#i just wrote silly little stories

[autisticlenaluthor]

kinda sad bc I've never been more proud of my writing than I am of the fics I'm putting out right now. and they're the fics that nobody seems to be reading

[avirael]

Sparing you the direct side by side comparison here but I really think Nhagi’ra has a bit of Flynn Rider energy, as in he’s a charming but kind idiot. Maybe a little more silly/clumsy than Flynn 🤭

Imagine him just walking by and seeing a woman attacked by some monster. Of course he heroically rushes to her help just that he slips/trips, falls down down a ravine or something and breaks his leg.

Meanwhile said woman (who can absolutely save herself) chases away the monster on her own and finds him stuck and whining.

Still he immediately puts on his most self-assured, charming face to impress her, which pathetically fails of course.

I Imagine it goes like this:

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I ca- Aaaah! - No! No, I can’t…”

“Alright, let me help you…”

[gaybearwedding]

hi hi hello i have been gone forever due to various reasons such as “work” and “mental illness” and “having developed a kpop hyperfixation that has been occupying most of my attention recently” but i need everyone to know that i saw off book live twice last week (in philly with a friend and then in nyc with my girlfriend) and it was truly so everything. i didn’t get many pictures but i did get a few and none of them are very good but one of them is of jess’ amazing stool balancing act and that’s all i need really

[wetcatspellcaster]

"What if I told you I love you" "You'd be lying" "*laughing* But a beautiful lie, nonetheless...." - hahahahahaha screaming crying throwing up

[written-mishaps]

Thank you for the new chapter of 'It was Only a Matter of Time.' it's one of my absolute favourite fox stories, and i have no words to describe the space it takes up in my head. I'm going to go reread it 50,000 times now!!

AW THANK YOU FOR READING, that really does mean a lot to me, especially since, as a fellow individual with a large percentage of brain space being taken up by this story, I understand the significance of that❤️❤️❤️

[lanatusnebula]

Megaman Ships

Don't read this if you're expecting me to mention Classic or Starforce at all.

My ships... I have art stashed but it's really weird. The environment of the internet has shifted drastically over the years, and I think some people take things too seriously. But... I ship things. I'm not trying to make a big deal about it, just want to gush about the stuff I like. :) (and don't like)

The X series

I really love the X series to bits! I actually don't ship any of the characters here. I think they're all precious in their own way, though. X and Zero, as a kid, I never really shipped.

But I guess things change over time.

Some people make some wondrous content showing how close the two could actually be. It's endearing...

I don't like Iris's writing or how some people insist she's The One To Ship With Zero. Even if it's suggested like... in minute ways, I just... dunno. It feels like the devs wanted people to ship X and Zero but it was too GAY so they made a female X and said "have at it." Which... is so weird? Everything Zero could've liked about Iris, we see X exhibit those exact traits, AND MORE. It could be the "Zero just might be a heterosexual so he isn't into X", but I mean, if Dmmd taught me anything, it's that seeking out female versions of the guy you're totally not into doesn't work out.

Alia is a cool character! Reducing her to simply X's flat and 2D love interest was... depressing. I loved how she had a kill streak in x6! It made her super interesting. Idk what happened in... was it x8? Like, get that game away from me.

Axl is a cutie pie but he's more husbando material than he is shipping material for me. He just wants to sit at the cool kid's table and managed to nab a seat...

I dunno.

Layer is hot tho ha

aha

haha

-

The Zero series

I lost my fucking mind with this series. I went from "I don't ship robots in this cool game" to just mix and matching everyone in every which-way.

Some weirdo freaks got me into shipping Omega Zero with Copy X. Do not ask how that is logical or what could possibly be their dynamic. I just like the aesthetic. It makes no sense. They didn't coexist in the same room. Ever.

Ciel x Fefnir is like my guilty ship. Most of my AUs seem to naturally form some sort of organic bond between them subconsciously. Fefnir, though a hot head, seems like the kind of guy who's a good sport. I like the idea of little ol' Ciel crushing on the football player lookin guy, and he thinks that she's adorable in her own right. You know - X's whole inherent love of humans or whatever I probably made up. That's my justification.

I obviously ship Harpuia and Zero.

Where some people find cyberelf X and Zero to be top shelf, I raise the offer "yes but he can actually touch Harpuia without absorbing him like every other cyberelf". (I will admit I love shipping Cyberelf X with Zero in that very strange maternal-esque "I will embrace your corpse so that you may rest forever" edgelord shit. I snort it daily don't worry.)

Harpuia rescuing Zero for no Fucking Reason in z2 fucked me up. Why'd you do that? What'd you do that for? You picked him up and rode on your shitty little bird to drop him off at the correct address, so you even knew where Ciel and friends were staying? Right after Zero off'd your beloved X? Yeah? You did that why? (I know it's probably related to that whole chapter where Harpuia is nearly a better ruler than Copy X and just makes all the right choices in contrast to his previous ruler blah blah blah) But what if it's because he has programmed into him the same unbreakable love for Zero (platonically) that X had? We know that the guardians get some sort of weird high when fighting Zero so... why not further fuck up that interpretation of X and Zero's relationship?

I really like portraying Harpuia as being the only one who didn't completely cave in and go bonkers from battling Zero. He just sort of kept it inside. Poorly. And it comes out in small amounts via weird actions. Leviathan I portray mostly as a kid with a magnifying glass over some ants, Fefnir as the kinda guy to just be an adrenaline junkie, and Phantom thought it was a flaw in his programming so he blew up.

Cyberelf X and Copy X is GOOD SHIT MM THAT'S SOME GOOD SHIT 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit

My only justification of it is either Cyberelf X hates his guts or is Copy X's only friend. And Copy X's emotions are already fucked up like every other inch of his programming.

Ciel and Copy X though I ship them in a familial sense. He's obsessed with protecting her and Ciel is like "I made him! :)" I've got some pics lying around (they're gone) of Ciel reading ancient books to Copy X while he lays in her bed at night. She says it's to help him sleep, but since that isn't How Reploids Work, he's really there to pretend to fall asleep when he notices Ciel is about to. Then when she passes out he stares at her all night, stroking her hair. Like a freak. But please, it's not romantic; I do not want it to be at all. I just want him to be weird.

-

ZX series.

Get your tomatoes ready. I'm finna make an ass outta myself. ;(

OG Prometheus and Aile is a new ship. I can't... explain this one? I don't know.

The AU I'm writing has Grey retreive the original body plans for Prometheus and Pandora from the lab he was made in, near end game before Prometheus and Pandora bite the bucket. Presuming that Flueve and friends aboard the Guardian can make bodies themselves (fuck you I don't think Ciel was making new bodies for everyone solo), Grey asks Aile if they can give Pandora and Prometheus a second chance, since they're likely controlled by Model W. She says "what are you smoking". I just like Grey to be selfless in the dumbest ways imaginable.

Pandora and Prometheus dies. I think it is stupid that they get left behind, so I imagine that he used model F megaman form thing to drag them out (like how Aile should've done herself in the first game) flops their corpses at Aile's doorstep and is like "I got the EC to pay for this." And shenanigans happen. They rebuild their old bodies, do some wacky techno shit with their DNA and put it in the new bodies akin to how reploids age in canon (assumption). Prometheus and Pandora wake up as normal ass people.

But they're also lowkey enlsaved by the Guardians because like uhh um uhh ummm "you owe us. but forever" and they're ok with this and something about duplicating model w don't ask It's fucking stupid I'm insecure about it but they can megamerge into their old forms but aren't allowed to go ape shit and prometheus and aile become sorta close in that antagonizing way because she has to watch him closely while pandora hangs out with grey like a little brother and it's all warm and fuzzy and they have no problems (i stole the idea from the stupid japanese site's weird little roleplay things) that's her little buddy you know and don't worry about it i just ship aile and prometheus

My Girouette ships are off limits. I'd be sentenced to death.

I ship Siarnaq and Grey because my AI roleplay partner shoved it onto me with rose prose and I was like "... you know what? this will work". My ship count is being dominated by the sheer number of AUs and oneshots I've written about those two. Ask and I will divulge

some

of them. But otherwise I'm mmgngngjghgngmgnggnmgngm Really Grey being an unaging kid complicates things. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a life span, and I do not subscribe to the "reploids naturally grow" head canon because it's pretty stupid to think technology got that far when it was stated in-game that it isn't. that's like Legends shit.

I ship Thetis one-sided with Aile because it's Extremely Funny. No other reason.

-

Legends series

I don't really ship anything I just think everyone is precious and adorable. I Guess I like the dynamic between Tronn Bonne and Volnuttsack. It's neat. I don't think about it beyond seeing it on the screen though.

-

Exe Series

Uh. Hm.

I just really like Megaman.exe himself. I don't ship anyone consciously...???? I think I just admire them all from afa-

No

I ship Zero.exe with Zero.

I ship it really bad.

[girl-bateman]

Gaslighting, my old friend, I'll fall for you every single time <3

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 15: i don't need you to help me, i can handle things myself

"I'm fine." + Suppressed Suffering

2335 Words; Raz Gets A Nap AU, based off of this ask answered by @erigold13261

AO3 ver

Mirtala shifted her grip on the portrait, trying to keep it from falling out of her hands.

She wobbled, a bit, as Queepie shuffled forwards—the heavy portrait was not working in her favor. And the straightjacket hanging off her shoulders wasn’t helping, either. It was long enough to cover Queepie’s face, and it was screwing with her balance just as bad as the portrait.

At least Queepie was the one holding the trophy. And at least they’d been able to close the jacket so that Queepie had enough of a gap to see through it. He shuffled forwards, Mirtala using every trick she had to hold her balance atop his head. Maybe she should be standing on her hands and holding the portrait with her legs?

“Greetings, Dr. Loboto.”

Well, too late to change positions now. Mirtala did her best to hold still as Crispin continued.

“Good to see your face.” Crispin drawled. Mirtala couldn’t see his through the portrait. “I see you’re wearing your favorite jacket, and if I may say so, your claw is looking especially menacing today.” It sounded like he fell for the disguise, though, and Queepie wasn’t making any moves to start running away.

“Up to the secret laboratory then, is it?” Crispin stepped to the side, coming into the edge of Mirtala’s view. She angled the portrait towards him as the sound of metal hinges grating sounded off in front of her. The elevator gate? Queepie shuffled over to it, careful not to ruin Mirtala’s balance as he spun around.

“Taking her up yourself this time, eh Doctor?” Crispin’s voice continued, and Mirtala did her best not to wobble. “Less work for me!” Mirtala heard the sound of the gate closing, then—

“Inmate Whytehead.” Oh, was that Fred? Fred was nice. Mirtala and Queepie got to play the board game in his head.

Whatever Crispin said in response was drowned out by the grind of the elevator going up, up, up, the sudden motion making Queepie stumble. Mirtala wobbled, the portrait threatening to drag her to the ground. She let it fall, not caring about the way it clattered. Crispin wasn’t here to see it, anyway—she didn’t need it anymore.

As the elevator came to a stop, Mirtala flung off the jacket. “Let’s go.” She urged, hopping off of Queepie as the gate opened.

Queepie followed after her. “It looks like a hospital.” He commented, as they crossed over the wooden bridge onto checkered tile.

“That’s because it is, dummy.” Mirtala replied as they continued through the twisting hall. Light floated down from a hole in the ceiling, the chunks big on the floor. Mirtala clambered up over them, Queepie jumping up with the help of a glowing brain ball. “It’s a…” She tried to find the exact words for it, and settled on, “hospital for brain stuff.” That wasn’t the word that she’d heard for it, but it was close enough.

“Yeah, well, it’s a sad hospital.” Queepie decided, using his brain ball to jump over a pile of mattresses. He came back over them after a moment, “It’s all dirty.”

“Because it hasn’t been cleaned, duh.” Mirtala skipped up the steps to the next floor, Queepie keeping pace. Ever since he went into Miss Milla’s head, he’d been hopping and gliding around on his brain ball like it was the coolest thing.

Mirtala wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t. So what if she wasn’t a weird fortune teller like Queepie (or Raz or Frazie)? She was an Aquato! She was a proud acrobat! She didn’t need silly mind tricks.

Mirtala nodded. Yeah. Even with his brain ball, she could easily keep up with Queepie. So really, he just needed the extra help.

They continued on, through poorly-lit halls that twisted around and around. They had to leap over a hole in the floor once, Mirtala grabbing onto a swinging light to get herself across while Queepie boosted his jump with his brain ball. He kept ducking into side rooms, searching for Psi-Cards as he went. Mirtala followed once she realized that the campers’ brains were similarly scattered around.

“It doesn’t squeak like a mouse…” She murmured, holding Benny’s brain. It also wasn’t who she was after—but it wouldn’t make sense for Lili’s brain to be left out in the open, Mirtala decided.

Something squeaked.

Mirtala and Queepie turned to the source of the noise. A rat stood before them, shaking in place. Its head was swollen in two shaking lobes, and it squeaked once more before bursting.

Mirtala wailed. Green gas pooled out from where the rat’s body remained, and Queepie ducked away. The world spun, everything swirling together as Mirtala shook—

And then the confusion faded away, and Mirtala had to run to catch up with Queepie. “Wait up!” She demanded.

Mirtala didn’t glance back at the rat as she continued. More rats came, and it wasn’t long before Queepie switched to shooting at them as they advanced, ducking in and out of rooms and over debris and old beds. A rusty wheelchair rolled past them, pushed by one of the rats exploding, its wheels squeaking and making Mirtala jump.

Queepie jumped higher, though, so at least Mirtala wasn’t the only one startled.

“I hate this place.” Mirtala muttered. She kept hearing weird sounds and squeaks, everything was dangerous and run-down, and the rats kept coming at them and exploding. It was awful. Absolutely awful. Mirtala wanted to find her friend and get out of here as soon as possible.

“Stop being a baby.” Queepie responded, already moving on. “We gotta find Lili.”

“I’m not a baby!” If anything, Queepie was a baby. Mirtala was a big girl! “This whole place is just awful!” It was poorly lit, the shadows crawling around the halls like icky sticky bugs, and Mirtala had seen no sign of her friends. Just more twisting halls going up and up and up.

Worse than the rats, and the broken floors and walls, worse than the dark and the fog—

It was quiet, outside of the rats. The only footsteps were their own, padding up and down the halls. Mirtala could hear her own breathing, hear every whimper when one of the rats startled her.

Which meant Queepie could hear it, too.

But Mirtala could also hear Queepie’s breathing, the way it sped up the further in they got. Mirtala wasn’t stupid—Queepie was just as scared as her. Her little brother was scared and the only thing Mirtala could offer was her own fear, the fear they shared as they climbed.

They went up another set of stairs. The floor was tilted, up here, off-kilter. Mirtala danced across it to the next door, ignoring the unease forming in her gut. Queepie clambered up onto the broken wall, the outside world spilling out before them.

“We’re so high.” Mirtala breathed, staring out at the night. A large part of her was thrilled—not even the trapeze in the Aquatodome could go this high! She could see across the lake from here!

But the reason they were up here clung to her like sweat, cold and slimy in the small of her back. Lili had been taken. Chloe had been taken.

Everyone had been taken, and Mister Sasha and Miss Milla were too busy doing something else to do anything about it. It was up to Mirtala and Queepie.

(Even though Mirtala had scarcely any idea what she was doing. She had to do it, because there was nobody else but Queepie.)

The next jump was too high for Mirtala to reach. Queepie stood on his brain ball, the light of it cutting through the gloom. “Get on.” He held out his hand, and Mirtala only frowned a little before taking it. She wasn’t jealous. Not one bit!

They jumped up together, the night air cold against them. The wind whistled through, and the tower as a whole groaned, like some giant monster waiting to swallow them both up—

Everything was getting more and more twisted. Mirtala wasn’t sure how it was all still standing, at this rate. The spiral staircase was twisted in on itself, the stairs sideways at the top.

Still, Mirtala and Queepie continued. They used an old bed to spring up to the next floor, walking along the wall—the whole hall was twisted onto its side.

“Grrk!” Something ahead of them squeaked. Something peeking down through a doorway in the ceiling-wall, long white curls hanging down below them.

Mirtala flipped forwards. But they were already gone.

She and Queepie continued, into a room so twisted that the floor curled up onto the walls, a pool of bubbling green in a hole in the floor at the bottom. They continued, up broken stairs and onto black and white checkered tiles, overlooking the outdoors once again.

The rest of the tower loomed before them, impossibly tall. A huge chunk of wall was missing, as was most of the floors, revealing an open space that seemed to just go up and up and up. But Mirtala was an acrobat! She and Queepie could handle this, no matter how high they had to climb!

(Even though Mirtala had never climbed this high before, even though this was nothing like the Aquatodome—

She’d make it. She had to.)

So they climbed, jumping up over broken concrete and swinging from bits of rebar. Mirtala ducked through a small window, and—

“Dogen!” Mirtala hugged the brain tight against her chest, “It’s good to see you again.” She’d get his brain back to him. She’d get all their brains back!

“C’mon!” Queepie urged, somewhere above her. Right.

Mirtala ducked back inside and clambered up a pole. She had to be careful—she couldn’t slow her fall like Queepie could. Knowing how to fall was all well and good, but it wouldn’t protect her completely. Not at these heights. Mirtala climbed up exposed rebar like it was a ladder, meeting Queepie at the top of it.

“I saw the thing again.” Queepie whispered. He pointed at a hole in the wall blocked by criss-crossing metal. “It was right there, and it was blue!”

So the thing they kept seeing was blue. Good to know.

Mirtala nodded, then started climbing. The metal went up, up, up, Mirtala and Queepie finally reaching the end of it and hopping off onto the concrete.

The tower still continued up, up, up, impossibly high. Mirtala wondered if she and Queepie would ever reach the top, or if they’d be climbing up it forever.

(The brains in her bag all seemed to pulse in tandem with Mirtala’s worry.

She’d get them all, and bring them back. She had to.)

The tower was quickly becoming near-unnavigable for her, the gaps too large for Mirtala to clear without the help of psychic powers. She was relying on Queepie more and more, and part of her grated at that fact.

(Family was supposed to help and support each other, though—Mirtala knew this.

But it felt like she was somehow inadequate all the same.)

The rats were coming in droves, now, their squeaking loud against the quiet of the night. Mirtala felt her throat tighten.

They made it up, and saw the thing again. “Scram!” They shouted, before disappearing up the hole in the room. Mirtala slapped the glass. “Wait!” But it was already gone. Was that Dr. Loboto?

She and Queepie continued on, clambering up whatever handholds were available. Mirtala grabbed Clem and Nils’ brains—she didn’t hug Nils’ brain as firmly as she hugged the others, opting to push it into her bag. Only four brains left to find—Vernon, Mikhail, Elton, and Lili.

Mirtala turned around—

The thing loomed before them, white curls spiraling above their head. They wore a bright red dress, and their voice squeaked as they spoke.

“This is your last warning! Go back down right now or you’ll be very very sorry!”

Mirtala flinched as lightning flashed through the sky. When the light cleared, the mysterious person was gone.

“Scary.” Queepie mumbled. His eyes flicked to Mirtala, “I mean—” He backtracked, “That wasn’t scary at all. Not at all. I’m not scared!” His voice echoed out into the night, his hands balled up into fists.

Mirtala side-eyed her brother. “Liar.” He was just as scared as her, and she didn’t need to be a fortune teller to tell. She could see it in the way his hands were trembling, in the way his shoulders were taught, his face scrunched into a stony frown.

(Mirtala was scared, too.

But she wasn’t going to say that aloud—not when it would only make the fear real.)

They clambered out onto the stairs that the mysterious person had been standing on, following them down towards another elevator. This was it.

“Big girls don’t cry.” Mirtala muttered. “It’s showtime, and big girls don’t cry.” Her eyes stung all the same.

Mirtala shook her head. She could do this! She was strong!

(She didn’t feel very strong at all.

But there was nobody else who could do this—not with all the campers brainless and the agents gone. It was just her and Queepie, and there was no way Mirtala was going to let Queepie do this alone.)

She was an Aquato. She ate danger for breakfast!

(She’d never been so high before. The wind tugged at her braids, at her clothes—would she be able to fall right, if she was knocked off?)

And Queepie had all those cool powers he’d picked up since coming here! They could do this!

(Queepie was a baby. He was strong, sure, but he wasn’t much taller than Mirtala.

And Mirtala wasn’t that much older than him, either.)

“I can do this.” Mirtala stressed. Her eyes stung, and her throat tightened, but she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t—big girls didn’t cry when the show started. She looked to Queepie, who stared back at her with wide eyes.

(Mirtala wasn’t crying. She was scared all the same.)

Her hand slipped into his. “On three?”

Queepie nodded, squeezing Mirtala’s hand. “On three.”

Right. Mirtala brushed her fears aside “One… two… three!”

As one, Mirtala and Queepie stepped onto the elevator. Show time.

[sailforvalinor]

.

[iced-sympathy]

Is 2023 the year Light Yagami finally rests?

[hasbledtodeathunderourknife]

I don’t really think it’s harmful for kids to say “I’m going to shift into an alternate reality in which my exact dream life I wrote out exists when I sleep” it’s just funny

[starsdesiresz]

Megumi head canons! //✰ jjk headcanons

bestfriend!Megumi who only lets you play with his hair. For example, he lets you put silly cute hair clips in his hair, and lets you do skin care on him!

bestfriend!Megumi who let you name his demon dogs, sugar and spice! He also lets you play fetch with them, play with them, and every once in a while let them sleep with you!

bestfriend!Megumi who has a big fat crush on you, ever since you two were kids. In middle school, he would beat up anyone who even tried bullying you.

bestfriend!Megumi who wrote you letters to you, but always hid them under his bed, until yuji found them. (he’s the only one who knows he has a crush on you) hehe

bestfriend!Megumi who ask gojo about dating advice and says “it’s just for a friend, back off.” When gojo teases him about it. (But it’s really how to be the best boyfriend to you!)

bestfriend!Megumi who told yuji to give a special letter to you, but not to tell you who it’s from, butttt, yuji butt has a big mouth so accidentally says “this is from fushiguro y/n!” And after he realizes what he said, he runs away far far away knowing what will happen when Megumi finds out.

bestfriend!Megumi who gets a text from you saying how special he makes you feel and feels the same way and how you would love to be his girlfriend! But you also don’t leave out how yuji told you. (Megumi used demon dogs to hunt yuji down)

boyfriend!Megumi who sleeps in your bed for the first time. He loves feeling you, hearing you, and just honestly loves being right next to you!

boyfriend!Megumi who thanks yuji for accidentally rating him out to you, even tho he really didn’t want to. (you told him too, hehe)

boyfriend!Megumi who never ever regrets giving yuji that letter to give to you. Now you too have a happy family of 2 kids. You tell your little 6 and 3 year olds your love story for bed time.

a/n; I love Megumi haha! @selfalivent, I hope you like it! 🫶🏼

[samiferboy]

hgh. okay

[carpe-mamilia]

Sorry @buttonhouseparty, I thought all your tags perfectly encapsulated what I thought when I first saw this post so I'm putting them here:

#hasn't it always been like this though? I feel like we've had this conversation ever since the beginning #obv I love the captain. but the fandom has always emphasised him heavily over other characters #even ben said that it surprised him how much the story resonated with fans #(alison is literally the main character and she gets less attention) #and since the start there's been the critique that the fandom never talks about anyone else #with the response always: well. you talk about other characters then. you create the content you want to see. #however the reasonable answer to that is #why bother to do that when you know other fans won't be interested + won't engage with it #I've always felt like: I absolutely hear that critique and I do understand the captain bias is annoying + potentially problematic #but people do fandom for fun and they're just going to focus on their fave #it puts me in the odd position of feeling like I'm 'contributing to the problem' whenever I reblog #and it makes me feel vaguely guilty for not enjoying the show in the right way

[...] #also I'm here as a comedy fan so I'm not very interested in doing deep dives on the characters' trauma #I like a bit of angst but I also like a compilation video of captain noises #I mean I'll reblog cap ship fanart #I love to see it and I like doing my part in sharing around other people's creative work #but I also adore a post discussing the idiots' writing and influences #but that's not what this fandom loves to do so I don't expect to see many posts like that

#AND I think many fans were deeply disappointed by the xmas finale and have wandered off to other things #the ppl who are still here are still enjoying shipping and sharing pics of ben looking hot #which is fine. that's a fun hobby! but I get that it's far from satisfactory for the whole ghosts community #anyway yeah. we've argued this one to death over the past five years and it just makes everyone fall out. I don't know what the answer is

controversial take but being a longtime ghosts fan over the past few months has just been watching the captain become increasingly more prevalent in tags and fan content to the point where almost no other character’s stories or personalities are explored and usually if they are, it’s in relation to the captain.

I’m gay, a lesbian, and the amount of fanbases I’ve seen fall to mostly straight women and become a whirlpool of one white, conventionally attractive gay man played by a straight man has been so disappointing. the captain is not the only character in ghosts. he is not the deepest or most tragic character in ghosts. it is a found family themed show. we, gay people, do not exist as tragic entertainment to be fetishised. the women in this show are rarely mentioned in comparison to the captain, Kitty had multiple scenes about her abusive sister, is implied to come from a horrific colonialist background and basically came out as asexual in season 5 and nobody talked about it, Mary died in a way that was so horrific they didn’t even show it on camera but havers had five minutes of screen time and he is everything now, apparently.

it’s to the point where you can’t escape it, no matter what tags related to the show you do or don’t follow. I’ve seen it before with the way the good omens fanbase changed from people who respected this incredible story criticising blind faith in religion with queer characters that inherently further that message into people calling them “uwu husbands” or whatever.

I’m not particularly angry, I’m just sad to see that the internet has turned into this again. I love the captain. I love ben, he’s a fantastic actor that I grew up admiring!!! but the captain is not the entire show and I think we need to think about why he takes up like. 85% of fan works.

[ram-bles]

a crumb of nsfw daisuke?

daisuke x reader | headcanons

requests/inbox: open

[ 🔞 minors dni ]

woah. from sweet to spicy. ill give this a try!

wrote this on mobile, sorry for the fuckass formatting.

gender neutral reader. sillies. lots of sillies. weed mention (like once).

🌺 c'mon, he somehow sneaked in some of his secret stash'a magazines. he's still a guy after all.

"Dai?" "Yeah?" He's busy on his Gameboy, but he acknowledges you, tilting his body to show his face but his eyes were glued to the screen. "Did you steal these porn mags from Jimmy or someth—" A pink blur suddenly pushes you away, using his feet to kick it back under his bed. "DUDE. PRIVACY. C'MON NOW."

🌺 You've probably caught him once or twice even before you two were a thing. It wasn't hard to, after all, you both shared a room.

Too lost in the sauce to even notice you, so you had to clear your throat. You've never seen someone so shocked to the point he doesn't know whether to shove his dick back in his pants, hide under the blankets, or try to do both at the same time but completely failing. He's stuttering your name out along with strings of apologies. Don't get your dick caught in your zipper now, Daisuke. "I didn't know you were there! Shitshitshit- I'm so so sorry- Aghhhh." He felt pathetic, whining in embarrassment. Daisuke ends up just pulling the blanket over the entirety of him. "You could've just asked me for help, y'know." He stares at you, scandalized as if he wasn't rubbing one off just moments ago. "How the fuck was I s'posed to know?!" You shrug, amused. "Dunno." "Man, fuck youuuu." "Happily." "Get over here already, please!"

🌺 Outside internship though? Weed before sex seems like something he'd do. I can't explain why.

🌺 Feeling his rings on you... in many ways.

🌺 Pretty sure we all agree that he's into praising. Both giving and receiving.

🌺 You know he's having lots of fun when the pitch of his voice goes high. Squeaking, voice cracking, whining.

🌺 Speaking of how vocal he is, he's probably loud too. But, since you're in the ship now, he'll try his best to keep it down, either on the pillow or you. He'll also be rambling about random things just so he doesn't finish early.

🌺 Dirty talking? ❌ He'll be cringing like there's no tomorrow. He'll make a discord (or whatever equivalent) kitten joke about it if he does.

🌺 Unintentional dirty talking though... That's another story. Or should I rephrase, more-so leaning towards cussing.

"Fuck— you're sosososo pretty..." His hands were pressing the back of your knees, folding and spreading your legs for him. He whines your name out, resting his length on your abdomen while he impatiently waits for your permission. "C'mon, pretty. I'll be this deep inside you." - "Feels good. Feels so good." He's panting and rutting into you like a dog. "You should- nh- loosen up a little- shit- if you get any tighter I think I'll cum..."

🌺 Quickies galore. Sure, it's less risky, but with his libido? Anyways, he's pretty easy to please anyways. A round or two would probably be enough for him.

🌺 Wearing his clothes while at it? Mega turn on for him.

🌺 Well, yes his libido is high, but you still need to be straightforward with him. He can't take hints...

"Want head?" "?!? Who's head?!" "YOUR DICK." "YOU'RE CUTTING IT OFF?" "WHAT? NO, I MEANT SUCKING YOUR—" "Good morning to you both too." "CAPTAIN?"

🌺 He loves giving and receiving hickeys. You would have to remind him everytime not to mark too high on your neck.

🌺 His aftercare involves lots of cuddling and lots of smooching.

🌺 Ending with a silly note. The first time you've done it with him, he ended up saying thank you since he didn't know what to do.

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — eddie x fem reader (7.1k)

summary: 2011– your roommate drags you to a frat party and ditches the second she sees the guy she’s been fucking. left by yourself, you meet someone by accident, someone who isn’t in the fraternity 

warnings: smut, underage drinking, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, dancing, eddie is trying to be cocky but he’s just awkward and silly

notes: i had a blast deep diving back into my hs and college days to reminisce with this. i hope if you were growing up during this time you can giggle along with me. love youuu oooh! also i hid some easter eggs in here (they’re not hidden at all)

The basement was steamy, and not in a ‘oh it’s a little warm in here but more like, every single person is drunk off their ass and the walls are sweating’kind of way.

College was everything you’d hoped it to be and more.

Your roommate, Kenzie was the type of girl who had an ‘open closet’ policy letting you wear her clothes almost more than your own. You weren’t too keen on sharing a dorm room with a girl you’ve never met before, but thankfully—you had gotten lucky. 

You had heard the horror stories from your older sister about her terrible roommate freshman year and you worried for most of the summer that you’d strike the same type of fortune. It wasn’t until you got a friend request on Facebook and a cheery little message : 

[Kenzie Walmen 2:07 PM: heyyyy roomie (;] 

that you knew you had nothing to worry about. 

She was from the west coast in sunny California, that bright western sky seeped deep into her personality. Kenz was sun kissed and bright haired, pretty ocean dipped eyes to give her the All-American type of aesthetic that most girls wished for. And maybe it was her laid back disposition, or her thrill for living it up and every hour of the day— that landed you here tonight at Delta Kappa Sigma. 

It wasn’t your scene.

You weren’t shy or new to getting drunk, you had even been so brave to take the occasional hit from a homemade bong in your neighbors dorm a few times, but the frat parties were known for their out of control Project X style of getting shitfaced. 

And something about guys with too much testosterone and too much Adidas cologne made your skin crawl and not in a good way. 

“Prints always look weird on me,” you grumble into the mirror eyeing your curves in a leopard lace tank top and black skirt, “is it too much?” 

Kenzie adjusts her off-the-shoulder top, adding a bit of shimmer powder to her exposed shoulder, “absolutely not, if anything it’s not enough.” Neon feathers decorate her bouncy curled hair as she eyes you in the mirror, “add that silver chunky necklace, and you’ll look bomb.” 

She was right, the necklace really pulled the entire look together, and if it were Halloween weekend you could even pass as a Spice Girl or maybe Snookie. 

“Sooo, is Steve gonna be there tonight?” You ask elongating the vowels in the aforementioned name, followed by some kissy faces and porn worthy moans. 

Kenzie rolls her eyes, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks, “yeah… about that. He said he has a “surprise” for me when I get there, so if I disappear, I’m just with him, okay?” 

“Wait wait wait—” you protest, holding a death grip clutch on a bottle of UV blue. “We aren’t even at the party yet and you’re already planning on ditching me?” 

— 

And that’s what got you here, a little more than drunk, holding a piss warm Green apple flavored Four Loko to your mouth, leaning against the corner basement wall in hopes to maybe disappear, wishing you were anywhere but in this cesspool of basement. 

The “DJ” (a frat guy wearing neon glasses with bars across them, scrolling through an ipod and a playlist more than likely named ‘Get Crunk’) was playing Kid Cudi, again. Everyone was screaming along to the chorus like he personally wrote it for them and their experience at college. A headache was brewing behind your eyes as the beat thumped loudly into your chest and radiated to your temples. 

Kenzie left almost immediately upon arriving. Swooped up and tossed over the broad shoulder of Steve the minute he answered the door. You laughed and shook your head, imagining how she was probably face down in navy cum stained sheets by now. 

The hours she spent on her hair and makeup went to waste, only being seen by the dead catalog eyes of Playboy’s finest from their pinned positions on the walls of Steve’s shared bedroom. 

Another sip from the overly carbonated beverage has you shuddering, the fiery ripple of fruit flavored [vomit] alcohol scouring through you like lava, causing your face to screw into a disgusted look.

How can people drink this shit? 

Your bladder screams at you to break the seal, demanding to find relief, immediately. The black lights were zero help in disguising if there were any doors that might lead into a bathroom. Pushing from the wall and taking the last hot sip from your drink, you navigate your way to the stairs. 

A table holding lone solo cups in formation from a forgotten beer pong game is now the proud owner of your empty can.

Weaving through the jungle of fist pumping douchelords and tipsy sorority girls making out for risqué facebook pics labeled [*~Freshman Y3ar!~*] you finally emerge from the sweaty pits of fraternity hell and climb the beer stained steps to the main floor. 

The monotonous beat from the music thumped a little less loudly up here, as if the noise was absorbed by the maroon colored carpeting and the oak cabinets in the foyer. 

The house was dated, decorated with a clash of orangey dark wood mixed with emeralds, dark reds and gold. As if this house was based out of Tuscany instead of midwest nowhere— complete with the rubbery fake fruit and vines that stood solely to collect dust. 

You had never been here before and didn’t know where in the hell to start looking to find the bathroom, and like Alice, you figured you might as well try every door knob in this type of Wonderland. 

The first door you peeked into looked like it was a formal dining room, but instead sat a television on the great oval table blasting obnoxiously loud as a pornstar moaned ripples of “pleasure” through her pink pout. Above her was an extremely tanned guy rocking a set of hard abs, thrusting in a slow rhythm that didn’t match her orgasm. 

A snicker slips from your lips and you gently pull the door closed with a small click, loud whoops and whistling from what you could only assume were a couple of frat guys erupt behind the door.

Watching porn together. 

You’ll have to add that to your growing list of things you didn’t know about the brotherhood behind a fraternity. 

The second door looked more hopeful as it was adjacent to the kitchen area. Upon nearly peeing down your leg, you were shocked stupid when you yanked the door open to find a closet housed with cleaning supplies. 

What the fuck? 

How could a frat house not have a bathroom? 

Your bladder squeezed in on itself and you were certain you couldn’t hold it any longer. Just short of giving up on this quest of relief and going back to your dorm, a gaggle of girls run down the steps leading to the top floor, where you could only assume the bedrooms were. 

“…why are frat bathrooms always so fucking dirty?!” 

Bingo.

Hustling up the never ending carpeted stairs, your bladder was on the brink of exploding as you shoved past a wooden door with a paper sign that read, “no jerking off in the shower!! pipes are clogged!” 

Your sandals clapped along the sea foam tiles floors as you slipped into one of the many metal stall doors. With a swift hike of your skirt up to your middle and pull of your panties, you were finally able to pee. 

A choir of angels sang the HallelujahHallelejuah chorus as you went and you sighed in relief that you had made it. 

“..yeah yeah, okay asshole,” a loud voice sounded from just outside the bathroom door frame, “you still owe me from last time,” the voice now echoed as it hit against the tiles and cement block walls, “no, payment is cold hard cash buddy, I don’t care if you have to dip into your trust fund.”  

A pair of black docs stomp into the tiled bathroom, nearing the stall you were in. There's no way he’ll come to this stall. 

“Tell daddy that you need more money for polos or Jordan’s— I really don’t give a fuck, but you need to pay the fuck up.” 

But as fate would have it…and in your hurry to get to the toilet before pissing all over yourself… and forgetting to lock the door in your haste… the stall door swings wide open— revealing a very bottomless you, to a pair of very wide dark, deer-in-the-headlight eyes. 

A beat that feels like an eternity passes, his hand is choked against his belt in a yank to unthread it, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Your hands fly to cover yourself the best you can, panties still at your ankles, skirt still around your midsection. 

It’s all yells and screams with this random guy stumbling over himself dropping his phone on the ground and spewing, “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” and you yelling for him to shut the fucking door already. 

His apologies don’t stop as he pulls the door closed, and from the other side of it as you pull up your underwear and adjust your skirt. 

“I swear! I didn’t think anyone was in there! I promise!” 

Your face burns in embarrassment as you contemplate melting into the floor and becoming one with the poorly aimed piss stains and the dirty grout. As good as that sounds you still have to leave, you still have to pass the guy who just saw your bare vag and you still have to navigate your way out of here. 

His phone lays face down on the floor, and you pray it isn’t broken for his sake. You pick it up, flipping it over to see that it scathed by with just a fine crack from one corner to another. His screen saver is a picture of a group of guys in a skatepark in the dark, smoke billowing thickly to cover their faces as they stand on the boards, the one with dark longer hair is shirtless, and painted with tattoos. 

“Shit,” you breathe quietly, “your phone is cracked.” 

You can see the shadows of his feet pacing back and forth but when you speak they stop, “oh..,” he mumbles, clearing his throat a bit, “umm, yeah, no biggie it was broke like that already.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah— hey, if you wanna slide that under the door I can um, let you ..ahem.. finish up in there.” 

Shit. Duh he needed his phone, and you were just holding it hostage in here as your shame hung thickly in the air. God this might really couldn’t get any fucking worse.

A deep breath in through your nose, you fake a mask of confidence and open the stall door. 

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he barged in on you, but now in the fluorescent dust covered light you dared to look a little longer at him. 

Long locks of honeyed brown locks fell onto the tops of his shoulders, covered with a green plaid flannel that hung open showing his neck and a flick of dark lines from a tattoo hidden under a black band tank top. His eyes were just as brown, round and flocked with a grove of thick lashes. Clearly he was the shirtless one in his background picture. 

He smiled sheepishly, pulling his jaw taunt as he averted his gaze to the toe of his boots, noticing your hand stretched out before him to give him back his phone, he glanced at your face, skimming his hand over your palm.

“Thanks— uh…” he started, shifting his weight to lean back against the many rows of sinks, “sorry again, I promise I don’t normally walk in on ladies using the facilities.” 

His eyes met yours and you instantly felt a heat run to your throat, his lips were impossibly plump as he drew them into a tight smirk. 

Fuck are those dimples? Of course they were. God he’s so pretty. 

You smile, “normal people lock the stall, but I was in a hurry… well I was lost!” you exclaim in a huff, fully hands on hips annoyed, “why the fuck would the bathroom be on the top floor?” 

You asked him incredulously like he should know. But on second thought…

“uhh… I dunno,” he shrugs, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his light wash colored jeans, not even looking at the broken screen as he leaned back again, “I’m not exactly an architect.”  

“But you live here?” you question, turning on the sink to wet your hands, “haven’t they ever thought of putting even a half bath on the main floor?” 

He rumbles out a laugh that makes your cheeks tingle, your buzz still in full force, “nah, you got it all wrong, I’m not a member of the ‘fraternity brotherhood of Alpha Mega Steroid’”, he jokes with air quotes, smiling wide when your lips tick up at the ends. “But I am a frequent guest, of sorts…”

This guy seemed to be one of those people who can make a nun blush, witty and dripping with a sexual charm that radiated from him like a ray of fucking sunshine. And fuck that grin of his. You’re in trouble. 

“Ahh, okay,” you banter back easily, shaking your hands to dry them since there were no paper towels in sight, “which one is your boyfriend? Let’s see I know.. Kyle? I think is his name, reddish hair, kinda feminine hands, or are you fucking Steve because I gotta say, I think my roommate might be giving you a run for your money right now.” 

Eddie’s eyes light up, a quirk in his brow as he asks, “Blonde girl? Kinda naive, head over heels for that mop of perfectly styled hair? Shit, what’s her name…Kelly? Kitten? She’s your roommate?” 

Of course he would know her, Kenzie knows everyone, and seems to leave a kind of impression on people that you envied. As bright as she shined, you were the shadow behind her. 

“Yeah,” you say, not hiding your annoyance, remembering how you got into this predicament in the first place. 

Eddie looks just as pissed as you’re feeling, “Oh, Stevie boy and I will be having words later on his lack of tact. They’re the reason why I was out wondering the halls like a fuckin’ ghost in a haunted mansion.” 

He takes note that you’re in the same boat he’s in but in your case, it’s a little worse, being a girl alone in a frat house never ends well. 

“I’m Eddie, uhh…designated dealer,” he says in almost a whisper, “for the deep pocketed asshoels full of daddy’s money.”

You connect a few dots, realization hitting hard in your frontal lobe from conversations you’ve kind of listened to from Kenzie about Steve. 

“Ahh, okay… now that you mention it, Kenz has talked about you before. You’re Steve’s old friend, Munson? I thought she meant like a forty year old or something.”

He laughs, loud and belly rolling like, “nah, minus a twenty from that. Steve and I are just close friends ‘s all… and no, not boyfriends.” 

You laugh then, all bubbly and light hearted that has his own skipping beats. Saying your name, he repeats it, a little grin on his face that he tries to hide, “mm that’s cute.” 

“Cute?” you question, an eyebrow raised as you fold your arms in on themselves, poking a hip out. 

“Yeah… cute,” he says standing fully and peering down at you, “your name is very fitting for you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully at his flirty words. Even though your stomach is somersaulting at the way his eyes seem to drip from heaven when he looks at you, your cheeks heating beneath his gaze.

“Is this the part where we exchange our hometowns and majors, because I’d rather get run over than do that right now.” 

Eddie chuckles, “oh yeah, well I’m actually here on an athletic scholarship.” 

“Really?” you question, eyebrows cocked in disbelief. 

“Yes!” Eddie jokes back, trying to bite back a smile, “if you must know it’s for Tennis, but please don't bother me for an autograph. I'm just trying to be a normal guy tonight.” 

“Noted.” You giggle, admiring the way this banter is coming so easily, maybe it was the liquid courage taking over or the fact that he was actually fun to talk to— either way, this night is starting to take a turn for the better.

“So, what does a Tennis star/designated rich boy drug dealer usually do at these kinds of things besides bursting in on girls using the bathroom?” 

He smiles, dipping his chin and looking at you through those impossibly thick lashes. Pushing off the sink he asks, “Sell a little here and there, sometimes dip into my own stash…what do you usually do at these things?” 

“Well,” you tease, twisting on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door out to the hallway, “I’m not usually at these things.”

“Ohh my god,” Eddie preens in his best valley girl/ Kourtney Kardashian impression, “you’ve never been to frat party!?” 

You smile, at his stupid joke, “Noo, I haven’t actually. Kenzie drug me out for a little pick me up after we bombed our History midterm, to…y’know— live it up— YOLO, all that.”

“Okay okay, letting off some steam after the stress of class, I get it...school was never a cake walk for me either.” 

“Yeah! But then your friend snatched her up, and since I don’t know anyone here… I was doing a very impressive wall flower guise, until my bladder interrupted that… and then a guy barged in on me in the bathroom.” 

Eddie stalks towards you, his eyes roving over your body, “Well… now you know me, soo Miss Lady Wallflower,” he cracks, “shall we descend to the basement and keep this party going?” 

His infectious smile stretches wide, practically ear to ear and you find yourself grinning just as wide, trying to twist your lips to at least hide your enthusiasm a little bit but goddamn— something about the way those dimples compliment the fucking christmas twinkle in his eyes.. ugh. 

He was trouble. The kind you had always craved but never dabbled in. But when in Rome…

“Lead the way.”

—

Eddie had made a pit stop in the large kitchen before returning to the basement. 

“Now sweetheart,” he purred, fishing around the shelves, of a pantry, moving cans of food and bags of chips, “I didn’t plan on drinking more tonight, but I’m not gonna let you drink by your— aha!” 

Eddie stands upright, brandishing a large box of saltine crackers. Your eyebrows furrow in response and he bows low, puts his hand inside the box, “I present to you, Stevie’s not so secret hiding spot,” pulling out his hand, his fingers are wrapped around a bottle of Burnett’s Vodka.  

Your eyes widen with devilish glee as you smirk, “how did you know it’d be there?” 

Eddie unscrews the cap and puts it to his lips for a long six second pull. 

You weren’t watching the way his throat bobbed and gulped when he swallowed each burning swig. Nope, not at all. You definitely weren’t memorizing each valley of cords and muscles as a single drop fell to his sharp chin and jaw. Never, not you!

And you weren’t holding your breath right along with him only breathing when those fucking glorious thick lips popped clean from the mouth of that bottle… his lips shiny from the bitter alcohol like a gloss you desperately need to lick clean. Yeah… no. that was not you…

So it’s only fitting when he speaks hoarsely and clears his throat that you are snapped back to the moment, your core keeping its own pulse. 

“He’s been keeping vodka in the same box in a food pantry since we were in high school, guy is the most unoriginal bastard I know,” he shrugs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and you can’t help but almost pout in the wasted opportunity. 

His eyes meet yours and they look just as hungry as you were feeling. He smirks crookedly and you practically flatline from the depth those molasses colored eyes hold. He moved first, inching towards you like a wolf stalking its prey, your pretty chapstick smile daring him to come closer. 

But the fuse between you is snuffed out cold as a crying girl erupts from the basement steps, her gaggle of friends helping calm her down as they leave the house. 

Eddie shakes his head and clears his throat as if he was just as bothered by you as you were of him. Turning towards the fridge he asks, “I’m sure they’ve got some Sunny D you can chase this with if that’s cool?” 

—

The basement proved to be in the same situation you had left it in: hot, sweaty, sticky. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes hotly behind you, loud enough to hear him above the music, “it’s like a furnace down here, no wonder that girl was crying.”

You lead him to the corner you were tucked in before, your drink still sitting on the beer pong table. By the way he is standing you can tell that this really isn’t his scene either, but after a while of passing the vodka and orange juice back and forth between you, he seems to loosen up a bit. His shoulders relax as his back leans against the wall next to you. 

Eddie’s words slurring together as his stories became more and more animated, and you giggle along, never taking your eyes off of him. Completely enamored. 

Your stomach burned with a flurry of butterflies when a few of his clients came up to him to buy, each more nervous than the next. Eyeing you suspiciously, questioning if you were some sort of a narc. 

Eddie stepped ahead of you, his shoulders squared and chest out to casually announce that you were cool and were with him. 

You didn’t know that he was waiting for you to object to it, to shove away from him and call him a pig for even assuming that you’d ever be seen with the likes of him besides in the dark, but you never did. 

Hours pass and the music just gets worse. Wiz Khalifa starts singing about colors and Eddie looks at the crowd of people grinding and rolls his eyes. 

The alcohol has you feeling tingly, a buzzing of flirtation sparks your blood and you are closer to Eddie than ever, the smell of his musky cologne and laundry detergent invade you.

Like any drunk girl, you start getting antsy, a little more touchy, and a lot more feely. Standing around isn’t cutting it anymore and you want to move, toss your hair back to some cheesy song, want to feel those hands you’ve been staring at all night run along your body as your hips move against him. 

Running your forefinger along the inside seam of Eddie’s flannel shirt, you look up at him through your lashes. 

“I’m assuming you’re not one to dance to a club remix?” 

Eddie watches your finger stroke up and down, your knuckles barely grazing his abdomen, but the small touch sending electricity to his spine. 

He leans into you, following your lead and pinching the hem of your skirt between his large fingers “you’d assume correct, the music I listen to is a little more head bangy than this.” 

“So,” you say coyly, pulling him towards you just a fraction more, “what you’re really saying is that you can’t dance.” 

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back, his throat sticky with sweat and the hair by his ears wet and curling into ringlets, “oh I can dance my ass off honey, taught Channing Tatum everything he knows.” 

His hands find your hips, and you almost lose the little bit of confidence you have gained when the warmth of them seeps through your shirt, his blunt nails skimming your skin in small strokes.

“Do these little white lies masked as dorky ass pickup lines work for you?” Your hands are on his chest now, the black light illuminating each letter of his Deftones shirt to sparkle like snow beneath your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers into your ear, pulling you tight against him so your chest is pressed into his, “you tell me.” 

The music changes and a throwback song  

comes on, one you haven’t heard in years. 

“Guess you’ll have to show me those moves, because in typical drunk girl fashion… this is my song!” 

You grab Eddie’s hand and stomp to the middle of the floor, pulling him along with you until you’re shoulder to shoulder with other drunk and sweaty college kids. 

“Get low?” Eddie asks from behind you, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hands land heavy on your hips, “seriously?” 

Leaning your head back so your lips could reach him you talk loud enough just so he can hear you, “stop talking and fucking dance with me already.” 

“Goddamn…” he groans when you finally push your body fully back into him. 

It’s sloppy and horribly uncoordinated the way your drunken hips move beneath his hands. You’re both swaying along with the music, trying like hell to match the rhythm of everyone else around you. But in the tiny square footage you have in this cluster fuck of a space, Eddie has all the right moves. 

His palms are pressing you tighter into him, making sure you can feel just how hard he is, how hard you are making him. 

Courage and a few prom night dances under your belt have you dropping low and coming up slow, your skirt fanning out the tiniest bit as your knees are bent to the ground.

And Eddie is practically thanking God himself when you run the fattest part of your ass up his body, on the bunched denim by his shins, skimming the barely there fabric of your skirt against the hole in his knee, and finally up where he desperately needs your body the most. 

When you come back up he moves your hair from the side of your neck, his lips puckering around your earlobe as he nibbles lightly, “spin around so I can see you.” 

He groans again when you shake your head and laugh at his dismay, as much as he is turned on and bothered you are too, but the power of keeping him like this, teasing him with your body— turned you on even more. 

You snake your hands upwards seductively, landing daintily at the nape of his neck, twirling the wet tendrils of curls round and round pulling gently. Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hands roaming freely from your hips to your ribcage running them along the length of your sides, bruisingly hard. 

One minute you’re facing away from him, eyes closed in pleasure as he roves over your body, his lips pressed to your neck, and in the next he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face— eyes locked on eachother, the heat and the alcohol and the endorphins are too much to handle. 

Your once labored breathing snuffs out to nothing when he leans in with licked lips his eyes fixated on your mouth. Standing. Staring. Staring and standing. You’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game. 

“Fucking kiss me alrea—”

His mouth with its plush pillow lips slam into you. He tastes like tart orange juice and a bite of alcohol. Like the way a summer day would taste if it were bottled up. He licks into your mouth and you whine for more of him, clutching onto his neck and pulling him further into you. 

When you break for air it’s loud, smacking lips and lapping tongues, tilting your heads to line up perfectly. When you twist yours again, Eddie holds onto your neck angling it just so with a glint of trouble in those whiskey eyes as he dives into the supple skin at the column of your throat. 

Sucking, swirling— his tongue is hot against you and you’re clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the pilling fabric like he was the only thing keeping you Earthbound. 

You wiggle in his arms, squealing and whining out but he’s holding you tightly against him, moaning words into your neck that you can’t hear above the music. Then he’s on your mouth again, working you into a fit. His big veiny hands move along your back, grabbing your ass softly, then work up to wrap in your hair or lightly scratch at the inch of skin between your skirt and your tank top. 

Doing your own little damage to him, his shirt is shoved up over his chest, your fingernails trailing down his tattooed skin. A rise of goosebumps following in their tracks, and he stops kissing you to suck in a breath, your smile on his lips as you laugh and he whispers a breathy ‘fuuuuck’. 

Your fingers trail down to his waist band, tickling his skin as you suggest an idea with your eyes, one that you’re certain he would understand.

“C’mon,” he mouths, gesturing his chin to the exit as he slowly begins to pull you from the dance floor, up the stairs and into the kitchen area.

Eddie knew what he wanted. Knew it the second you walked out of that stall with that sweet fucking smile on your lips, shy and coy when he called your name cute, like you weren’t at all used to the type of attention he was giving.

And maybe you didn’t want this with him. Maybe you were a: ‘fuck-me-in-the-dark-so-I-won’t-be-embarrassed-by-being-seen-with-you’ type of girl, but you did dance with him, you laughed at his stupid jokes, stuck by him almost all night, but still he needed to be sure. 

He thought maybe in the brighter light you’d change your mind about what you wanted, what you needed from him, but you surprise him when you cling to his side, going up the steps, and backing into a wall pulling him with you by his shirt needily when you reach the top.

“D’ you uh..wanna get outta here?” he slurs, almost sleepily, his bangs fucked up beyond belief, his hair drenched and sticky with sweat and humidity, lips swollen red.

“My dorm isn’t far,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes running your finger along the waist of his jeans, “across campus.” 

Eddie chuckles, “fuck…” he sweeps a thumb over your pouted lips, groaning as he bites his own. “I’d crawl to fuckin’ Alaska for these, honey.” 

Your cheeks burn sweetly from his inebriated compliments. And even though you’re tipsy and so is he, you feel an odd sort of comfort with him—one you haven’t experienced before. 

“Let’s go then,” you whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.” 

That did it for him. 

Eddie was all but running with you across the campus green, but not before taking off his long sleeved shirt and placing it over your shoulders murmuring how it was freezing and you’d probably get sick. 

Your combined laughter ricocheted off concrete forums and neatly trimmed grass. Passing by the fancy Chemistry Lab building, the Art Museum, the Med School and finally to your painted black brick dorm building: “Wheeler Hall” 

“Here’s home,” you sing out, placing your key into the door and pulling on the steel handle. 

The Wheeler Dorms were the newest addition to the college town. Named after a family that was killed in an accident back in the 80’s or something… you didn’t really remember what happened. 

The side door you had come in through was closest to your room, 011, on the first floor, again, the universe being kind to you. 

“Never been here before,” Eddie said looking around with wide eyes, “any of the dorms actually.” 

You smiled upon unlocking your room and entering, hanging up your keys on the command strip hooks by the door. Whatever confidence he had back at the party is now deflated a bit once he realizes just how different the two of you are. What the hell was he doing here? You’re in college, he’s only here because he deals. 

“Uhh..?” he questions, eyeing the lofted bed, “you know I was joking about being an athlete, right?” 

You giggle and toss your purse onto the futon, “relax, that’s Kenzie’s bed, mine is the shorter one.” 

“Oh thank fuck,” he practically sings letting out an over exaggerated sigh as he plops down on your futon, eyeing the leopard throw blanket, “I may look like a suave Casanova but I’m about as agile as Mr. Bean.” 

Laughter fills the room and you click on a lamp throwing the room into a cozy ambience as you slip off your sandals and sit on your bed, leaning forward, “you’re way hotter than him.” 

Eddie blushes a bubble gum pink sheen, using his still damp and unruly hair to cover his face, “keep being sweet on me see where it gets you.” 

“Is that supposed to be a threat, or a promise?”

“Oh baby, I don’t make threats, not to a girl that’s like you.” 

“Like me?” 

“Yeah you,” he deadpans, standing up and waltzing towards your bed, crowding you in, “funny, sexy, and by some greater power— digs me… at least I hope.” 

“I’m not the type of girl to bring a guy back to my place, Eddie,” you nearly whisper, putting a finger into his dangling necklace and pulling him forward, “you’d be the first.” 

Eddie places his hands next you on the bed, “like your first? Or just here in college first, I’m cool with either I just— are you sure you want this? I can leave if y—”

Cutting him off you kiss him, but not like the heavy kisses earlier when you two were making out like you were each other's oxygen masks, this one is sweet, like melted  sugar on Eddie’s tongue. 

“You talk too much,” you say with a warm smile, wrapping a finger around his curled ends of hair, “no more of that, just kiss me.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist and shifts you up further into the bed, laying your head on a pillow his body pressed into yours. He takes his time with you, kissing your lips then your jaw, working his way down your neck to where the bruises he’s already sucked into your skin were painted. 

Your moans and little breathy sighs have him hard against his zipper, his hips bucking into the tiny fabric of your panties that’s covering up that sweet pussy he got a glimpse of earlier. 

His shirt is somewhere on the floor, you had pried it off of him between locked lips and groans of having to move your lips from his that earned you a throaty laugh from him and the sexiest eyes that drove into you with an intense ferocity. 

He lowers further down your body, kissing every inch, moving your tank top out of the way to eye your orange bra, his mouth between your cleavage, moaning about how orange is now his favorite color. 

Eddie’s everywhere all at once, a hand traveling up and down your thigh, from the crux of your knee to the waistband of your skirt, the other hand is popping your tits out from that new found favorite colored bra of his —smiling wickedly at your peaked nipples. 

You moan lustful bliss as his tongue circles each one, giving equal attention to both, “you like that?” he asks.

“Feels so good,” you whine, “more, please.” 

Eddie smirks with your nipple between his teeth, “don’t have to ask me twice.” 

You weren’t a virgin, but holy shit you felt as if you had never had sex before, well never sex like this. Eddie teased you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers pumped inside of you, each curling inward towards a place nobody has reached before. 

He groaned with his bottom lip tucked between his sharp bite rubbing his achy cock through his jeans when you pushed your skirt down laying there in a matching orange lacey thong, bedazzled on the hips. 

“Would it be corny if I say you look like a Goddess?” he asks sheepishly, pinching the stretching fabric around your hips, “because… wow.” 

You bite your finger as if you were really thinking hard on this, hiding a smile, “you’re too much, Munson.”

“Too much?” he scoffs, pulling down your panties and settling himself between your legs, “you haven’t even seen my dick yet.”

You sit up, tits out and naked from the waist down, “well by all means, show me.”

“Greedy girl,” Eddie smirks, “did you bring me here just to get me naked? I’m appalled!” 

You move to your knees, sitting upright a bit so your face is level with his. You kiss him softly, moving to his neck and sucking just right to pull those deep moans from him that make your knees shake. 

Feather light touches skate along the expanse of his chest, working down down down until you’re undoing his belt, thumbing open the button on his jeans and yanking down his zipper.  

When your hand slides between him and his boxer briefs,  Eddie hisses, watching you pump him slow and tight. The feel of your smooth palm against his velvety shaft makes him almost cum right there and then, it’s been awhile since the last time. 

But you’re not hesitating or questioning yourself and he isn’t either. It’s almost fluid like a rocking wave the way Eddie lays you down, a team effort to swiftly shove down his jeans so you can finally feel eachother where the desperation is needed most. 

Legs hiked over his hips, he lines himself up with your gummy slicked entrance. It’s a deep and achy stretch for you, a vice grip for him. The lazy gasping moans you both emit are drawn out, yours practically breathless. 

“Holy fuck,” you breath into his mouth as he peppers you with kisses. He drags his hips out at a measured pace, pushing in just as unhurriedly, enjoying the way your body adjusts, cuffing him like a glove. 

Eddie breaks away from your lips to watch your bodies join together, moaning your name as he presses his forehead on yours collecting your mouth with his. 

“Shit…This okay?” he asks earnestly, nipping at your ear. 

You nod in gasping silence, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he speeds up. Your hands are skimming down his bareback, pressing him further into you with every thrust, begging him for more. 

He snakes a hand between you, rubbing circles in your puffy clit as he thrusts harder, trying to get you there before he loses all control. “Want you to feel good sweetheart, fuck— keep making those pretty little noises, you’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.” 

And he does. You cum hard around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing so fast you practically black out from the mixed pleasure of his fingers rubbing your clit and his cock stuffed in deep. 

His name falls from your lips in tiny little whines and he bucks into you a hard and final time before he groans, holding onto your headboard for support as he’s bottoming out, stringing rope after rope of hot spend inside of you. 

“Baby,” he whispers, “God—” he stops cold, realizing what he just did and what he didn’t do. “Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t pull out, I'm sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!

You laugh wickedly, your body shaking beneath him at his worried panicked face. 

He’s a babbling, out-of-breath mess, “’s not funny! I just got caught up in the moment and you felt so fucking good and I’m still a little dru—”

“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say, holding his cheeks with both hands squishing them together so his lips pucker like a fish, “I’m on the pill.” 

His face is still squished together when he speaks, “oh, well… okay.” 

“You’re fine,” you coo, coaxing him down from the ledge of regret and self hatred, “I—” you lean up and kiss him square on the mouth, licking into it and sliding your tongue against his, “I liked it.” 

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs and before he can open his mouth to speak you’re pulling him onto you kissing him deep and needy. 

The two of you end the night that way, him holding you, your hands in his hair, kissing so much your lips are chapped— never getting enough. Legs entangled together like a weaved basket. You fall asleep before he does, your little huffed breathing making his skin damp as you curl further into his chest. 

Wonder if Verizon is open tomorrow? He thinks when he remembers that his phone is definitely broke from it landing on the bathroom floor—but he’d never tell you that. 

He also wouldn’t tell you how he was supposed to go back to Steve’s tonight because they were leaving to see another old friend in California for the weekend— or how they needed to be at the airport by 2 AM for a 4 AM flight.  — or that Eddie was Steve’s ride because he lost his license in July. 

Nope.

He wouldn’t tell you any of it. None of that seemed to matter when you were sleeping so cute on his chest like that. 

When late morning comes you’re at it again, this time you’re riding him on the futon, slow like a twangy country song his hands rocking your hips. When you both finish you drag him to the showers, pumping some expensive shampoo into his hair and giggling when you tell him to be quiet so you won’t get caught. 

Steve called Eddie’s phone all night, and all morning, sending duplicate texts of rage, wondering where the fuck he had gone. 

Eddie silences the last call from Steve as you’re getting dressed, wearing a black pair of yoga pants and a zip up hoodie. He smiles when you offer to comb his hair, grabbing your wrist to pull you onto his lap kissing behind your ear. 

His voice is low, soothingly sweet and minty from your toothpaste as he asks, “can I take you to breakfast?”