#i debated about taking an angle where you can see their eyes. but i thought it was funnier if their teeth cover them up

[front-facing-pokemon]

[joemama-2]

aged up megumi

“you’re drunk.”

megumi’s head lifts up at the sudden sound of your voice. it’s funny how quick the action is too, like your voice immediately pulls his chin up as it speaks. even in a crowded room full of people who he doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know, he’ll find your voice. he always finds you. but right now, he’s not in a crowded room.

the night sky is pretty and the breeze causes you to shiver slightly. he should be shivering too considering he’s not even wearing a jacket, but maybe his senses are too wacky to even care. or maybe he’s just too focused on your presence. he’s sitting on some steps to whatever house, a stranger’s that he decided to rest on after his so called ‘friends’ left him there.

yuuji and nobara didn’t actually leave him. they just took his drunk ass out the car, while simultaneously texting you his location. and like the good friend(?) you are, you went. no questions asked. what you didn’t expect was to see megumi shitfaced. that was not on your bingo card.

back to the present, the small flush of his cheeks and hazy eyes make you want to physically coo at the sight. instead, you tilt your hair and raise a suspecting eyebrow at his prolonged silence. you hold back a scoff, usually it’s him being the serious one.

megumi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “you’re here.”

you sigh. biting your lip for a second as you assess the situation. “i thought you were with yuuji and nobara.”

“i was.”

“then where are they?”

he simply shrugs. “they left. left me here.” he sees your confused expression, muttering—more like mumbling—a continued response. “told me to sit and wait. didn’t know i was waiting for you.”

ah. you’ll remember to scold those two later on. “i didn’t know i was coming to you either.”

there’s a small huff that escapes his pretty lips. “guess we’re both surprised.”

there’s a silence that follows. you want to sigh heavily, why he was drunk in the first place almost concerned you. megumi was always sober, always the DD, what was different about tonight that he decided to change that? never mind, you’re more focused on getting him back to the dorms.

your eyes travel back to him after looking up at the sky during your mental battle, but he’s still looking at you. he hasn’t stopped looking since you came, actually. his staring has always sorta freaked you out, made you feel naked even with clothes on. “thought you were on a date.”

you grimace at the reminder, but quickly push it away. you were on a date, but that’s the last thing you want to think about right now. “i was.” you settle with a vague answer. of course, he’ll pry.

“then why aren’t you there?”

“i left.”

“why?”

“for you, apparently.”

megumi’s heart really shouldn’t be doing somersaults right now. but he can’t help it. he knows it’s wrong, you’re just friends and friends don’t feel this way about each other. he hasn’t told you anything and he probably never will. hell, you probably don’t even feel the same way. and megumi is not going to handle your rejection well, which is why is he’ll forever admire from a distance.

but with each day, that distance seems to be growing smaller and smaller.

“how much did you drink?” your question interrupts him.

he debates on telling you the truth or a lie. but just as much as megumi stares, you observe. so, megumi can never,—no—will never lie to you. “few shots.”

“how many?” you prod, taking a small step closer.

“forgot.”

of course. if he forgot how much he drank, it must’ve been a lot. and megumi drinking is one thing, but him drinking a lot is another. now you’re even more concerned. with a small huff of air, you finally stand in front of him.

his head angled upwards to look at you while yours is down. his fingers twitch to reach out for you, but he somehow is holding back. well, he was holding back. for barely two seconds.

he can blame it on the alcohol later, his actions can have consequences for a future, sober him. right now he’s too focused on the way your fingers feel laced with his own, your smaller hand in his. you’re a little shocked by his boldness, but you don’t pull away.

maybe you should, because now megumi is getting ideas. ideas that you want him just as much as he wants you—

“are you okay?” your soft voice is laced with worry, eyebrows knitted together. your fingers just slightly tighten around his.

and he gulps down the lump in his throat. why he has one in the first place is a mystery to him. for a second, he feels like he can’t speak. when his voice finds him, it sounds different. “yeah.”

by the slurring of his words, you conclude it’s time to take him home. “cmon, let’s get you back.” your face scrunches up as you attempt to lift him up from the stairs. even in dry knees, megumi is helping you out, using as much strength he currently has to bring his body to a standing.

once he’s on his own two feet, you place one of his arms around your shoulders and walk to your car. it’s a small, but silent walk. there’s a bit of a challenge, having to balance him but also open the passenger side door.

“watch your head.” you murmur and he hums back as you place him down into the passenger seat, reaching over to buckle his belt.

your scent invades his nostrils and he suddenly feels the urge to cry. god, he’s never drinking again. once he’s buckled up, you pull back to get a better look at him.

you don’t like seeing him in such a state. a disheveled one. he looks small, vulnerable. the sight alone pulls at your heartstrings. “megumi?”

“hm?” his eyes are half-lidded, but he still finds it in him to meet your own. “i won’t throw up.”

there’s a breathy chuckle from you while you wipe some hair out of his eyes. “i know.”

he leans into your touch. your hand lingers longer than it should, savoring his skin against yours while he wishes this could last forever.

it doesn’t, of course. because you’re soon pulling away, closing the door, and getting into the car yourself.

the drive is once again quiet. you spare him a few glances along the way to make sure he’s still conscious. in the new few minutes, you’re at the school and parked.

you feel like you lost a few calories just from hauling him out the car and back to his dorm. over time, he’s leaned more of his weight on you, but you can’t chastise him for that.

his door is already unlocked as you twist the knob and it’s a great relief when you finally situate him in his bed. you sigh heavily and wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. “i’ll get some water and a trash can, okay?”

“said ‘m not throwin’ up.”

“you don’t know that.”

you grab one of the bottled waters from his mini fridge you gifted him for christmas and the trash from his bathroom, placing it by the bed. “drink.” he groans as you lift his head up and gently coax the water into his mouth. once done, he’s laying back down.

sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him, you finally ask the burning question. “what happened tonight?”

he’s hesitating, you can tell. but of course, megumi can’t lie to you. so he looks at you again, deciding that maybe it’s okay if he comes clean. if this ruins your friendship, he’ll always be grateful for what you showed him. “you.”

your brows furrow. “what?”

he sighs. “you. where you were tonight.”

oh, it’s starting to click. “you mean my da—“

“don’t even say the word.” his hand soothes the pinch of his eyebrows. “it’ll make me sick.”

now, you want to laugh. really laugh. but you’ll hold back for now. “i thought you weren’t gonna be sick?”

“i am if i have to think about you and another guy.”

“he was a nobody.” your lips purse, confused as to why you’re even reassuring him in the first place.

“keep it that way.” his hand pulls away to give you a firm look. well, as firm as a drunk person could give.

strange butterflies flutter in your stomach and now you might be sick. “..why?”

there’s another pause before he says with finality. “cause…you have me.”

you have him. in what way? you want to ask, but he’s drunk and this is…more than likely a conversation you should be having when both parties are sober. so, you opt for a soft sigh. “i have you?”

“and i have you.” megumi murmurs back, his beautiful lashes beginning to flutter as the signs of exhaustion take over.

you smile, and so does he. although, it’s not as obvious as yours, you’re observant. so that smile means everything to you. he means everything to you. which is why…..

“go to sleep.” you whisper, bringing the covers up to his chin. “we’ll talk in the morning.”

[harryistheonlyoneforme]

focus*

warnings: smut, spitting, choking, squirting, throat fucking, dumbification, dirty talk, degradation, slight daddy kink, facial(ish)

pairing: dad’s best friend harry x reader

summary: in which yn keeps eyeing harry’s arms and he puts them to good use

masterlist | taglist

~

yn’s bottom lip is tucked between her teeth as she sits on the couch next to harry, trying to keep her dirty thoughts at bay. but it’s so hard when he’s sat beside her, shirtless at that, as he types away on his computer, sending angry emails to his employees. yes it’s his day off, but it just seems that there is always something that comes up when he finally relaxes.

it’s not the emails that are turning her on, not at all. it’s the fact that with each message he types with annoyed grunts and mumbles falling from his lips, she can see his biceps just flexing with each movement. she can’t even focus on her phone that’s playing some sort of video on its screen because her eyes just keep flitting over to where he sits.

her thighs are practically sewn together as her mind races, from thoughts of those biceps next to her head as he pounds deep into her in missionary, to them wrapped around her neck.

oh.

that second thought is something she should’ve thought of a long time ago. she should’ve thought of him bending her over the kitchen table with his arm wrapped around her neck, her feet barely touching the floor as he wrecks her. that thought forces a moan from her lips before she can stop it, causing harry to stop in his tracks and turn to look at her.

his first thought is that she’s hurt somehow sitting next to him, and so he takes a moment to let his eyes trail over her body. one clean sweep and then he’s meeting her eyes with raised eyebrows as he recognizes that body language. the glued thighs, the blown pupils, and not to mention the swollen lips from all the chewing. she’s been caught.

closing his laptop, he places it on the coffee table before angling his body to be able to maintain eye contact comfortably. the silence is deafening, and she wants to crawl into a hole. “are you going to tell me what that was about or do i need to force it out of you?” he’s playing no games. she just stares at him in silence as she debates whether or not she should tell him. “and tell the truth. i don’t have room in my day for lies and wasted time,” he makes sure to tell her.

she chooses her words carefully. “your arms,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact with him and looking down to her lap. he huffs in annoyance before forcefully grabbing her jaw and making her look at him.

“what about them? don’t be stupid, i don’t have the time for the games,” he warns her before he’s letting her go and awaiting her answer.

“i was thinking about them…,” she pauses, forcing herself to say the words. “i was thinking about them wrapped around my neck when we’re in bed,” she finally finishes. the term ‘in bed’ would’ve been innocent in any other context, but he knows exactly what she means. she means she wants his arms around her neck while he fucks her.

she hears harry’s breath hitch before the room falls into silence, the lack of sound making her regret her decision to be honest with him. she could just about cry when he stands up from the couch, looking down at her lap. a few seconds later, she hears the sound of fabric hitting the floor, and from her peripheral vision she can see the shorts harry was wearing there. trailing her eyes up his legs, her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she sees harry just stood there with his cock in his hand, hard and already leaking.

“get on your fucking knees,” his words are firm and leave no room for argument and she’s immediately scrambling off the couch and onto her knees in front of him. resting her weight on her heels, she sits there and looks up at him as she patiently awaits further instruction.

“open your mouth,” he demands, and she instantly does so, her mouth already practically salivating at the thought of him. harry just stroked himself a couple times before grabbing the back of her head and forcing her open mouth onto his cock. he immediately sets a brutal pace and begins fucking her throat with no care of the mess she’s making of them with her saliva. he continues for a minute or so, keeping a close eye on her to make sure she’s okay. with each passing second, he sees her move further and further away, until her eyes start to roll back into her head.

“fuck. that’s it, i see. all it took was my cock down your throat and now you can’t even focus. dumb little baby can’t even hold her head up, poor thing,” he firmly slaps her cheek to get her to keep her eyes on him and it works, but only for a moment, before her head is lulling right back onto his thick thigh. over the sounds of her choking on him, harry just sighs in irritation before quickly pulling his cock from her mouth and ignoring her whine of protest.

he’s then quickly grabbing her by her arms and pulling her up before pulling her sleep shorts down and off her body before pushing her onto the couch, pressing her face into the cushions. climbing up onto the couch behind her, he takes a moment to admire her and how wet she already is, her folds glistening with her arousal. he wants a closer look, though, taking his hands and spreading her ass cheeks even wider and looking at her already throbbing hole.

he can’t resist leaning down to swipe his tongue through her sodden folds, suckling on her clit for a moment before pulling away when she starts to grind against his face. she whines in frustration as he just watches her throb a bit, and then he’s letting her ass go before straightening up and taking his cock in his fist once more. crawling forward just a bit, he lines himself up with her and runs his leaking tip through her folds just to tease her a bit more before gathering some spit in his mouth and letting it land on her pussy, trailing down.

when he’s satisfied with the sight, he begins pressing himself into her hole as slowly as possible, listening to her mewls of pleasure as he stretches her tight hole. as soon as he’s deeply seated within her, he lets her adjust for a few seconds before pulling out until his tip is resting at her entrance and pushing back in just as deep as before. “is this what you wanted? for me to stop my work and fuck you like a whore? do you like daddy’s arm around your neck?” he grunts, letting her wails of pleasure as well as the sounds of their skin slapping spur him on.

she can only yell out a chorus of broken agreements, her nails clawing at the leather couch cushions and tears beginning to fall from her eyes at the pleasure. he’s fucking her at what seems like an unfathomable speed to her, each drag of his thick cock along her walls pushing her closer and closer to the edge. she can’t even give him a warning due to her wordless babbles, but he understands.

he doesn’t only understand, he decides to make it even better. stopping for just a moment, he ignores the sound of annoyance that comes from her and sits up to rest on his heels before pulling her up as well. wrapping his arm back around her throat, he begins to fuck into her from below before reaching around her body with his free hand and honing in on her clit.

she hadn’t thought it could get any better, but as soon as he started fucking her so deeply in tandem with the tight circles around her clit, she felt like she could explode. and that she did. after no more than ten seconds more of the intense pleasure she’s experiencing, her body tenses and a yell of relief falls from her lips as her orgasm takes over. as it wracks her body, though, harry switches from just a few fingers on her clit to his whole hand, rubbing the sensitive bud quickly. that sends her into a whole other realm, and she feels her body relax before she can register what’s going on and then they both hear and feel her orgasm drench the leather cushions below them.

this whole time, harry has not stopped fucking her, and soon her head is lulling to the side as she lets him take her even more. “fuck, i’m close,” he chokes, still feeling the aftermath of her orgasm as she flutters around him, milking him for all he’s worth. “where do you want it?” he manages to ask, staving off his orgasm just long enough for her answer. his question basically brings her back to life and she’s pushing her self up on her hands as she answers.

“please, want it in my mouth,” she whines, and he’s immediately pulling his throbbing cock from her and standing up beside the couch before forcing her onto her knees.

“open,” he breathes, chest heaving as he looks down at her. she immediately obliges, sticking her tongue out of her mouth and tipping her head back just slightly, and then harry is quickly jerking his cock in front of her face. “don’t you dare fucking move, fucking shit!” he gasps as his orgasm finally takes over, nearly knocking the wind out of his chest from the intensity. warm spurts shoot from his tip and onto her awaiting tongue and he’s just groaning above her as he empties himself for her.

she takes everything he has to offer, watching his biceps and abs contract as he keeps stroking himself a over her. by the time he’s finished, he’d tongue is coated and some of his cum is even dribbling down her chin. reaching forward, he grabs her neck and keeps her still before gathering some of his saliva and spitting right into her open mouth, humming in satisfaction when she keeps it there without him having to tell her. he lets go and just watches her for a moment, loving to see her struggle to keep her tongue out. “swallow,” he commands and she’s instantly closing her mouth and letting the mixture of cum and spit go down her throat.

~

[moonstruckme]

hi, love! just wanna say first of all that i love your writing and your account. keep up the good work!

second of all, i was wondering if i could put in a sort of specific request? i'm currently on my period and the bloating is making me feel really bad about my body ☹️ so i was hoping maybe you could write a fic where Steve comforts Reader when she's going through something like that?

feel free to disregard this if it's too heavy of a topic, i know it can be triggering to talk about things like this for some people.

wishing you all the best! 🫶🏻

- @honeysuckleharringtons 🍯💛

Thanks so much babe!

cw: period cramps, insecurities arounds stomach/bloating

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 861 words

You think your favorite place has to be lying between Steve’s legs, with one of his hands clasped in yours and the other on your boob. If you focus really hard, you can hear his heart beating underneath your ear. You’re watching some mindless sitcom, trying to distract yourself from this blessedly mild round of cramps and silently debating whether having chocolate ice cream is worth getting up and going to the store to get it. But if Steve keeps running his thumb over the back of your hand like this, you might melt right into the couch and then the decision would be made for you. 

It happens so gradually you almost don’t even notice. Steve knows to be gentle with you when you’re sensitive like this, his hand massaging the fat of your boob kindly before grazing lower to rub at the skin just beneath it. Then it goes lower still, and you tense when he dips under the hem of your shirt and takes a handful of your stomach in his grasp. 

Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice that you’ve stopped breathing, kneading at the supple chub of your middle absentmindedly, but you lower your hand to his, bringing it back up into comfortable territory. Then he looks at you, a questioning glance out of the corner of his eye. You pretend not to see. His hand drifts slowly, tentatively, back towards your stomach. 

“Don’t,” you say softly, taking it again before it can get there. It’s not a reprimand so much as a gentle request, but still, Steve’s eyebrows furrow. 

“What’s the deal?” he asks, echoing your mild tone. “I thought stomach rubs were supposed to help with cramps.” 

You soften. “That’s really sweet of you,” you tell him, “but I’m okay. I just don’t love the idea of my stomach being, like, perceived right now.” 

“Perceived?” Steve angles his head to see you better, hand resting on the flat of your chest. “Why, what’s wrong with it?” 

“It’s just bloated.” You sink a bit further between his legs, avoiding his stare. “It’s like, remember that time I came over without telling you and you didn’t want me to see your hair first thing in the morning?” 

“Yeah, you mean the time you told me to stop being a priss and get over it? That time?” 

You chuckle. “Right, well, I guess it’s kind of like that.” 

Steve hums, playing with your fingers distractedly. “Okay,” he says after a minute, “I just want to preface this by saying that I really like you, and I think you’re smart and cool. Okay?”

He leans over until he can see your face, and you nod warily.

“You’re being stupid.” 

A laugh startles out of you, but Steve doesn't give you a chance for rebuttal. 

“You’re hot, babe.” He says it deadpan, like it’s a fact he had to memorize in school. “Like, smoking hot. The idea that you would give a shit, much less think I would give a shit, about your stomach being bloated is insane. And you trying to keep me from touching it is, like, practically criminal. Aren’t your tits bloated too?” 

“Um,” you hesitate, somehow more self-conscious than you had been when this began, “yeah?” 

“Right,” he says proudly. “And not to be a creep, but I’ve kind of been enjoying the shit out of those for the past couple of hours.” 

“Steve.” You laugh awkwardly, squirming underneath his gaze. “That’s different, and you know it.” 

He shrugs, looking you plain in the face. “Not to me. Listen, babe,” he drops his voice into a more sincere register, “I like you—your stomach, your tits, all of it—all of the time. And I think it’d make you feel better if you let me rub your stomach for you right now, so just let me, and if I start to find you any less hot, I promise to let you know.” The implication in his tone is clear: like, when pigs fly. 

You look at him for a while. Steve can surprise you with his stubbornness sometimes. His eyelashes don’t so much as flicker under your perusal. 

“Okay,” you sigh, getting comfortable again in his lap. “Fine, have at it.” 

“Yes,” he hisses, his hand going back down and taking in a greedy handful of your swollen belly. You start to tense, nerves making your head go staticky, but gradually you’re able to relax. Steve with his hands on you is no foreign thing. He starts to push down tentatively, asking you to coach him on where you need it the most until he’s gently massaging over the ache. You let your eyes slip closed. You honestly hadn’t expected it to bring quite so much relief. 

“Did Robin put you up to this?” you ask quietly. 

Steve’s soft chuckle confirms your theory. “You’ve got her to thank for the chocolate ice cream in the fridge, too.” 

A smile spreads across your face, and you can hear him laugh again at how blissed-out you must look. “Remind me to give her a hug the next time I see her.” 

“You could just give it to me instead," he says. "I’ll pass it along.”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: What M6 get from their parents

~ for the Vesuvia Weekly prompt, "I see where you got it from"! ~

Julian

For someone who's never claimed to be a sailor, he sure spends a lot of time at sea and dreaming about future boats

It's much less surprising when he starts talking about the few hazy memories he has of being the oldest son of merchant parents. His early childhood was spent playing above and below decks

Which explains his specific brand of wanderlust pretty well. Instead of it being a boredom with the mundane or a fear of commitment, it's this deep sense of himself as a global citizen

He's happiest in marketplaces and finding his family among odd groups of people from all over the world, what can he say??

Not to mention his "if I can't find what I need here, maybe I just need to try somewhere else" mentality when it comes to problem solving. Need more education? Time to visit a new country!

It would make sense for his natural aptitude with learning new languages, forming quick connections, and creating collaborations to have come from fairly successful merchant parents as well

Whether that's also where he got his godawful cooking skills from, or whether that's just a "him" thing, remains up for debate

Asra

You learned it pretty quickly after meeting them - you know exactly where that constant, almost insatiable curiosity comes from

That, and the tendency to have a new thought, forget the current conversation, and trail off into disjointed mumbles as said thought gets rapidly unpacked and explored from several angles

If Salim is who Asra gets his brain from, Aisha is where he got his spirit. That stubborn hope and determined dedication to care for who he loves? He got that from the women who looked the Devil dead in the eye and told him to leave her child alone or else

You can also see a lot of the way Asra relates to you in the way their parents relate to each other. It's that easy, intuitive comfort of shedding pretenses from the get go and embracing uniqueness

Why bother trying to show off what you're good at, when you could try something new together instead? Sure they could give you a tour of their gate - or Salim could give his experimental magic a test run now that you're around to help out!

Not to mention how all three of them seem to know healing magic

And they all love a good cup of tea

Nadia

She could spend hours telling you exactly how unlike her sisters and parents she is, but let's be real. Satrinava genes are strong and you could pick one out of a crowd any day

The intelligence levels she couldn't hide if she tried? Check

The absolute perfection of her fashion choices? Check

The habit she can't turn off of looking not just at you but through you with a kind of perceptive, piercing gaze that has no intention of telling you what she's figuring out about you? Also check

(Seriously, every member of her family does it nonstop and at this point you're wondering if you should just give up all your secrets)

The tendency to approach any problem or conflict by openly stating her own opinion/perspective first? Check

The down-to-earth openmindedness that you have to actually talk to her to discover? Check. Nazali seems to be the one exception, but you're pretty sure that's after years of traveling around

The immediate need to take responsibility for whatever's going on, or more accurately, going wrong? Check

Somehow always smells nice? Check

Muriel

There was a lot about Muriel that you thought was "just Muriel" until you made that trip South together and saw all the subtle ways he became more grounded in himself

Nobody's concerned about taking up too much space in vast tundra. No wonder he always seemed to feel cramped

It also seemed a bit counterintuitive for such a minimalist furnace of a man to own a veritable pile of furs until you walked into Khamgalai's hut. He might not remember it, but he probably spent his first few years wrapped and dressed in them

Not to mention his tendency to fill his space with earthy, herbal smells to the point of carrying pouches of it with him. There were dried foraged plants all over the rafters there

What eventually came to be one of his strongest ties, though, was his craftsmanship. How someone who disliked frivolous things did so much detail was beyond you, until you saw those tapestries

And, of course, the remnants of years of nomadic movement in his need to spend hours at a time outside every day, keeping a steady pace through the forest to assure himself that all is well

Portia

This didn't spring out at you from her the way it did from her brother, but Portia has a capacity for dramatics that she does a deviously excellent job of downplaying

Sure, she seems considerably better adjusted and grounded than he does, and sure, her tendency to compensate for the unique needs of her loved ones shows up in being hypercompetent

But you're certain at this point that at least one of her parents was a hell of an actor/dramatist. You've watched how easily she can put on whatever face she needs to accomplish what she wants

Not to mention the love of stories and art of storytelling. You know you're at a Devorak gathering when both you and half the other people in the area are totally drawn in to a fond memory retelling

You can also see the makings of traveling merchants in her job as Vesuvia's ambassador. It's almost scary how easily she makes herself at home spending months at sea, going place to place

And both scary and awe-inspiring when she finds herself locked in negotiations. Whether with a marketplace stall owner, or a stubborn noble with an import she wants, she's indomitable

Lucio

Honestly, beyond their physical similarities, it's pretty hard at first to see all the ways in which Lucio takes after his mother

They're both such strong products of their environment. Morga is stern, stonefaced, and (to put it bluntly) stingy, but she takes accountability beyond her means and always faces hard choices

Lucio is the opposite. Loud, expressive, flamboyant, unconcerned with discipline or rules, terrified of hard choices or accountability, and (when he's not under duress) generous to a fault

The first place you saw it? Their dismissiveness, unfortunately

As soon as it's not something they understand or relate to, they both lose interest in talking about it and tend to be quick to brush it aside, often without pausing to consider other's feelings first

Not to mention how quickly both of them jump to using aggression to express themselves. You can tell it's got a whole lot more to do with how intensely they feel things than any bad intentions

But the trait you learn they share most is what you take the longest to notice: quiet, unassuming protection as a subconscious love language. They'll always keep watch when you're vulnerable

[kooktrash]

the art of obsession | kim taehyung [teaser]

NOW POSTED

summary: in a world of painters and poets, there were two college students looking for the right sort of inspiration. through devotion in your craft, you find yourself drawn to kim taehyung—a grad student painter who’s everything you’ve ever looked for in a character. his walk, his form of speech, his art, it all captivated you to the point where you wanted to recreate him in words and you begin to realize how similar the two of you really are. you share a sort of obsession in your work that seems like only each other could understand and he invites you into his world of oil paints and charcoals in hopes of drawing you on paper.

✎ genre/au: dark academia. college au. painter!taehyung x writer!y/n [afab. she/her]

✎ TBD

“There is no beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.” — Edgar Allan Poe

warnings: smut. slight obsession. prestigious college. dark characters. tae literally takes oc to a graveyard. MORE WARNINGS TO COME

“I told you, it might be scary,” Taehyung said as he walked parallel to the graveyard toward a tree that stood tall along the sloping hill, “But this is the best view of twilight, if you want, I could walk you back to campus.”

“No, it’s fine,” you cleared your throat deciding to walk ahead of him so you could be the one sitting upright against the tree. Taehyung dropped his backpack a few feet away from you and began getting his things out.

You didn’t question him, only observed the way he carried on like you weren’t even there. It’s not like you minded, you didn’t have any real agenda to get him to spend time with you and frankly, you felt a bit relieved to see that he wasn’t trying to figure out what you wanted. It was unspoken the way the two of you seemed to think similarly and brought out your tools.

Taehyung didn’t say anything when he flipped his sketchbook open and found a charcoal he could use as he began to sketch without much thought into it. He even made himself comfortable by lying back, using the angle of the hill to help him not lay horizontally and he bent a knee up as a sort of flat surface he could rest his book on. There was a small breeze that carried through his linen shirt and brown trousers but he wasn’t much worried about himself.

He was more worried about you, who had asked to spend time with him but had no real plan to do so. He’ll admit, when he said no it was just on reflex from all the other times he’s out right rejected others before but he only thought it over because he’s been curious of you two. When you told him you would join him for a moment he debated saying no again because this was his favorite place to be to watch the sunset but it wasn’t all that normal. He even tried to warn you and offer to take you back when you saw the graveyard but you didn’t even seem to care when you sat down. Now that he’s looking at you up close, he can see the way your brows furrowed in concentration as you scribbled in your journal, already feeling inspiration.

It’s now that Taehyung is realizing why he’s been so curious. He finds you beautiful, he’s sure he’s mentioned that before, but he finds you beautiful in an unsettling way. Just looking at you seemed to send him into a wave of emotion like you’re exactly what he’s wished to create on canvas. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hands were working away to make another sketch, eyes on you as he worked.

“What are you writing in that little journal of yours?” He found himself asking after some time. The sketch was rough and yet it was so refined that there was no mistaking what it could be. It was a monochromatic sketch of you with your back against the tree, legs straight before you and your hair covering your face with the howl of the wind. Your hands looked delicate when you wrote and you looked so lost in your own work that managed to capture that same essence in his drawing.

Your eyes met his and he didn’t back down from the stare even as it intensified with each passing second until finally you said, “I’ll tell you if you show me what you’ve been doing in that little sketchbook of yours.”

For some reason a small smile came to his face as he laid on his side using his elbow for support and reached over to hand you the sketchbook. You took it with a sense of excitement that quickly turned into disbelief as you looked at it. The back of your index finger hovered over it but never touched for fear that you would smudge it and when you finally handed it back to him, wordlessly, you gave him your journal.

At this exchange, Taehyung moved to sit up, not bothering to brush off any loose grass blades off his linen shirt and read over a short passage.

A certain coolness in his gaze that made him appear cruel.

A charming aura that seemed timeless, not modern but ancient like he was created from every classic literature known to man.

His gaze, his smile, his voice—all deep like red velvet.

The list went on, each short sentence followed by another in what one could assume was meant to describe him. He didn’t say anything either as he handed it back to you the same way you had done with his sketchbook. Neither of you were looking for critique or praise, more so acknowledgement of what the other had been doing and once you had it, it was enough.

Taehyung stared forward as the line of bright Orange finally vanished from the sky and a cool blue clouded it. Nothing was said as you both stood up with your things and even less was brought up on your walk back to campus.

It wasn’t until you stood at the bus stop that Taehyung decided to ask, “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“No.”

He pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket in his trousers followed by a pen as he scribbled something down before handing it to you, “Meet me here

at 8:00pm.”

You didn’t have to say anything for Taehyung to know you would show and he left without much of a goodbye.

::.

here’s just a little snippet of what I’ve been working on bc I miss fall and need it to hurry up

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby

[urmomsbunkmate]

Accidents happen ?

Kirishima x femreader

Potential series if u BOOTYFUL people would like

Warnings- nude taking? Boobies, hot sexy momma y/n, female masturbation if u squint. suggestive shit rn but if we do more then the suggesting will be literal. I cannot think of anything else rn

Synopsis-Y/N SENDS ACCIDENTALLY SENT NUDE TO A KINDHEARTED and CUTE BOY.

OR

EIJIRO KRISHIMA GETS SENT NUDES FROM THE PRETTY GIRL IN ART CLASS.

———

The sun was long gone as Y/n released low sigh, situating herself in front of her large mirror, sitting on the ground practically nude. The pink lace accentuated her perky breasts and her hardened nipples after rolling them between her fingers, contrasting against her soft tan skin. She slightly angled herself to the left making her ass curve into the picture. The lingerie wrapped around her tailbone wearing as a thong. although the lining was moved to the side as she teased herself, knowing this Denki guy wasn't going to send anything cum worthy back. They were all just so useless.

The brushed her wavy pink hair cascade down her boobs, a messy look that is arousing in this context. Her lips were glistening in glistening lip gloss, the upper part of her face was never included in the pictures of course.  She drew a line at that. Her future had some have some hope.

Y/n knows she's pretty. She knows. But she hates when other people only treat her as a pretty face, expecting sex or nudes just because she's a beautiful girl. Her old boyfriends did that. People still do that. She's treated like a plastic barbie with this box she lives in, a box people think her whole life revolves around. People think the box contains booze and sex and nothing nice - she's just a pretty face, what more can she be? The box cannot possibly contain anything other than those things, like intelligence and integrity.

The girl sighs, the thought of what she has become haunts her. She never wanted to be this: this Barbie in a plastic box, one who says yes to sex and nudes and doesn't refuse, one who goes through the motions like a robot as greasy jocks have the best orgasm of their life, one who longs for a sense of stability, of integrity. Your quirks pretty much define you for the rest of your life, and she could do nothing to change that. Y/n wants a nice boyfriend, one who actually cares about her, one who knows her birthday and gives her a kiss on the forehead out of the blue, one who isn't afraid to be her person despite the repercussions that come with her. She's said to be too pretty for a relationship, too much of a whore. Who'd want to date her?

So many people have called her a whore that she just sticks with it, knowing she'll be nothing more.

Y/n snaps from her trance, looking at herself in the mirror before continuing what she prepares herself for. Y/n settled on the perfect one, and she's tempted to send it to the chat since she debates it's her best one yet. The lingerie is just perfectly in place, her lips are slightly parted, breasts pushed up and shadowed from the light, making them bigger.

She knows this'll give Denki what he wants.

Putting on plaid shorts and a large sweatshirt, she yawns, seeing the time is nearing midnight. It's usually around the time she goes to bed on a school night, given her homework is massive and she normally spends the majority of her time doing school related things.

Padding against her carpet floor, she lazily walks to the other side of the room to turn on her fan, something that is background noise and allows her to sleep with ease. Her eyes are lethargically glued to her screen, blinking sleepily as she types out the number clicking the K and selecting the first number she saw.

Choosing the photo and pressing send without any further thought, the clueless girl goes to bed, not knowing what she has done.

Where as the boy just trying to work out before he falls asleep get the most jaw dropping notification from an unknown number.

Y/n

(1 attached photo)

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

Um I don't think u meant to do that

Y/n

oh my god

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

It okay don't worry we all make stupid mistakes

Y/n

hello kind person, that was not meant for u 🥰

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

I didn't look for more that 2 seconds if it makes u feel better

Y/n

Not really but I'm so fuckin sorry

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

😭😭 it's okay

Y/n

Can u delete it please 🙏

For the sake of the people

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

Oh I did that ages ago

I kinda worked out it wasn't for me

Y/n

thank u ☺️ i could literally kiss u

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

Like what else am I supposed to do?

Y/n

The male race has no boundaries

I'm not willing to push what is already not there

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

On behalf of the male race I'm sorry!🫶

Some of them just aren't manly

Y/n

ur an angel

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

So I've been told

Y/n

It means a lot that u delete it btw

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

That what I'm here for saving the day

U look pretty in pink

(Deleted)

Y/n

Don't go a heroic on me

Is that all u 1-A kids do?

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

Nahhh we also braid each others hair when the times right

It's good team bonding

Y/n

😬

Imma assume it's a joke but my hearts telling me otherwise

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

I'll guess u will never know

Y/n

I like u red

Ur nicer than I though you'd be

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

Compliment? I'll take it

Y/n

Good choice

I gotta go sleep

See u in art red

KIRISHIMA ( art class)

Good night

Kirishima dropped his phone upon his aches and let out a loud sigh. His cheeks flushed a red colour, imitating his face. The whole situation was utterly insane but somehow, in some weird fucked up way his ultimate classroom crush had initiated conversations. Well not conversation of such, but now he felt like he could say hello or wave when he saw her without making it utterly weird

Oh actually he could probably take that back. It will probably make his crush on her 10 times more awkward. Unless she didn't find it awkward, wait did he make her uncomfortable.

The boy grabbed onto his pillow and shouted a loud "you idiot!" Into the fabric. What is wrong with him.

“Shut your fucking face shitty hair!” A shout followed by pounding on his wall echoed into his room.

“Sorry.”

———

Omg okay let’s not idk if I’m feeling it, I tried not to hold back or go all the way in. So this is what I’ve got.

Please like and comment if I should continue on?? Does our fake red baby ever get to see the big titi queen again ?

Like people what should I do👎🫄🏿🍋😁🔛🚶🏿‍♀️🤪🫶🏃🏻‍♂️🔛☺️😊

[jennay]

I’m losing it

Request: let's say the reader has to stay at home to look after a sick older relative, but she is neglecting her own life, putting her own life on hold; so Noah pays her a surprise visit so they can spend some time together, so she can have a day to distract herself; just to remind her that she can count on him and that it's okay to allow herself to take care of herself.. That everything will be fine, he's there.

Noah master list

Word Count: 3500ish

No Warnings

An: I Hope this is what you were going for. Enjoy 💜

Noah waited for several rings before he decided it was time to hang up the phone. He texted you several times throughout the day, hoping to get your attention, but it seemed like you were busier than usual lately. He didn't want to be an overbearing boyfriend, but he also needed confirmation that you were okay, and he wouldn't complain about having some other company than the men in his band. He loved them like brothers, but even brothers got annoyed with each other, and while they were on tour, it wasn't like he could escape from them.

Noah laid back on the couch as he turned the TV on. He needed something to drown out his worries.

"What's got your feathers all ruffled?" Jolly asks as he sits on a stool by Noah. He hands Noah a beer, and he gladly accepts his offer.

"Can't get ahold of (y/n)." He pops the lid of his drink.

"She's probably fine, dude. It's like midnight there. Isn't she her Grandma's caregiver? Old people get up early."

Noah sits up, crossing one leg over the other, still staring at the top of his can, debating if he wanted the alcohol because he was stressed or if it was because he would enjoy it. "She didn't text me today." He frowns, checking his phone one last time. "It's not normal."

"Call her in the Morning-"

"Hold on." He said, quickly answering your video call. "Hey!" He exclaims, getting up and walking to the back of the bus, leaving Jolly behind.

He saw you yawn in the dim light of your lamp. "Sorry to wake you up."

You shook your head and stretched on the bed, holding the phone above you. "You didn't. I was just about to sleep. Sorry, I didn't text you back. I kept forgetting, and I had so much to do today. It's been crazy here, and I feel like I'm losing my mind." You covered your eyes with your hand, trying not to cry. You didn't want to burden Noah with your problems, especially when he was so far away from you. "I should get some sleep." You whispered, removing your hand from your face.

"Baby…" Noah said softly, noticing the tears in your eyes. You looked different. Your eyes were duller than usual, you had dark circles under them, and your cheeks looked hollow.

"Okay," He said gently; he wanted to talk to you more and listen to your day, even if it was chaotic and stressful, but he felt he didn't know the person on the screen. He wondered if it was the camera angle or if you were losing weight again. He felt anxiety at every thought that crossed his mind. Were you sick, was it stress, or was taking care of your Grandma too much for you? It wasn't like you had any breaks, and even when Noah was around and able to help you, it was only for a few minutes while you showered or cooked dinner. There wasn't enough time to relax and care for yourself.

"I love you." He said sincerely. "I miss you."

"I love you more." You said softly, closing your eyes.

"Are you challenging me?" He joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Because you'll lose every time."

You chuckled weakly, and he was glad to see you smile. "I'm too tired to argue with you right now, Love." You pulled the covers over yourself. "I'll talk to you in the morning. Sleep well."

He nodded in agreement, "I will soon. Bye babe, dream of me!"

You smirked, "I always do."

Noah walks to the other guys' lounging, "Where are we going next?"

Nicholas, who took over Noah's previous spot on the couch, gazes up curiously. "Why."

Noah shrugs, "I think I need to go see (Y/n). She looked rough and I’m a little worried."

His bandmates know better than to fight his ideas; once he was on a mission, Noah was not stopping.

"If you left tomorrow and met us out there. It could work, but you'd have what, less than two days to go there, fly out, and make it to the show?" Nicholas tells him.

"Sweet. Well, guess we're making a pit stop."

Your phone alarm buzzed, and you pressed snooze at least three times before turning it off and getting up. The phone read 7 a.m., and you weren't ready for it.

You weren't the type to complain. You never did, especially in this situation. Even when you felt exhausted, frustrated, or lonely, you kept your mouth shut and your smile on. You didn't want to burden anyone else with your problems or make them think you were ungrateful for what you had.

A part of you guilted yourself every time you thought about what it would be like not to have the responsibility of taking care of your Grandma through her decline.

You loved her with everything you had and didn't regret choosing this path, but you wished you had a better understanding when you offered to help.

You wished you knew how hard it would be to see her forget your name, struggle with simple tasks, or lose interest in life.

You wished you had more support, resources, and time for yourself. But you never said any of this out loud.

Making your way to the bedroom bathroom, you start your routine for the morning. You brush your teeth, wash your face, and comb your hair. You look at yourself in the mirror and try to find some confidence in your appearance.

You put on some makeup and a simple outfit that matches your mood. You exit your room and go to your Grandma's room, knocking on the door and waiting for her to respond. You hear her shuffling to the door, and when she opens it, she stares at you with surprise.

You smile wildly, trying to ignore the signs of her not knowing who you are at this very moment. "Hi, grandma, I was coming to get you for breakfast." You hold your hand for her to grab, remembering your previous training classes.

She smiles warmly and takes your hand. You observe her outfit and note that she dressed herself for the day; that usually meant it would be a good morning.

You take her hand and lead her down the stairs, letting her lean on your shoulder as she descends slowly. You feel her grip tighten with every step and squeeze back reassuringly. You reach the kitchen and help her sit at the table, then go to make some coffee and pop some bread in the toaster.

"What do you want to do today?" You ask.

"I've gotta go to work," She tells you. "That Ranch won't take care of itself."

You bite your bottom lip, knowing she hasn't worked in years. "Well," You say, grabbing her toast and coffee for her to bring to her. "You have today off. Grandpa went and asked that I spend some quality time with you. He said you need to have a girl's day with me." You hated lying to her like this, but you knew it was the only way to help her through these things. She was diagnosed with Dementia a year ago, and you'd been taking online classes and seminars in hopes of learning how to cope and help a loved one with the disease.

"Oh," She says, sipping her coffee. "He's such a good man. You know we've been married for 62 years." She smiles, and you wonder what memories are going through her mind. "We were so young, and he was just as handsome as ever."

You bring your coffee over and sit next to her. "I bet! He'd have to be to score a woman like you!"

She giggles at your remark, "Should we see Betty Lou today?" She asks, referring to her sister.

You must think of another lie quickly before she notices something is wrong, or your mood has shifted. "It sounds like you're trying to get rid of me." You joke.

She smiles, tilting her chin to meet your eyes, "You need a husband."

No matter how far gone she'd gotten or aged, she would never stop giving you a hard time about not having a husband. She often forgot about Noah, and when you'd show her pictures, she would gush and tell you how handsome he was and that someday you'd have beautiful babies; she couldn't wait for that day. She once told Noah she knew a priest who could marry the two of you in the kitchen that day, and when you refused, she scolded you.

"I think we should get some baking done today." You say, changing the conversation. "I love those chocolate chip cookies you make."

Her eyes light up at the thought, and she agrees without hesitation. One of her favorite things to do was bake treats for everyone.

When she finishes her coffee and breakfast, you take her plates, and she follows you to the kitchen. You wonder how this will end; the last time the two of you did this, you nearly lost your cool. You tried to be patient, and you tried to be understanding, but you would grow tired and frustrated just as anyone else would.

You put on some music and start gathering the ingredients for the cookies. You hope the familiar activity will calm her down and bring back some happy memories.

You smile as you watch her hum along to the songs she used to sing to you when you were little. You measure the flour and sugar and hand them to her. She pours them into a large bowl and mixes them with a wooden spoon. You take the time to crack the eggs and add them to the bowl, along with some vanilla extract.

You open the bag of chocolate chips and pour some into a small bowl. You hand it to her and tell her to add them to the dough. She looks at you with a puzzled expression.

"What are these?" She asks, pointing at the chocolate chips. She doesn't remember what chocolate chips are. How could she forget something so simple and delicious? You try to hide your sadness and explain to her. "They're chocolate chips, Grandma. They make the cookies taste good. You love them, remember?" She shakes her head and pushes the bowl away.

"No, I don't like chocolate. It's too sweet." She says, making a face. You stare at her in disbelief. She doesn't like chocolate? That's impossible. She used to eat chocolate every day, sometimes even for breakfast.

She would always sneak you some when your parents weren't looking. She would say that chocolate was good for the soul and that life was too short to deny yourself pleasure.

How could she forget that? You feel anger and frustration. You want to scream at her and tell her that she's wrong, that she's not herself, that she's losing her mind. You want to shake her and make her remember who she is, who you are, and who you were. But you know that won't help. You know that won't change anything. You know you must be patient and understanding, even when it hurts.

You take a deep breath and force a smile. "That's okay, grandma." You say, gently taking the bowl from her hands. "We can make something else if you want." You look around the kitchen and see a bunch of bananas on the counter. You remember that she used to make banana bread with you when you were little. Maybe she would like that better. Perhaps she would remember that.

"Hey, how about we make some banana bread?" You suggest picking up a banana and peeling it. "You used to make the best banana bread in the world."

She looks at you with a faint smile. "Did I?" She asks, taking the banana from you and breaking it into pieces.

You nod enthusiastically. "Yes, you did." You say, hoping that she will believe you. "And I'm sure you still do." You grab another banana and peel it, handing it to her. She takes it and adds it to the bowl with the flour and sugar mixture. Add baking soda, salt, butter, and milk, stirring everything together. You hope that this will work out better than the cookies. You hope that this will make her happy. You hope that this will make you happy too.

She is exhausted after a few hours of work, and you gently wipe her hands and change her into comfortable clothes. You tuck her onto the living room couch with her favorite show, I Love Lucy, playing on the TV. You sit beside her and exhale deeply, feeling mentally drained. You tell yourself you'll close your eyes only for a moment, but that moment turns into a deep slumber; opening your eyes feels nearly impossible. You have been sleeping with your door open at night and constantly listening out for your Grandma. It has been hard to sleep sometimes, and it has only worsened as her condition deteriorated.

It's been hard for you to watch her decline and to be her primary caregiver. Today was a good day, but you still felt overwhelmed. Love wasn't always enough. Your eyes snap open when you hear knocking on your front door. You don't bother getting up at first. It is probably the mailman reminding Grandma to check her mail. He does it almost daily, but you open your eyes and get up when the knocking persists.

"I'm coming!" It seems like whenever you need rest the most, you are interrupted.

You open the door, ready to take the mail from the man, but your mouth drops with surprise. You can't believe your eyes.

Noah stands at your front door, smiling and holding his arms out. He pushes through the door and wraps you in a hug. "Surprise!" He says, kissing you, but you're still in shock. "What?" He says, looking at you with amusement. "You're not excited to see me?"

"Noah," You finally say, tears forming in your eyes. "What are you doing here? How did you…?" You pull him back to you, resting your head on his chest, and hold him tighter.

"I just wanted to surprise you." He says casually. "I was thinking we could go out for a little bit." He pulls back, bringing his hand to cup your face.

You can see the worry in his eyes as he watches you intently. His thumb gently brushes the free-falling tear. "I can't, you know that..." You say, glancing over at your sleeping Grandmother. "I can't just leave."

You close the door behind Noah and watch his eyes curiously bounce around the home. "It smells like banana bread."

"We did some baking...and-"

He cuts you off quickly, "Go shower. You have flour all over your shirt, and your aunt will be here soon, so we can go out for the evening."

You open your mouth to say something, but Noah shakes his head, "Go, besides, Grandma loves me. We'll be fine if she wakes up." He leans down, kissing you again before hurrying you up the stairs.

You felt like you were in the shower for hours, but in all reality, it had been 30 minutes. It must've been the longest shower you've taken in a while, and it felt so nice not to worry about anything while Noah was downstairs.

You take your time brushing your tangled hair, putting on a little makeup, and getting dressed up in a lovely summer dress with cute wedged high heels, nothing too fancy or flashy. You don't want to draw attention to yourself or make Noah feel uncomfortable. He is already doing so much for you by being here.

As you walk into the kitchen, you hear dishes clink together and mentally slap yourself, remembering all the dishes you left in your sink. You had been too busy and stressed to deal with them, but now you feel guilty for making Noah do your chores. He is scrubbing away with a smile on his face while your aunt leans against the counter, talking to him. She seems to like him, which is rare for her. She usually disapproves of anyone of the male gender.

"You didn't have to do that." You tell him. You rest your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He freezes briefly and then relaxes against your touch. "It's not a big deal, babe." He leans down and presses his lips against your hair, inhaling your scent. "I wanted to help out."

You smile, thankfully releasing your grip from around him. You say hi to your aunt but not much more. You weren't close with your family, and it often showed. You always thought it should be her caring for her mother, not you. But she had her own life and problems, and you had yours.

"Let's get out of here," Noah says as he dries his hands on the stove towel. Sensing the tension, he turns to your aunt, "It was nice seeing you again. We won't be too late."

When you exit the door, you hand Noah your car keys, "Where are we going?"

"I thought we could go downtown, get something to eat, and see where the night goes." He says, opening the car door for you.

You get in and close the door behind you. "I'm so glad you're here." You say, touching his arm. "Thank you for coming."

He pulls out of the driveway, "You don't have to thank me, babe. These are things you do when you love someone."

Noah glances from the road and at you, wondering what's going through your mind now. "I'm kinda worried about you taking this on by yourself." He admits. "I can see it's taking a toll on you."

You feel a tightness in your chest, "I'm okay, Noah. I just need to get into a better sleep routine." You try to sound casual, but your voice cracks.

He rests his hand on your thigh, rubbing your skin with his thumb. "Babe, it's not just the sleep." He looks at you with concern and love in his eyes.

You groan, not wanting to have this conversation with him, "Can we not do this right now?" You wish he would just drop it and let you be.

Noah pulls to the curb next to all the shops and small dinners. He turns the car off, walks to your side of the door, and offers his hand to you. "Well," He says, pulling you out of the car, "I think it's a conversation we need to have." He says as he guides you to the sidewalk. "You're neglecting yourself." Noah sighs when he sees you shutting down, your eyes staring at the ground, and you're hardly paying attention to what he's saying. "You know I'm happy to help, right?"

That gets your attention. Your head tilts up, brows furrowed, and you look at him, annoyed, "It's not your burden. Your job is touring the world and making music, not helping me care for my Grandma."

Noah stops in his tracks, growing frustrated. He pulls your arm back, dragging you to him. He holds both of your hands in his and leans forward, "My first job is taking care of you." He says, voice stern but calm. He wasn't budging on this. He cups your face with his hands and kisses you softly, "I love you more than anything, and I want you to be happy and healthy. Please let me help you." He pleads with his eyes, hoping you will open up to him.

You know he means well, but you feel guilty for putting him through this. You hug him tightly and whisper, "I feel like I have to do everything by myself."

Noah strokes your hair and kisses your forehead, "You don't have to do anything alone. I knew this was a thing from the beginning. We're in this together. Let me show you how much I care." He kisses your temple, "It's you and me against the world."

You look into his eyes and feel a wave of love, "Okay, okay. You win. I'll let you help me."

Noah beams proudly, "That's my girl. Come on, let's get some ice cream. You deserve a treat."

[blindmagdalena]

I wanted to send in a request I thought of :) Homelander watching reader run to their work because they're late and thinking they're cute, so he flys them there. Thank you!

Admittedly, there's something neat about the toil of people's mundane little lives.

Homelander has a bird's eye view of it all from atop the city skyscrapers. Above it all, with the roar of the wind in his ears, it's easier to find a moment of peace. He can lose himself watching the hustle and bustle of the world moving beneath him, like a child staring down at a colony of ants swarming around a sugar cube.

Amidst the mess of them, he sees one moving quicker than the others. A mad dash of sorts. At first, he thinks it might be a job: a robbery, or some kind of pursuit. He hones his vision in on you, but instead of anything exciting, he sees that the thing you're racing for is just the bus.

Which you miss.

Homelander smirks to himself, canting his head to one side. You're braced against a light post, breathing hard, flushed. Your clothes are disheveled, a work bag hanging haphazardly off your shoulder.

You look... cute.

Glancing around, Homelander shrugs. He's got nothing better to do. Stepping off the building, he lets himself fall several dozen feet before his flight kicks in, and his body takes to a horizontal angle. He debates for a moment stopping, explaining himself to you first, but where's the fun in that?

Instead, he slows just enough not to give you whiplash, and plucks you right up off the curb, trying not to laugh at the way you scream. You're perfectly safe, his arms supporting your legs and your back, keeping you tucked against his chest, but you still clamber for purchase. You immediately take hold of his collar, while your other hand blindly grabs a fistful of hair at the back of his head.

He very nearly swerves before collecting himself.

"Hiya!" He greets, sporting his finest hero's grin. "Where ya headed?"

You do a double take, looking from him to the ground, and then back at him, wide-eyed and in disbelief. "H-Homelander?! What-why-I-"

"Heyy, hey, hey! It's alright," he laughs, rolling to fly on his back, sitting up slightly, offering you more support. "Saw you miss your bus. Thought I'd lend a hand. Well, two hands. So, where're you headed?"

"Work..." You answer breathlessly, staring up at him with wide, buggy eyes. Your heart is thundering, your skin warm with the flush of it.

He slowly quirks a brow. "Which is... Where?"

"Oh, right, sorry, it's, uhm, the corner of Bowery and 4th," you say, hands still locked tight on his collar and in his hair. Disbelief looks good on you.

"Quite a grip you've got," he says, twisting once more through the air, rebalancing so that he's looking where he's going.

"Sorry!" You chirp, quickly pulling your hand from his hair. You look mortified with yourself, but curiously enough, you've not once broken eye contact with him.

"Ever met a hero before?" He asks, shamelessly fishing.

"Uh, no. Lamplighter spoke at a seminar I attended once, but he didn't... No, I haven't." Your grip on his collar has eased some, but you're still clinging to it, knuckles just barely brushing his bare throat. He's trying not to be too distracted by it. "Do heroes often ferry civilians who're late to work?"

"Just the cute ones," he answers with a sly wink.

Your eyes widen, lips parted. You look dumbstruck and kissable, but for now he's enjoying his little game too much. He's luxuriating in personifying the mysterious hero who descended from the heavens and inexplicably ascended with you, rescuing you not from death or destruction, but something as simple as a late start to your day.

After a beat, you laugh sheepishly. "Just the cute heroes, or just the cute civilians?"

"Looks to me like it's both," he quips, wearing charm as easily as any mask.

"You think you're cute?" You bounce right back, settling into a smile of your own.

Your quick wit earns a bark of laughter from him. "Who, me? I think I'm adorable," he says, waggling his brows. He's charmed by the way you laugh at that: not overly pitchy or false. You have a sincerity to your laugh that he likes. "Oh, brother," you say, finally looking away. There's a fond kind of exasperation in your voice that makes the exchange feel familiar. You're not just cute, you're real, too.

"You disagree?" He asks, feigning offense with an exaggerated lift of his brows.

You keep your gaze averted, chewing at your bottom lip. He can tell you're biting back your smile. You can't help it. You must be terribly endeared already. How could you not be?

"Would you drop me if I did?" You ask, throwing him a sidelong glance.

He pretends to consider it. "Mm, yeah. Probably."

You laugh, sounding equal parts alarmed and amused. "Then, out of self preservation, I guess I will have to agree," you say, turning to look properly at him. "I think you're very cute."

Unexpected warmth blossoms in his chest at that, softening his expression into a gentler delight, his smile emphasizing the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

All too soon, the two of you arrive at your destination. Homelander floats gently to the ground just outside your office building, parting the flow of civilians who eagerly take note of Homelander's presence, pulling out their phones to snap a photo or thirty up close and personal.

Homelander sets you on your feet before his hands reflexively settle on his hips, the classic hero stance. You pull out your phone, and huff a soft laugh. "Wow, I'm... almost twenty minutes early," you say, slipping your phone back into your pocket. "I... Thank you, Homelander."

"My pleasure, ah...?" He extends a hand to you, and you make a sweet little noise of apology as you shake his hand, giving him your name. Homelander smiles as he repeats it back to you, testing the weight of it on his tongue. He likes it.

"I guess I will... see you around?" You say, taking a step back. There's a crowd starting to gather, circling the two of you with cellphones at the ready, taking either photos or videos, both of the two of you and of themselves with the two of you. Your face is going to be all over Twitter in seconds, he knows. The world will want to know who you are.

He finds himself wanting to know the same.

"You just might," he replies, smiling broadly. "After all, I know where you work."

He's not kidding, but you both laugh like it's a joke anyways.

"Uhm, excuse me, mister Homelander? Could I get a selfie?" Someone from the crowd asks, tentatively stepping forward.

Homelander glances over at them, and then back to you. He offers you a little salute, and says, "Catch you later." Next, he turns back to the crowd, and beckons the person forward. "Course you can! C'mon over."

Patiently, he takes a couple dozen pictures. He grins broadly for each one, though the contrast between these smiles and the ones he shared with you feels sharp. However, something that keeps him around a little longer is the fact he can see you out of his peripheral, lingering in the doorway of your building, smiling at him.

Eventually, it must come to an end.

"Alright, alright, thank you folks! Always a pleasure! Thank you! Ahah, remember, you guys are the real heroes! Get out there and prove it! Keep this country great!" He says, rattling off his party lines as he points to random members of the crowd, lifting up from the sidewalk.

He chances one last look to the doorway, but you're already gone. He's surprised to feel an unsettling pang of disappointment at your absence. He hums softly to himself. With that, he takes off across the sky.

No matter. He's already decided that he will be seeing you again.

[fandangotales]

Sweet… and bitter.

Summary: A sweet embrace (Xiao), and a bitter spiral (Scara)

Warnings: Cult AU, first half is very wholesome. Pure fluff! Second half includes spiraling thoughts, and implied murder. Scara is a yandere, or pretty close to it!

The flowers around you swayed gently in the breeze, as you breathed in the slight scent of Qinxin. You smiled, as you held one of the delicate flowers in your hand. Twirling it around, you slowly brought it closer to Xiao’s face. The adeptus frowned, confused by your action.

“Your Grace… what is the meaning of this?” He asked, his golden eyes swirling with curiosity, and a mix of anxiety. He truly didn’t wish to disappoint you, if this was some strange human tradition he was unaware of.

You chuckled, as you brought the Qinxin up to the soft teal tufts of hair on his head. With a gentle motion, you swiftly placed it in his hair, before he could protest. You smiled, admiring your work. It would be a shame to tear your eyes away from such a lovely sight… the light dust of pink forming across Xiao’s face, combined with the pale petals of the Qingxin. Truly a shame… especially when it suited your dear acolyte perfectly.

“Perfect…” you whispered, as you leaned in and brushed your thumb over his cheek. Your soft smile sent his mind into a frenzy, causing him to immediately debate what to do in response. Should he back away? No, that would be disrespectful… He could always smile back, but he didn’t have the confidence for that, especially in the presence of The Creator.

Xiao’s face got darker with the passing seconds, as he was suddenly reminded of how long he was taking to respond. His lips parted, and he let out a soft sound that sounded akin to the beginnings of a word.

“A-ah… um…”

How embarrassing… he couldn’t even form an intelligible response, from just slightest hint of your affection. It was always that way… you were just so overwhelming. So overwhelmingly beautiful, and sweet to him. Similar to the late nights when he’d imagine you next to him, gently stroking his hair as he recovered from the mind breaking bliss he’d brought himself, as he imagined what would happen if you ever saw him as something more than just one of your worshippers.

“Oh my, don’t tell me you’re thinking of something else right now. Your face is awfully red…”

Your words snapped him out of the memory, as he stuttered heavily in response. He simply couldn’t remember a time where he’d been this mortified. Not even in his 2000 years of life.

“Uh… you see… ahem. The adepti do not think of such impure acts.”

He spoke sternly, even though his cheeks remained in a cute shade of pink. His tone cracked at the end though, further confirming your suspicions. You decided to tease him a bit more, leaning in until your soft lips brushed against the shell of his ear.

“Is that so? I find that hard to believe, especially when I can see… how you got quite worked up about something.”

Your eyes trailed down to his lap, pointing out how he was visually aroused. Xiao blushed harder, if that was even possible at this point. He always hated it when you teased him, because it would only elevate whatever he was feeling in the moment.

“…My apologies.” He murmured, looking off to the side, in a futile effort to avoid your gaze. “I-I shouldn’t be responding in this way. Not in your presence, Your Grace.”

Your hand reached out to cup his face, slowly angling it back to make him look straight at you. Your face had a warm smile on it, reassuring and serene, although it did little to quell his worries.

“Xiao, I don’t think I’d mind if you respond in this way. Don’t you know that I favor you? That I… prefer your company over most?”

Your words took a few seconds to register, as his eyes flew open in shock. All of those times you had asked for him to be near, or simply sit with you outside… it wasn’t because you wanted him to protect you.

Oh.

You… wanted him.

As… a person? Not just as a weapon to be used and discarded, and not as some kind of accessory to be owned.

And that gentle, kind smile of yours, combined with the way you were patiently waiting for him to process your words? Too overwhelming… he wasn’t used to being cared for like this. His eyes grew watery, as his emotions swelled within him. Waves of happiness, combined with an even greater feeling of thankfulness overwhelmed his mind. You were too good to him… such a benevolent god for even caring for someone like him.

“Y-your Grace…” Xiao choked out, as tears streamed down his pale cheeks. He appeared to be torn between wanting to feverishly press his lips against yours, and wanting to cling onto you as a way of grounding himself.

Before another tear could streak down his face, those plush lips of yours were against his, in a comforting exchange. His arms wrapped around you, as he returned it wholeheartedly, still in disbelief that this was even happening. He didn’t let go, not even for a second. After a few moments of pure passion, you pulled back, just enough to speak.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that, sweetheart.”

Your smile widened, as you pressed another kiss to his forehead.

“You wouldn’t mind if I were to call you that, hm?”

The only response you got was a stiff nod, as he quickly latched onto your body again. This time, he rested his head on your chest, in an attempt to hide his face. You laughed, hugging him back. He was just… too endearing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A distance away, a soft clatter sounded through the clearing. What was intended to be green tea for two now lay on the ground… with the pot and cups shattered into many pieces. The path gradually soaked up the now cooling tea, as the puppet stood there in silence.

A tense atmosphere filled the area, as he observed you embracing Xiao.

This feeling… it was jealousy.

Pure and unbridled jealousy, as Scara narrowed his eyes at that pathetic and insignificant “adeptus” from afar. How dare he steal your attention. How dare he waste your precious time, when it could be spent with him instead?

Why would you even want to while away your time with such a weakling?!

Scara’s nails dug into his hands, as he continued staring at the two of you from a distance. Karmic debt? What a joke. If anything, that was likely a mere lie intended to steal your attention away from him. To make you fret and give your divine presence to Xiao.

You were too kind for your own good, always bound to fall for the simplest of tricks if it meant helping another person. Such a kind god… one that would be oh so easy to manipulate.

The thought only amplified his feelings… this meant that the other man was taking advantage of you.

Disgraceful.

He wouldn’t allow it. Nobody would hurt you, physically or emotionally, especially after all that you’ve done for him.

Scara’s hand reached up to readjust his hat, effectively shielding his eyes from view. He would take care of this, one way or another.

That’s what a good puppet is supposed to do, isn’t it? To serve it’s master to the extent of it’s abilities.

It doesn’t matter if he gets a bit bloody in the process.

A small smirk formed on his lips, as he contemplated his next move… he wasn’t going to let that degenerate get off easy.

After all, washing blood off synthetic skin has never been an issue.

[niki-phoria]

omg txt... hmmm... kai x reader where reader gets caught admiring kais greek god features hehe? gn or male, up to you!

pairing: kai x gn!reader genre: fluff word count: 813

a/n: this was such a cute idea tysm for requesting !! also this isn't really getting caught staring that's my bad lmao

a sudden weight falling on your shoulder makes you jump a little, stealing attention from the movie playing in the background. kai leans against you in a peaceful sleep, legs tangled with yours and his left arm thrown over your waist. you can feel your heartbeat picking up at the feeling of your crush laying against you. you hope the other boys don’t notice how flustered you are. 

cuddling with kai isn’t a new experience for you, though you’ve never been this close before. kai nuzzles closer to you in his sleep. you try to refocus on the movie but kai’s warm breath against your neck sends shivers down your skin. you shift a little, gently coaxing him to lay on your lap. from this angle you can see more of his face. messy brown curls frame his perfect face. his jawline almost looks sharper from this angle. his birthmarks are visible, small freckles decorating his face. gently, you trace your fingers along the marks on his temple, down his cheek, along his nose, and finally next to his lip. you move your hand from his face to play with the strands of his hair. it’s soft despite the years of bleaching and heat damage. you’re careful not to pull on the curls too harshly as you run your hands through it. 

you get so focused on kai that you don't even realize the movie has ended. your thoughts are interrupted by a snicker from next to you. from across the room beomgyu playfully rolls his eyes. “you two are so obvious.”

“what do you mean?” 

“do you have to be so coupley around us?” yeonjun whines. 

“we’re not dating though,” you furrow your eyebrows. kai stirs on your lap before moving closer to you. 

from across the room, soobin raises an eyebrow at you. “you’re not?” 

“no… i mean, i like him, but we haven’t talked about it.” 

“he likes you too, you know,” yeonjun says. the idea almost seems foreign to you. you fall back into silence as you debate confessing. vulnerability has never been your strongest trait, especially because you’ve never cared about someone as much as you care about kai. 

your thoughts are interrupted when taehyun pats your shoulder as he follows the rest of the boys out of the living room. “you should tell him. trust me.” you nod, watching him leave. 

once you’re completely alone with kai, you gently shake him awake. “kai,” you whisper. he squints up at you in the darkness, moving from your lap to sit up. 

“sorry,” he murmurs. you shake your head. 

“come on, let’s go to bed.” he nods, following you from the couch and into his room. 

kai falls asleep quickly, back pressed against your chest. his hand holds yours over his waist and your legs tangle together. the night gives you more time to think. your mind drifts through every moment you’ve shared with kai, every little action and thing he’s said that made you fall in love with him. love. you love him. 

“i love you,” you whisper into the darkness. kai doesn’t move at all. you’re glad he can’t hear you. after a few more restless minutes you sigh, burying your face into his shoulder and finally allowing sleep to take you. 

the next morning you wake up to the feeling of something against your neck. you shift a little before it happens again, this time on your jawline. then your cheek. forehead. nose. this time you open your eyes, fully awake. when you do, you’re greeted with a smiling kai leaning over you. “did you mean it?” 

a million thoughts run through your mind. even with reassurance from your friends, the idea of kai hearing your confession creates a ball of anxiety in your stomach. it presses against your chest, almost suffocating you. “mean what?” 

“last night. do you love me?” kai looks so happy as he hovers over you. you will your heartbeat to slow down as you study his face once again. you focus on the freckles above his eye. you’re worried that your voice will shake if you speak so you simply nod. kai moves his hand to run against your jawline, cupping your face. “can i kiss you?” 

your breath hitches at the question. your eyes flicker from kai’s to his lips. you nod once again before kai gently leans down to press his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. you can feel his knees on either side of your waist. your hands move from his shoulders down to his hips, holding him closer. 

you smile when kai pulls away, leaning up to peck his jawline. his thumb rubs against your cheek. “be mine?” you whisper. 

kai’s face flushes, ears burning red. “only if you’ll be mine too.” you bite back a smile, pulling him back down into another deep kiss. 

[darksigns-exe]

Sweet Like Honey - If I’m There

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Bee (OFC) Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 901

Masterlist

The ping of the notification pulls Noah out of his focus.

Bee. 

He hadn’t realised just how late it was until her message popped up on the screen. Half past three. Usually she’s fast asleep at this hour. 

He checks the message - a link to an article about amoeba in the southern pacific. It doesn’t take a lot for him to put two and two together. 

Noah knows her well enough to know that she won’t say what’s upsetting her, even if he asks multiple times. So instead of trying to lure an answer out of her via text, he shuts down his computer for the night. He gathers a few more things, before creeping out of the house. He’ll have enough questions to answer in the morning as it is. 

Noah can see the glow of her bedside lamp from the street. The window to her bedroom is still illuminated in its dim orange light, and he knows that she’s still tossing and turning up there. He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jacket. 

Still up?

He’s halfway up the stairs to her apartment when she calls. He briefly debates, but then decides that he doesn’t want to unnerve her even more than necessary. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, trying not to let on that he’s almost at her front door. 

She lets out a whine, “No.” 

“Poor thing.” Noah replies as he fishes for the key in his pocket, “Can I do something?”

“I wish you could come over.” She sounds so awfully miserable. 

He has to bite back the smile that tries to force its way onto his face. She’s too predictable when it comes to this. 

“You just have to ask.” 

“It’s so late. I don’t want to keep you up.” 

“We might have a problem in that case.” he slides the key into the lock of her door, “Because I drove all this way already –”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he hears her phone thud onto the mattress, followed by rushed steps from behind the door. He opens the door just as she reaches it. 

Bee doesn’t wait for him to close the door behind him before she wraps herself around him. Noah shuffles them inside, closing the door behind them. 

“How did you know?”

“You’re never up this late. Either you’re in a different time zone or you can’t sleep. Figured it was the latter.”

He hears a muffled love you whispered against his chest, and that alone makes the drive over worth it. 

He watches as she slips the extra shirt from his closet over her head. It’s the same one she’d silently returned a few years earlier. 

She slides into bed next to him, instantly curling herself against him. 

“Do you want to watch something?” He asks softly, fully knowing that they won’t see the end of what he’ll put on anyway. 

It’s the thought that counts, though. 

Noah doesn’t pay too much attention to the show that flickers across the screen of her laptop. His focus is entirely on her. The light from the monitor tinges the skin of her cheek in fluorescent colours. Sometimes he wonders how he got so lucky. 

He pulls Bee a little closer against his chest. She turns to look at him. The little smile that plays on her lips makes him feel a little bit warmer inside. Noah leans over to kiss her. The angle is a little weird, but it’s good enough for him. 

Bee barely makes it through the first half of the movie before she’s fast asleep. He reaches across to close her laptop. He presses a final kiss to her cheek and wills himself to sleep. There’s always time in the morning.

It’s almost eleven when he feels Bee stir again. She shifts against him until she finally turns onto her back. Noah isn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to seeing her like this. Maybe they should get a place for themselves. Just a nice little place somewhere where he can see her like this every morning. Her soft, sleepy eyes blink up at him, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. He feels at ease here, and he’s sure that it’s her presence more than anything else. For every edge and sharp corner he finds on himself, there’s something soft in her. When he bites at his own flaws, she’ll soften the blow. She’ll straighten out his mind again until it doesn’t seem so bad any more. And in turn, he takes work off her shoulders when she needs to bury herself beneath her books and papers. For once, it feels as if he’s found his footing with someone. 

The brush of her hand against his cheek draws him out of his thoughts again. 

“Thank you for coming over.” She sounds so meek and small then 

“Anytime.” He sits up against the headboard of her bed, “All you have to do is call. Doesn’t matter what time it is. If you need me, I’ll be there.” 

Bee sits up in front of him. The sight is so awfully familiar. But this time, she already knows how he feels. He tells her again nevertheless. Maybe it's a little selfish, too. Because if he keeps telling her, she’ll return the words – she always does. And every time she says it, it feels a little bit more real. 

[cynic-spirit]

yn gets lost in wayne manor

Y/N wandered through the sprawling gardens of Wayne Manor, admiring the sheer beauty and size of the estate. The sun was warm on her skin, the breeze carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers as she explored the pathways. But the longer she walked, the more the grandeur of the gardens became a maze. Each turn seemed to lead her further into the labyrinth of greenery, and before long, she realized she had no idea where she was.

She paused, looking around at the towering hedges and trees that surrounded her, a mixture of awe and mild panic settling in. It was a beautiful place to be lost, but lost she was. A sigh escaped her lips as she considered her options. She could try to retrace her steps, but the gardens were vast, and she wasn’t sure she could find her way back alone.

As she debated calling for help, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how Bruce and Alfred might react. She could already imagine the gentle teasing she’d endure, especially from Bruce. She dreaded admitting that she had managed to get lost on his property, knowing full well that neither of them would let her hear the end of it.

Earlier, in the security room of Wayne Manor, Bruce stood in front of a wall of monitors, each displaying various angles of the property. His eyes were fixed on one particular screen that showed Y/N wandering through the gardens, looking increasingly unsure of her surroundings.

Alfred stood beside him, a knowing smile on his face. "It appears Miss Y/N might be a tad lost," he remarked, his tone lighthearted.

Bruce’s lips twitched into a small smile as he watched her pause at a crossroads of paths, looking around as if trying to remember which way she had come. "She’s got a good sense of direction," he said, almost to himself. "But those gardens can be tricky."

"Indeed," Alfred replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Perhaps you should go rescue her before she realizes she’s being watched."

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. "She’d never let me live it down if she knew I was watching her get lost in her own time."

Alfred nodded, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Still, I suspect she might appreciate a timely rescue. It could earn you a few points, Master Wayne."

Bruce smirked at that, his eyes still on Y/N as she debated her next move. "You know, Alfred, she might think she’s wandering alone out there, but I’ll never let her get lost. Not in my home, not anywhere."

Alfred smiled, a hint of pride in his expression. "Quite right, sir. And it’s good to see that you’re taking such good care of her. She brings a certain… lightness to this old place."

Bruce’s smile softened as he nodded. "She does, doesn’t she?"

With that, he turned away from the monitors and made his way out to the gardens, ready to tease Y/N just a little about her predicament. As he approached her, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. Watching over her, even from a distance, filled him with a calm he hadn’t known he needed. And as he saw her smile up at him when he found her, he knew that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her safe, to never let her feel lost, not when he was around.

Just as she was about to pull out her phone, she heard the soft crunch of gravel behind her. She turned to see Bruce approaching, a teasing grin playing on his lips.

"Lost, are we?" he asked, his tone light and playful.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head in mock defeat. "Maybe a little," she admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I was just thinking about how much fun you and Alfred would have if I had to call for help."

Bruce chuckled, closing the distance between them. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I wouldn’t have let you get lost for long," he said softly, his hand lingering near her face. "But it’s kind of cute seeing you like this."

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. "Well, you found me, so I guess I’m safe now."

"You’ll always be safe with me," Bruce replied, his voice low and sincere as he took her hand in his. "And I’ll never let you get lost, Y/N."

The sincerity in his voice made her heart skip a beat. She squeezed his hand, grateful for his presence and the way he always seemed to find her, no matter where she was.

[stinkysam]

Deke Shaw - But if you had told me, I would've told you.

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : "Imagine if you will a scenario where a character finds out the reader is an artist (or has knowledge of it) and mentions it in passing or brags about it to everyone else. Then, per everyone's curiosity the reader is forced to pull the sketchbook out from his bag and is like "okay but I'll only show you the pages *I* like" before someone immediately wrestles it out from his grasp (and trust me I played tug-o-war for a good five seconds). Nothing too embarrassing was in it thank goodness but mayhaps there's a fluffy twist where it turns out the reader has numerous doodles or candid sketches of the person he likes in there? Cue a confession sequence lolol" - @intrepid-captain

Reader : male (he/you)

You were sitting in your corner peacefully, Deke, May and Daisy sitting at the table near you while you drew silly doodles for warm-ups in your sketchbook. You were so focused you didn't hear May and Daisy talk to you.

"[Name] !" Finally, May's voice caught your attention.

You looked up, slightly startled, wide eyes looking at them.

"Daisy was talking to you."

"Oh no, it's fine." Daisy said.

"She wanted to see you drawings."

Daisy smiled politely. In all honesty, she was indeed curious but she also knew not every artist liked to share their art. Deke perked up, gaining interest in the discussion.

You quickly debated with yourself, not daring to say no, you accepted. This simple doodle wasn't much anyway so there was nothing to fear. So you turned your sketchbook to them so they could see. It was two people fighting, one about to high-kick the other in the head.

What you didn't expect was for May to grab it. She stared when you didn't let go before ripping it away from your hands. Clearly not understanding the silent message.

She showed it to Daisy who tried not to smile. She got the message.

Then May turned the page and you stood up.

"No. No. No. No !" Your voice grows louder with each 'no' as you try to approach them as fast as possible to grab your sketchbook back but May pulls it away once again.

"Look, there's us." Daisy says, pointing proudly at the portraits. "So cool, right ?" She says, leaning to the side to let Deke see.

You stand there, sweating bullets, hoping they won't turn the pages anymore.

"Oh, that's me !" Deke says, surprised to be in here as well. He grabs the book from May's hands and turns pages.

Oh no.

"Oh wow that's me again !" He laughs, excited, slightly walking away from Daisy and May.

"Don't-" You try to intervene but they ignore you, too engrossed in your art.

"Always my best angles !" He turns more pages. "There's- there's a lot of me, actually." He says, this time more serious. What the fuck ? They're all so prettily drawn. He smiles, slightly nervous.

May hums, not that interested anymore, staring at you instead as if to say "Him ? Really ?".

"Really ? Let me see." Daisy's hands are already on the sketchbook, turning it toward herself.

"No !" You yell again, finally grabbing the book from their hands. "That's enough !" Your face is hot in embarrassment, you can feel your cheeks burning. "Those are not the pages I wanted you to see."

"Why did you draw Deke so much ?" As Daisy asks that, Deke places his hands on his hips.

"Why wouldn't he ?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't he." May repeats with a small smirk.

"No reasons at all." You say to May and Daisy before turning to Deke. "Don't think too much about it."

"Oh." Daisy says, almost disappointed by your answer. Boring.

Wait. Ohohoh… She smiles knowingly, having connected the dots.

"There were far more portraits of Deke than us…" she 'thought' aloud. "Like, daily drawings of him. This is an obsession at this point…"

Oh my god.

"No. Not at all."

"Really ?" Deke smiles, stepping closer as if to take another look at what's inside your closed sketchbook. Daily drawings of him ? "I mean, that's understandable-" He starts.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You cut him off, taking a step back. You won't let him take another peek at your drawings. "He was just around when I wanted to draw. That's all. This is just a coincidence."

"There's lots and lots of them though." Daisy said, squinting her eyes.

"Not that much."

"Almost like if he made you want to draw." May added.

You grimaced, trying to hide your nervous smile. Why were they all siding against you now, what did you do to them ?

"I don't know what you're talking about." You laugh awkwardly.

"Really ? I make you want to draw ?" His arms are now crossed, still leaning closer.

"No." You deadpanned as you started to walk away wanting to get out of this situation.

Daisy and May chuckled, watching you leave as Deke quickly followed you.

"Can I look at them again ?" He asks, excited. It's the first time someone drew him like this. He looks so cool. So good. Is that how you see him ?

"No ?" You say, avoiding eye contact. Focusing on walking away. Where, you didn't know, but away.

"Then why are you drawing me this much ? Daisy said-"

"Oh my god, don't listen to what she says !" You stop in your tracks.

"Come on, can I look at them again ?"

"No."

"Why not !?"

"Because this is embarrassing !"

"What is ?"

Oh my god. How could he be so smart and so fucking dumb at the same time ?

"You really haven't guessed ? Why there's daily drawings of you ? In my sketchbook ?" You say, tapping your foot on the floor, looking at him. Daring him to fucking think.

"I mean. I know that I'm… awesome, good looking, smart." He jokingly began to list before- "Oh my god you like me !"

"Maybe…" You said quietly.

"You could've just said it." He laughs, a bit too pleased.

"Sorry, you didn't really let me know if your crush on Daisy was over."

"I would've told you if you had told me you had one on me !"

"Well, I wouldn't have told you because- This is endless !"

He grinned, clearly overjoyed.

"You really like me ?" He asks, and you grimace. Sometimes he really made you want to lie. But you decided against it.

"Yes." You said, feeling your heart beat in your ears.

He grinned.

"Good thing I-"

"Wait, you're not into Daisy anymore ?"

"Uh… no."

"Since when ?" You ask, confused.

"Since you kind of, uh stole my heart." He chuckled awkwardly, trying to sound confident, a light blush spearing to his cheeks.

You stared at him and he shifted, feeling now uncomfortable.

"You like me, right ?" He asks, biting his lower lip, feeling unsure of what he heard you say earlier. You said you liked him, he didn't make that up, right ?

"Of course, you do ?"

He nodded quickly.

"But can you stop looking at me like you're so suspicious of something ? Please ?"

"Sorry, I just… I didn't expect you to get over your feelings for her, so…"

"Well, she thought the lemons were lame so I had to."

"What ?" You frowned. Lemons ?

"No, it's just- nothing." He looked down, before looking at you then away. He nervously scratched his ear before taking your free hand.

"I really like you, [Name]. I'm not joking. You're-" He smiles. "Kind, talented, funny, handsome, you're really nice to be around, you're patient, you… you listen to me, you're-"

"Okay ! I get it !" You throw your head back with a nervous smile. "I can't take compliments, that's enough !"

"But it's true !"

"Ahh ! Stop it !" You felt your face heat up again in embarrassment.

"I like you, [Name]."

You closed your eyes, calming yourself and mainly your heart that was beating a bit too uncontrollably.

"I like you too." You said, squeezing his hand in return, smiling.

[hippolotamus]

WIP Wednesday 🛋️

Tagged by the talented and madness inducing @jesuisici33 @wikiangela @weewootruck @daffi-990 Thank you loves! 💖

no pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @elvensorceress @giddyupbuck my love @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @spotsandsocks @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @eddiediaztho @thewolvesof1998 @forthewolves @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @heartshapedvows @loserdiaz @your-catfish-friend @statueinthestone @buddierights @911onabc @hoodie-buck @the-likesofus @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @eowon @ladydorian05 @apothecarose @vanillahigh00 @rmd-writes @welcometololaland absolute LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @spaceprincessem @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @gayedmundodiaz and anyone else who wants to (please tag me if you decide to participate so i can ohh and ahh over your work)

from you're where I wanna go after this snippet

“Penny for your thoughts?” Lucy asks. She’s sunk further into the couch, leaning back at an angle with both legs tucked beneath her, and one stockinged foot dangling off the edge.  He debates whether he wants to tell her that his brain is scattered in different directions. How he’s rejoicing about never having to confront his mother again, while lamenting that he couldn’t be someone she loves. How he’s secured something of a future for his sister knowing they may never see each other again.  Ultimately he decides to keep it all to himself. In his current unguarded state he’s likely to keep talking and eventually say something about Eddie. That's a wound he’s unwilling to cut open tonight.  “Just tired I suppose.” He stands up and moves to replace the chair. “Think I’m going to change out of this stuffy suit and get some sleep. Obviously you can take the bed.” Buck walks away before she can call his bluff. He changes into pajamas and brushes his teeth in the bathroom connected to the bedroom. When he comes out Lucy is sitting on the edge of the mattress, still in her dress and fiddling with her wedding band. He studies her for a moment, sensing the weight of his own ring and all the expectations it carries. “Regrets?” He can’t help but ask even though she laid out the terms of their arrangement.  Lucy lifts her head to meet his gaze. The left corner of her mouth turns up in a half smile, but her eyes tell a different story. There’s a sort of dolefulness in them that makes him wonder about any disappointments or heartbreaks she might have tucked away in the name of self preservation. If perhaps she has an Eddie in her past. Neither one of them has offered much beyond superficial information so he supposes it’s possible. “No.” She shakes her head and busies her hands with unpinning her hair. “No regrets. Not about this.” About what then? He wants to ask, but it’s none of his business. Instead he lets her answer be enough, deciding that she’ll tell him if she wants to. “See you in the morning then, Miss Donato?” That gets her to smile – a real one – and simultaneously eases some of his own maudlin thoughts.  “See you in the morning, Mr. Buckley.” He retreats to the sitting room, closing the bedroom door behind him. A pillow and extra blankets, that Lucy must have put there, are already waiting for him. He huffs an amused chuckle and begins making himself comfortable. The couch is, fortunately, long enough for him to stretch his legs without hitting against the armrest.  After what is probably several minutes, but feels like mere seconds, his eyelids grow heavy, encouraging him to let go of the day. To rest for the journey ahead. And when Buck wakes in the morning, he realizes that his dreams were blissfully empty. There were no traces of coffee colored irises capable of piercing his soul, calloused hands made rough from labor that manage to caress with an unexpected gentleness, or perfect teeth behind plush lips that bite and soothe. While it’s likely for the best – is it really? – that knowledge doesn’t stop the fear that Eddie is beginning to slip away from him permanently.

[love-kurdt]

Thick Skull (byler): V

word count: 6,186

warnings for this chapter: consensual underage... activities, internalized homophobia, fighting, graphic depiction of violence

Hit over the head, epiphany / Over my head, repeatedly Thick skull never did nothing for me / Same lesson again? Come on, give it to me

“We should be getting home… It's past curfew. See you tomorrow?” Lucas checked his watch before standing up, taking Max’s hands to help her up. Dustin rose from his spot as well, giving Will one more hug on his way to the door.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Will agreed, “safe travels!” Mike nodded beside him with a grim look on his face, which appeared more often than not these days. Will watched as their friends put on their protective gear to face the spores outside, and filed out of the basement doorway one by one. It still felt strange not following them. He couldn’t really accept the reality that Mike’s home was also his for the time being. Before their friendship fell apart the summer prior, he would have been basking in the glory of living in the same house as Mike. But recently, between Mike’s weird behavior, mixed signals, and potential lie about a life-altering event, all he wanted to do was escape.

He turned around once the door closed, beginning to clean up the empty snack bowls and Coke cans that littered the basement carpet. Once everything had been thrown away, Will approached the staircase, but Mike stood in his way, leaning against the wall.

“So, you're out now, huh?”

Turns out they were going to talk about it.

“Yeah. I think Vecna was using that as an angle of attack, if that makes sense.” Better to be practical than to make assumptions about where the conversation would go. It wasn’t like he was expecting anything out of it. Then again, Will’s standards were practically on the floor. Scratch that, his standards were in the Upside Down at this point. He couldn’t be let down any more than he already had.

The young men stood in silence for a few seconds. Hesitation. Contemplation. Debate on what to say next, and who would say it. Will felt blood pulsating and thrumming at an alarming pace in his eardrums, and he feared that if Mike were to speak, he wouldn’t even hear it.

“It does make sense,” Mike told him, taking a step forward while his gaze danced across Will’s face. Will could feel Mike’s breath on his face as he spoke, the minute space that separated them making itself evident. “That was really brave of you.”

Will felt his breath catch in his throat. He gulped, and he felt his stomach twisting in upon itself in knots. “Thanks.”

Where to go from here, Will thought. He felt as though he were a magnetic force, with Mike constantly drawing into his space and leaving very little distance between them. Predictably, Mike would then repel himself from Will if he showed any signs of reciprocation. Because that– mutual affection– would make it real. Polar opposites attract, and all that. He searched Mike’s eyes for any signs of wanting to end the conversation, but the raven-haired boy in front of him gave off an equally persistent aura, emulating desire. Will tore himself away from Mike’s stare, not keen toward any form of false hope. He gestured towards the stairs. “So, do you want to–”

But Mike pulled Will against his chest so suddenly, and so close that Will could feel both of their heartbeats inside him. Will, caught incredibly off guard, stood frozen for a few seconds before registering what was happening; Mike was hugging him, his arms wrapped around Will’s waist, threatening to never let go. Will cautiously lifted his arms up to wrap around Mike’s neck, his hands meeting in the middle. When Mike breathed Will in, seemingly encouraging whatever was happening, Will pressed his face into Mike’s shoulder, fully embracing his best friend with all the love he could express within a hug. He could be okay with this.

That sentiment changed the second he felt Mike’s lips meet his jawline. Then something in Will broke. Or was put back together. He’d decide later; right now, he couldn’t take the tension any longer. He’d spent years of his life quixotically imagining what it would be like to be physically intimate with Mike Wheeler, and he’d be damned if he relinquished the possibility of bringing it to life. He pulled away from Mike, feeling himself unravel as he slowly dragged his eyes upwards until they found Mike’s lips. And that was it.

Will captured Mike’s lips with his own, moving his hands so they held Mike’s face in place, so he could never escape. He felt the heat rising to the taller boy’s cheeks, and the grip around Will’s waist became even tighter, with Mike’s fingers digging into his hip bones and wrapping around his belt loops. Mike pressed harder into the kiss, prying Will’s mouth open with his own. He’d always been slightly skeeved out at the prospect of making out with someone, because, duh, germs. But Will concluded at that moment that, as weird as it sounded, he wanted all of Mike’s germs if it meant making out with his paladin forever. And by the sound of Mike’s incessant humming, he felt similarly.

With this newly acquired knowledge came a boost of confidence, which led Will to walk backwards, guiding Mike with one hand on his waist and the other caressing his face. Mike let a small noise of surprise escape, but immediately caught on and followed Will’s embrace. That was until Will tripped backwards over the carpet, effectively breaking the kiss. Luckily enough though, since they were in such close proximity, Mike was able to catch Will by his arms before he plundered to his untimely death by floor decor.

Before Will could get too flustered and ruin the moment, he collected himself and his thoughts. But then, he looked back up at Mike, and was shocked to see him laughing hysterically. His nose crinkled up in the cute way it always did as his laugh dwelled in the higher register of his vocal range. The pressure of perfection lifted off of Will’s shoulders. He snickered at his own clumsiness while Mike continued to laugh, all while significantly increasing his grip on Will’s muscular biceps. Their laughing died out after some time, leaving the two boys to their own devices, heavy breaths lingering in their shared space.

It hadn’t even been a full ten seconds before Mike grabbed a fistful of Will’s hair with an intense resurgence of pure impulse. Will met Mike in the middle and felt their teeth clash together, but he didn’t care in the slightest; couldn’t if he tried. The presence of pain rescinded itself the moment it came into contact with the force of nature that was Mike Wheeler.

Mike whined a little bit when Will drew away from him, but instantly changed his tune when he was pushed down into a reclined position on the couch. Mike looked up at Will with a gleam of insatiable hunger in his eyes, and that unmistakable, mutual reflection of want, want, want. Will practically jumped the boy below him, shoving his tongue down his throat, and Mike’s hands hovered before landing on Will’s ass, groping with shameless abandon.

Will gasped against Mike’s mouth, his brain actively melting inside of his skull. Mike took that moment of vulnerability as an invitation to flip Will into a seated position against the couch, crawling on top of him in a very familiar way that had Will convinced that either his dream had not been fictitious to begin with, or what he was currently experiencing was just one huge dream turned possible nightmare; that is, if he were to wake up. Mike ran his hands down Will’s chest and torso, a form of worship neither of them were accustomed to, yet neglected to reject. Will’s hands drifted from Mike’s shoulders down his back, and held Mike close to him. One hand strayed to the front of Mike’s jeans, and that’s when–

“What are we doing, Will?”

Will gulped, contemplating his next move. Initiative, charm, strength… damage? Where’s a D-20 when you need it?! He settled on a naïve, “What do you mean?”

“I mean… this,” Mike flicked his hand between their chests, causing Will to raise an eyebrow in slight confusion. Mike shook his head, his eyes lifting above Will’s bowl cut to stare at absolutely nothing as he rephrased. “I mean… you know. Right?”

No, actually. I don’t know, Will thought, biting his tongue to prevent those words from actually leaving his head. While he could be frustrated that Mike was fumbling for words, he couldn’t hold back from feeling a bit glad that out of all the times he could have made it awkward, he wasn’t the one to make it awkward. Mike visibly struggled to figure out what to say, so Will shifted his hands— which were still firmly gripping Mike’s hips— up and back a bit until they found his waist. He smoothed his thumbs over the bare skin there to at least provide some form of comfort. “Maybe elaborate a little?” he prompted.

“Yeah,” Mike shut his eyes tightly, seemingly seconds away from smacking himself. He moved his own hands to hold Will’s, and gently pried them off of him, dropping them into Will’s lap seconds later like they were on fire. Now, Will was thoroughly confused. “Uh— we’re not playing spin the bottle anymore, you know,” Mike told him.

What?! We aren’t?! Will thought, sarcasm laced through his internal monologue. I thought we were playing Spin the Bottle this entire fucking time!!! … Of course Will knew. He wasn’t dense. Horny, definitely, but not dense. He sank back into the couch with his eyes closed, and felt Mike’s weight shift off of his lap and onto the cushion next to him, and the heated atmosphere that they’d created ceased to exist.

“I didn’t think we were,” Will replied, “But can I at least tell you something?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Will turned towards Mike, holding onto his attention like a lifeline. 

“Promise you won’t leave?” he asked, to which Mike just snickered, reaching his thin hand over to touch Will’s knee. Even after all they’d done together, he still managed to make Will blush.

“You couldn’t make me leave, even if you tried, Byers.”

“Okay. I…” Will hesitated, his eyes downcast, but then hesitated to hesitate. There was no use in hiding anything, not now. “The kiss meant something to me. I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen. I mean, probably earlier on than that, I just didn’t know what those feelings meant.” He looked up at Mike, his facial expression unreadable. Keep going. If not for Mike, then do it for yourself. 

“After last summer, I thought I’d lost you forever. And when I moved away, it hurt a little less, but every time El mentioned you, I got jealous. Because I hated her for having you.”

Mike, for once in his fifteen years of life, was at a loss for words. He sat there, staring at Will in shock. He blinked a few times before returning to his body, stuttering out, “But… it’s– it’s not El’s fault!”

Mike was one to talk about faults.

“I know,” Will shook his head, trying to find out how to say what he wanted to in a less complicated way, “I know it isn’t, but it felt like I didn’t matter to you at all once El came into the picture. Even when she was halfway across the country, I still didn't matter!”

“You moved halfway across the country with her!” Mike stood up from the couch, taking a few steps away.

“So this is about us leaving?” Will pressed, getting up to follow Mike in case he tried to run. He didn’t get to run, not this time.

“I mean, yeah!” Mike threw his hands in the air, exasperation in his tone. “Sue me for being upset about losing the two people that matter most to me!”

“Oh no,” Will rolled his eyes, “I’m so sorry, Michael, for leaving the town that made my life a living hell.”

“Vecna made your life a living hell, Will!” Mike raised his voice for the first time that night, and didn’t notice when Will winced. “What about me? You have me! You have Dustin! Lucas! Max! You have people here who lo– care for you!”

Will let out a mirthless laugh at that. He cares. That’s rich. “Well, I didn’t necessarily have anything holding me back. We… us… were dead. And I already know you’re going to dump the responsibility on me, so don’t even try. You killed us on your own.”

“...What?” Mike asked, narrowing his eyes.

He couldn’t be serious. Did he truly not understand what had happened to their friendship? Did he not remember how it fell apart? Did he not recall that day, after a failed D&D campaign, running after Will in a rainstorm? Did he not recall those eight words that cut Will’s last remaining ties to the town that he craved escape from, and that he’d rather die than live in again? 

“Are you seriously gonna make me spell it out for you?” Will took a step closer to Mike, who, uncharacteristically, didn’t back away, but instead advanced towards Will. 

“Spell what out for me? What the fuck are you talking about?!”

“IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT I DON’T LIKE GIRLS!” Will shouted, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He’d tried to keep his composure, but that fight in the rain was still a fresh wound, and just the thought of it was still painful. This apparently still resonated with Mike as well, as he winced at his own words being thrown back at him.

Well, at least he hadn’t forgotten. He looked remorseful. Convicted, even. He found himself at a loss for words for the second time that night, sitting back down on the couch in surrender. This provided Will with ample time to formulate his next question. He sat down next to Mike, extending his hand. Mike tentatively took it, slowly intertwining their fingers as if the world would implode if they did.

“Why did you and El really break up, Mike?”

“I don’t…” Mike ran his free hand through his hair, his eyes filled with a wild, defensive energy. “Will, this is insane. Why do you want to know?”

Will played with Mike’s fingers between his own for probably what was to be the last time, as he prepared to put his magnet metaphor to the test. “Because… if I’m reading into this correctly… you might feel the same way for me that I do for you.”

As previously predicted, Mike instantly recoiled. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh, come on, Mike,” Will retaliated, “Be honest, you liked that kiss. You know it, I know it, the party knows it.”

“I kissed you the way friends playing spin the bottle do. I’m not gay,” Mike said, looking emotionally exhausted as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead into his palms. Will could feel Mike’s anguish radiating off of him against his will. But Will remembered his experience with the Shadow Monster and how his mom had to burn it out of him, and he had an idea to give Mike some perspective. He’d just have to push a little more.

“What about just now, then?”

Mike looked up at the mention of that. “You kissed me, Will. Not the other way around.” Despite Mike’s claim, Will could see the walls building behind his irises, which grew larger as soon as he looked at him. It might’ve been easy for Mike to lie verbally, but his eyes said otherwise.

“You were literally just on top of me, and before that, you were grabbing my ass,” Will told Mike, point blank. “Explain that.”

“Yeah, well, it was… heat of the moment stuff, right?” Mike responded, more in the form of a question. He continued, “That’s got to be it. I'm not into… guys.”

Perhaps Will had gone too far. Maybe Mike was right, and had just made a few missteps. He resolved that if anything were to develop between them in the future, it would be in Mike’s hands; he wouldn’t beat a dead horse. 

“Oh. Well, then,” he shrugged. “I guess I got the wrong idea.”

“Maybe you did,” Mike stared straight ahead of him at the wall, looking extremely conflicted as his inner demons ate him alive. Will almost felt pity in that moment for him. But then Mike took a sharp breath and spoke again: “And it’s not like I went down on you or something, I only kissed you. It’s different.”

Will felt the color drain from his face. “Wait…”

“What is it?”

“Is this real?”

Mike pressed a feather light kiss to Will’s lips before settling down next to him.

He brushed some hair out of his face before he replied, “No.”

Will’s sense of reality had been severely warped ever since he’d first been abducted by the Demogorgon and dragged into the Upside Down. Once he got back, he was possessed almost right away by the Shadow Monster. Not even a year later, he and his friends were battling the Mind Flayer in the Starcourt Mall. And when they didn’t think it could get any worse, the controller of it all tore their town into four, stealing multiple lives in the process. The chaos never ended; Will never had the chance to truly experience a relatively normal life between all of that combined with a PTSD diagnosis. So, even something as simple as Mike blowing him had Will questioning his own sanity.

Will had analyzed all of the signs into oblivion. He’d talked it out with his brother, he’d come out to his friends and family, and he’d pushed boundaries with Mike that he never would have believed he’d agree to in a million years. With all of that evidence, it seemed more than possible for that night to have been real. The problem with this was how Will would address it, and if he’d address it at all. If he were to be right, maybe Mike would begin to see himself in a different light and, in time, come to terms with who he was. But if he were to be wrong, he would’ve opened up to Mike about a horribly perverted dream he’d had, then Mike would take back what he said about never leaving, and that would most likely be the end of their friendship.

He couldn’t tell him.

“Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“Okay.” Mike’s response was simple and lacking substance. It was like he’d completely dissociated and moved on from the conversation before it even ended, similarly to when he’d shut down after kissing Will senseless. Will wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

“I mean, if it’s any consolation to you, I enjoyed the kiss too,” Mike confessed, and Will bit his lip, trying not to cry. “I just don’t… I’m not in… yeah. You know?”’

Will nodded, his voice breaking. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Mike stood up, déjà vu hitting Will over the head as Mike awkwardly clapped his shoulder– ‘Oh! Hey! Howyadoin?’– and said, “Well, I’m gonna go upstairs now, see you in a bit?”

“Yeah, okay.” Will whispered.

Mike grabbed his shirt and haphazardly tossed it on, and briskly made his way across the room, taking one last look at Will before jogging up the stairs.

Will shut his eyes tightly, finally letting himself cry. He pulled his knees up against his bare chest, trying to remember what it felt like to have Mike’s heartbeat against his own, and cried even harder when he still could.

I pick 'em up and now my fingers are bleeding And it looks like I'm caught red-handed

Mike closed the bathroom door, leaning against it and immediately lifting his hands to cover his face. How could he have been so fucking stupid? As if his inability to come clean about that one night they spent together wasn’t enough, he kissed Will. Again. Actually, solely “kissing” would be sugar coating what really happened. God, what was wrong with him? Mike felt his head begin to spin, and he slid down the wall and onto the cold tile floor.

He lost control. That could be the only rational explanation for his behavior. He lost control and gave into his unrelenting temptation. Otherwise, kissing Will would have almost felt… good? Logical? Favorable? Dare he say… normal? He couldn’t imagine kissing anyone else ever again. Not after Will. It would be the ultimate betrayal.

Despite having a serial liar for an alter ego (lying to Will, lying to his friends, lying to his family about who—and what— he was), he didn’t have to lie to himself about the feelings he’d reserved in his heart for his best friend. And he didn’t not want to feel this way. He didn’t not like pulling Will into his chest, breathing in his scent and wishing he could make it into a candle. He didn’t not like pressing his lips onto Will’s neck, giving into the urge to lightly nip at it with his teeth, just to see what his skin would taste like. He didn’t not like having Will’s tongue shoved down his throat without permission (not like Will would need it, anyway). He didn’t not like the feeling of Will's deep voice entering his own mouth with the moans he elicited from him. He didn’t not like groping at Will’s perfect ass, and trying not to freak the fuck out over how satisfying it was after having thought about it for such a long time.

He didn’t not love Will. He just… he couldn’t.

He’d seen how Will arrived at school when they were little. He noticed the bruises covered up with Joyce’s off-shade foundation. He’d encountered the devil face to face when he’d gone to the Byers’ house to ask if Will wanted to ride bikes with him. He’d gone home and seen his dad yelling at the television on several occasions about spreading aid to other people. He was always taught that aid was a good thing, so why would his dad speak about it in a tone laced with such powerful disdain? He found out later on that there was a world of difference between the definitions of “aid” and “AIDS.” Kids pushed him down in the courtyard during recess, calling him some of the things Will’s dad used to call them. He’d watch Will get taunted in the hallway, and would have to sometimes physically shield him with his gangly arms from the perpetrators. His parents borderline mocked him when he told them he had a girlfriend. He could never win. Being friends with Will also meant enduring various forms of hardship, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because in those low places, Mike would recall that day on the playground; the first time he felt loved, cherished, safe.

And one fateful day in the summer of 1985, it hit him that ever since he introduced himself to the shy boy on the swings– the best thing he had ever done–, his life revolved around Will. No matter who else entered or left his life, no matter where he was, no matter what monsters from an alternate dimension existed out there, they merely existed within his peripherals. Will was always at the center of his universe. No one would ever truly or fully understand the power Will had over him. Mike was a compass, Will was Mike’s true North. All signs pointed to Will, and it had taken Mike an embarrassingly long time to comprehend the depth of his emotions. Mike’s feelings for Will did not emerge from a sense of want, but of pure need. He closed his eyes, deep in thought.

The high probability of the Party accepting him seemed promising. They welcomed Will with open arms. But what if he were to come out just to be accused of coming out just because Will did? They wouldn’t do that to him, though. But how could he know for sure? Just look at the way he acted towards Will that summer, practically the poster child for projection. And look at the way that he had let Will sit there in the van to cry by himself when all he wanted to do was hold him close and kiss his forehead and comfort him like a boyfriend would, and not just a friend. Look at the way he lied to Will’s face right after the most clandestine of moments they’d shared together, claiming it to be all in Will’s head. He wasn’t sure how he could ever come back from that, if even at all. If a younger version of himself were to watch the events of the past few years go down, he would be in complete and utter shock at Mike’s sheer audacity. He would believe this to be out of character for himself, because it was true; young Mike never would have treated Will like he had in a million years. But people change, and apparently become increasingly imbecilic with age. So who’s to say that any of the other members of the Party were any less capable of acting out of character, just like Mike had?

On a more obvious note, the odds of his family accepting him were low. Every conversation involving his father would somehow end up on the topic of the gays going and killing themselves for the sake of the meager illusion of love. Even when not explicitly mentioned, the whole town of Hawkins had preemptively labeled the young Byers boy as a homosexual. So when Will went missing, Ted had nonchalantly assumed the worst. Mike could read between the lines; his father seemed content with the prospect of his best friend being in harm’s way, as if Will deserved a horrific thing that happened to him. In the Wheelers’ eyes, people like him had it coming the second they acted upon their attraction. They would never love him for who he was, not if he were honest. But what if he just chose to withhold the truth? What if he could avoid telling them anything at all? He couldn’t come out if he were dead.

Mike promptly decided to get off the bathroom floor. If he took a few steps across the way to the cabinets below the sink, if he opened them, if he located a pack of his father’s razor blades, and if he grabbed a pair of scissors and broke the razor blades’ tough plastic frame, he couldn’t feel it happening. His mind was not his own, not anymore. As he gently held the blades in one hand, he turned on the faucet to the bathtub in the other, the timbre of the rushing water matching the white noise in his own ears. 

His family wouldn’t want to find him stark naked, so Mike opted to leave his clothes on. He stepped into the tub, cringing at the sensation of his jeans clinging to his ankles, but pushed through the discomfort. He sat down in the tub, which slowly filled with scorching hot water, and Mike couldn’t help but let a few tears escape his eyes. He couldn’t do one thing. He couldn’t just force his feelings deep down like all the other “straight” gay men. He had to go and fall in love with Will, and give him so many fucking obvious reasons to believe that he requited Will’s feelings. But what was life worth if every day was filled with vitriol aimed towards him like a never ending supply of flaming arrows? If he were gone, he’d at least spare the world one more person to hate.

He already knew what his dad would say. He had it coming. He lifted one of the razors to his left wrist, pushing down and pulling a vertical line down the expanse of veins underneath his skin. He watched as blue became black as the blood left his body, then black became red with oxidation. He did this to himself. He grabbed another razor and lifted a shaky hand to his right wrist, pulling his eyes away from his watch, its identical match just across the hallway on Will’s wrist. He pulled down, sobbing as he did so, but not due to physical pain. That watch, flashing 11:11pm, made Mike feel as if Will was there with him, watching him die. He’ll become another statistic, and maybe then, this… gay business will finally be put to a stop. Mike lifted his forearms onto the edges of the tub and closed his eyes, praying for the sweet release of death to find him sooner than later. A sense of euphoria overcame him. Maybe death wasn’t so bad after all.

But suddenly, realization smacked him like a train: he didn’t leave a note. He didn’t leave a note, and Will would feel incredibly blindsided and inevitably blame himself. He needed to find a way to tell Will why he’d killed himself. It was the only way he could die with a clear conscience. When Mike attempted to move his body, stars shone in his line of vision, everything becoming severely blurred with a tunnel-like effect. Mike’s arms were thrashing in the bloody water, but he physically couldn’t feel anything; his nervous system was shutting down. He became ultimately trapped inside of his failing body, his mind racing with regret. Mike’s vision grew darker, and his limbs lost their durability, falling limp at his sides under the water’s scarlet surface. Impulsivity breeds implacability. The damage was already done. It was too–

Late.

Mike’s eyes snapped open, and air slowly filled his lungs again. He tried moving his arms, surprised to see that there were no wounds in sight. He felt the cool tile through his socks, and he let himself exhale in relief. He was still on the bathroom floor. He was still alive. An emotional wreck, but alive nonetheless. What surprised him most, though, was the way his world eclipsed when he was alone with his thoughts. Hopelessness choked the life out of him, shrouded him in complete darkness. And that scared the shit out of Mike. He kept replaying his death over and over in his mind, attempting to make sense of it all. 

He eventually came to the realization that it wasn’t society he was trying to spare regarding his coming out; he wanted to spare himself from the grief of losing his family, his friends, and everyone else he knew. None of the past few hours had made any logical sense. None of the thoughts in Mike’s head had a singular molecule of rationality. The one thing he was certain of, however, was that he loved Will, and he couldn’t live (or die) with himself if he kept Will in the same darkness he’d just experienced.

Mike promptly decided to get off the bathroom floor. He needed to tell Will how he felt, because sitting there waiting for his life to pass him by wasn’t doing anyone any favors. He needed to bite the bullet. Fuck the consequences, he and Will were soulmates. If he had one reason to stay on Earth, Will was it. He took one short look in the mirror, vigorously rubbing his palms against his face to wake himself up, and proceeded to unlock the door and determinedly head across the hallway into his bedroom.

He opened the door, and Will’s head lifted up, his eyes now on Mike rather than the sketchbook in his hands. Mike shut the door quietly, making sure to discreetly lock it behind him before lowering himself onto the mattress that Will sat on, the eye contact connecting them ceasing to break. “I’m in love with you. Every single thing that happened that night was real, and I’m in love with you. And I’m sorry for lying to you about that, but I’m being completely transparent right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. But I want to be with you. As a friend, as a lover, whoever you need me to be. I just needed you to know that I’m wholeheartedly, endlessly, beyond in love with you.”

Will opened his mouth to say something, but Mike was quicker. He reached for Will, and within seconds, Will was reaching right back, consuming all of Mike’s senses. When Will began to take the lead again (or maybe he wasn’t even trying, maybe he was just more comfortable with the idea of kissing a boy, but Mike would digress), he murmured, “Nuh-uh,” against Will’s lips, kissing back with as much love as he could convey through a single kiss. He pushed Will back onto the pillows at the top of the bed, lifting and swinging his leg over to straddle Will’s. He lowered himself down to the love of his life’s level, drinking in the sight of his kiss-swollen lips. How did I get so lucky?

“I don’t know, I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” Will replied, and Mike paled, realizing he’d asked his rhetorical question out loud. But Will, the cocky motherfucker, followed up with, “And by that, I mean I’ve been asking myself how you got so lucky. Because I’m a fucking catch.”

“That you are, baby,” Mike laughed, leaning down again to kiss Will’s lips, then his neck. He slid his hands down to Will’s shirt, pulling away for a split second to lift it swiftly over Will’s head. Mike couldn’t tear the grin off his face when Will did the same for him, tossing the loose shirt through the air and across the room into the void that was Mike’s laundry basket.

From then on, everything was a blur of kissing, touching, and heaven. Mike let Will take him, all of him. He kept reminding Will between kisses that he loved him, that he would do anything for him, that he wanted to be with him forever, and that Will was his heart.

After, Mike’s head found a home on Will’s chest, and their legs wrapped together amongst Mike’s sheets. He finally understood what it felt like to truly love someone. He hadn’t felt like this in his entire life. He smiled to himself at the thought, and pulled back so he could admire the beauty that was Will Byers. It was too good to be true. But it was.

“Mike,” Will whispered, and Mike brushed his palm against Will’s cheek. 

“Will,” he muttered back, pressing his nose into Will’s hair and breathing in. He heard Will’s breathing get heavier, and he went to kiss down Will’s neck again before– 

“Mike.” 

He pulled away to see what was wrong, but he couldn’t…

“Mike.”

Mike blinked, noticing he was still standing in the doorway to his bedroom. Fully clothed. Had he never left that spot? Judging by the anticipatory look on Will’s face that silently asked him “Are you gonna move or what?”, he was certain that his bold, curious, and lovelorn imagination simply took a hold of his brain once again. He nearly laughed out loud at the bitter irony; and he’d just experienced a vast series of hallucinations, after he’d convinced Will that their sexual encounter was all in his head. 

‘Well, if we’re both going crazy, we’ll go crazy together, right?’ ‘Yeah. Crazy together.’ If that wasn’t karma biting him in the ass, then it was Vecna messing with him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was Mike’s morals hard at work, reinforcing his subconscious guilt.

What if it wasn't too late? What if he just took a deep breath, walked through the door, and ripped off the bandaid? No. He couldn’t do it. No matter how much he wanted to, he knew he would always be too scared to admit his love to Will. And at this point, he’d already added insult to injury, poured salt in the wound, and twisted the knife in one fell swoop. He saw no reason to prolong Will’s suffering. He’d caused enough of it already.

He headed over to his bed, got under the covers, and turned off the light on his nightstand. He looked down at the silhouette of Will’s profile. He was so beautiful.

“Night, Will.”

“Goodnight.”

Mike heard Will shift in his sleeping bag to face away from him, and Mike closed his eyes, accepting his damnation. But then he heard something, something that was barely there, but only loud enough for it to make Mike’s heart sink with guilt.

While Will cried himself to sleep, there were multiple times where Mike wanted nothing more than to be next to him, or wanted to at least say something, but he couldn’t move. He was utterly frozen. It was only when Will’s sobs subsided into slow, shallow breaths that he could open his mouth to call out, “Hey Will?”

No response.

“I love you too.”

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