#it's so fuckin cool man i can stare at these for hours...

[funkbun]

the progress of this one triptych seen throughout the game cause it's my favorite thing ever

[lymtw]

NSFW

Gojo x f!reader

Description:

You're the prettiest thing to ever grace this man's eyes, is it so bad that he wants to show you how hot you get him?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Satoru takes advantage of how easy it is to fluster you. You turn bright red when he even looks at you for too long, how the hell does he think you can handle him touching himself right in front of you. It takes a lot for him to have your full attention when you're on the brink of passing out from how fast your heart is beating.

"Hey, hey," he waves in front of you when you avert your gaze to the wall. It shouldn't be as interesting as the show in front of you, given that it's a blank wall, but it's just so hard to focus when all you can do is watch. He specifically said, 'You can't touch until I say so, 'kay?' before he started.

"Princess, I need those eyes on me." He smiles, kindly. You turn your head to face him for a second, then look down, away from his intense gaze. "Up," he says, tilting your chin up with his index finger. He was able to feel the warmth that colored your face when he touched your chin. "Just want to show you how pretty you are, mama, that's all."

This lured your attention for a bit. He's showing you how much he loves you, is what you tell yourself. How could you turn away from him? You switched from sitting on the floor to sitting on your knees. In a way, it looked like you were worshipping the man sitting in front of you. You blink, nodding for him to continue.

"You know I think about you all the time, right?" His voice drops a little as he slowly starts moving his hand up and down his shaft. "God forbid you leave my mind for a second." He hisses, collecting the precum that spills from his tip and uses it to slicken his hand. "I can't let that happen, you know? It's not in my plans."

You fidget with your hands, the feeling between your thighs becoming more and more prominent as you focused on Satoru's voice and what he was doing.

"There's a constant image of you in my head. You're happy in that image, and it stays in here," he taps the side of his head with his free hand, "all day."

You smile a little. The information allows your heart to take a five second break. Not long enough because the next part managed to shake you up again.

"That image changes when you're not here, baby." He lets out a little sigh, his eyes shutting for a second. He opens them, and you get instant chills down your body when his hauntingly beautiful eyes stare straight into your eyes. "You go anywhere without me for longer than a couple hours and that image I told you about before... Poof." His hand mimics the act of vanishing. "Instantly replaced by the image of you being devoured by me. On your back, tits out, and the sound of my name repeated in that voice." His hand slows down a little. Just the mere mention is enough to challenge his composition.

"God..." his breath is shaky as he tries to keep going. He can't deny that your attention really enhances the lust coursing through him. "You're so fuckin' pretty." His abs quiver when he runs his thumb over the tip of his cock. "You've got the prettiest voice, prettiest moans—fuck... the prettiest lips." He lays his head back on the couch, fully unaware of the nail indents on the palms of your hands from trying not to touch him. His gaze returns to you, now lidded as his mind gets cloudier. "And you're all mine. No one else gets to touch you or taste you."

Now it's your turn to let out your ragged breaths. You look down bashfully, your hips pressing down on your legs to gain friction for the unbearable ache between your thighs. Your pussy is pulsing with need and there's nothing you can do.

Satoru laughs through his nose. He sees the way you're moving. "You do wonders for my ego, baby. You getting anything good down there?"

Your palms are cooled by the cold wooden floor. "No," you sigh. "It's not enough."

"Give me a minute," he says, shooting a small wink in your direction. The amount of precum drooling out of him is significant. It's quiet for a few seconds. All that can be heard are the slick noises of Satoru fisting his cock and the reactions from it. You're on the brink of melting on the floor, just from watching and listening to his whimpers and moans. "You'll never get to see how I get when you're not around. It doesn't feel right, princess." He pants, his brows pinching as his hand runs over a vein. "This is nothing in comparison."

You gasp, feeling a jolt of pleasure in one of the rolls of your hips.

"I couldn't even verbalize it. It's not appropriate for a sweet girl like you."

You let out a whimper, your head bowed down.

"Look at me." You raise your gaze, noticing the crumbling of his facade. "Watch the effect you have on me."

Your cheeks are red, and your face feels so hot.

He strokes himself a couple more times, holding eye contact with you. You know this memory will bring out the shy side of you whenever it comes to mind around him. It's the volume of his moans and the way his abs tense as he gets closer and closer to his peak that has your heart threatening to stop completely. It's the way he smirks at how flustered you are by him. It's way his brows furrow when he cums so hard that his whole body is trembling when he continues to fuck his fist. The moans were debilitating for you. Your ears had the rhythm of your heart blasting in them, making your entire head pulse, and all you could do was watch with your lips parted.

"Oh fuck..." he lets out a breathy chuckle. His stomach has cum gliding down to his pelvis, his hand definitely not exempt from the mess. "My pretty girl..." he sighs, a lazy satisfied smirk on his face. "You really have me acting like some prepubescent teenager for you." He caresses your face with his clean hand. "Feeling a little warm. You okay?"

"Just in shock." You smile, holding his hand against your cheek.

"This shouldn't have been shocking." His eyes widen humorously. "You know i'm in love with you, right? Like, borderline obsessed with you."

"I do, yes."

"Do I not show it enough? I'm genuinely concerned." He pouts, leaning towards you.

"This was just another way, 'toru. Don't worry," you offer him a reassuring kiss his cheek.

"Fine." He made a mental note to remind him to send you videos when you're away. You'll get enough to know he's thinking of you, but not enough to know that he's going crazy without you. "Let's take this to the room."

[kingkunigami]

This man needs to leave me alone, I can’t think😭

Warnings: 18+, public sex, fucking in your childhood bedroom, Oliver is obsessed with eating pussy, Oliver is a menace.

Pairing: Aiku Oliver x f!reader.

Word Count: 0.8k.

Oliver doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.

It’s almost as if the word doesn’t exist in his vocabulary, as he’s pawing at your ass and pulling your panties to the side. Never mind the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a packed bar, patrons all around you as his fingers brush through your messy slit.

“Come on, baby,” He gives you that shit-eating grin and you swear you could smack it off his face as he presses a calloused finger against your puffy clit, “At least your pussy’s fuckin’ honest, I can feel her dripping for me.”

It doesn’t matter if you argue back, complain that you’re in public and he can survive until he gets home— Oliver always gets what he wants.

Which is why he managed to get you.

He doesn’t care if you’re getting ready for work, slipping into a fresh pair of tights as you slide them up your thighs. His hands already poised and ready as he presses you over your vanity, a shrill rip sounding through your bedroom as he tears straight through. Pushing his throbbing length through the gaping hole to press against your slit, a satisfied grunt vibrating deep in his throat when he feels you hug his cock.

“I’ll be quick,” He groans, fucking into you with swift, sharp thrusts but it still doesn’t mean you make it to work. Stumbling into the office an hour late with his cum still nestled between your thighs.

You can try as hard as you like to push his head away after he tries to settle between your plush thighs when you’re trying to video chat your friends, messy stubble tickles the supple skin as he mouths at your clit.

“Not now, Oliver.” You push at his brow as he latches on to your clit, flicking it with his tongue.

“Just mute yourself,” He groans, letting his tongue drag lower as it prods against your tight hole, “Or don’t, you know I don’t care.”

He even has the gall to blame you for it, it’s not his fault you have such a pretty pussy— why wouldn’t he want to devour it?

He’s especially a menace when he finishes a match, dragging you into the showers even as you’re trying to bat him away. Pining you to the cool tile as he works his frustrations out on you, unbothered about who sees and hears as your head lifts over the stalls. Leaving the venue with your skin dewy and damp hair a mess, a clear indication of what you were both up to inside.

“Tell your pussy to stop being so pretty, then I wouldn’t want her so bad.” He’s unbelievable.

It doesn’t matter if your poor little cunt is sore from the previous nights activities, or that you tell him you’re dirty. It only spurs him on more as he breathes in the scent of you, committing it to memory as he drags his tongue through your folds.

But the problem is you’re in your childhood bedroom with your parents down the hall. Certain he’s attempting to kill you when he suggests just letting him have a quick taste, promising that he won’t be long. Which we know is another big fucking lie.

He’s got your legs strewn over his shoulders as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved, even your hand over your mouth to keep quiet is no match for the debauched sounds of him lapping at your messy sex, practically slurping your essence into his eager mouth as you try to keep him quiet.

“But she needs it, princess. I can feel her clenching around me.” He’s insufferable as he continues to delve his tongue inside your fluttering walls, nosing your clit as he works you towards your climax.

You think you’ve found salvation when he makes you cum, your desperate cries of his name muffled by your hands as he works you through your climax. Fingers dragging against your ridged walls as he tongues your sensitive clit, eyes staring up at you with mischief and intent as he keeps going.

Your thighs clamping down around his head to try and push him away does nothing but goad him on, his strong palms grip you tight. Fingers dipping into the plush skin as he parts your thighs like the Red Sea, leaving you exposed for him as he continues his meal. Dragging his tongue from your clit all the way to your tight asshole as he does as he pleases. His face glistens with your release, your slick drooling down his chin as he gives you a smug grin. Reaching up to wipe the back of his hand along his mouth to clean it off before lapping it up with his tongue.

Oliver is used to getting what he wants, when he wants. Especially when it comes to you.

[radioisntdead]

Hi again so I was wondering if you could do a angel dust x fem listener where we comfort angel dust and he talks about when he was a alive and the

Struggle he went though and he probably mentions his sister Molly

Good evenin' my dear! My apologies for this taking forever to get too! I did tweak it a little bit, Angel and reader just kinda talk about their siblings and being alive here, not really comforting each other but talking?

Late night talk

Angel dust & F! Reader

Warning: drugs, both reader and Angel are intoxicated, and canon divergent because I don't think we know much about Angel's being alive, ending is kinda abrupt.

It was some unspeakable late night hour and the two of you were in some rundown motel room, far away from Valentino, surrounded by all types of drugs, alcohol, a first aid kit and empty food wrappers.

The two of you were quiet, Angel was dangling off the bed while you were laying sprawled on the cold floor, staring blankly into the ceiling that felt like it could collapse at any given moment.

"Ya' know, I'm a twin," Angel dust said breaking the quiet, his eyes focused on the yellowing ceiling.

"Twin?" You glanced over.

"Yeah, I had a' sister, her name was Molly."

"Oh neat."

Silence filled the air again as a few minutes passed before he spoke up again,

"Ya' know I don't think I stood a' fuckin' chance when I was alive,"

You glanced up at him, only seeing the white fluff of his head, "Weren't you born in like, the big scary spaghetti mafia?"

"Ya' mean the Italian Mafia, the spaghetti mafia sounds like we were doing pasta crimes."

"Well you were doing crimes with olive oil,"

"Okay that was not me, I do not fuck with the olive oil!"

You broke into a laugh, "You haven't yet! No idea what grape man might try next." You heard him gag.

More silence passed before he popped up, "But seriously, I never stood a' chance, ya know my brother and I started bein' taught about the family business when we were like, twelve?"

"Yeah that's pretty fucked, I remember being twelve and playing video games not being taught how to commit crimes,"

"Right? gave me my very first gun for my birthday" Angel turned over on his stomach looking over at you, He was right honestly didn't stand chance, he never did.

Born in a mobster family as the second son, with a horrific father and a mother who could do nothing but watch as her sons were raised to live a life of crime, she wasn't the greatest person either though.

His sister on the other hand, was lucky, kept away from the whole crime business due to being born a daughter as opposed to a son.

"Who the fuck gives a twelve year old a gun?!" "My Pa did, twice."

You simply blinked, you were no saint, clearly, but you wouldn't give a kid a gun and just go, 'here kill people!'

"Ya' know the first time my brotha and I had to dispose of a body together we accidentally dropped it? The bag it was in ripped open and I just saw this guy with no face, torn clean off, It was jarrin' at the time,"

You grimaced, "Ouch, imagine getting your face torn off, he was probably alive during that too, eugh."

"Mhm, painful process I can tell you that much."

You got up from your rather comfortable position on the floor to grab a water bottle you had tossed aside on the table in favor of liquor instead earlier.

"Pass me the bottle o' whiskey' will ya?" He asked, you lazily grabbed it and tossed the bottle over to him, one of his four arms catching it.

"You know I had a sister too," you said as you popped the cap off of the water chugging it.

"Huh, Ya' always kinda stuck me as an only child"

"Yeah, well I practically was, she was prepping for college by the time I popped out," you wiped the residue of water off your mouth with your sleeve before setting the half empty water bottle back on the table and going back to lay on the floor, still slightly warm from where you were laying.

"I used to look up to her when I was younger, she was the cool big sister who stopped by every holiday or break, the one that said I could 'Tell anything too' and she'd be there for me," you let out a rather dry laugh, "honestly a load of bullshit."

"Damn," He took a swig of his drink, drinking the rest of the liquid before tossing the now empty bottle aside, you could hear the bottle crack on the ground.

"You know what's kinda funny? My sister was the only one in my family to get past the pearly gates."

"Huh, mine ended up down here, girl didn't last a week before extermination day," you went quiet for a few seconds, "What the fuck even is this conversation?"

"No clue, I was talkin' about how my sister went to heaven and you're over here talkin' about how yours is double dead."

"One twin going to hell and the other heaven is some book tragic book trope nonsense,"

"That nonsense is what happened,'' he said pointing a shaming finger at you, Sometimes he wondered how Molly would react to how he was now, she would be disappointed or maybe she'd pity him.

Maybe both.

After all he overdosed, ended up in hell and sold his soul to a purple psychopathic freak, and well look at him now! Laid on a cheap motel bed, under the influence, sharing stories about his sister and parts of his life on earth to someone called a friend.

Sometimes he wondered that maybe if he was born into a different family, in a different time things would've been different, maybe he would've ended up in heaven.

His sister was the only family member he could stand.

They drifted apart when they grew older, as he began to indulge in drugs, from cocaine to PCP to whatever he could get his hands on.

His sister tried to get him to quit, and to be fair he did try, a few times only to end up back snorting white power up his nose, and well, he ended up overdosing.

"I remember once our parents went out for the night, Molly took out a bunch of her dresses and had me pick one, then she did my makeup n' everythin' and we were just talkin' as she did it, just causal no judgement, nothin' just us bondin' I guess, I miss that.''

"Honesty I'm jealous, the best I got from my sister was her saying she was a safe space, that I could go to her about everything and then turning around and throwing it in my face," you took a moment to sit up, "Thank fuck I didn't tell her much, I can't remember exactly what she said but it just gave me this like, sickening feeling that just said 'You wouldn't be safe around this person if you told them what you are."

"I know that feelin' fuckin' hate it."

"Yeah."

"I'm hungry, I want whatever hell's equivalent to McDonald's is,"

"What the fuck is a McDonald's?"

"How the fuck do you not know what a McDonald's is?!"

Good evenin' folks! I do hope you enjoyed this, I edited this fic and decided to get it out today as opposed to Wednesday or Thursday, because my somewhat estranged brother is supposed to make an appearance tomorrow and I am positively nervous so this was fitting! I tried a little different way of editing dunno if it's noticable but I think I'm gonna stick with it! Also why did I think to write so much dialogue??

Anyways as always thank you for tunin' on in and I do hope you all have a wonderful night!

[themarginalthinker]

Centennial

(Dwayne is turning a hundred years dead. He and David go for a walk about it.)

-

It's a quiet night when they go for their walk.

They both know why, and both feel the need for the intimacy. David and Dwayne slip outside into the coolness of the fresh autumn night. It's not truly the height of the season yet, the leaves on the few deciduous trees not quite turned yet. It's in the air, though. The Wheel spins ever on...

Dwayne sets the pace, the direction. Really, they're not walking to any particular destination, but David follows along to wherever his packmate's heart desires.

Their stroll takes them over little streams, rock formations they clamber like squirrels over. It's nice to stretch their limbs, their claws, their senses. Not human. But not hunting either.

Eventually, on a tall ridge overlooking a deep valley, Dwayne stops. He sighs, leaning against a tree and staring out at the deep, clear sky. Never, never again will David be trapped under the glow of city lights, blocking the stars from view. But this night isn't about him. He takes a comfortable crouch, waiting.

It's a while before Dwayne slides down the tree to sit. Longer still until he speaks.

"A hundred years tonight."

David nods. "Almost to the hour, huh?"

"Can barely fuckin' believe it."

No. David neither. Between them in the bond, a hundred years passed, in memories and feelings. The wonderful, the fair, the bad, the hideous. People come and gone. Places seen and left behind.

"We finally did it. And it wasn't even us," Dwayne comments into the night.

David knows what he's talking about, because it's also on his mind.

"Yeah. Go figure."

Max was dead. Their sire, the reason for all of this in the first place. The monster who, from the very beginning Dwayne and David had been planning, hoping, praying a day would come when they could finally be rid of, was dead. And they'd not laid a finger on him.

"...Are we old, David?"

The vampire in question blinks, looking to Dwayne properly now.

Across the bond, almost as clear as words spoken aloud from so long having it, being as close as they are, sharing so much, David knows what Dwayne means. Watching the seasons, the years, the decades tick on, but here they were. Maybe not celebrating, but certainly commemorating after a fashion, the night Dwayne died at the hands of a beast the both of them only ever wanted to be free from.

"Not as old as some," David answers instead.

Dwayne hums, looking away, back to the valley below.

David cracks a smile. "I personally don't think you get to bitch about anything until you're at least a hundred 'n fifty."

Dwayne snorts at that, sending David a look. "Now you're just moving goal-posts to feel better about your own dusty ass."

"Heh. Not too dusty for the whippersnappers last night, apparently," David simpers.

They share a small, but genuine laugh.

It feels good. It feels freeing.

David moves first. Not rising from the crouch, but leaning into it, loping on all fours the few paces left between them. He's not a man, and hasn't been for a long, long time.

Dwayne meets him as he comes close, turning so his body is open to it. David fits himself beside Dwayne. Thighs pressed close, knee to hip. Shoulder to shoulder.

Tonight, a century has passed, and the two vampires, the eldest of their pack now, watch the stars pass overhead.

Maybe, a thousand years from now, they will be here again.

They find themselves hoping so.

[coneyislandbabey]

she's got a strange magic. -> w. rojas

WARNINGS: profanities, complete dork warren rojas, partially from warren's POV

SYNOPSIS: Warren is usually cool and confident, but there's something about you that makes him completely nervous. He's desperate to ask you out, and he's desperate to get it right. Written for this request! word count: 1,391

“Eddie, man, please,” Warren asked, standing in front of his best friend with his arms crossed. It was early afternoon, and they were the only two left at the house with nothing to do. Warren had been out on the deck smoking a joint and talking to himself for the last hour, and had gotten nowhere fast. In a rare moment of clarity, he realized he must be high as balls to be asking Eddie to help him like this at all. 

“That’s fuckin’ stupid, man, c’mon,” Eddie responded, scoffing. When Warren didn’t move or say anything, Eddie looked him over once more, reassessing. “You seriously want me to pretend to be (y/n) so you can practice asking her out?” 

Warren nodded. “You know her as well as I do, so you can be accurate!” 

Eddie let out a genuine laugh this time. “You’ve asked out a hundred girls before, man, and you never needed help. What’s the deal?” 

Warren dropped down onto the couch and sighed, running a hand down the side of his face. What was the deal, indeed. Eddie was right; he had asked out plenty of girls before. Hell, he’d been rejected by plenty of girls before, girls he knew would reject them before he even asked, and that still didn’t deter him. But you… you were different. You were a bartender at The Whisky, and the whole band had gotten to know you pretty well over the last few months, playing regular gigs at the nightclub. You were blunt, and took shit from no one. You had this hair that was always a little messy, a little windswept, and these alluring eyes that had grabbed hold of him the first time you looked at him and never let him go. Warren had tried flirting with you the first night he met you, hitting you with a line even he knew was way too fucking corny, and you shut him down so fast his head spun. Ever since, he had been harboring a bit of a crush on you. Every night the Six played The Whisky, he would tell himself that that was the night he would ask you out, and in the end he chickened out every time. 

“She just– she’s driving me crazy, man,” he said finally. “I’ve never been scared about a chick saying no to me. If they say no, whatever, I can find another chick. But her? Shit, I just need to get it right, you know?” 

Eddie fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Because you’re my best friend, man, I will do this for you once. But only once. Never ask me for this shit ever again.” 

“If you’re actually helpful right now, I won’t ever need to ask you again,” Warren grinned. 

“Alright,” Eddie said, leaning forward in his chair. “Pretend I’m her standing behind the bar. Hit me with your best.”

Warren cleared his throat, trying to imagine himself walking up to you at the bar at the gig later. He’d come over after they played, of course, because it was basically scientifically proven at this point that women found his drum playing sexy. And the whole being sweaty and shiny and amped up thing seemed to work, too. 

“Hey, sexy–”

“What the fuck, Warren, no,” Eddie shook his head, a genuinely pained expression on his face. “She already knows you, you’re not picking up some random woman after a show. You can’t fuckin’ start like that.” 

Warren groaned, falling back into the couch. “I usually have game! I just want us to be on the same page about that.”

“Look, the best thing you can do is just be fucking normal when you talk to her,” Eddie said. “She likes you on some level already, she always talks to you after shows. Not just to humor you either, man. So just… go for it.”

“Just go for it,” Warren repeated, nodding. “Yeah. Okay. Just go for it.”

***

It had been a good night. 

The Six had played, and they were always the highlight of your shift when they were there. Not even because of the music– which was fucking great, as you liked to remind them every time they stopped at the bar for a drink after a gig– but because of the band members themselves. You loved getting to catch up with Karen, who was probably the coolest chick on the Strip, in your opinion, and you loved the way Graham got all timid when you complimented his guitar skills. Billy never got a drink, but he always said hi, which you appreciated. Eddie always challenged you to come up with a new drink to give him, and you did your best to come up with something that tasted closer to diesel fuel every time. 

And then there was Warren. He’d certainly made an outstanding first impression, when he sidled up to the bar and fed you the corniest line you have ever heard in your life before the first gig the Six had ever played at The Whisky. You had shut him down, then– you had to after that line, your pride demanded it– but you could appreciate the way he looked nonetheless. You liked that he still came over to talk to you after each show even though you’d rejected him. There wasn’t any of that toxic masculinity, wounded pride bullshit with him. He always had a smile and a funny story for you, always listened to whatever you had to tell him while you half-distractedly made drinks for the other patrons. 

This had been a particularly good set, even for the Six, and you beamed as you caught sight of Karen slinking through the crowd toward you, ready to shower her in well-deserved compliments. 

“Hey (y/n)! How are you darling?” She asked, leaning over the bar to squeeze you in a quick hug. 

“I’m great! Happy I was working during your gig,” you said, grinning at the blonde. 

“I’m fairly certain someone checks to make sure you’re working before we agree to play any gigs,” Karen joked.

“Wow, well I’m feeling extra loved. I’ll get you your usual?” Karen nodded, and you started on her usual after-show martini. The two of you chatted while you did so, and Karen gratefully accepted the drink when you were done and bade you goodbye after someone across the room caught her eye. 

The bar got extremely busy with people trying to get their drinks while the next band got ready for their set, and for a while you got lost in trying to serve everyone as fast as you could. 

“(l/n),” you heard Warren’s voice from behind you, after the mass of people had been served and walked away. 

“Rojas,” you acknowledged, turning to see the curly-headed man leaning against the bar, smiling lopsidedly at you. “You want a beer or what?” 

“Shirley Temple, actually,” he shrugged, and you snorted in surprise. “How’d we do tonight?” 

“Amazing, but you knew that already,” you said, sliding the drink across the bartop to him. 

“True, I just wanted to hear you say it,” he nodded, that grin still firmly affixed to his face. 

You shrugged. “I would say it a million times over. You’re somethin’ special.” 

“The band, or just me?” He was joking, you could tell from the tone of his voice, but there was a note of sincerity under it all as well. 

“The band, sure, but you, Rojas, you’re somethin’ special all on your own.” 

Warren stayed quiet, a strange look passing over his face as he stared at you. You busied yourself with drying the glasses in front of you, bobbing your head to the music and trying to look unconcerned with whatever was going through his head. 

“Would you allow me the privilege of taking you out to dinner?” Your head snapped up to look at him, took in the clear, sincere look on his face. No frills. No corny lines. No overpowering compliments to butter you up. Just Warren, looking at you like he had his heart in his hand. 

You put the glass and the rag down and leaned your arms on the bar, a genuine, dorky grin overtaking your features. “Yes, Warren. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me again since the first time you tried it.”

tag list: @eonnyx

[roadkillxd]

Ok ok ok but ftm price with a partner who’s also transmasc? I just know his bottom growth would be stupidly big, enough to shallowly fuck his partner *or* or or or….. he has one of those pumps that’s specifically for bottom growth so he can pump himself bigger to fuck you….. he always does it before you come over so he’s prepared but it leaves him actually insanely horny by the time you get there, dick big and twitching and sensitive against his underwear…. You can see it in his eyes when you walk through the door, dark and half-lidded with a flush on his cheeks 😵‍💫 alsohelikestobemeanandcomparedicksizes anyway I just love some t4t price

How about stupidly big AND using a pump? ♡

FTM!Price x FTM!Reader  ↪ 914 words — 18+ / SMUT

Content tags — trans male switch reader, trans male switch Price, t4t relationship, clit pump, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, oral sex, overstimulation, established relationship, referenced/implied voyeurism, referenced/implied edging, and spit kink.

Price groans low and deep, a growl shaking his chest as he pulls the pump free with a slick pop. His ruddy cock twitches and pulses as it’s exposed to the cool, stagnant air of his quarters. 

He’s been at it for almost half an hour now, pumping his already sizable cocklet ‘till it was almost the length of his middle finger and twice as thick, the slick flesh engorged and aching red. 

He has to trace his thumb feather light over the tip, using the thick foreskin to dull the sensation—his cock already so over-sensitized from the blissful suction of the pump. He runs his fingers through the coarse hair of his thighs, trying to calm himself down, to come back from the edge.

He hears a firm knock on his door, followed by two more in quick succession. 

“Come in, lad,” he grunts, pushing off the bed to meet you as you close the door behind you, locking it just as Price’s lips collide with yours, hungry and desperate.

“Missed you,” he growls, pulling back just enough for you to see his blown wide pupils and flushed cheeks. 

“Mmm,” you hum as he kisses you again before trailing down to your neck, “me too.”

You can feel him smile against your throat, beard tickling your skin as he turns you and pushes you toward the bed, shoving you back on the mattress and knocking a laugh out of you, amused by his eagerness.

He straddles your lap, and you eye his swollen cock, mesmerized by the pulsing of the flushed nub. 

“What’s so funny, huh?”

You hum, reaching up to run two fingers through his folds before stroking his cock, smiling as he gasps and moans, hips rocking into your touch.

“You’re needy tonight,” you coo.

“Been edgin’ myself for the last fuckin’ hour for you—“ he grunts.

“C’mere,” you grab at his ass, squeezing the muscle there as you pull him forward to shuffle up your torso. He maneuvers a pillow to prop your head up, ever the gentleman, as you take his cocklet into your mouth, sucking harshly.

You bob up and down the short length, reveling in his groans and moans, his hips grinding into your mouth as he grips tight at your hair with one hand, the other moving to deftly undo your belt.

You pull off for only a moment to shuffle your fatigues and boxers off, returning to his cock as he pushes two thick fingers into your aching hole.

You moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder. He yanks you back by your hair, your lips releasing his cock with a wet pop. You stare up at him through half-lidded eyes and thick lashes, mouth agape as you pant, rocking your hips down onto his fingers.

“Open,” he commands, pulling your head further back until your neck arches up. You obediently open your mouth wider, sticking your tongue out, and moan when he spits down onto it.

He leans down to kiss you furiously, tongues fighting for dominance as he starts to shift between your spread legs, throwing the limbs up and over his thighs as he shuffles forward.

You both groan at the first tease of his cocklet. It’s nothing impressive if you were to compare it to a cis man, sure, but the feeling of the thick nub sliding into your winking hole has you moaning, the tight ring of your entrance squeezing down around him.

It’s the same stretch as his two fingers had been, though the pulsing flesh is more forgiving.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans low and gravely, leaning down as he grinds into you, resting his forehead against yours, panting into each other’s mouths, “y’always squeeze me so good, love. Milkin’ me, huh? So bloody good.”

You whimper, rocking your hips down to meet his movements, feeling how his cocklet pulses inside of you. 

You cry out as his calloused thumb comes down to rub at your own cock, nudging the foreskin down to abuse the sensitive glands under the head. You squirm and buck, Price pressing his lips to yours to try and silence you.

“Wan’ the whole damn base to hear you?” He grumbles, a choked gasp escaping his lips as you clench particularly hard down around him, walls fluttering. He laughs breathily, smile sharp against your skin.

“Like that, do you? Wan’ everyone to know what a slut you are for my cock, hm?”

“Fucking—Christ, baby, m’gonna—!”

“Me too, darling, fuck,” he moans, voice turning to a coo as he kisses your chin, “go on, love, cum on my cock.”

He presses the palm of his free hand over your mouth just as you peak, muffling your wail as your back arches, walls convulsing around him. Price’s hips stutter and twitch as he rides through his own orgasm, hole gushing thick slick, soaking the both of your thighs with his creamy spend.

You manage to catch your breath before he does, groping at his thighs and hips before flipping him over onto the bed. He goes with a grunt, propping himself up on his elbows to watch you lower between his legs.

“Shit!” He barks out, hips bucking up hard as you latch onto his overly sensitive nub, slurping wetly before moving down to his hole, lapping up his creamy spend as it drips down to his ass.

You press a teasing kiss to his thigh, nuzzling the thick hair there with a grin.

“S’my turn, Captain.”

[timaeusterrored]

(The Northern Lights)

Depression was a common thing in the Eurodyne household. It normally hit at different times luckily enough, their bad weeks never usually lined up. But the one time it did, Kerry booked them a trip. He needed to get them both out of the city, away from stress and reminders.

Kerry wanted to spice things up, go somewhere Vax had never been. He tried to keep it to his place in Florida or Italy simply for his husband’s comfort, but he felt they needed something new, and see something Vax would be all over.

So next thing he knew, they were on their plane to Iceland. Vax was mostly quiet, lost in thought as he usually was as Kerry answered emails and did the less fun part of his job.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head?” Kerry spoke up after about an hour of silence, making Vax look up. His exhaustion was hitting him hard, and Kerry wished he didn’t over work himself like this.

“Static. I think if I had a single thought right now I’d explode.” Vax got up from his seat and moved to cuddle up with Kerry, the older man moving his laptop away in favor of his favorite person.

“Understandable… try not to think too hard. You take your meds today?”

“Yes Vik.” Vax mumbled sarcastically.

“Hey now, don’t get sassy because I’m making sure you’re doing what you’re supposed to.” Kerry held him to his chest, looking out the window. He hoped he had planned this right.

When they landed, Kerry got them checked into their lodge as soon as possible, they had a tour to get too and he could see that Vax’s interest had been caught.

He had Vax out of the lodge in ten minutes flat, basically dragging him. Vax had no idea what was going on, but he was into it. And Kerry had to keep that interest for the next few hours.

Okay, the beginning of the tour was kind of a drag, Kerry wouldn’t lie… but goddamn was it worth it when he saw what he had dragged his husband all the way up for.

“Aurora.” Vax breathed, staring at the night sky with childlike wonder. Kerry was glad the Space station hadn’t completely ruined the stars for Vax.

Kerry leaned into his side, for warmth and support. This was totally worth it.

“Can I-“

“Yes you can tell me facts, that’s why we’re here.” Vax was his own personal stars podcast sometimes.

“So basically, the Northern lights, or Aurora borealis, is actually sun storms. But our atmosphere protects us from them, they’re as pretty as they are violent.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“Yeah Venus is fucking violent sometimes-“

“You asshole. You knew who I was talking about.”

“A n y w a y, speaking of Venus, did you know that the lights were named after the Roman goddess of dawn, Aurora? And the Greek god of winds, Boreas?”

“I did not.”

“Yeah, it’s really fuckin cool when you think about it-“

Vax proceeded to take about the lights for the next 15 minutes, until they had faded and his face fell a bit.

“What?” Kerry frowned.

“It’s just said something so beautiful only lasts for a short amount of time. We’re lucky we even got to see them.”

“…kinda like life.”

Vax’s arm tightened around him, and Kerry looked up to find grey eyes staring down at him.

“You didn’t drag me up here to serve divorce papers did you? Because we are stuck in this shit together, no one else could possibly-“

Kerry cut him off with a kiss, holding his face with a small smile when they pulled back.

“I’m genuinely amazed you haven’t exploded yet… I’m not going anywhere.” Kerry whispered, bumping their foreheads together.

“Good…” Vax whispered back, looking back up at the stars.

[spotsupstuff]

what happened to boreas during the events of saint's campaign? I'd have figured because of his self sustaining properties, he'd be one of the last iterators actually functional before saint inevitably bababooeys him

-snaps fingers n fingerguns atcha- you got That right, buckaroo! Boreas indeed is still kicking just fine when Saint enters the Aeolus Root ring, especially if you ignore his mental state consisting of crushing loneliness and nasty ass giant case of guilt. i told Shkiki this- i geniunely think he'd only die if a lot of ice would block his water filtration systems. he's like a damn cucaracha

(see, Beebee is stationed very high up north n i think he's close enough to the sea that he uses That as his water supply. he runs Very cold, much more so than a normal Iterator- this is mostly the case cuz i wanna give the greek god Boreas shout out with it, but in-universe can be blamed on his sheer massive size. he needs to keep himself as cold as possible. can't exactly cool his systems with solid ice tho and so this person who doesn't like/can't handle other people Needs these other people that warm up the atmosphere n keep the polar caps at bay. so honestly even tho he's fine n dandy when Saint finds him, he was already living on borrowed time)

Saint has a bossfight with Boreas just like with Sliver except Boreas is.. kinda more sturdy n also more aggressive n has a bigger chamber- he's like Sliver+, that girl was a weasel. hard mode Sliver.

it takes a bit, but eventually Boreas' puppet falls and the antigravity stutters to a stop. i imagine that working iterators that put up a fight need multiple blasts before they completely die because each blast is killing only a portion of the Hivemind, then the rest of it rushes to fill in the holes, that gets blasted and the process is repeated until there's no more of the collective left. so you can imagine what kind of state B is prolly in after like 9 direct blasts

torn apart, exhausted and so much more smaller n lonelier than before, Boreas finally stops fighting and instead huddles in a corner. for once absolutely terrified out of his mind n insterestingly enough- regretful. he tries to send out a warning signal to the rest of the group, but he can't manage it with how diminished he's become. Saint approaches. Boreas doesn't plead for mercy. he stares the rat down even when its eyes wildly flash

Saint finishes him off. Leaves. Notos watched the whole thing

to say that Notos is fuckin Traumatized from that is an understatement. its special overseer stays with Boreas' puppet beeping at it for an hour, waiting for him to wake up. but of course, nothing

now, i'll add- Beebee n Notty didn't ever really Fully Click together. either they didn't interact much because of their "i gotta work, man" mentalities, they were shit at interaction or they barked at each other (even in mythology it says that fights between Boreas and Notos were catastrophic and absolutely terrifying- fun fact! Notos actually seems more dangerous than Boreas from what i've read n this Is meant to be reflected with the Anemoi Iterators too). like i've had the idea that when Notos calls for an elder brother n Boreas n Euros look up, it'd specify "the elder brother that I actually appreciate" when needin Euros

either way, these two were still siblings and Boreas *did* Mentor Notos when it needed it (along with Euros; the Winds r kinda like a lil self-sustaining group within the bigger group- they are "Elite"/Leading Iterators of The Children of Eo after all) n they still like... Loved each other. even when Notos cut the communications with him after everything started going down the drain, it still loved him. n it regrets some things it said to him (thoughtless.. cruel things...) but cuz of the way it is as a person it never decided to step up n be the one to reestablish contact and apologize

and now Boreas is dead. one of the first iterators of the group gone, maybe the third. it can never say now, how it is so sorry and never meant it

[dcjavu]

BEGINNING OF THE END

October 22nd, 2077

Fine china wiped spotless, a vacuum sucking at the dust clinging to the drapes, mops squelching against the floors, the hum of the radio on the kitchen table as a chicken roasts in the oven, whispered lullabies and hushed babies, an old army jacket thrown over a chair with initials sewn into the shoulder, pairs of newly polished shoes by the door and a jacket being hung up as a man entered through the front door. Kicking aside his work boots, adding to the pile of dirties that his wife need clean before the day’s end, he lifted his hat off his head and tossed it aside so that he could collapse onto the couch and sling an arm over his eyes to cover himself from the dying light pouring in through the windows. The smell of bleach and lemon-lime permeating the air. Sun bleached rooms that lit up in primary colors painted onto every appliance. 

This was the American Dream — at least, that’s what Riley Worthington was fed her entire life. 

She could hear her husband enter and she kissed her teeth, wiping clean the knife she was planning on using to carve the chicken that’d been baking in the oven for hours. Dirtying her skirt by placing the blade up against the hem and erasing any blemishes on the surface, she wandered out of the kitchen and stared him down as he was sprawled out on the couch.

“Ry,” Riley spoke up, gently at first as he started snoring theatrically upon hearing her voice. She didn’t blink. “Ry, wake up.”

“If it ain’t about dinner bein’ ready, I don’t wanna hear it,” Her husband returned and moved over onto his side, burying his face in the cushions.

She bit her lip. No talking back, ever, she could hear her mother’s voice say. You made your bed. Now die in it. Or was it lie? She couldn’t quite recall. Reaching out, she tugged on her husbands ankle so he’d wake more, which only summoned a groan from him. She kept tugging, growing impatient with each yank. God, her son was easier to coax out of bed in the morning than this grown man.

As Riley tugged harder, her husband reached out and grasped onto her wrist tightly. “What the fuck is it, Riley?!” he then snapped — silenced quickly whenever she held the kitchen knife directly at him. “... Riles,”

“Don’t start, Ryker,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me why I shouldn’t gut you right now for what you’re plannin’ to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Riles?” Ryker asked, sounding more exasperated than usual as he glanced between his wife and his reflection in the surface of the knife. “Listen, calm yourself down first, then we can talk about whatever you’re all riled up about. That sound good? I’ll even get you a cold Nuka Cola, take the edge off.”

Riley didn’t falter, only cocking her head to the side as she smiled in pure disbelief. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that, Ryker Worthington?”

“Riley,” Ryker said cautiously. She could see his hand raising slowly, presumably to steal the knife from her, which only prompted her to jut the point closer to his neck, making him flinch. Figures. Always a coward. “H-Hey now. Cool it with that, it ain’t no butter knife.”

“I fuckin’ know it’s not a butter knife, dipshit,” she spat. “That’s the whole goddamned point. Now, start talkin’ or I’m gonna gut you like a fish.”

Ryker eyed his wife with caution, slowly lowering himself back onto the cushions. “I don’t really like fish much, you know,” he said to try and ease the tension. Needless to say, it didn’t work, as Riley only snorted in return.

“I’ve been married to you for five years, trust me, I know you aren’t very familiar with any kind of fish,” she quipped.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Ryker said, chuckling slightly out of nerves. “What’s gotten into ya, huh, Riles? … Is it your daddy? Did he call you again? Offer to fly you back out to Shitstain, Missouri and live with him and your mama and sister? You know he’s full of it. He can hardly provide for her, how could he—”

“Speak another word on my daddy and I won’t hesitate.” Riley deadpanned in return. That silenced Ryker — for a time, which just kept irritating the young woman as her wide eyes tracked every twitch of his limbs. “I’m talkin’ about your work. Vault-Tec.”

Ryker’s eyes darkened and narrowed at his wife, who kept her chin held high as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Right, then,” he said. “We’re havin’ this conversation again. Tell me, Riley, do you remember the definition of insanity?”

“It’s what the fuck you’ve been up to the past three years,” she snapped.

“Not quite,” Ryker said, sounding eerily calm. “That’d be the exact opposite, really. Why don’t you stop beatin’ around the bush and give it to me straight? What do you know that’s got you like this?”

Swallowing thickly, Riley could feel her nerves clench, forcing her hand to develop a tremor. Goddammit. She squeezed the handle tighter and kept it held as straight as she could. “I know what you plan on doin’,” she said. “I heard you. In that meeting.”

“Oh, so we’re committin’ espionage now?” he snorted. She couldn’t deny how unsettled he was by his blase act, but she held a brave face as she stared him down coldly without answering. “... Alright. So, we’re doin’ this. You know the truth, now you wanna hear it from the horse’s mouth. I always did peg you as a bit of a masochist, y’know.”

“I married you, after all,” she shot back.

Ryker grinned crookedly at her. “That you did, Mrs. Worthington.”

“Say it to me,” Riley said through gritted teeth as she angled the knife closer to his neck, and she was satisfied to see him flinch for the first time since she’d met him. 

“Before I do, I want you to think about Rue,” he said. 

“Don’t bring him into this,” she denied. “You don’t get to even speak his name after what you’ve done. What you’re gonna do.”

Ryker scoffed at his wife, who maintained her composure in spite of his expectations. “He deserves to have his family whole when it’s all said and done,” he told her, but when she didn’t falter, he let out a tired sigh and eyed her before letting his shoulders slack. “... War never changes, Riles. You know that better than any of us. And the world we’re livin’ in now does nothing but perpetuate it. Look at the past three-hundred years of this country — has there been a century of it without war?”

“So the best solution is to, what?” Riley began, feeling her voice thin out with every word she spoke. “Burn it all to the ground?”

“This world’s corrupt and dangerous,” Ryker told her flatly. “It’s for the best that we give humanity a second chance and start over. And yes, that means most people will have to die. But not us. You, me, Rue, we live on. We get to build a better future for him, Riles. Together. Ain’t that what you always wanted? Is that not what you went to war for in the first place? In the vain hope it’d make a better life for us all?”

Riley clenched her jaw, feeling frustration course through her veins as she clutched onto the knife even tighter. “Don’t talk to me about war,” she said. “You don’t know the first goddamned thing about it.”

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Ryker then snapped. “You know what I did every fuckin’ day when you were gone? I waited for a letter, or a phone call, anything, just to know you were still breathin’ and that you were comin’ back to us. I slept alone. I took care of Rue, I told him you were gonna come home when I didn’t have the slightest fuckin’ idea if you were even still alive out there. So don’t stand there and jab a knife at me and stand on some fuckin’ high horse like you’re the only one who knows what war is like. I know, Riley. I fuckin’ know.”

She gasped whenever he reached out, grasping onto her wrist and keeping a firm grip. Struggling at first, it wasn’t long until the knife went sliding across the vinyl floors and they were stood, face to face with one another, and neither of them quite knew what the other had in mind next. Instead of scrambling for it, he reached out to take a hold of her neck and bring her in closer.

“We’ve got a place ready for us,” Ryker said lowly, and despite knowing she was technically stronger, Riley could never find it within her to do anything except for squeeze his arm so he’d loosen his grasp. “And we’re leavin’ when it’s time. Is that understood?”

When he let her go, she gasped for breath, collapsing onto the floor and spitting where it’d just started to shine underneath the light of the sun. He stepped around her and grabbed the knife, working his way toward the kitchen. 

“Your chicken’s burnin',” he called out. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Always do.”

That night, Riley couldn’t catch a wink of sleep, meanwhile Ryker was in a peaceful slumber beside her. She kept staring out the balcony windows, at the city lights of Los Angeles ahead of her. Carefully, she peeled the sheets away from her and padded toward the door in her slip dress, eyeing her husband from over her shoulder as she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

Reaching into a potted plant and unearthing a silver cigarette case — she promised she’d quit a year ago — she popped it open before picking out a cigarette and placing it between her teeth. After some more digging through the wet soil, she fished out the lighter and held it up to the end of the cigarette and flicked it on. She watched the flame as it danced in the wind, sucking in a long breath whenever it caught on the paper. The bud glowing, she held it delicately between her index and middle fingers as she leaned over the balcony on her elbows, observing the cityscape. 

How long until it’d be reduced to ash and bone? 

She closed her eyes slowly and thought back to simpler times. Her childhood, out in the suburbs of Missouri. Really, she’d always lived a cushioned life up until she was drafted, and she was considered a lucky girl that that’d been the only run of bad fortune she’d encountered in her life. But she was still young, only 23 years old as of June that year. 

She could remember her father chasing her around the backyard and, from the porch, her older sister sketching them as they ran in circles and played kickball and catch. She was the closest thing to a son he’d ever get — that’s why she was named Riley, because her mother was certain she’d be a boy up until the doctor presented her with a fully female newborn, much to everyone’s surprise. And disappointment, of course, though every time her father told the story, he kept expressing to her how overjoyed he was that she was a girl.

“You were the prettiest thing in the universe, Riley,” he said, grinning cheesily at her. “Right up there next to your mama and sister.”

A fond smile laced Riley’s lips as she reminisced before it began to fade. Was there any saving him? Or her mother or sister? They were all innocent, and if Ryker and Vault-Tec were set on repopulating the world with the right kind of people, well… Her father and sister would at least make the cut. 

She remained on the balcony until she could see the sun break over the horizon, having chainsmoked the last of her cigarettes throughout the night. By the time Ryker woke up for work, she was back in bed, having doused herself in perfume so that he wouldn’t smell the chemicals on her. She was awake the entire time he readied himself, listening to the rustle of his belt and his grunts and groans — he was getting old. Was he even qualified to be in the program he so eagerly pitched ideas in favor of?

Once she felt his lips press against her cheek in goodbye and heard the front door shut, Riley sat up out of bed and rubbed her face before she hurried over to the closet. She hauled a suitcase onto the mattress and flipped it open, yanking out all her dresser drawers and piling as many clothes as she could into the empty space.

Whenever the suitcase was packed nearly to the brim she fled her bedroom. Hurrying down the hall, she rounded the corner into her son’s room and crouched beside his bed, nudging him carefully so that he’d stir awake.

“Ruru,” she whispered softly, reaching out to caress his cheek. “Wake up.”

Whining, Rue rubbed his eyes and blinked at his mother, still drowsy. “School?” he assumed.

“No, cowboy,” she chuckled a little as she scooped her arms underneath him to help prop him up, hoping it’d wake him more. “We’re goin’ on a road trip, you and me. Out to grandma and grandpa’s. Don’tcha wanna see ‘em again? And Aunt Nonnie?”

“Why?” the young boy asked. Always inquisitive, that one. He certainly inherited that from his mother. “... ‘Cause of the bombs?”

Riley frowned at him, freezing where she’d gone to take some clothes out of his dresser. “How’d you know about all that?”

“Heard you and daddy talkin’,” he said honestly. “I’m sorry, mama. Is that why we gotta go?”

“... C’mere, Ruru,” Riley let out a sigh as she lowered herself onto her knees and held her arms out for Rue, who stumbled forward so that she could cradle him. For a moment, it was almost like he was an infant again with the whole world at his fingertips. Now, it was falling apart and he didn’t even have the bliss of ignorance to protect him from it. “You wanna know somethin’ I learned about those bombs in the Marines?”

Rue looked up at her with curious brown eyes, and she smiled down at him before holding her thumb up and shutting one eye. “If the cloud is smaller than your thumb, then you start runnin’,” she told him.

“What if it’s bigger?” he then asked.

Her expression softened and she lowered her hand. “Well. They said there’d be no use in runnin’ then.”

“Is it gonna happen?” he kept wondering.

Riley’s lips pressed together, then she leaned in to press a kiss against his temple. “I certainly hope not.”

Thirty minutes later, Riley had all of their necessities packed and she’d written a brief note to Ryker that she stuck on the leftovers in the fridge: GONE CAMPING. SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE. — R.

As she loaded their things in the older car of hers that’d been rotting away in their garage since she came back home, Rue was sat in the front seat, kicking his feet around and listening to the radio while he waited for his mother to finish sorting everything. While she murmured a list to herself over and over, assuring herself that she wouldn’t forget anything else they’d nee to acquire during the drive, he glanced up at the horizon and tilted his head at the mountains in the distance.

Slowly, he held his thumb up in front of his squinted gaze, and though it tremored he managed to keep it straight after a bit of practice.

“Mama?” he called out.

“One second, Ruru,” she said in return as she struggled slamming shut the trunk.

“Is it your thumb or mine?” he asked.

Looking up at him, Riley’s attention was thwarted to the horizon, where a mushroom cloud had developed and a darkness had engulfed the skyline. She could feel her heart jump into her throat and expand there, a loud beating that couldn’t be swallowed. From the car’s radio, only one thing could be picked up before the radio tower was knocked out:

“—followed by flashes, blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions. We’re trying to get confirmation … seemed to have lost contact with Anchorage stations. We do have — we do have coming in confirmed reports, that’s confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in Alaska and Washington State. Dear God—"

Riley's eyes widened in horror and she slammed the trunk shut with all her might as she went around the car to jump into the driver's seat. Buckling Rue in first, she jammed the keys into the ignition and started peeling out the driveway; driving into the darkness, or else the light.

[unknownjpegs]

1 million

The first album sells. They don’t care much for that part — well, besides how nice it is having a fuller pantry and topped-off tanks of gas. 

No, what they care about is when the website hits one million album downloads. 

It’s a cool gimmick, Benji had said petulantly. And, obviously…y’know. Punk. But I do like paying bills.

We will, Lark had responded, hands gripping his shoulders, pay so many bills for the rest of our lives, dude. We will totally pay. 

And of course Benji had rolled his eyes: Mate I get your message, okay? Delivery’s piss-poor thought.

But Lark was right. Now, red-faced from celebratory jumping and yelling into one another’s faces, they clutch and shake each other.

“One million.” 

Lark’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes bright. “One fucking million, Benji? One million.” He laughs wildly. “Fuck it, two million. Three.”

“A hundred million.” Benji gets shaken again, his friend’s fists tight in his jacket.

“You know what? One hundred bazillion.”

Benji laughs too, without his usual reservation. It’s a bit wild, loudly unhinged at the end with a waver that Lark only hears when they’re really, really blasted. 

“I got you something,” he says suddenly. Lark’s eyebrows knit tight. 

“Okay, well no. I didn’t get you anything so I don’t want it.” Benji slips a tissue-wrapped box from his pocket and holds it out. He’s not looking at Lark directly, but in the center of his chest. He tucks hair behind his ear jerkily, chin tilted. 

“Benji, if this is a goddamn ring or something —” Lark warns, kind of just to see how Benji reacts. Hilariously, is the answer: he flushes in the way he thinks is more invisible than it is, face twisting into a defensive, shy scowl. 

“Oh, don’t make me fuckin’ kick off,” Benji warns back, shoving at Lark’s shoulder while he snickers. 

“It would make sense for taxes. For citizenship —”

“Fuck’s sake, you know that saying about ball and chain?” Benji huffs. Lark nods. “I’d drag us both into a lake.”

Lark takes the box with another chuckle, head tossed back as he meanders over to the shit couch — that they can replace with a new one — and falls into it. Benji follows, perching himself with one foot off the ground, hands nervously stuffed in his pockets. 

“Morbid,” Lark intones, spookily but affectionate. “That is so morbid, man.” 

Benji watches as he plucks the wrapping paper off. Lark’s a careful sort of gift opener, and seeing him tuck a finger, careful and delicate, beneath a taped edge makes Benji sad. 

You weren’t expecting a gift. You didn’t grow up expecting them. You grew up expecting bad shit, just because. Got the shit end of the stick for what? I’m gonna throw you so many fucking parties, Lark. I’m gonna throw you a birthday party every fucking year of your life ’til we both croak. And one day I’m gonna convince you to tear into the wrapping paper, because you deserve that. 

Lark had been partly correct — it’s a jewelry box. Not anything fancy. Just red canvas stretched over cardboard. He cracks it open and his mouth drops. Benji has to look away.

The case is a sleek black rectangle with beveled edges. There are no dial decoration or hour markers or minute track: just two thin, dainty silver hands set on matte black. They flit hypnotizing in a circle comfortingly slow, ticking seconds that pass under the boys’ dual stare.

“Holy shit, Benj.” 

“It’s a vintage Sekio. Not that — I mean, it looks more expensive than it is, trust me.” Benji says quickly, immediately winces. Fucking daft thing to say. “I had — I know a guy, it was in such shit shape when I got it off eBay, he fixed it up nice. You would not believe how —”

Lark slaps his free hand over his mouth. “Holy shit.”

“M’dah got —” He licks his lips when Lark’s hand comes away. “Thanks. Anyway, remember when my dad got…like when he made me finish school, yeah? Before we could start doin’ this.” 

Lark nods, unblinking eyes turned up at him. 

“He got me that watch. Cheap one, not that I’m ungrateful, but he went and had this thirty-pound thing engraved. Little thumbs up emoji, right, because every letter cost more.” Benji laughs at the memory. “Thought that was sweet.”

“Sweet. I’m going to kill you if there’s something on the back of this.” Lark announces, lifting the leather band and turning the watch. “Oh, go fuck yourself.”

1M :) is etched into the center back, angled edges catching light from the bulb hanging from the ceiling. 

“Thought I’d get extravagant with four letters, y’know. ‘Cuz we’re famous or whatever.” Benji jokes. His voice is a little tight to even his own ears. “And you can’t even slander me with it. Y’show people that, they’re gonna assume you’re some kind of pretentious corporate dickhead who celebrates his first million dollars.” He grins. “Get fucked.”

“I’m putting it on and then punching you in the face.”

Benji watches him struggle with it, eyes blurry with tears and sniffling. He drops onto the couch  next to his friend, his bandmate, this special and unequivocal fucking force in his life. The watch goes on much easier with help, and when it’s fixed in place Benji taps it with a finger.

“There.” He lifts the sleeve of his jacket to knock the wrist brandishing his own shitty watch against Lark’s. “One million.” 

Suddenly, Lark’s fists tightens in his jacket again. He brushes the fabric aside to take Benji’s shirt instead, clutched hard. Benji blinks at him. Lark’s dark are wide and wet as they circle his face. He shakes Benji again, scoffing in disbelief.

“Dude, you’re just… you are such an asshole.” Lark sniffles. Benji’s hand comes up to pat his mess of smooth black hair away from his cheek, where it sticks on a few tears. “Jesus. One million. Okay, listen, I don’t know how I’m supposed to — I’m just gonna kiss you, and if it’s weird, it’s weird. Yeah?” 

“Why not,” Benji laughs, and then he’ being dragged forward. “Not the weirdest thing we’ve done.” 

And for a second, it’s not the weirdest thing they’ve done. 

It’s just a close-mouthed press of lips. Maybe the excitement of the moment, the lingering shred of adrenaline, or the full-chest gratitude makes it more. Lark opens his mouth and then Benji tilts his head. Then it’s a kiss kiss, like a frantic one with a stranger at a club. Lark tips forward until Benji falls back, his head knocking against the torn armrest.

Their hands rest briefly on each others’ shoulders, but it’s exactly that — brief. Because Benji thinks oh, those are Lark’s hands at the same exact moment Lark thinks oh, those are Benji’s hands. 

In tandem, they both scowl into the kiss and jerk away. 

Lark rolls completely off him, falling ungracefully to the floor as he wipes his mouth. They both stare up at the ceiling for a moment.

“Ew. Weird.”

Lark hums in uncomfortable agreement, tapping his fingers on his stomach. “Really weird, actually. Never again.”

“Thank-you note’ll do for the future, mate,” Benji deadpans after another stretch of silence.

“Fuck off and die,” Lark snorts, sitting up to punch him in the arm hard. “You use too much tongue.”

[neverhangd]

@lighthousepyrate is almost as useless as he looks.

She’s sporting a bloody nose and bruised knuckles the third time she sees him. Without her hat and coat, she could be any other woman alive than the lady pirate on the wanted posters—and half the time, just lacking a pistol was all it took to confuse them. She knows that, had he not seen her hours before in that dog fight downstairs, he would never know for sure that she was Anne Bonny and not some poor innocent woman instead.

That thought alone gives her all the disdain she needs to spit in his face when he presses some other poor fucker into the cell bars.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he warns, ignoring the disgusting blob on his face in favor of finding his keys before the new prisoner can manages to slip loose.

“I didn’ fuckin move ‘em, twat,” Anne spits back.

The door opens and the new fuck gets shoved inside; the pimple-faced teenager at the cell door fumbles nervously with his keys as he pulls away from the cell, like he can’t get out of her reach fast enough. It’s enough, though. The dumb fuck’s so badly shaken that he didn’t quite close the cell door enough, a slip-up Anne’s fast to act on. She slides her thumb over the lock’s bar and rattles the door against its hinges like it’s still stuck tight, snarling at the boy. He flees without checking the door and Anne, relieved, presses the bar back into the cell’s handle before turning around and leaning against the cell door—closed now, yes, but not locked.

Two makes for better odds in a fight but worser odds in an escape. Anne isn’t about to let some half-witted twat trip over himself and topple her carefully constructed plan in his haste. She studies him carefully before speaking, eyes picking apart details as she goes, constructing stories. Sweat stained, sun bleached shirt: not a landlubber, denied the luxury of clothes washed often. Tanned: time spent outdoors, and a lot of it. Stubbled, wind blown, carefully and even lovingly patched, everything about this man told Anne a story, but no part of that story spoke to her in familiar tones except for the bags under his eyes. Sleepless. She stares at them and tilts her chin up, offering her own evidence of the same condition. Anne’s stand out more on her freckled, burnt, stubble-less face, a cool color on a map of warmth.

“Are you a friend,” she asks, gaze jumping up to meet his own, “or a liability?”

[katsukikitten]

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't supposed to fall in love.

He long ago claimed it wasn't for him and he sure as hell wasn't supposed to fall in love with his neighbor in a shitty apartment complex after a suspension, more like a fucking exile, to the United States.

The argument and reprimanding fresh in his mind even after the grueling fourteen hour red eye. He was the only man awake on the plane, leg shaking as he hates anything that puts him in a position to trust someone else.

"I told you, he was in my fucking blind spot!" Bakugou shouts for the fourth time and the head of the hero commission shakes her head.

"So you didn't see him. What if he was a civilian? You nearly killed him. The public demands consequences."

"Since when do you give a fuck about my public image?" Bakugou snarls, staring her down. One eye a clouded garnet and the other a burning ember, "Ya sure had a good time trying to show off my disability. Cause the hero commission is so fuckin inclusive."

"Kaachan."

"Shut the fuck Deku!" Bakugou snarls, facing the mop of green curls, fisting the man's shirt. He hadn't lost his cool like this in nearly a decade but everything was grating to the nearly thirty year old. Especially today.

The pair, despite being the top heroes of Japan, were in over their heads when the syndicate they were breaking up had an unexpected ace up their sleeve. Temporary quirk silencers and strong ones at that. The hit Izuku who normally flanks Bakugou's now 'weaker' flank. And when someone much smaller than Izuku stepped into his blind spot his quirk acted out on its own. Igniting from the scar tissue on his arm and hitting the random Yakuza point blank in the face.

"Enough! I would be thanking Izuku if I were you. He's the reason you haven't been formally asked to step down. He's the one who found a happy middle ground. You're to train with a Hero in the states, if she sees improvement within two years you'll come back to Japan to continue your career. If not then you'll have to hang up your grenade belt for good."

"Yea cause sending me where the crime rate is practically tripled sounds like a great fuckin idea."

"Shitty fucking Deku." He hisses to himself as he grips harshly at his luggage, the plastic starting to melt from his grip.

He looks up at the apartment complex he's meant to stay in. It's worse for ware and every window on the first to the third floor has iron bars aside from the ones lucky enough to be snug against a rusted out fire escape.

He can feel it already. The eyes, all the fucking eyes that greedily drink in his cloudy eye and deep fissures that snake from his finger tips around his wrist and thick forearm. Dancing along the curve of his elbow and the veins of his shoulders. Even into his hairline, damaging it so deep that his sideburn never did grow back, his ear still gaged but the cartilage at the top split and jagged.

But eyes always lingered on how it branched up his throat, splashing onto his cheek stopping just before his nose but reaching the edge of his eyebrow.

He was considered a handsome man, once.

Eyes that burn him like a brand and he follows the weight of the gaze to a kid, a little boy. Patience far too thin he bares his teeth before growling out in perfect English.

"Fuck ya lookin?" The kid rounds the corner again, choking a sob before Bakugou lugs his one suitcase into the rotting complex. Taking the stairs, since there were only stairs, letting his big hero combat boots sink into the damp carpet. Each step brings a fresh waft of mildew to his nostrils, further souring his mood with each floor he rises.

"No tenant's laws in this bitch?" He growls in his mother tongue, agitated.

Getting to the sixth floor of the old brick building sandwiched between two identical dying residences. Finding his door 6C by the ware of the wood alone, the letter and number had long since fallen out of the stripped holes in the door.

He fishes in his pocket for the key, trying to shove it in. He flips it around once, twice, back to the original position and the goddamn thing won't fit. His palm pressed to the thin wooden door, the wood smoking from his touch and he has half a mind to blow the goddamn door off it's cheap hingest. It wouldn't take much.

Hell he was sure he could just open it with one rough shove of his shoulder and the door would fall flat into the foyer, if there even was one.

"Oh. Door trouble?" You've snuck up on him, on his right side in his goddamn blind spot and he turns just as his quirk hisses and pops to life. Caramel scents the air and his black skull shirt sleeve is fried.

"Ah M sorry." You smile sheepishly, "I don't mean to sneak up on you. Bad habit. I'm your neighbor, 6D."

You give him your name and he forgets it before you even finish shoving out the syllables. Snarling at you with disgust but his animosity either doesn't bother you or it went over your head.

"Do you mind?" You don't give him time to answer as you slip the key from his right hand with ease, ignoring the hot to touch metal of it before you wiggle the key in. Shimming it just right, listening with your perked ear and jiggling the handle, lifting before hitting the door with your shoulder.

A soft oof leaves your pretty lips and Bakugou's chest tightens. He's about to berate you out of habit until you turn around, opening the door wider for him without stepping over the threshold.

"Welcome home.♡" You say it so sweetly that it costs his tongue, dripping down the back of his throat where it forms into an unexpected lump.

He can't remember the last time he'd been welcome home by anything other than an angry reporter or a screaming cellphone demanding answers for his actions. His correct actions.

Because the fuck did those dumb ass pencil pushers know when it came to being out in the field?

Jack fuckin shit that's what they knew.

That's why he was standing in the USA, in the middle of winter, in one of the coldest fucking states and biggest fucking cities.

Why he was standing in this apartment that reeked of cheap cigarettes.

Why he was standing in this hallway, facing a woman he'd nearly blown up by accident, daydreaming about you opening that door every day for the rest of his hellish 730 days.

Swallowing thickly, unable to alleviate the tightness of his throat forcing him to grunt out "Thanks."

Shoulder checking you as he shoves into his apartment. But you were in a city full of rude assholes, so your neighbor being one would be no surprise.

"See ya around, hot head."

Bakugou slams the door on your words and it rattles the whole floor from the force. Dark eyes boring holes into the dingy, nicotine stained walls.

Kitchen, small and open to the living area, a sagging couch and groaning refrigerator. Katsuki was sure the oven being simply plugged in was a fire hazard on its own. Hardwood floors were thin, showing scuffed nail heads indicating it had been sanding three times too many in a poor attempt to save money and a portion stained a suspicious ruddy brown in a massive organic shape.

The bedroom and bathroom were no better, cleaned in a rush if at all and on the window sill there is a fresh coat of white paint forever trapping dead flies in the latex.

"What the fuck…" He swore he'd find a convenience store, getting cleaning supplies among other things but first he needed to lie down. Exhaustion hits him as he thinks of how difficult it was going to be to find another apartment and to break this lease. This place being the only complex with a last minute opening and for an astronomical price just for it to be another shit hole in his life.

He doesn't even bother with the stained mattress, picking it up and shoving it into the hallway to lean against the other, knowing full well all of this furniture was found the same god damn way. Shoved in and dressed up for shoddy pictures with half the view of the room blocked my wrinkled white finger tips.

He throws his two towels on the floor of the bedroom, using his bag for a pillow getting the worst sleep of his fucking life.

Even worse than when he and Deku had to share a single sleeping bag on an undercover mission in the middle of a snow storm.

But not before he orders absolutely everything that he can to make this place semi liveable, even if he didn't think he'd be here more than a month.

Morning comes with the loud slam of a door and a heated argument, making him sit straight up, both palms burning bright orange. Remnants of his dreams that always lead him astray.

Of eighteen years ago, his puncture scars ache from the memory before the one along his face and arm grows numb. Tingling numb and yet it feels as if fire ants let their pinchers sink into his tender flesh and root around in his eye socket.

Before the one on his sternum heats, expanding as he takes a deep calming breath making the cartilage crack from the inhale. It does little to qualm it and he just cracks his neck, forever used to waking up with adrenaline in his veins, threatening to explode his fragile heart.

The thought makes his stomach churn, normally a cold shower would do him good but the idea of standing under the stagnant shower head made it far worse. Skin crawling as he rises to grab supplies for his apartment before his evening would be eaten up by whoever the hell he was meeting.

His phone chiming with a reminder of unread messages, several in the group chat of well wishes and hoping you made it before he replies.

Fuck all of you.

He locks his phone after putting it on do not disturb before killing his entire morning, getting almost lost in a city very much like his home.

He's thankful he was studious growing up. That he can read and speak English well. His face covered in a mask and his spiky blonde hair shoved under a dark beanie makes navigating the city after one missed stop easy.

People left him well enough alone and he found his way back to his apartment on the first try. Most would call it luck but Bakugou would call it skill. Obsessive observation more like it.

Scrubbing at the hardwood and apartment felt as if he was scrubbing away the grime that stuck to the edges of his mind. Some parts of the floor he could get so shiny they reflected his own smug scarred smirk and others, like that blotchy stain, blood stain, just wouldn't come out no matter how hard he tried.

No matter what solution or tool he used.

Nothing worked, leaving him frustrated, covered in flaking wood stain and smelling like rust.

He checks his phone to see his shipments will be late and growls, asking himself what's the point of scheduling a time before he showers and heads out again.

The rundown warehouse he finds himself in front of gives him a dreadful sense of deja vu. As if he's transported back to yesterday, standing outside the apartment complex. He can feel eyes on him again, to the right of him.

But he knows no one is around, nothing but a stray cat that runs away from the old building to chase the flock of seagulls.

He double checks the address in the email sent from the hero commission and rolls his eyes. Shoving his hands with his phone in his pockets as he figured they let some lacky type out the address instead of concerning themselves with the hot head anymore.

He's about to turn on his heel and leave when the metal door swings open.

Curiosity was a deadly thing.

Slinking in, quiet as a cat, despite his brash and bold quirk. Having learned the hard way that sometimes subtlety is the only way. His eye adjusts quickly to the dark, sunlight bleeding in through the rotted roof and the windows that weren't boarded up. His ears perk as he listens, willing his heart to quiet and slow before that odd sensation settles in his bones. Hairs standing on end as if something were breathing on his neck.

But the puff of air never comes.

They say your body always knows when someone lays eyes on you, even when you're asleep.

It only took Bakugou losing one of his eyes to believe it.

Someone was standing in his blind spot.

Instinctively he turns, over and over in a circle and nothing ever comes into sight. He cannot hear what is there and he cannot see it but he knows something stands right outside his field of vision.

Like trying to meet face to face with the shadows that only grow in the corner of one's eye and when you look directly at it is when it disappears.

Sure as he's fucking breathing someone loomed and stalked just within reach although fully out of sight.

Each turn clenches his jaw tighter and tighter. More and more pent up anger as his hand glows on its own.

Once known as the best in the game for quirk control was now actively, and often, experiencing quirk failure.

He hears a pillar crack and then another and another until he's standing in the middle of the room with groaning concrete slabs compromised long before he came in.

"Fuck." He hisses, watching the trap reveal itself in real time before the building caved in from its own weight.

Subconsciously Bakugou knew there was symbolism in here somewhere. It felt a lot like he did, holding up a crumbling career for what he didn't know.

He only had his mother and father as family. His friends were successful and no longer needed his help in anything aside from maybe dating advice. Which was stupid, Bakugou was always the one getting broken up with but in his defense he didn't even know they were dating. He always assumed they knew he needed nothing more than to get his dick wet.

As the building collapses he sends out small bursts to keep himself from getting crushed and from sending debris flying out within a ten mile radius.

It's only when the dust settles does he feel someone in his blind spot again, except this time they step out of it before he can react.

"Let fear and anger be a source of power without consuming you." A woman shorter than him and only five or so years older, stood before him. Long graying hair placed up in a neat, smooth bun, contrasting against her dark jumpsuit. More notably are her milky eyes that hold onto his gaze without seeing anything at all.

Her demeanor and voice make his scars burn. Makes him think back of his first therapist he had to see twice a week until he was 22 to keep his gnawing anger in check.

The very one that laid at his feet in the form of bent rebar and heavy concrete.

"Fuck was that?" He dusts off his shoulders, "If I wanted vague advice I could have read it in a fuck all subreddit."

She says nothing, just listens to him shuffle as he moves around, knowing exactly where he is from the sound and the feel of her bare feet on the solid concrete floor.

"And how much is this fuckin building gonna cost me?" He growls to himself, only the third he's EVER unintentionally damaged. His first day as a hero in America already wasn't looking so great.

"Nothing."

"Haaah, ya get brick and mortar blasted into your ears? Buildings don't cost nothing."

"Normally yes, it would cost something. Even one as dilapidated as this. But the city had plans to tear it down, I just saved them money on the explosives." She smiles, knowing that now Katsuki would catch on. She read his file, the braille didn't lie, he was quick to catch on but faster to temper.

"So you knew I'd blow this shit hole to hell?" He snarls, hates being so predictable, it was as good as being fuckin stupid when it came to a fight.

"I did. Your file said you react when people stand in your blind spot. Why is that?"

"Isn't that fucking obvi-" His complaint dies in his throat when his gaze meets hers.

"You've had more than a decade to adjust, in fact it was as if you hadn't even lost vision in your right eye when you got out of the hospital. Only those close to you could see it bothered you."

"Yea like fucking who?"

"Like Izuku and Kirishima. Although it was subtle then it seems to be a bigger issue now. More than it was when the injury was fresh." A tremor of rage runs through his thick frame, his mind bringing him back to putting the stinging eye drops into his dying eye, hoping he could keep some semblance of vision but soon those blurry blobs faded into nothing but inky black.

He can practically feel the stinging now, and the gauze pulling at his fresh skin, of the fish scales they tried to use to help with the decay.

How the doctors murmured they might have to amputate his crushed and twisted arm, sedating him after his violent outburst. Unwilling to give up half his quirk so young.

Although some could argue a misfiring arm was far more dangerous than a little chrome.

He scoffs, looking down at his right palm from what was at one point his non dominant eye.

"So fuckin what. I'm Dynamight. I always bounce back." He lets the I have to lodge in his throat.

"Hmm so they say." She hums, tapping her foot twice before she speaks again, "You're a good size you know with a great range. Not to mention your sixth sense is phenomenal for someone who shoves things down."

"I don't shove shit down."

"Then why do you explode? Why does it seem that your fresh nitroglycerin is at half life? So volatile so quickly." She presses on when he doesn't speak, "You know I wasn't always blind either. My quirk grew in strength at the price of my sight, however it seems your body is more adaptable than mine. Your hearing is excellent despite the deafening explosions you create but you never know when that could be lost. So your homework is-"

"Homework?" He interrupts, turning to face her before he feels something in his blind spot again, turning quickly to be greeted with a hissing cat from his sudden movement. Back arched and swiping before it runs off.

"Yes, homework."

"M here to do hero work." He stalks closer to her, standing well within her personal space.

"No, you're here to heal." She doesn't even flinch, just tilts her head up towards him out of habit to keep eye contact.

"Cut this sappy bullshit. This ain't a Hallmark movie where I come to a new country. Get yet another fucking mentor that talks to me in riddles that I somehow get and then fall in love with my next door neighbor." He growls, "Wake up this is fuckin reality. I'm here to do hero shit, you're here to send me back in three months."

She laughs at that, "Three months is impossible even for you, overachiever."

He glares down at her, holding his breath to count down from ten and then up when his temper still burns in his veins.

"Your homework will be to listen. Not with your ears but-" She taps her finger over his old scar that sits over his heart, "Here."

Bakugou thought it was a bunch of bullshit. Listen to his body? His fucking heart? Didn't she hear of him before? The media was sure to remind Bakugou that he was nothing but a heartless, selfish asshole. So what the fuck was listening to his heart going to do?

But what other choice does Bakugou have?

[spidervee]

can you please give us something sinful with tangerine? that man has me in a chokehold 😵‍💫

some angsty/angry sex to scratch that itch, anon. I hope this is alright! tysm for requesting and, honestly, same damn it!🌻 18+ for general smuttiness and lewd innuendo

“Get out.”

The words just barely slip through your clenched teeth, a fortress that, right now, keeps your tongue in check lest you say something you regret.

“Piss off,” Tangerine scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. He stares at you, certain you’re going to fold, but you stare back, hands vibrating in anger as they’re clenched by your sides.

Slowly, enunciating it as though there’s a foul taste it leaves in your mouth, you say his name—his real name—and again spit out a near-breathless “Leave.”

Tangerine blinks, disbelief giving way to irritation before he’s turning on his heel and pulling a pack of smokes from his breast pocket. Along with a dozen other curses, he mutters something about not having time “for this bloody fuckin’ nonsense!”

And then he’s gone.

Hours later, he’s still gone. And it’s raining, piss-pouring, truly fucking wretched. And now that you’ve had time to cool off, to pace the small space of your one-room flat so much you’re certain you’ve worn a hole in the cheap flooring, you feel…guilty.

Because what had you even been arguing about in the first place? That you wanted him to move in but he wasn’t ready? That he’d let an I love you— the first of this situationship—slip over dinner and then promptly clammed up? That neither of you knew where this was going and felt so fucking intensely that fondness slipped into fucking and adoration into argument.

No matter. You could swallow your pride. Grinning, though your face still hurts from sobbing over the right cunt, you think of Tangerine. How you may just have to use that whole swallowing your pride line on him only just to hear him say that he’s got something else you can fuckin’ swallow, love.

But once you’ve pulled your wellys on and shrugged on a raincoat, you open the door to your flat to find a very soaked Tangerine on your porch, looking miserable.

“Swallowed my fuckin’ pride, love,” he says, though you can barely hear him over the rain, “So you can focus on swallowing something else, yeah?”

You laugh, telling him to sod off as you pull him in by the lapel of his expensive (and likely ruined) suit.

“You drive me fucking mad,” you whisper, closing the door behind him, already kicking off your boots, running your hands through his drenched curls, indulging in the sounds he makes when you hit a wet tangle.

“Feeling’s mutual.” Tangerine tilts your head back, unbuttoning your shirt to begin kissing and suckling at your neck.

Together, you try to make your way to the small bedroom at the back of your flat, a trail of wet clothes left in your wake. You make it about as far as halfway across the room before you’re pressed up against the wall, Tangerine buried deep inside you.

Tomorrow you’ll have to clean up the mess you’ve both made—mop the floor, pick up the shattered glass from the picture frame that falls after a particularly deep thrust, and—worst of all—fucking talk about your feelings.

[shigarakisbabyy]

MHA boys x Artist Reader

Heyo! Here’s some of the MHA boys with an artist reader! Reader is kept gender neutral. If anyone wants a part two, lemme know!

Warnings: mentions of nudity. Mentions of s€x.

Izuku Midoriya

He keeps ur drawings in notebook or folder and stares at them cause they’re so pretty

He loves to watch you draw. It’s just so mesmerizing watching a blank piece of paper turn into something gorgeous

If you draw him he WILL get insanely flustered or cry.

If you draw you two together he’ll pin it to his wall and stare at it to go to sleep

He’ll beg you for a self portrait for him to keep

Has an entire notebook dedicated to ur style and how you draw and what you use.

Katsuki Bakugo

Doesn’t think it’s that impressive until you show him ur drawings

Gets pissed when he tries to draw you and it comes out like shit. But then he finds out you keep that drawing on you at all times and he gets SO smug about it

Like deku, he’d watch you and analyze your every move when you’re drawing

If you draw on your skin he’ll pretend that it’s stupid and you shouldn’t do that but he’ll trace the drawings when y’all are cuddling

Don’t try and draw on him tho. He might bite you

If you draw a picture of him, he’ll get super flustered but act like he hates it (but he pins it to his wall and can’t stop staring at it because he can’t believe that that’s how you see him and he looks so pretty).

When you ask about it he’ll say he just kept it up there cause he didn’t have any other place to put it but you know hems lyingggggg

Shoto Todoroki

Literally keeps everything you draw.

Honestly, he probably can draw really well too. You guys have contests.

Please draw on him. 100% do it

If you have an Instagram or any other social media where you posts ur drawings he’ll spam like you and share them with all his friends

Compliments you all the time over it

Tries to convince you to do commissions and sell ur artwork

Tenya Iida

“Wow, that’s so cool y/n! Where’d you find that picture?”

Is so amazed when you tell him you drew it

Man is in AWE. Probably cause he can’t even draw a circle without it looking wonky but-

Supports you 100% if you want to be a professional artist and not a hero and he’ll buy you supplies

Convinces you to put up a gallery at school or somewhere where everyone can look at your drawings and paintings

Will get mad if you doodle on school papers or draw during class tho.

“There is a time and a place to engage in hobbies, y/n! School is not one of them!”

Hawks

You design logos and posters and merch for him

Stares at everything you draw for hours

Will try and get you to paint him in the nude. Just for giggles.

Will help you set up a social media for ur art work

Literally after every time you show him a new drawing or painting he kisses you and praises you. To the point it’s sickening.

Eijiro Kirishima

“That’s so manly y/n! I could never have that patience!”

If you ever get upset that you don’t like a drawing he’ll find everything he loves about it and praise you until you like it

Boy collects ur drawings. They are all over his room. Help him.

Brags about ur talent to his friends.

Please please please draw on him. Actually no, don’t, because he’ll never take a shower afterwards in case it washes off.

Draw him manly and scary looking PLEASE he’ll feel so good about himself

Denki Kaminari

“So like… can you draw us fuckin-“

You honked him upside the head for that

He’ll compliment you and share ur drawings on social media and with his friends

Loves to watch you draw

Whenever he short circuits you’ll draw on him to calm him and and he’ll get so happy cause he’ll feel so taken care of

He’ll beg you to design logos and merch for him when he’s a pro. Do it plz

Tomura Shigaraki

He’ll have you design flyers for the league LOLOL

Will beg you to draw him artwork and posters from his favorite video games so he can hang it on his wall

Hoards every drawing you’ve ever done in his room. He stares at them. But he wont touch them becuase he doesn’t wanna dust it

Please draw him. He will cherish it.

Will try and draw but it always turns out like shit so he throws it away. He decides to just watch you draw instead

Will try and convince you to have a side business selling ur art to help out with funds for the league

Shota Aizawa

He will get ur art tattooed or put on his desk.

Always has one of your drawings in his pocket

Draw him pictures of cats. Pls.

Honestly he just loves how messy it can be and when you get graphite or paint all over your hands or on your face and in ur hair. Its so cute

Draw a self portrait, he’ll make copies and put one on his desk and keep it on him all the time

Will put ur artwork in the class room.

Dabi

Since his quirk destroys everything and you love to create stuff, he’ll love ur ability to draw

Please design tattoos for him.

Wont watch you draw cause he’s impatient but he’ll stare and admire your paintings and drawings when ur done with them

Kinda scared he’ll burn em on accident so he doesn’t really touch them

[vivaamor]

crystal clear

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence (bullying), jason carver *pukes*, friends to lovers

relationships: eddie munson/ female reader

summary: you finally realize what's right in front of you

"so, what'd you guys do last night?" you asked, drinking from one of the caprisun's from mike's fridge, flattening out the skirt of your cheer uniform as you take a seat on the old couch in the wheeler's basement.

eddie sits cross legged next to you, his feet tucked in. "well, lucas, mike, will, and i played some dungeons and dragons. i don't know whatever hopscotch shit dustin was doing, but it certainly wasn't dungeons and dragons."

"hey, screw you, man! the game you set up last night was fuckin' hard!" he whines back, pouting at eddie, then at the other boys as they chime in about how badly dustin played. you giggle to yourself and eddie sends a wink your way.

you'd known eddie since sophomore year, only having known the other boys for a little over a year now since eddie met them when they joined hellfire. eddie hadn't changed since sophomore year. he was still the same sarcastic, nerdy, clumsy underclassmen you remembered him as when you met him. you were partners in a lab in biology and everything was history. the two of you were quite nerdy, not having many friends. but even since nancy convinced you to try out for cheerleading with her junior year last year, that all changed. you began receiving invites to senior parties, everyone knew your name and even hawkins high's most popular jock, jason carver was your boyfriend as of six months ago.

eddie never understood your relationship with jason but in your eyes, he could be a really good boyfriend. sure, he could be jealous and a little judgmental of your friendship with eddie, but he was good to you. the boys just never got to see that side of him.

"you playing with us tonight, y/n?" eddie asked, smirking at the chaos he caused, the boys still bickering like old women. it had been so long since you had the chance to sit and play a game.

you scratch your neck, knowing full well that you have plans with your boyfriend. there was a party at steve's house, another important piece to your friend group puzzle. he'd invited almost the whole grade, but eddie wasn't one for parties. if you remember correctly, you believe his exact words were, "why the hell would i get drunk with a bunch of jocks i can't stand when i can sit in the wheeler basement and play a board game with my favorite freaks?"

you shake your head, "i told jason i'd go to steve's for the party he's throwing."

"oh, okay." eddie nods, trying to be understanding but the slight pout on his lips says otherwise.

"what?" you tilt your head, elbowing him. "no, come on. what's up?" you look around the room, everyone going quiet. "dustin?"

he sighs, taking his hat off his curly head of hair, turning to you. "it's nothing, y/n, it's just..." he chews on his bottom lip, folding his arms across his chest. "you know we like jason. he's a cool guy."

"but?"

dustin's eyes flicker to eddie's, then back to yours. "we never see you anymore. like once a week for maybe an hour, you're always with jason. we just miss you is all."

"but-" eddie buts in, scooting closer to you. "we get that you have a boyfriend and you need to spend time with him. go have fun, maybe next time." he offers, running a hand through his frizzy hair.

you sit there for a moment, feeling awfully guilty. after all, eddie was your best friend and you should make hi and the boys more of a priority. "no." eddie quirks an eyebrow at you. "no, i'm gonna stay. after all, it's not like we'll always have time to play with eddie and i graduating." you smile, leaning your head on eddie's shoulder. "plus, i miss you guys, too. i just need to call jason."

"phone's in the kitchen." mike tells you, gesturing to the stairs leading to the kitchen. you nods, walking upstairs and dialing jason's phone number.

downstairs, dustin is staring down eddie. "what, henderson?"

"you keep staring at her," dustin notes matter-of-factly, the other boys chuckling at him. "you still got the hots for her, don't you?"

eddie shrugs, looking down at the rings on his fingers. "she has a boyfriend, man."

"a boyfriend she ditched to hang out with you." eddie raises his eyebrows at the freshmen with another shrug of the shoulders. "she loves us, but she wouldn't have canceled plans with hi if you weren't here. they're always fighting."

"boyfriends and girlfriends fight, dusty bun." he smirks, making any excuse to avoid the obvious. eddie held a crush for you since you became friends those two years ago. in his eyes, you were utter perfection. you had this smile that he just couldn't ignore, and it was contagious as hell.

walking downstairs, you shoot the boys a thumbs up and they lamely cheer. "i can tell he's pissed but we can fight tomorrow. tonight..." you put your hand on dustin's shoulder. "dustin and i are gonna win this thing."

-

"well, i think you redeemed yourself tonight, henderson." eddie announces, helping will put away the pieces of the game. "see ya!" he calls after all the boys but mike, them heading to their respective homes. "you headed out, too?"

you shrug, "i guess so. you?"

"eh, wayne's having poker night at the trailer. mind if i crash with you tonight?" you nod, motioning him to follow you upstairs, bidding a farewell to mike. "you drive here?" you stare at him as almost to say, which what car? "it's like two miles, i would've picked you up." you shrug in response. "come on." he opens the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to get in and you hop up into the van.

you remember when eddie first got his license, not that he didn't drive before he had it, because he did. when he had turned sixteen sophomore year, his uncle gave him the van for his birthday, it was all he could afford. but eddie loved it. you'd sneak out of your house at midnight, eddie parked down the street to pick you up. he'd drive the two of you down to the gas station and you'd get slurped's, cherry for eddie and blue raspberry for yourself. you'd spend hours, talking and listening to music until he'd drop you back off at your house around three in the morning. and then you'd see him five hours later at school.

the van smells how it always smelled-- herbal and of cheap, mint air fresheners to cover some of the smells of his activities he partook in the van. there was the same smiley face sticker you stuck on the dashboard junior year on one of the mornings he'd picked you up for school. you ride in silence on the way to your house, but you didn't mind. there was something about the quiet in the air when you with eddie. it was comfortable silence. you didn't need to fill the air with your voices or dumb conversation, you were fine just being around him. his presence was enough. you supposed that meant you had a strong friendship.

it was different with jason. the silence terrified you around him. you always listened him talk about him and the basketball team or what party you just had to go to. you were always quiet, you'd never been known for being chatty. but if jason was quiet, you knew something was terribly wrong and in most cases, it was because of something you'd done.

"here we are." he pulls the keys out of the ignition, parking his car in the driveway of your house since your dad was always traveling for work, he assumed he was out of town. he runs over to your side of the vehicle, swinging the door open for you. "m'lady," he jokes, helping you out. you unlock the front door, leading eddie inside. he smirked, he doesn't think he'd ever seen your house messy, it was always so put-together, so neat, just like you were. "the spot?" he asks, holding up a carton of cigarettes. you nod eagerly, taking his hand and walking upstairs to your dad's office, the window already open.

eddie climbs through the opening, sitting on the edge of the roof when he holds out his hand to help you do the same. you sit next to him, taking a cigarette from the carton he held. "here," he brings the lighter to the end of the cigarette situated in front of your lips and shelters it with his hand, carefully lighting the end. "you're extra quiet tonight."

you take a long drag, exhaling the smoke from your lungs, cigarette between your two fingers. "you ever think... what the hell am i doing?" you ask, your gaze not shifting from looking in front of you, peering over the town of hawkins.

"all the time." he jokes, looking over at you. it was dark out, the only illumination being a few street lights, but he was still able to make out the features of your face. "what do you mean?"

you sigh, passing the cigarette to eddie. "i mean... jason's leaving for college in two months and i guess i don't even know what i want to do. i don't even want to go to college."

he smiled softly, understanding. "you don't have to. the great thing about being an adult is that you have time to figure yourself out."

"what if... what if i never do?" it felt comforting, being able to have these talks with eddie. he was always so laid back, so calm and didn't have a concern in the world about his future.

"well..." he slides his arm over your shoulders, pulling you in until you rest your head on his shoulder. "then that means you can join me for dungeons and dragons every monday after bingo at the local nursing home."

"no, eddie, i'm serious. everyone is going off to college, jason, too. and i'm supposed to do that as well, and i don't even know why i'm dating him." you chuckle, rubbing your fingers in small circles at your temples. "i don't care about popularity, i don't care about how people see me. and i know what you guys think about him. i guess i'm just... reminiscing how things were when he first asked me out, you know?"

"no, not really."

you fold you legs in, turning until you're fully facing him. "like, i don't know, it was like... like my heart beat out of my chest every time i saw him." eddie nods, knowing the feeling. "the first time he kissed me, i literally thought my heart was going to stop. but i haven't had that again since those firsts. i haven't felt like... special like that. and i am dying, i mean, looking for that again."

"i know what you mean."

you chuckle, "you do?"

he nods his head again, "yeah, of course. like, when i grab a girl, like this." he puts the cigarette down on the roof and places both his hands on either side of your face, rubbing his thumb over your jaw. "it's not just the girl maybe feeling special, it's me, too." his brown embers stare into your eyes, and your stomach turns. "and i lean in," he follows his words, his nose softly ghosting over yours. "and i just want to kiss her so bad...." he pulls away from you, dropping his hands from your cheeks. "i feel like the luckiest bastard in the world."

-

eddie drove you to school the next morning, tucking a plastic baggie of marijuana in your bag, telling you that you'd smoke it after school in the van to help you unwind. you part ways once at your locker, him telling you he'd see you at lunch before running off to go meet dustin. you shut your locker, jumping when jason is standing behind it. "hi, babe." he grins, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

"good morning!" you greet, taking his hand in yours. "i really have to get to class early, i need to talk to stevens about the exam, but i'll catch up with you at lunch?" he gives you a nod of approval and you kiss his cheek, walking toward room 324, the science lab.

the day had gone relatively slow. you were exhausted, having stayed up late with eddie talking and listening to music he had on his walkman. you didn't know he always survived on four hours of sleep when you were miserable. it felt like ten hours before the bell ending fourth period finally came, lunch time in session. you walk out of english, jason and a few of his friends, along with steve standing outside the room, waiting for you. "there you are." he smiles, hands tucked into his letterman jacket.

"y/n, hey!" eddie calls as he walks out of the class next to yours. "you get any medicine? i have a killer headache."

you nod, shrugging off your bag, looking inside. "oh, it's in my locker i'll be right back." you hand your bag to jason, "hold this for me? i'll be right back and then we can go eat." jason nods with a smile, waving you off. looking down at your open bag, he squints his eyes when they land upon something in particular.

he moves his eyes to eddie. "she's a good friend, isn't she?" jason asks, almost suspiciously.

"oh, yeah, great." eddie agrees awkwardly, folding his arms over his chest.

he grabs at the baggie, "even better girlfriend."

"i bet."

jason takes a step toward eddie, "bet you wonder what that's like? kissing her, holding her, fucking her."

"not really my place, man." eddie shoots him a look, taking a step back from him. "what's your deal?" jason pulls out the baggie and eddie winces, "oh, fuck."

"what, you tryin' to drug my girlfriend?" his eyes pierce into eddie's, full of rage. "so what, she'll fuck you, munson?" he shoves at eddie chest harshly, eddie's back running into the wall.

"what? hell no, what the fuck are you-" suddenly, jason pulls him by his jacket and shoves him to the ground, his fist flying at his face as jason's friends surround him, kicking eddie while he's down.

"i'm getting real sick of you trying to do something to my fucking girlfriend, munson!" jason yells down at eddie, who's groaning on the floor.

you run back down the hallway, "hey, eds, i-" your eyes land on the scene in front of you. "what are you doing? stop." you yell, but no one eve hears you. you pull on jason's jacket, "stop!" you screamed at the top of your lungs, deciding you needed to do something more. you crawl on top of eddie, taking a few blows from your boyfriend's friends.

"guys, stop. that's y/n!" jason hollers and the kicking and punching all comes to a stop, your arms guarding your head from taking too much damage. "y/n, baby-" you stand up, and all you could see then was pure red. you bend down, checking on eddie and his face.

"hey," you run your hand over his cheek and he winces. "head to my house," you hand him a key to the front door. "i'll be there soon, alright?" you help him to his feet, looking back at jason. you wait until eddie is out of ear shot for you to tear into him. he watches you with steady eyes as you slowly creep toward him, your hand swinging back and landing across his face. "are you fucking kidding me?"

"baby-"

you put your hand up, telling him he better shut up. "is your dick that small that you have to berate people to make yourself feel superior?" you yell, rolling her hands into fists. you glance at the now empty english room, walking inside. "come on, now." you motion for him to follow you, but he's stood still. "now!" you yell loudly and he follows you inside the classroom.

-

eddie is sitting on your bed, glancing at the clock on your bedroom wall, which reads one o' four. he'd left the school almost an hour ago and hadn't heard from you since. he sighed, his eyes glued to the floor, fidgeting with the several rings that adorned his fingers. "guess she's not coming back," he mumbled to himself, running a shaky, pale hand through his ruffle of brown curls. he's getting up from your bed and trying to find the keys to his van when he hears the front door open and close.

"eddie?" you shuffle through the living and kitchen until you reach your bedroom, which eddie is stood in the middle of. your eyes run over his features- the bruise imprinted on his left cheekbone, the cut on his lip, his sad eyes scanning over you. "fuck." you pout, walking over to him and telling him to sit. "sit, i'm gonna clean that cut, so it doesn't get infected." he sits on your bed, waiting for you as you return with alcohol and some cotton pads. you sit on your knees beside him on the bed, his lip still bleeding just a little. you wipe at the blood with a dry cotton pad before dampening it with the alcohol and lightly tapping at the lip, biting yours in concentration.

he winces, the alcohol stinging. "do you love him?" he blurts out unknowingly, causing your eyes to widen. he didn't care how selfish he was being, he had to know. "all that talk last night about not knowing why you're with him, did you mean it? i mean, do you love him?"

"i don't know, eddie. can we not get into this right now?" you sighed, your hand on his jaw to keep his head steady as you helped him.

"i need to know, y/n. we all see how he treats you. he acts like... like you're a doll or something. like you're just there to be played with, and put away when he's done until he needs you again." his words stung you like the alcohol did to him. he grasps your arm with his hand, pulling you away from the cut on his lip.

he stared at you, needing an answer. "i..." your eyes wash over his features, and you feel warm. eddie was always your answer when you needed to feel safe or when you needed a laugh, or needed to feel secure about yourself. "i love you."

he parts his lips, unable to respond, your answer having taken him aback in surprise. "i mean, you're the one who's always been there. you make me laugh until my stomach hurts, you'll cry with me, and you don't judge me by my flaws. for example, taste in boys." he chuckles, looking down at where you rest your hand on his knee. "your main goal is always to make me smile until my face hurts. you don't pick out things about me that you don't like, you don't tell me i'm being sensitive when i'm sad-- you hold me instead and point out everything you like about me, just to make me smile even for a split second." he blushes, resting his hand over yours. "it's you who cares about me, and... i love you."

"but...? there's a but, isn't there?"

you shake your head, "there's not a but. maybe you were the only who i've been seeking out this whole time, the one guy i've ever known that has truly gone out of his way to make me feel special." he moves his free hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb along your jawline, just like he did the night before. except this time, he doesn't pull away or make some lame joke to ease the tension. he leans in further, capitulating your lips in his.

you smile softly against his lips, leaning in further until his hand that was on your knee is now on your lower back. and there it was- the butterflies you'd been dying to feel again. you had been looking in all the wrong places, the answer had been in front of you the whole time, it has been crystal clear, and the answer-- eddie munson.

he gently guides you onto your back as he lays on his side, your cheek laying against your pillow, his hand on your cheek collecting the hairs that fanned over your face and tucking them behind your ear. his tongue pushes past your lips, scanning the roof of your mouth, causing you to let out a quiet whimper. your rub your fingers over his bicep and then travel into his hair, closing your eyes when he pulls away, his hand continuing to rest on your cheek. "let me take you out tonight," he smiles genuinely, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

"it's a date."