#look at fizz's little face in that second one

[thats-a-mood-gabriella]

We don't talk enough about not only Fizz making it rain on Ozzie during his solo

But also him trying to hold Ozzie up during his pole dance and nearly collapsing under Ozzie's weight.

I love them.

[pseudowho]

"Oh! Kento-- wait-- please please please--"

Kento turned back on the bustling Tokyo street, the night bullied away by neon signs, light pollution, and the pollution of the wayward drunken laughers. He only came on staff nights out, now, because you'd be there. He peered at you, tie-loose, hair-mussed and bleary, as you knelt in front of a Gacha machine. You rummaged in your purse for a coin.

Kento grunted, smirking, and reached into his clinking pocket, swaying back to you with liquor-rusted words.

"You're drunk. Here--"

"A-ha!" You birthed a 500 yen coin from your purse, triumphant, and Kento felt childishly disappointed that he couldn't pay for your inebriation treat for you. He watched you fumble the coin into the Gacha machine, and turn the wheel, crank, crank, cranking until there sounded a hollow tok, and a skrrr-skrrr-skrrr, tok.

The Gacha pod landed in the dispenser. You gasped, biting your lip in sweet anticipation, and looking up at Kento. He could barely contain himself from his own adoration, wanting nothing more than to reach down and grasp your plush cheeks and press his lips to yours and taste the drink off your tongue and--

"Kiss, Kento."

Kento frog-blinked, wondering if he'd spoken such impurities aloud, and opened his mouth to apologise. But he paused again, leaning down over you, knelt on the pavement, where you held the Gacha pod up to him, and repeated yourself, ditzy-drunk.

"Kiss it, Kento. For luck. For me."

Self-conscious, and grumbling in a way that only deepened your grin, Kento leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to the Gacha pod as you laughed. He straightened up, looking up and down the street to see if anyone saw, his vision a few seconds slower than his mind, wading through whiskey.

Heat rose up Kento's neck, and he opened his mouth again to suggest something stupid like why don't you come back to mine for another drink and--

"Awww, damn! This one again!" Kento looked down at you, owlish and inquisitive. You held up a little keychain, with a disappointed half-smile on your lips. You grimaced up at him, shrugging.

"That was my last shot I think. This line discontinues next week. Never mind." You tapped the front of the Gacha machine, stroking the green image of the one you were after, wistful.

Kento pulled you to your feet, and you linked your arm through his, swaying down the street together. Kento swallowed hard, wishing you were on his back, but instead blurted out;

"I'm sorry my kiss wasn't lucky enough."

You sighed, pensive, swinging your keychain on one finger.

"I'm sure they're plenty lucky. Just, maybe not for me."

Kento barely registered your words, distracted and glancing back down the street at the flashing Gacha machine, growing ever more distant.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Between lessons a few days later, you crept into your office to dump essays on your desk, and snatch five minutes of peace. Settling your mug down, you saw the glimmer of brightly coloured plastic on the centre of your keyboard.

You blinked, curious, before a smile of realisation broke out across your face. A Gacha pod. You recalled, with your cheeks growing hot, how you had begged Kento for his lucky kiss, and how he hadn't corrected you when you told him that his lucky kisses would only be lucky for another girl. You felt a sting of humiliation...

...but, nobody else could have left this gift. Taking a deep breath, and pressing your lips to the pod (unknowingly stealing a kiss that had already been left there for you), you cracked it open-- and squealed with delight, ecstatic and fizzing with joy, to find your collection completed in the eleventh hour.

Later, at the first ring of the lunchtime bell, you knocked on the door to Kento's office. No answer. You knocked again, and gently opened the door, peering round and calling out.

"Kento...?"

Still, no answer. You crept in, closing the door behind you. His office was empty, his desk sparse and functional as always, not wanting to turn his desk into anything that would suggest he thought of work as home. The cupboard on his desk, was, however, straining at its latch, wonky at the closing seam from something stuffed inside.

Curious once more, you stroked the bursting seam of the cupboard, and undid the latch.

A veritable ball-pit burst forth over the office, with Gacha pods of yellow and red and orange and pink and blue and purple and black and white and--

--and every colour, except for green. Dozens and dozens of Gacha pods...except, for green. That one, you held in your purse. You swallowed hard, blinking back tears, and collected Gacha after Gacha, from beneath cupboards and radiators, rolled to all four corners of Kento's office.

Setting to work, you sat cross-legged on the floor, emptying the pods of their keychains one by one. Thousands and thousands of yen tallied before your eyes, and the plain, unassuming desk behind you said nothing of your coworker's secret obsession. And how he couldn't face you. And how you would never have known.

You sat in silence, with a lap full of empty Gacha pods, and listening to the birds singing songs of summer outside the window. You thought, and thought, and thought. You ripped pages from your notebook, tearing them to shreds, and set to work once more. By the time you were finished, the lunch bell rang again. You crammed the final Gacha back into the cupboard.

You could only wait, and hope.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The warm summer rain started as evening began to roll in. You looked out of the Bistro window from your table for two, your belly twisted with nerves. Your green prize was clasped in your hand, a lucky charm; one earned with far more luck than a simple kiss could give.

You heard the jangling of a bell behind you. You dared not look up, instead just listening-- slow, familiar footsteps. The rattling clunk of a tote bag being placed before you, filled with Gacha pods. The rustle of a stack of carefully unfolded little notes, all with one word on; 'tomorrow'. 'Café'. 'You'. 'Me'. '8pm.'

"You broke into my cupboard."

You pursed the smile between your lips, your eyes closing with the silken chastisement, made without venom. Kento's cologne washed over you as he sat on the chair opposite, removing his glasses in a way that softened his face completely, looking at his lap with a smile. When he looked up at you, it was with a love so unapologetic that you could have cried.

You felt your nose stinging again, and set your green Gacha prize on the table between the two of you. Sheets of rain washed down the Bistro windows, and you cleared your throat, your voice cracking.

"This is quite the prize."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Kento! I'm home!"

You dumped your shoes and bag at the door, padding into the living room on bare feet. Kento leaned away from the stove, twirling spaghetti, and offering you the smiles he offered nobody else. He anticipated you, as your mouth opened.

"--yes, I went to the Gachapon. They're on the sofa. Pre-kissed."

You gasped in delight, in the same way you had that night, and bounced onto the sofa, two Gacha leaping with you.

"Two?" You cried, to his shrug, "I only said one-- you can't keep funding my habit, Kento--"

"I'm sure one would have been fine. But, just in case."

You barely registered Kento stepping over to you in his apron, with two steaming bowls, so focused were you on cracking open your Gacha pods. Taking a deep breath, you undid the wrapper...and cheered, your arms flinging into the air.

"Your kisses really are lucky, Kento, gosh...well, one more, then, I--"

You had cracked open the final Gacha. A ring tumbled into your hand, and your brain short-circuited. You trembled, rolling it around in your palm. The two halves of the pod clattered to the floor, forgotten. Your vision swam, and you sniffled, and looked up.

Kento had dipped onto one knee before you, aproned and still, with two bowls of pasta In his hands. In the crucial moment, he seemed anxious. He cleared his throat, his voice thickening.

"I would...like to fund your habit for the rest of our lives. If you'll have me."

A laugh bubbled through your tears, and you wiped your cheeks, allowing Kento to slide the ring into place on your finger. You held his broad hand in serene silence, time standing still, before you spoke.

"...so this ring is just...just one in the collection, right? Wait-- no, Kento, COME BACK, PLEASE-- I'M JUST FUCKING WITH YOU--"

[leighsartworks216]

Kiss-Proof

Sylus x implied fem!Reader

Inspired by this fic by @peachlynnie

Also inspired by an Archie comic lol

Warnings: fluff, kissing, established relationship, lipstick, implied sexual content at the end

Word Count: 948

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (fill this out to be tagged in future fics)

How he got roped into this situation, he has no idea. Not that he's complaining. What could be better than his partner straddling his lap, kissing him over and over again?

You plant a kiss at a bare spot on his cheek without ceremony. You pull away, hopeful, only to deflate when the vibrant imprint of your lips are left behind. "Ugh, this one transfers, too." The tube of lipstick is tossed off to the side with the other failures.

Sylus grabs the makeup wipe from the previous attempts (almost completely covered in various shades of pink and red). His hand holds your jaw warmly, thumb on your chin, as his other thumb brushes the wipe over your lips.

He could suggest taking you shopping to the high end stores that would most certainly have lipstick proven not to smudge or transfer, but then you'd have to get up and stop testing it. His lips still have some red staining them, and his cheeks, neck and forehead are almost completely covered. He'd hate to stop now.

"How many more do you have to test?" he asks.

You shift in his lap, forcing him to stop his ministrations in favor of holding your hip to support you. You grab another lipstick tube from a pile andshift the remaining ones around. "Like, five more? At least one of these has to work."

He shifts his legs, settling you back into place, and draws your attention back to him so he can wipe away the last smidge of tint at the corners of your mouth. "If none of these work, I'll buy you some more," he promises. He nods slightly as he sets the wipe aside. "Go ahead, try this one."

You use a little compact mirror to help you get the shade on right. It's a warm red, bloody and tempting. It’s the same shade as his eyes after a couple glasses of Gin Fizz, when he looks at you with unbridled affection, enhanced with his slight intoxication.

Sylus would be the first to admit how much he loves watching this. He loves the comfort you have to propose this silly idea, to crawl into his lap with a bag of lipsticks and makeup wipes and the intensity of an executive making a pitch to a board room. He loves getting to watch the concentration on your face as you glide the applicator over your top lip, following the natural line to ensure it's perfect. Loves the mild frustration when you mess up the corner. Loves that you trust him to fix it with the wipe wrapped over his thumb nail. Loves the quiet thanks you mutter before you get back to work.

Fully applied, you hum impatiently as you turn the tube over to read the directions. "'Wait two minutes.' Damn."

"The best results take time," Sylus teases.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare. "Fine. What should we talk about for two minutes?"

He hums as he taps a finger on your hip. "I don't think I ever asked: Why are you so eager to find a lipstick that doesn't transfer?"

"Well," you wipe your thumb along his lip, dragging the lingering color with it, "it's embarrassing to drink from a glass and leave a big smudge behind."

He chuckles. "That's what's got you so worried, sweetie?"

You trace the rouge up to his prominent cupid's bow. "Mm, not completely." You wonder what he'd look like with lipstick on him properly. You're sure he'd look amazing. Hell, even like this, covered with all your kisses, he looks good. You're damn near convinced he can pull any look off.

He squeezes your sides. "Tell me," he implores, voice soft and tender.

You sigh. "When we go to auctions, I feel like I can't kiss you," you admit quietly. "Everyone there is so... imposing. I don't want to, well, do this to you," you gesture at all the lipstick stains, "and ruin your reputation."

"Sweetie." He cups your cheek in his large hand. It holds you perfectly, always. You lean into it without a second thought. He smiles. "My reputation isn't that fragile. Besides..."

His voice gets lower as he draws you in. You could get high on the way his eyes flicker to your mouth. His nose brushes yours, hot breath shared in the centimeters of space left between you.

"How else will they know who I belong to?"

Your breath hitches. His mouth is on yours, seeking, claiming, drawing you deeper into him. You feel the creamy texture of smudged lipstick as you hold his face, slide your fingers along his neck into his hair. It streaks along his perfect skin.

His tongue licks the seam of your lips, begs for entrance. You tug at his hair as you let him in. He groans into your mouth, sighs a wanton rendition of your name. Your shirt slips up your waist as he dives a hand below the fabric to press against your bare skin.

You pull away sharply. "The lipstick!"

His eyes look murderous for being disturbed, by you of all people. Still, he contains himself enough not to dive right back in. Just barely. What he can’t contain is the furrow in his brow and the frown he wears.

You ignore the smudges of color on his skin, matching stains on your hands, as you tilt his head up to better look at his lips. They're still stained with that light red from before, but-

"Sy! It worked! This one didn't smudge!"

"Perfect." He pulls you roughly back down to him, biting your colored lip before licking it sinfully. "Let's take it for a test run, shall we?"

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy

[redr0sewrites]

im a handful (but thats what hands are for)

🍇A/n: the title is a song lyric,,,, iykyk

🍇Cw: smut, dirty talk, praise + degradation, pwp, fingering, riding, breeding kink, a bit of angst???, implied switch!Touya, fem!reader

🍇divider

you and Dabi had always been complete opposites in terms of demeanor. while he was carefree and frivalous, you always prided yourself on being complex and thorough. with the ever burning tension between you two, it was no wonder that you had ended up in the position you were in now- although this was certainly not the first time- pressed down on your bed with one of Japans, no, the worlds most dangerous criminals finger fucking you to hell and back.

"there she is," he whispers, the same words as the first time you'd let him fuck you. "knew there was a pretty little slut under that cold exterior."

you follow your script with practiced expertise, repeating the same words you'd uttered all those months ago- and so did he.

"ffuck you-"

"isn't that what i'm already doing 'ma?"

Dabi was mesmerized with you, to say the least. from the hitch of your breath when he first curled a finger into your pretty cunt, to the soft whines that slowly fill the room with each ministration, followed by the delectable squelch of your pussy as your clit rocks against his knuckles.

it was clear in every sense of the word that he was purely obsessed, almost worshipful- not limited to, but especially in bed.

"yea? y'like that?"

piercing blue eyes watch your every move, keeping careful catalog of every twitch and shudder you make in response to his actions. Dabi's thumb finds your clit with practiced ease, and he rubs swift circles over the sensitive bud.

"Dabi, oh-h, fuck-"

"thats not my name, hun," he coos, leaning down to press an almost condescending kiss to your forehead.

"y'really are worked up, huh? c'mon, we're all alone, you can say it."

"ffuck, Touya!"

"there she is," he smirks, curling his fingers and sliding in a third as you whimper. you can practically see his mind whirling with sawtrap level plans to keep you in bed with him, to finally let him truly be yours. in all the times you both had slept together, you had never fallen asleep beside him, never stayed the night, hell, never even mentioned it outside of the bedroom. it had started off as a challenge, but that soon melted into a raw, desperate, carnivorous need to be yours. Touya had never been wanted, so he rarely even dared to allow himself to want in turn- but fuck, did he want you.

he watches you as you cum like a sheep watches its guard dog, knowing deep down that you could ruin him, sink your teeth into his neck and tear out the remains of his bleeding, broken heart- and yet, the dog stays ever loyal, defending its livestock even at its own expense.

your ability to speak seemed to flee as your orgasm washes over you, sending ripples of pleasure across the planes of your body. all the while Touya continuously pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, prolonging your pleasure as the world around you fizzes in and out of focus.

"y'alright?" he rasps, pulling his hand away from your sticky cunt- only to lick your release right off his fingers. you make a face and he snickers, and for just a second, you can see a ripple within the veil of time, and instead of one of the most dangerous people in the world, a snarky, beautiful young man is sitting in front of you. that was the difference between Dabi and Touya in your eyes- he could act cold and nonchalant all he wanted, but behind closed doors, he was your Touya.

"you want a taste?" his words pull you from your stupor, and you roll your eyes.

"no thanks, i'm good."

"are you sure? you taste sweet, y'know," he teases, and you laugh in spite of yourself.

"bull."

"don't knock it till ya try it," he snickers, before shifting to stand up. your body reacts without thinking, and you grab his wrist.

"where are you going?" you demand, and he turns to look at you, almost.... surprised.

"i was gonna go get something to clean up, but i guess if you'd rather be covered in your own slick-"

"what about you?" you motion to the obvious strain in his boxers, and he rolls his eyes.

"you worried about me, doll?"

"sit back down."

he obeys almost immediately, your commanding tone wiping the attitude out of his demeanor- but it isn't enough to diminish the teasing smirk off his face.

"why? ya gonna suck me off?"

"no," you murmur as you begin to shift closer until your hovering over him. with one hand, you push him down against the mattress, and he relaxes compliantly, like a ragdoll beneath your fingertips. you look down at him, lust clouding your gaze as he stares up at you with those big, blue eyes.

"then what're you gonna do, ma?" he mumbles, voice noticeably raspier.

"you'll see, Touya. be patient." you continue to hover over him, keeping yourself from fully straddling him just yet. he'd already shed most of his clothes earlier, leaving him bare before you in nothing but his boxers. his cock is already hard, straining up against the thin material of his undergarments.

you take your time to admire the pretty scene laying down in front of you- and pretty it is. his scars are even more defined in the dim lighting, and the streetlights from outside your window illuminate the silvery piercings holding him together.

you had been cursed- or rather, blessed- with intrusive thoughts of tearing them all out one by one with your teeth while he burnt you alive from the inside. it was disgustingly, beautifully gruesome, almost carnivorous, the way you loved- no. lusted for him. you desperately want him to be your undoing- and you, his- but you could never let yourself love him. not when he would never love you. you keep that in mind as you trail a hand over his chest and pectorals, yet your heart pays careful attention of the way his breathing hitches at your gentle touch.

"so pretty," you murmur, before leaning down to press a kiss to the conjunction of his neck and collarbone. Touya practically melts, getting all squirmy and unsure beneath you like he always did whenever you show him any attention.

"shut up," he hisses, but his words hold no bite as he shudders beneath you.

"mhm," you continue your assault on his neck, pressing gentle kisses across the scarred flesh.

"you nervous, Touya?" you tease, and he sucks in a breath.

"i said shut up."

"of course, baby~" you coo, pretending to ignore the strained whine that leaves his mouth at your words. he always got like this after a long day, all compliant and needy, but it was rare that he was this quiet. you indulge his good behavior, and your hands, which were previously exploring his chest, travel down to find purchase on the waistband of his boxers.

"can i take these off?"

"yea," he rasps, lifting his hips up off the mattress to assist you in removing his undergarments. his cock springs free, lightly tapping against his stomach in its erect state. you once again marvel at his complacency, and your heart flutters at how much he trusts you. then your brain tells your heart to shut the fuck up. regardless, you make eye contact with him as you spit into your palm before gingerly running a finger up the side of his aching length, causing Touya to grit his teeth to prevent another whine slipping out.

"don't tease," he grumbles, blue eyes narrowing in adorable irritation. you hum, watching the way his body tenses as you situate yourself above his aching length, aligning him with your entrance. scarred hands tentatively hover over your hips, and he looks up at you almost questioningly. you give a nod of approval and he grabs your soft flesh, rubbing small circles with his thumb over the plush of your hips.

"y'ready?" you mumble, before slowly sinking his tip between your folds. Touya nods breathlessly, watching as your cunt slowly begins to swallow up his length. his tip slowly protrudes into your gummy walls, and you shudder around his size. he's barely halfway in and he's already practicing breathing exercises to keep himself from cumming too early, with the way your squeezing him so tight.

you watch his stomach twitch beneath your hand as you sink further down his length. Touya's head is thrown back, and with every inch engulfed into your aching heat he lets out a few more tantalizing noises. your thighs burn as you finally seat yourself on his cock, with your clit ever so lightly brushing up against his navel as you get situated. you give yourself a second to get used to the slight burn you've associated with having him inside of you, and Touya squirms beneath you as he too struggles to adjust.

slowly but surely, you begin to roll your hips against his, marveling at the way his tip kisses your g-spot. Touya gasps as you raise your hips, almost letting him slip out of you entirely, before slamming yourself back down hard onto his cock. he lets out a strangled moan, squeezing your hips so tight youre sure that they'll bruise.

"yea? y'like that?" you parrot his words from earlier, rolling your hips in a desperate effort to coax out more of his lovely noises.

"ha-ah, fuck, you're so-o tight, 'm not gonna last, m'gonna cum in this pretty pussy," he slurs, looking up at you with hazy eyes.

"yea? s'that what you wanna do Touya? gonna make me yours?"

Touya nods eagerly, rocking his hips up into yours. his thrust hits your g spot perfectly, and you let out a wanton moan. he immediately takes a firm hold of your hips, pistoning his cock up into you again and again, repetitively hitting that spot so deep inside of you.

"you can, y'know." you pant, sweat dripping from your brow.

"huh?"

"cum inside."

Touya sputters something incomprehensible, and you have the audacity to giggle. at him.

"m' on the pill, hun. y'really are worked up, huh?"

Touya lets out a choked moan, recognizing his own words being spat back at him as he rolls his hips impossibly harder against yours. a scarred hand reaches between you both to rub harsh circles on your clit, and you gush, clenching around him at his ministrations.

"i, hah, 'm close- i want you, closer, please," he babbles, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you tight against him. Touya nuzzles into your chest, his lips finding purchase on one of your nipples. your pussy squeezes him tight as he sucks lightly, and his cock twitches once, twice, three times before he cums. he presses down hard on your clit as he spurts inside you, continuing to fuck his release deeper into your spongey walls. those actions alone push you over the edge, and you call out his name as your second orgasm of the night washes over you like a tidal wave.

Touya continues rutting up into you for a few more seconds, prolonging both of your orgasms and pressing sloppy kisses to your chest and collar. he isn't sure what to focus on, or even if he can focus. his mind is fuzzy, filled with you, you, you. nonetheless, your happy to indulge as you paw at his chest, continuing to grind down against him until the pleasure begins to melt into overstimulation. Touya can barely comprehend the fact that you had just let him cum inside of you, and it sparked the possessive side of him that so often reared up in these moments with you.

"o-oh fuck, ffuuuck fuck fuck," he's gasping, cock twitching desperately as he pulls out. cum is dripping down between both of your legs, hot release pooling on the sheets beneath him. you hover over him for a second before collapsing down besides him, and a firm arm wraps around your body, pulling you flush against him. Touya marvels as you melt into his embrace, nuzzling into his neck. if he could cry, he probably would, he wants you insatiably, impossibly close. in this moment, he knows that if he could crawl inside your skin, he would. he would tear out his own burning heart and hand it to you on a silver platter in return for moments like this, where he could be soft, where he could be Touya instead of Dabi.

"shit," you mumble against his skin. "that was... wow. better than ever."

"good enough to make you stay the night?" the words slip out before he can stop them, and he regrets it almost instantly as you tense. fuck his sex-addled brain and his stupid mouth. he's fully prepared for you to immediately get up and leave, but instead, you surprise him like you always do.

"i didn't think you wanted me to stay," you whisper, and he blinks hard.

"f'course i did. i still do."

"..okay. i'll stay."

he can't help the smile that stretches across his face as you snuggle into him deeper.

"on one condition- or maybe two."

his heart sinks.

"we clean up first."

damn.

"and you have to promise that we'll discuss this in the morning. i don't want to keep doing... this. if we're going to continue to sleep together, i want to be, like, more than just friends."

Touya is silent for a moment, and he swears that his heart is beating so loud that the entirety of Japan can hear it. you had just said that. he was sure he must be dreaming.

"really?"

"yes, really. now let me go so i can clean this mess up before it dries!"

"...never. i'm not ever letting go of you ever again."

"ugh, you're such a handful," you grumble, curling into his warmth as he lets out a raspy chuckle.

"i guess you're stuck holding me."

"..yea. guess i am"

hey guys ! im so insane over him actually. he's literally eldest daughter syndrome (me) in the form of a traumatized man (i would not fix him. i support his atrocities. id help him fuck up endeavor.)

ANYWAYS SEND IN DABI/TOUYA OR JUST BNHA ASKS OR THIRSTS PLS

[llflorence]

Can I convince you to fall for me?

Sequel to Did you just -- kiss me? (Human AU, RatedE)

Inspired by this art by @gahellhimself-blog

“Oh, pshh!” Maggie says as she begins her second mimosa. The fine lines around her mouth have cracked as the face mask dries. “He’s not going to judge your sexual prowess on a little chipped tooth.”

Aziraphale glances around at the stylists. They’re all watching where he and Maggie sit, side by side in the massage chairs with their feet in roiling tubs of hot, soapy water. He just knows he’s being judged.

“It’s not so little anymore,” he complains, quiet enough so only they two can hear. “If you hadn’t talked me into eating that toffee —“

Maggie’s natural falsetto voice gets even higher as she lifts the bottom of Aziraphale’s flute toward his face. “Puh-lease. It’s hardly noticeable. It’s like the dimples on your ass, or the ski-jump nose.”

Aziraphale pushes her hand away and immediately takes offense. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

She laughs. The ladies in the chairs to their right look disapprovingly down long noses. “I only meant that it’s cute!”

Before Aziraphale can protest, Maggie downs the rest of her drink. She leans over, conspiratorially like. “It’s not like he’s going to know you can’t afford the dentist because you have no insurance and can barely make rent without help from your mother. Unless, of course, you tell him.”

Maggie is the nicest, kindest, most generous person Aziraphale knows, which is why she’s his best friend. Still, alcohol does tend to make her brutally honest.

She pats his hand and lifts the glass back to his mouth. If this wasn’t their annual pampering girls' day, he’d have refused. As it is, it’s New Year's Eve morning, and he’s way out of sorts. Maybe she has the right idea.

He finishes the mimosa in two gulps and forces himself to withstand the bittersweet fizzing in his nose and on his tongue. If he’d listened to Muriel and postponed this date until after the holidays, he wouldn’t be so miserable.

Well. He’d be less miserable.

Aziraphale lets Maggie pour him another glass from the chilled carafe in the cooler by her side. By the way things are going, he’s going to need it to make it through her advice for this evening.

“Now. You’ve already hired the Uber, right?” Her pretty, plump cheeks are quite pink.

“Yes,” he sighs. “But I can’t even pay for this spa treatment. I don’t know how I’m going to pay down the credit cards —“

“Think of it this way,” she interrupts, swirling her glass and staring off into the distance. The windows are dripping with condensation, obscuring the view of the street. “If you drive Ruby, you’ll be obligated to go take her home, won’t you? This way your handsome devil will have to drive you to his place.”

Aziraphale hasn’t told her about the text messages. He’s certain that Anthony has it in the stars to bring Aziraphale home. The man just doesn’t know what to expect.

(He thinks of Ruby where she’s parked on the street outside his apartment. Two-hundred-and-forty-thousand miles and the Subaru hasn’t failed him yet.)

“Yeah,” he grumps. “And when we get there and I drop my trousers, and all I have to offer is soft-serve ice cream —“

Maggie laughs again. A good-sized splash of orange juice and champagne spills on her sweater. “At our age, that’s the least of our worries!”

Aziraphale is pretty sure she’s never had to deal with a limp dick her entire life.

“This coming from a fifty-one-year-old lesbian whose pleasure button is on the outside .”

This time, the whole row of massage chair inhabitants turns to look at them, from both sides. Aziraphale quickly hides his face in his drink.

Maggie, however, doesn’t get the hint. Her volume is way past annoying, heading for indecent. “Maybe you fifty-one-and-a-half-year-old gays should try using your fingers. Or, better yet, your mouth .”

Mimosa sprays all over Aziraphale’s lap, soiling his clean pants and dribbling down his chin. At least he hasn’t choked this time.

Felicia, his stylist, brings him a towel. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye. “About ten minutes left on the timer. You two need anything?”

Maggie needs nothing, of course. “But Aziraphale is going to need his chest waxed. I’m paying.”

“Aziraphale most certainly does not need his chest waxed!” he says, horrified. Felicia shares a wink with Maggie, and he groans at their sudden partnership.

“Come on!” Maggie pleads. She swishes her feet in the bath and bats her long eyelashes. “Don’t you think you shouldn’t leave anything to chance? Second time around and all?”

His stylist’s eyebrows rise as she lifts and checks under his mud mask. “Got a date, have we?”

Aziraphale closes his eyes and wishes he were anywhere else.

“It’s so romantic,” Maggie coos, and he knows she’s about to tell the whole tale. He inhales deeply and beats her to it.

“A friend of mine and I reconnected after fifteen years. I’m attending as his guest at a New Year’s Eve party tonight.”

Felicia knows Aziraphale almost as well as Maggie, seeing as he subscribes to therapy via hair and skin care. She eyes him head to foot and runs her tongue along the inside of her mouth. “Keep the hairy chest,” she nods. “Run some of that conditioner I gave you last time through it. You’ll thank me. So will he.”

Aziraphale takes her advice as he stands in the shower under what can only be called a ‘stream.’ It’s more like a slow drizzle; he’s called the landlord three times about the clogged shower head. And the busted lightbulb inside the fridge. And the window that’s stuck open in the kitchen. It’s getting to the point where he’s just going to fix things himself. That is, if he knew how.

He waits as long as he can, until goosebumps form on his arms and he’s procrastinated enough. He’s about as clean as he can be, and he’s done everything possible to make himself presentable. Nothing he can do about the tooth, of course.

Aziraphale shaves and dresses and paces in the kitchen as he waits for his ride. The new cufflinks from Muriel look out of place with his not-so-new shirt and suit coat. But at least he’s not wearing something rented; he could never live with himself if he did that.

He smooths out his tie and glances at the phone lying on the kitchen counter. There have been no text messages all day from him. Aziraphale knows it’s because he’s busy. Today was the day Anthony was scheduled to finish up on that very personal business he mentioned last week. And that was none of Aziraphale’s business.

The phone lights up, vibrating as a call comes through. It’s Muriel, and he considers not answering it. They’re probably ringing with more advice. As if he’s not already horribly embarrassed about the whole thing.

“Hey, Dad,” they say, bright and cheery as usual. “Just calling to wish you good luck.”

Aziraphale tries to smile so that it will show up in his voice. “Thanks, Dear. It’s really going to be f –”

“If it’s like, really bad, remember you can call me and I’ll pick you up. Just like you always offered for me.”

It’s going to be a long, long night, he thinks.

The Uber driver sends him a text from the street, and Aziraphale says goodbye to his offspring. He collects his long wool coat, hat, and mittens, and almost forgets the scarf as he pulls the door shut. It gets stuck in the door as he climbs inside, but Aziraphale doesn’t realize it. He’s too busy trying to make his hands stop shaking long enough to send a text.

To Anthony J. Crowley.

On my way! 

It’s a short drive through the busy part of downtown. Traffic is horrendous, and Aziraphale watches the time as his ride is forced to slow down to allow revelers to cross the streets. At this rate, he’ll be fifteen to twenty minutes late. Not the first impression he wishes to make, especially if Anthony relates punctuality to sex.

Sex is all Aziraphale can think about. In a matter of days, he’s become obsessed. He worries about how he smells, how he’ll taste, whether he should eat or be eaten. It ramps him up so high that he can’t focus on everyday things, like remembering to turn the dryer on after throwing wet clothes in. Or bringing the garbage and the recycling out to the cans.

So when the car pulls up to a swanky hotel, all lit up like a Christmas tree, he’s adjusting his dick inside the new underwear he bought himself as a gift. He makes the mistake of feeling the tip for wetness, which, of course, is right there. And, god, he hopes it isn’t leaking through to make a dark spot on the front of his trousers.

He pays and thanks the driver, opening the door to find the end of his scarf coated with brown, sandy slush. It’s dripping like mad as he lifts it off the ground, as he tries to close the car door and not step in the salty, puddled mess next to the curb.

The night has already begun with a failure, as he slips on the sidewalk and loses his balance. He closes his eyes as he sees very clearly what is about to happen. He’s going to land on his ass and ruin his night.

But the fall doesn’t happen. Instead, he is rescued. He is rescued by a tall, dark, devastatingly handsome man dressed in a familiar Santa cap. Gold-brown eyes twinkle down at him, and Aziraphale feels his breath catch in his throat. 

“Oh!” he manages, shocked and thrilled and a hundred other emotions all at once. Anthony has both hands firmly under Aziraphale’s elbows. And he’s smiling.

He’s smiling.

“See,” he begins, voice six shades of seductive as he steadies Aziraphale on his feet. “I thought maybe I could eventually convince you to fall for me, but this is ridiculous.”

Read on AO3

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Last Christmas

21/12: Dressing Up and Dry Humping - Michael Gavey Word Count: 1.8k~ | Warnings: semi-public heavy petting, fingering, dry humping

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

A/N: can be read as a little add on for this series

Even though she's wearing many, many layers of thermal clothes, she's done a good job of making it look like at least half. Black tights, skirt and the worst Christmas jumper she could find in the charity shop. Though not tacky enough to rival the ones she had back home, this one was a close second. Garish. Bright. Unapologetic.

God, it really was Christmas.

A stuffy, hot room, filled with people and steaming roast dinners, one paid for bottle of prosecco by the unj, and then on the lash before they broke up for the holidays. Sounded like a good night to her.

It was nights like this that made her remember last christmas party. Whenever she thought about it too much, the heat began to pool in her belly. Back then, she'd been fearless. Sucking off Michael Gavey in the common room while a party took place next door? She'd never imagine herself doing something so brave now.

Although, she could be tempted. Depends what he was dressed like.

In all honestly it had been a while since she'd seen him last, he'd been so preoccupied with his studies and then when he was done, it was her and…their schedules just never seemed to align at all. Until tonight hopefully.

But as she was filing into the hall, weaving through the groups of friends who assigned their seats at individual tables adorned with candles and Christmas crackers, she realised with a burning embarrassment at the back of her neck she may have misplaced what ‘dressing up’ meant.

Everyone was in smart clothes. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She was only offered a small relief when she spotted Michael, in a neat little button up and smart trousers. His blue eyes glimmered with recognition in a way that her stomach clench, until his brows furrowed in amusement at her…less than smart jumper.

“What the fuck is that?” he half laughed, trying to bite it back as soon as it left his mouth, judging the look on her embarrassed face.

She ran her fingers awkwardly through her hair, brushing it from her hot face. “I um…might have misinterpreted the theme…”

He let out a snort, holding a glass in one hand as his eyes did a full scan of her. Equal parts amused and appreciative. “Misinterpreted? I'd say you did a sharp left—”

She swatted his arm, semi-hard but not enough to hurt, “shut it. It's a Christmas dinner! I thought that meant…you know…festive.”

Michael bit back a grin, leaning over to grasp another glass to offer her, to at least calm her ever-rising nerves. She looked quite out of place amongst the smart shirts and sleek dresses.

She sat beside him at the table, her hands clasped under it to try and hide the design of her jumper somewhat. Michael in turn, patted her arm.

“Hey,” he whispers, quiet enough to not disturb the chatter at the table, “it looks cute. In a ‘holiday disaster’ kind of way.”

She scoffs, taking a tart sip of her prosecco, “thanks, makes me feel so much better.”

“You should,” he replied, leaning closer still. “You’re the only one who looks like they actually want to be here.”

She let out a breathy laugh, watching as the hum of conversation became laughter. Popping champagne corks, the air buzzing with sharp fizz. As dinner was served and alcohol flowed, combined with the holiday spirit, there was the slight edge of recklessness inching closer in.

After demolishing her sticky toffee pudding, watching as Michael beside her scooped the remnants of his crème brulé out the ramekin placed in front of him, she could feel her head swim, watching him. Even something so simple as the hair that curled at the nape of his neck, the slight bulge of his veins on the back of his hand…had that tightening tug in her stomach.

God what is wrong with me...

As the tables were pushed to the walls of the room and music blared, people began to crowd the middle, a sort of dance floor in lieu of a proper one. Those who were dressed posh, sleek, were now a mess of drunken excitement, sticky with alcohol on their skin.

Michael handed her another glass of prosecco, his eyes a little glassy behind his thin, black spectacles. “Come on,” he murmured, reaching for her hand without hesitation. His fingers were warm and firm around hers, and she didn’t even think to pull away.

“Where are we going?” she asked, stumbling slightly as he tugged her through the doorway and into the dimly lit hall.

“Somewhere less…” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder, where two students were drunkenly reenacting a scene from Love Actually. “...that.”

The walls were strung with fairy lights that blurred softly in her vision, the prosecco’s fizz buzzing in her veins. Michael turned another corner, pulling her into a quieter wing of the dorm, laughing softly as their hands remained clasped, glasses clinking.

They stopped in a small, half-forgotten lounge, the kind of place nobody bothered to sit in except during exams. A sagging sofa and a low coffee table sat under a window framed by frosted glass. They stood there for a moment, catching their breath, the air cooler and quieter now.

She smiled lopsided as he turned to her, giggling as her back met the wall with him crowding her.

“Better?” He asked.

“Hmm, I'm still wearing this monstrosity,” she snorted, gesturing down to her jumper again.

His gaze followed, but the flush on his face told her that he was likely looking at something else. In this enclosed space, pressed together in secret, she would be a fool to kid even herself that she didn't feel it too.

She laughs softly. A memory coming to her.

“What?” Michael asks, drawing his eyes back up to her again.

“No it's just…this feels familiar, doesn't it?” She smirks.

He raises his eyebrows, for a moment, unsure what she means. Until the realisation makes his lips turn up at the corners.

“Ah, last Christmas? i think I’m still traumatised by the sound of Jingle Bell Rock,” he quipped, his fingers tracing lazy circles along her hip. “Not to mention the fact that we were two seconds away from someone walking in.”

“Two seconds is generous,” she replied, laughing again, the memory as vivid now as it had been then.

She felt his breath against her neck as he leaned in, propping his glass alongside hers on a nearby window sill, the low rumble of his laugh stuttering against her skin.

“Different room this time, though.”

Her breath hitched but her smile remained, “It’s not exactly the same.”

He hummed, his hand tracing a ladder made up her tights, under her skirt. Her skin tingled anywhere he touched, and especially when he grazed against the gusset. So close.

“Michael, what—”

Rrrip!

She gasped and looked down, wide-eyed, to see his fingers hooked in the delicate fabric, a jagged tear exposing the sliver of black lace beneath.

“Oops,” Michael grinned.

Her mouth opened, then closed, words failing her as she glared up at him. “You didn’t just— those were my good tights, Michael Gavey!”

“Don't full-name me,” he smirked, pushing his chest against hers to further cage her in, his fingers maddeningly hooking into her underwear, relishing in the squeak of surprise she let out as he dragged his digits through her wetness. She would be ashamed to admit how the pads of his fingers combined with the cool air that hit her made her weak.

“Michael..” she warns softly, but he doesn't interpret it as one. 

He's come a long way since blushing terribly, stuttering and nervous with her between his legs.

Her hand found his shoulder, a silent moan escaping her lips, fighting to remain quiet as two fingers slid inside her, too slowly. Too agonisingly slowly. He crooked them forward, towards him, finding her sweet spot after a few moments of exploration.

She internally cursed him for giving him experience he could use against her. He's getting too good at that.

He mouthed at her neck, lowering to where it met her shoulder, pushing into her to the knuckles with a deliberately unhurried pace. She tried to rock her hips to encourage him, to save her sanity and go faster at least. But he didn't.

He was preoccupied.

The way his hips were rolling against hers, the solid press of him through his jeans grinding in time with his fingers. The stretch stole the breath from her lungs but she daren’t say anything. She could feel his breath hitch against her skin as he rutted against her.

She could feel his restraint unravelling slowly, the way his hands trembled slightly even as they worked her, the way his hips ground against her like he couldn’t help himself.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as he groaned softly into her neck. “Fuck,” he murmured, though the words sounded half to himself. His voice was rough, like he was holding himself back, savouring every moment.

Too drunk, too overwhelmed to rush him, she let her head fall back, biting her lip to keep herself from crying out as his fingers curled just right inside her. He was getting off on this too, and something about that made her heart hammer in her chest.

Her fingers scraped against his scalp as she felt herself clench around him, her lips parting to utter his name but caught by the rolling waves of pleasure viewing through her body. Through the haze she felt the grind of his erection against her thigh speed up slightly, until he groaned, a low shudder, as he drunkenly spilled into his boxers.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the quiet punctuated only by their laboured breathing and the muffled thrum of music still filtering through the dorm walls. His weight pressed heavily against her, his arm wrapped around her waist as though anchoring himself.

“Jesus,” he muttered after a long silence, his voice muffled against her shoulder. He lifted his head to look at her, and she giggled slightly and righted his glasses. He pulled his fingers out from her, but stayed nestled inside her underwear. “We should…probably get cleaned up before someone comes looking.”

She ran her fingers down his face, a look of soft admiration and a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

“Or…” she offered, stealing his attention, “we could make them really regret looking.”

She would never get bored of making him laugh, or smile. And when he did, her chest fluttered with warmth, his own cheeks flushed. The grin that stretched across his face was so boyish, so disarming.

“Just like old times?”

She nodded in confirmation, “just like old times.”

General Taglist:

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

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@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[mixsethaddams]

Eddie and Steve were sitting on the back porch of the little two bedroom house that Owens and his merry band of government lackies gave to the Munsons in exchange for signed NDAs.

It was getting late and Steve knows he should go home, but Eddie keeps finding new conversations to strike up and it just feels too natural to keep responding. Getting up and announcing he was going home would be downright rude. The deckchair he was lounging in was confortable too, so it just made more sense to stay.

Eddie passed Steve the joint they had been nursing between them. Steve had lost track of what they were talking about a long time ago. He was too caught up in the low rumble of Eddie’s voice, quiet enough to make it feel like they were sharing secrets even if they were all alone with nothing scandalous to say. It didn’t matter what Eddie was saying. Steve was happy to just listen. The subtle fizz of the weed spread across his skin as he leaned his head back and enjoyed the light breeze that cut through the warm night.

Today was the same as every other day.

Steve woke up, showered, picked Robin up for work, and then spent eight hours rewinding tapes. He listened to her go on and on about her latest discovery of why Vickie was the perfect person, adding commentary where needed. Steve was happy for her, he was. He just wished she wasn’t so distracted. Not today.

And then he ferried Mike to Dustin’s, Will to the hospital to visit Max, brought Lucas home from the hospital so he could shower and then right back over again. He was barely through the door when Eddie called and asked how his day was, insisting Steve come over to hang out when he heard it was just ‘fine, average, nothing special’.

Steve had wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on the couch with a terrible tv movie in the background. There was something about Eddie, though. Something in the way he moved, the way he said Steve’s name and dragged his teeth along his bottom lip over the V sound. The thoughts of staring at the stars with Eddie might just be the one thing that could redeem today. Even if no one else would understand.

Steve arrived thirty seconds before two large pizzas, courtesy of one of Argyle’s buddies in the business. They each had all Steve’s favourite toppings. Which was weird because Eddie definitely didn’t like olives or pineapple. Steve had a cold beer in one hand and hot slice in the other before he even said ‘hello’.

If there was any way Steve wanted to spend the final hours of today, it was with Eddie. He knew why, of course. He bit his tongue every time he got close to saying it out loud, but he knew exactly what that something was.

“And I figured hey, if it means I don’t have to sell weed to highschoolers anymore, then why not, you know?”

Steve’s brain took a second to catch up to Eddie’s train of thought about his new job. He was going to be working in a garage with Reefer Rick’s nephew.

“Totally,” said Steve, sipping the mostly empty bottle in his hand, the liquid warmed by being held so long. “I bet you’ll be great at it too,”

“Yeah well,” said Eddie, quirking his eyebrows. “I hope so,”

They fell into silence again and Steve started to think it might not be rude to leave any more. The joint was down to the nub, the beer was gone, and Eddie’s eyelids were looking heavy.

“I should, uh…” said Steve, shifting his weight on the chair to stand up.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” asked Eddie, looking up at the moon. Steve could see its reflection in his eyes.

Steve stopped.

“Tell who?” he asked. “Tell them what?”

Eddie sighed.

“It’s your birthday, man…” breathed Eddie. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Oh…” said Steve. He could feel his face heat up. “I don’t… I guess its not a big deal for me… Not for years…”

Eddie nodded solemnly.

“You’re too good for us, Harrington,” said Eddie, shaking his head. “I saw what you did for Robin’s birthday. Did she remember, at least?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He knew he’d probably get a frantic apology and a card tomorrow. It wasn’t like he was going to hold it against her.

“Pizza and beer isn’t exactly the five star treatment you deserve,” said Eddie. “Hope it’s enough to, you know, make today not suck entirely,”

Eddie waved his hand around in a circle, as if gesturing to the very day itself.

“This actually might be the best end to a birthday I’ve ever had,” admitted Steve. “So, you know, thanks. For doing this for me, I mean,”

“Thanks for eating all the olives,” joked Eddie, draining his beer bottle. “Besides, any excuse to hang out with you, I’ll take it,”

“Yeah?” asked Steve, his voice smaller than he expected.

“Yeah,” answered Eddie gently. “I like being with you,”

Steve’s stomach lurched. He followed Eddie’s gaze to the moon. She was beautiful tonight and Steve felt safe the cool glow she cast over them.

“How did you know?” asked Steve, playing with the hem of his sweater. “Or like, care?”

“Saw it on your license a whole back,” Eddie answered, lighting two cigarettes at once and handing one to Steve. “And I cared because… Because I care. I didn’t want you to be sad on your birthday,”

“Oh,” said Steve meekly. “I’m not sad. Not now. I’m happy now, so it worked,”

Steve took the offering of the cigarette and sat back in his chair, looking at his hand and the subtle hint of ‘don’t go’.

“Did you have a birthday wish?” asked Eddie, holding up the still-lit match. It was burning quickly down towards his fingertips.

“Just one…” said Steve slowly, looking through the flame at Eddie.

“A person?” asked Eddie.

Steve gulped, and nodded.

“So make it,” Eddie said. “Don’t tell me, or it won’t come true,”

Steve blew out the flame, still gazing into brown eyes, watching them turn black when the light was gone.

Eddie’s watch beeped. It was midnight.

“Didn’t come true,” said Steve sadly, his eyes still fixed on the point where Eddie had been holding the match between them.

“Give it time…” said Eddie softly.

Steve took a long drag of his cigarette and wondered if this is what every night would be like. If his wish came true and he got exactly what he wanted, would he sit out here and smoke and stare at the stars and listen to Eddie talk every night? Was he allowed to have that?

“I wished for the person that makes me happy,” said Steve, not looking over at Eddie but feeling bolstered by weed and boldened by beer.

“It won’t come true now,” teased Eddie, his voice low.

“Even if I tell them?” asked Steve, turning to look at Eddie. He looked into Eddie’s eyes again and thought of all the things he wanted to say. He felt something shift between them when Eddie didn’t look away.

“I made a wish on my birthday too,” said Eddie. “That didn’t come true either,”

“What did you wish for?” asked Steve.

Eddie’s arm flopped between their chairs, his cigarette burning steadily between his fingers.

“To make someone happy,” he said.

“Like…” whispered Steve.

Steve slowly moved his hand so it brushed against Eddie’s, the backs of their fingers rubbing together. Steve hooked Eddie’s pinkie with his own. Eddie looked at their hands and smiled gently.

“Yeah,” said Eddie quietly.

Steve hummed.

“Guess I just needed to wish for it too,” said Steve.

[vieoeil-riae]

playing with his teeth.... like.... he's got FANGS and you, stressed out, isekai'd, and tired to the bone from all the walking you're doing with the destined one, you, poor thing, have veryyyyy little logic left in your head when you guys finally settle down for the night around a fire.

it's not as dark as you'd expect, much differently from your home, the moon and stars shine brightly without the light pollution blocking it and makes his fur shimmer. and you're staring, because you're tired enough you can't help yourself anymore.

you see the way his teeth glint in the firelight when they peek through his lips, a rare sight considering your dear destined one doesn't talk - his open mouth saved almost entirely for the yips and chitters he lets out when he strikes down his enemies. sharp teeth and lithe muscles, an incredible display of prowess.

it also felt.... almost intimate, seeing his teeth as he concentrates on the knots tying things to his belt. his tongue, pink and soft, pressed between two sharp canines in concentration and he hisses every once in a while when his sharp nails don't catch right on the strong threads.

your staring wasn't unnoticed either, the destined one's senses were nothing to sneeze at so of course he figured out you were staring. he'd known for a while now, tonight wasn't the first time you'd let your gaze fall heavy on him, but he'd never let you know he knew - never looked up and met your eyes. subtly he'd stand or sit a little taller, puffing up because even without confronting the feelings, he could recognise he loved your attention on him.

tonight, your gaze felt more.... just more, and it was distracting him from his knots. tonight he looked up and caught the way your eyes, sparkling with firelight, widened as you were caught. a flicker of mischief in him purred at your flushed cheeks.

cheekily, he tilted his head in question.

after months of travel together, of course you knew what his gestures meant. you were pinned by his gaze, by the quirk of his brow and the small amount of teeth you could see through what was almost a smirk.

god he looked good in warm lighting.

you scrambled over your words, "I just- sorry I'm not trying to be rude, honest! I've just never seen teeth like yours and I was wondering if maybe..."

you stared down at your hands and his brow quirked, urging you to continue.

"if maybe I could see them closer..?" you asked with your cheeks flushed red enough for it to be seen through the fire's red hue. you wanted to see him? look at him? get up close?

fizzing pride trilled in his chest and he nodded. your eyebrows raised in surprise and he could almost see the skittish joy in your irises.

you shuffled over, sitting in front of him on your knees with your back to the fire and got impossibly close to his face. he stopped breathing as every sense became focused on you, the twinkle of your eye, the halo the fire cast around you and the gentle hand you - seemingly unknowingly - brought up to his face.

his eyes weren't soft per say, but they were half lidded and warm enough you didn't feel the need to pull your hand off of it's course, reaching to gently press on one of his canines. the rest of your hand cupping his face, fingers sinking into his fur, as your thumb explored the sharp point of enamel.

there was a thrill to it, as plenty docile as the destined one was around you, those teeth were made for ripping flesh apart. he had the complete capacity to take your thumb, already part way in his mouth, off in seconds probably if the speed at which he dispatched yaoguai said anything. but here he was, letting you, proke and prod him, sitting nice and still and following your eyes with his own.

the soft pad of your thumb pressed down on the sharp peak of his tooth, it was ever so slightly blunter than you were anticipating - but still sharp even when the majority of their potential rested in his bite force. you could imagine how easy it would be for him to draw blood with his teeth, it excited you a little - what a quirk of nature to give such a quiet monkey such sharp teeth.

but also you couldn't help but imagine them on you, thinking about the amount of blood a wound by them could cause, about how the light press of them on your shoulder would feel. you swallowed, but pushed the thought aside, shifting in your spot.

the rest of his teeth weren't as sharp, though when you looked back into his eyes as your thumb edged towards the tooth just behind his canine you were met with a heated look. it took you by surprise, too lost in the sharp feeling under your thumb, but you were met with no resistance as your thumb brushed over the duller, but still pointed tip.

curiosity mostly sated, your own tongue running over your teeth out of pure comparison, you pulled away.

your thumb brushed back over his canine, and your breath hitched at the feeling of the flesh of your thumb pad being held between two sharp points, the light friction sending a spike of jittering electricity down your forearm before the sharp, light feeling settled in the space between your thumb and your wrist.

you glanced back up at the destined one's eyes, they regarded you with intense observation, holding your gaze but flickering to chase the twitch in your facial expression.

you noticed it now, your other hand resting on his thigh and the warmth beneath the hand you still had on his jaw and the new pressure as he'd leaned into it. the slow flick of his tail. his blown out pupils.

your cheeks felt like they were on fire and you swallowed.

you pulled back, thumb dragging against the sharp point of his teeth and sending a new fizz of raw feeling down your arm, almost whimpering at the ghost of the feeling of the tip of his tongue following your retreat.

you averted your gaze quickly, not speaking, and he followed your every movement. the shift of your clothes on you and the ever so slight movement of your heart hammering beneath them.

he smiled. small, proud, and mischievous. you were awfully cute when you were bashful, he should bite you more often.

[angelfleurry]

Could you do dangonronpa 2 cast kiss head cannons

SDR2 Kiss Headcanons!:

Hii, Anon!! I wasn’t sure if you meant first kiss or just general kiss headcanons, so I just did general. If you want first kiss headcanons, feel free to request again!.

Spoilers ahead <3

~~

Hajime Hinata:

♡ My guy is so awkward bless him.

♡ Does he need a reason to kiss you? Is there an appropriate moment? Is it okay if he just…

♡ Oh, oh you’ve kissed him, okay.

♡ Okay, his turn.

♡ He’s so nervous, but simultaneously so very eager to kiss you.

♡ He tends to lean in, but he does it so awkwardly that you can’t help but giggle.

♡ He kind of pauses at that, and just looks at you for a moment.

♡ It’s only when he sees that kind expression on your face that he realises he’s okay.

♡ That’s when he just goes for it.

♡ Doesn’t kiss you very often in public, if not at all, he’s more of a behind closed doors kind of guy.

♡ He’s very romantic with it, it surprises you.

♡ Always has a hand supporting you, even if it’s not necessary, as he kisses you.

♡ Hajime’s kisses aren’t short, but they’re not long, they’re just at that perfect middle length.

♡ Once he figures out how to get there, that is.

♡ Doesn’t know what to do when you kiss him.

♡ He just sits there, processing, looking at you as his face reddens.

♡ He kind of debates kissing you back in his head, and half the time he goes for it, and the rest he just dips his head and pulls you close.

♡ Is very much a lip-kisser, it just feels right.

♡ If you need a bit of comfort, he’ll kiss your forehead.

Nagito Komaeda:

♡ It took a while to get to this stage.

♡ There were moments, just split seconds, where everything seemed to be building up to it.

♡ But then, the moment would be lost.

♡ Nagito would start to talk, or some interference would occur.

♡ It did frustrate you a little bit, but you knew that was just your eagerness talking.

♡ Truthfully, you knew it was to be expected, so you just decided to wait it out.

♡ It’s not like you were reliant on the idea, it was more so you just wanted to.

♡ But, if there’s one thing about love, is that you must pay mind to the other person.

♡ And you, my darling, did remarkably at that.

♡ You knew the time would come, and as long as everything else about your relationship was healthy and happy, you were in no rush.

♡ Eventually you both got past that initial stage, but we can save that memory for another time.

♡ For a majority of the time, Nagito’s a very hesitant kisser.

♡ What I mean by this, is that he’d rather wait for you to initiate something that even dare to do it himself.

♡ However, once you do it, he’s so ecstatic.

♡ If you could peek into his brain, all you’d be able to see would be soft pink bubbles fizzing up to the surface, popping energetically.

♡ He feels so hesitant to even say the words, as if he’s being too entitled, but he’ll ask you to kiss him again.

♡ Sometimes, he has waves where he’s incredibly clingy, and this will be where he allows himself to initiate contact first.

♡ Treats you as if you were a porcelain doll, even if he’s really needy for contact.

♡ It’s as if he thinks you’ll break should he be too quick, or too harsh.

♡ Forehead kisses are really special for him.

♡ They make him feel so safe, so cherished, even if he struggles to comprehend that fact.

♡ If you kiss him on the lips, that’s it, he’s so bewildered every time.

♡ Always raises a hand to the spot you kissed him, and just sits there for a second, processing.

♡ When you look at him, though, he’s smiling.

Kazuichi Souda:

♡ He can be such an awkward kisser, it’s adorable really.

♡ Kazuichi’s very eager once that initial barrier’s been moved past.

♡ Sometimes, you won’t even be able to fully enjoy it as he kisses you so very quickly.

♡ He can’t help himself.

♡ But when it’s at that reasonable pace, it’s actually very tender.

♡ Like, you can tell the man desperately wants to kiss you, but there’s such an edge of sweetness to it.

♡ It does something to your heart, honestly.

♡ Likes to play little games where you both go back and forth giving each other light pecks.

♡ He’s got a preference for kissing your lips, but if you tell him there’s somewhere else you enjoy being kissed, he’ll gladly oblige.

♡ If he’s going somewhere where it means he won’t be with you, he always kisses you goodbye.

♡ He’ll do it in front of his friends, and your friends, so long as that’s okay with you.

♡ He just loves to show off that he has a partner!!

♡ Enjoys being able to kiss you when you’re both cuddled up together.

♡ Please, please, surprise him with kisses!

♡ Give him that peck on the cheek, kiss his forehead, go for the lips!

♡ Makes him all giddy!!

♡ It’s so funny how he can be so composed in public, or as composed as Kazuichi can be, but then behind closed door’s, he’s so bashful.

♡ His face goes bright red, even if he tries to act cool about it.

♡ But, he can’t shake that quivery smile as he wraps his arms around you.

♡ “You’re so cute, ya’know that?” he’ll ask, and all you can do is laugh.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu:

♡ He’s very quick with it.

♡ I just can’t picture him being one to regularly kiss.

♡ It’s nice, of course it is, but it’s just not something he initiates.

♡ He won’t complain if you kiss him though, just make sure it’s okay with him first.

♡ He doesn’t regularly want to be kissed like that, and you respect that.

♡ If he does kiss you, it’s very quick.

♡ It’s not harsh, but it’s quick.

♡ It’s like a swift peck and then he’s out.

♡ Always gives you kind words of acknowledgement as he does it though, he’s not neglectful.

♡ He doesn’t really know what to do with himself, so he prefers not to get too snuggly.

Gundham Tanaka:

♡ Nose kisses, NOSE KISSES.

♡ He’s not kissed anyone before you, so he’s still learning about his preferences!

♡ But, he’s discovered he’s really fond of nose kisses.

♡ It’s not as nerve-wracking as lip kissing is, but it’s still a way he can physically show he loves you.

♡ Finds it really endearing when you tell him to close his eyes so you can kiss his nose.

♡ He does the same to you, and you find at just as sweet.

♡ He’s also fond of nose-brushing.

♡ Like, the both of you just gently rubbing noses together.

♡ It’s calming for him.

♡ He’s also fond of kissing your hand.

♡ It’s just so formal, but so wonderfully romantic.

♡ The perfect way for a dark lord such as himself to show his affection to you.

♡ Is convinced you’re performing some kind of ritual on him.

♡ Is it really this normal to feel so very…fuzzy once you kiss him?

TeruTeru Hanamura:

♡ Oh my goodness, he’s so down.

♡ We all know Teru’s got a major issue when it comes to more deeply intimate shenanigans, but what may be a surprise is that he’s honestly a big sap when it comes to physical affection.

♡ Kiss him anywhere, he’ll welcome it.

♡ Only time I can picture him not wanting to is when he’s extremely, and I mean extremely, stressed. Just try and help out if you can then.

♡ However, this is a very rare occurrance.

♡ After all, it’s TeruTeru - he’s more than happy to indulge himself in your affections.

♡ But, that doesn’t mean he won’t do the same for you.

♡ The second you start dating, this man will in fact try to be affectionate with you.

♡ Once it’s specified you’re okay with kissing, that’s it.

♡ Is very much kissing you once you wake up.

♡ It’s probably his favourite way to greet you, even if you’ve not left the same room.

♡ It’s so nice to see a smile start to form on your face after he does it, and it only encourages him to kiss you again.

♡ Is no stranger to kissing your hand either.

♡ “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got something on your face,” he’ll tell you, smiling, “Let me…”

♡ That sly fox!

♡ It’s very hard to not be all giggly once he’s done kissing you, even if it’s just a simple peck on the cheek.

♡ Has a surprising touch of wholesomeness to him in this regard.

Nekomaru Nidai:

♡ He finds it adorable.

♡ The idea you want to kiss him sends him to a laughing fit, but it’s all from a kind place.

♡ Is very much open to it.

♡ He’s very awkward with it though.

♡ A very messy kisser, but it’s alright!

♡ He wants to hold you, but he’s a little worried he’ll be too heavy-handed.

♡ Kind of guide him if that’s what you want, and then he’ll settle.

♡ Forehead kisses are a cherished form of affection.

♡ His lip kissing skills need a bit of work, but you don’t mind guiding.

Ultimate Imposter:

♡ Oh, this one’s difficult!

♡ He’s not sure whether to be himself, or be the person he’s impersonating.

♡ Surely you know, right?

♡ I can’t imagine him letting you enter a relationship with him without informing you of his identity.

♡ Or, lack of thereof.

♡ As a result, I feel like his kisses are lacking in something.

♡ He wants to kiss you, and he will, but he’s blocking his proper emotions.

♡ Still, he’s rather soft about it.

♡ Just tell him you love him afterwards, it’ll give him a bit of ease.

♡ If you’re to kiss him, he’ll be happy, but he can’t quite show it.

♡ Likes it when you kiss his hands.

♡ It feels strange when you kiss him on his lips.

♡ He loves the feeling, but it takes him aback.

♡ How on Earth can a man so devoid of any identity still be able to be loved so tenderly…?

♡ Does he cry or not, that is the question.

[v6quewrlds]

Can you write a fic about Mat getting into a fight on the ice because an opponent said something about you

❝ guilty conscience, m. barzal. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: experimenting with how much i like posting in 3rd person. literally wrote this in my 2 hr philosophy lecture this morning because fuck thomas hobbes. somehow i write all day for my major and minors, yet somehow i still find the will to write these fics lmao.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: a little angsty. established couple argument. language warnings i think. mat is very mat in this one. short and sweet <3

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x fem!oc (malia).

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 3.6k.

Malia took a sip of her overpriced soda, the fizz tickling her nose as she surveyed the bustling arena. The smell of popcorn and the distant sound of skates slicing ice filled the air. It was her second time watching Mat play a home game for the New York Islanders, and she still felt like the new kid on the block. She wore her navy blue team jersey with "Barzal" emblazoned across the back, a gift from Mat for their two-month anniversary. She'd studied the rules and lingo, eager to fit in, but the pace of the sport still left her breathless.

Grace, the wife of the Islanders' captain Anders, leaned over and tapped her arm. "What do you think, so far?" she said with a knowing smile.

Malia smiled unconvincingly, trying to hide her nerves. Grace had been kind to her, but the other wives and girlfriends were a tougher nut to crack. They all had their own history, their own jokes, and Malia felt like she was trying to catch up on a TV show she'd started mid-season.

"Mat's really got his head in the game tonight," Malia said, hoping to steer the conversation away from her novice status. She watched as he zipped across the ice, stick handling the puck with ease, a blur of motion and concentration.

"Oh, absolutely," Grace agreed, her eyes glued to the action. "When he gets like that, it's like he's in a whole different world. They're all like that, really. Once they find their groove, it's like nothing else exists."

The game grew intense as the period neared its end. Malia felt the excitement of the crowd building like pressure in a pot. Mat's broke away down the ice, and Malia found herself leaning forward in her seat, heart racing. He was so fast, so graceful. It was easy to get lost in the flow of the game when he played. That's when it happened. The opponent, a burly player from the other team, had a smirk on his face as he checked Mat hard into the boards without warning. Malia's breath caught in her throat as Mat pushed himself back up, fists clenched. The smirk grew wider, and the other player opened his mouth to say something. Malia couldn't hear the words, but she saw Mat's face contort in anger.

Her eyes widened as she watched the scene unfold, a mix of horror and disbelief. The opponent had said something to set Mat off, something that made the usually disciplined player see red. Before she could even process what was happening, Mat had thrown his gloves to the ice and was throwing punches. The roar of the crowd grew to a crescendo as the two players grappled, their movements a violent shock. Malia's mind raced as she tried to understand why this was happening, why Mat was fighting.

It was all so raw, so primal.

Grace's grip on her arm tightened, her voice a low murmur. "It's okay, this is just part of the game."

But Malia felt anything but okay. Her heart pounded in her chest, a drumbeat of fear and confusion. The other wives and girlfriends around her remained stoic, but she could see the concern flickering in their eyes. They knew the drill, had probably seen this a hundred times before, but for Malia, it was a jolting reality check.

Mat's fury was a living, breathing entity on the ice, a stark contrast to the loud, carefree persona he was around her. It was a complete shock to the system for Malia. The sight was both terrifying and mesmerizing. She couldn't look away as players from both teams swarmed around them, trying to separate the combatants.

The referees eventually stepped in, breaking up the fight with a flurry of whistles and gestures. Mat was escorted to the penalty box, his teammates patting him on the back in a strange display of support. Malia's eyes remained glued to the ice, her mind racing with questions and fears she didn't know how to voice.

"You okay?" Alexa, Noah Dobson's girlfriend, leaned over, her eyes filled with empathy.

Malia nodded, her eyes not leaving Mat's figure in the penalty box. "I just... I didn't expect that."

Alexa chuckled softly. "Welcome to the league, hon. It's all part of the show."

Malia forced a smile, not sure if she was ready for this kind of drama. As the game resumed, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just seen a side of Mat she didn't know or particularly like either. The atmosphere in the arena had shifted, the electric tension of the fight still palpable. Despite the Islanders' lead, the air was thick with unspoken concern.

When the buzzer finally rang, signaling the end of the period, Malia's nerves had her jumping out of her skin. The players skated off the ice, and she took the opportunity to excuse herself to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. The cold air greeted her as a departure from the sticky anxiousness of the rink. As she stared into the mirror, she wondered if she was cut out for this life, if the love she had for Mat was enough to handle the darker, more intense moments of his career.

Malia returned to her seat, the game still in progress, and found that Mat had been benched. She watched as he paced back and forth behind the glass, his eyes scanning the stands until they drifted to the Jumbotron after being nudged by a few guys Malia had not met yet.

Malia's focus on her boyfriend was broken as a few of the other girls tapped her on the shoulder, her wide eyes blasted onto the Jumbotron. She forced a smile, her eyes darting away from her face in embarrassment as she realized that the arena cameramen had noticed her #13 jersey. He offered a weak smile as she turned back to him, his eyes still watching her on the screen. She could see the apology in his eyes. He knew she was still trying her best to wrap her head around the culture and rules of the game she was learning to love for his sake.

The final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the match. The Islanders had won despite the scuffle, and Malia felt an odd mix of relief and dread as the players started to make their way off the ice. The group of them gathered their things, and she watched as Mat skated over to the bench to exchange a few words with the coach before disappearing into the locker room.

Grace gave her a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll get used to it," she said with a knowing smile. "It's part of the game. They get caught up in the moment."

Malia nodded, not entirely convinced. She knew that fights were a part of hockey, but seeing Mat so consumed by rage was unsettling, so unlike the boyfriend she knew. She sent Mat a short text, telling him she'd wait in the car for him instead of waiting with the others by the locker rooms. The coolness of the night air outside the arena brought air back into her lungs as she stepped into the parking lot. She leaned against the cold metal of the car, her heart still racing from the adrenaline rush of the fight.

When Mat emerged from the arena, his eyes searched the lot until they found her, his expression a completely devoid of any anger or self-awareness. He looked tired but victorious as he approached, his dark, fluffy hair beginning to dry from his shower. He opened the passenger door with his trademark crooked grin. "You didn't wait in the usual spot."

Malia looked at him, confusion evident on her face though she quickly pushed it aside. Maybe she was making too big a deal of it. "I just needed some air," she said, sliding into the car. "How are you feeling?"

Mat shrugged as he closed the door. "Fine. Why?" His tone was light, almost casual as he slid into the driver's seat. It was as if the fight had never happened. He threw his bag into the back and started the car, the engine rumbling to life.

"You know, the fight," Malia said, trying to keep her voice even. "You guys were really going at it."

Mat's eyes darted to her, then back to the road. "Oh, that. Just part of the game, babe. No big deal."

Malia's jaw tightened. "It looked pretty big to me." She couldn't ignore the fear that had gripped her during the fight.

Mat sighed, his eyes still on the road. "Look, it's just the heat of the moment. Sometimes things get intense out there."

Malia stared out the window, the city lights blurring together as they drove. "I guess," she muttered with a quiet sigh. She knew Mat was trying to downplay it, but she couldn't shake the image of his furious expression.

Mat's hand reached over and gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. "You okay?"

Malia took a deep breath and shifted in her seat, his calloused hand falling away from her skin. "Yeah, just tired I guess. Long day."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. The fight had left her emotionally drained. She'd seen Mat get competitive, sure, but never violent. It was a side of him she didn't know how to reconcile with the man who made her laugh and supported her studies so wholeheartedly.

The silence in the car grew thick as they approached Mat's apartment. Malia felt a knot in her stomach tighten. This wasn't the same playful tension they usually shared; it was heavier, denser, and less fun. When they pulled into the parking lot, Mat turned to her, his jaw set with tension as if he was bracing for something.

"What's up with you?" he asked, his voice a mix of annoyance and genuine concern.

Malia's eyes rolled before she turned to face him. "What's up with me? I don't know Mat, maybe I just didn't like seeing you like that." Her voice was a mix of anger and fear.

Mat looked at her with a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Like what? It's just hockey. Shit like that happens all the time."

Malia's voice grew stronger as she turned to face him fully. "But you've never fought before, at least not since we've been together. What even was that?"

Mat's expression grew defensive. "It happened hours ago, Malia. Why are we even talking about this right now?"

Malia's eyes filled with frustration. "Because it's not just 'shit that happens' to me. That was you out there fighting for... what? Some kind of ego trip?" She knew she was being unfair, but she couldn't help the words from spilling out.

Mat's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "It's not like that, and you know it," he snapped. "It was a cheap hit..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. Malia remained silent, holding back her growing anger as Mat pulled into a parking spot in the garage. They exited the car, stubbornness palpable in the air between them as they rode the elevator to his floor.

Once inside the apartment, Mat tossed his keys onto the counter and turned to her, his eyes flashing with irritation. "You're overreacting. It's part of the game."

Malia threw her purse onto the couch, her voice rising with frustration. "Maybe for you it is, but I've never seen you like that!" She felt a tremor of fear and anger at his dismissiveness. "What if you had gotten seriously hurt?"

Mat stared at her, his eyes darting over her features as he took a step closer. "That's not going to happen. I know what I'm doing out there."

Malia stepped back, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. "It's not just about you knowing what you're doing. It's about the fact that I don't want to see you like that. It scared me, Mat."

Mat groaned, running a hand through his damp hair. "But I didn't get hurt," he said, his voice still holding on to its edge. "Can we just drop it?"

Malia's eyes narrowed, looking for a hint of understanding. "No, we can't just drop it," she said firmly. "You're not the only one affected by what happens on the ice. You're my boyfriend, and when you're out there fighting like that, it's not just about the game." She turned on her heels, huffing as she stalked off to Mat's bedroom.

Mat followed her, his frustration evident in the heavy thud of his feet on the floor. "What do you want me to say, Malia?" he called after her. "It's not like I was planning on fighting."

Malia spun around in the doorway to the bedroom, her eyes flashing. "I want you to say that you get it. That you understand that I don't want to see you hurt or risking your health over some stupid shit, Mathew." He took a deep breath, his eyes closing as his temper flared again.

Malia turned her back to him, her hands shaking slightly as she unbuttoned her coat. "And for the record," she added, her voice trembling, "The only thing that actually matters to me is that you're okay."

"And I'm completely fine," Mat said, his voice tight as he stepped closer to her. "It's not like it's the first time I've thrown a punch, Malia. I'm not some fragile porcelain doll you have to worry about."

Malia whipped around, her own anger rising to match his. "I don't give a fuck about what you're used to, or what the sport expects from you!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the hallway. "I care about you, and what you do out there affects me! You were a different person out there, and I didn't like it!"

Mat stopped in his tracks, his face a mask of shock. Malia had never raised her voice at him. In fact, the first time they met, he constantly had to ask her to repeat herself with her voice so shy. The sight of her fuming with emotion was enough to make his eyebrows furrow. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his own anger in check.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice low and tight. "I'm out there playing the game I love, trying to win for my team, and for you to sit here and act like it's all about you and what you want..."

"Do you think? Ever?" Malia's voice cracked, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. She didn't mean for it to come out so loud, so harsh, but the fear and frustration had been building up inside her like a pressure cooker. She couldn't stand there any longer, listening to Mat belittle her feelings. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the bedroom.

Mat followed her, his own anger bubbling to the surface. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice rising to match hers.

"I'm not doing this with you. If you don't want to talk about it, fine, but don't act like I'm some kind of drama queen," Malia retorted, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. She couldn't believe that he was making it sound like her fear was unreasonable. Her hands shook as she bit back tears, her straightened hair falling out of place from the stress of the evening.

Mat's face softened a little, and he took a step closer to her. "Malia, come on. You're really gonna leave because of this?"

But Malia was already halfway to the door, her heart racing with the need to get out of the apartment. "I don't know," she said, her voice tight with emotion. "I just can't be here right now."

Mat sighed, hesitating to speak for a moment before he reached out to grab her arm. His grip was firm but not painful. "Don't go. I'm being a dick, I know, I'm sorry. Let's just talk this out."

Malia paused, her hand on the doorknob. She took a deep breath, the cold metal feeling solid and reassuring under her fingertips. She turned to face him, her eyes still shiny with unshed tears. "Mat, I'm not trying to control you. I just want you to understand that it's hard to watch someone you care about lose it like that."

Mat let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay," he said, his voice calmer. "I get it. It's just... he said something about you."

Malia froze. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice low and cold.

Mat sighed heavily, his grip on her arm loosening. "He made a joke, some dumbass, weird joke about you. It pissed me off, and I couldn't just ignore it 'cause he kept goin’." His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of understanding.

Malia's heart skipped a beat. She had never thought that someone would say something so disrespectful about her, especially not to Mat's face. "What did he say?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mat's eyes grew dark with anger. "It doesn't matter. It was just a stupid comment, but it hit a nerve."

Malia felt a twist in her stomach. She didn't know what was worse: the fact that Mat had gotten into a fight for her or that someone had talked about her in such a way. "Mat, you can't fight every battle for me," she said softly, turning to face him. "I'm not on the ice, those guys will say whatever they think is gonna rile you up. They don’t know me. I’m just some girl to them. It’s not worth it.”

Mat's expression grew serious as he stepped closer to her, his hand dropping from her arm to cradle her face instead. "You're not just some girl, Malia. You're everything to me. And when someone disrespects you like that..." His voice trailed off, the intensity of his emotions clear in his eyes. "I couldn't just let it go. That's the least I can do for you."

Malia's gaze searched his, the anger in her heart slowly giving way to the love she had for him. She knew he didn't mean to downplay her strength, but the thought of him fighting over her hurt more than she cared to admit. She leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding her. "I love you," she whispered. "But I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

Mat's expression softened, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her cheek. "I love you too," he murmured. "And I'll do my best to keep my cool out there if that's what you want."

Malia took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the night's events start to lift. "Don't 'if you want' me Mathew Barzal, do it because it's the right thing to do," she said with a hint of a smile.

Mat chuckled, his own smile spreading across his face. "Okay, okay," he conceded, leaning in to kiss her forehead gently. "But you know how competitive I am."

Malia rolled her eyes but couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her at his touch. "I know," she said, her voice softer. "Just remember that I'm not just some prize to be won or lost out there. I'm your girlfriend, and I chose you."

Mat nodded, his thumb still caressing her cheek. "I know," he murmured. "And I'm sorry that I made it seem like that. It won't happen again." He spoke decisively before bending down to connect their lips.

Malia leaned into the kiss, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders melt away. "I just want you to be safe," she said, her voice muffled against his lips.

Mat pulled back, his eyes searching hers. "I know," he murmured. "And I promise, I'll keep that in mind. I don't want to scare you."

Malia's eyes met his, the fear and anger slowly receding as she saw the sincerity in his gaze. She took another deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

Mat's arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against her chest. They stood there for a moment, the tension in the room slowly dissipating.

"I know this isn't easy for you," he murmured into her hair. "But you gotta trust me out there."

Malia leaned into his embrace, the smell of his post-game musk mixing with the faint scent of his cologne. It was a familiar scent, one that brought comfort amidst the chaos of her emotions. "I will," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

They stood there for a few moments longer before they both pulled away. Mat smiled down at her, the tension in his face slowly receding. "Now that that's over, do I get a reward for the win tonight?" he asked playfully, his eyes lightening.

Malia couldn't help but roll her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Maybe," she said, her voice teasing.

"Only maybe?" Malia heard the playful challenge in Mat's voice as she walked away from him. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look that was part glare, part smile.

"You're lucky you scored that winning goal." She brushed past her boyfriend with a swish of her hips, heading towards the bedroom. The bold 'Barzal' stuck out across her back, a symbol of her commitment to supporting him. Mat caught himself staring as Malia turned to him with a flourish of her hair.

"Are you coming?" Malia called over her shoulder, her voice a mix of tease and challenge.

Mat's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched her retreating form, his playfulness momentarily forgotten. He hurried after her, trying to match her pace as they entered the bedroom.

"I'm about to be," he quipped, his voice filled with affection, drawing a “Gross!” and a giggle from Malia.

[vikkirosko]

hi, I would like fem s/o from fizz, andrealphus, sir pentious, ozzie and stolas to ask if they can hold something for a moment and when they agree, she shows her empty hand (with the intention of them holding it), thanks ❤️

Headcanons Hold hands

🐍Sir Pentious x fem!Reader 🎩

Sir Pentious sincerely loved you, but when it came to showing affection, he was embarrassed, not knowing what to do. You saw his embarrassment and understood that it was because of this that he did not always dare to express his feelings. That's why you decided to go for a little trick

You and Sir Pentious were in the living room of the hotel. He was doing another drawing when he heard your voice. You asked him to hold something for you, just for a couple of minutes. He hurriedly turned to you, sure that you needed help, and froze when he saw that you were holding out your hand to him. You wanted him to hold your hand

A bright blush appeared on his cheeks, but after a couple of seconds he hesitantly took your hand. You smiled as you intertwined your fingers. Looking at your happy face, Sir Pentious shyly smiled back at you. He felt the warmth of your hand in his and it made his heart beat faster

You were happy that your little trick worked, and hoped that it would help him feel more confident. Perhaps in the future, you can come up with a few more tricks that will help him show his feelings for you and that will allow you to become closer to each other, even despite his embarrassment

🦉 Stolas x fem!Reader 🎩

Stolas enjoyed being with you. He felt like he was inspired, but despite this, he had moments when he was embarrassed by the manifestations of feelings. It was the first time he was so happy, so he didn't always decide to do something. That's why the fact that you took the initiative in showing signs of attention made him feel relieved

You liked to make him happy and you found different ways to show him your feelings. You often had breakfast together and sometimes he was sleepy. There were days when Stolas had a hard time getting out of bed. It was on such a day, while he was sleepily eating his breakfast, that you asked him to hold something for you, literally for a couple of minutes. He reached out to take what you were going to give him, but instead of the object, he felt your hand

Stolas looked at your hands in surprise for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out what was going on, but as soon as he finally realized that you just wanted to hold his hand, a blush appeared on his cheeks and his lips stretched into a smile. Something so simple and affectionate made his heart skip a beat and he hurried to hug you, feeling so happy next to you

It would seem that there was nothing special about holding hands, but it was important to him. He couldn't afford to show such sincere, tender feelings, but now he was with you, with the person he really loves, and the manifestations of feelings caused him awe. Stolas hoped that he would be able to give you as much warmth as you gave him

🦚 Andrealphus x fem!Reader ❄️

Andrealphus was not the one who showed his feelings in public. He was an aristocrat and always lived up to his title. Even when you were alone with him at home, he remained cold, not often showing feelings for you, even though you were in a relationship. But sometimes you wanted his attention, so you used tricks to get him out of his usual composure

When you were at home, you asked Andrealphus to hold something for you. He didn't look at you and just said that the servants couldn't do it. You said it was something very important and you could only entrust it to him. Andrealphus sighed heavily and looked at you. However, instead of any valuable object, he saw your hand. You held out your hand to him, smiling softly and wanting him to take your hand

He shifted his gaze from your palm to your face. Under his gaze, a blush appeared on your cheeks, but he took your hand, and then kissed your hand. His lips stretched into a grin and he told you that since it was so important, then he would help you

He realized that he didn't always show you the feelings he had for you. He kept a lot to himself, but those moments when you were so sweet warmed his heart. He could only open his feelings and his heart to you, knowing that you would accept him for who he is

🐓 Asmodeus x fem!Reader 💕

Asmodeus always gave you a lot of attention, especially when you were alone. However, he also had days when he was busy with work. On such days, you could sit in his office and help him with work as much as you could, knowing that he had to run the business of his factory and restaurants, as well as perform the duties of the head of Lust Ring. But looking at him when he was already tired, you couldn't keep doing nothing and found ways to distract him at least for a while

When he once again sighed heavily and put down the documents, you asked him if he could help you with something. After he nodded, you asked him to hold something for you. When he held out his hand to you, he felt something small. Looking at you, he saw that you put your palm in his hand, smiling gently at him, and there was a touching blush on your cheeks

Asmodeus smiled and pulled you towards him, after which he sat you on his lap. He kept holding your hand and smiling, glad to have you by his side. He felt his fatigue go away and he relaxed, knowing that he could afford a moment of peace next to you. Especially when you were so sweet

You knew perfectly well that Ozzie always had a lot of work to do, which is why you tried to make sure that he had the opportunity to relax and unwind. Next to you, he felt at peace and the fact that you gave him your love caused him to have a soft, sincere smile

🎪 Fizzarolli x fem!Reader 💟

Fizzarolli and you spent a lot of time together. Every time he came home tired, you spent time together, just lying on the couch and watching movies. Despite being tired, Fizz wanted to spend time with you. At such moments, you both just enjoyed the peace, but you still found ways to make him feel better a little more

When you were watching another movie, you asked if Fizzarolli could hold something for you. He held out his hand to you and looked at you, but all he saw was your outstretched hand. You asked him to hold your hand, albeit in a slightly unusual way

He took your hand in his and kissed your fingers. You seemed so sweet to him and he just couldn't refuse you such a request. You continued to watch movies while holding hands. Fizzarolli felt the warmth in his chest and was glad that you could spend time together like this

Fizz worked hard, so he was glad that he could spend time with you at least when he finished working. Little ways to cheer him up and show your feelings for him made him smile and he was glad that of all the people around you were the one

[orphicrose]

Are you still doing requests? Can I request Alastor x Wife reader who were married together alive an reunited in hell and while Alastor hates modern tech the reader grew on it and even started a life hack channel on voxtube of tricks from the 1920s and it becomes really popular and she gets sponsors and fan mail meanwhile Alastor needs Angel's help just to video chat her and one day she gets a 5 million subscriber mileage congratulations gift box (that all creators get bit hes still mad) from Vox himself

Old man and an Iphone

Requests are still open indeed.

I can definitely do my best! I’ve changed the dates around a little to better fit the technology advancements in the universe. This is set in the early 2000s

This is somewhat small, but i hope you like it.

----------------------

Years passed like turning pages since your husband had departed from you, in the cruelest ways that anyone could imagine. A fate that wasn’t even inevitable. That singular fragile piece of metal, shot from an unknown hunter, took him away from you.

You knew who he was, you knew what he was. Knowing that you’d end up in the same temple of horror one day that he has. His sins being your sins. That brought you some peace. Knowing you’d be reunited one day. Even if it was in the worst place imaginable. Hell. That day came sooner than you’d like to admit. Leaving behind your clueless grandchildren and your own hellish spawn.

The ground below you hit rather hard, not even knowing you were falling down the rabbit hole till the bottom came right to your face. You let off a grunt in response. Your body feeling light, all of a sudden. As if the age and wrinkles had just vanished, and you were young again. Legs feeling like they could run miles, and skin, well. Your new hellish form wasn’t much of an improvement from leather skin.

Knowing for years you’d end up here, it wasn’t too difficult to take in. Accepting your sins and your fate as a part of your journey. It wasn’t so bad. There was society, and structure down here. Immortality being the only true torture.

The other torture, you had no idea where your dearest Alastor had ended up. It had been almost 70 years since you’d seen him, god knows what he looks like now. Your reunion was sudden, after all, he was a well known overlord. Yet, it was still something out of a textbook romance novel.

Over the next decade or two, you two spent every second together. Refusing to be apart again. You sharing stories about your children, grandchildren. Melting Alastor's heart like he never thought you could. There was so much catching up to do. After time, you became infatuated with the media, creating your own channel. it was called "Hellish crafts", which started with a bunch of silly tips and tricks when it comes to house work. Alastor didn't understand, but it came with a hefty income.

After becoming tenants at the misguided daughters of hells hotel, you soon began helping with advertisements. Which grew the channel even more. From random life hacks, to advertisements, to smaller channels asking you for your help to grow theirs.

"Must you film me, dear?" his hand covers his face as the camera fizzes out of focus.

"Yes! Its for Charlie. Lighten up old man" You teased him, filming the hotel lobby. He smiled at your expression, resting a hand on the small of your back as you did your craft.

"Y/n! Y/n! Another letter for you!" Niffty ran over

Alastors hand dropped, snatching the letter from the little goblin.. Eyebrows furrowed. "This is the third letter in the passed three days, sweetheart"

"What can i say, my channel is a hit" One eye was closed as the other was pressed to the run down camera that Alastor insisted you used. Still walking slowly around the hotel, trying to get a good shot. Alastor stood in his place, reading the letter. "Another delusional fan" He mumbled.

"Don't worry! i wont let the fame go to my head" You swung around with the camera, getting him in frame. The static of his aura interfered with the lens and gave your brow a small electric shock. Jolting you backwards.

"I've warned you about that" He chuckled, hand returning to your waist and pulling you closer. His other hand with the letter, raising, and a fit of flames emitted. Turning the letter into ash on the floor, which nifty didn't wait to clean up.

Life was like this for a while, constant letters. Some weird, some genuine. But you never got to read most of them, as Alastor made it his duty to send them to another realm before you could. was he jealous? maybe, he'd never care to admit it though. That was until a rather glamorous piece of paper fell through the letter box on this particular day. Stamped with Vox's logo. You got to this letter first.

"What the fuck?" Your almost angry tone alerted Alastor, whose body materialized next to yours in seconds. "What's the matter, my dear?" his eyes briefly scanned over the letter before snatching it from you.

"What is a 5 million subscriber?"

"Its the amount of people who support my channel, i honestly didn't even know it was that big." you stared up at him, waiting for some sort of outburst on his face.

"That's... " he thought for a second "Wonderful dear! Absolutely wonderful!" his arms wrapped around you in an embrace, spinning you around. When you first started the channel, with his knowledge, it was more of a way to pass the time. So, for it to be as big as it is now was quite the accomplishment. What kind of husband would he be not to support his perfect wife, he thought. Whether she was practically paying vox or not. His quarrels weren't hers.

"I believe you have some type of reward, y/n" He spoke again, putting you down and giving the letter back. His sharp nail pointed at a fine print at the bottom. 'Visit the Vee headquarters to redeem your reward'.

You both looked at each other, brows raised and a concerned look in your eyes. "I'm sure it's not important. I don't need a reward"

He looked as if he was in deep thought. Contemplating everything for a second. "You should go" "But vox is your-"

"Hush, little woman" His finger covered your lips "This is important to you darling. I trust you"

The smile on your face made his bigger, making you deserving of the little peck he placed on your lips before adjusting his posture. "On the condition that my shadow follows your every move"

"Done"

A few hours had passed since your departure, Charlie offering razzle and dazzle to escort you to the large mansion on the other side of the pentagram. It was quite the journey, considering the traffic. And it wasn't long before Alastor began to miss you, wondering if you were okay.

"Ahem" static gave Angel a brief episode of tinnitus before he swung his body on the lobby sofa, met with the lanky deer.

"Waddya want, pimp?" his attention didn't last long, his phone having far more interesting contents than the demon lurking behind him.

"I need a favor" his smile made the question seem a lot more sadistic than intended. His body swiftly moved around the sofa, standing in front of the spider now.

"If you want my soul, I got bad news for ya."

"Your soul?" He was almost confused for a second "No, i need help with this" he lifted his hand, angels phone disappearing and reappearing in the deer's grip.

"Wh- hey! Give that back" Angel leapt to his feet, reaching up and snatching it back. "Why do you want help with a phone? Aren't you like, from the dark ages?"

It took Alastor a moment to be able to admit to it. "I'd like... to call my wife"

"Awww, is someone clingy" angels teasing didn't last long before radio dials appeared in the demons eyes, radio interference filling the air as quickly as it had disappeared earlier. "Okay, okay" Angels hands flew up in surrender, Alastor returning to normal instantly. "Splended!"

It took a moment for Angel to flick through the thousands of contacts he had, before he finally reached you. Pressing the call button and handing the phone to Al. Who held it like an old grampa looking at a meme. "What do i do now?" he squinted his eyes at the device in his hand. "Just hold it" Angels voice became frustrated as he readjusted the phone in Als hand.

You had picked up the call a minute ago now, on your way back to the hotel. Being greeted to the two boys bickering. "Helloooo?" you sung out, attempting to get their attention.

"Oh. Hello my dear!" Alastor noticed to and bared his teeth in an awkward smile. "I just wanted to see how my love was doing, is all"

"How sweet. I will be back soon." You had many questions to ask when you were back with the comfort of your person.

"Do hurry"

[syverse]

i depend on you // ft. katsuki bakugou

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

bakugou can't bring himself to hate you, even after you left

warnings&a/n: if this is bad LEAVE ME ALONE PLEASE!!! got suddenly verrrry inspired by that one drawing on tiktok and maybe i misinterpreted it in the writing but shoot me who cares. this is like my first time writing something and actually finishing it i get so discouraged and give up. if you hate this i will never do this again.

In his life, there's a lot of things that Bakugou hates. He hates simple and unavoidable things like the rain, and he hates specific things like people who rely on everybody around them. He hates weak people, hates getting up too early in the morning, hates being too involved in other people's lives if he doesn’t necessarily have to be. But, as he sits alone at his desk, forced to listen to the obnoxious and overbearing sounds of society in Tokyo despite how late it is, Bakugo can’t think of anything he hates more than you. 

He spent a lot of his life loving you. He loved things like your unwavering conviction to do the right thing, he loved the look in your eyes when you stole glances from each other during class dinner back when you were both in highschool, and loved the way you whispered his name like a prayer when it was just the two of you under the covers of your shared bed. It was hard at first, but as the two of you grew together, so did his love. He learned to love through the sound of your laughter and the feeling of your gentle hands intertwining with his. Nimble fingers pressing into the palms of his hands before flipping them over and placing feather-like kisses on his fingerprints, he tries to swallow the bile that claws its path up his throat.  

Along with the symphony of nightlife outside of his agency, he can also pick out the faint sound of a news reporter being broadcasted on a billboard next to his building. Pictures of your face are shown on the large screen, along with the headline “PRO HERO TURNED VILLAIN” and Bakugou holds his breath for as long as he can. His phone lay flat on his desk in front of him, buzzing every few seconds from concerned friends and family members, but the blonde doesn’t dare to touch it. It had been at least a week since your departure from his agency, and the news had spread to all of Japan at this point, but the news and media were still eating it alive as if they were starving. 

Bakugou’s eyes glue shut as he wishes for memories of you to disappear, and for the heavy dread in his gut to fizz up and die out. He curses himself for not picking up on it sooner, the fact that you would leave. Looking back on it, he’s pretty sure he could put his finger on the exact moment when you started to fade away. When the universe in your eyes started to blur each time you looked at him, when the sense behind your touch became hesitant instead of gentle, and when your cheeks no longer touched your eyes when you smiled. He should’ve said something. Should’ve done a lot of things to at least delay your disappearance, but Bakugo was familiar with the fact that he was never good with words, and the fact that his heart was bottomless with fear of him making it worse. 

Bakugou absolutely hates you for leaving him here. He hates that he can’t throw every single I love you that came out of his mouth into a little box and set it to ashes, hates that he has to go back to home and still smell you on his bedsheets, hates that even though you’ve made it clear that you’re never coming back, he still patiently waits with bated breath to hear you whisper his name again.  So, as Katsuki picks himself off of his desk and drags himself to the elevator to return back his house, his house where you don't live anymore, he tries to convince himself to forget you, and ignores the way his tongue instinctively traces the letters of your name on the roof of his mouth.

[tigersharktheautisticseawing]

WAIT GUYS FUCK I GOTTA TALK ABOUT THIS OR I'LL FUCKING DIE

(spoiler alert: this somehow grew from five talking point to almost 2000 words of Bad Trip symbolism, so buckle up, buttercup, cuz we goin' for a wild ride)

So, I'm rewatching Truth Seekers with a friend, and Moxie's Bad Trip and Blitzø's Bad Trip, and I just noticed some things (this is gonna be heavily Blitzø centered, so prepare for that)

Moxie's Bad Trip

In this, I specifically want to point to four things

So Blitz is very accurate throughout Moxxie's whole segment (read his pegging comments and "Because you my precious little bitchboy are tripping balls!"), but I want to point to one moment specifically

At 10:09 Moxie says

"Cause you're thoughtless and cruel and you'll end up alone!"

And at that point, at exactly 10:11, Blitz makes this face

Up until this point and from this point onward his eye on the mask part of his face is glowing red and undetailed, pupil not visible

This singular frame shows exactly how deep Moxxie hit Blitz with that comment, and foreshadows the fact that he has a massive phobia/obsession on the whole "dying alone" thing. Like, I want to scream, this is so beautifully done. Whoever thought of this frame in this context has my fullest respect

The second thing is what Moxxie says just before the first part of Blitzø's Bad Trip

At 9:02 Moxxie says

"Cause if you're here causing frustration, I'm torturing you in your hallucination!"

Now let's take a look "causing frustration" and "torturing you", because that's exactly what's happening here

In Moxxie's Bad Trip, the worst Blitzø does is call him a bitch/bitchboy and making some comments about the whole M&M pegging thing, but that's about it. It's mostly Moxxie screaming at Blitz and singing with him about becoming better

In Blitzø's Bad Trip, Moxxie brings up Blitz's worst insecurities, calls him basically stupid once, and kinda just rants what Blitz thinks about him

So the words "frustration" and "torturing" definitely fit the respective songs

The third thing is that the mask replaces Blitzø's scar

Under that mask Blitz has a completely normal and unscarred face

Meaning that Moxxie's subconscious straight up erased the physical embodiment of Blitzø's most major trauma and replaced it with a mask, of all things

I saw a theory on here, concerning the people at the Blitzø hate party, that the fact that the Blitzø cake is unscarred means that Blitz hid the vulnerable side of his and showed it off as "tough guy scars", so they stripped him of it as a "fuq u ur not tough", when meanwhile it's exactly what Blitzø would want happening, his scars just straight up disappearing one day.

Well, I think the same happened to Moxxie

I think he doesn't see the scar as a sign of vulnerability and/or physical embodiment of his worst mistake that caused his trauma, but as a tough-guy mask, designed to make him not have to talk about his feelings

(If you think something else's going on here, do tell! I just realised that last one while writing this and I find it very interesting)

And, lastly, Blitz's short line just before the one I talked about in point 1

Aka:

"I don't know, eventually everyone goes"

It feels really self aware of Blitz, but this isn't Blitz, this is Moxxie

So Moxxie, consciously or not, realised that Blitz pushes people away with his behaviour and that it's a genuine problem, but didn't realise the whole scar thing

So I wonder what exactly is Moxxie's image of Blitz. Like, considering what we know that Moxxie knows, he seems to have some elements of the puzzle but not the whole picture, and assumed incorrectly what the full picture is

2.Blitzø's bad trip

Now, here we begin the absolute fucking masterpiece that is the symbolism in this one

For one, let's talk about the spectre's voices

Moxxie and Stolas's voices are pretty on-point, at least to me, and we'll later touch on why I think that's the case, but let's talk about Bad Trip!Verosika, Striker and Fizz first

All three of them don't sound like normal

Instead, they sound like Blitz trying to make their voices

Striker's has an obvious tinge of Brandon Rogers in it, honestly it sound more like Blitz than Striker, as if Blitz hadn't really memorised his voice that well

Fizz's is, in my opinion, more well-balanced. I can hear a bit of Alex Brightman in it but also quite a lot of Blitz

Lastly, we have Verosika. She sound a lot like Blitz, but her manner of speaking is purely Verosika, which imo makes this the most accurate one.

Now, what does the Blitzø-voice mean?

Well, it all has a very specific motif

It's things that Blitz would say as a form of self-hatred

Think about it

"I don't need you, I can do this shit on my own so easily!" "But you don't want to do things alone Blitzo!"

"You tried the solo act, but it didn't work out so well!"

"Yet you still shove away anyone who gets too close until they resent you for being a selfish, shit spittin' snob!"

(the bold parts are the hallucinations, the red is Blitz)

Now, the things they said are very much the stuff Blitz would hate in himself. The fact that he wants someone to care for him, the fact that he can't do what he wants alone even though he tried, and, of course, his inability to get vulnerable with anyone causing him to push people he cares about away until they hate him.

So, I think that these are the thoughts that plague Blitz's brain daily, his self hatred, but it chose to talk through the mouths of the people most affected by said flaw

Striker was literally invited to join IMP. That proves that Blitz didn't want to do this stuff alone

Fizzarolli was his duo act for a while, and his robo version saw him trying the solo act, so it makes sense for him to say, that, on top of the circus vocabulary

Verosika is pretty self-explanatory. He shoved her away when she tried to be vulnerable with him, and she now resents him

So, now that we have that outta the way, let's talk about Moxxie and Stolas

Moxxie does a lot of rambling, but he also roasts him pretty bad

"I simply follow your orders! It's not my fault that your orders are as nonsensical as a suntanning bed left out on the cold rainy porch of a fresh April shower"

"Perhaps you should crack open a dictionary sometimes"

"Admit it, my dear boss. You don't know what you're doing half the time, and you depend on me and the missus to manage your foolish flights of fancy"

"I believe your subconscious is trying to tell you that you simply cannot fathom proper intimacy, but also crave it as well. It’s rather unfortunate sir, considering it’s often how you treat those who stand by you, such as myself"

"Are you worried I might have enough of it one day as well?"

But he also says some rather self-deprecating stuff that he wouldn't say in real life

"And then maybe you can understand half of the frivolous things I carry on and on about on my many rants about upbringings"

So, I think that this is Blitz's opinion of Moxxie. Now, why do he and Stolas keep their normal voices?

Well, I think that it's because, in Truthseekers, they both didn't hate him yet

That wasn't his self-hatred speaking

That wasn't him speaking

Well, at least in Stolas's case

In my opinion Moxxie's voice is altered for one of two reasons

�� Moxxie is literally right next to him and high with him, so his voice is fresh in his mind

Not fun, kinda boring, but reasonable

• He hasn't fucked up with Moxxie yet, so his subconscious hasn't created lines that would be repeated so much in his mind that his voice slowly seeps into them

Very fun, also very reasonable

And that second reason is what I think happened in Stolas's case too. His voice is kinda flirty/condescending because that's the Stolas Truthseekers!Blitzø knows. He doesn't know his personality yet. For now he's just a rich, blue-blooded asshole he fucks once a month.

Now, another thing, Blitzø's outfit

He's dressed like a clown here, specifically he looks kinda like in the Loo Loo Land flashback

And his outfit changes when he gets dragged around in chains by Stolas

So this (I think), symbolizes one of three things:

• He fucked up relationships with people in the past

This is his past outfit, so it obviously has something to do with his past, and this is a pretty sound theory, but Striker kinda makes it fall apart

• The people he fucked up relationships with see the past version of him

A bit better, and pretty good overall

• This is himself at the worst point in his life in that outfit he wore in the past

Yeah, his self hatred would *absolutely* exploit him like that, plus he kinda hated himself at that time, so bonus points!!!

Now, the fucking marks on his face

For one, his usual tattoo that looks kinda like an imp/succubus got replaced by a broken heart both in Blitzø and Moxxie's Bad Trips, but in Blitzø's bad Trip at one point the heart (and his outfit) get replaced by his normal self

When does this happen?

When he's near Stolas

I think this symbolizes how Stolas heals his heart and fixes it, as well as how he sees him for his present instead of his past, which is very sad considering *couch cough* the last two episodes *cough cough*

Now, the tear

The fucking tear

If it was on both sides of his face, this would be maybe about how sad he is

But, it's only on the white side

Only on the scar

So I think this is sort of an opposite to what happened with the scar in Moxxie's Bad Trip

Moxxie's subconscious got rid of the scar and replaced it with a mask, since Moxxie thinks of it as a sort of Tough Guy Personality™ thing

Meanwhile Blitzø's subconscious recognized the scar as a physical reminder of his emotional pain and added a tear, a single tear, that can mean that the scar is something left of a time of sadness and grief, a time of tears

Another thing is that the imps fanning Stolas with those big-ass fans are actually Blitzø's but completely black

So that's Blitz's subconscious telling him that he will end up serving Stolas/is already doing that/is under him, while also trying to tell him that he loves the bird

Also, how the mud on the golden stairs disappears after feathers touch it Again, just like with the heart thing, I believe it's another part of the whole "Stolas heals you" symbolism thingy

Also, notice how he turns from Past!Blitzø to normal Blitzø gradually, and the closer to Stolas he gets the more normal he gets

So I actually just realised that and I'm pretty sure it's part of the whole thing I mention in the (hopefully) las paragraph of this post

And, lastly, how he gets covered up in golden feathers at the end there? I think it's some part of him trying to say "You're gonna end up trapped, tied down, unable to escape, so escape NOW"

So yeah, now I'm interpreting Blitzø's Bad Trip as two parts of his subconscious fighting, with the dead dog of the matter being "Should we trust Stolas?"

(Yes, it did turn really Stolitz in the end there huh? Now I gotta add the tags!)

[kaiser1ns]

BURNING UP (FIRE) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ TAKIISHI CHIKA X FEM!READER .ᐟ live however you want, it's your life anyway. stop trying, it's okay to lose. throw your hands up, scream, burn it up, and set everything on fire.

GO TO THE EVENT MASTERLIST

You didn't expect things to blow up like this, literally, setting off more fireworks with Takiishi Chika now playing with the lighter, flicking it on and off, letting small bursts of flame rise and die out as he occasionally glanced your way. Something special, something only you two did to spend time together. Returning to his side, he slipped the lighter back into his pocket, and you both tilted your heads up to watch the night sky. The colors sparkled like stars, as if you were not on Earth, but somewhere in space. You snuggled into him, feeling his warmth as you closed your eyes and only heard the fizzing or hissing noise.

It’s okay to let yourself burn and stop trying to be perfect. Live however you want—it’s your life anyway. You felt how he put his arm around your waist, but you didn’t see how he looked at you. His eyes had the same luster as the little sparks of fire. Takiishi is very reserved and indifferent to the world, but that's okay. You and him are still young. Only humans, mere mortals so what? Burn it up and set everything on fire, even if that meant to cover his heart with never-ending flames.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough, like he wasn’t used to saying such things, but it meant so much to you and if your heart could explode like fireworks in the sky it sure would. “Y/N.” He said your name—your name. He had never said it until now, absolutely never, and for a moment everything stopped. Your senses, time, noise, as tears began streaming down your face and a big smile appeared. Looking up at him, surprised at the softness in his expression, something he rarely expresses. His golden eyes were locked on yours, but then going down to your lips.

“Chika…” you whispered, feeling your cheeks flush at the way he was watching you—steady, unguarded like you were something precious, and you were. You were so precious and bright in his world, shining on its own. He leaned in closer, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you.

He has lost it, like a crazy guy. Everything's a mess, but at least you are there. Then, with a soft sigh, his lips hovered just over yours. He seemed to pause, a little hesitant before closing the distance and putting his lips to yours in a kiss that felt so soft, the first kiss he initiated in your relationship. What happened to him so suddenly? First, he had surprised you with this birthday date, then how he’d said your name like a confession, and now… this.

The moment you pulled away, a pair of golden eyes remained focused only on you, and you couldn’t help but touch your lips, still feeling the trace of him there. His breath was uneven, matching yours, and neither of you spoke.

"I want to do it again," he murmured, his voice more demanding and quiet, but loud enough for your heart to hear. You laughed softly, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. Wasn’t he the one who always kept his distance? But now, here he was, so close, so eager, and so undeniably different from the guarded Takiishi everyone knew. Maybe it was you who had changed him, or it was just the fire between you two. Either way, it didn’t matter.

"Spoiling me too much, huh?" you teased, even though you both knew the truth was the other way around. But before you could say more, you turned and ran away, as he was immediately chasing after you. But you weren't going to make it easy for him, not that you always did. Setting off another set of fireworks, the bright sparks illuminating the sky, a perfect distraction. The night was still young, and everything felt so alive, like the world was on fire, and you didn’t want it to stop. You want to burn, to live, to let everything be as wild and free just like the love between the two of you.

He wasn’t far behind. His arms wrapped around you just as you reached for another fuse, pulling you back against his chest, heartbeats merging into one. Takiishi leaned his head down to rest on yours, his breath slow and steady now. 

“Just let us enjoy the show some more, okay? I promise to give you as many kisses as you want." He hummed, his grip tightening just a little, but he didn’t need to say anything more. The fireworks crackled above, but this moment was yours alone. The world outside could burn, and you’d be just fine—because you liked to play with fire.

©2024 kaiser1ns nineteenth birthday party.

[toomuchracket]

under the full moon (d word matty x reader fluff)

calling it fluff is misleading they are 3 seconds away from raw sex at all times in this fic. promptober, pre-dating, charli just cockblocked them (well, interrupted an almost-kiss) at new year... enjoy <3

“oi - why haven't you got a drink?”

you look up from your conversation with someone famous whose name you've already forgotten. george is frowning at you, usually-sharp eyes hazy with tipsiness; you're quite impressed at his commitment to his hosting duties in the midst of such inebriation, to be honest. “your missus dragged me in here and into a convo before i could get one, that's why.”

“that girl,” he shakes his head. suddenly, you're on your feet, being tugged towards the kitchen before you can even apologise to the actress - rachel? - you were chatting to. “come on. can't have you dehydrating.”

“there's no risk of that, george,” you grumble, stumbling along in an effort to keep up with him and his giraffe legs. christ, how does charli manage? “was out already, remember?”

“yeah, i know. matty wouldn't stop fucking moping about you not being here earlier.”

you beam.

“actually,” george continues. “he keeps moping whenever you're not around, to be honest,” he stops abruptly; only once you've bounced back from him do you notice his mischievous grin. “i think he fancies you.”

you beam even wider.

as if it's news to you, though - you did nearly just snog matty outside.

“don't tell him i told you that, though,” he's walking again. “he's battered me for doing that before.”

“tried to batter you, i assume.”

“exactly,” george pulls you into the kitchen, weaving through people and conversations and what you think is a drinking game, stopping when he reaches the fridge. “alright. what you drinking?”

you don't answer, too preoccupied with staring at matty across the room. a spike of jealousy spears you as you watch him talk to a charli and a girl you don't recognise, long dark hair trailing down her back, but you're appeased when he catches sight of you and smiles; you copy his expression, and neither of you break eye contact. that is, until george waves his hand in front of your face. “hellooooooo? anybody home?”

“fuck off, i was thinking.”

“making eyes at my best friend is what you were doing, actually.”

“you're seeing things, george. maybe you're going insane.”

“what d'you mean going?” matty's arm finds its way around your waist. “he's been insane as long as i've known him, darling.”

you rest your head on his shoulder. “well, i didn't want to be impolite.”

“sweet girl,” he presses a gentle kiss to your temple; you do your best not to swoon, and he turns to his best friend. “i'll sort her with a drink, mate, s'alright.”

“but thank you for bringing me through for one, george,” you squeeze his hand, and he smiles as he bids you goodbye and speedwalks off to god knows where. biting back a cheeser of a smile, you turn to matty, loosely slinging your arms around his neck. “hello again, gorgeous.”

“hi,” he replies softly, cheeks tinting pink under the spotlights in the ceiling - your body fizzes with excitement about the fact that you can elicit such a reaction from him. matty's hands move to rest on your hips, and it's your turn to blush. he smiles. “missed you after we came inside. where did you end up?”

“charli got me talking to a couple of people, s'all.”

“yeah, me too.”

“i saw,” you raise your eyebrows, playfully. “she trying to set you up?”

“dunno. wasn't paying attention,” his thumbs gently rub little circles into the satin of your dress. “was a bit preoccupied thinking about someone else.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he smirks. “what about you, pretty girl? she have you talking to boys she thinks you'd want?”

“nah, just a girl she thought i'd find cool. which she was right about,” you stretch, deliberately arching your body further into his and savouring the way his breathing changes. “but she would've been wrong if she'd had me chatting to boys like that,” your eyes flick to matty's slightly-parted lips, then back up to meet his gaze again. “you see… i want a man.”

matty exhales shakily. “god,” he half-laughs. “you're really fucking hot, you know. and,” he adds hurriedly. “you're beautiful. really. i mean, you're just… wow,” he grins. “gonna be thinking about this dress for a long time, trust me.”

“i hoped you'd like it. s'why i bought it.”

“babe,” matty rests his head on your shoulder, sighing happily (you hope so, at least) when you softly caress the back of his neck. he slowly lifts it up, whispering in your ear and making you shiver in the best possible way. “and i know this is forward, but… shall we go outside and finish what we started earlier?”

fuck.

“yeah,” you breathe, smiling as matty pulls away from you to take your hand. “oh, wait - i still don't have a drink.”

“i have wine,” there's a hint of desperation in matty's voice; he seems to realise this, clearing his throat and smiling bashfully. yeah, you're done for. “promised i'd have it, didn't i?”

nodding, you tap the handbag still hanging from your shoulder. “and i have cigs.”

“the perfect woman. shall we?”

you nod, and matty gently leads you towards the back door of the house (with a detour to the wine rack to grab a bottle of red), ushering you through throngs of people with a feather-light touch to your lower back; as soft as it is, the contact has butterflies emerging from cocoons in your stomach that you didn't know were there, and you're actually quite sad when he removes his hand to open the door for you. carefully watching your step in your heels, you exit into the garden, look up, and grumble. behind you, matty follows suit. “well, fuck.”

the garden is almost as packed as the house, cigarette and vape and joint smoke rising from the people below and disappearing in the moonlit sky - not quite the secluded romantic setting either you or matty had evidently imagined. scanning for any sort of uninhabited spot, you notice a slightly-hidden section of low garden wall, shielded from the rest of the outdoor space by an unkempt patch of hedge, and quickly tug matty towards it. he speeds ahead of you when he sees where you're headed, shucking off his suit jacket and laying it on the mossy wall. “there you go, sweetheart.”

“matty,” your eyes widen. “you can't lay your jacket there! that thing costs more than my rent!”

“first of all, you live in kentish town, so no it doesn't. second of all,” he sits, patting the fabric as a sign for you to join him. “the wall's fucking freezing, and you're wearing the shortest dress of all time and no tights. you need some sort of barrier, darling.”

huffing, you sit on the jacket. “s'not the shortest dress of all time.”

“i personally have no issue with the length. quite the opposite, actually,” matty winks, unscrewing the top of the wine and passing you the bottle. “sorry, i should've grabbed glasses.”

you shrug, taking a swig. “well, if i must share germs with someone here, you're the best choice,” giggling, you pass the bottle back to matty, and dig in your bag for your marlboros and lighter. “shall we?”

he nods, smiling; you love the way his eyes look, illuminated by the flame. “you do know how to make a man feel special, darling.”

you aren't sure how long you stay like that with matty, drinking and smoking and chatting and laughing. time moves differently when you're with him, the only way you can measure it being in disappearances - firstly of the wine in the bottle, then the four cigarettes you had left in that particular pack, and of the people leaving the garden in dribs and drabs. despite the ever-dwindling crowd nearby, neither you nor matty try to reenact the almost-kiss from earlier; both of you seem to sense something other than your bic lighter sparking here, and you're more than happy to keep kindling it through conversation than risking a wild blaze, or worse, a complete extinguishing. only when the early morning becomes too cold to bear do you go back inside, hand in hand and animated as you yap away.

matty's incredulous. “this is the classiest new year's event you've ever been to? this? look, darling - actually, don't,” he covers your eyes with his hand until you get back into the hallway. “someone clearly went too hard on the midori there.”

you wince. “awful stuff.”

“i'm with you on that one. you know i agreed to do body shots off ross after drinking it at a party once?”

“no.”

“oh, yeah,” he shudders. “far better in theory than in execution.”

“the shots as a concept? or the fact it was ross you were doing them with?” you tilt your head, smiling shyly when you catch yourself. “sorry. i've just never done body shots.”

matty stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at you in complete bewilderment. “are you serious?”

you nod.

“but… but you look like that!” he splutters, gesturing wildly to you. “nobody ever propositioned you to let them lick salt from you? really?”

“they did not,” you pause, face twisting into a smirk. “are you propositioning me for that, matthew?”

his jaw drops. it stays that way for a good few seconds, actually, before he blinks and gives a smirk of his own. “would you like it if i did?”

oh, the bastard. still - what's the use in lying? “i would. and,” you move to whisper in his ear. “i wanna get my tongue on you, too.”

he moans. actually moans. and while you're still reeling from that, he leans back, and shouts at the top of his voice. “george!”

the man in question comes skidding through. “what? what's wrong?”

matty grins. “have you got any tequila?”

***

“i cannot believe you're doing this with him.”

ross's wife - pregnant, therefore sober, therefore the only person who can be trusted with the components of the shot - carefully pours a little trail of salt onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder. you smile, hyper-aware of not moving and knocking the full shot glass tucked between your boobs or the lime wedge resting on the swell of the right one. “why?”

she hums. “i thought you had good taste.”

“don't make me laugh, i'll spill the shot!”

“sorry,” she smiles. “maybe we should get matty over here before that happens, yeah?”

“s'pose,” you take as deep a breath as your new accessories allow, as your friend steps to the side. “oi, healy!”

he turns away from his conversation with george and ross, pretty eyes lighting up when he sees you sat ready on the kitchen counter. four strides, and he's in front of you. “hi, darling. still wanna do this?”

you smirk. “wouldn't have a shot glass in my tits if i didn't,” your smile widens as his pupils do the same. “whenever you're ready, gorgeous.”

so quickly you don't have time to react, matty kisses your nose. “this, genuinely, is one of the greatest privileges of my life. thank you,” he leans back, breathing deeply as if to prepare himself, then slots himself between your legs. “right, here goes.”

time starts to move weirdly again, the second matty gets his tongue on you. at the first touch, your eyes close, something within you urging you to let your other senses take over for the experience; initially, you do, inhaling the heady mix of cologne and cigarette smoke that's just so characteristically matty, and getting goosebumps at the slow movement of his flat tongue against your neck. but then he moves, and you feel hot breath on your chest, and your eyes fly open to watch him duck down and take the shot glass between his lips. he's blushing, obvious from the heat of his cheeks against your tits, but the flirty confidence is there as always in his eyes when he leans back up to take the shot itself - by the time he leans back down to bite the lime on your tit, teeth grazing the soft skin, you think your cheeks must be even warmer than his. it isn't out of embarrassment, despite the fact that you're colleagues, or your entire friend group seems to be watching, but rather out of passion, a unique form of desire your body only reserves for matty and matty alone.

yeah, you're fucked.

your friends cheer as matty pulls the lime rind from his lips, setting it down with a smile and moving to look at you properly again. “how was that?”

“very, very fun. thank you, angel,” you pull him in for a hug, fighting the urge to press a soft kiss to his neck. “you're good with your mouth, matty,” leaning back, you look up at him with the biggest doe eyes you can muster. “can i show you how good i am with mine, now?”

surprisingly, he doesn't cave at that like you thought he might; instead, it's you who caves, heat bursting in your stomach when matty slides his thumb across your lips. he smiles. “let's do it.”

he's gone before you can respond, moving things off the kitchen table while you breathe shakily at the counter. of course, that isn't helped at all when matty unbuttons his shirt, throwing the fabric to ross (who grimaces) before draping himself on the table in a very delectable way. “salt!”

ross's wife rolls her eyes, but moves to help prepare matty the same way she did with you. charli staggers over to you, swigging champagne directly from the bottle - you take a swig of your own when she holds it to you, and she giggles. “what even the fuck is going on?”

“shots, babe.”

“yeah, i know,” she rolls her eyes. “but i mean, like, you and matty,” blinking, she looks over at the table. “you're about to lick salt off his stomach. s'a bit of a sexy thing to do with your friend.”

“well, he is my best friend.”

“you know what i mean!” she wails. “you're telling me you'd straddle your best friend, and lick him?”

you smirk, sneaky. “i'd straddle and lick matty, yeah.”

“jesus,” charli's head turns at the sound of both your names, and she shoves you towards the table. “well, now's the time.”

doing your best not to smile too widely, you wander over to stand beside the table matty's lying on. he really does look incredible like this, shirtless under the spotlights, salt dotted in little piles from his hip tattoo (slightly underhanded of him, you think) all the way up to the one adorning his chest, shot glass between his lips with a lime wedge balanced on top. incapable of resisting the urge to touch him, you stroke his hair. “hi, gorgeous. you ready?”

matty winks, humming out a laugh when you return the motion; the noise fades into something that could be a moan when you manage to pull yourself onto the table, crawling up just enough to be able to lean down and flatten your tongue against his hip, just like you've dreamt about for months. beside you, his hands clench and then clutch the table, and that sign that you've affected him spurs you on, has you deciding to crawl slowly up his body and collect all the salt in one continuous lick. you can't stop the little moan of satisfaction that leaves your lips, and it sends matty into overdrive - his chest heaves, moans of his own reverberating through it, and you actually hear your friends gasp (and shriek, in charli's case) and someone murmur something like “oh my god, i feel like i'm intruding” and several pairs of footsteps leaving the room; when the salt is gone, and you manage to detach your tongue from the delectable man below you, it becomes evident that you and matty are alone. alone, for the first time since your interrupted almost-kiss earlier.

fuck it. might as well take advantage of that.

with as saccharine a smile as you can muster, you “readjust” yourself on matty's lap, smile widening at the combination of the way matty's hands move to clutch at your hips and the feeling of him hardening beneath your (definitely wet) panties. placing a hand on either side of his head, you lean forward, slowly, grinning once again at the way his eyes flick between your chest and face; you hover over his lips for a moment, then take the glass from his with your own, throwing your head back (and grinding down on matty for good measure) as you swallow the tequila and bite the lime before laying the glass and rind down.

matty laughs, eyes sparkling. “you're a pro, darling,” his hands squeeze your hips, rubbing up across your waist and back down. “you're also a fucking minx, you know that?”

you shrug. “well, you had me sit on your lap. what else was i to do, really, babe?”

“m'glad you did all that, sweetheart. makes this next bit easier for me, knowing how much you want me,” he smiles, warm and sweet. “what are you doing this friday night?”

“oh, that's easy,” you take his hands. “i'm going on a date with you.”

matty beams. “too fucking right you are.”