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pinkrelish · 1 year

Text

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

rockstar!eddie x assistant!fem!reader

✶Tossed to the wolves of touring lifestyle, you'd had enough of Corroded Coffin's backstage antics one night after a show, and try to escape to the bus for fresh air. Eddie follows.✶

NSFW — 18+ drug/alcohol mention/use, eddie spits whiskey in reader's mouth, sexual themes, crude jokes, enemies to lovers vibes, secret soulmates au

[wc: 8.8k]

↳ standalone gift oneshot for the i will wait series written by @abibliophobiaa, @blueywrites, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, @fracturedarkness

The methodical chaos—the mechanical creep of soundscape under the drums punching through your body, building to something bigger—ended forty-nine minutes and twelve seconds ago, and like the suspended chords he loved so dearly, you were left with a sense of foreboding.

Stage lights dimmed off. You were on the clock. Showtime.

Babysitter. Handler. Assistant who knew better than to offer him water.

Nerves holstered your shoulders. Unease twisted your stomach. Your ears rang, your teeth ached. Your jaw clenched in throbs off tempo from your heartbeat running wild on the adrenaline feeding the racing pulse hammering in your chest.

The concert was over, but the noise never stopped.

Inside the venue’s backstage room, abrasive bursts of laughter collapsed in excited chatter after an individual cocked back an object, and threw it.

The true night began.

A mostly empty beer bottle smacked its intended target in an echoey clang, and fell in a spray of foam. Fine. You could handle that. Then someone grabbed a plastic chair with metal legs, hoisted it over their shoulder, and chucked it, stumbling after the trajectory in the sloppy way drug-encouraged drunkenness would imply. A cacophony of too-loud cheering was caught on tape by a sound engineer’s personal Sony camcorder, flattening himself against the wall to capture the reaction to the CRT TV dropping from its shelf in the corner, stage live feed long since dead. On its fateful descent, it clipped the edge of an EXIT sign, which now dangled by its chord like a pinata, becoming the next target.

The beige brick room dampened outside interference and amplified the rest, living between yours ears alongside the snappy demands, rude remarks, and crude jokes. Spoken down to, disregarded like caked dirt between boot treads. Anxieties buzzing, looming a presence at the back of your mind, always. On edge.

Shouts, thuds, broken glass. People had the sense to duck, and cower. A side table was lifted, and heaved in a barbaric yell. Beer bottle after beer bottle after beer bottle. Chair legs ripped off, slick from the boozy bubbles coating the floor, and hurled at the red blinking sign. A lamp from another room. An ugly trash can. A hairdryer. The telephone you used to make a phone call thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds ago; ripped from the wall with its receiver, and added to the clutter of projectiles. A bucket of melted ice, nailed head-on, splashing two dots of cold water on your cheek.

Expendable bottles were gone, but the riot didn’t stop. Another case was ripped into. Hard liquor traded hands. White powder stung noses, earning bloodshot eyes. Rewards. Rowdy shoving. Boys will be boys behavior.

An unopened Pabst whizzed past your head, slammed like a bullet into the mirror on the opposite wall, launching itself in a jet of built-up pressure across the room, ending its route at the toe of your heeled shoes seemingly just to ruin your wool-blend Express pencil skirt with hoppy liquid.

Eddie kicked the can away.

He circled his thumb and forefinger up the sides of his nose, and sniffed hard. “Want some?” he asked as he leaned on the wall with you, posture lax and open in all the ways your crossed arms weren’t. You cut your glare to the clear bottle he offered you. His grip obscured most of it, but you could see a worrying amount of whiskey had already been drunk when it crested the sides between his middle and ring finger.

Remembering to answer, you shook your head. The amber liquid sloshed with his tut, “Suit yourself,” and two deep gulps bobbed his throat.

You weren’t opposed to drinking when around him, but you learned your inebriated lesson four stops ago when the bill from the hotel totaled a stomach dropping amount, and as much as alcohol made it easier to tolerate Eddie in particular, your sluggish tongue slurring over an authoritative reminder of the early start to the morning to make it to the next city on time only fueled his defiant attitude. Pink puckered skin marked the stitches he snipped out of his upper arm with a pair of nail scissors after he and Gareth decided to smash the Hilton’s wine glasses for fun, and was surprised when a sliver of glass bit him back. Under his stringy bangs was an angry red scab from yesterday’s mic throttle to his forehead at the end of a verse, screaming his voice to the point of cracking with emotion. Other self-destructive tendencies coated his knuckles in dried blood.

It was a lot to deal with.

Today’s toll was one ruined guitar, a broken bass after the fretboard was stabbed into an amp, a bent hi-hat stand, and a completely deboned keyboard; keys removed thoroughly by the sole of someone’s boot scraping them clean off in the midst of performance. Blowing off steam, Eddie called it. Boys will be boys, one of the returning tour managers shrugged at you.

So far, it was one of the lighter days of tour—

You flinched.

A loud pop flickered through the room. One of two fluorescent lights shattered, and the tube swung down from the ceiling, becoming the next victim to a corner store ham sandwich being thrown at it.

Staying as small as possible, the emotional support water bottle in your hand crinkled as you hiked your fists further up your biceps, eyeing the camera man in the corner. Your employer tilted his head at the sight too, admiring, perhaps, the scene of two guys puffing on cigars. They stood behind two young women dressed in short jean skirts and hot pink tops, leering over their shoulders as the camcorder zoomed in on the obvious body parts a crowd of men would be interested in. The cigars bounced in their mouths as they spoke an unheard instruction in the chaos surrounding you, and the halter tops came off, breasts dropping to the tune of their girlish giggles. The men cupped their palms around the assets, and bounced them as if they were weighing fruit. From their gross laughs, it appeared they were rating the groupies, and the ladies were just happy to be on camera, pouting their lips and arching their backs.

You drew a line from their tits to Eddie’s gaze, hating the sick kick of anticipation knotting your stomach, aware you shouldn’t care for an entire phonebook’s list of reasons if he was watching them with interest. But with clarity, you realized he wasn’t paying them attention at all. His lazy smile was aimed over the rim of his bottle, full lips moving in a goad to the mass of crew members clogging the doorway.

More property ready to be damaged entered over their heads. A couch. An entire fucking couch was carried, stood on its end, and lobbed at the sign, breaking loose a length of red and yellow wires. But it still held strong. Tenacious thing.

Two grown men wrestled beside you. Their sleeveless shirts tangled, riding up to show purpled bruises on their backs—one from a mic stand thrown at him, the other from who fucking knows what. At least Gareth’s was in the shape of a crescent moon.

You shifted closer to Eddie to get away from their kicking feet, and relaxed the frustration from your brows before he commented on it. He, likewise, was bumped into by his friends, but his stature didn’t waver. That’s just how it was. Your bodies were near enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his hot skin, but the moment his sticky elbow made contact with your nice blouse—forever marking it with oily sweat—he earned an apology from Jeff who fell into him, meanwhile you were increasingly worried about receiving a tennis shoe to the ankle.

Exhaling an overdue sigh, you glanced sideways at Eddie to gauge if this was an appropriate time to remind him he should shower and get ready to greet the fans waiting outside the venue, but your breath crumbled to a groan. An eager grin cracked his face, almost manic if it weren’t for his heavy-lidded brown eyes. An idea.

He stepped forward. Everything that wasn’t his tight lips on the bottle of whiskey was ignored; downing what he could in a long swallow, and shaking off his pinched features as it burned past his gritted teeth. He raised the rest over his head, and aimed. Perfectly. The sign smacked the wall from the force behind his pitch, spinning wildly on its cord, slinging the front EXIT display clean off, and dropping lower from the ceiling, ready to sever ties. Shouts for its demise pounded your headache. Many palms clapped the back of Corroded Coffin’s frontman. He held out his hand to his audience, and a fresh bottle of whiskey was produced into his grasp.

Intuitively, employees shuffled to avoid his uncoordinated steps backwards, but you didn’t have the luxury of options, thus he misjudged the distance to the wall and ran into it, and you.

Your poor toes were the first to scream out, stuck under his heavy heel. His elbow jutted into your stomach, digging the sharp corner of your laminated backstage pass into your sternum. Even better, his shoulder mashed your nose, and you didn’t twist your head in time to keep your mouth from coming in contact with his bare tricep, getting a lick of stale salt on your inner lip, and a whiff of boy scent assaulting your nose after his deodorant stopped working hours ago. Too much of his weight depended on you to keep him upright, so you grunted out, “Fucking—Eddie,” and pushed him when others wouldn’t. Laying your hands on him in annoyance when no one else dared. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning, anyway.

Eddie followed his stumble through, and spun around. “Whoops!” he said to you in a smile—a viciously sincere thing, betraying his status over you with a genuine shine to his heavy eyes. So innocent behind his sleepy blink, long lashes fluttering, fine lines creasing at the droopy corners from the happy grin teasing his dimple into coming out, freckled nose bathed in hues of pinky red darker than the places he chewed on his bottom lip. He appeared so earnest, so charming despite his current condition, that when his dilated pupils swallowed the rim of bitter coffee brown, you lapsed in staying alert, becoming enamored by his ability to steal the noise from the room when his gaze swept your expression in a slow study. Tender, almost. If he were anyone else.

That’s why it hurt more when the comradery in his features were a trick of the light, and you were reminded of your position as his paid bitch killjoy.

The uncorked bottle of whiskey made itself known under your nose. “Want some?” he asked with kindness he did not possess, easing into a higher register to lift the question to you. Knowing. Mocking.

You swatted his hand away, and answered flatly, “No.”

It was coming. You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his face slide into dull neutrality, dry mouth and wicked tip of his tongue swiping over the back of his teeth. The displeasure was felt. Living, breathing. Fracturing your resolve like the second lamp thrown against the wall.

“Y’sure? You look like you could use a drink to loosen that stick up your ass, and have a little fun.”

Maybe it was the fact Eddie’s day started with him bitching at you for waking him up, when yours started hours earlier, rebooking his hotel rooms after being banned from the chain after last week’s incident. Maybe it was his snide tone when he demanded coffee, and you glanced at the lobby’s carafe on instinct, only to be immediately humiliated in front of the interviewer who was sitting opposite him, festering an indignant response under your skin all day. You weren’t even intending it to be for him, you weren’t stupid enough to serve him such pedestrian coffee, you were thinking about getting it for yourself. Stupid fuckhead. Maybe it was the hours you spent oscillating between enjoying the travel to new places you’d never been, and wondering if the price of him getting this riled up whenever he pleases was worth it. Maybe it was the nauseous haze flogging the room from the cigars. Maybe it was the channeled aggression from the three guys who flipped over the fold out tables for no reason, sending plastic cups of backwash tequila across the floor. Maybe it was the collateral damage the venue was going to seek. Maybe it was the three days of disaster challenging your professionalism. Or maybe it was Eddie’s next comment which pushed you over the edge.

“If alcohol doesn’t do it for you, there’s prob’ly some guy who hasn’t left the parking lot yet, maybe he can loosen you up.” And to further imbue disrespect behind his comment, he leaned in and feathered the low dip of his raspy voice over the shell of your ear, speaking so quietly the syllables had trouble catching, “But if you fuck ‘im on the bus, I wanna watch.”

The sign snapped and crashed onto the heap of damp valuables, inciting a louder celebration from those participating.

You dropped your water bottle where you stood, and skimmed past Eddie on your way out. A firm departure with seething eyes aimed straight ahead. Chin strong, moving past him with a message. “Go to hell.”

And your backbone faltered when the mass of roadies blocked your exit. Security guards with big bodies jumped, rejoicing. Lanky lighting techs downed their beers and threw them over the small crowd with no aim. Your shoulders collapsed, tucking your arms to yourself. Avoiding elbows, meaty arms with enough muscle to floor you, testosterone laced boys will be boys behavior with a heavy dose of uppers. A wall of men who ignored your plea spoken so loud in your voice which did not carry.

But they obeyed the tattooed arm beside you. Minded the obnoxious rings when rapping on a man’s arm. Heard the hoarse voice commanding them all into a single file line for you to squeeze by, “Give her some room,” and their big bodies were already hugging the other side of the hallway with a laughed apology—to him, not you.

You shuffled out as dignified as possible, knees stiff and weight focused on the balls of your feet to avoid slipping on the tile. It was embarrassing enough as is being trailed with a bottle at your back—a far cry from a heroic palm guiding you forward—and his need to overtake you in a single stride. Eddie shot his other hand out and pointed down an unoccupied corridor, in essence blocking you from leaving. Not that you had much fight left in you to argue after being awake for twenty-one hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-two seconds. You followed the lead he set for you.

Scarce lighting shone down on the two double doors leading outside, leaving the alcove he chose cast in a darkness your eyes had to adjust to. Musty warm air from the arena swept your face. A cleaning crew attacked the stands, creaking along the seating tiers. Sweeping, chucking empty cups. The pressure on the small of your back drove you to an open area near the instact and working EXIT sign allowing you to discern the back of the stadium, and his face.

Eddie’s features were glazed in a gentle omen of red.

There were thousands of scenarios churning in your mind at the situation of being stuck alone in a dark corner with a drunken man, but his slight smirk put you at ease, ironically.

The source of the painful knots between your shoulders spoke, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He then had the gall to crowd you to the dusty drywall, and rest his arm atop your head, caging you there. Treating you as a nuisance. An insect. A little bee. A bug caught in his sticky trap. Gazing down at you with reptilian cold pupils behind his happily hooded eyes, substances battling in his body. Dangerous to no one but himself.

You squinted. “No?” The questioning lilt wasn’t intentional, but you had no idea what he was getting at.

He cocked his hip out with a dramatic sigh, and dropped his head forward to stare at you through his lashes, mouth hung loose. Waiting, waiting, waiting; acting as if he were the pinnacle of patience when you refused to play into his game, making you the bad guy. But worry not, he upheld the onus to inform you, his assistant, in a tone wallowing from the dregs of flat boredom with an edge of irritation and touch of patronization for having to spell it out for you, “I’m hungry.”

A polite, professional sneer lifted your upper lip. “Okay? Food should be here soon. I called it in a half hour ago.” About when the band came off stage, and Harry gave his honest opinion on their sloppy performance, while Eddie gave notes to the sound tech about Jeff’s mic not picking him up during Down In It. “Should be here in a few minutes.”

“What’d you order?”

Apprehension tensed through your back, perceived by his forearm mussing up your hair as the instinctual emotion stood you taller, defiant; knowing why his glinty grin taunted a show of teeth.

Pizza on Fridays. Texmex on Saturdays. Chinese on Sundays. That’s how it was every weekend. The consistency ensured you didn’t mishear him earlier when he requested his usual lo mein. “You asked for Chinese food,” you stated evenly, strongly. One step ahead of him.

“Mm.” Eddie scrunched his nose as he pretended to think it over. “Not feeling it today. I want pizza,” he said, the last word suffocated inside the bottle lifted to his lips, taking a long draw as your exhausted brain snapped to condescending him.

“So eat a cheese wonton and use your imagination.”

Utter elation gleamed in the steady eye pinning you in the crimson gloom, head tipped back to drink and drink and drink, cheeks sunken from sucking in liquor, pursing his lips around the glass rim from the smile he tried to suppress after succeeding in getting a rise out of you.

Your blood could only simmer for so long. Rolls of pent up anger, of festering disdain at his ability to find any opportunity to get under your skin, of fatigue from being ‘on’ for nearly twenty-four hours, stone in your gut from the constant passing glances when you were seen with Eddie; it all met its limit. You just wanted to leave. Your path to the hallway was blocked by the smooth contour of his bicep. Ducking under would mean an introduction to his armpit, and you weren’t thrilled by the idea of flattening yourself to the wall to slip by the untamed forest of black wiry hair. It would also be an admission of defeat, even further affirming your role as his spineless assistant to boss around. You could choose the other way and go around him, avoiding him all together, but there was no pride in that, either.

“Can you move your arm?” you asked, giving him the option despite better judgment when sudden pin pricks of uh-oh spiked your senses when he lowered the bottle.

A glistening line of whiskey traced his puckish smirk. Never menacing, but never a good sign. For a long moment the ghosts of the arena haunted the space in distant noises. Caresses of other humans around. Feedback other than the clutch on your heartbeat, and his troubled exhale into a strong inhale through his nose. Big breath filling his chest. Held. You took note of Eddie’s dimpled chin and the beads of water building at his lash line, and finally, he moved.

A sticky circle stamped the soft underside of your jaw, sliding his spit along your skin as he used the rim of the glass bottle of whiskey to lift your chin up, up. Stretching your neck, tipping your head back to the relaxed length of muscle along his forearm. Barely time to register the cherry-red halo striking the ends of his frizzy curls, or the ramping excitement overriding his already ruined impulse control.

Shy, you severed the intense eye contact when his face drew near.

Blank black soundless vortex rushing in your ears.

Drip, drip, drop.

Tiny splashes, one after the other, thumped on the locket of your lips. Mouth softly shut from the pressure under your chin. Tapping, tapping. Beat, by beat. Two, three, four, before your confusion determined what the sensation was, and the astringent scent cut its way to your sensitive nose.

You froze. Body clenching tight, fists sweating, nervous saliva pooling under your tongue too difficult to swallow. Jaw clamped shut and rejecting the liquid pooling at your lips, flooding it to the corners of your mouth, tickling the peach fuzz at the edges in tall walls of surface tension until, at last, they swelled, broke, and crashed. Thin streams flowed down either side of your neck, absorbed by your white blouse’s collar and trickling to the top of your bra cups, skirting to your cleavage. Brain overloaded. Clocked out. Warring with disgust, shock, and disappointment at the pathetic way you curled your fingers in some frustrated gesture at his actions, but ultimately, wrenched his tank top into your grip, and submitted.

You parted your lips, and Eddie poured.

Liquor, warmed from his mouth, filled yours. Burning, burning; drowning under the surge of spirits setting a blazing trail to your stomach, piquing a noise from you which would only draw the attention from those curious as to who the couple was fucking in the dark corner of the arena. You blocked the deluge from choking you with your fat tongue; rising onto your tiptoes while bending at your weak knees in the same involuntary whine as you tensed and squirmed—conflicted. Twisted your hands into the top of his shirt where the ribbed knit stuck to his chest, fabric damp with sweat and cool to the touch. You lurched him forward without thinking, locked in a panic. He complied. Easily.

Body to body, lazy weight on composed. Rubber soled boots dragging along the outside of your simple heels in a stuttered slide. Nudging the introduction of his bare legs against your skin; his hairy shins and the scraggly strings from the ripped hem of his shorts brushing the sides of your knees. Feeling his heavy arm flex as the front of his hips met you in the same stunted bursts as his steps, going from the man who frowned when you approached him, to the one who pressed himself between your thighs, causing the bulk behind his zipper to rock against you as he found his footing and stood tall, keeping his mouth aimed above yours, forgiving what spilt over your cheek in his stupor.

Dried salt and earthen dirt, embroidered texture of the fabric scraps he sewed onto his tank top rubbed your knuckles. The smooth pads of your thumbs landed above the neck hole as you centered yourself, tracing the duality of chilly perspiration on the heated skin of his sleek pecs, feeling the layer of muscle shifting underneath. Notes of oakwood barrels stroked your tongue before the sour punch of rye stung water to your shut eyes. You peeked through the wetness. Just to see.

His powerful lungs exhaled at a trained rate he could sustain in time with the runnel leaving his gently puckered lips paused above your own. Bangs stuck to his forehead. Sleepy faraway gaze. Calm, serene against the circumstances which had you questioning why you weren’t spitting the liquor back in his face. The scrunch of concentration between his brows was your last blurry sight before you were desperate for darkness again, letting your eyelids fall closed, lashes marrying.

Toofulltoofulltoofull.

The difference in your mouth size was apparent. Whiskey primed the inside of your cheeks, filling their fleshy stretch, stressing the brim of what you could hold. He’d only begun to dribble what had run hot and thick over his tongue when you untwisted your achy fingers from his shirt and served three warning taps in the vicinity of his heart. Feathery prods, like silk over the sparse hair growing in the valley between his pecs.

But, due to unforeseen circumstances, he forgot to stop.

Either you wormed yourself into stretching taller against the wall, or he leaned down. Perhaps both were true. Maybe you went rigid from the impending threat of irreversible stains on your new Liz Claiborne blouse, and maybe he shifted when the nuances of your hips slid against his own, dragging upward and reminding him of the cradle he had you in.

Richly flushed from booze, the tip of his nose thawed your thoughts as it grazed past your own, mashing a hint of tenderness you rarely witnessed from him to your cheek. By accident, of course, like the wet mid of his hair skimming the edge of your jaw where the bottle remained notched to your chin; amber glass a stark contrast from the plush give of his bottom lip flirting across yours.

Dry chapped against chapsticked satin.

The unintentional touch happened so fast, too quick to explore.

Mmm! Another antsy noise from you which rang sweet when amplified by the empty pit of coiled wires in the stadium. Mouth overfull. Stomach gripped, lungs clenching for unhindered breath. Realty checking in.

You put strength behind your forearms on his chest, shoving him and whirling your face away, keeling over what room he gave you to struggle through the largest gulp of your life, losing some of the liquor in the process, as evident by the splash on the concrete floor. Beyond brave, you drank it down, coughing, sputtering, and shuddering through the aftertaste for what felt like minutes. Huffing. Heaving. Working through the flood of drool coating your tongue, momentarily resting your dewy forehead on the thick vein drawn down his bicep by the red light, trying not to puke. Your shoulder pressed to his sternum. His heart beat, loud.

You used your sleeve to attack the wet streaks on your chin and cheeks, mopping up your pinched expression as the nausea of chugging his disgusting rye whiskey churned what patience you had for him. “What the—?”

“Hey, try not to waste any,” he commented dryly.

Voice raising, “What the actual hell is wrong with you?” You picked your head up from the crook of his elbow to pin him with your vehement glare. But the flash of temper at his drunken antics faded to the messy background of emotions when you remained in his pinion. Slotted between him, the wall, and the bottle.

Eddie’s nose bumped the bridge of yours. He pulled back slightly, and lowered the bottle. Still, his voice was one half of a sigh seeking its counterpart over your lax jaw and weak scowl. “Lotta stuff,” he answered. Still, your hands remained bound in his shirt. You couldn’t let go. Why couldn’t you let go? You couldn’t let go as the center of your bottom lip tingled like the buzzing wings of a bumble bee. Why didn’t you spit out the whiskey in his face? It was gross, revolting. Why did you swallow it?

Licks of black pepper and clove stayed on your tongue. Inhales went stale with his tangy scent, acrid and musky after giving his all on stage. His sweat clung to your fingers, mixed with the sheen on your forehead. When he breathed, his belly fought for the space between you, pressing into your stomach. Existing in the proximity you’d never seen the other in before; enabling you to hear the intimate loll of his tongue moving the spit in his mouth before he spoke.

Appearing more sober than before, with a strange amount of alertness in his glassy gaze trained on the minute changes of your features, he said, “You’re going to have a miserable time on tour if you keep being this up tight.” He angled away to sip from the bottle held by its long neck in three of his thick fingers. Rolling his lips inward, his throat bobbed a fierce line in the EXIT sign glow. “I was trying to work that permanent twist out of your panties. Get you to loosen up, have some fun.”

Just like that, the frustration was back. His words, his tone, his lack of apology for being a royal pain in the ass.

“You make me miserable,” you told him. For good measure, you pinched the sensitive underbelly of his tricep in case your voice didn’t carry the anger from the last hour of putting up with his shit.

He mumbled, “Ow,” probably not feeling the pain with how much alcohol was in his system.

Restraining yourself from reacting bigger, you tightened your fists and tried not to shake him. “I can’t relax, because the second I do Corroded Coffin gets stacks of lawsuits rammed up it’s ass, and you and I both know I’m hired damage control,” for you, you didn’t finish, getting too hot in the face to want to stand in your sticky clothes any longer, squishy inner thighs humid from being pressed together by his legs, shoes numbing your ability to feel the floor. “Would it kill you to stick to a schedule? Get cleaned up, meet some fans? Do the normal thing?”

The weight of his body returned, dropping the tension from his shoulders to curve them towards you, forcing your palms flat to his ribs. Another cage.

Unfortunately, his answer was a slow smirk. The bad kind. Sultry, and saccharine; dark like his purposefully narrowed coy eyes. “Kinda like it when you’re angry,” back to mushing his words together. “Lemme guess, you’re not even wearing panties to be twisted. You’re just naturally this…” Bitchy. “Pleasant.”

You pinched his tricep until you knew it hurt, until the roots of your hair tugged at your scalp from his forearm slipping away, and you used the space created to wedge past the areas of him which tempted a flicker of want in your core after a noticeable drag against your hip. “Don’t follow me.”

“C’mon, are you really..?” A pause. “Wait—!”

A productive conversation was a fruitless, futile thing.

You silenced the voice in your head telling you there was genuine remorse in his innate reaction to call for you. As if he were done pretending to be drunker than he was just to push things too far. Like he really cared you were walking away, in essence giving him permission to continue his night how he wanted.

No heavy thudded steps chased after you. The double doors were up ahead. You leaned into opening them past the heavy gust of hot air pushing back, and you stepped out to excited faces falling flat in disappointment when it was just a lady in a blouse and skirt reeking of booze, not a member of their favorite band printed on their bleach-dyed Corroded Coffin t-shirts.

~~~

When the tour bus doors next hissed, it wasn’t a single body stomping vibrations through the overly large vehicle on their way to pore over the details for the next show, it was a steady flow of those who called the beast their home. Most slung themselves in the couches at the front, talking shop around the kitchen table. Some infiltrated the fridge for beer. Another used the bathroom which was too close for comfort, especially in the recycled air blowing through the vents.

A body approached, and you curled your toes in as he passed.

Eddie’s heavy black boots stopped in the aisle of bunks. The soles squeaked as he turned, creaking leather as he sank his weight to one side. Stalling, facing you before he sat heavily on his bed. As he did so, two sharp pops drew his attention. Checking behind him, the privacy curtain was stuck under his ass, and the plastic rings meant to hold it up were snapped into pieces. You avoided putting your gaze on his person as you watched him solve this mystery, and returned to the paragraph you were scrawling in your notebook, moving your pen across the lined page.

Two of the last three days were journaled down, catching up from the hectic weekend, and venting through your emotions by reliving them. Darker ink bloomed where you carved the tip of your pen through your explanation of your hurt feelings and the general flippancy you were subjected to by one person in particular. The roadies and other members of the band got less screen time than the star of the show in your tirades. He knew this, too, looking from across the aisle at your clumped lashes, spying the water spots on the pages when he was standing. He sat forward, much like you, but his thighs were spread with his hands in between them, palm open to whittle a nervous thumb in the cupped center, having the decency to appear ashamed.

Your clothes were folded beside you, undecided if you wanted to trash them or wear them in defiance.

“Do you want me to apologize?” he asked, not quite enunciating due to his uncomfortableness.

Unable to mask it, you blinked rapidly before opening your eyes wide, not withholding the contemptuous sigh released from deep within. You gripped your notebook harder, bending it, rumpling the pages to hide what you etched behind your tight hands. Who the fuck asks if they need to apologize?

Eddie’s washed curls fell forward with his hung head, nodding to himself.

He got up, and left.

Anger scored your face. Draped by your headache was your furrowed brows, flared nostrils, twisted pursed lips zipped up tight from saying anything you’d regret—a lesson he could do with. Your pajamas were the makings of nine heavenly clouds after being dressed in stiff business attire all day, but the blisters on your ankles stung. Your joints throbbed. Your muscles wore sore. Your spine cried every time you moved.

Tomorrow you’d start doing the stretches the stageside crew showed you that kept them limber. You made a note to fit this in your schedule, bypassing the silly daydream of stopping at a bookstore in the next city and reading up on a yoga guide for more pose ideas than what the guitar techs could teach you, aware the chance you’d find time away from your boss to pursue your own self-interests was slim.

Flipping a new page, you dated it in the corner, began your introduction, and started on the third day of spilling your heart out.

Your pen was mighty interrupted.

It’s difficult to say what came first: the mouth watering rush of saliva, or the passionate rumble of your empty stomach yearning for the white takeout box placed in your lap by the bruised hand sporting cuts from punching Gareth’s drum platform during the one of the more self-loathing songs.

A pang of humility gentled his nature.

The four-fold top was open, revealing your favorite noodle dish with extra green onion and sesame seeds sprinkled on top, plastic fork stabbed through the middle. You lifted the container to swipe the oil stains off your mid-sentence rant, shaking free the beads of condensation collecting on the sides. The cardboard had gone soggy after being nuked in the microwave, burning through to your fingertips, but you held your dinner nestled in your palms, regardless.

It didn’t come with extra green onions or sesame seeds, those would have to be found on the side and added, along with the sauce to keep it from drying out.

Eddie made it exactly how you liked.

Hunched in the minimal space between bunks, you stared at the long stem of a bean sprout sticking out from the swirls of noodles, processing his gesture. Beneath that, your journal was splayed open to a slew of harsh sentences. Lower, directly across from your bare toes was Eddie’s boots. Higher, one of the metal aglets of his laces was stuck behind the leather tongue. Fresh socks clung the bottom of his calves. You listened to him peel back the curtain before sinking to his bunk, and trailed your study over the silvery scars on his knees. Moving up, you spotted a fresh beer in his hand, maybe one or two swigs taken. His elbows rested on his thighs, body folded over, leaning in, mirroring you to some degree.

The harsh overhead lighting brought luster to the bright golds, rich reds, and deep strands of chestnut through his dark hair brushing the shadow of his clavicle over the black shirt clinging to him, hugging the slope of his stooped shoulders.

Finally, you met the depth behind his eyes communicating what he couldn’t.

The apology lasted just long enough for your consideration, and then he lifted the crinkly wrapper tucked between two of his fingers. “You want this?”

You shook your head at the fortune cookie. “You can have it.”

“Nice,” he whispered. The unassuming planes of his cheeks lifted enough to allude to the dimple on his left side, and bracket his mouth in smile lines. He was still drunk, you assumed. A merry blush persisted across his nose, and his eyelids were as sleepy as the bags beneath them. But there was a youthful glee under it all as he tore into the cellophane. A glimpse at someone from long ago; not the rockstar before the start of touring who would pull laughs from you, but further, before the conditions of fame chewed him up, spit him out.

You wondered if Chinese takeout was a rarity in his boyhood, a special treat saved for when he left his hometown on trips to the city.

Eddie flicked the wrapper to the floor—annoyingly—and ducked at an odd angle to lay his upper half into the cozy nook of extra pillows he made you buy on the first night of being on the road. He stowed his beer at the apex of his clenched thighs, fitting the cold bottle snug against the packed seam guiding your eyes to the hill of his zipper, provoking hot blooded thoughts. His shirt rode up as he brought his arms above him, fanning the thick trail of hair out from under the hem, impossibly soft in appearance, auburn tinted, growing less dense on the sides of his belly. He cracked the crisp wafer in half, and you watched his stomach tense on the snap.

Squinting in the dark, Eddie depressed the button on the tiny reading light with his knuckle, and unfurled the paper from half the cookie, scanning the faded red text.

He snorted.

Choosing a mystical-sounding rasp not far from his real one to invoke the guise of a palm reader in a smoky lounge reeking of incense sticks, he read the fortune aloud while waving his other hand about, “You will be successful in love,” he said. His wrist went limp, and he tucked his chin to congratulate you. “Lucky you.”

No amount of plastic forks shoved in your mouth would rid you of the smile tightening your eyes. “Lucky me,” you echoed, full of wryness. The food, amongst other things, worked wonders to lift your mood. You weren’t as much buzzed from the shots sloshing in your stomach as you were queasy, and greasy noodles filled the tumultuous void stupendously.

He stuffed the crunchy cookie in his mouth, and turned the fortune paper over, speaking through the gnash of crumbs, “Your lucky numbers are 35, 26, 56, 10, 32, 52,” he continued.

“Uh-huh.”

The noise across the rest of the bus was at a level you could endure. Shooting the shit at an appropriate volume, or nodding along to the conversation. The driver would give the signal soon, and the boys would, or should, go to their bunks.

While you ate, Eddie stayed laying with his legs off the bed, head crooked against the wall due to the narrow space. He held the fortune above him. Reading it, sometimes. Thumbing the edge other times, or rubbing the texture of the stiff paper across itself. Staring, staring, unblinking from whatever he was thinking as he wrung a hand around his face; eliciting a sense of comfort from the audible stroke of his knuckles scratching over his stubble.

You scraped the bottom of your container, and put aside your notebook to gather your trash, two feet planted to make your way to the kitchen. At the last second, a glint caught your eye, and you bent over to pick up the wrapper Eddie dropped, tossing it in the takeout box, too.

“While you’re down there, be a doll and take off my boots.”

“No.”

His disgruntled groan followed you to the front of the bus.

The guys gave you a mixed reaction of curious glances and uninvolved nods as you stuffed your garbage in the overpacked bin. Jeff in particular made a point to look from you to his best friend’s legs, though you didn’t have much of an answer to whatever he was searching for.

A goodnight wave would have to do, and you were back at your bunk, folding the sheets down in preparation for the dreamless state you wished to be in. You sat on the mattress, eyes closed and spine somewhat neutral. The structure of the bunks were unforgiving, but the small crawl space could feel cozy at times, like a blanket fort made from couch cushions. Except, the house moved throughout the night, and angry honks woke you up on occasion. Not to mention you were a light sleeper from the stress of a car crash, or being dumped onto the floor.

The fortune paper flitted. Regarding you over the imposed suggestion between his legs, he informed you, “It says here the best way to relieve some of that tension you’re always carrying around is by taking a ride on a nice, fat—”

You snatched the beer bottle from between his thighs, big fake hard-on standing tall. He startled from the sensation, darting his eyes from the phantom trace against himself, and hailing you with a sputtered laugh through his cheek-aching smile, denying you the reward of taking him off guard by covering his mouth with his hand.

“I earned this,” you said about the drink.

“Yeah?” he goaded, pleased at your forwardness.

In a valiant attempt to show off, you tipped the mildly hoppy bitter back. Two pulls in, you thought better of it. Not quite a chug, but he lost the war with his grin, pearly teeth shining behind the thumbnail he strummed over the center of his bottom lip, eyes almost closed entirely in a bout of crinkles.

You pulled your lips off the bottle; off his spit and off his drink, off his glass cock, and were emboldened by the confidence of his playful disposition to rib on him openly, like the guys would when his pendulum mood swung to the good side. You lamented in a dramatic sigh,”Maybe my love life will be so successful, I'll get swept off my feet, and be free from the burden of listening to your sloppy guitar plucking all night.”

His expression lurched towards impressed. Overacting with his mouth agape in surprise, lips curled over his teeth, and splaying his hand on his chest. With how he propped himself up on one elbow, his shirt stretched flush against his pecs, accentuating the two round shadows at the ends of the metal bars through his nipples.

Right, you remind yourself, able to forget their existence through most of his wardrobe choices, he has pierced nipples.

Your body ran hot at the memory from two short hours ago where you were inexplicably thrusted into a situation where you could’ve felt the jewelry by accident, pressed against a wall. Now you were able to think through the adrenaline, and acknowledge having another person’s touch on your skin did more harm than good for the loneliness lurking within, calling it to the surface.

The notebook beside your pillow drew your glance.

Eddie stabilized your position in the conversation, not letting your sudden reservation deter him from seeking retribution for your insult. “Think y’drank too much honey, there, Bee. That one stung below the belt.”

The moment it took for you to register the low leech of a tease sneaking its way through his croaky, whiskey-hoarse words was a long one. Longer was his heavy palm falling to demonstrate where exactly your insult hurt him, cupping and grabbing the afflicted area. “You wound me!” he dramatized, demonstrating the limits his fatigue green shorts flattered, cotton fabric scrunching under his grip, then slouching flat on the release. Longer, still, was the distance between the gaudy ring on his middle finger and the tip of his short nails, thick digit landing on the tattered seam splitting him down the middle. Letting go, he rested his hand above his belt.

Everything about him was victorious. Champion eyes glinting rum colored; a shade you’d never seen on him, and almost missed with your observance stuck lower, trapped by his overt flirtations.

His belly rose and fell with a sympathetic hum devised to rattle you.

When sober, the invitation to crude insinuations began and ended with intangibility. A calculated smile to fluster you when caught admiring how his tattoos twisted over the muscles in his upper arms when he leaned on his keyboard, a sentence spoken in the morning before his voice warmed to its comfortable register, a tossed comment in the midst of conversation with his band mates and the effect it had on you shifting uncomfortably just outside the ring of amity—quarantined behind the scope of his single-handed gesture pumping an obvious motion, pretending you were absorbed by the timetable schedule for the band inside your folder, appearing busy and decidedly not desperate to either be included or released from the task of being present, even when hot needles of sweat stressed the lack of consideration for your feelings with each sorry expression cast in your direction. You were his worker bee, paid to wait on him, and his teasing was rarely physical beyond an appropriate knock on your bicep for your attention in the off chance he didn’t snap his fingers at you like a dog. Or a tap on your knee under the kitchen table to get you to stand so he could leave; a light pressure which you could replicate days later with your own knuckles. His daily indifference was born of spite, and his drunken actions were bred of the same annoyance, bottle-deep perspective viewing you as the one who was ruining his night. Assuming he continued to push his tolerance with more drinks after you left the green room, his bold teasing made sense, you supposed, too unrestricted to deny himself the fun of riling you up.

The right thing to do would entail divorcing yourself from this conversation, and bringing up his conduct tomorrow. The wrong thing to do would involve taking another swig of his beer. The right thing to do would require reminding him of his meeting with Murray in the morning, who had a shorter fuse than anyone in the music industry. The wrong thing to do would include lobbing the bottle in his bed. The right thing to do would demand not giggling at Eddie’s poor reflexes when he made a bigger mess of the ale spilling on his blanket.

Eddie seized to catch it, but his hand-eye coordination was not up to par. He scrunched his eyes closed at the last second, jolting into a crunch with his chin tucked in an inordinate amount of wrinkles, and hands turned with his palms out, more keen on keeping the bottle from hitting his face than truly catching it. Which was a plausible excuse for his boot kicking your bunk in the process, and overall lack of poise as he brought his hands together after the beer had already bounced off his belly, and rolled where the bed dipped around him.

The wrong thing to do would consist of you running your knuckle along your shameless grin, prodding the flesh against your teeth as he dropped his head back and emptied the bottle onto his softly cradled pink tongue, thank you for sharing the drink, every last boozy drop.

Recognition curved the groove of his mouth.

Boys will be boys behavior.

“Here,” he said, rolling forward with his arm extended. The glass bottle in his hand drew your immediate wilt, but before you advanced too far into your frown, he alleviated your ire with the two fingers pointing at you, fluttering the damp paper between them. “You believe in this sorta shit, don’t you?” Despite the mock, you knew better than to refute his claim, not having the chops to sound convincing. Not that you really had faith in the mass produced slip of paper, but the affirmation that you’d find your soulmate one day produced a sense of ease before bed. Even when the word ‘successful’ was blurred from a drop of beer.

You placed the fortune in your notebook, feeling the ache of an unfinished entry.

At the front of the bus, the driver stamped up the stairs and gave the signal he was going to start moving soon, cuing the subliminal bedtime. The unbelonging technicians left, and the rest of Corroded Coffin stretched from the stiff cushions lining the booth seats around the table. As they picked up after themselves, Eddie untied the top set of his laces, and kicked his boots off, leaving them in the aisle along with the empty beer bottle.

He rolled onto the edge of the mattress to rip back his sheets and shoved his legs under, hesitating from drawing the curtain when he browsed the end of your bunk, where your feet moved under a pile of belongings placed atop your covers. “I’ll send your clothes to the dry cleaners tomorrow.”

Not an apology.

“You mean you’ll send me to the dry cleaners tomorrow,” you corrected, and his face smoothed flat from the accidental snub.

Harry moved between you two. Jeff divided the conversation further. Gareth cleaved whatever rapport you had with Eddie when he snorted at the two of you facing each other in your bunks, cuddled up like a sleepover.

Thinking harder as his peers climbed into their beds, Eddie relaxed onto his forearm supporting his upright posture, and sank into the jut of his shoulder, spinning his hand in the same flippant way the scrunch between his brows appealed to the snark loading in his throat. “I’ll just give you my wallet then, mm?” he offered, gravelly voice dusted with insincerity. “Then you can buy all the white blouses, and black skirts your pretty heart desires.”

Someone snorted again. It sounded like Gareth.

“And, uh,” Eddie endured as the plastic rings tinked across the metal bar, leaving a generous window visible from the top of his shoulders to his wild hair spread about his pillow palace, limp curtain hanging pitifully, “if you’d be so kind, don’t watch me sleep.”

“I won’t,” you said, and it sounded so sad. So soft, and faint, no bite behind it. No zest, no strength. Just confusion, though you understood the events leading to the pendulum swinging the other direction.

You closed your curtain, too.

The tour bus rumbled before sighing its characteristic hiss and chugging forward, pitching its cargo inside. You swayed in your nook. Laying on your back meant you experienced every roll of the tires cutting corners in the parking lot, but you weren’t ready to turn over yet. Your mind was swarming with cluttered thoughts. There were things you could be doing other than peering out at the depressing darkness where the dim ambient light didn’t pierce. You could brush your teeth, stow away your pocketbook before the pens rolled out, pick up the bottle before it tipped over and played pinball down the aisle all night. Your journal entry could be finished, you could sit up and read a book like Eddie, you could do some of those stretches for your hips and back. You could cry, you could count sheep for the next four hours and forty-seven minutes, you could cry some more; wet face wiped raw by the stiff sheets, and mouth buried in the unfeeling comforter to muffle the squeak of air leaving your lungs when you couldn’t suppress the emotions lodged in your throat any longer.

You could do many therapeutic things.

Instead, you pressed your knuckle over the center of your lower lip, replicating the pressure, and thought about the fortune.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie x reader

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jojomiwbvb6 · 7 months

Text

The Shower Scene, Pt. 4

Taglist: @emzandthevoid @mentallynot-here @bloodymug @sprokat @princesspeach-00 @ghoulsquad @missduffsblog @yeehaw-my-guys @lma1986 @artificialbreezy

Author's Note: I apologize for taking so long to do this chapter! I have had a bit of writer's block and I have been busy doing a lot lately. This will be the finale to this series, I really hope you enjoy! Feel free to give me more ideas! I was thinking of writing some Sasuke or Itachi fics as well.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW. Extremely long and descriptive smut, unprotected p-in-v (be safe about it, or use condoms please), overstimulation, degradation, praise, oral (female receiving), punishment, spanking, swearing, squirting, casual alcohol consumption

PSA: this is very obviously a work of fiction, and should in no way be taken seriously or literally. this piece of fiction uses real people in fictional and fantastical mindsets--and it is in no way a representation of the real person or who they are as a whole. Thank you for coming to our ted talk.

Atlanta.

The humid wind hits your face, the city never motionless around you. You inhale the air, closing your eyes and letting your body relax. Your nerves are completely jumbled and overstimulated as your mind mulls over the past week so far.

The pictures of yourself flash through your head. Noah's words flooding your mind. You can't escape the anxiety it brought you, and the excitement of your actions.

You stared at your feet, black vans reflected against tan concrete as you stood against the bus. Twiddling your thumbs and exhaling heavily, you turn to Davis as he approaches you.

"Hey, kid! Some of the guys were just thinking of exploring the botanical gardens and the zoo and maybe going for some grub, wanna come?" He smiles at you, raising an eyebrow for an inviting answer.

"Shit, bro, I'm down." You agree and smile back. It was the first day off in over a week and you were grateful for it. You were looking forward to moments with Noah, but you also needed to get out and do something else for once.

As you and Davis caught up with the group, consisting of both you two, Ruffilo, Noah, Matt, and Jolly (the rest went off to do other things), you could hear their jesting and cackles even from a ways back.

"Morning guys!" You say, smiling and out of breath.

"Hey (Y/N)!" You were greeted by multiple of them.

Noah turned, walking backwards. "Hey, (Y/N)," he smirks lazily, waving his hand, drawing his eyes over you subtly and licking his lips.

You huff, catching his eyes and offering a suggestive smile. "Hi, Noah." He smiles back at you, and then turns back around to continue walking. You admire his long, toned frame as he took smooth strides forward.

All of you thoroughly enjoyed the relaxing and wondrous vibes of the gardens and the culture of the city. Having been walking and exploring for over 2 hours, you all decide to pause your activities for a bit of lunch.

"What should we eat? I'm starving, man," Ruffilo comments.

"Hmm. Haven't had Chipotle in a while," Davis replies.

"How about sushi?" Matt adds.

You're silent. Honestly, you're so hungry, you don't even care what you guys eat. Anything sounds good.

Noah steps up beside you. "Sushi sounds fuckin' fantastic," he agrees.

When the others aren't paying any attention, Noah leans into your ear quickly and quietly, "I'm hungry for something else, though."

You almost gasp when he leans away, giving a quick caress to your ass while the others are walking away. He casually smirks at you, continuing to walk in the direction of the Japanese sushi bar on the corner.

Your face felt hot, and you were fighting the frustrated blush that crept up your face. You were nearly hyperventilating and you couldn't help it. You took a deep breath of the next gust of Georgia wind that caressed your face, composing yourself and catching back up with the group.

"Fuck, this hits the spot dude." Matt comments, and you're nodding along with the rest of the guys.

"Hell yeah."

You're all sitting at the table, a whole boat of sushi in front of you and then some. Ruffilo is sipping on sake while all of you make small chit chat.

"Hey! Ruffilo! Let me try some of that," you say.

"Ever had sake?" Ruffilo says.

"No," you state, taking the small white cup from his hands.

"What!" You hear half of the table exclaim, with pleas of interest in you trying the drink.

You slowly take a sip. Instantly the taste of the Japanese alcohol hits your tongue and you're writhing. "Yuck! Oh! That's revolting!"

Cracks of laughter erupt from the table. Soon, you are laughing as well.

"That's enough of that," you joke.

After lunch, you all go shopping and walk around downtown. After several hours of being out and having free time the whole day, it was time to return to the hotel that was booked for the night. In the morning, you would quickly pack up and shuffle back onto the bus for Orlando, Florida.

Walking away from the bus with a suitcase in hand and backpack over your shoulder, you step into the hotel. You stop at the front desk to get your keycard from the receptionist.

"Room for (Y/L/N), please."

"Ahh," she pauses, typing on her keyboard. "We don't have a room here, I'm afraid..."

You frown. "All of these rooms should have been pre-booked," you state. Your mind frantically searches for a solution. You begin to list the several names of the other crew members and band members, but most were already in their rooms. You thought of one more name.

Oh, you thought. He didn't!

"There may be another name," you try. "Sebastian?"

The receptionist, looking mildly annoyed now, huffs and types in the name. You ignore her annoyance, watching patiently. A look of resolve crosses the receptionist's face. You feel hopeful.

He did.

"Hmm," she says. "It appears one more keycard is available for this room. Just sign this document and you may have your keycard."

You fill out the appropriate paperwork, signing on the line. The receptionist pulls the paper back to her and slides the keycard across the counter. You exchange your thanks.

"Room 207, 3rd floor." The woman tells you and turns away.

You don't waste anymore time. As you walk down the hall to the elevator, the smirk on your face grows 10 miles wide, confidence enveloping you.

You knew exactly why he'd done it, and frankly, you weren't about to protest. Your heart slams into your chest with every sound of your heels and the roll of the suitcase wheels on the carpet.

You take a deep breath as you step onto the elevator.

207.

The silver numbers glint as you stand parked in front of the door. He was inside there already, waiting for you to come in. You exhale shakily as you grip the door handle, and you hesitate.

Closing your eyes, you begin to smirk. This is what you've been fiending after for several weeks. Taking another deep breath, you slide the keycard into the door.

The lock clicks and you twist the handle, allowing yourself into the room.

You analyze your surroundings. One lamp is on in the dimly lit room. A small walkway leading into a rather spacious double bed. There was a desk to the left, and a mini kitchen straight ahead. The bathroom immediately to the left. Without paying further attention, you walk to a bed and set your bag down on it.

You didn't seem to notice Noah, maybe he'd left the room for something. You shrug, bending over to open up your suitcase and lay it out.

Without you noticing, Noah slips out of the bathroom and leans against the wall, examining the rear view you're giving him.

"Well, well, already bending over? Princess, I haven't even taken off your clothes yet," Noah chuckles darkly.

You swear you jump 10 feet into the air, yelping loudly. If he hadn't scared you, his words would've gone straight to your core. "Noah Sebastian, for crying out loud!" You laugh and smack his shoulder. "Don't do that!" You both share a chuckle.

You can feel Noah decreasing the distance between you two and your laughter begins to fade. Noah's eyes flutter over you, landing on your eyes, your mouth, your breasts, feeling overwhelmed pleasantly.

You found yourself licking your lips. You begin to turn away.

Faster than the flick of a wrist, Noah's hand shoots up, gripping your jaw and squeezing your cheeks together. You are both silent, the tension shooting higher than ever.

You go to grab his hand and you are immediately caught by his other hand. He grips your wrist tightly, but not painfully. Noah's eyes change into dangerous slits and a playfully evil smirk takes over his features.

"The way that you have been torturing me has been driving me insane," Noah whispers into your ear. You want to collapse on the spot.

He begins walking you slowly backwards.

"You've been such a fucking brat, too, getting me hot for you at the worst times..." His hot breath fans your face, your own breath quickening in pace.

"The only thing I can think about is how I'm going to having you praying to me when I'm done ravaging you." You feel your hips hit the desk behind you.

"Noah..." you whisper.

He pulls at your face until you're eye to eye with him. He chuckled darkly.

"That's my fucking name," he growls into your ear. "And you're never going to forget it."

His hands leave your face and your wrist. Gripping your hips, he lifts you onto the desk and shoves you on it. He pulls you against his own hips, and his left hand rises to tangle in your hair.

Noah's cologne invades your senses, addicted to the scent. He tugs at the strands, inflicting a raspy moan from you. "How beautiful," Noah mumbles, helping himself to your inviting lips.

You both kiss as if life were going to end. His fingers flex against your clothed hips, pulling at your shirt and caressing you. Your tongues slipped against each other, nipping and suckling at each other's lips.

You wrapped your legs around Noah's hips, pulling him closer. Noah pulls away from your lips. Smirking, he pulls up your shirt with ease and tossed it away somewhere on the floor behind you.

"Such pretty, pretty tits..." he drawls, giant hands cupping them and he flicks a nipple. You gasp. Noah moves up your body, leaning over to envelope a taut nipple into his warm mouth. He flicks at it with the tip of his tongue and you moan quietly.

He pops off of you and smirks wickedly, and feigns a look of concern. "Is that just too much pleasure for you? Should I stop?"

"N-no! No, please, don't stop," You almost choke.

Noah stands. His bulge is prominent against his sweatpants and you almost drool. It seems so big and you can't focus on anything but the need you feel. Your core is hot and you squirm.

"Such a needy fucking slut." He pulls your body forward, running a hand oh-so-low but not enough.

You mewl as his fingers creep to your covered pussy and slowly tease the bud.

"Mmm.." you groan and Noah chuckles.

"Like that, babygirl?"

You nod.

"Too bad." Noah stops and you whine. "Enough of that. Strip,"

"Yes, sir."

Noah chuckles. "Such good manners for me. So desperate."

By now, you're a puddle of pleasure and you want it to swallow you whole. Noah sits on the edge of the bed as you peel your pants off your shaking legs. You remove your panties, tossing them aside.

"So pretty," he comments. "Come here and lay across my lap."

You obey, positioning yourself across his lap.

"Before we begin, is this something you're okay with me doing to you?"

"Absolutely," you confirm. "I can take it."

Noah hums in understanding. "Such arrogance. You will learn."

His hands begin to touch and caress the flesh of your behind, shaking the cheeks and watching them jiggle with satisfaction. He rubs in slow circles. His hand leaves your ass, forming a cup-shape, and crack.

The first spank stings, and you gasp out. His hand returns to rub the welt.

"Here's how this is going to go. You will get five spanks for our first time. This is your punishment for being such a slut," he rubs slowly. "If you fail to complete the spanking, I'll fuck your mouth. I won't stop if you choke or gag."

You whimper and nod your head.

"I'm glad you understand. If you succeed, princess, I'll have a taste of you for myself."

You mewl, squirming in his lap. "Now, now," he warned you. "Count for me." You nod frantically, wanting so desperately to please him. Although, you wouldn't complain if you failed the test.

The first two spanks were easy. His hand fell on tandem and you dutifully stated each number with each gasp and whimper he pulled from you. You really didn't think you could fail, how could you? Sure, it stung a little, but you could handle it.

As "three" fell from your lips, the usual soothing rub came to ease the sting.

"Everything okay, princess?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I proceed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl," he whispered, making you squirm. He chuckled darkly. He pulled apart your cheeks, and leaned down. "Mmm, princess... so wet for me. Oh, I bet you're just aching. Let me help you..."

Noah dipped his fingers in between your legs. His fingers slid between the wet folds and you jolt. His other hand keeps you still and you're left victim to his merciless tease. He softly rubs into your wet heat and you're left mewling against his leg, head hanging.

Noah rubs the tip of his middle finger into your clit. "How's that?"

You nod frantically, unable to speak against his onslaught. At your response, he removes his fingers from your heat and resumes the next spank. The fourth spank is rougher and harder than the last.

"F-four!" You cry out, struggling to hold the composure that remained. "P-please, Noah, I--"

"Hush," he demanded. He caressed the welt, the red marks on your ass much to his liking. "One more for me, princess. You can do it."

Without any warning, Noah's fingers slip once again against your heat. Only this time, he doesn't relent. He teases and pinches your clit and you squirm, earning a dark chuckle from him.

Noah slides his fingers up to your entrance and sinks one finger inside of you and you moan.

"Noahhh, this isn't fair!"

"Be quiet, and don't you dare cum, or you lose," he threatens, and you obey with whimper after whimper as he pumps his finger in and out of you.

He adds another finger, and begins assaulting your clit with the other hand. You're an absolute mess against his lap, his fingers scissoring inside you and rutting against your g-spot. Bliss and pleasure overwhelms you, getting close to the brink as Noah's fingers continue to pump into you, faster and harder.

Your whimpers begin to form into cries, pleading for him to let you cum. Your eyes begin to roll back and you're trying to push back onto his fingers to get more from him.

"You like that baby?" He whispers in your ear. "Gonna cum?"

You nod, mouth agape. Noah smirks and removes his fingers entirely. You groan in frustration, and, as sly as he is, catches you off guard with the fifth and final spank.

Your brain almost can't comprehend the pleasure your body feels, the sting sending you into shock and you almost forget your task.

"F-f-five..." you stutter.

His large, long hands caress both cheeks of your ass and a kiss is planted onto the red welt on the swell of it.

"You're such a good, good girl, princess. I'm impressed. Good job," Noah praises you. "Lay down on your back for me."

You slowly get up and crawl onto the hotel bed mattress and lie down on the cushiony pillows.

"Spread your pretty legs, don't be shy."

You let your legs fall apart, spread against the sheets. Noah sucks in a breath and hums in satisfaction. He crawls up the bed to you, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside as you had. Your eyes feast on the tattoos covering his body.

"God, princess, you're so fucking wet," you moan at his words and he dives in. Noah's tongue licks a wet stripe up your core from your entrance to your clit. You cry out, hands immediately finding his hair. Noah hums and you quiver, the vibrations stimulating you.

He licks into your folds with fervor, as if he hadn't eaten all day. His tongue dances and pokes at your entrance, pleasure spiking and you're squirming against his mouth. Noah laps at your clit, boldly taking the bud into his mouth and sucking at it. He then takes it into his mouth, swirling the sensitive area against his tongue, dancing in circles.

"Noah!!" you cry.

You arch your back, eyes rolling back as you grip his hair and pull, and he groans. Noah adjusts his position, shoving your legs up and he dives deeper into your pussy. He shoves his tongue up into it, swirling it and shaking his head like a rabid dog. You're practically crying out, thrusting against his face and leaving it a wet mess.

Offering you his fingers again, he dives against your clit once more, nipping at it and sucking it; this time, he aids his mouth with his fingers. Thrusting two digits in, his long fingers find your g-spot again. He mercilessly pokes at it, unrelenting with his tongue and fingertips. You're moaning and a mess and it's almost too much.

Your eyes see nothing but stars in the back of your head and you're moaning loudly. You cum and rut onto his mouth. "Fuck, fuck," you gasp.

Noah pops off of your pussy. "Tastes... so good..." he gasps. "I want more."

"I want you so bad, Noah," you whine. "I want you to fuck me."

"What a dirty mouth," he comments, stinking a finger in your mouth as he caresses your jaw. You wrap your lips around his finger and lock eyes with him. You suck and lock eyes with him. He smiles, and removes his finger.

Noah removes his pants and slides his boxers down his slim legs. The only thing you can do is lay there, mouth agape at the beautiful artwork before you. You bite your lip, you just can't wait.

He comes back to you, and you gasp in surprise when he forces your legs against your chest. Noah captures his lips in yours and lines his cock up with your entrance. He wastes no time in sinking in slowly. Due to your wetness, he slides in easily and sinks in as far as he's able. You're both gasping and long moans escape from your mouths and the intense heat between each other's legs.

He begins to move slowly, enjoying the teasing ways your walls grip his cock, threatening to take him deep.

"Fuck, baby... your pussy is just so fucking wet..." he mumbles. A low groan erupts from him, eliciting a moan from you.

His pace begins to quicken and he ruts in deeper. He just can't help himself when you give him the go-ahead by moaning louder.

Pretty soon, the room is filled with explicit sounds from the two of you. The sound of skin slapping fills the room and you're moaning. You're both mumbling the dirtiest phrases to each other, getting each other hotter and higher.

"Fuck" is the only word you chant as he thrusts into you like his life depends on it. He's fucking you hard and unforgiving.

"This pussy is mine," Noah growls into your ear, and you moan.

"Noah!!" You cry as his pace picks up, desperate and greedy. Skin slaps skin, near stinging, relentless. You can't help it when you cum, creating such a sinful sight for Noah as your wetness coats your legs and his cock.

He growls. "Fuck, I'm not done with you yet!" He pulls out and turns you over into doggy, pushing your stomach down and pulling your ass into the air.

He enters you again, finding his rhythm. Pulling you back against his hips in every thrust.

"Take me, take me, take me," you cry out.

Noah groans, picking up his pace. He twists his fingers into the strands of your hair, pulling your head back. He pounds into you, and at this angle the pleasure is overstimulating as his cock hits your spot over and over. He pulls you further back, forcing you to rise to your hands, the pace unforgiving and tears fall down your cheeks.

"Noah!" You cry once more.

Juices run down your legs as you cum one more time, but Noah doesn't seem to be done. You're worn out and fucked into bliss, drooling against the pillow. You can't think and your voice is hoarse.

He groans loudly, letting you know he's almost ready. You push back on his cock and he growls. Wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing gently, he begins fucking in quick ruts. "Fuck, princess, (Y/N)!"

He pulls out of you, his cock glistening and pulsing as his cum shoots out in pearls against your stomach. You moan, but Noah isn't done.

His hand goes to your clit and he smirks. You cry out at the fast quick pace he uses on you, his fingers insert inside of you to smash against your g-spot in one final assault.

"Cum, (Y/N), one more for me," he insists. He doesn't stop, and quickens his pace.

"Noah, please!" You beg, too overstimulated and sensitive.

He doesn't listen, yet urges you towards an orgasm that feels like a tsunami coming for you.

It happens before you can stop yourself, your cum coming out in such a powerful wave that you squirt a little, making such a mess.

This absolutely pleases Noah and he smiles. "Perfect." He kisses your cheek. "You are wonderful." He praises.

You both lay there, panting and laughing, praising one another.

"Shower?"

"I think so."

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #noah smut #the Shower Scene Noah

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razzle-n-dazzle · 7 months

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Could you possibly write some yummy dating headcanons for Lucifer 👀

ᯓ★ "They see right through me, can you see right through me?" Lucifer Morningstar / Reader | Headcanons

ᯓ Lucifer Morningstar, king of hell himself, the bringer of sin upon the mortal plan!- Was not exactly how you expected him to be. You had expected to be greeted by this tall, looming figure that took up the room like poisonous gas and made his presence known. This looming figure who could crush any sinner, or even Deadly sin, under his fist without remorse. Lucifer; someone who strikes fear where ever he goes. Yet, now he stood in front of you, not looming or crushing down the hotel, rather simply standing and having issues with Alastor for protecting his daughter.

ᯓ The king of hell himself was not as all as you pictured, even after seeing photos of him littered around the hotel from Charlie.

ᯓ Well, for one, he was short, much shorter than you had thought. And secondly he gave off this vibe that was not threatening in the least, if it weren't for his name and status you were sure no one would afraid of such a small man. He stunk of insecurity and anxiety, and a hint of depression, and you were sure he was going to break down any moment while he toured the hotel with his daughter.

ᯓ And yet, you found that oddly compelling.

ᯓ Who wouldn't be interested in the king of hell himself, and even more so when he appeared as least threatening as possible? You weren't sure if it was a facade or some sort of spell just to appear as 'human' as possible, maybe to keep from scaring people, but you had to find out. The curiosity just itched at you, and Husk pointed it out rather rudely as he noticed you were staring at the demon lord himself: "Don't fucking tell me you're falling for the king of hell!" Husk whisper-shouted to me as Charlie lead Vaggie, Lucifer, and a (reluctant) Alastor towards the rooms of the hotel. You would jump in your seat, quickly whipping your head around to stare at Husk. Embarrassed, you would whisper-yell back, "What? No! I just expected him to be more-" You paused, trying to find the words that seemed just at the tip of your tongue. "Threatening?" Angel Dust tried to finish your thought. "More of a Bad boy?" Nifty came in quickly after. "Your type?" Husky amused himself. "Yes, no, and ew!" You responded properly, glaring at Husk at his suggestion. He would simply shrug and walk off, going to grab some cheap beer from below the counter; his personal stash.

ᯓ What you hadn't known at that time was your curiosity was the beginning of a start of chain reactions. Isn't it so silly how one small interaction can completely change your life, forever?

ᯓ You didn't get to talk to Lucifer that day, he left before you even got the chance; Either way, you were sure he wouldn't give you much attention even if you attempted to. He was there to help his daughter, not talk to the souls that were trying to 'reform' and escape 'hell'... which now you think about could be a little insulting to the king of hell himself.

ᯓ The second time you would meet Lucifer is when he was helping Charlie rebuild the hotel after the Cleansing; Something you hadn't been apart of due to having to deal with personal business. To say you were shocked to see the hotel in ruins while being built up from basically nothing, would be an understatement.

ᯓ You were baffled.

ᯓ "Hey, up here!" Charlie would call to you from atop the hotel, helping her dad fix up some lights since the rest of the hotel was being worked on by Alastor and the others. "Glad to see you made it through the cleansing." "Charlie.. what the fuck happened?!" You would shout back, glancing around at the rubble from the old hotel that laid in rot. Your eyes would find their way back up to her, and subsequently her father. Charlie would only laugh softly, rubbing the back of her neck. She shouted something about what had happened, a brief summary, before asking if you wanted to help rebuild the hotel. Specifically adding how they could, "Use and extra pair of wings." Which seemed to make Lucifer stop in his tracks. At least, a little, you didn't fail to miss the way he jutted back a bit due to his wings from, what seemed like, shock. "Uh! I'll help down here, Charlie, if you don't mind." Nerves kicked up in you as she suggested such a thing. You hoped you wouldn't upset Charlie by offering to work down with Husk and Angel, yet she only grinned and gave you a thumbs up before handing Lucifer another light bub.

ᯓ You were quick to scamper away after that, attempting to cover your face with your hand as you did so. Though, even as you entered the hotel, you could feel Lucifer's eyes burning down at you.

ᯓ Sure, he piqued your interest and you wanted some of his attention, but his stare was something else and it made you want to sink and die into the floor. It was that intense.

ᯓ Luckily, you were able to help Angel and Husk on the lower levels in peace for quite a while. It was only when the Hotel was completely done did you run into Lucifer again. Actually, you quite literally bumped into him as you turned to go check on Charlie and he just happened to be right there. Right behind you. Standing there like he wanted to talk to you but didn't know how and wow did that make it awkward when you met his eye.

ᯓ And wow how Husk and Angel did not make the situation any better as they stared, before shuffling off like it was some sort of private moment between couples. You saw how Lucifer's eyes stuck to you, the slight panic that wrapped around his pupil as he tried to put on a confident front with a grin. Though no amount of smiling would ever over up the fact you were sure he hasn't socialized with anyone for a good few years. "Lucifer!.. Sir how can I help you?" You tried to act smooth, and somewhat calm for the both of you; Hoping to get this conversation either moving and over with, or at least started so you didn't have to sit in the awkward and tense atmosphere. Lucifer would stare at you in silence, and you were sure he was chewing over multiple wild thoughts in his head. Though the minutes dragged on and as you attempted to address him again, to get some sort of cog working in his brain, he would blurt out: "Did you fall from heaven?"

ᯓ Shit well that was personal and right to the fucking point!

ᯓ While you could lie to the King of Hell himself, you thought it would be best not to risk your life right now. Especially not when Lucifer was staring at you both like a curious kid and a murderous overlord.

ᯓ "Yes...?"

ᯓ For some reason, that was your common link. A shared experience of falling out of heaven, falling down from grace and into a world pooled with Sin, that set off Lucifer wanting to know you more. So small meeting at the hotel turned to longer meetings, turned to small meeting outside the hotel to longer meetings, and you weren't sure when or how it all happened at first. Yet, sooner or later, all you knew was that brisk, nervous hand touches turned to hand holding, turned to small and brief hugs, turned to longer hugs of longing, turned to you kissed Lucifer on the cheek one night as a goodbye...

ᯓ Eventually turned to him being, willingly, pushed up against your bed on the floor as you straddled him, kissing his lips with such passion you were sure Asmodeus would be jealous.

ᯓ And the events that followed such a kiss surely made the situationship a little more awkward in the morning. Especially since you woke up naked, covered in the dozens of blankets that were stacked on your bed, cuddled up to Lucifer. And it was even more awkward when he had woken up as well to your shared position.

ᯓ Upon catching Lucifer's eye for a short while, you were quick to let out a shocked sound and shuffle away from him quickly, raising the blanket up with you as you sat up on the bed. You noticed the way it squeaked, signaling a few springs had been loosened or the bedframe had became weaker. "Fuck.." You would mutter, raising a hand to your forehead as you stared down in conflicted parrel at your bedsheets. You could hear the bed squeak as Lucifer slowly sat up, and you were sure he was looking at you with their brilliant eyes; Those eyes you so very much adore but know couldn't be yours. It wouldn't be right. Charlie was helping you redeem yourself and you couldn't go and stab her in the back by sleeping and getting with her dad! Panic rose in you as you turned to Lucifer, keeping your blanket over your naked form, "Lucifer, please tell me we didn't!- We couldn't have..." You couldn't fail to notice the way Lucifer's eyes widened, shock mixing with the concern he had. The concern that had made him start to reach out for you, to ask if you were alright, yet the hand that also stopped short as you looked oh so terrified at him. Did he hurt you somehow and didn't know? Such a thought shattered his heart. "I.." Lucifer tried to find the words in his head, but they dropped short. He glanced away from you as a frown slowly inched on his face, and he really couldn't meet your eyes. "I'm sorry..."

ᯓ You would sit there, staring as Lucifer with complete horror as your eyes slowly shifted down to the bed and then the blankets again as you realized what you had done. You had hooked up with Charlie's father after everything she had done for you. You had been, quiet literally, going out on dates with him and falling in love with the King of Hell himself behind Charlie's back! How could you do such a thing to Charlie?! How could you be so stupid in meeting Lucifer more than what was required to explain that you had fell from the grace of Heaven and ended down here? How fucking stupid, how idiotic, how much of a cretin do you have to be to do something like that to Charlie?! You didn't notice how the tears began to form in your eyes until you felt Lucifer's hand upon your cheek. The feeling of his thumb brushing to clear your hot tears as he slowly turned your face towards him. Slowly made you look at your mistake. And yet, he didn't seem fearful at this moment. Even while you choked back your sobs, he simply only cupped your other cheek and drew your face to him to connect your foreheads. You would shake your head, placing your hands on Lucifer's wrists in an attempt to draw away from him in shame.

ᯓ And his insecurities inside him screamed at him to let you do so; They bombarded him with the fact that he had done something wrong and made you cry, something he swore he would never do. Yet why, even while his mind was screaming at him to let you go, did he still hold you to him?

ᯓ "Hey, hey.. it's okay," The whisper feel out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying, "We're in this together okay? I'm... sorry if I hurt you, but I can't help you fix this if you don't talk to me..."

ᯓ And his gentleness made you crack, a sob escaping your lips no matter how much you tried to choke them down. Your hands slowly slid down, away from his wrists, and held onto where his arms bent. It was oh so every hard for Lucifer to watch you sob in front of him, devastated by something he couldn't fix. Yet he was patient until you were ready to tell him; He held you close and cuddled you, not wanting you to feel alone.

ᯓ Not like he had.

ᯓ It was an awkward conversation, yet a much needed one that allowed for the two of you to start the process of becoming official. You both agreed upon telling Charlie everything before you went on with anything else. So, after clearing both your tears, and putting on proper clothes, Lucifer when to go grab Charlie and take her to a more secluded section of the Hotel to chat.

ᯓ Lucifer, as her parent, agreed to tell her everything and you stood right besides him for support; knowing this couldn't be easy for him. You would feel uncomfortable in his shoes too. Charlie would listen, confused at first, but then surprisingly became rather relived and esthetic.

ᯓ "Oh my Lucifer! Finally!! You know, I noticed you two had a thing for each other and I'm really happy you finally came and told me and that you're making it official!"

ᯓ Safe to say neither of you expected Charlie to be so open to the idea, and she noticed. She would explain how we was happy that you were making each other happy, and while she was kind of sad her parents weren't together anymore she was glad her father could find love again and be happy. She would give Lucifer a hug before giving you one, whispering a quiet "thank you" into your year. A thank you that you knew carried a lot of emotions, some being a mixture of heartbreak, gratitude, and acceptance. You nearly teared up again and squeezed her back.

ᯓ With Charlie's acceptance you and Lucifer began to officially date. Yet, kept it on the downlow as not to attract attention from any of the Sinners in hell, or god forbid anyone else from the Hotel that wasn't Charlie and Vaggie. But honestly, it made you both happy to have each other, public or not.

ᯓ You would move in with Lucifer six months into the relationship, and had to make up a fib story to the other hotel residents how you were going to try and travel Hell; just to see what it had to offer before you went. Only Charlie and Vaggie knew you went to move in with Lucifer and his collection of ducks. And god, did it take a while to help Lucifer clean up and organize his pile; Especially considering that he wanted to stop every 2 minutes when he found a special duck to rant to you all about it. But, you couldn't deny the fact that it was adorable to see him all excited about a rubber duck that was oh so common in the human world.

ᯓ Honestly, Dating Lucifer will be one of the most odd yet fulfilling and loving experiences you have ever had. He's quirky and not exactly in the right mind space, but neither are you, so you both help each other whenever you can. Even if it took a while for Lucifer to truly let you in, and let you see him at his lowest. He was always scared that if you saw him like that, it was cause you to panic and run away and leave him; And that he would never you again and... he just couldn't handle such heartbreak. He wants to keep you safe and protected from everything and anything, and he didn't want you to be forced to see him as someone who needed protecting because of an episode that got bad.

ᯓ Lucifer take a lot of careful work, peeling back the layers of himself that has been cocooned tightly, before you can see the true and raw Lucifer. And yet, you love him all the same, broken or together and whole. And honestly, when that day comes when you do see Lucifer like that and you stick by his side throughout the whole thing, being the shoulder and the rock he needed...

ᯓ That was the day Lucifer knew he wanted no one else as a partner in this immortal life other than you. Because he would be your rock if you are his, and he appreciates you more than anything in this world (maybe expect for Charlie, but you're close!). But honestly, he's so grateful that he manages to be able to go to sleep and wake up to someone like you. Half the time he believes it's some sort of dream that he'll wake up from when he falls asleep... and yet he gets to see your face every morning.

ᯓ It... fills him with hope that the rest of his days in hell won't be lived in a depressive isolation from everyone and everything else. And your presence alone comforts him more than anything.

ᯓ★ A little extra!

ᯓ Lucifer is 100% a cuddle bug, expect him to be around you constantly. Man will be trying to hold your hand, hold your waist, nuzzle into your neck, literally anything to be near and next to you. (Just so he knows you're there, and you're real.)

ᯓ Lucifer defends you with his literal life, like man has no chill when it comes to you and with Charlie. He got a call one day and heard your panicked shouting and was there in literal seconds. Scared the shit out of whoever was trying to fuck with you. Then he picked you up and took you home, literally pampered you for the rest of the day.

ᯓ 100% spoils you. After physical touch and quality time, his next love language is gifting. So expect little trinkets that Lucifer has made to appear somewhere you can see, or given to you by Lucifer himself. He'll also, at times, buy you gifts (expensive and not) if he goes out and sees something you've been saying you wanted for a while or something that just reminds him of you.

ᯓ Charlie begins to see you as a second mother. Of course no one could ever replace her actual mother, but she's glad she had you to go to for girl troubles or gossip tea times.

ᯓ Literally this is the sweetest man ever and he just wants to be love, LOVE HIM. PLEASE!! He will get so flustered and dopey if you sit on his lap and pepper kisses all over his face. He literally will think he's in heaven for a second like, he just loves your fucking attention and is a little bit of a whore for it.

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ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

#hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #not proof read #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin #lucifer hazbin x reader #x reader #i love luci

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a-d-nox · 1 month

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astro hypothesis: what's your ideal bedroom like?

once upon a time (a year ago) i spoke of using your house rulers to deep dive into the story of the houses. i did a hypothesis about money and another about careers - but what about your home? for that take a look at your 4h and the persona chart of its ruler (ex: my 4h is in gemini, i will be looking at my mercury persona chart NOT my ic persona (thats more family and childhood dynamics in my opinion)).

today i want to focus on somewhere critical to all of us - our bedroom. you can look at the 12h and/or the moon in this chart to get a better idea of what your ideal bedroom looks like or should be like to feel most rested and comfortable.

why?

the 12h rules over solitude (where you might go to escape everyone else in your household), the subconscious (where we supposedly go in deep sleep), etc.

the moon rules over comfort (what we find comfort in), the subconscious (which connects again to deep sleep and dreaming), cycles and rhythms (hi sleep cycle and circadian rhythm), etc.

so here are some observations of what i believe to be important to a room based on these factors in your 4h ruler's persona chart.

a capricorn (10°, 22°) moon / 12h saturn / capricorn 12h / moon aspecting saturn person likely wants a minimal room. they don't what a lot of clutter - if their room is cluttered they might be experiencing a lot of waking/life stress/anxiety that is effecting their sleep. they like neutral and natural colors in a room - beiges, "agreeable grey", dark green, and dark blues in particular allows them to feel calm and as though they are able to relax. arctic white paint or cool white light may trigger them into feeling like they are in work mode instead of relax mode. they seek quality furniture that is timeless - they don't want to constantly have to replace the pieces they have in their room because they don't last or no longer fit the style. they don't want to have to think at the end of the day that something broke or they hate a piece because it doesn't fit the trend anymore and they now have to replace it. they don't want another thing they have to do, they just want to crash. organization is key - everything in their room should have a spot. they want everything that belongs in there to have a place (books are organized by author/series, clothing is color/season organized, glasses have a spot on a side table, jewelry has an organizer that rarely changes, etc). there is often a very refined and elegant feeling to their room. the sheets have a classic design (they are white or white and grey), the mirror is elegant yet classic, the bed is simple yet fits and fills the space well, etc. and most importantly room darkening curtains and lots of blankets (no capricorn/saturn person wants to be awakened by the sun or because they are too cold at night)!!!

a gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) moon / 12h mercury / gemini 12h / moon aspecting mercury person might have a rather eclectic style in their room. it might feel like they are testing out a look or like they have a lot of different vibes that don't necessarily fit one another. color finds its way into this room no matter what and it is often multiple colors at once that draw a person's attention. its very strange because this space is never just a sleep space for them often its multi-functional in some way shape or form like they have the ability to have a sitting space for others... could be a chair or a window seat or a desk... speaking of desks - books, vinyl, cds, gadgets, etc are a big part of the gemini/mercury vibes in a space. often their media have a spotlight moment in a room. lastly this space has an air of awareness in it - its not totally sleepy vibes, you know for sure when you see this space its not just for sleep. this is a place of study, reading, music listening, etc. it might just feel like not much sleep occurs in the space at all!

leo (5°, 17°, 29°) moon / 12h sun / leo 12h / moon aspecting sun rooms are warm and inviting. there are likely gold elements or warm paint colors used in the room. luxury is a must - the bed is likely memory foam or plush - the pillows are probably hotel/high quality. the comforter is down feathers and/or a fluffy/fuzzy blanket is present. it is very likely that stuffed animals are present too or at least one that is too adorable not to be there. there is some sort of central piece in this room - a giant mirror, a big art piece over the bed, a grand wall of books, etc. something in the room is guaranteed to always get a compliment from people who peak in during a house tour. it is also rather common especially in younger years for these people to keep their awards/trophies on display in their room as it fills them with a great sense of pride. windows are very important to this person's bedroom too as they tend to enjoy natural light when they can get it.

aries (1°, 13°, 25°) moon / 12h mars / aries 12h / moon aspecting mars people love a bold look in their room. its the energy of platform beds, industrial metal frames, etc. if they can use an "aggressive" color (red, orange, yellow, etc) in a bedroom they will... however they like a modern and sleek look despite their bold color schemes. they also like a minimal room - the bedroom is for their bed - point, blank, period. it's about having the essentials nothing more nothing less. they won't being using decorative pillows they have to remove every night or a decorative blanket that just hangs over their footboard. heavens forbid a decorative ladder with a decorative blanket that's not for use but for the eye. if they can't use it, they don't need or want it in the space it will just make them annoyed and cause them to feel like everything is in the way of them getting to the relax/wind-down portion of their day. now strangely enough, they often workout in their bedroom, so it wouldn't be shocking to find a pull up bar in the doorway or a peloton bike in the corner of the room. and 10/10 they will be getting up using an alarm - but it is rather unlikely they will need multiple alarms to make them get out of their bed in the morning.

likely more to come on home hypotheses, as i look to make renovations to my own home despite/because of being creatively burnt out. thank the heavens for astrology doing the leg work.

-a.d.

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beartitled · 17 days

Note

ur au inspired me alot so have this writings I made based off of ur evil cipher parents au...

Bill cipher was SUPPOSED to be a normal Euclidean. A normal triangle. Despite his color not being right and he was practically blind in his 2d world.

All he knew about his parents was that his mom was a lovely deep blue, and his father was a wonderous shade of red.

And he was okay with that.

Atleast he could stare at the stars as his mother's voice lulled him to sleep.

.. he swore he saw a group of stars moving… It looked weird, it was a line with a dip down at the back end, and what looked like a trapezoid(he believes that's what trapezoids look like, it was hard to see anyone else in the first place) on the front end.. it was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

"Ma.. Some stars are moving…" Billy said, his voice a soft mumble.

"Billy, there's nothing there moving… I promise.." Billy's mom said, her voice silky smooth.

Billy hummed in reply, just watching the bundle of stars move in such an odd way.. then there was one that looked like one of the star shaped people he's somewhat seen, but it had a trail coming from the back. The two bundles paused, as if they were staring at him.

It was.. unnerving.

"Ma..?" Billy called quietly. There wasn't any reply. Mom must've left already.

Billy didn't want to bother her. So he just watched the two bundle of stars.. Until they got closer. They weren't stars.

They looks so weird.

He was scared- it was so scary- he suddenly wanted to be normal- to have an eye where it's supposed to be-

One of the giant things reached down and carefully scooped him up-- Billy gasped loudly as he was lifted up-- he could see so much MORE. He could see the two giant things he originally thought were stars.

They were.. 3D. He had thought no such things could exist!.

But if they were here, why did they pick him-- Was it because he could see them?

Billy whined softly, Glancing around nervously for some sort of escape. But there was none.

"Billy?" He heard his mom say, "Billyy? Where are you?"

Billy Desperately wanted to tell his mom he was still here- he just couldn't describe it.

"Mabel what do we do now-?" The first giant said, the one with the line and trapezoid thingy on the front on their forehead. The other had no markings, but he could tell that they were the star shaped bundle of stars.

"Just kill him- like.. like Grunkle Ford said.. to.." The star said.

The trapezoid with a line frowned, Shaking its head.

"I'm not gonna kill him, he's.. so small.."

"Then what?"

".. surely Grunkle Ford wouldn't mind if we take him home?"

Billy didn't understand what they were saying.

"BILLY??" Mom called out, much louder.

"I'm here, Ma." Billy replied. But mom didn't seem to hear him. So he tried saying it louder. "Here, Ma."

Still, nothing. Next thing he knew, he felt so odd, he didn't feel right.

He could move more. Everything wasn't hard to see, he could TURN.

"That was just a dream, Bill."

pls enjoy :3

Awwww thank you ❤️ Glad my comic inspired you to create this is so sweet 🥹

I love the atmosphere ✨ You can feel the unease 👀

Also MABEL?????? HOW ARE YOU SO BRUTAL? Don’t kill da baby D:

I know it’s a nightmare and it would be really fitting tbh (I think Bill would be paranoid/have anxiety about Pines now liking him) (if Pines have the memories present, there would be discomfort vibes between them)

But still

Mabel would never 😭 would she? 😭

Oh and 💥 this was Bill’s POV probably huh

Also forgot to mention it in part 3 💥

A person wrote a great short fanfic about how “normal” Bill would meet his parents (with a happy ending :D)

They didn’t want to share it publicly, I respect the decision so not tagging them

But just wanted to say that I really appreciate your fan works fellas 💕

It’s a delight to read your fanfics, makes me happy to know that people like my silly comic so much that they were inspired to create 🥹

#bear answers #u guys are so creative #never could’ve thought my meme comic would inspire ppl 😭/pos #evil cipher parents au #gravity falls au #gravity falls fanfiction #gf bill cipher #baby bill #gf ford #gf dipper

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cupidvision · 3 months

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𝔭𝔞𝔠-𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

—>about this reading: this reading is going to tell you the lie being told, why the truth is being held from you, and when or if you’ll find out! sounds interesting? then continue reading !

—> how to choose? close your eyes, clear your mind, and open your intuition. then think about the numbers, the images, the feeling they gives you. then choose🖤

the banners used are by @cafekitsune !!

1->3

pile 1

signs that this is your pile: pisces, cancer, taurus, capricorn, 5, 8, 15, lots of emotions recently, a feeling of needing help but not knowing how to get it, uncomfortable, back pain

8 of cups, queen of cups reverse, hierophant, the devil

the lie

the lie that’s being told to you is that you are a disappointment. this could be a lie your telling yourself, but if there is an outside influence, i’m seeing that the person who may be telling you this is insecure or dependent on you, so they try to keep you down in a low vibration too. i also have a feeling that you may not want to leave this situation or person that is causing you these feelings. this can trigger a sense of abandonment for you. another lie i can see being told is “you can’t leave” or “you can’t escape” maybe you feel stuck on the situation or person you are with. this could also be from yourself. i’m seeing that this lie could make you very emotional. interestingly enough, before i started this reading i felt stuck, like i didn’t know what to say. so i read something that reassured me that i can do this reading. maybe that’s a sign for you to look for someone close to seek help from, or find health coping mechanisms

why is the truth being held from you?

(i actually feel like the lie may be coming from within so that’s how i typed that part)

it’s being held from you possibly because of the situation your in causes you to conform to the rules of that environment. this can mean that the community your apart of may not be open to hearing what you have to say. it could be brushed off as “a little anxiety” or “not that big of a deal”. i’m having a feeling this lie is coming from within, so there’s a chance that your scared that if you tell someone, you’ll be shamed, ridiculed, or pushed away. this is what’s keeping you away from the truth

when or if you will find out

(when or if you will tell others)

i’m seeing that you will likely keep this to yourself. maybe the inner voice is plaguing you to keep this in. but there are consequences to keeping this in. it can lead to self destructive behaviors, and you will continue to feel like your stuck or restricted. you may have a toxic relationship with these negative thoughts , like when you try to show yourself some compassion, you may feel uncomfortable or like it’s not right. it may be awhile before you finally open up about how your feeling

pile 2

signs this is your pile: capricorn, virgo, 0, 1, 2, 9, feelings of confusion, optimism

the fool, 2 of pentacles, the hermit, ace of wands

the lie

i have a feeling that the lie being told to you is that this risk, or new beginning will be worth it. maybe it puts a lot of things at risk or you are blindness going with the flow. i have a feeling that you were convinced by someone or yourself that this “new possibility” will be worth the 50/50 risk. i’m seeing that you don’t wanna miss out on this opportunity, or you’ve been trying to put your trust into going with the flow, instead of being practical and planning. on this card this man is looking in the air blissfully with what seems to be him dancing at the edge of a cliff, and that’s somewhat the vibes i get from this. you really wanna try to be positive about this, but i’m getting a sense that it isn’t like you to just “trust the process”. and i have a feeling you may have been coerced into thinking or feeling like it was a good idea

why is the truth being held from you?

the truth is being held because someone or yourself is trying to get you out of your comfort zone. being told the truth may make you realize that the risk isn’t worth it, or that you could be making a bad decision. i’m also seeing that you are having an internal conflict choosing which side of you to believe. “do i want to take the risk or not?” “new start or comfort zone?” these are the questions you may be asking yourself. taking this opportunity could also put a lot of your priorities at jeopardy or make you lose sense of what your priorities are. in the hermit card, the man is holding a lantern but he’s looking away from it, i feel like this you you looking away from the truth, someone withholding it, or the truth being right in front of you but you can’t see it

when or if you will find out

you will be told the truth eventually or shown the right decision. i’m seeing that once you bet out of this limbo of “should i or should i not” it will open more doors for yourself. in fact, a new and even better opportunity can come along. going through this lesson will help you grow, and and gain power from it (could be metaphorical). this also strikes an inspiration in you. if you paint, draw , write, this could inspire you to make a piece from this situation. i’m seeing that you’ll be quite satisfied with the outcome

pile 3

signs this is your pile: 8, 88, 2, sagittarius, gemini, cancer, the moon, needing a break, tired, relaxing, scared, timid, paranoia, waiting, impatience, listening

8 of wands reversed, 8 of sword reversed, the high priestess

the lie

i’m seeing that you are being told to wait, or to be patient about whatever is coming. “you just need to wait” “your being so impatient” is what i’m hearing. i feel like waiting is giving you a sense of panic and fear. this is causing frustration, more panic, tiredness, and paranoia. people around you, or yourself could be telling you to hold off doing something. you feel stuck, and confused. your not sure what to do, and this can be feeding into your anxiety. while typing this i feel a sense of anxiety, and also feeling like i don’t know what to do, i have a feeling you also don’t know what to do

why is the truth being held from you?

i feel like the truth is being held from you because you may not want to accept it. you have beliefs that are limiting you from your fullest potential. you beat yourself up over this situation, or thing that is causing you this stress. you may cuss or whisper negative things to yourself when your upset. you don’t want to accept the truth. maybe your inner thoughts are telling you it’s too good to be true, or that you not ready to open yourself up to that perspective. although you may be scared, i have a feeling the truth will free you from all this worry

when or if you’ll be told the truth

i’m seeing that this is a maybe. i feel like it’s really up to you wether you want to accept it or not. i’m seeing that you should trust your gut feeling about this. use your instincts and intuition to guide you to your answer. i’m also seeing a feminine figure, maybe one you look up to, will help with this. i’m finding that this information will be something you hold onto dearly and you will gain a sense of purity, and trust yourself again

#astrology #crystals #greek mythology #manifesting #tarot #tarotblr #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarot pac #pac tarot #tarotcommunity #daily tarot

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tinytinyblogs · 3 months

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Out? i don't think you need it, darling.

Yandere!skz react when you wanted to go out yourself

Hyung line, maknae line

Stray kids masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

Han's laughter erupted like a thunderclap, filling every corner of the room with wild, unrestrained mirth. It grew louder and more maniacal as you meekly mentioned your desire to go out alone. His eyes sparkled with disbelief, as if you had just told the most absurd joke. "Why on earth would you want to do that, honey?" he choked out between giggles. His laughter echoed off the walls as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Oh, sweetie, you don't need to go out… You need me," he declared. His fingers brushed your cheek tenderly before he planted a kiss, leaving a chilling sense of his dominance. "You know you can never be away from me," he continued, his tone dripping with arrogance. To Han, the notion was beyond absurd—it was laughable. He lived in a delusional world where you were irrevocably his. The thought of you stepping out alone was the height of comedy for him. Why would you walk away when you'd inevitably yearn for his presence? He pulled you closer, locking you under his arm in a grip that felt both protective and suffocating. "You want more affection, don't you? I understand," he whispered, his voice a velvet trap.

"Now, let’s forget that ridiculous idea. I'll be your shadow, your guardian. I’ll watch over you every second." His words were a vow and a threat, his laughter now a distant memory as he settled into his role as your overseer. The room seemed to close in, making the outside world feel like an impossible dream. Han's grip tightened, his eyes boring into yours with possessiveness. "I know what's best for you," he murmured, soothing yet sinister. "You don't need anyone else. Just me. Always me." His certainty was unnerving, reflecting his deluded belief that your life revolved around him. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "We'll be together forever. No need to venture out into that big, scary world when you have everything you need right here," he said, his voice a chilling blend of love and control. "Remember, you belong to me." The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as his presence engulfed you. His laughter had been replaced by cold determination. He was your protector, your jailer, your world. The idea of leaving, of stepping out into the unknown, was now a distant, laughable thought. Han's reality had become yours, and there was no escaping it.

Felix

He lay with his head nestled in your lap, a picture of serenity, his breaths slow and even. For a moment, everything seemed perfect—until you mentioned wanting to go out alone. The change was immediate. He sat up abruptly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. He struggled to maintain a semblance of a smile, but his eyes betrayed his concern. "You know," he began, his voice low and urgent, "something bad might happen to you if you go out." His body tensed as he adjusted his position, sitting up straight, his posture rigid with anxiety. "I wouldn't let it happen," he vowed, the words coming out almost as a growl. "Don't go out, don't ever go out," he repeated, his tone laden with a mix of desperation and determination, as if the very idea of your leaving was the most reckless, absurd notion he had ever encountered. "Everything you need is here," he insisted, gesturing around the room as if it were a fortress against the chaos outside. "Comfort, safety, and me—your favorite person," he added, a touch of possessiveness creeping into his voice.

His eyes bore into yours, an intense, almost hypnotic stare that seemed to weave a spell around you. He was trying to reshape your desires, to make you see the world through his lens of protective fervor. And maybe, just maybe, he thought, if he spoke with enough conviction, you would understand. You would listen to him, wouldn't you? "You wouldn't go out, right?" he asked, his face drawing closer until you could feel his breath on your skin, his hand gently threading through your hair. There was an intensity in his eyes that made your heart race. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice soft but insistent. You slowly shook your head, indicating your agreement to stay. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, the gesture tender and reassuring. He then settled back down, his head resting in your lap once more. "Don't dare say those stupid words again, love," he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. His voice dropped to a low, almost dangerous whisper, "Or I'll have no choice but to make sure you understand, even if it means using force." There was a finality to his words, a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Seungmin

He fell silent when he heard you wanted to go out alone. His demeanor shifted, and he looked down at your hand, holding it gently as if afraid to let go. After a moment, he asked softly, "Why?" There was a vulnerability in his voice that hadn't been there before. "You don't like being with me?" His expression grew more forlorn as he spoke, the sadness in his eyes becoming more pronounced. "Am I not enough for you?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "Do I make you uncomfortable?" You tried to explain, your words coming out in a rush. You just wanted to buy something, nothing serious, just a quick errand. But your explanation seemed to fall on deaf ears. He continued to look down, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. As time ticked by, his eyes lifted to meet yours, now brimming with unshed tears. "Does being with me not make you happy?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The raw emotion in his tone was unmistakable, and it cut through the air, making the room feel smaller and heavier.

Even though your intentions were innocent, his reaction was deeply emotional, leaving you feeling guilty and trapped between your need for a small bit of independence and his overwhelming fear of being left alone. As guilt slowly crept into your conscience, you found yourself holding him tighter, the conflicting desires to assert your independence and comfort him wrestling within you. With a sigh, you reluctantly pulled away, the urge to go out by yourself gradually diminishing in the face of his palpable need for reassurance. He sighed deeply, his tension seeming to melt away as you wrapped your arms around him. His embrace was warm and comforting, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, seeking solace in your presence. But as you held him, something shifted in the air. You couldn't quite put your finger on it at first, but then you noticed it—the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his otherwise innocent face. It was a subtle expression, almost imperceptible, but it was there, lingering in the corners of his lips like a secret.

Jeongin

With a cute, fox-like smile adorning his features, he tilted his head slightly as he regarded you. "You want to go out by yourself?" he asked, his tone light and playful. You nodded in confirmation, expecting his smile to fade, but it persisted, almost unnervingly so. As you began to prepare yourself to leave, you noticed him quietly following your movements. "Jeongin, I'll go alone," you asserted, hoping to convey your desire for independence. However, despite your words, he continued to trail behind you, as if he hadn't heard you at all. It was only when you repeated yourself, a touch more firmly this time, that he drew nearer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. In that fleeting moment, you could have sworn his gaze flickered, the usual warmth in his eyes giving way to something deeper, more profound. "Sometimes, I believe I treat you too well," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper that seemed to resonate within the depths of your soul. His hand tenderly caressed your cheek, the gesture simultaneously comforting and possessive.

"You can go anywhere you please, but it's rather bold of you to think I'd ever let you go alone. I'll always be here with you, no matter where your adventures take you. You know as well as I do that I could never bear to leave your side." His words hung in the air, laden with a mixture of affection and determination. Despite your initial intentions of seeking independence, you couldn't help but feel a sense of security in his unwavering presence. It was as if he were a steadfast guardian, always watching over you, ensuring your safety and happiness above all else. And as his reassuring touch lingered on your cheek, you couldn't deny the undeniable truth in his declaration—wherever you went, he would be there, a constant presence in your life, bound to you by an unbreakable bond of love and devotion. With that innocent smile gracing his features once more, he gently took your hand and resumed walking by your side. Amidst the admiring glances of passersby, who saw him as the epitome of the perfect partner, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface.

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factual-fantasy · 11 months

Text

24 asks!! :0000🌟🎭🌟

I HAVE!!! :DDDD

Kinger and Caine are my favorite characters! I've seen a lot of theories and fanart and I've already started making my own AU and angst and everything but I cant DRAW any of that yet because I'm REALLY BUSY with an OVERDUE PROJECT AAAAA

(In recent development, Asgore is unable to heal Spamton because he is a darkener :((( )

I think it might have been addressed at one point yeah :0 Maybe something was wrong with Seam and Asgore reached out to help. In which Seam was terrified and Jevil jumped in to protect him. Asgore could see the trauma and tension in the both of them so he carefully backed off.

Later he could hear from Seam about their pasts and why they were afraid of him. Asgore would then try to take steps to.. not..? Be scary to them?? <:D

Spade king could have talked in a very gravely and booming voice. So Asgore is sure to always talk softly and clearly. He is careful to not make any sudden movements around Seam and Jevil. If he's reaching for something near Seam/Jevil he will gently announce what he's doing and make sure they understand before he does it.

Asgore with his hands in his lap: "Seam, I want to grab that bag.."

Seam: *turns "huh?"

Asgore, hands still in his lap: "That bag beside you, I'd like to grab it."

Seam: "oh, okay,"

Asgore then gently reaches for the bag, making sure that Seam can see his hand coming.

Little things like that would really ease Seam and Jevils nerves. And its what made Asgore so trustworthy to them. The fact that he cared so much about their comfort and went above and beyond to make sure they felt safe around him.

Not really a parental figure. He sees Seam as his equal in every way. So like.. he sees him as his brother of the same age.?

@beryl-shade

Oh he didn't lock Seam up in a cell. He just put shackles around his wrists and neck :00

The thing about Jevil is that the bigger the group got, the worse his habits became. And the harder it became to break those habits.. Jevil was the one who collected these people, so they are his responsibility. Giving up his food not just for Seam, but for everyone. Staying awake to keep the fire large and roaring to keep the group warm.

The others try to help him.. but they would have a hard time getting Jevil to listen to them. Telling him he needs to eat, sleep or just relax. He probably wouldn't listen because he's a bit stubborn and is probably riddled with anxiety 24/7.

Although when Asgore came around things got a lot easier.

Asgore is very powerful and has proved his trustworthiness multiple times to Seam and Jevil. So although the royal vibe is off putting.. Jevil trusts him to watch the fire at night and protect the group. Seam has been able to reason with Jevil about the food part a little too.

Jevil: "You need this food more than me. You gotta keep your strength up until we can find someone to break these chains!"

Seam: "Jevil, you consume energy to make those mirrors to other worlds. How are you supposed to keep looking for someone to break my chains, if you're collapsed on the ground, too weak to make another mirror?"

Jevil: "......."

Jevil: *takes ONE bite out of sandwich

I was thinking around 10 years or so..? Maybe more? Haven't really decided :0 And he was able to escape by making a mirror and stepping through it. That mirror basically poked a hole in the walls of the AU and he was able to step out of the AU. Effectively stepping out of his cell and breaking free :}

Also thank you!! :DD

@gracebeth3604

I've completely ignored comments like this recently because I don't wanna deal with all the drama that will surly follow. But you were really polite and very thorough with your evidence.. sooo I guess I might as well answer it now,

I am aware that people use they/them for Seam. But -> my version <- of Seam goes by he/him.

I don't reeallly have a Splatoon AU..? And I haven't played Splatoon in a while- although I do still like it and have made some Splatoon ocs!

These drawings are pretty old. I've been meaning to come back and re-draw them haha <XD

Yeah its okay to tag like that. Like "seam and jevil" or "mario and luigi". That's just tagging them as being in the same post, no big deal 👍

Also no, no art of any kind. If you truly wanna show that you appreciate my work then leave comments. Maybe reblog once in a while or send me an ask. The comments don't have to be anything complex. You could leave a "Looks great!" comment on 50 posts of mine in a row and I will see what you're doing and appreciate it endlessly.

@genericcereal-wastaken

(I most likely will lol XD) Also thank you! I'm glad you love it! :DD

@elegysonnet

Honestly I can see Seam wanting nothing wrapped around/touching his wrists for a while.. even though they need it. But he could accept cold rags being dabbed on the wounds to ease the stinging.

As for what he'd eat? Dude- anything XDD Probably a burger to start. He'd just take a big fat bite and cry about how good it tastes 😭

And yeah! Now that he has his full range of movement he has his cat like flexibility back :}}

When it comes to Seam using his magic? Its hard for a while...

He hasn't used it consistently in so long.. he would be rusty, and probably anxious to use it again. It would take a lot of sparing and gentle guidance from Jevil and probably Asgore to get his grove back.

It would also take time for him to physically heal. Having his body's energy constantly drained has really effected his ability to control his magic. He would need a few weeks of good sleep and hearty meals before he could get his groove back. But he'll get there. With the group/Jevils support, he would eventually be back to the way he was. Equally matched with Jevil. :}

@clevermakercupcake

Thank you!! :}}} 🌻🌻

I don't remember that, did he do that?? Kwazii whyyy that's nasty XDDD

@cupcake-kingdom

Seam is frightened and confused but appreciates the message! XD

Joy. There's just joy and relief everywhere.

There has been a constant anxiety over this group- not just Jevil, that Seam would suddenly collapse and die. Finally succumbing to the chains draining properties.

Now that the chains are off? Seam will heal. He will eat and stay full. He will absorb those calories and turn it into energy. And he will keep that energy. When he sleeps he will wake up feeling rested. He will heal, he will live.

For Seam, it was almost too good to be true. It just, it blew his mind. He was free. He was really free. No more pain, no more aches. No more hunger. His freedom truly starts here. The relief he felt can't be described. He cried, hard. But he also laughed, and for the first time in years, he smiled.

And Jevil? He couldn't speak. He just cried and cried and cried.. He couldn't let go of Seam. He couldn't stop looking at his wrists. Exanimating them over and over again. As if he couldn't truly believe it. All the anxiety, all the worry, all the sleepless nights. They were all over. Seam was gonna live, he didn't have to worry anymore. He couldn't let go of Seam, he couldn't stop shaking, he couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop smiling.

They will likely leave some kind of permanent scar on Seam yes.. but his floofy orange fur hides the scars around his neck. And the scars on his wrists will be somewhat covered up by his fur. So thankfully they wont really be noticeable. <:)

@nunyabusiness459

Heck yeah. After they cry their souls out together they go and crash for like 6 hours or something XDD

(Also funny username, made me laugh! XD)

WAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! And heck yeah!! Feel free to send me your AU stuff when you're done/ready! I'd love to see it! :}}

@ocinstituterep I imagine he's just reeeeally quiet about sneaking out. My Kwazii doesn't sneak out though he knows better XD

Thank you so much! Also Spongebob has angst??? :00000

Things are mostly better!

Little Red got her knees fixed, Escorts broken down a few times but he's currently in working order! Suburban is stiillll a work in progress... undrivable at the moment- :x

Greenie now takes all 4 limbs to start, Brown is out of the garage and U.M is out of the trailer! Pretty good stuff :}}

(If any of that made sense to you I applaud you for your dedication to my Transformer ocs <XDD)

@skywillow28022

She does exist, although I didn't have any real plans for her.. maybe she was just a gal that the bros knew in passing back on Earth.?

@beryl-shade

I feel like none of them would willing visit that old stage.. expect for maybe Foxy. I feel like Foxy would be a very emotional and tender hearted character. I can see him not wanting to "leave them behind" in a way. He would come back now and then and talk to the stage as if they were standing on it and could hear him. The staff think that Foxy's programming just hasn't properly registered that Chica and Freddy are gone. And in a way.. they're right..

Foxy cant let go of their memory. And despite how much it would ache seeing that empty stage, I can see him coming back to it anyway..

This also means that part of the reason why Bonnie and Foxy clash so much now is that Bonnie is trying to snuff out any memories and feelings of the past. Meanwhile Foxy is wallowing in those memories and refuses to let go.

If any of the four of them had to preform on that stage once again? Oh man. That would hurt. It would kill Foxy to stand in the place of his late friends. He would feel guilty, ashamed.. Monty and Roxy also couldn't handle it. They would be crushed. Monty would likely get emotional and angry. Roxy would want to run and hide her face. Maybe the three of them would find a way to fake a malfunction so they could just get off the stage..

But Bonnie? Man. Maybe he's so overwhelmed that he just goes on autopilot and finishes the performance. Only to have a complete mental breakdown in his room later.. being so close to the memory of Chica and Freddy.. its crippling to him.

@skatermusic

Daww, thank you :}}}

#my response #undertale #deltarune #fnaf security breach #my ocs #splatoon ocs #the amazing digital circus

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starsval · 2 years

Text

6 favours with James Potter

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: James enters your life by asking you weird favours.

Word count: 2,1k

Warnings: kissing, mentions of punching and broken noses, anxiety attacks, crying.

A/N: based on Do Me a Favour by Arctic Monkeys, even though these aren't the vibes of the song.

Pd: I had to make that Taylor reference, I couldn't help it.

Favour 1

"And do me a favor and break my nose" That's one of the first things James said to you while showing interest. You have talked a few times in class, but not enough for him to ask you that.

"What?" You ask him, unbothered, sitting under a tree, facing the lake.

"The other day at the party, you broke his nose"

Oh, yes, you did. Some guy in one of your friend's classes was bothering her a lot, and he'd been doing it for a while. So you took advantage of the situation, and punched him, just to blame it on the alcohol after.

After that beautiful flashback, you look back at your homework.

"I don't know what you're talking about" You tell him.

"Punch me so I can get over you" He suddenly says.

"Over me? What-" You are even more confused with this than with your homework.

"I can't stop thinking about you since I saw you at the party, and it's not like we're strangers, so just do it"

"James- I'm not gonna punch you" You start to pack your things as you see your friend walking to you. "I have to go, bye" Then you start to walk away, but not enough to not hear him shout:

"You know my name!"

You look back at him for a moment, doubting that this is all a prank.

“What was that?” Your friend asks you as you start to walk to the castle.

“It doesn’t matter” You sigh.

Favour 2

This time you were in divination class, waiting for your friend to sit next to you.

"Lately I've been feeling like" You start talking as soon as someone sits next to you, thinking it's your friend. But as you look up you see James.

"What? Where's-" He cuts you off by pointing at your friend, who's now sitting next to Sirius, clearly flirting.

"Do me a favor and tell me to go away" He finally says.

"What?" You ask, focused on your homework again.

"Yes, I was thinking, and I'm not sure that I would lose my feelings for you if you punched me” He smiles, like he’s imagining it. “Because, well, you get it. So this is the safest way”

"I don't-" You get interrupted again, this time by the teacher, who just approached you two..

"James, could you tell us what you see in the crystal ball?" He focuses for a moment, like he's really trying to see something.

"I see me in a really happy relationship with Y/n" He whispers the last part, so only the teacher could hear it.

"You know what? I know I sensed something between you two" She mutters before walking away, to bother another pair of students. James immediately looks at you with a big smile, to which you roll your eyes, but smile anyway.

"It's in the stars" He points to the ceiling "We're going to be together"

"Sure" You are still looking at your homework, but you can see how he smiles even more.

"How have you been feeling lately?"

"What?"

"You were going to say that to your friend"

"Didn't you want me to tell you to go away"

"Yes but you didn't, so I'm assuming I have possibilities. So, I want to get to know you"

You sigh, knowing that you can't escape from him, so you just tell him about your favorite food, song, color, flavor and season. You learn that he loves red, eucalyptus and spring, because it's better to play quidditch.

Before you can answer another of his weird questions, it's time to go to your next class, without him. So you pack your things and get up. You walk away after saying.

"I never said you didn't have possibilities"

Since then James started walking you to class, and you even went to see him practice once. Only to deny it after. But you've been talking to him more and more.

Favour 3

It was all too much, the tests, your family, your friend who you doubted was your friend anymore. It was all too much, all bottled up, until you get a letter from your family. Asking of course about your grades, not about you, or your life, about your grades, no before talking about their lives.

So you walk out the Great Hall, before everyone sees you cry. You don't even bother in telling your friend, she was too focused on some boy to notice you practically running out the room.

As soon as you're in the hallway, you feel the tears running down your face, while you walk to some random balcony, to get some air.

"What happened?" You hear James ask. He noticed you as soon as you got up the chair, and he noticed something was wrong.

"Nothing" You answer, even though tears keep falling from your eyes. Then he sits next to you, contemplating the quidditch pitch in front of you.

"It was your friend, wasn't it? You guys are almost all the time together"

"No, I'm fine" No, you weren't.

"You know it's okay to cry, right? And to tell people if they're bothering you"

This time you're the one who asks the favor.

"James, do me a favor and stop asking questions" You tell him, finally drying your face with your hands.

"Oh, okay" He tries to get up, but you stop him, by holding his hand.

"You can stay, just, talk about something else"

And he does, you stay there talking about the next prank he's doing, still holding his hand.

Favour 4

Breathe

You repeat yourself as you walk around an abandoned classroom. You were having an anxiety attack in the middle of the class, and you didn't want anyone to see you right now. So you just asked to go to the bathroom and here you were. Getting dizzy from walking around a table.

You keep trying to dry your face, even though tears keep coming out your eyes, when someone knocks on the door.

"Are you okay?" It's James, he's on the other side of the door, worrying about you.

"Yes" You tell him after getting close to it, so he could hear you.

"Do me a favor, and ask if you need some help" He says.

"I don't need help, I just need five minutes" You talk, still reminding yourself to breathe.

"Can I be with you during those five minutes?" You think about it, and when he's about to leave, you open the door with your wand, sitting on a table, looking at the window.

"Yes" You quietly say, drying your face as he sits next to you.

“I’ve seen the way she acts” He talks after a while, when you already stopped crying “Your friend, I mean. And I know I don’t have anything to do with your friendships, but as your future boyfriend, I can tell you that you deserve better” You look at him.

“My future boyfriend?” You smile, and look back at the window. “And I know, but she’s my only friend, she was the only stability I had in my life” You sigh “But not anymore I guess”

“I’ll help you make new friends, I think you would really like Remus” Then he thinks about it “Maybe not him, let's start with Sirius”

You raise an eyebrow at him “Why?”

“No reason”

“Are you afraid I might like Remus more than I like you?"

“What? No, it’s not that, how could you not like me? Have you seen me?-” Then he realizes what you said “You like me?” He smiles. But before you can answer, the bell rings, informing you that the class is over, therefore, lunch just started.

“Bye” You walk to the door, not looking back to an amazed James, who looks at you until the door closes.

Favour 5

“She likes me! She told me she likes me!” James was telling his friends when he saw you walking in the Great Hall and sitting alone. He was going to sit next to you but he saw your friend walking towards you.

He couldn’t hear what you guys were talking about, but he saw you being confident and your friend frowning, so he assumed you followed his advice. After a meal where James was only focused on you and fully ignoring his friends, he could finally walk to you as you reached the door.

“You like me” He says as he follows you to the garden, it was Saturday so you were going to do homework under the usual tree.

“Hi to you too” You answer, sitting and taking the things out of your backpack.

“Hi, you like me, right?” This time you ignore him, knowing that he wouldn’t shut up about that if you said anything wrong. “Okay, so I can’t ask that…” He thinks out loud. “Are you going to go to the Gryffindor party tonight?” He asks, smiling

“I don’t think so” You answer, focused on your homework.

“What? Why not?” He frowns.

“If you want me to go, then ask me” You look up at him, causing him to smile.

“Will you go to the Gryffindor party tonight with me?”

“Yes” You focus again on the homework on your lap, and then you notice that he’s too quiet, so you look at him, just to see him smile like he just won a contest. “What?”

“I like you, and I know that you like me, because you said it, and because, who wouldn’t like me? Have you seen me? Everything is just so perfect…” Then he lays down next to you, watching the tree leafs move.

“Do me a favor, and stop flattering yourself” You tell him, avoiding his gaze when he looks up so he doesn’t think that you were staring at him(you were).

“Then I’ll flatter you”

“I need to finish this”

“I’ll flatter you in my head” You roll your eyes and he smiles, looking at you, until he realizes something “You won’t break anyone's nose tonight will you?”

“Shut up” You tell him, smiling.

Favour 6

“I told you you’d have a good time” James asks as he follows through the hall.

“You didn’t tell me that, but I had a good time”

“You know what wasn’t good? That I got in detention and couldn’t talk to you in a week”

“You talked to me through letters” You tell him, sitting in a random window, waiting for him to sit in front of you.

“You know what they say, the best way to get to someone’s heart is by letters”

“No one has ever said that” You tell him, smiling.

“I do” You roll your eyes, looking through the window. “Can I ask you one last favour?” That makes you look back at him.

“Sure”

“Do me a favour and be my girlfriend” He smiles, pretty confident in himself.

“Okay” You smile too, getting closer to him. “Then do me a favour and kiss me”

And he does, he kisses you until you can’t breathe, until all you feel are his hands on your waist, his lips on yours. He kisses you until you forget everything, until all you can wish is to stay here forever. He kisses you like he’s been waiting all his life for this moment, like his lips can’t stop, and you don’t want them to. You put your hands in his neck as he moves you closer to him, so you have no choice but to stay here and kiss him even more.

He kisses you until you both hear someone clearing their throat.

You both look back at that person, hardly breathing, and you see Remus looking back at you.

“Hi Rem, this is my girlfriend” He smiles and looks back at you “I think it’s already safe for you to met him”

ᰔᩚෆ❧ღდლ❦ও❥ଓ

“You said no more favours!” You tell James.

“I know, but that would make me the happiest person alive”

“I thought that being my boyfriend made you the happiest person alive” You raise an eyebrow at him, who smiles at you.

“And it does! But I’d really love that”

“James, I’m not gonna punch Snape just because he looked at me”

“He was mean to you!”

“He didn't’ even talk!"

“But you could see him thinking mean things” You look at him, genuinely concerned, and sigh, laying in your bed.

“Let’s just sleep” You open your arms so he could cuddle you, and he does, smiling all the time.

“We’ll continue talking tomorrow?”

“James…”

“Okay, and you actually make me the happiest person alive” You smile, hugging him tightly.

#james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #young james potter #young remus lupin #kissing #fluff fluff fluff #arctic monkeys song #the marauders #the marauders era #james potter

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