#in a way that i think about a little too often to be normal about

[dollishsz]

HOW DIFFERENT BATBOYS APOLOGIZE AFTER A ARGUMENT ── .✦

a/n: Lowkey I feel like I’m like slightest but problematic in arguments (not me exposing myself) but srs I got this request by a anon! (Here) So yeah tysmm, I won’t be writing the argument because lowkey, I can’t do angst at this time 💔😞

(Tags: how different batboys apologize after a argument)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

The "I'm Sorry, But…" Apology: Bruce’s apology might be a little stiff at first. He’s not great with words when it comes to his emotions, but he does know how to make up for things. His apology might start with something like, "I know I’m… difficult, but I didn’t mean to hurt you." The real comedy comes in when he tries to "fix" the situation by throwing money at it—like suggesting an extravagant dinner or buying you a new wardrobe because, "I know it will make you feel better."

Trying Too Hard to Be ‘Normal’: He might try to act like he’s “not Bruce Wayne” for a second, attempting to be goofy to show you he’s truly sorry. Picture Bruce awkwardly trying to make a joke: "I’m sorry I made you feel like I was ignoring you. How about we go out… without my bodyguards this time? You know, like a normal date?"

The Silent Apology: More often than not, Bruce will show you he’s sorry with actions, like preparing your favorite meal or doing something thoughtful (such as leaving you a handwritten note or taking care of something you've been stressing about). But if you press him for words, he might simply mutter, “I’m not good at this… but I am sorry,” and leave it at that.

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

The Full-On “I’m Sorry, Please Forgive Me” Routine: Dick is extremely sorry whenever he’s messed up, and he knows how to make it entertaining. He’ll show up with flowers, chocolates, or maybe even your favorite ice cream. And then, with a totally sincere but dramatic flair, he’ll say something like, “Listen, I know I was an idiot, and I have no excuse except that I’m clearly emotionally stupid when I’m upset. So please, for the love of all things holy, let me make it up to you.”

Humorous Apologies: Dick might also make you laugh with his over-the-top apologies. Maybe he tries to outdo himself by setting up an elaborate “romantic” date, only for it to completely go awry (think spaghetti noodles flying everywhere or a very unromantic “romantic” location). He’ll laugh it off, saying, “Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly how I imagined it… but you have to admit, it’s unforgettable.”

The Super Dramatic ‘I’m Sorry’ Speech: After an argument, Dick is not shy about admitting when he’s wrong. He’ll deliver a heartfelt, exaggerated apology, something like, "I was a fool, and I see now that I was wrong. You are perfect, and I am definitely not. How do you put up with me?" Then, he might give you puppy-dog eyes, as if expecting you to immediately forgive him.

JASON TODD ── .✦

The “I Know I Messed Up, But… Here’s a Gift” Approach: Jason is quick to apologize, but it’s not usually with a heartfelt speech. Instead, he’ll show up with a gift—maybe something small but thoughtful, like your favorite snack or a new book he knows you’ve been eyeing. He’ll casually hand it to you and say, “Alright, alright, I messed up. But you know I’m not great at this, so here’s my attempt at being a decent human being.”

Comedic Self-Deprecation: Jason, knowing he’s not always the best communicator, might start with a little self-deprecating humor. "Look, I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, I am a jerk sometimes. But hey, at least I didn’t set anything on fire this time, right?" He’ll try to make you laugh with his inability to fully express himself, but you know he means it.

The “I’m Sorry, Now Let’s Get Back to Normal” Routine: Jason might awkwardly try to move past the argument, brushing it off with a gruff, "Look, I’m sorry for being a pain. Can we just… go back to how things were?" It's not the most eloquent apology, but it’s Jason, and it’s his way of saying he wants to make things right without diving too deep into feelings.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The "I Overthought This" Apology: Tim is a perfectionist, so when he messes up, he’ll overthink how to apologize. He’ll probably try to do something really thoughtful, like writing you a letter or planning a whole day dedicated to making it up to you. But the real comedy comes when he gets so wrapped up in planning that he’s awkward about it. "I, uh, made you a list of everything I could do to make it up to you, starting with… well, taking you out for dinner. You like sushi, right? But if you prefer something else, I can also—"

The "What Do You Need?" Routine: Tim might also take a very logical approach. He’ll ask, "What would you like me to do to fix this?" but in a way that makes it seem like he’s creating a spreadsheet of ways to apologize. "I’ve compiled some options for you to choose from. Option one: Dinner. Option two: A walk in the park. Option three: Let me do your laundry for the next week…”

The 'Nervous, Over-Apologetic' Tim: Tim is likely to be the one who apologizes over and over again. He’ll say “I’m sorry” about a dozen times in a single conversation, with increasing levels of anxiety. "I really didn’t mean it that way. I’m so sorry. Are we okay? You don’t seem mad, but if you are, I understand, and I’m really, really sorry."

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

The Reluctant Apology: Damian isn’t one to apologize easily, and when he does, it’s more formal. He might say something like, “I apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for.” And then he’ll awkwardly pause, before adding, "I... didn’t mean to upset you." The comedic part comes when he clearly doesn’t understand how he’s hurt you. He might ask, “Is there anything I can do to make it right? Or… was this just another one of your moods?”

The Unintentional "Nice Guy" Apology: Damian will give you something as an apology—perhaps a bouquet of flowers or something that he “found interesting,” but he’ll likely be very stiff about it, saying something like, “This is for you. I thought you would appreciate it. It’s… an apology gift.” He’ll be surprised when you react positively, since he’s convinced that you’ll just think it’s lame

A Small Gesture of Remorse: As an apology, Damian might ask you to join him for a quiet walk or for tea, giving you a rare moment of sincerity. He might even throw in a joke (but it’ll be one of those very dry ones), saying, “The tea will be of the highest quality, so I suppose that should count for something."

[levshany]

it all started with a thought "WELL if *I* were kidnapped to a secret lab and turned into a sexy monster I wouldn't complain u know!? I would literally be living my best life, that's all I need in this life to be happy!" and here we are

more info about this thing under the cut

the character are based on me (Zhuchka) and my gfs @angstyhikka (Hin) and @lasymit (Ludwig)! I asked their permission to use their sonas in my new setting ^^

about the characters

Zhuchka once were a normal human being but one day she was kidnaped into a secret russian lab where they try to come up with a formula for the perfect sexy monster! (did I mention that this setting is like super unserious and joking so you don't take anything that happens here seriously? good.) Zhuchka is absolutely happy with being turned into a giant caterpillar!, her life as a genetic experiment never been better! She is satisfied with almost everything, is friendly to the staff and lives as if in a sanatorium

Tobacco Hawk Moth Caterpillar that Zhuchka's design is based on:

it's like the cutest, the purest thing I've ever seen! I like caterpillars in general but this specific little creature-🥺🤲

Ludwig is a biologist. She was assigned to the experiment to monitor her health. she really likes her job. she ended up in the lab because of her great love for monsters. and Zhuchka is one of her first such big projects that she ever worked with Ludwig has a gf, Hin, to who she often brings stories and rumors from work, and recently she even took her to the lab to show her "the big project"

Hin is a freelance artist. she's built her career on drawing monsters, so you could say she's fond of monsters in some way too. but she admires them not in a sexy way but in a cool and monstrous way! Hin is absolutely fine with Ludwig being a scientist who conducts experiments on people. like for real, she knew from the start who she was going to date. Hin is more alarmed of the experiment herself, her strange habits and behavior.

I don't even know how should I name this setting. I could go for the principle of modern isekai titles and come up with something like "I WAS KIDNAPPED INTO A LABORATORY AND TURNED INTO A CATERPILLAR" or "MY CATERPILLAR LIFE" but it would be too embarrassing gkldfgpddlkgskl so I think something like "Caterpillar GF"? mb? anyway

stay tuned for more! ^^

[marzipanandminutiae]

would you have any reading suggestions to learn more about the earrings are evil era??? I've never heard of that aspect of fashion history and I am curious

Oh man, it was wild

you saw the first stirrings of it in the 1890s, when you started to get (mostly white and middle-to-upper-class) proto-feminists arguing that ear piercing was barbaric- keep an eye on the racist undertones there; they will come up again-and forcing women to suffer for fashion. I cannot emphasize enough that, until that point, ear piercing had been pretty much normal for this race/class/gender group. For centuries. You see criticism of the practice here and there, but nothing that really stuck.

The objections slowly increased until roughly the mid-1920s, when everything reached a tipping point and pierced ears became largely taboo for most white Americans and Brits of northern/western European descent. If that sounds HIGHLY specific, it is- communities from southern and sometimes eastern Europe retained cultural practices of ear piercing, to the point where it was often used as a point against them by mainstream society. It was also associated with Latino people, Black people, and the Romani, which. Yeah. I don't need to tell you how that went down.

It also developed associations with sexual immorality and/or backwards thinking. One newspaper letter I read came from a teen girl in the 1940s, wondering why she shouldn't pierce her ears if her very respectable grandmother had piercings. The response was something like "well, they did all sorts of things in the Bad Old Days that we shouldn't do now." True in many ways, or course, but...piercing your ears? That's the hill culture decided to die on as far as antiquated behavior that we should leave behind? Apparently yes.

Earrings themselves never went out of style, which led to the birth of clip-ons and screwbacks. Ironic that the "don't surfer for fashion" crowd was so eager to embrace screwing tiny vices onto your ears, but there we are. My own mother (born 1953) remembers her mother (born 1926) always taking off her screwback earrings immediately after getting home from a party, literally in the foyer of their house the second the door shut. There had been adaptations for unpierced ears before- Little Women, published in 1868, describes Meg March hanging earrings from a flesh-colored silk ribbon tied around the base of her ear -but they'd never caught on like this before.

However, the pendulum was soon to swing back. After just 40 years of Piercing Panic, in the 1960s, girls began piercing their ears again in droves. As piercing moved from the slumber party or summer camp back to the professional jewelers whose families had been early professional piercers in the 19th century- and to befuddled doctors who had no idea what they were doing yet still received piercing requests -cultural commentators had no idea what to make of it. Some decried the new trend while most took an air of bemused neutrality. My personal favorite article expressed surprise that "Space Age misses" were adopting these "Victorian traditions."

(In 1965, my grandmother took Mom to the anesthesiologist down the street who was offering to pierce his young daughter's friends gratis, and got it done. My grandfather had strongly disapproved of the idea, but in the end it took him a week to notice the new earrings.)

As to sources...honestly, I've just gone to Google Books, specified a time frame, and typed in "ear piercing," "pierced ears," "pierce ears," etc. Tons of primary sources at your fingertips, though I'm not always great about documenting or saving what I find. There's not much written about it formally, I've found- no books or scholarly studies. It may just be too close in history to attract much academic attention, though I find it fascinating.

This little blip where something that's been normal for most of western history suddenly became taboo for a hot second.

Also my ear piercings just turned 20 five days ago, commemorating the date that I was taken with much ceremony to Piercing Pagoda (and that horrible gun; it's a wonder I didn't get keloids) to get me out from underfoot while the Thanksgiving feast was being made. Grandma got hers pierced on the same day, at age 78. Happy Birthday, Marzi's ear piercings!

[cheqorb]

Sotto Voce.

Gaslighting everyone into believing you’re a really shit footballer because seeing people be impressed by your sheer lack of skill is more fun than being a genius.

FEAT. Bastard München ensemble

NOTES. uhhaua cross posted on ao3 (same user) but ajyway, thought this idea was funny and because of this lingering feeling of sadness i haha managed to Complete this?? Gosh im beside myself with worry!!

WORD COUNT. 2.2k

Isagi thinks he might be seeing things. Maybe all the relentless training in Blue Lock has finally caught up to him, leading him into a football-induced delirium, because he can’t quite comprehend what he’s looking at right now.

You’re moving across the field with a fluidity he’s only seen in pro-level players, doing tricks and turns he’s pretty sure aren’t even in his playbook. You glide past the defence, controlling the ball with a finesse that’s nearly supernatural — hell, he thinks even someone of Rin’s calibre would be breaking a sweat to try and keep up.

And you look bored while doing it. Eyes half-lidded, posture almost lazy, as if this is just another walk in the park and not you showing off world-class football technique.

Isagi’s mind races to make sense of this. You’d always been, well, normal to him.

Sometimes you’d play in a match, most other times you’d sit out on the sidelines. And he’s usually pretty sharp about these things, so it must’ve been because you just… didn’t stand out.

Yet here you are, pulling off flawless plays with little more than a mild yawn, as if winning against the top players here would barely register on your radar. Maybe it’s just luck, some freakish one-off, right?

… Nope. You just drilled another perfect goal into the top corner of the net.

He snaps out of his thoughts only when you suddenly stop mid-play, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, there’s a flicker of panic in your gaze and he opens his mouth, not even sure what he’s about to say.

“Y/N-”

You’re stomping towards him before he can even process the whole thing, your pace quicker and more full of menace than he’s used to seeing on you. You stop just short of him, tilt your head slightly, and in the calmest voice, say, “You saw nothing.”

He tries to stammer out something, but you leave soon afterwards.

────

Tripping over the ball is harder than it looks, but after enough practice, you’ve perfected the art of falling in a normal fashion. To most people, it’s convincing. Prior to a few days ago, you’d say all people but there’s a certain someone who entertains himself by boring holes into the back of your skull with an intense, unblinking stare.

You can feel it. Isagi waiting for you to slip up.

Actually slip up, instead of the falls you’ve gotten so good at imitating. It’s detestable, honestly. You’re trying to keep things as they’ve always been, and he just wants to come in and mess with the status quo!

Luckily for you, Igaguri’s too much of an idiot to harbour the same suspicions. Right now he’s too busy practically doubling over with laughter on the floor. The guy is probably thrilled to finally see someone playing the fool even more than he does. And as much as he’s a pain, he’s also the kind of person who makes perfect cover — play the role of an idiot, laugh it off with him, and everyone’s none the wiser.

So, in spite of your (what most would call) vindictive description of him, you do believe that some sort of strange pleasure is to be gained from surrounding yourself with people like him. Though perhaps that also makes you a terrible person.

The feeling is nothing like the rationale that Noa preaches about so often. It’s an undeniable truth in your heart.

Which is why you avoid the people who actually know what they’re doing on the field like the plague.

Yukimiya, on the other hand, is way too polite to laugh outright. He at least has the common sense to stifle it, reaching out a hand to help you off the ground with a quiet charm that makes people swoon. No wonder he’s a model.

Now, the imaginary audience in your mind might be wondering why you’re talking with a guy like him? Your answer: he’s not as notable ever since he patched things up with Isagi. He’s now the kind of person you can talk to without raising any brows. Again, it sounds harsh but you see it in a positive light. He’s becoming just the kind of person you adore most!

“Try and keep a close eye for stuff on the ground, alright?”

You flash him a grin, nodding. “You know me, just a total klutz all the time,” you reply as your usual happy-go-lucky self, making sure to project just loud enough for Isagi to hear.

And out of the corner of your eye, you catch that familiar look of suspicion deepening.

────

The silence that follows is brutal. Hiori and Kurona exchange a look that’s way too long for Isagi’s comfort. After finishing whatever telepathic debate they have with each other, they both stare back at him like he’s just pitched the most psychotic theory imaginable (which isn’t entirely untrue).

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he mutters, deflating a bit.

Hiori’s quick to reply, but Isagi is aware of the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It’s not that we don’t believe you. But, ya have to admit, it’s strange to hear Y/N… of all people, doing something like that.”

That’s code for what the fuck are you talking about, Isagi concludes with a grimace, his eyes shifting to Kurona hopefully.

“Crazy. Crazy.”

Kurona’s tone is deadpan, his gaze distant as if he’s trying not to laugh. Great.

Isagi sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he is the one who’s going crazy here. It shouldn’t even bother him this much. It’s not like you’re particularly close! If anything, he can barely remember a conversation between the two of you that went beyond asking if you’d seen so and so.

And, judging by the responses he’s getting from both of his teammates, neither of them can figure out why he’s fixated on this either.

────

Noa is going on and on about practice drills, how to follow his instructions precisely, something about rationality and technique, blah, blah, blah. You stifle a yawn. If this is what being in one of the top clubs means, you should’ve begged Ego to be in Barcha instead. At least Lavinho would’ve been fun.

You hear his coaching style isn’t by any means phenomenal if you’re trying to improve your skills, but good thing you’re not planning on doing anything of the sort!

And just when you think you might actually pass out from boredom, you see Isagi walking over. Again. He’s approaching with that same cautious look, but it’s not enough to make him think twice about bothering you apparently. That’s also something that bugs you, he’s never a quitter.

You flash him an oblivious smile. “Oh, Isagi! Whatcha up to? Need anything from little ol’ me?”

You lay it on thick, voice dripping with cheerful innocence. His jaw tightens, and for a second, you swear you can see a flicker of annoyance on his face. That’s new. Your words have the opposite effect than what you had originally intended.

“Listen, I know what I saw, alright? You’re not fooling anyone.”

He launches into a whole spiel about how he’s seen you pull off moves that only high-level players can pull off, how he doesn’t care if it’s part of some large game you’re playing, how you should be using your skill to distinguish yourself.

…You really don’t give a shit, and in regards to his comments, you personally disagree! What’s the fun in doing all of that?

You tilt your head, pretending to think it over with wide, guileless eyes. Sure, you’re a little flattered he’s this invested in uncovering your “secret,” but the other 99% of you is totally unhappy.

When he finally wraps up his little speech, you just give him a half-hearted shrug with a smugness that he doesn’t miss.

“And who’s going to believe you?”

────

Kaiser likes to think of Isagi as predictable, average — someone who might fancy himself a hero but is ultimately just another small-time player waiting to be crushed. It’s almost laughable how seriously he takes himself. In fact, the only thing remotely worth mentioning about him recently is this bizarre fixation he seems to have developed on you.

He’s overheard your exchanges, and in short, they’re pathetic.

Isagi rambles on about how you’re hiding something, clinging to that delusion like it’s going to benefit him somehow. The psychology-lover inside him finds it almost fascinating in how utterly absurd it sounds.

So, when Kaiser spots you chatting with the ever despairing Grim (laughing so hard you have to hold back tears), he figures it wouldn’t be wrong to call you at least a little insane. Part of him wonders what humour could be found in the man’s deplorable monologues.

He figures he might as well join in on the entertainment. You’re far from his usual company, but you’ll do. For now. Moseying on over, his signature smirk is already in place.

He’s rewarded by the way your eyes immediately narrow in irritation, a look he’s all too familiar with and thoroughly enjoys on anyone really. Grim, blissfully unaware of what he’s leaving you to, heads off, and now it’s just you and Kaiser.

Leaning in closer, he asks, “What little secret of yours has got under Yoichi’s skin so badly?”

Kaiser waits, watching for the faintest flicker of reaction but you stay silent. How boring.

But! Not one to give up easily, he continues with a more direct jab, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. The one where he acts like he knows everything there is to know about everyone. “That you’re really skilled, and this whole clueless act of yours is just a cheap facade?”

He raises a brow, as if daring you to admit it. To his delight, you lift your head, finally meeting his gaze albeit with an uncomfortably polite smile.

“I was just surprised you’re interested in something like that. But, Isagi’s a total liar. Isn’t he just so annoying? I can’t stand people who just don’t know when to give up, and I’m sure you agree.”

It’s not often someone catches him off-guard, and though he recovers quickly, the flicker of surprise is still there. Kaiser also sees opportunity however. He could work with this.

“Well, if you’re not a fan of Yoichi then feel free to join my side then,” he drawls, offering the position like it’s a dream come true. In his world, he’s already the star; what better way to elevate himself than to recruit someone.

“Ah, no. You’re both terrible.”

He can’t tell what’s worse; you lumping him together with Isagi, or the fact that you immediately walk off without giving him a chance to get the last word in.

────

“It’s like asking me if I prefer cat shit or dog shit. It’s still shit, and there’s no point in picking one over the other.”

You toss the comparison out to Kiyora, of all people — a bit of a waste since he just stares blankly at you, not saying a word. Pretty cute, actually, in a clueless sort of way.

The reality is that, at the moment, if you want a shot at the regulars, you’re supposed to cosy up to either Isagi or Kaiser. And as for everyone else? They’re can either fuck off or pray for a miracle.

Of course, you couldn’t care less about making the regulars. But every now and then, you forget there are people around you who do care, people with actual ambitions. Which is why you pause when you catch sight of Hiori and Kurona.

“Oh, Hiori and Kurona,” you point out the obvious.

They both glance your way, casual and relaxed, which gives you the impression that Isagi hasn’t roped them into his latest paranoid theories. Yet.

“Are ya heading back to training already?” Hiori asks, his soft voice and accent making it sound more like an invitation than a question. There’s a kindness to it that’s almost unsettling here in Blue Lock, but you return his smile with one of your own nevertheless.

Kiyora gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he says, brief and to the point.

You’re half-considering some excuse to slip away and do your own thing, but there’s something about the way Hiori is looking at you that draws your attention. Unlike Isagi, he’s way better at hiding it, but you can still feel his curiosity prickle under your skin.

You give him a lazy smile, leaning into the idea. “I’m already so tired from this morning’s training,” you lie, exaggerating just enough. “Honestly, going to bed early sounds great right about now.”

Morning training was barely enough to get you sweating, just a couple of warm-up drills for the afternoon matches. You doubt they have any clue what you’re talking about, which is exactly how you want it.

There’s a quiet pause, and then Hiori breaks it with a gentle but firm nudge. “Well, if yer looking to get on the regulars consistently, training more could be worth a shot.”

You force a smile that probably looks more akin to a grimace. This is exactly why you don’t like smart people. They poke and prod until your story frays at the edges. He definitely asked that on purpose! With a heavy sigh, you end up walking with them toward the pitch, despite every nerve in you screaming to veer off.

You can’t help but wonder if this is a test.

[xetlynn]

alt au claggor x reader childhood friends to lovers maybe mylo convinces claggor to confess maybe spicy??? thank you ❤️❤️

>:3 made this feeling sick as heck but so proud of it🙏

Arcane Imagines- Claggor

Confessions Lead To…

⚠️WARNING🔞: SMUT [arcane] [main page] prompt: in which Mylo actually has good advice for Claggor, leading him to a wonderful night. (I made it modern college au, just little mentions of modern day things) containing: fem!receiving oral, missionary, riding, anvil position, unprotected sex, creampie, slight cockwarming.

“Just do it, she obviously has a thing for you too!” Mylo tells his brother, hanging from the top of his loft bed. Claggor was pacing back and forth. “I can’t! I don’t want to ruin our friendship. What if I make it weird?” He esperates, rubbing his hands through his hair dramatically. 

“Dude, would [Name] do that? Honestly, answer me that.” The shorter one of the two asks with an annoyed expression laid on his face. “I mean, no but it could feel awkward between us and then I’ll look stupid.” Claggor frowns deeply. 

He’s had a crush on you for months now, it’s only getting substantial. “Claggor, I can’t tell you what to do. But I am telling you if you don’t do it you’ll be a pussy.” Mylo points a finger down at the larger man who gives him a deadpanned look. “You were the same if not worse when it came to Gert!” 

“Hey, at least I’m with her now. I shot my shot.” He defends himself, crossing his arms and looking up at the ceiling. Claggor sighs, knowing that his annoying brother is actually right. 

“Ugh, I swear if I’m doing the wrong thing no one will see me for a while.” His shoulders drop in defeat, leaving his brother’s room to get ready to confess his long-time feelings. Mylo wasn’t paying attention, raising a brow when he noticed that Claggor left… ten minutes later. 

•••

You hummed in your kitchen, finishing up some chores you wrote down to do for the day. You had the house to yourself since your roommate decided to go on a trip with her girlfriend. 

You get a ring from your phone in your back pocket, wiping your sweat and you pull it out. Answering it without checking and putting it up to your ear. “Hello?” “Oh, hey [Name]! That was a quick answer.” Claggor chuckled on the other line. A smile erupts on your face. 

“Hii, Claggs.” You threw your rag on the counter, leaning next to it. “Can I come over? For a little bit. If not, I understand.” He seemed extremely timid which caused you to tense up. “Um, of course! I’m just doing those chores I told you about but I could use a little break.” You happily say despite the horrible gut feeling you got. 

“Awesome, see you in 5.” He hangs up the phone before you even get the chance to respond. You stare at the phone for a few moments, placing it beside the rag. You go to the bathroom to clean up a little bit, interrupted by the sound of your doorbell. 

Claggor’s apartment was two floors down from yours so you’re not surprised he got here as quickly as he did. You go to the door, swinging it open. You move out of the way allowing him to enter. “Something wrong?” You scrunch your nose. “No, not at all. Why?” He asks with sweat forming on his forehead. “You seem a little off is all.” You shrug your shoulders. He heads to your bedroom, you behind him. 

“What’s going on? You’re worrying me a little bit.” You mustered a meekly smile. “I’m sorry.” He sighs, drooping down on your bed. He comes over often so this is normal for the both of you. He was too embarrassed of Mylo so he deemed your place to be better to hang out if you guys weren’t going out. 

“Is there something I should be worried about?” You hold yourself now. “I don’t know. I’m just going to come out and say it so prepare yourself I guess?” He avoids eye contact, his eyes wandering everywhere except at you. “I think I like you. Well I know I do. A lot. I have for a few months now. I didn’t know how to stop them and when I tried it made it worse.” He explains leaving you in shock, this being the last thing you were expecting from Claggor. 

“I feel like a child, giddy whenever the smallest thing happens between us. It’s truly pathetic.” He laughs at himself, your lips twitching upwards. “It’s not pathetic.” You tell him. 

“I’m the same way when I like someone.” You sit next to him on the bed, grabbing his hand. “When I like you I should say.” You watch his face blush a bright pink. “You feel the same?”

“Yeah, I have for a little bit now.” You nod your head, keeping his hand folded with your own. “That’s crazy to me. How could someone like you give me such the honor of liking me.” He whispers it was mainly to himself but you heard. You rolled your eyes playfully, grabbing his face with your other hand. “You’re so dumb. You’re perfect for me.” You coo, slowly leaning forward. His eyes widen but he follows your lead. 

Your lips locking, the warm, soft feeling on one another. You deepen it by getting on your knees and unlocking only a few times to go back for more. 

Swapping saliva as your tongues tease each other. His hands travel to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Your plush thighs on either side, straddling him. “Hmph.” He breathes roughly after you nibble at his bottom lip. You go to apologize but he does it back. Making it fair. 

You grin into the make-out, grabbing onto him as you attempt to pull him even closer to your body. 

Your hips subconsciously roll back and forth across his crotch. His lap tenses at the motion but he doesn’t stop you. His arm is latched around your waist as the other is keeping himself along with you propped up. 

The further into the make out the more blood progresses to his boner. It’s now prominent enough for you to feel against your area. 

Arousing you both to a degree you’ve never felt before. The wetness of your juices soaking through your clothes. He swore he could feel your cunt spasm on him. He loved it. 

He wanted to feel more. With the arm that was around your waist he pushed you down gently enough you couldn’t even tell what he was doing. You moaned in his mouth at the pressure. 

Your head was beginning to feel dizzy at the lack of oxygen you were taking in from being too excited to breathe. You had to pull away from him to catch your breath. His chuckles at the sight of your flushed out face, lips plumped out even more, your hair slightly a mess. You were beautiful. 

“I need more.” You huffed out, lifting your hips up only to plop back down upon him. He gasps from the movement. “Yeah?” He asks with hooded eyelids, giving your body a once over as he leans back. “Mhm.” You nod your head and then all of a sudden your back was against the bed as Claggor was in between your legs. You squealed out, laughing. 

“I don’t have condoms on me.” He suddenly remembers, he goes to get up but you grab the hem of his shirt to stop him. “I’m on birth control.” You say, legs wrapping around his thighs since his waist wasn’t close to you anymore. He smiles eagerly, passionately kissing you. 

“Such a pretty girl.” He mutters in your mouth, pulling back. He takes his shirt off and you admire his body as he does so. He had muscle that showed but also such a soft adorned tone. You were obsessed. 

And if you weren’t wet before, you definitely were now. You followed suit though, throwing your shirt and bra over your head, throwing it to the ground. 

His eyes glued to your chest, a little too long in your opinion as you grew self-conscious. Covering yourself without realizing it. He takes your wrists, pulling them to your sides. “You’re too beautiful to be doing that.” He shakes his head. His hand touches your face, digits trailing down from your jaw to your neck… Lower now as he dances around your nipples before lightly pinching them. You whimper at the feeling causing him to smirk. “They’re sensitive?” He tilts his head and you quietly nod your head. 

He chuckles, now doing the same with the other one just to hear the little noises that exit your mouth. 

He innately rubs his crotch against yours, pushing up against you. You rut your hips up to meet him, wanting more. 

“Please, I want to feel you.” Your hands go to his shoulders, lightly prodding him away. “Alright, I guess I had my fun.” He sighs jokingly, he moves back a bit, repositioning lower on the bed. Once he gets comfortable laying on his stomach, face to face with your clothed pussy his fingers find the top of your shorts. He toys with you, heavily breathing at your core. You wanted to squish your legs together so he’d stop but you resisted. Finally after what felt like minutes to you he tugs your shorts and panties off of you. 

“I made you this drenched?” He satirizes, you frown, looking away from him. He snickers at your shy response. His pointer and middle finger pull your lips apart to get an even better view. It caught you off guard from the sudden coldness at your pussy. You gulped down your own saliva that built in your mouth. 

Claggor glances up at you as his own mouth watered. Impatient to taste you. His best friend that he had just confessed to. His best friend that likes him in return. He was so worried that you wouldn’t like him and now here you are letting him eat you out.

His tongue lays down flat in between your nub and entrance. His top lip above your clit. You felt his teeth rub against you and you wince in pleasure. And as his muzzle moves, so do you. You felt your body squirm as his movements were intense but so so so satisfactory. 

He somehow was paying attention to your clit and your achy hole at the same time. And to be honest he didn’t have a technique he just wanted to taste all your juices. 

His tongue slid into your hole for its last time before attaching your nub once again, this time it was for longer. His tongue swiped left and right to up and down. Writing his name at one point and then yours. He felt your thighs closing against his head and your body tensing up.

 “H-hah- holy shit, Clag… I’m gonna-” You breathed rapidly, grabbing hold of his short hair and practically yanking at it. He groans in slight pain but keeps his focus on you, only going faster. Your torso trembling upwards. “I’m- I’m cumminngh-guhhh!” You wail, accidentally pushing your hand down on his head, keeping him in place against your pussy. 

He doesn’t mind, he feels you twitch on his mouth. All your delicious sap flowing onto his tongue. Your hips rolling throughout your high. 

And as it was over all you could do was lay there, letting him go. It was one of your most intense orgasms you’ve had in a while. “Thank you.” He whispers as he gets up to kiss you. “I should be thanking you.” You pant out, his small hands wandering around his torso. 

“Mm agree to disagree.” He shrugs, pecking you once more. As his torso goes up your hands slide down back to the bed. He plays with his belt buckle, undoing it. Claggor gets off the bed, letting his pants fall. You eye his boxers that clung to his skin. The noticeable bulge that stuck out. You were ready yet again. 

Your own fingers go to your clit, it was now delicate to the touch but you still rubbed it slowly. When he sees you touching yourself he feels his cock jump in its barriers. “Restless so soon?” He beams. 

“I need you inside me.” You mewl, spreading your legs even further than before. And just at your movements his boxers were being kicked off his feet. You giggle as he climbs back on the bed. Your eyes stuck on his large member though. 

You figured he would be blessed but… blessed was definitely an understatement. You now worried if it would even fit inside you.

“Gosh, you’re too gorgeous for your own good.” He clamps his hand on your jaw, squishing your cheeks making your lips puckered out before he kisses you. As he leaned over his dick laid on your tummy. 

“You ready for me?” He quizzes your jaw still captured in his hold. “Yesh, scared ‘s too big thoughh.” You muttered through your squeezed cheeks. He snorts, not expecting that answer. “I promise it will fit. I’ll go slow.” He kisses you again before letting you go. 

Your eyes observe as he pumps his dick with his hand with his own spit. His mushroom tip slipping through your folds, hitting your clit a few times. “Are you sure you want this?” He looks you in your eyes. You smile at his question for consent, double checking even though you’ve already came once and pleaded for his cock. “I want this more than anything.” Your hand wraps around his wrist, helping him proceed into you. 

He hisses at the feeling of your gummy walls just being around his tip that leaked precum. Your chest heaved up and down with anticipation. “Keep going.” You encouraged with a nod of your head. He listens to your words, inching more and more inside. 

As he bottomed out you clamped around him, flinching at the string that you felt at first. Your face contorting slightly. “Are you okay?” His hand caresses your cheek. “Yes, one second though.” You stuck your pointer finger up, you swore you felt every crevice of his cock. He was huge. 

“Okay, okay…” You shiver out. “Start moving.” 

His hips move away before clicking right back. Your mouth opens at the feeling. Now keeping a steady pace. He grips at your waist, hearing your moans make him want to cum at the spot. Only being in your pussy for two minutes. 

“H-harder.” You claw him, trying to keep him as close as possible. Seeing this along with hearing your words his hands lift up your thighs around his shoulders and he presses down closer to you. Now in an anvil position. “Ohmygod!” You shriek, feeling him deeper than he was before. He fucks into you at a harder, faster pace. 

Your mouth letting babbles come out, words mashed together and not making any sort of sense. Claggor grunts in your ear each time his skin slaps against yours. Your toes curling above his head. 

“Fu-uck meee~” You cry, throwing your head back against the bed. The exhilaration, the adrenaline, the sex of it all filling Claggor’s mind to keep going. Hear your voice lighting a fire in his brain. No other thoughts. 

“Gonna cum soon, princess.” His thrusts grow sloppier. “Wa-wait! St… stop!” You cry out, his pelvis immediately hitting a halt against you at your singular word. “What? What happened? You okay? Did I hurt you?” He asks, forgetting what he had just said. 

You pause for a moment, taking a quick breather. “I um…” You puff, “want to ride you.” You tell him, propping yourself up on your elbows. He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding at your words. “Oh okay.” He grasps at his heart, calming down. “What?” You furrow your brows confused. 

“I mean, I’d love for you too but you scared me.” He slowly slides out of you, your pussy now clenching around nothing. 

“The way you said stop… I don’t know. I blanked.” He rubs the back of his sweaty neck. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t exactly get my words out.” You nervously laughed, reminding him of what he was just doing to you. His cheeks blush brighter, not because of embarrassment but because it made him a little proud of himself for pleasuring you so well. That’s all that mattered to him. 

You got up to your knees and you led him to sit down by the headboard. His back against the thousands of pillows you have on your bed. “Comfy?” You ask him with a closed eyed smile. He snickers, tugging at your waist to pull you closer to himself. “C’mere.” Was all he said.

You climb back onto his lap. His torso was leaned back so you had a good advantage when riding him. Your feet planted on either side of his hips. Your hands held onto his shoulders as you now stood over his dick. Your lick your lips, practically drooling at the sight. “Help me?” You glance up through your lashes. He smiles, using his left hand to keep his member up for you. 

You lower yourself down on him, excited to be filled back up. As your ass fully goes against his thighs you go back up then right back down all in slow movements. He watches as your pussy sucks him in each time again and again. 

Then you get bored of yourself, going faster, bouncing on him. Your tits are right in his vision. His hand grabs at both of them as his other is laid on his own stomach, keeping it to himself. 

“Too good, ‘s good.” You moan out, gripping his shoulders with each bounce. 

The stinging in your thighs were slightly bothering you but you had to keep going. One of your hands that held his shoulders went down to your clit. You rubbed it intensely. “Fuck!” You whisper out, he can tell you’re getting tired fast. He holds onto your hips, helping you go up and down. 

Still admiring the way you focus on getting to your release. And all he wants to do is help you get there. “Get on your knees.” He taps against your hips with his pointer finger. “Hu-huh?” You look at him confused. “Just do it.”

You let your feet slide backwards so you were now back on your knees. “There you go, more comfortable?” He asks sincerely. You only nod your head, not rolling your hips on him. He lifts his hips up and slides his body down so it would be more comfortable for him. 

You fuck yourself on him. “Ooh, I’m close.” Your voice rings out, Claggor hums in response, feeling his own orgasm coming. “Me too, where do you want me?” He asks, just so he knows before he cums. “Inside, don’t worry.” You pant.

“A-ah, cumming!’ Your nails accidentally dig into his biceps as you feel your release. The pain only brings him over the edge, his jaw slacking as his seed spurts inside you. 

You feel the warmness spread within you. Feeling his cock soften inside. You kiss at his chest before laying down on him. Keeping him in place with his dick still stuck within those fluttered walls. 

“Fucking hell, Claggor.” You spit out, his arms wrap around you. “You were amazing.” He mumbles. “No, you were.” You lift your head up at him. “That was insane!” You exclaim, accidentally jolting your hips causing him to hiss at the sensitive feeling. “Sorry.” You chuckle. 

“It’s okay.” He waves it off. He goes to help you get up but you stop him. “I want to stay like this for a little bit.” You tell him with a heated face. He raises a brow. 

“I was hoping for round 2… But I want to feel you grow inside me.” You quietly admit to him. Now it was his turn for his face to heat up.

Flushing as he now replays everything the two of you just did. And you get exactly what you wanted. 

[muffinsin]

I just had a thought, how would the Dimitrescu sisters react to being pulled by the choker during fun time 🤭

Haha this is a fun one!👀 Some HCs and a snippet coming your way!👀 slowly tryina work through my writer’s block and write on anything else but my story haha

Let’s get into it🙌

Masterlists

Bela

In all her time, she’s just rarely been in a situation where she was even remotely manhandled in bed

No hair pulling, no pulling her, no pushing, not even as guiding touches

Now, to be fair, she isn’t the most sexual person outside of a relationship anyway, though, being far too busy with her work

You can’t help but think of it, though

She wears her collar, always, and often even adorns it with a second necklace

You find yourself wondering about moving her by it, occasionally

Hooking your finger underneath it, tugging it forwards

You wonder, would she follow?

Would her beautiful, golden eyes go wide?

Would she gasp in surprise?

Would she snarl, protecting this particular choker fiercely?

Would she do nothing at all?

Be entirely unfazed by it?

Still, you’re curious

And when you kiss her and cup the back of her head or neck, and when you guide her along with you…

You can’t help but wonder about moving your fingers to her choker, instead

Then, one day, you decide to dare try it

You moan as you feel her lips move against yours, so full, so soft, so perfect. Her body’s by yours, though not as flush against you as you’d like it to be. You find, this is the perfect opportunity to have some fun.

She merely hums as she feels your hand slide up her body, from her slim hips past her breasts, at first. The faint touch has her shiver, her back arching just slightly, as though it’s her very body wanting to get closer to yours.

Then, you reach her shoulders, feminine and soft, but strong in their own way. You trace them for a moment, then gently raise your hands to her neck.

She only keeps on moaning, humming, the sound a soft vibration against your lips.

You decide, now’s as good a time as any.

“Ha-Ah!”, she squeaks when you suddenly tug her forwards by her collar, a single finger hooked under, enough to move her in this state. Your eyes are wide, just as hers are, and you can’t help but giggle when you see the fierce blush that so quickly overtakes her normally so pale cheeks. She’s a little closer to you now and- it seems- rendered completely speechless.

Her lips part multiple times, but no words seem to form. When you tug at her choker again, pulling her completely flush against you, you hear it at last; a breathy, loud moan that comes with even more shade to her already warm cheeks.

You raise your eyebrow, but cut her off with your lips just when she’s about to speak, likely hoping to come up with some excuse.

You notice another thing, though; her cute, short breaths against your lips, her little moans and gasps. Her eyes are closed again, but her body language has changed.

You confirm this so very easily when you push your tongue in her mouth, drawing more moans from her. Unlike before, her tongue now no longer battles for dominance, but slides against yours eagerly, whereas she parts her lips a little more, too.

You hum, curious; it seems, tugging her by her choker is enough to coax your headstrong, beautiful girlfriend in a more submissive state.

You can work with that…

Cassandra

It’s no surprise that Cassandra has never been touched overly much

As a predator in just about every way, none would dare get too close

And even you, her trusting and loving partner, know for a fact it isn't the best idea to reach towards her choker

Or more specifically, her throat

A sensitive, vulnerable part of her body. One any predator, including her, would see to protecting

And still, you can't help but fantasise at times

Wondering what her reaction would be if you just looped a finger or two by her choker, if you gave it a bit of a tug

The most you've tugged her is when you guided her by her hips, so far

But her choker...you can't help but admire how it clings to her smooth, sensitive throat

You can't rid yourself of the dirty fantasies, of tugging her by it while she's on her hands and knees, crawling to you

Both of you...naked...on the bed

You squirm whenever you think of it for a little too long

You know, it's foolish to think of this, too

That she does not take kindly to you even touching her throat for too long, having to actively go against her instinct to shrug you away

Even as she squirms and moans so breathily and beautifully when you suck at her throat...

And still, you cannot stop giving into the thought over and over again, when you lay in bed below her, your arms wrapped around her, your eyes finding the choker easily. She always wears it, after all

You decide, you must try it

Of course, you are no fool. Despite how you want your actions today to be a surprise, you did warn her and ask for her permission to move your hands to her throat. You know, doing so out of nowhere with no warning would likely cause her to swarm away automatically in the best case, or swipe at your hands with sharp, claw-like nails in a worse scenario.

You hum as you watch her undress, her body, smooth and strong and pale, slowly revealed to you. Her dark hair, so beautiful as it falls from her shoulders and to her upper arms.

You lick your lips at the sight, feel a familiar light sensation at your stomach. She's beautiful, seducing. You're happy to be seduced.

Then, your eyes find the choker again. You've never quite approached topics that have her be in extreme submissive situations, never even mentioned a possibility in which she might wear things like chokers and collars and leashes, another way for you to tug her to you.

You can certainly make do with the choker, if only to sate your curiosity regarding her reaction. You're sure, it varies depending on her mood, and wonder whether she feels dominant, or more submissive today, which is rather rare.

Licking your lips, you move closer towards her, your hand raising to her cheek first. She doesn't flinch from your touch as she used to in the beginning, so adorably unused to human touch, and leans into it almost greedily.

You hiss when she parts her lips and her sharp, fang-like tooth slices against your hand, but find yourself moaning soon when her lips wrap over the cut, her tongue dragging against it, eager for blood.

She usually tastes you at least once, her eyes wide, the dark gold a beautiful sight. You know, only you get to see her like this, and it is only you who gets to touch her, too.

Only you, who she trusts.

And it is this touch that has her stay still even when your free hand moves towards her neck. Of course, she's aware of it, even as she acts like she doesn't notice the movement.

Ah, but you see it.

You see how her dark golden eyes flicker towards your hand for a moment, feel and watch her tense up momentarily, then relax, as though urging her to ignore her natural instinct to keep areas like her throat, back and stomach safe.

She knows, you won't hurt her.

And as such, even when your finger hooks under her choker necklace, she does not move, trusts you to be careful.

And you are, even as you tug her forwards.

And momentarily, you feel your own cheeks heating up when the cutest squeak comes from her.

In all your time with her you've rarely been able to really surprise her, if ever. This certainly did, and the squeak it earned you is enough to make you laugh loudly, giggling to yourself while she grumbles, her flies buzzing in irritation as she finds herself flush against you.

Alas, her frustration does not last, not when you tug her close again, her lips and nose brushing right against your throat, now.

An invitation.

Daniela

Unlike her sisters, Daniela is no stranger to being collared, nor leashed occasionally

She’s experimental, really

And you found; on certain days, she quite enjoys it, even

She’ll be content, humming and moaning below you, her lips lazily moving against yours, the collar snug around her throat

And still, none of the collars she wears are quite like her choker necklace

She wears it always, save for the times she has a proper collar on

And you can’t help but wonder what her reaction would be to be tugged by that

Daniela is, generally speaking, very open to being challenged

She’s playful, and trusting

Perhaps a little too trusting, seeing as there is far, far too many maidens at the castle and hunters outside with malicious intent, willing to harm or even kill her

Even between the two of you, she’s trusting

She’s open to trying new things

And she’s especially eager to try new things in bed

As such, you’re not discouraged, per say, to indulge in your curiosity…

Daniela’s cooing and giggling below you, her hands greedily sliding from your hips to your back, warm beneath your shirt. Her own dress is tight, tight enough that it clings to her figure perfectly. And still, you practically smell her arousal, and see it in the flicker in her beautiful, golden eyes.

She hums as she leans up to kiss you, her body soft against the sheets, her dress halfway tugged off, leaving her chest and thighs exposed while it pools by her hips. She didn’t have time to take it off, and you didn’t want to take the time, far too eager to have your hands on your sweet, seductive girlfriend at last after the day you’ve had.

You know; it isn’t her fault she catches so many maidens’ eyes. She is, despite also being the source of some of their fear, stunningly beautiful, naturally flirty, and quite seductive even without trying to be.

Fortunately, she also doesn’t mind when this causes times like now, when you’re a little rougher, holding her a little tighter, like a dragon clutching their treasure to them.

She merely moans below you, melting in your arms, basking in the warmth of your attention and affections.

You’re sucking at her soft jawline and throat when your chin brushes against the choker necklace and just briefly you remember what you’ve been yearning to do for a little time already now.

Daniela only hums when your hand snakes away from hers, even whines a little at the loss of your warm fingers, but stays otherwise quiet.

Her eyes are closed, even when your hand gently caressed her neck, full of love marks already.

She wouldn’t have it any other way, even pouts when they heal far, far too fast and demands you place new ones.

As you lean down to kiss her again, she eagerly parts her lips for you, moaning and giggling in delight occasionally. When you hook a finger under her choker, she doesn’t react, though when you tug it forwards, pulling her a little off the mattress and closer to you, she does squeak in surprise.

“Hey! Stop that!”, she complains, but there’s hardly any heat behind her words.

You giggle when she swats away your hand, then, soon, find yourself humming against her lips, and other body parts.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ⭑.ᐟ THE FIRST FALL OF SNOW

Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight in the public’s eye, is finally on his way home. The moment he clocked out, he was Bakugou Katsuki.

The apartment door swung open, and Bakugou trudged inside, every step weighed down by the exhaustion of the day. His back ached from the relentless action-packed hours at work (somehow, during the holidays, villains were at their peak action), and the chill of winter clung to his skin, even through the layers of his winter gear earlier. He’d been looking forward to collapsing onto the bed and shutting the world out for the rest of the night.

He let out a grunt of frustration, yanking his scarf off as he called out, “I’m home.”

Bakugou was greeted by your voice. Too chipper, as if you had something planned.

“Perfect timing! Go change into something warm; we’re going out!” you said, a spark of excitement lighting up your tired features. You had on your favorite scarf and coat, your cheeks flushed from the cold air that must’ve blown in while you’d been waiting for him.

Katsuki frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re kidding, right? It’s freezing, and I just got home.”

“I’m not kidding.” Your smile widened, undeterred by your husband’s gruffness. “You need to relax, and I need to check out the sale on the market. We’re going downtown, just for a little bit. Please?”

“No,” he scoffs.

“Come on, Katsuki,” you pleaded. “You’re always working, and I’ve been stuck inside all day. Just a quick trip downtown to relax. Please?” You pouted slightly as you repeated the request, though your tone remained playful, knowing it would chip away at his defenses.

“Can’t we relax here? You know, like normal people?”

“Normal is boring. We can relax after we go out and see the town. Please? I’ll make dinner when we get back!”

Dammit, you knew how to pull at his strings.

Katsuki groaned, tugging at the tight fabric of his jacket. He hated the cold, hated the thought of walking around aimlessly in weather that bit at his skin. But as he looked at you—your hopeful expression, the way your eyes sparkled with the promise of something simple yet special—he sighed, already knowing he couldn’t refuse.

Knowing he’d already lost, he crossed his arms. He’d always had a soft spot for you (you must’ve put a curse on him once he gave you his valid “I do” at the altar, he thinks), and no amount of exhaustion could override the tug in his chest when you looked at him like that.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But you’re carrying the hot chocolate if we get any.”

Your grin was instant, and you tugged at his arm. “Deal. Now hurry up and get dressed into something warmer before I change my mind.”

---

The streets of Musutafu were already in the holiday spirit, and it was only the first of December. The glow of streetlights reflected off frosted windows, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts wafted through the air—it was a scent to appreciate. Katsuki’s hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, his scarf pulled high over his face, as he grumbled every so often about the cold or his aching shoulders.

“This better be worth it,” he grumbled, kicking a stray piece of ice off the sidewalk.

“It is worth it,” you countered, practically skipping beside him. “You’ve been so stressed lately, and this is exactly what you need—some fresh air and a change of scenery.”

“I’d rather have fresh air from our bedroom.”

You shot him a playful glare. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, and you’re a pain,” he shot back, though his lips twitched upward just slightly.

It’s also a good thing that not many were wanting his autograph or a picture because Bakugou was not in the mood to entertain anyone aside from you.

You led him to a small square near the center of town, where festive decorations were strung across trees and lampposts. Children bundled up in cute, thick winter clothes ran around as their fits of giggles filled the air, and vendors sold warm snacks and drinks from cozy stalls. You tugged him toward one of the benches, your excitement bubbling over.

“Look at this place! Isn’t it beautiful?”

Bakugou looked around, taking in the bustling scene. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that it wasn’t half bad—but he’d never say it out loud. Instead, he just shrugged. “It’s alright.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible to impress.”

“Not true,” he said, smirking slightly. “You impressed me.”

“Ok, sap,” you snorted, though you were quick to hide how it made you feel all giddy. “And did you know that—”

And Bakugou could only listen to you with his brows slightly knitted to an unamused expression, though he didn’t want to burst your bubble even if he was exhausted.

Without even noticing at first, the first snowflake fell, soft and delicate, landing on your scarf. You stopped mid-sentence, glancing up as more began to drift down, tiny, icy kisses from the sky. Bakugou paused too, his eyes narrowing as a flake landed on his nose.

“It’s snowing,” you murmured, a note of wonder in your voice.

Katsuki squinted up at the sky, unimpressed. “Great. Now it’s even colder.”

You ignored him, stepping slightly into the open square, your head tilted back as you let the snowflakes land on your hair and cheeks. Your face lit up with childlike wonder, and for a moment, Bakugou was suddenly reminded how lucky he was to be married to you.

Bakugou watched you silently, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. You looked radiant, the soft glow of the snow reflecting off your skin, your cheeks flushed from the cold. Your lips parted slightly as you caught a snowflake on your tongue, and you laughed softly at the sensation.

His chest tightened, his earlier complaints fading into nothing. The aches, the cold, his uncomfortable winter clothes—none of it mattered. All he saw was you.

You turned back to him, your smile warm and teasing. “You’re just going to stand there and sulk, or are you going to enjoy this with me?”

He huffed, walking toward you. “I’m not sulking,” he muttered.

“Sure, sure.” You reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “Come on, Katsuki. Isn’t this beautiful?”

He looked at you, at the way your eyes shimmered with glee, the way you smiled despite the cold nipping at their noses. “Yeah,” he said softly, surprising even himself. He’s most likely referring to you rather than the scene before him, more likely. “It is.”

“Wait, are you actually admitting you like something?”

“So? I like you, and we’re married. It’s not that shameful to admit the obvious, dummy.” He grumbled, though his hand tightened around yours.

“Not that! I meant it’s snowing; isn’t it beautiful?”

“Could care less about shaved ice falling from the sky.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” you stuck your tongue out at him, and Bakugou did the same, which made you laugh.

You two stood there for a while, watching the snow fall around you, the rest of the world fading into the background. For once, Bakugou wasn’t thinking about work, stress, or anything else. All he could focus on was the woman beside him and how, for the first time in a long time, everything felt just right.

And even though Bakugou still hated the cold, he found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, winter wasn’t so bad after all—because it meant moments like this. Moments with you.

It must’ve been Christmas magic to see you during the first fall of snow, taking his breath away with how you looked, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything this damned world had to offer.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

*reading discourse-y posts again* I do think there's often a rejection of any mundane considerations in the jedi, which I sort of get, since they're fantasy space wizards with swords, so any mundanity can feel incongruous, but for me that's part of the charm.

Take for example a discussion about why Anakin didn't visit/follow up on Shmi during his apprenticeship. If I proposed that maybe he could not afford it, that's deeply mundane. The idea that the temple is just really really far away and they didn't have a private ship they could borrow on their off time, and there's not actually a galactic internet he can facetime shmi, a poor farmer, on, that's very mundane for a fantasy space wizard with a sword.

But they're monks. They don't have a salary. They don't have personal wealth. They have some collective resources, and they're granted some resources by various parties. Anakin is eventually able to go to Tatooine when Padme offers to take him there. Maybe he faced censure for the unauthorized trip offscreen, but not enough to affect the plot in any way. Similarly, when Obi Wan goes on a personal mission to help Satine, he borrows Anakin's fixer-upper ship, and he isn't shown to get into trouble for taking a little vacation either (so maybe it's not just that it's super duper strictly forbidden.)

So then like. Yeah, there is a cultural reason for parents not being in contact with children sent to the temple. For sure. There's plenty of spiritual/cultural things going on, that get bound up in this. If it's part of your religion that you're part of greater whole and that some people aren't fundamentally more important than others based on things like blood, there's not going to be a prioritized resource allocation for visiting family members on the other side of the galaxy. Shmi deserves help as an enslaved person, but not more than any other enslaved person. Then maybe you have Quinlan running some op on tatooine, and maybe he could give Anakin some peace of mind, except if that would compromise opsec in any way, in which case that's not his priority. That's a cultural reasoning.

But also maybe sometimes the reason Anakin didn't go sooner is because he didn't have a sugarmama yet and maybe the reason Qui Gon didn't free Shmi is that his mind tricks didn't work on Watto. Maybe the fantasy space wizards with swords have normal-people problems too.

[nekrotiize]

It's a controversial take because everyone's stupid but I'm never going to stop calling fandom + shipping culture homophobic. Fandoms are consistently extremely homophobic, and shipping culture is consistently even more homophobic.

Yes, the way fandoms center men so religiously is obviously misogynistic. The only people who deny that are themselves misogynists. But the aggressive centering of men and the resultant fixation on male/male dynamics lends to this slimy coating of homophobia that nobody talks about. The misogyny is an issue, clearly. But gay men are, to most people in fandom, toys. We are sex objects to coo over. It's intensely voyeuristic. Every god damn interaction is scrutinized to hell and back, and the second a man shows any kind of emotional connection with another man, it gets pounced on, and he gets thrown into a mill that flattens him down to one of three deeply heterosexual yaoi tropes that are fandom's only way of processing the existence of gay men.

It doesn't even matter what that man is. A disconcerting amount of time, people will start fawning over the idea of literal rapists being gay with zero critical thought applied. As if gay men being painted as and assumed to be sexual predators isn't a method that's been historically used to literally legally murder us. (What the fuck do people think "Gay Panic" means, even?)

Gay men aren't given the ability to be human beings in fandom. We're not afforded nuance. We're accessories, we are constantly objectified, and no one ever takes the time to consider that we have cultures, and that we are real human beings. We keep getting shoved into the most heterosexual boxes physically possible for the easy digestibility of people who do not want to see us as human beings. Semes- sorry, I mean Tops are the taller, older, more masculine, capable men of the relationship. Ukes- oops, sorry again, I mean Bottoms are the smaller, younger, more feminine, and totally useless women of the relationship. It's painfully yaoi. Gay men in fandom are never given the opportunity to be regular men, because people are too busy turning everything into homophobic, misogynistic fetish porn of our existence to be normal for five seconds.

There's something comedic about how many people in fandom want to say they're progressive, accepting. Safe. How fandom is welcoming of everyone. Look, we've made all this representation! And every time, gay men are sex objects, the women are scapegoated to hell and back, the headcanoned trans men are always skinny white softboys not a single day over 21 maximum, lesbianism is maybe acknowledged 0.5% of the time and largely for brownie points, bisexuals are across the board made out to be overtly horny and often sexually aggressive, fans of color are harassed out of the community left and right, anyone on the aro/ace spectrums is called a freak and a killjoy for not participating in shipping, characters on the aro/ace spectrums are heavily included in shipping content with the excuse of "aros/aces can date/have sex like normal people, too!" with zero regard for what our love looks like, and there isn't a single accepted trans woman headcanon to be seen.

Fandoms are circuses full of dirty little liars with cotton stuffed in their ears and Shipping Culture is a disease.

And if you criticize either of them, the most annoying white liberals you've ever seen will start clutching their pearls because how dare you criticize something that's free?! Don't you know a lack of price point immediately negates any criticism?! Just laughable.

[dreamwatch]

Part 1 Part 2

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt3 - 4954 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

Part 3

For the first time in years they get lucky; Wayne gets Christmas off. He says it’s because he worked Thanksgiving, but Eddie overheard phone calls that maybe he shouldn’t have been listening to, and he has a suspicion it’s more to do with the fact that for a while there Wayne was facing all his future Christmas’s alone and this one’s kind of special.

They’re watching the TV, eating too much, and sipping on beers. It’s normal. Just regular Christmas Eve in the Munson home, but the weight of it, the what ifs, hang in the air. It’s not oppressive, or sad, it’s just … there. It should be a sign, probably, that he and Wayne need to have a good talk, maybe work through a few things. But Wayne isn’t a talker, doesn’t understand why anyone would go to a shrink, he buries his shit deep. When Eddie thinks of his father, he was much the same. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, then, that Eddie likes to keep things locked away, hidden from public view.

He sips on his beer and he eats his cookies, and he smiles at Wayne and Wayne smiles back. They know what they have. It’s enough.

They don’t get visitors often and he can’t think of a single Christmas where they’ve had one that wasn’t a cop, so when they hear the knock at the door they both look at each other like deer in the headlights. The bad knocks, the ones that end up with shit on the doorstep, or notes on the door telling him to move away if he knows what’s good for him, they don’t come as often as they used to. The last one was around Halloween, which in some regards he kind of expected; every town has a boogeyman and sadly he’s it for Hawkins. They keep a baseball bat behind the door where most people store their umbrellas. 

Wayne answers the door, fist twitching, but then Steve is wandering into his home, flakes of snow on his eyelashes and in his hair. 

“Hey sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to give you these.”

He hands over two badly wrapped gifts, something bottle shaped for Wayne who seems a little shellshocked at getting anything, and a small navy blue package for Eddie, with way too much tape holding it together. And he knows gifts aren’t a quid pro quo kind of situation, but he’s honestly been back to back with appointments and just life in general, and he doesn’t get out as much as he would like, seeing as he still can’t drive, so his heart sinks a little at it.

“Shit, I didn’t— sorry, I was just so caught up—”

“It’s nothing. Honestly, it’s just something I saw that reminded me of you.” 

His voice peters out as he says it, and Eddie feels that little kick, the little squeeze in his core, but he just can’t help it. Reminded me of you. Like he’s important enough for Steve to think about. And isn’t that something?

Reminded me of you.

It’s a little fan, breathing life onto a flame that he just can’t afford to have lit any further. Tamping it down is getting harder and harder.

They talk for a few minutes, but it doesn’t matter how many cookies or beers or sodas Wayne offers him, he declines them all with a sorry, got to get back. He gets up to leave and Eddie walks him to the door.

“What are you doing on Friday?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with my secretary, my diary gets booked up so far in advance these days.”

“He ain’t doin’ nothin’!” Wayne shouts. “And close the goddamn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Jesus Christ, old man, keep it down. No fucking privacy here. Well, as you heard, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ apparently.”

It’s a pretty accurate impression, which he knows Wayne heard and he’ll be paying for that for a while. But he made Steve laugh, so it’s entirely worth it.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at four, be dressed and ready to go.” Steve hops down the porch steps back to the car. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out on Friday. Get inside before you freeze to death, Munson. Merry Christmas!”

“I’m going, I’m going, why is everyone such a nag? Merry Christmas, Steve!”

He should wait until tomorrow, but the little blue package in his hand feels like it’s burning him. He sits on his bed and tries his best to peel each piece of tape carefully, but the fucking thing is covered in it so he ends up ripping the paper off anyway. 

The guitar strap is neatly folded, blue embroidery singing against the black leather. Guitar picks slip onto the floor at his feet. 

His breath falters, trapped in his throat, and it’s several long seconds before he takes a deep breath again.

His guitars were some of the only things saved from the old trailer. Wayne told him how lucky he was to be at the back, how most of his precious possessions survived. He even hung the Warlock on the wall of his new bedroom. It felt like he was being watched, like an eye following him around the room. It felt like a living thing in a way that scared him. 

And it wasn’t just the thing of it, the object that got carried into battle - even if that one was a version from another world - it was the way it sounded in his hands now. He tried to play it just once, and once was enough to know it would never happen again. The shake in his hand was frightening, the lack of control, the dissonant noises that rang from it. He chalked it up to some weird phobia, a reaction to what the guitar meant now. But then he picked up his old Fender knock off and it wasn’t any better, and it hit him that it was gone, everything he had practiced, everything he worked for, it was gone just like that. Now he had a shaky left hand and no grip strength and moving his fingers along the fretboard was an effort not an instinct.

It was over. And he never wanted to see that fucking guitar again.

But now he’s sitting here with a beautiful guitar strap in his lap and guitar picks all over the floor, things that Steve chose for him, because they reminded me of you, and it’s painful in a different way, in a way that he can’t examine right now because he just doesn’t have the strength for it in the middle of a Christmas he was never meant to see. He wraps them both back up in the crumpled blue paper and puts them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling a pair of sweats over the top.

Christmas is… emotional. But like in that quiet ‘we’re not gonna talk about it’ way that he and Wayne have perfected over the years. There are pats on the head, hair ruffles, side ways glances when Wayne thinks he’s not looking. Weighty, but not unpleasant. It’s a lot to know you’re loved so deeply, a lot to know how difficult this would have been for Wayne if Eddie hadn’t been here.

(There’s things about that day, about the decisions he made, that he tries to keep hidden from everyone, himself included when he can manage it. They haunt him at night when he’s alone in the house by himself and has time to dwell on them, but when Wayne rests a calloused hand on his head, it’s almost like forgiveness. He hopes Wayne doesn’t know. He hopes none of them know.)

When Friday swings around he feels entirely too much like a kid in a candy store, and if Wayne notices his slightly hyper demeanour when Steve pulls up outside, he at least has the grace not to mention it. 

Steve doesn’t open the car door for him. Anyone looking on, watching Eddie potter down his steps unevenly, crutch in hand, would read that as rude. Eddie reads it as trust, as being listened to, and most importantly being heard. Other people struggled with that, so many of his friends, fuck, even Wayne, wanting to step in whenever they thought he needed a hand, but never really hearing him when he said he was fine. And look, he’s a stubborn fuck, he knows this, and he hasn’t made this easy on people, he could have - should have - asked for help at times, but having one person in his corner that listened to him made him feel less powerless. That it was Steve made his heart sing.

Steve still won’t tell him where he’s going, so they do what they usually do, argue over the radio while Eddie tosses tapes around in the glove compartment. Eddie doesn’t get out often, mostly of his own choosing, so these moments mean a lot to him. Painfully normal. 

Painfully normal with Steve by his side.

He starts to nod off to the sound of Cyndi Lauper coming through the speakers, but he catches sight of the sign to Indy and it wakes him up with a start. He glances at Steve who definitely knows he’s being stared at because the little smirk on his face grows. Something in Eddie grows with it.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside Sandy’s.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath. “I haven’t been here since… fuck, last year I think? How did you find this place?”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt, that smirk firmly still  in place. “Friend of a friend.”

And then, because Eddie’s world hasn’t spun out from beneath him enough this year —

Steve Harrington winks at him.

And it’s not a wink like, sports and jocks and rough-housing with the kids wink, it’s a wink. It’s loaded. It takes up space in the car. It passes between them, a little bird Steve set off into the air for Eddie to catch with careful hands.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels like it will collapse around him if he asks, his little tower of cards that just got to the second level will flutter to the ground. So he laughs it off, calls him a dork and then gets out of the car.

They take a booth at the back, sliding in, face to face. 

“Have you eaten here before?” Eddie asks.

“Just the once.” And there’s that smile again, and that little thing in him that keeps so deeply hidden continues to unfurl.

The waitress approaches to take their order, and Steve gets in before Eddie can.

“Two chilli dogs with extra onions, two sides of cheese fries, and two peanut butter malts, please.”

He didn’t even look at the menu.

The moment she walks away, Eddie leans forward.

“How do you know my order?” He’s a little rude with it, though he doesn’t mean to be, and for the first time Steve looks unsure.

“I told you, a friend of a friend.”

“Gareth. You can say Gareth, Steve. I’m not stupid.”

Steve picks up the salt shaker, rolling it idly between his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice, for Christmas, you know? Is that so bad?”

“You did something nice for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh, no, I tried to do something nice. Consider this a do-over.”

Eddie does his best, tries not to read too much into the fact that Steve knew his order, or that he asked Gareth for help, or that he ordered the same thing, or that he spends the entire time practically moaning as he slots the hotdog into his mouth in a way that honestly looks filthy as fuck, but he can’t possibly know what he’s doing, or what he’s doing to Eddie specifically.

He does his best. But a boy can dream. 

Steve pays, which just makes it all so much worse. Is this how they feel? All those girls from Hawkins High? Is this what it means to be wooed by the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?

They get back to the car, and Steve starts her up, the cool air from the vents turning warmer as they sit there. 

“That was… that was really cool, actually.” 

“Yeah, those hot dogs were awesome. Seriously we need a place like that in Hawkins.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No I mean… you bringing me here. It’s my favourite place to eat. It was a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

Steve looks delighted. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. And hey, it wasn’t burnt this time, right?” 

Steve laughs and Eddie tries to but he can’t, is the thing. It’s all kind of caught up in him, like a tangle. He’s confused, and warm, and happy and a little sad, actually. He surrounds himself with things he wants and can’t have. Sometimes he can live with that, but sometimes it hurts.

“Thank you. Like, honestly,” and he let’s a puff of air out of him, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Blowing the sting from them. “I haven’t been there since my birthday last year. It was kind of a tradition, you know? I didn’t get to go this year, so… yeah, thanks.” And he means it. Truly and honestly means it.

Steve taps the steering room, out of rhythm to the song on the radio, a nervous little tick Eddie’s noticed before.

“So, there’s one more thing. Uh, one more place I want to take you. If that’s okay?”

He looks so earnestly at Eddie, like he’s honestly scared Eddie will say no to him when right now Eddie doesn’t think he would deny him a fucking thing.

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way, sire.”

They don’t drive far, but they move into the suburbs on the other side of town and into a little neighbourhood Eddie recognises, before pulling up somewhere Eddie knows very well indeed. 

Wayne was the first one to bring him to Rudy’s Music Shop back on his twelfth birthday, when he got that old Fender knock-off from Gary at the plant. It needed strings, and it buzzed like crazy and Rudy’s was cheaper than the big store in the middle of the city, so they visited and Rudy fixed it up for him, almost as good as new. And when he was finally ready for his first serious guitar, something metal that he would take the world by storm with, it was Rudy’s that he went to. He couldn’t afford a lot, but the Warlock was a trade in, barely used but with a couple of big chips in the paintwork. Rudy cut him a deal, and Eddie spent three bucks on red nail polish and you could never tell they were there unless you knew where to look.

“Steve… ?”

“I um… Wayne told me about this place. I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Steve taps him across the chest. “Come on.”

This time he does let Steve help him out of the car, the long journey and the cold starting to wear him down. They walk over to the window, the red neon sign glowing bright into the dark street, the guitars stand like soldiers under it, and he feels the pang of want. It feels like the twist of a knife.

“You wanna go in?”

Eddie’s not sure where it comes from. But something in him stirs, something that feels like bravery, and he finds himself wanting just that. But…

“It’s closed,” he says, trying his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But thanks for bringing me here, it was a really lovely thought, you know.” 

Steve walks right past him to the door and knocks three times, and in a moment Rudy is there, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” says Rudy.

“Uh— shit.” He starts laughing, it bubbles up from nowhere and he feels a little delirious with it. “It’s good to see you too. Sorry, it’s just a lot, being here.” He gestures around the store at the walls of instruments.

Rudy laughs softly, “Yeah, I bet.” Then he looks at Steve and says “You got half an hour then I got to lock up. You want the, uh—” he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, give us ten minutes?”

Rudy nods before heading out back, pulling the office door closed behind him. Then it’s just them, and Eddie’s head is spinning like a fucking top.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Promise not to get mad?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why would I get mad?”

“I thought maybe it was time to get that new guitar.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling painted with famous musicians. He stares B.B. King straight in the eye. B.B. Stares right back at him.

“Steve, I just�� I can’t.” He blows out a huge puff of air, and it feels like he’s emptying his heart as much as he’s emptying his lungs.

“I know you sold the Warlock. And I get why.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You can’t run from everything, man.”

It’s like a slap and Eddie turns on him. “Oh fuck you!”

All of it’s falling to shit, all the good, summer, the trips to the drive through, the summer spent in the Harrington’s pool. Cold nights tucked up against each other watching horror movies. A burnt Thanksgiving dinner. 

A guitar strap.

Steve reaches out to him, squeezing his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just. You’re so fucking talented, Eddie, and I hate that you lost the thing you loved the most. You deserve better than that.”

Eddie scoffs. “How do you know I was talented? You’ve never heard me play.”

Steve smiles softly and digs into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a cassette before waving it gently in the air. 

“Borrowed it from Wayne. Blues, huh?” And there’s that smirk again, like he’s won something, and fuck it. He has.

“Fucker.”

“Me or Wayne?”

“Both of you.”

There’s a pause, Steve opening and closing his mouth like he's working out what to say next.

“Why did you lie? Why did you sell it?”

It’s not an accusation, just an honest question. If it were anyone else Eddie would fob them off. But it’s Steve, and he deserves so much more than that.

“Because it wasn’t the same, Steve. I couldn’t look at that fucking guitar, I didn’t want it anywhere near me, man. It just didn’t sound the same anymore. I didn’t sound the same. And it just reminded me of everything, every time I looked at it, Chrissy, and Patrick, and the bats--” He heaves in a breath. “Do you know what it’s like when your dreams are stolen? For them to just disappear overnight?”

Steve’s eyes drop to the floor, but he replies with a nod.

“I had a basketball scholarship lined up. Until Billy smashed a plate into my head, anyway. It’s not the same, I know, but I do get it.”

Billy was a bastard, and Eddie never liked him, and it’s awful but all he can think right at this moment is that he’s glad he’s dead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs. “Shit happens. It’s what you do after that matters. Come on,” Steve takes him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and Eddie’s breath slams to a stop as Steve leads him to a stool and amp. “Rudy said you can play whatever you want. Just point and I’ll grab them. But there is one, I kind of put aside for you. If you want to try it?”

Alternate dimensions haven’t got a thing on what ever the fuck is going on here today. He barely nods before Steve runs off like an excited puppy. He returns a moment later, carefully holding a guitar. 

“So, I know this isn't like, metal, or whatever. But Rudy said it’s got a really nice tone? And it’s a lot lighter than your Warlock, so I thought… “ He coughs, suddenly sounds embarrassed, “I just thought it would be easier for you.”

He recognises it immediately; a Gibson ES-335. But not sunburst or cherry red, like everyone knows it for, but in a washed out sky blue. It’s scratched, the paintwork chipped in places, but it’s clean and otherwise clearly well looked after.

“It’s beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Tentatively, Eddie reaches out for it and Steve hands it over almost reverently. It is lighter than the Warlock, though it’s bigger. But the rounded cut outs make it fit him better, it rests comfortably on his thigh. He runs his fingers up the neck, feels the comforting grab of the frets under his finger. The loss of it all hits him so suddenly he feels himself fall back, like a gust of wind carrying his grief slammed into him. 

“Yeah,” he manages to say, but his throat is closed tight and theres no way Steve doesn’t hear it. 

Steve kneels in front of him, places his hands on Eddie’s knees and a spark fires through him.

“Play me something.”

“What?”

Steve beams at him. “Anything you want.”

He feels a tear slip over his lashes, and he watches as Steve traces it down his cheek, wiping it away before it falls from his chin.

“No tears on the guitar,” Steve whispers. “Not good for the paint.”

“Fucker,” Eddie laughs wetly. “Plug me in.”

Steve sets him up, with a little direction, then sits on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, like a toddler at story time, his attention undivided.

It’s rough, the first chords are chunky and stilted, he doesn’t have the strength or the dexterity that he once had, certainly not the speed. But as his hands warm up, as he falls into it, the rhythm, the vibration of the strings under his fingers, the callouses softened from all these months without steel underneath them. His eyes slip closed and he plays by feel again, and without thinking he starts striking chords, the D, into the F sharp, G into the A. He smiles to himself, before opening his eyes, and he and Steve lock eyes, sitting in the dark in Rudy’s, just the neon red lighting them up. 

You’re the one I’ve waited for

He sings it openly, part challenge, part declaration. 

I need your love more and more

His breath is knocked from him as Steve rushes forward, hands on Eddie’s cheeks pulling him in, his lips pressed deeply into Eddie’s. Eddie grips the guitar in one hand, covering Steve’s hand with the other, holding it there. When the shock passes, he kisses back just as fiercely, lips finding one another in the red glow.

Steve breaks apart first, breathless with giggles before leaning in for another quick peck. And then another. And then he takes the guitar from Eddie, gently places it on a stand before standing in between his legs, his hands on Eddie’s face, tipping him back, before leaning down to kiss him again, slower this time, more softly.

“I’ve thought about this for so fucking long.”

A sound escapes Eddie, air rushing out after a punch to the solar plexus, to a place deep within him.

“You have no idea, man,” is all Eddie can manage in response.

There’s a cough from behind them and they split apart as fast as they came together.

“So, uh, we taking that guitar, boys?”

“Yes,” answers Steve, at the same time Eddie says “I don’t know.”

“Do you like the guitar?” Steve asks.

“I love it.”

“Good. Then we’re taking it.”

Rudy carefully places it into a case and hands it over before letting them out onto the street, and wishing Eddie well.

“But I haven’t paid—”

“He’s all paid for kid. All yours.”

Eddie is dazed when he makes it back to the car. He looks at the little store front in the dark, the neon fighting the orange glow of the street lamps for the honour of lighting the sidewalk. It was a minute ago but it seems like a dream already, like a spell was broken the moment they walked back onto the street, and he’s not sure it happened. It’s too ridiculous to imagine that it happened.

Steve climbs in beside him, looking every bit the King of Hawkins High, smug bastard.

“What just happened?” Eddie says to no one.

He catches movement beside him, Steve pushing his fingers through his hair, checking himself out in the rearview mirror before repositioning it.

“Well, I took you to dinner, then I brought you to your favourite guitar store, bought you a beautiful guitar and basically took you out on the best date you’ve ever had.”

Eddie nods absently. “Oh, is that what happened?”

Steve looks like he’s actually thinking about. “Yeah, pretty much,” and he winks again, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Eddie now. 

They drive back to Hawkins, Steve stretching his hand out to hold Eddie’s every time they come to a stop light, Eddie squeezing it tightly like it might disappear, like it might be the last time he gets the chance.

They pull up outside Eddie’s little house, just as snow starts to flutter to the ground again. Steve leaves the car running, the heat blowing out onto their faces. Eddie feels a little flushed. He’s not entirely sure its the heater though.

“So…” he starts.

Steve throws his arm across the back of Eddie’s seat. “So.”

“Did that really happen? Because, I was dead for about five minutes back in March and they said there could be lasting consequences from the oxygen deprivation and—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss and not for the first time Eddie’s pleased they moved to a private little house where they can’t be seen from the street.

“Firstly,” Steve says when he let’s go, “Don’t ever joke about that.” Steve’s cradles his jaw, thumb stroking at the raised pink of the scar that sits there. “But yes, it happened. All of it. Maybe I was a little slow off the blocks. Let’s just give thanks for me getting there sooner rather than later, huh?”

Eddie can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Oh, I am giving thanks, trust me, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he leans in for another kiss.

“Oh we are totally circling back to that,” Eddie says gleefully.

“Shut up.”

They lean in again, and this time he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, his lips parting ready to kiss, until a loud knock knock knock on the window has them flying apart.

Wayne peers in at the two of them as Eddie rolls the window down.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of us.”

“This strikes me as something you might want to do inside.”

Steve combs his hands through his hair, nodding. “Yep, absolutely. We will definitely do that.”

“Not tonight though,” Wayne adds, and honestly, Eddie loves this guy, he does, but fuck does he pick his moments to get parental. “Goodnight Steve.” And then, because Eddie’s suffering is his greatest pleasure, he smirks and says. “Hope it all went well.”

“Would you just leave, please, now. Thank you.”

They both watch Wayne walk back up the porch steps, a sly smile on his face.

“Fucker.” Eddie sighs into one more kiss, Steve meeting him across the console. “I should go.”

Steve hops out to grab the guitar - his guitar, and that’s going to take a while to get his head around - and carries it up to the porch for him.

“Call you tomorrow?” 

“Please,” Eddie says, feeling for all the world like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. So, this is what it’s like?

Steve gives him that stupid little wave and smiles at him, but as he’s about to get in the car he calls back.

“Hey, what was that song you were singing?”

Eddie laughs. 

“Oh, uh, Love Hungry Man. AC/DC.”

“Holy shit,” Steve laughs. “Don’t hold back, Munson.”

He shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? Speak your truth, right?”

Eddie stands in the cold as he watches Steve drive off into the night. Flakes of snow begin to fall again, shimmering in the amber street lighting. He sticks his tongue out to catch them. He feels giddy, kind of light headed and for a second he thinks he’s over done it today, he should get in, get his pills and sleep. 

It takes a moment for it all to filter through, for his brain and his body to catch up with one another, but eventually it hits him; he’s happy. He’s never let himself want before, not big things, not things he can’t buy. He’s spent years hiding big parts of who he is, even from his closest friends, with only the dream of moving to a city to give him real hope for a connection with someone. For love.

And then Steve Harrington, brave, smart, wonderful Steve Harrington, knocks the wind right out of him, turns his world upside down, the good kind this time, and now not only does Eddie get to want, he gets to have. 

He sticks his tongue out again to catch a last, fat flake of snow, and then carries his guitar inside. 

He has a lot of practicing to do.

****

Holy shit. Full disclosure, I wrote most of this today and I'm sleep deprived and I can't bear to think how many typos and errors there are in this, but I'm trying to hit a deadline. Feel free to let me know what I fucked up. 😂

[wisecura]

Shine

Yan-yuji x fem-idol reader

An:just a concept I was thinking about writing for soon. Let me know what you think. I prefer golden retriever type yanderes so here we go.

Warning: obsessive behavior, unhealthy behavior, stalking, please read at your own discretion

You met Yuji while on tour about a year ago.

You’ve met plenty of people. Hundreds if not thousands. From all walks of life. But that pink headed ball of pure admiration was definitely one that stood out. You could say with utmost certainty that Yuji Itadori was your most devout fan.

He showed up at every concert, purchased tons of your merch, went to almost every fan meet and greet. He was so consistent, you knew him my name at that point.

It was cute at first. That sparkling energy, those lovestruck puppy dog eyes, and that dopey smile he always gave you. Always energetic and happy to see you. Begging you to flash you killer pose he’d seen so often on stage.

It was like—from the second he met you—he was hooked. He just seemed to absolutely adore you. Knew all of your songs, followed every possible social media, and even led a few fan clubs.

After that year, he became much bolder. During your meet and greets he’d often ask for a picture, where he’d shyly pull you into a side hug—flashing a peace sign and bright smile. Now this wasn’t strange, it was something that was always offered in the meet n greet bundle.

Only now his hand seemed to cling on a little more tightly, not willing to let go quite as fast. You’d noticed his breathing picked up and his face flushing. And by the time he actually let go, you were almost a little red.

You’d shrugged it off—something you normally wouldn’t have done if it had been anyone else. Normally baring them from the next meet and greet just for safety sake. But you let it slide. After all, Yuji was a consistent face. Someone you were somewhat familiar with.

But you’d noticed you also started getting pages from the front desk of your pent house apartment more often. There’d been multiple visits from a hooded figure, loitering at the elevators. Trying—but failing to jam the button that lead straight to your floor. Thank fuck for key card access.

You’d been concerned, obviously. And what made it even scarier was the frequency of visits coupled with the lack of any actual resolution. They weren’t caught. Always slipping away just quick enough to miss the security guards.

And then the night came. First it was the knocks. Heavy. Loud. And frantic. You’d been too scared to open the door, immediately searching for your phone to call the police should you need to. Then making your way over to the intercom.

Before you could reach it, the knocks stopped.

This freaked you out enough to grab a kitchen knife—maybe dial the front desk. You’d barely reached the kitchen before you heard it.

Bam! Bam! BAM!

Your head spun around only to find someone’s foot through your front door. You, like any sane person, fucking panic—running to grab that knife before you didn’t have a chance.

You get there just in time to see that hooded figure standing at your kitchen entryway.

And who would you fucking guess, other than Yuji Itadori.

“Y-yuji?”

A huge grin spread across his face at your words. You’d remembered his name. A small pink blush crossed his cheeks. His eyes devoid of much else other than glassiness that reflected you. Damn near cold and dead.

That same lovesick grin he’d worn at every one of your meet and greets.

You couldn’t gauge his next moves, but you knew it wouldn’t be good. You kept your knife firmly in from of you, the only protection saving you from this lunatics psychotic break.

He looked ready to tackle you. And you weren’t sure you’d be able to take him. Something you normally wouldn’t pay attention to—wouldn’t have much reason to.

The dude was fucking built. At least twice as wide and a head whole taller than you.

And he started walking, slow—long strides.

“S-stay back!—“ you swing your knife—albeit a little clumsily. You definitely weren’t a fighter.

He stopped just out of your swinging distance, those same dead eyes staring down at you. His grin somewhat fading, an expression of worry—maybe confusion crossing his face.

“You don’t need to do that.” He makes a grab for your knife tats still latched in your trembling grip. “You’re gonna hurt yourself, cut it out—“

“Stay back!!”

“Hey cut it out—“ his grin falling completely, his expression growing more and more impatient by the second.

His hand shoots out grabbing your wrist with surprising strength. The knife falling between you two. And before you could think of even attempting to reach for it—he’d kicked it away.

“See? What were you thinking?” he muttered, tugging you into a crushing hug, his arms wrapping around you like a vice. His grip was desperate, clinging to you as if letting go would kill him. “Please, please don’t hate me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Let’s just go home. I’ll make everything better, I promise.”

You were trembling, frozen in his embrace, the weight of his words sinking into your chest like stones. You didn’t know what to say, what to do—every instinct screamed to run, but his arms refused to let you move.

All you could think was how much you wished you’d never met Yuji Itadori.

[rhiannonsknife]

https://www.tumblr.com/rhiannonsknife/768495780521787392/thinking-about-adult-shauna-she-is-so-crazy-i

TEEHEHEHEHEE okay >:)

maybe you meet her while you’re in college. one of callie’s friends or something. there’s no denying that shauna’s into you, even though she does her best to hide it. she still wants to hold onto some shred of dignity despite everything, and actively crushing on a girl half her age certainly wouldn’t be very dignifying. but it’s not as if you’re not into her.

i don’t think she’d make a move unless she was sure it was what you wanted, so you’d have to be the one to initiate. maybe you’re a little tipsy one night, just enough to have the courage to hit on your friend’s mother. leaning in close to her, close enough that you can smell her floral perfume. giving her little touches that suggest you’re being a little more than just friendly.

i don’t think she’d believe you at first either. maybe she thinks you’re messing with her, maybe you lost a bet. because why would somebody as young as you be into someone her age? it messes with her head. it’s not as if she’s unattractive, but she knows that the wear and tear that comes with ageing might put some people off… especially with all the little comments she’s had to put up with from jeff over the years. it’s been a while since she’s felt wanted.

that all changes when she gets to know you. i think she’d want to keep things casual at first. exclusively sexual. at least that way she can pretend to herself that she’s still devoted to jeff; she still comes home to him when it would so, so easy to stay with you instead. you don’t mind either… it would be nice to have her stay the night, but you understand that she has commitments. she can’t just drop everything for you. it’s complicated, but you’re glad that she finds it in her busy life to make time for you.

i personally think she’d use sex as a way to relieve stress. intimacy with her husband is long gone, so it’s refreshing for her when she gets to be intimate with someone new. she’s usually rough with you, getting out all of her anger and frustration. i think she’d love to overstim you, loves the feeling of power she gets when you’re on your fourth orgasm and begging her to slow down. choking on your whines as she slams her strap into you over and over and over. she’d force you to take it until she’s satisfied, until all of her frustration is gone. the aftercare would be worth it though, and it’s not as if you’re not into it 😇 and you know she’d stop immediately if it ever actually got too much for you. she just likes to push you to your limits.

receiving gentle treatment during sex would be a rarity, something you only get on special occasions. but whenever she does decide to take it slow, you swear you can see a more loving side to her. a want for a different life if she wasn’t already so tied down by her current one. she’s normally rushing things, tossing you around and filling you up at the speed of light as she tells you how much she needed this, but on these special occasions she takes it slow. spends forever kissing all over your body, practically worshipping you as she gives soft murmurs of praise. really takes the time to cherish you and this moment :(

shauna shipman… more like shauna STRAPman, amiright? ugh i NEED her !!!!

- 🦔

saw the words ‘adult shauna’ and dropped everything to write this down you don’t understanddddd. anyway…nsfw content. mdni.

it all started when you and callie met in your first year of college. after bonding over bad cafeteria food, late-night study sessions, and a general lack of sleep, you quickly became close friends. -a friendship that only solidified over the years.

you’d spent countless weekends at her house, getting to know her family. her dad, jeff, was nice enough but often seemed more focused on work than his family. her mom, shauna, on the other hand, was…different.

shauna shipman wasn’t the warm, doting mother you’d imagined, at all. and yet, there was always something unspoken between the two of you: a tension you could never quite place. it wasn’t exactly obvious, just a lingering glance here, a charged silence there. it felt ridiculous to think it was more than some strange undercurrent. shauna was your friend's mother, older than you by quite a few years, and married to jeff, after all. still, it was impossible to ignore the way her gaze would linger a moment too long when she thought no one was looking, or the way her voice softened whenever she spoke to you.

you told yourself it was a harmless crush that would fade eventually. it didn’t. instead, it only grew as weeks turned into months. the way she looked at you sometimes made you wonder if she felt it too. but shauna was nothing if not composed. if she did notice, she never let it show. not directly, at least.

for her part, she was conflicted, to say the least. she couldn’t deny that there was something about you: your energy, your warmth, the way you looked at her like she was still worth noticing. it unnerved her how often you crossed her mind after you left, or how she’d find herself lingering in conversations with you just a little too long. for callie’s sake she told herself it was ridiculous, inappropriate, and absolutely out of the question.

then came the party.

it was the first of many occasions where those lines would blur.

you had been drinking, as had shauna, but not quite the same amount. she wasn’t the type to let loose easily, especially around her daughter and friends. but when the alcohol hit your system just right, you found yourself inching closer to her. you weren’t subtle that night. not anymore.

it started with small things: standing closer to her than you needed to, finding excuses to touch her arm when you laughed, and letting your eyes wander in a way that made your intentions clear. she noticed, of course. how could she not? by the time you found yourselves alone in the quiet corner of the house, away from the noise and laughter, you were both tipsy enough to let your guards down.

“you’re awfully charming tonight,” she said at one point, her tone teasing but her eyes cautiously searching yours over the rim of her wine glass.

“maybe i’m just trying to impress someone,” you replied, your voice low enough that only she would hear. it was the most forward you'd ever been and the point where shauna could've let you down. yet, instead of pulling away, she stayed and the tension between you grew thicker.

“you’re drunk,” shauna said matter-of-factly, but her voice lacked the force she probably intended. “are you messing with me? is this a joke?”

“you really think i’d joke about this?”

“tell me i’m wrong,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “tell me this isn’t what you want” truthfully, she simply didn’t know what to do with your attention. she’d never had it before. not like this. the comments she’d heard over the years, the way jeff had subtly pointed out her age, her appearance, those all haunted her. and then there was you, someone half her age, looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

you didn’t answer her right away, still fighting the part that insisted this was a mistake, that it couldn’t lead anywhere good. eventually, you did reach out, if only just briefly.

she didn’t say anything, just leaned into your touch, her lips brushing yours in a way that felt reckless and inevitable all at once. after that, the rest of the night blurred together; every kiss, every whisper, all of it spilling over from the tension that had been building for way too long.

now, back to what 🦔 anon was saying…because everything about is so!!!!

'she can’t just drop everything for you. it’s complicated, but you’re glad that she finds it in her busy life to make time for you'

after every single time you get to spend with her, comes the moment where she has to sneak off. as much as a part of her hates the secrecy, she loves how it makes her feel young again.“don’t get caught,” you’ll whisper teasingly as she slips her shoes back on by the door, her hair still a mess from your hands. shauna glances over her shoulder. “i‘m always careful” your laughter from the bed is soft, muffled where your face is smudged against the pillow, and shauna finds herself laughing too, despite herself. she shouldn’t enjoy this as much as she does, but sneaking out the back door to see you feels like reclaiming something she lost long ago. there’s something special about that; it’s in the way you make her feel like she can still be desirable. like she can be wanted. it’s in the way she’ll slip under the covers to jeff later that night, with a rare smile on her face now that she’s spent the night with somebody who actually appreciated her presence.

‘she'd use sex as a way to relieve stress. intimacy with her husband is long gone, so it's refreshing for her when she gets to be intimate with someone new’

you quickly find out that shauna loves to use you as an outlet for all her pent-up stress and anger. you’re her very own, personal stress relief and you know your place when she needs someone to let it out on. she loves to have you at her mercy -even more than you ever dared to imagine. preferably on all fours, her front pressed against your bare back and three fingers knuckle deep inside of you as she talks you through it. even with your face pressed into the pillows, you can’t stifle all the noises she draws from your lips, all while whispering words of “that’s it” and “you like that?”, with her mouth right by your ear.

‘i think she'd love to overstim you, loves the feeling of power she gets when you're on your fourth orgasm and begging her to slow down‘

shauna and you both know one use of the safe word would be enough for her to drop all that she’s been doing. that she would immediately make sure that you’re okay, clean you up, and hold you until you’ve recovered. most of the time, that’s not what you want though. what you want -need, really- is for shauna to have her way with you. for her to fuck the strap so deep into you, you’ll feel it there for the next weeks whilst you reach the fourth height of the night. “please” you sob into the mattress, unable to string together coherent sentences anymore. that ability left you after the third orgasm. your palm slams against the sheets that you’ve practically drooled all over as she pushes it in deeper. “shauna, fuck-“ you manage and try to lift your head up to glance at her over your shoulder. “slow down, please!” if you really wanted her to slow down, you’d use your proper words, you know that. shauna does too; “shut up” she hisses as her hand grabs a fist full of your hair and she pushes you back into the pillow. “shut up and take it”

‘whenever she does decide to take it slow, you swear you can see a more loving side to her’

it’s a rare occasion but when shauna does take things slow with you, it’s heavenly. you’re so used to having to rush things, to quick and hard fucks, stifled moans, and hushed words, that you’ve never really considered the soft side of her. turns out that, when you have the time, shauna will worship every inch of your skin she can put her mouth to. you love it when she’s rough with you, of course, when she forces your legs apart and herself into you. but there’s something so different about having her full attention, about feeling her attentive eyes on you as she puts her mouth to your throbbing pussy and studies every single reaction she can get from you whilst she whispers words of praise right against you. but ALSO sensual strap on sex….?? the few times where she gets to actually undress you properly instead of just shoving your panties aside and stuffing you full are unlike anything you’ve ever known: her arms on either side of your head, the full length of her body pressed onto yours, the shuddered breath she exhales into your mouth as she finally sinks into you, as if she could actually feel you fluttering around the silicone shaft…you reach around her then, when she stars rolling her hips and begins fucking you, and your nails scratch down her spine as shauna fills you up while kissing your neck.

[enden-k]

THEY'RE SO FREAKING CUTE AS KIDS Omg i cant with them. Babies your honor. So small

(Also wdym Vika originally had red hair- did I miss that or is it new info?)

Im very curious about how Vika's personality would evolve without the influence of his trauma. He would likely be more aware for a lack of a better term, both of himself and others so not having felt like a ghost all his life (which is ironic-) would definitely affect the way he interacts with others and carries himself. Even if in the end he turns out to still be mostly introverted and aloof, it wouldn't be to the extreme it does currently

Which, I love the idea of. I want to pinch his cheeks and coo at how small he is. He deserves every childhood experience he deserves sleepovers with Saran he deserves birthday parties where he is dying to see if the cake tastes as good as it looks. God, he's so freaking cute. I want to dump every blanket on him and protect him from the world

Also BABY SARAN. GOD. I'm dead. Dying as we speak. He looks so mischievous. Looks like he is going to vanish from sight and the next thing you know chaos has unfolded. The kind of kid that you have to be constantly watching. The house is suspiciously quiet kinda kid. Bet he and Vika get up to all sorts of shit and a good chunk of that is his fault

Have i mentioned that i want to pinch their cheeks already. Slice of life AU where they're normal kids and grow up as normal people is killing me. I want to see them throw a tantrum. And just enjoy be kids. Want to see them grow and go to school and complain about homework and go to the park and just. Enjoy life

-🦜. Too weak to them as little kids. Im going to need 3-5 business days to recover from this /j

as i mentioned in the quick post earlier, ye vika is actually a redhead if it werent for the illness/parasite!!

baby vika in this scenario/AU where hes not afflicted w the parasite would still be introverted and shy but not as extreme as canon; hes still a rather calm kid and gets overlooked often bc hes small (until he has quite the growth spurt and by the age of 18 hes the tallest) but hes not as melancholic/sad/nervous/anxious as canon

baby saran is the same as always; a menace to society LMAO. youre correct with everything you said about him AHHAHAHHAH if hes gone from your sights you know hes up to some shit. hes a menace and chaotic and a brave lil fool but he always shows respect and kindness and compassion for others. he always ropes vika into things and yes when they cause trouble its almost always sarans fault AHHAH whenever its vikas, saran takes the blame

theyre def the kind of kids that always stick together; saran is the popular kid but he always looks at vika and gets him to join them all. ppl joke abt vika being sarans lil shadow and saran gets all angry cat like "hes not my shadow, hes my sun!!!"

they grow up together and hang out all the time, help and support and love each other. i think i might draw this slice of life AU fr as a lil mini series aughhhh granting vika the childhood and youth he never had is reason enough aaa

[trashremover43]

RECONSTRUCTING HOME

The quiet hum of domesticity had become second nature to Buck and Tommy. Living together felt natural, as though they’d always shared a life. They had their routines, their moments, and the little ways they showed love that made every day feel special. 

 For Buck, who had spent most of his life chasing after affection that always seemed just out of reach, the steadiness of their relationship was nothing short of miraculous. And for Tommy, who had grown up guarding his heart, Buck was like sunshine breaking through the cracks of his carefully constructed walls. 

 Their days were filled with little moments—some sweet, some silly, and some that left Buck staring after Tommy with his heart so full it felt like it might burst. But recently, something had started to shift. 

---

The day started the way most of their days did. Tommy was in the kitchen, hunched over the coffee maker with a furrowed brow. The machine sputtered as if refusing to comply with whatever Tommy had done to it this time.

Buck leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with barely concealed amusement.

“You know,” Buck drawled, “for a guy who’s smart enough to fly helicopters, you’d think making coffee wouldn’t be your arch-nemesis.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “Flying helicopters doesn’t require me to measure water and beans at six in the morning, Evan.”

Buck snorted and stepped in, gently nudging Tommy aside. “Let me save us both from your tragic coffee experiments.

 ”Tommy didn’t protest, letting Buck take over. Instead, he leaned against the counter and watched Buck work, a soft fondness in his eyes. Moments like these—quiet, domestic—were what Tommy cherished most. He reached out to brush a thumb across Buck’s temple, and Buck turned to flash him a smile, warm and unguarded.

 “Do I get a kiss for my coffee-making heroism?” Buck teased, holding up a freshly brewed mug.

 Tommy obliged, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to Buck’s lips. “You get much more than that, but later,” he murmured against Buck’s mouth before pulling back.

 The promise in Tommy’s voice made Buck’s cheeks warm, even as he handed over the mug with a mock-scowl.

---

When either of them worked late , they made a point of staying connected through texts. Buck would send long, rambling messages about his day—often accompanied by fun facts from whatever rabbit hole he’d fallen into that week.

 

“Did you know octopuses have three hearts?” Buck had texted one night. “One for the body, two for the gills! Isn’t that wild?”

 Tommy’s reply had been almost immediate: “And here I thought I was the only one who gave my heart away too easily.”

 Buck had grinned at his phone like an idiot, earning an eye-roll from Chimney, who had caught him at it. “You’re disgustingly in love, aren’t you?” Chimney had teased.

 “Yeah,” Buck had replied, unabashed. “I really am.”

 But lately, Tommy’s responses had taken longer to arrive. And while they were still sweet, they lacked the warmth and wit Buck was used to.

---

 Cooking together had always been one of their favorite shared activities. Well, it was more accurate to say that Buck cooked, and Tommy acted as his willing sous-chef.

 “Chop the onions,” Buck instructed, gesturing with his knife.

 “Yes, Chef,” Tommy said, adopting a mock-serious tone.

 “You laugh, but this is serious business,” Buck retorted, turning back to the stove.

 Tommy chuckled and started chopping, though his pace was slower than usual. Normally, he’d pepper Buck with sarcastic commentary, but tonight, he was quieter. Buck noticed.

 “Hey,” Buck said, glancing over his shoulder.

  “You okay?”

 Tommy looked up, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

 Buck frowned but didn’t press. Instead, he walked over, resting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “You know, I don’t mind ordering takeout if you need to rest.”

 Tommy shook his head. “No, I like this. Being here with you.”

 The words were sincere, but something still felt... off.

The first time Buck noticed the backyard project, he’d been surprised.

“Wow,” Buck said, stepping outside to see Tommy smoothing a freshly cut wooden plank. “What’s all this?”

Tommy straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just a little project. Thought we could use an outdoor space to relax.”

Buck smiled, touched. “You’re building us a movie theater?”

Tommy shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Seemed like a good idea.”

“It’s an amazing idea,” Buck said, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s waist from behind. “But you didn’t have to do all this by yourself.”

Tommy leaned into the embrace, but his voice was quieter than usual when he said, “I wanted to.”

 Later that afternoon, Buck decided to make dinner—an elaborate recipe he’d been dying to try.

 “Evan, you’re going to burn yourself if you’re not careful,” Tommy warned from the doorway, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. 

 “I know what I’m doing,” Buck replied, his tone mock-offended. 

 Tommy stepped closer, peering over Buck’s shoulder. “That’s a lot of garlic.” 

 “Garlic’s good for the heart,” Buck said, flashing a grin. 

 “Then you should eat it by the bucketful,” Tommy teased, earning an eye roll. 

 As Buck chopped, sautéed, and stirred, Tommy stayed close, sneaking tastes and stealing kisses whenever Buck’s hands were free. 

 “Hey! No eating until it’s done,” Buck scolded, swatting Tommy’s hand away from the sauce. 

“But it smells so good,” Tommy whined, his grin boyish and unrepentant. 

Buck shook his head, but his annoyance was short-lived as Tommy wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder. 

 “Thanks for doing this,” Tommy said softly. “You didn’t have to go all out.” 

 “I wanted to,” Buck replied, leaning into Tommy’s embrace. “You deserve it.” 

 As they sat down to eat, Buck couldn’t help but notice how Tommy’s laughter didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was a small thing, something most people wouldn’t have caught, but Buck knew Tommy better than anyone. And for the first time that day, a small knot of worry settled in his chest. 

--- 

The signs were subtle at first. Tommy still smiled, still kissed Buck goodnight, still teased him about his endless energy and his over-the-top recipes. But there was a weight behind his smiles, a distance in his eyes that Buck couldn’t ignore. 

 He started noticing it in the little things. The way Tommy lingered in the backyard, pouring himself into a project that seemed more about keeping his hands busy than anything else. The way he’d brush off Buck’s questions with a quick, “I’m fine, Evan. Just tired.” 

 And then there were the nights when Tommy would slip out of bed, thinking Buck was asleep, and sit on the couch in the dark. Buck would pretend not to notice, his heart aching with the knowledge that Tommy was carrying something he wasn’t ready to share. 

---

  One evening, Buck sent Tommy a text while they were both at work: 

 Buck: You okay? 

 Tommy: Of course. Why? 

 Buck: Just feels like something’s up. 

 Tommy: I promise, I’m fine. 

 But Buck wasn’t convinced. He stared at the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he debated whether to push further. In the end, he typed, *I’m here if you want to talk* and left it at that. 

 Tommy didn’t reply

[moonyasnow]

Woe! Unfortunate magical accident upon ye, your OC has now been cursed to share pain with their beloved 🔗🤝It's a good thing either of them are not clumsy or accident-prone - unless? Oh no! Hopefully they can find someone who can undo this pesky spell, or just to keep them company until it wears off!

-🔮✨diodellet (hopefully im doin this magic nonon thing right)

Oh

Malleus and Irina sharing pain

...

OH

MALLEUS AND IRINA SHARING PAIN

; ; dio I am so so so sorry this is probably not what you signed up for asking this but uhhhhhh

CW : SELF HARM

Also gonna say right now idk wtf is going on with the structure, or...anything, here? I just kinda...wrote stuff 0 editing

Irina has had a habit, ever since she was little. Not a very good habit, not at all...but one she relied on.

When she felt horrible, as she did often, when her bad emotions and feelings overwhelmed her and became too much for her small body to handle...the only thing she could think to do to release the massive tension boiling under her skin was to hurt herself.

She'd bite herself: bite her lip, and her fingers, and the side of her hands that attatched her thumb to the rest of it. She'd scratch at her scalp and shake her head around trying desperatly to will away the bad thoughts, to just get them all to stop

It was the only thing a young, neglected child who'd never been to school could think to do to release that explosive energy inside her; to direct it outward. But at herself, so no one would notice anything breaking. She couldn't scream, or her parents would become mad at her. She couldn't kick something, or throw something-- she barely even had anything to throw, either. But she could bite. Even as a small child, for that was how she survived physically unscathed in that household, knew better than to try to bite either of her parents.

And biting her plush rabbit Clover, her best friend, was something she'd rather die than do. Clover always comforted her.

So of course...the only remaining target was herself.

And when she bit her hands, bit them hard until they bled, no one would notice her crying.

Even as she went on to live at an orphanage after her mother died and father left at age 9, and even after she was adopted by her uncle and moved in with him at age 13, she kept this habit up.

The pain was familiar. The only anchor she had to cling to when everyone she even thought about trusting kept on leaving her. All for those giant emotions, how scared she was of them doing just that.

She found catharsis in exchanging the emotional pain for the physical pain.

She'd never told anyone about it. She needed to hide it, like she'd always hid everything that could be considered 'bad' about her, so no one would have any reason to dislike her. To survive. And...because she was ashamed. She thought the scars it left on her hands and arms made her 'dirty'.

Something happened-- a mistake in a class shared with the 3d and 2nd years. Someone stumbled, and the spell they meant to cast came out wrong, and accidentally hit Malleus.

Normally he would have moved out of the way in time, but being preoccupied as he was both with casting his own spell, and devoting all his mental focus to thinking of something entirely different, someone entirely different, he was, for once, caught off guard, and swerved too late, a tiny spark of said spell grazing him. But that was enough, apparently.

The spell was one meant to link one of the senses of the one it was cast on, and a person they were thinking of.

Malleus didn't think much of it, knowing it would wear off by itself in time, only making note to be more careful than usual so as not to cause Irina pain. Since he didn't think it would come up he didn't tell her about it.

But later that night...

He felt invisible nails draw harshly across his lower arms, yet when he uncuffed his sleeve to check, he saw nothing. But he felt it. Nails scraping painfully across his skin. And then nails digging into the flesh near his elbow, and a sharp yet also crushing sensationg weighting down on the side of his thumb. Crushing, crushing, crushing down harder and harder until he felt a sickening feeling of flesh being torn open.

In an instant, flecks of green light surged around him and the scents of wet stone and burning wax of his room gave way to the musty odor of an old, off-green house of wood.

Not even reacting to Tomoe's yelp of surprise, he asked her where Irina's room was, having never been inside the building himself before. She said she'd go to get Irina, and he agreed.

Though the pain he felt persisted, no new pain came.

Seeing Grim run down the stairs a short while before Tomoe and Irina, Malleus' pupils narrowed into dangerous slits at the little fire-eared monster, thinking him the culprit.

Thinking he wanted to go on one of their usual nightly walks, Irina just slipped on her shoes and jacket after greeting him, asking if he wanted to go for a walk.

That may not have been why he came there...but who was he to deny her? So as fae cannot tell lies, he simply answered with his honest thoughts: "That would be lovely."

Seeing her outwardly perfectly fine, he started to wonder if perhaps he'd imagined it, or had mistaken something. Perhaps she hadn't been attacked by anyone, and had just gotten her hand hurt on accident?

She walked closer to him than usual that night...but he didn't notice until he felt her small hand slipping into his. When he looked back to her, he found his gaze met with just the mop of her messy, pale pink hair, her face lowered to face the ground to a degree where he couldn't see it. But feeling the hesitant grip on his hand, he closed his fingers over hers and squeezed gently, even as it caused pain to shoot through his hand again.

Throughout their walk, her grip on his hand slowly became tighter and tighter, and his responded in turn, until their hands were clasped so tightly it was almost painful in itself. Thought they both wore gloves, they held on tightly enough that he could feel her heartbeat through her hand, and feel it gradually slow over the course of their walk.

When they'd gotten back to Ramshackle and it was time to say goodbye, he kissed the back of her hand before he left. And with it and the flurry of fireflies, the pain on his hand vanished, the vision of her face a moment after.

In the time until the spell wore off, every time he sensed something similar, without fail, he would appear at Ramshackle and invite her out on a walk.

He didn't know the origin of the pain...but he decided he'd take it away, and replace it with his hand enveloping hers.

@diodellet

[sweetmariihs2]

A rant about girlhood, autism and growing up: feeling like you didn't grew up enough.

I grew up and I still love childish things. I love dolls, I love cartoons, I love girlish music and clothing, I love fictional characters, and overall I love the overall girlhood experience. But it's not the "I've grown up and I'm trying to get back to it" kind of thing that we always see on social media, what I mean is that I never really grew up. The years have passed since I was a little girl and I still love Barbie and Disney, but not as in a way like "I'm an adult, I consume adult content, and every now and then I watch some animated films, I admit that I like them, but I still live a more mature life", but rather "I never stopped being who I was as a child". All my tastes are still the same. I don't balance mature TV shows/content with cartoons, I only watch cartoons... most of the time.

I'm going through a transition phase now into adulthood... high school is about to end and everyone around me seems to have matured more than I have, even the girls who are known for listening to Lana Del Rey and wearing Coquette fashion, which is a group I fit in with very well too. Apart from the girls who are practically adults (and who already have a romantic and financial life, speak in a mature way, and are already considered women) I also feel more immature than the girls I identify with the most due to them liking "immature" things.

I feel mature enough to think and make responsible decisions; I have a lot of emotional maturity and people tell me that I give great advice. But at the same time, on the other hand, I run to my room full of objects from my childhood and spend some time reading, talking, and listening to music about characters from media that are mostly made for children.

One good thing about still loving the exact same things you loved as a child is that you will always have the same things from when you were little today, and you won't get tired of them. The bad thing, however, is that I feel weird about not "growing up." I guess liking these things is a part of me, but at the same time I can't help but feel like the gap between my childhood and adulthood is sometimes too small. I hear people talking about growing up, talking about the infantilization of my generation, I see others who used to be like me now being very different and it's a natural process... but is it infantilization even when I'm just being myself? What would be "infantilization" about my tastes in the eyes of others that to me are just part of who I am as a person? I don't see myself not liking my favorite genre of movies, clothes, music, art, just because I decided to "cure" myself from a supposed "infantilization". I do wonder if I'm unwell for loving the stuff that I love... but it's in a "am I ill for being who I am?" kind of way. It must be awful supressing what is in your heart because people see it as an illness.

I am responsible with my words and behavior and I often see "mature" people making decisions that to me are immature, like being impulsive. It's like I'm somewhere in between maturity and childishness and I get pushed back and forth by people on both sides of the way; I don't fit in with either one, but sometimes I do, for a short period of time until I get pushed back to the other side again. Too mature for children and too childish for adults.

I constantly feel nostalgic about things I used to like, and I feel like the line between past and current tastes is very thin at this point in my life. It confuses me and I think about people's words about growing up, but how can I grow up if I'm already mature and that's who I am? When I was a child I expected to grow up and turn into an adult adult, like if this would just happen naturally. Now I grew up and turned into an adult version of the tiny version of myself. Still and adult, still me, but not normal enough for others, apparently. Sometimes I feel melancholic because as a child I was free to like the things that I still love today without any judgement... well, sometimes. Let's not talk about bullying.

I watch Toy Story, I sometimes feel the urge to play with my toys, I feel like carrying them around with me like a child, but I fight the urge not to do it because I have to adapt - or rather, be an adult.

The fact that I'm autistic (I was diagnosed at the beginning of the year) also probably plays a big role in this, which is another situation that I've been balancing throughout all these years, as I was very normal for the weirdos and too weird for the normals, making me not fit into any of these boxes and consequently just being excluded from social groups for being too weird and being deprived of possible support and inclusion for being too normal. The fact that I hyperfocus on "childish" topics says a lot about my life and the media I consume, because suddenly my mind is completely occupied with things like Sofia The First, and I externalize this a lot. I collect children's magazines of this show, I want to have the toys, I want to dress the toys in clothes. It's normalized on the Internet for people to be from fandoms considered childish, the problem is that I'm often seen as childish even by them. Making a friend who likes The Amazing Digital Circus and having to explain to them that I'm genuinely very passionate about Sofia The First always provokes laughter and I have to laugh too and imitate a "hear me out" behavior in order to be socially accepted. "You shouldn't adapt to please others! Be yourself!" Unfortunately, this is how it is to be yourself in today's world, using tactics to remain true to yourself while acting like it's no big deal until that friend gets used to you like this.

Being an artist is also something that seems to be involved. I like animations to dissect the characters and understand the artistic choices in the writing, design, soundtrack. I don't just like a character or a work, I open it up and analyze every aspect because I love art. When I get a doll in my hands I look at its proportions, design, color palette, I know its backstories, fears and character development within the work they were in. I genuinely love listening to Disney songs, Barbie songs, My Little Pony, and even cringy anime rap... The fact that I am an artist and hyper-focus on animations and love having collectibles (mostly toys, since they are programs for children)...

You know that scene in Toy Story 2 where we see Jessie's owner, Emily, grows up and left her childhood behind, and in the end she gives Jessie away with her toy collection? I feel like I'm an Emily who grew up and kept loving horses and Jessie. I grew up, but I'm still the way I am, and even though I like that, questioning it makes me a little dysmorphic...

People talk about it like it's a defect, and point fingers to other who do the same to say that they're infantilizing themselves. To a point that when I go to the mirror and when I see myself I wonder how did I grew up so quick. I wonder if the problem is my body growing too fast or my maturing process being too slow. But I matured, I think mature, I just love childish stuff, and this makes me overwhelmed. I want to be who I am but being who I am makes me confused and insecure. "Am I doing the right thing by... being myself?" "Am I mentally ill for staying like this, acting like a child even though I'm a grown up?" "Do I even act like a child? I know that I don't, that's not it." Could my desire to be able to carry a toy around with me be related to autistic people having stuffed animals/objects to regulate themselves?

Sometimes I feel the urge to put a doll in my bag and carry her with me throughout my whole day, touch and admire her closely when bored, look at the fabric, paint and sculpt and then have fun taking pics of her doing different activities just seems so nice. I sometimes wanna have awkward conversations and talk about my silly little cartoons like I'm a child talking with not so many social norms like adults usually do. I wanna sit and watch my favorite genre of media, animation, without being whispered about or laugh at; and by that I don't mean someone who watches cartoons sometimes, I mean someone who only sees that stuff. I want to dress up like a princess and make tea parties because I love the simplicity and innocence about those things. Gosh, I'm even waiting for my little cousin to grow up just little a bit more for her to be able to play with dolls with me, cuz I want to go back with playing with them and there is not even a single living soul in my whole social circle that wouldn't judge me if spoke about this!!!

I feel like I'm a little girl in an adult body sometimes, but I do feel like an adult too. I don't understand if I'm like this because I'm autistic, I'm an artist, or if I'm doing something wrong, like infantilizing myself. I don't behave like a child, and I don't do anything for anyone, I enjoy my tastes for myself! The feminine urge of being confused and happy about yourself at the same time. It's a real struggle.