for the both of us,” you quipped.

He steps a bit closer, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Nah, sweetheart. You must think I’m a fucking saint if you think I’d do all that-touch you like that, just to get back at some asshole I don’t even know.”

Your breath catches.

And he sees it.

“Just admit it.”

His voice is low, coaxing. Deadly calm. He leans in a bit, trying to capture your eyes in his.

“You wanted me to touch you. You wanted me to keep touching you.”

He steps closer, fingers grazing your hips like he can’t help but to touch you.

“You still do.”

His mouth is just a breath away from your jaw now, his vibranium hand coming up to cradle your face.

“Say you liked the way I made you feel. Tell me you knew it wasn’t about him.”

You exhale slowly, heat curling in your stomach.

“Maybe I did.”

His smile deepens. Darkens now. More sure.

“Tell me it was about me.”

You blink up at him, pulse thudding in your throat.

But your voice, your defense mechanism, is faster than your fear.

“God, you’re cocky.”

He smirks.

“That’s not a ‘no.’”

“Maybe I just didn’t want to boost your already massive ego.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “if my ego’s big, it’s only because hearing you in my ear, whimpering my name, made it real hard to stay humble.”

His lips brush your jaw as he continues, lower now, nearly growling.

“You sounded so fucking pretty for me. Every little moan, every breath-I’ve been replaying it in my head since the second you stood up.”

You exhale shakily, knees already soft.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes. “Admit it. Say I got in your head. Say you’ve been thinking about it just like I have.”

You swallow hard, eyes flicking to his.

He smiles.

“Say the word,” his voice barely above a whisper, “and I’ll make damn sure I’m the only name you know how to say.”

“Bucky-”

“Tell me you didn’t want me to keep going. That you aren’t thinking about what could have happened if no one walked in.”

You try to glare, but your voice comes out softer than you want.

You take a shaky breath, still trying to hold your ground.

“You talk like you already know the answer.”

“I do,” he growls, brushing his mouth down your neck. “But I want to hear it from your lips.”

You inhale sharply, your head tilting, exposing your throat before you even think about it. 

Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes molten. Looking like he wants you just as bad as you want him.

He wants you to speak, so you do your best, your voice quieter than you expected.

“I did. I do.”

He exhales-slow, rough, like he’s been holding his breath since the moment you walked in.

“Thank fucking god.”

Your lips part, and before you can fire anything back, he kisses you.

Not soft.

Not slow. 

It’s heat and hands that don’t know where to stop- one cradling your jaw, the other sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him.

His skin is warm against yours, and you can feel everything he’s gently grinding into you. 

When he finally pulls back, you’re both gasping. 

He doesn’t let go.

“Come home with me.”

His voice is wrecked.

Before you can respond, he’s continuing.

“Not to push you. Not to prove a point. Just to be with you.”, his voice gentler than you’ve heard it all night, “You want space? I’ll give it. You want quiet? I’ll make tea, you can borrow a hoodie, steal some ice cream, and I’ll take the couch and let you have the bed, no problem.”

His arm around your waist tightens a tiny bit, so small you aren’t even sure if he did it on purpose.

“But if you want more…” his eyes flick to your lips, ��if you want more, if you want me to touch you in the way I’ve been dying to touch you the second you walked in here, I’ll spend the whole night learning how to get you to make those pretty sounds until you forget anyone else ever tried.”

Your throat goes dry. The world shrinks to him. And you’re staring a second too long. 

You shouldn’t want this. But God, you do. And he isn’t rushing you. Isn’t mocking you. Just standing there, open. Real.

You let yourself nod. 

Bucky’s jaw clenches, like he’s been barely keeping it together.

“Yeah?” His hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing your skin. “You sure?”

“If you were serious about that ice cream, then yeah, I’ll go home with you.”

He chuckles, wrapping his vibranium arm around your neck as he starts to lead you out of the private room.

“Oh? The ice cream’s all you’re looking forward to?”

“Hey, I’m fresh out of a relationship. Give a girl a break.”

The walk back to Bucky’s was quick, the cool air of the city a welcome change to the humidity that clung to the club. 

“So…” you ask in an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that he’s lacing his fingers in yours like it’s second nature, “is Bucky your real name?”

“No, actually,” he chuckles, “it’s James.”

“Are you allowed to tell me that? I thought you weren’t supposed to reveal your secrets,” you tease. 

“That’s magicians, doll. Hope you aren’t going home with any of those,” he nudges you playfully, “And I think I’ve already broken enough rules with you that you’re allowed to know my real name.”

The city moves around you, cars whizzing by, distant voices echoing. None of it touches you. 

Not with the way his hand holds yours like this is the thousandth time he’s walked you home.

“You know,” he says casually, “I almost didn’t ask for you tonight.”

Your heart skips. “Oh?”

“Didn’t think I’d get to you first.”

You smile despite yourself.

“God, you’re a flirt,” and you bump his arm with your shoulder, “I’m already going home with you!” 

“Doesn’t mean I’m done trying,” he mutters, glancing sideways at you as he leads you in the door of a brick apartment building, draped in ivy. Definitely nicer than you expected for a stripper.

You glance back at him. He’s got that look again. Half a smirk, but almost too sincere.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he says softly. “Not tonight. Not after. But you should know… I didn’t pull you for a private dance to piss off your boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you interject a little too quickly as he hits a floor number in the elevator.

He smiles at that. Like he’s happy to be reminded that you’re single now.

“I pulled you because I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

And just like that, he pulls you to him and presses a kiss to your temple, so gentle it makes your stomach twist. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. This is me.”

Bucky's apartment was exactly what you didn’t expect.

No neon lights. No mirrors. No flashy displays.

Just exposed brick, warm lighting, a clean navy couch, and a vinyl record spinning low in the corner-slow, sensual jazz that wrapped around you like smoke.

You hovered just inside the doorway, suddenly hyper-aware of how your dress hugged your curves, how your lipstick was probably smudged, how your ex-boyfriend’s voice still echoed faintly in your head.

Bucky dropped his keys in a tray and turned toward you-soft now, slower.

“You good?”

You should probably be thinking about Nick. About what you lost tonight. But all you can think about is how Bucky’s holding you like you’ve always belonged here.

You nodded. Slowly.

“Yeah. Just… catching up with myself.”

He smiled, stepping closer. His hands didn’t touch you yet. But his voice did.

“Remember, I don’t expect anything from you tonight,” he said, calm and certain. “You say the word, and I’ll pour you a drink, sit you on the couch, and let you decompress. No pressure. Ever.”

You stared at him.

This man who had pinned you under his body in a velvet chair and made you moan in public… was also this.

Steady. Safe.

Safe enough for you to feel okay stepping deeper into his apartment and pulling him into a kiss.

It was different, kissing in his apartment. Not like when you kissed in the club. There was no bass-heavy music, no red velvet couches. 

No rules.

Bucky was so gentle. Slow but sure. His hands were settled on your hips like he was afraid to move them, like you might run away if he went too far. 

But when you melted into him, when you arched into his touch, he faltered.

You made a quiet noise against his lips, and he pulled away, panting. 

“You sure?”, he asked, voice low.

“More than sure,”, and for the first time all night, you really were. 

His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently just below your eye. He kissed you again-slower this time, deeper. A hand slid to your lower back, pulling you gently into him, and the other hovered just at your waist like he needed permission before he gripped it.

You gave it.

Tugged at his shirt. Pressed yourself closer, drunk on his warmth, his scent, his taste. 

He broke the kiss.

“Say the word and I’ll stop”, his voice tight, his forehead pressed against yours, “But if you want this…” and his lips were ghosting your neck again, just like they had earlier, “If you want this, I swear to god, I’ll take my time. I’ll make it so fucking good, you’ll forget anyone else ever existed before me.”

You felt yourself gasp, choking back a moan. 

“I want this.”

And god, the sound he made when you said that, like his restraint finally snapped was like nothing you’d ever heard.

He lifted you like you were weightless, and for a second, it felt like you were. He strode toward his bedroom, eyes never leaving yours, and then he’s throwing you on the bed and crawling on top of you, peeling off his shirt before he’s kissing you again, hungrier, deeper. 

His hand reaches out,cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about the whole time I had you grinding on me?”

You nod, barely.

He leans in, mouth ghosting over your cheek, your ear.

“How good you’re gonna taste when I get you on your back, just like you are now,” and he has the gall to nibble your earlobe before he continues, “How tight you’re gonna feel when I finally sink into that pretty pussy,”

But he isn’t finished. 

“How loud you’ll scream my name when I make you come so hard you can’t think about anything but me.”

You blink.

His hands find your waist. 

“Still think I was just being nice, doll?”

You manage to shake your head,

“Didn’t think so.” he smirks.

Before you realize what’s happening, he’s moving down your body, shoving your dress up unceremoniously, the thin fabric of your panties leaving you feeling extremely exposed. His hands stay on your hips, rubbing comforting circles as his vibranium fingers hook under the elastic waistband, teasing before he tug them off of you. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re dripping. And I haven’t even touched you right yet.”

And he looked up at you like prayer.

“Let me taste you.”

You whimpered. Nodded. Spread your legs slightly.

He kissed the inside of your knee. Then your thigh. Higher. Higher.

And when his tongue finally met your center-hot, slow, skilled-you nearly collapsed.

“Fuck, James-”

He stilled at the use of his real name. Just for a second. Then he dived in, deeper, even hungrier than before. 

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he groaned, holding you still as you writhed under his mouth. “Say my name like that.”

His tongue was unrelenting. His fingers teased but didn’t enter, keeping you on the edge for what felt like forever. He moaned against you like he couldn’t get enough, like he meant every lap, every suck, every stroke.

“So fucking sweet,” he groans. “You were made for this.”

“Says the stripper,” you counter, hoping he doesn’t catch how your hips are lifting off the bed, begging for more of whatever he’s willing to give. 

When he finally slid two fingers inside you, curling just right, you couldn't stop a desperate whine from escaping you.

You could practically feel him grinning against you.

“Told you I’d take care of you.”

He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks as he curls his fingers again, once, twice, three times, and you cum hard, legs shaking, gasping, hands tangled in his hair. He only relents when you push his forehead weakly, sensitive from his onslaught on your pussy. 

Your thighs were still trembling, your panties somewhere halfway across the room, and Bucky was grinning up at you from between your legs like he’d just tasted something holy.

He kisses his way up your body, leaving a tender peck on your tender clit as he makes his way up, lifting your dress as he goes, leaving you naked, breasts exposed to him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve been holding out on me,” he murmurs, almost to himself as he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks softly, making you arch into his mouth. 

His hands are everywhere-palming your tits, smoothing over your hips, gripping the backs of your thighs as he slides his body flush against yours. His cock, heavy and hot, presses against your inner thigh, and he groans when he feels how soaked you still are.

“That’s all for me?” he rasps, nudging his cock through your slick folds, dragging it slow across your clit. 

You shivered under his touch. 

“Please…”

“Please what?” he teases, biting your neck gently. “Please let me fuck you like I own this pretty little pussy? Or please go so slow and soft until you can’t even think?”

“James, please-”

“You don’t have to beg, doll,” and you feel his hand soothe your thigh as he lines up with your entrance, “You’re getting it.”

He pushes into you, and you feel so full, stretched so perfectly, that your mind goes blank. The only thing you can think of is how good he’s making you feel, with every deliciously torturous drag of his thick cock against your poor, abused pussy. 

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and you swear your vision blacks for just a second when he fills you to the hilt. 

”God, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groans, bottoming out, hips flush to yours. “Tightest thing I’ve ever felt. Gripping me like you don’t wanna let me go.”

You mewl and claw at his shoulders and back, desperate to anchor yourself as he moves, smooth, rolling thrusts, deeper than anything you’ve ever felt. 

“Oh, you like that? You like when I fuck you deep like that, huh? You’ll take it, won’t you?”

“That’s it,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Take it. Take all of it. Let me fuck you slow, baby.”

“Fuck, James, you feel so fucking good-”

He cuts you off, his mouth on yours again, and it feels like you’re drowning in pleasure, the haze between your bodies clouding your lust-filled brain. 

When he brings his thumb to your clit, you think he might be trying to kill you. 

“You gonna come on my cock, baby?” he murmurs, voice raw. “Gonna let me feel you tighten around me, make a mess all over me?”

“Yes- fuck, yes, please-”

And when you fall apart again, he feels it-his thrusts stuttering as your pussy clenches around him, pulsing, wet and perfect.

“That’s it,” he groans, barely holding himself back. “Fuck, you ready for me, baby? Want me to fill you up, make a mess in this pretty pussy?”

You’re nodding, barely registering his words before he’s cumming too, deep inside you, groaning into your neck, his whole body shaking from how hard it hits him. 

He doesn’t move right away.

He just lays there, still inside you, breathing hard, arms wrapped around your back.

“You okay?” he mumbles against you, soft now, kissing the corner of your mouth, “Y’did so good for me, sweet girl, so good…” 

You nod. You think you might be boneless.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” he says, nuzzling your neck. “I know.”

“You weren’t kidding about not stopping.”

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, smiling against your skin, “I’ve got all night.”

You wake up wrapped in his arms, legs tangled, sore in the best way, and vaguely aware that you have to leave soon.

The sunlight slips in through the blinds, warm and golden against the navy sheets. You shift slightly, and that’s all it takes,his grip tightens around you, and he hums low against your shoulder.

“Don’t move yet.”

His voice is raspy in the morning. Annoyingly sexy.

You turn in his arms to face him, his blue eyes blinking at you sleepily. You’re swimming in the hoodie he had lent you last night, nothing underneath, and from the way his gaze drops to your bare thigh poking out from beneath it, he notices too.

“Hi,” you whisper, almost shyly.

“Hi,” he whispers back, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, sweet and lazy, “you sleep okay?”

“Like the dead.”

“That’s ‘cause I fucked your brains out.” 

You swat at him, giggling, but he’s faster. He catches your hand in his, leaving a kiss on your wrist.

“And I could do it again,” his voice darkens, “right now.”

He shifts you over a bit, and you can feel him, already hard against your hip.

“Already?” you tease.

“Been hard since I saw you breathing heavy in your sleep,” he mutters against your neck, “Thought about waking you up with my mouth.”

That woke you up.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Wanted you rested”, his lips warm and gentle on your cheek, contrasting his dirty words, “wanted to watch you all soft and warm in my bed for a while.”

His hand slips under the hem of your hoodie-his hoodie- palm grazing your stomach.

“But now you’re awake,” he continues, “and I need to be inside you again.”

You hiss as he grazes your nipple with his thumb, his knee nudging your thigh open. 

“You still sore?”

“A little.” 

“Good,” and you can hear the pride in his tone, “Gonna make it worse.”

When he’s finally exhausted the both of you, he helps you find your dress. Your heels. Your bag.

But your favorite necklace is missing.

“You sure you brought it?” he asks innocently, but there’s a glint in his eye.

You narrow your eyes. “Bucky.”

“I’ll look around later,” he says, guiding you to the door with a soft kiss to your temple. “But hey-guess that means you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

You squint.

“You stole it.”

He shrugs. Smirks.

“Maybe I just wanted to make sure I’d see you again.”

“You could’ve just asked for my number.”

“Yeah, but this was more fun.”

“You know, I’ve heard that strippers will rob you blind, but this is just cruel-”

“Oh, shut it, I just need to make sure you’ll come back tonight.”

You laugh lightly.

“To your apartment? Or to the club?”

He wraps you up in his arms again, his voice dropping low and warm.

“To the club,”, he murmurs against your neck, “I’ve got an unfinished private show I fully intend to finish- uninterrupted this time.”

Your stomach flips.

And from the way his arms tighten around you, smug smirk dancing on his lips, he knows it. 

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[chumby4life]

Don't Go Anywhere (Tenna x Reader)

Summary: “...Those scandalous tapes you rented from the video store… We watched them together late at night, when everyone in the house was asleep. Do you remember that? I do.”

You're a total TV addict who needs to get a job. But how does the TV feel about that?

~2k words

How long has it been since you’ve gotten up from the couch? Maybe… A day? Less? More? It’s hard to tell when you’re watching TV. No better form of escapism seems to exist, nothing quite so perfectly mind-numbing. But there in the corner of your eye is the Classifieds section of the newspaper, nagging you. You’d sworn to yourself that you’d have a job lined up by the end of the month. 

Sighing, you pick up the paper and begin to peruse the job listings, even this small act costing you so much effort. You spend a little while leafing through the newspaper, until the TV’s volume seems to increase on its own, blaring an infomercial: 

“Tired of feeling pressured? Afraid of being pushed out of your comfort zone? Now, you don’t have to…” You look up and notice the picture on the screen warping slightly.

“Ugh, not again,” you whine, getting up to smack the TV on its side a few times, a crude fix-all that usually seems to do the trick. Frustrated, you turn off the TV and resume your job search, eventually managing to schedule an interview for tomorrow. The job itself is nothing special, but hey, it gets your roommates off your back. You end the day watching reruns of your favorite sitcom, That 70’s Big Bang Fresh Prince of Full House, its witty quips and laugh tracks lulling you into sleep. 

As you doze off, the sound from the sitcom becomes more distant, more muted until you find yourself suspended in perfect silence, surrounded by nothing but pitch blackness. You gasp when you hear a voice from behind you - it sounds fuzzy, like a worn-out tape.

“That hurt, you know,” it says. 

You turn around, your eyes strained by a bright rectangle of light. A pair of hands come to rest on your shoulders before you can back away. “No need to fear,” the voice hums, softer this time. “The show’s about to start!” The hands on your shoulders move up to your face, where they gently nudge your mouth into a smile. “So let’s turn that frown upside down, hm?” 

“I-what? The show?”

“Yes, silly, the SHOW! Now, Mike, let’s hit those lights!”

Again, you have to squint your eyes as the lights come on, transforming the darkness into a dated talk show set complete with cityscape backdrop and fake plants. You’re left standing there awkwardly to acclimate to the sensory overwhelm of it all - the cloying audience, the loud music, the bright colors… And, of course, the humanoid television dancing at center stage, soaking up every ounce of praise from his sea of fans. 

“Aaaaand welcome back to another exciting episode of Mr. Tenna LIVE! Folks, we’ve got a great show here for you tonight!! But first…”

Mr. Tenna, as he calls himself, sneaks his arm around your waist and pulls you against his side.

“...Let’s introduce our very charming guest! Lover of TV, aspiring employee… Thanks SO much for coming on the show!”

Tenna points his microphone towards you and gives you a hopeful smile. “Come on now, don’t be shy,” he coos while pulling you closer with a quiet insistence. 

You clear your throat, the sound echoing unceremoniously. “You’re welcome,” you begin, your gaze darting between Tenna and his expectant audience. You’re quite certain this is a dream, but that doesn’t completely quell your stage fright. “Didn’t have much of a choice, but… Yeah! Great to be here.” The audience’s reaction seems disproportionately enthusiastic, loud cheering and music filling the space around you. 

“Aren’t they just lovely, folks? Yes, they LOVE being here! With me…” Tenna finally releases you, only to start rubbing the side of his head in exaggerated misery. “But don’t be fooled, ladies, gents, and germs,” he adds, pointing directly at you, a mischievous look on his screen. “This one here is feisty! Smacked me right upside the head!!” 

A drawn out gasp from the crowd punctuates Tenna’s monologue. You look down at your feet, feeling a bit guilty for whacking your TV earlier. How were you supposed to know it was going to come into your dreams and will itself into corporeality? 

“Oh, the things I go through for love, folks,” Tenna laments, his antennae drooping as he clutches his chest in a bid for sympathy, “Poor ol’ Mr. Tenna, too loyal for his own good…”

Thoroughly guilt-tripped, you mumble out an apology which causes Tenna to immediately perk up, a goofy grin spreading across his screen. “You really mean it?” He spins on one heel to face you, leaning forward and casting a long shadow over you. 

“Then all our lovely guest must do is say, ‘I’m sorry for hitting you, Mr. Tenna!’” Again, the microphone is stuck in front of your face.

“I… I’m sorry for hitting you, Mr. Tenna?”

As you comply and recite the apology, Tenna fiddles with his tie in anticipation, getting some kind of satisfaction from your obedience. He steps closer to you, causing you to instinctively retreat. 

“Very good,” Tenna praises, tilting your chin upwards as the microphone is once again held close to you. “But I think we can do even better than that, don’t you? Let’s hear it again… Like you mean it.” Despite the firmness of his words, that goofy smile remains on Tenna’s screen, so conveniently unaware of his own intimidating nature.

“I’m sorry for hitting you, Mr. Tenna,” you say with more conviction. You’re forced to take another step backwards as Tenna advances even closer, until you’re backed into the chair behind you. All you can do is watch as he places his hands on either side of your armchair, leaning in even closer so that you can feel the static emanating from him. It’s that warm, electric feeling you get when you’re right up against a CRT screen.

Tenna remains in this position until his static electricity makes your hair stand on end. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Before you can say anything, Tenna is already facing the audience again, reaching over to gently smooth down your staticky hair in a petting motion. “But who could ever hold a grudge against our charming guest? Not me!”

Waving and bowing to his adoring audience, Tenna makes his way to the desk adjacent to your chair, ready to assume the role of talk show host. You can’t help but feel endeared by how desperately he emulates the many charismatic hosts and actors you’ve watched on TV. 

“Now, then,” Tenna says, shuffling a stack of cue cards. He tries to slick back his antennae, but they instantly stand back up like loaded springs. “Why don’t you tell us about this EXCITING new job opportunity?” 

“Ah, well, it’s not that exciting… Just some office job. I’m supposed to interview for it tomorrow. Guess my roommates are sick of me lazing around and watching TV all day.” You give a self-deprecating chuckle. 

In response, Tenna starts applauding, the crowd obediently following suit. “Well, now, isn’t that something?! Let’s make some noise for our guest, everybody!”

You lower your head, unaccustomed to this level of praise, especially for something as mundane as a job interview.

“You say it’s ‘not all that exciting’, dear guest, but think about what comes after this - a new job, new responsibilities, and BOOM! Your life is totally different!” Tenna takes a contemplative sip from what you’re pretty sure is a totally empty mug. “Isn’t that swell? No more of that lousy free time! No more video games! No more movies! And no more That 70’s Big Bang Fresh Prince of Full House!” 

You notice Tenna’s fist clench slightly on his desk, crumpling his cue cards even as he keeps smiling at you. The other hand plays anxiously with his right antenna. Meanwhile, you’re feeling some anxiety of your own - you hadn’t thought about how much of your time and your hobbies would be sacrificed. 

“Well, it’s not as if I’d lose ALL of my time-”

“It was a good run we had,” Tenna interrupts, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head in reminiscence. “Oh, folks, how I’ll miss it!!”

“Listen, we can still-”

The audience groans in canned sympathy as Tenna suddenly rises from his desk and tosses his cue cards behind him like sad confetti. “Remember how we stopped time’s cruel advances? Beating those old high scores, laughing at your favorite movies?”

You look on, slightly unnerved as Tenna begins to circle around your armchair. He continues nostalgia baiting you relentlessly, and you know you don’t stand a chance of getting a single word in. “I always loved having your eyes on me, how you’d tell yourself ‘just one more episode’ and struggle to stay awake, just so you could look at me a few moments longer.”

“You’re not listening to me,” you protest, moving to get up from the chair. But somehow, you failed to notice that the entire time Tenna was circling you, the cord of his microphone was wrapping itself around you. Now, you’re hopelessly bound to the chair, unable to escape this pity party.

Tenna tugs on his microphone a couple times, ensuring that you’re held in place with a self-satisfied smirk. “And who could forget our more… Private times?” This earns a teasing “ooooooh” from the audience while Tenna moves behind your chair, looking down at you. “Your favorite celebrity was on MTV one day… You were so enamored that you kissed the screen.”

Another “oooh” from the crowd, to your embarrassment. The heat and brightness of the stage lights suddenly feels oppressive in its intensity. You feel Tenna idly twirl a lock of your hair around his finger as he keeps humiliating you.

“...Those scandalous tapes you rented from the video store… We watched them together late at night, when everyone in the house was asleep. Do you remember that? I do.” Tenna’s voice lowers to a conspiratorial murmur. “You have no idea how… Honored I was to be there for you in those moments. To know that in some way, I was bringing you that pleasure.”

Your face flushes red at having these intimate, self-indulgent moments exposed in front of an audience. And yet, there’s also a faint sense of excitement at having shared those times with something… Or someone else. “Yes, I remember that,” you say quietly.

“Of.. Of course you do!” For a few seconds, Tenna goes rigid, a blush visible on his screen. Then, he scrambles back to center stage, all flailing arms and frantic steps, like he can’t contain himself. “Aaaaalrighty then, folks! Things are getting a little heated here,” he announces, attempting to return to his talk show host persona while tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Let’s hope the censors don’t take me off the air!”

The audience laughs while Tenna adjusts his tie, periodically looking back at you as if afraid you’ll disappear. His usual dopey smile seems more forced than ever, sharp teeth poking through that you hadn’t noticed before. “Now, everyone, I just know you’re gonna LOVE what we’ve got up next for you on Mr. Tenna LIVE! after these messages! Don’t go anywhere!!”

Right on cue, the curtain falls, separating you and Tenna from the audience. Without the crowd of adoring fans watching him, his demeanor becomes more unstable, more tense. He turns to face you as you struggle with the cord tied around you, his voice stern yet strained.

“...Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m not,” you lie, fighting uselessly against your restraints while Tenna approaches you with slow, slightly trembling steps. He looms over you like a wilted flower, his posture drooping, his antennae collapsed.

“It’s a scary world out there, isn’t it? That’s why you love TV.” 

You’re abruptly pulled forward in your chair when Tenna pulls at the microphone cord, your body brought closer to his. He grins down at you, as if trying to make himself appear less threatening. “Gee, 8 hours a day in that world… How long until you recognize where you really belong? Not very long, I think.” 

You sit there frozen in front of Tenna, your body tense beneath the cord’s tight grip. But just as his words start to make you question yourself, you see him crumple to his knees before you, his final thread of composure coming undone. Where you were intimidated moments ago, you now feel something resembling pity.

“Baby, where did I go wrong? Is it… Is it because my warranty’s up…?”

Tenna grovels as if this were a tearful breakup, as if you could ‘break up’ with an electrical appliance. Even with the curtain closed and no watchful crowd, his emotions still feel a bit theatrical. Still, it’s hard not to feel a little sorry for him, the way he begs. “It’s not about you, I just need a job,” you try to explain.

“I get it, I really do,” Tenna sighs, finally freeing you from the tangle of cord. “You have better things to do now… Don’t let ol’ Tenna get in your way…” He waves you away even as he remains kneeling in front of you, blocking your path. His screen has powered off and lost its light, replaced with emptiness. 

Your mind fills with doubt and remorse the longer you witness Tenna’s pathetic display. He wasn’t wrong - you can’t really see yourself cutting your screen time in half just for some crummy job. “You know, I think I would miss my TV a lot if I had to work… Maybe I can skip the interview tomorrow, I would’ve hated that job anyway…” You rest your hand atop Tenna’s head, trying your best to be reassuring. 

Tenna visibly tenses at your touch and words of reassurance. He tentatively reaches up to place his hand atop yours. “You need me - I mean - you need TV, right…?” 

“I.. I need TV.” You hear Tenna shudder at your reply.

“And… And I still make you laugh and feel good?”

“Yes, you do.” 

Tenna leans into you, pressing into you slightly and leading your hand down to his ON/OFF switch.” Say it again. Say that you need… That you need TV.”

A small, more responsible part of you protests as you press down on Tenna’s on switch with purpose, holding it down for perhaps a moment longer than necessary. “I need TV, more than anything,” you say shamelessly, deciding to indulge him. “I don’t think anything could make me take my eyes off you…”

“O-oh,” is all Tenna can manage, that warm, static sensation brushing up against you as you release his on switch. After a moment’s delay, Tenna springs back to his feet, little happy jolts of electricity running through his antennae.

“Honey, I just love it when you turn me on!!”

With uncanny timing, the curtain swings open, the bright lights and lively energy returning to the space. To the audience’s delight, Tenna picks you up and hugs you close, swinging you around like a ragdoll in his joy and relief.

“And we are BACK, folks!! Our amazing guest has just come to the most wonderful conclusion!” Still holding you off the ground, Tenna looks down at you, blushing and grinning like a fool. “Promise me (and tonight’s audience!) you’ll stay tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, yes, fine, I promise.” You feel a bit crushed by Tenna’s grip as he swings you around some more. You can feel wakefulness touching the edges of your consciousness as he sets you down, waving goodbye to you before turning to his crowd.

“Well, our guest is in luck, folks, because TV Guide promises a MARATHON of That 70’s Big Bang-”

You wake up before Tenna can finish saying the sitcom’s long-winded title. Rubbing your eyes, you sit up on the couch to find you’d fallen asleep in front of the TV again. “Oh, right, the interview…”

But before you can get up, you feel something holding you back. You picture all the time and effort that would go into preparing for that interview and slump back down, your hand reaching for the remote without conscious thought. A smile appears on your face when you open TV Guide, noticing a particularly interesting marathon on the schedule.

“Well, just a few episodes wouldn’t hurt, then it’s back to the grind,” you say to yourself, settling in to lose yourself in the TV screen. 

[moonstruckme]

hi mae! please can i request steve x reader where r sees steve being really good w the gang of kids (like max, dustin etc) and just being so in love and joking about having kids one day

i really love your writing and ik it says in your request rules that you don’t do rqs w/ reader or character w/ kids so u can take the last part out if u want :) thank u <333

you are so talented and your work is so comforting btw

Thank you sweetness!!

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 969 words

It was shaping up to be a slow, easy day. Grocery shopping, followed by a date with Steve, followed by an afternoon spent making out on your couch. Simple, satisfying. Routine, after a little over a month of dating Steve. That all went out the window when your doorbell rang and you broke Steve’s kiss to answer it.

There were six kids waiting outside. Too young to be missionaries, too many boys to be selling girl scout cookies. Loud and gesticulating and talking over each other and all asking for Steve.

You didn’t have to call for him. He came like their chaos drew him, appearing at your side with an exasperated look on his face.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?”

They all began talking over each other again. Somewhere in there, Steve introduced you, rattling off a bunch of names you’re trying very hard to keep straight, and eventually it becomes clear that they came looking for him because Dustin got gum stuck in his hair and they can’t agree on how to get it out.

“Just cut it out,” Max insists, with the long-suffering air of someone who’s repeated themselves more than once. “It’s the only way.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Mike throws up his hands.

“I can’t cut it out, it’s right by my scalp!” Dustin practically squeaks. Tilting your head, you can see that there is, indeed, some white gummy residue sticking to the edge of his baseball cap and the hair above his ear. “Do you know how long it took me to grow it out this much? Do you have any idea?”

Max throws Steve a droll look, arms crossed. “You made him vain.”

“Hey, we’ll see how you like it if you get gum stuck in your hair,” Steve says back. He asks Dustin, “Did you try peanut butter?”

The kids go quiet.

“You didn’t even try peanut butter?” Steve sounds appalled. He sighs, tenting his fingers over his brow like an overwrought parent. You fight a smile. “That’s the first thing you try! Look, you go find a jar of peanut butter—creamy peanut butter, not that nutty shit—"

“Hey!”

“I don’t care what peanut butter your mom uses, Henderson—use the creamy kind, and it’ll come right out. Okay? It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I have peanut butter,” you say.

Everyone turns to look at you. The kids like they’ve forgotten you were there, Steve like he’s trying to convey a warning with his eyes.

“You can use mine,” you go on anyway.

They all look at Steve as if for permission. After a second, he sighs. “Okay, yeah, come on.” He waves them inside.

It’s sort of funny watching Steve interact with this band of teenagers. Sort of sweet, too. He’s all sighs and eye rolls, fondness hidden under the veneer of annoyance, but he’s not rough as he works the peanut butter into Dustin’s hair. As he does it, he gets the story for how the gum wound up there in the first place.

“I was seriously just trying to chew my gum—“ Lucas starts.

“No—no, you were blowing bubbles with it, which is distracting when someone’s trying to read—”

“Do comics really take all of your concentration, Dustin?” Max asks sardonically. “Do they really?”

“Fine, I was blowing bubbles, and Dustin wouldn’t shut up about how he wanted me to stop—”

“You wouldn’t shut up with the bubbles!” Dustin counters.

“So I started blowing them by his ear, and when one popped it got stuck.”

Steve’s face wrinkles. “Ew. What the hell, Sinclair?”

“It was funny!”

“It was funny,” Max agrees.

Quietly, as though to himself, Will mutters, “It was stupid.”

They go on like this, bickering and forging alliances and then breaking them, until the gum is out and Steve shoos them all out the door.

He shuts it with a weary exhale. Checks to be sure it’s locked before coming to join you on the couch again, setting his hand on your hip like you’re just going to carry on as you were before the doorbell rang. You’re smiling like the cat that got the cream.

“Sorry about that,” he says, leaning towards you.

You lean back. “How many children are you friends with?”

Steve sighs. “You’re actually not the first person to ask me that,” he mumbles. “It’s not like we’re friends friends. I’m more like their babysitter.”

“They look, like, fourteen.”

“Most of them are actually fifteen.” He runs a hand through his hair, cringing. “I don’t know. We hang out, I guess. Not in a creepy way. They ask me for advice and stuff.”

“About getting gum out of their hair.”

“Sometimes, yeah.” He eyes you. “You think it’s weird.”

You shake your head, biting your lip to control your grin. “I think it’s sweet.”

Steve looks hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He smiles, too, as he leans down again, settling his weight over you. You recline against a throw pillow, finally letting him pick up where he left off.

“I swear it’s not, like, a move I do or anything,” he says as he kisses your shoulder. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

“I believe you,” you reply.

His mouth moves up the line of your throat, your knees tipping outward to allow him to slot in between.

“It’s interesting that they knew to find you here, though.”

Steve hesitates. “I…may have mentioned you,” he admits, somewhere between sheepish and flirting as he kisses the corner of your lips. “That bother you?”

You smile, letting yourself be kissed. “No, that’s alright.”

“It’s okay that I let them in here?”

“I’m the one who invited them in.”

“I know, but. Still.”

“Your kids can come over whenever you want, Steve.”

He groans, landing a firm kiss on your lips. “Shut up.”

[illubean]

Could I get headcanons for Feitan, Illumi, Leorio, and Chrollo falling for gn!reader who by all means seems like a strong, nuturing, emotionally stable individual but every once in awhile casually says or does smthin that makes people go "Oh you're a little fuckin nuts, actually"

(e.x.: Most of their D.I.Y. furniture is made of different kinds of bone, morbidly interested in the more gorey parts of their jobs, probably works in a field that allows them to be around the dead often like a taxidermist or a mortitian, highkey just unabashashedly a morbid little freak™️ whenever it comes up naturally in conversation but otherwise comes across as just an attentive lil guy you could bring home the average parents would love.)

HXH Men with a Morbid!S/o

Characters: Leorio Paladaknight, Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

this is so me

Warnings: dead things and body parts and stuff

Leorio Paladaknight

being an aspiring doctor, Leorio thought that your knowledge on both human and animal anatomy was pretty useful

at first he didn't think much about your job and just assumed you were some type of doctor or biologist or something

he often asks you questions as he studies and you're a pretty good tutor

the first time Leorio realized you were kinda weird is when one day you were walking down the street and saw some roadkill

and you were like "aww too bad, the skin and bones are too damaged to harvest"

and you kept walking like it was normal while he was like ?!!??!?

or you guys were having a normal conversation and you say something like

"if you died i'd taxidermy you and re-articulate your skeleton so you'd be with me forever <3"

1 taxidermizing humans is illegal and 2 WHAT

he is cold sweating wtf did he get himself into

when he comes to your house for the first time and sees a bunch of bones, animal skins and wet specimens he damn near passes the fuck out

how do you just casually have dead things and remains around your house!?

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MADE YOUR COFFEE TABLE OUT OF CAMEL BONES?

he is freaking the fuck out and you're just like "dw everything is ethically sourced :D"

yeah he thinks you're a freak and he is too fearful to break up with you ever (not like he was planning to anyways)

Illumi Zoldyck

whatever drew Illumi to you had to have been some type of power

aside from that power, to Illumi you were relatively normal and had a good grip on your emotions which made you a perfect candidate

that being said he could care less what your job was, you'd just end up working for or with him eventually

when he started bringing you around the estate, you often sought out their guard dog Mike and Illumi couldn't think of why

that is until you came back one day with a human femur and bright smile on your face

"... where did you even get that?" "From one of Mike's victims. If I collect enough I could make a whole set of bar stools!"

he blinked at you and chose to ignore your statement

i mean, to each their own am i right?

so you have ah hobby, big deal

Illumi just thinks you're pretty normal personality wise until you randomly but casually drop information about what you do in your free time or have in your home

so now whenever he has a job Illumi calls you in for cleanup

you get to do.... whatever it is you do and there's no evidence of a dead body left behind, it's a win win

Chrollo Lucilfer

he couldn't care less what your job is because it's probably not worse than his 😭

he didn't really notice anything "morbid" about you until he asked about your jewlery

you wore things like resin caster bug pendants or bird skull earrings and stuff

he just assumed they were fake and you bought them because they looked badass

but then you told him you make it all YOURSELF

he is intrigued

he doesn't really question you past that because you were probably buying the bones and stuff somewhere (spoiler alert you're not)

what really caused him to think was when you casually just picked up a dead rat off the floor in some abandoned building you were exploring and suck it in your pocket

bro was so confused

"What do you need that for?" "To make a new necklace :3"

yeah now he knows that your odd taste in jewelry goes deeper than just that

he won't judge you though, if anything you're a better person than he is considering you don't kill things yourself

he is literally a murderer and a thief and has committed like 3467633788 crimes so he couldn't judge even if he wanted to

so now when he sees dead animals and what not he bags them up and brings them to you

he likes to sit in on your cleaning and making process

you seem like a perfectly normal and sweet person to everyone else but Chrollo knows about your freaky little hobby and it just makes him like you even more

Feitan Portor

I feel like for you and Feitan to even be acquainted you have to be part of the troupe

whatever you do outside of it is your business

buttttttt since you are his s/o and Feitan is probably homeless he crashes wherever you are

thus him finding out about your hobby and other job

out of everyone on this list he is the most interested

he too is a morbid little freak

he goes with you to find things and will help you with the cleaning/taxidermy or whatever process if you let him

what he doesn't understand though is why you don't just kill the things you want instead of hunting for already dead things

sometimes he will go catch like a squirrel or something and bring it back to you like a cat and tell you he found it like that

Fei baby. No the fuck you didn't

after doing what you're doing for so long you can tell what caused an animal to die but you wouldn't tell him that

he's just so cute and wants to be supportive of your hobby <3