#midnights event

[neiptune]

Hi there! First off…yay fellow Swiftie! So my request is going to be Demon Slayer (sorry, but I don’t watch the other two animes,) in particular, for Gyomei Himejima. The lyric/prompt I would like to use is: “All they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride.”

Thank you so much! Also, this seems like an amazing idea…I may just have to do this for all of her albums.

gyomei himejima x all they keep asking me is if i'm gonna be your bride

a/n: i'm so sorry for being this late, tysm for sending in your request! i've been very happy to write it for you <3 i hope you enjoy!

One thing about Gyomei and his presence is your life is the lightness of it.

He's everything, everywhere, all the time. Sunlight filtering through tree leaves, comforting steam rising up from a cup of tea, softness of freshly laundered linen, safety and warmness and kindness found in a world so harsh, cold, unfair.

Gyomei wants to give, incessantly: it sure took some time to convince him he's worthy of receiving as well. That's why you ask for very little and not so often. Still, he just can't help but give give give.

Sometimes it scares you. His I love yous can throb with hints of definitive farewells, you can discern the shakiness of his hands embedded in the letters he sends you whenever he's away. Ever the gentle lover, on occasion he'd turn desperate, kisses burning and grip almost bruising as if scared you will break apart and slip through his fingers like the golden sand you love so much if he doesn't hold you tight enough.

And, sometimes, you scare him as well. Gyomei knows you're crazy (in love) enough to face a demon should it mean keeping your little household safe, reckless (courageous) enough to quite literally fight Sanemi Shinazugawa when he's being particularly cocky, obsinate (smitten) enough to leave the room each time he'd try to initiate the maybe you'd be better off without me, you should be free to pursue a normal life discourse, not willing to listen but not willing to start a fight either. Because you couldn't even fathom such an impossible, unfair suggestion. His hinting at a normal life, as if you could ever have a life to live in the first place without him in it.

Gyomei is busy, often away, so you certainly do your best to keep your requests reasonable. A little just five more minutes grumbled at dawn, as soon as he gently tries to untangle the arms and legs you keep stubbornly wrapped around him; a soft let's take a walk even if you know he's tired and would much prefer to stay in, the fluttering touch of your fingertips across his cheeks, brows, bridge of a perfect nose as you let him know that it's your turn to make dinner. He'd huff a laugh and you'd smile in anticipation for the inevitable you claim to love me and yet you enjoy torturing the both of us because Gyomei can lift rocks and move mountains and mitigate Sanemi's temper but he can't, for the life of him, cook.

But today's different. Rain is falling heavily enough to be bending the leaves of the plants in your garden but the sound is so soothing you don't mind, not as you sit on the tatami floor of your bedroom, nestled between strong legs as equally strong but gentle hands pat your wet hair with a soft towel. Gyomei had met you a few yards away from your house, rushing right away to cover your trembling figure with the big red umbrella he'd grabbed before heading out.

Why'd you head out in the rain?

I didn't want to be late.

But you know I'll always come get you.

Well, we met halfway, didn't we?

You know he's not really annoyed, he never is. Just worried you'll catch a cold, as indicated by the warm bath he'd prepared right away as soon as you got home.

And now, as you sit with your back pressed to his chest, you're left wondering how to introduce a topic that's been sitting heavily on your tongue for the past months. It's something you have both thought about, joked about even, but never properly addressed.

“Are your siblings doing well? I wish to visit your family soon, we should go together next time”

“Of course. They talk about you all the time anyway” you don't have to turn around to know that he's smiling. Your parents have been showering him with respect and affection since day one and your siblings still can't quite believe someone as important as a hashira would materialize in their garden, sit at their table, be able to discern their amazed yet timid gazes and meet them with a smile each time, the youngest almost always sitting on his lap by the end of every lunch, dinner, breakfast, cup of tea.

“And that concerns you because?” of course he'd catch the way the tenderness in your tone conceals the tension. Or maybe it's the stiffness in your shoulders that gave it away.

You turn around to sit more comfortably and confront him, cross-legged and a bundle of nerves as your stomach flips at the mere thought of opening your mouth. God.

“My love?” he inquires, brows furrowed in confusion.

“There's something we discussed today. It's not the first time, actually”

Gyomei nodds, urging you to keep going. It takes a deep breath to allow the next words to slip past your lips.

“All they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride”

Now his shoulders stiffen, a reaction you expected but that doesn't hurt any less.

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to pressure you” you're quick to add “their expectations shouldn't define us”

Gyomei stays silent for so long you curl your fingers in your lap, the veil of uneasiness settling on the room ever so silently as rain keeps drumming on the roof and wind howls outside the windows. He knows you want it just as much as your family and he can only hope you know just how much he wants it too. He'd marry you in a heartbeat if it wasn't for the weight of not being able to grant you a normal, safe, balanced life curving his shoulders each morning as he wakes and each night as he presses your body against his own.

“I don't blame them for having normal expectations” words come out attentively, voice so low it's barely a whisper. Your heart squeezes a little.

“It's just—” he takes a breath and palms close tightly around his knees “I can't ask you that. I can't promise enough to ask you that”

“You can't promise you'll love me?”

Gyomei is offended by such a question, you can see it in the in the displeased line of his mouth.

“In every world, in a hundred lifetimes, in any version of reality, I will love you. Do not mistake my hesitation for doubts about my feelings”

You reach for his hands, they feel hard and calloused in yours but they're also warm and familiar.

“I know how this goes. You're scared something will happen to you, you hate the thought of hurting me, but what about what I want? Is that less important, somehow?”

“I certainly wish you wouldn't make this so hard for me”

You crack a smile, thumb soothingly running across the back of his hand.

“And I wish you'd let me be your spouse. I wish you'd stop thinking you have to face the world on your own. That is, if you want me. A silly, useless woman who can't fight but at least doesn't risk burning the house down when crackin' an egg”

Gyomei scoffs as he reaches for your hips, dragging you all the way to his lap, and you indulge in a chuckle, legs and arms finding their way around him as his cheek presses to your shoulder. He's so big and yet manages to fold on himself whenever he hugs you like this.

“You talk so much nonsense” he playfully groans and you shrug with a smile that grows in size as his lips graze your exposed neck.

“I guess I'd be the luckiest man to ever live if you'd let me listen to it for the rest of my life”

[littleacebee]

The only thing I have to say for myself is: Songs in podcasts my beloveds <3

IDs in alt text and under the cut

[ID: Front cover of a zine. In the middle of the page there is big red heart with text in it: „Songs in podcasts my beloveds”.

Page 1. Text saying: „I love songs in podcasts! They are so cool and great and amazing and wonderful and fun and fabulous and excellent and brilliant”

Page 2. On the top of the page there is text: „Me when there is song in podcast:”. Below there are three doodles of a person. First is singing dramatically, other two are dancing. There are colourful musical notes around.

Page 3. Text saying: „Some of my fav songs from podcasts with honest and totally not biased rating:

„Die Berliner Luft” from The Amelia Project - 10/10

Songs from Roguemaker - 10/10

Theme song from Night Shift - 10/10

„Magistrate’s daughter” Travelling light - 10/10”

Page 4. Text saying: „Musical episode of Mission rejected - 10/10

Folks songs in Camlann - 10/10

Songs from The Strange Case of Starship Iris - 10/10

„It’s all made up!” from Victoriocity - 10/10

Musical episode of The Bright Sessions - 10/10

Song in the last episode of Trice Forgotten - 10/10”

Page 5. Text saying: „”Poisoning Pigeons in the Park” from Midnight Burger - 10/10

Songs from Re: Dracula - 10/10

Cabaret Night at Cosmic Lounge from Stellar Firma - 69/10

Theme song from Dark Ages - 10/10

Songs from Welcome to the Brass Eagle - 10/10

The Ballad of Anne & Mary 1000/10”

Page 6. At the top of the page there is text saying: „”To be an Undertaker” from Wooden Overcoats - 100000000000000000000000/10”. Below there is doodle of a person playing on a mandolin.

Page 7. There is a doodle of a person holding a big sign with text: „You should add song to your podcast!”. At the bottom of the page there is text saying: „#fiction podcast zine event”. End ID]

[missmeinyourbones]

we NEED "i'm just too soft for all of it." IWHT MEGUMI PLS IM BEGGING

I'M JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF IT (m. fushiguro)

a/n: me making up medical shit LMFAO, repressed and emotionally constipated megumi, deadbeat dad t*ji, slight mentions and undertones of toxic masculinity

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Since he was four years old and still growing into his long-sleeved sweaters, Megumi has learned to heal his own wounds or almost die trying.

A routine that he now knows like the back of his hand, he'd returned from his latest mission with weeping cuts and exhaustion clear beneath his eyes, making a point to stop at the medical closet before returning to his dorm. With Shoko's workday over, he makes a mental note to visit her first thing in the morning when he wakes. 

He can make it through the night, he always does. Because Megumi is a thinker. He plans until he can't and covers all bases for when they're stolen. He gets by. 

What he didn't take into account was potentially running into you, of all people. Dormitory halls barren and almost eerie, he nearly curses himself for brushing shoulders as you turn the corner on the way back to your own room. 

Your timing has always been wrong, or maybe it's right and Megumi can't differentiate between the two. 

And now he's here, on the creaky wooden floor of the medicinal closet, with you kneeling beside him and prodding at his injuries with tender wrists. 

Never one to be good with idle hands, Megumi fidgets and tries to brush at the dried blood on his shoulder. The action has both of you hissing—him in a jolt of pain and you in reaction to his hurt. 

"Don't touch it," your voice falters to be stern, still coming out so gently. Megumi thinks about the irony of that—of how you can't even be sharp if you tried. You're too gentle, too soft to even sound hard momentarily. 

Humiliated at the mere idea of doing nothing, at needing help, he shakily exhales and returns his attention to the floor. 

When the damp cotton pad in your hand touches a bit too deep in one of his cuts, Megumi does his best to save face but can't help the grunt of breath that gets sucked into his lungs. 

Immediately, he feels you retract from his skin and coo your apologies. Carefully returning your attention to the burning wound, you do your best to soothe him. 

"Sorry, it's deeper than it looks. Almost over."

Megumi's response is quick and curt, like a cut of its own, "It's fine."

You nod hesitantly before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and another clean cotton round. The cleaning of his wounds continues in silence, though your thoughts are louder than anything. 

His injuries vary in size. Some deeper, fresher, than others. Some looking like one-hit victims and others a repeated attack. You do your best to take note of where he's sensitive, where he's hurting the most. 

When you reach a certain scratch on his bicep, you're able to catch a glimpse of his face. Sweat beading on his forehead and damp hair sticking to his skin, Megumi bites the collar of his uniform to suppress any kind of noise (weakness) from you. 

When he slips up and lets out a guttural muffled groan, you think you might audibly whimper yourself. 

"You can yell if you want to," you try to help him in any way you can, "or squeeze my hand or—"

"I'm fine," Megumi attempts to bark again, but this time is different. It's not cold or sharp like it was last time. You can hear how it shakes against the echos of the closet, how it sounds like the burn of tears building in a sore throat.

And between the pain everywhere he still has feeling and the intimacy of you carefully caressing him, Megumi finds himself tearing up. 

"Hey," he feels you whisper, attempting to caress his jaw and prompt him to look at you, "hey, you okay?"

He can't find it in himself to answer nor lift his head, so he sniffles like a kicked child and crinkles his nose in disgust at his own pathetic actions.

Megumi is tough, one of the toughest people you know. You've seen him more beat up than this and barely break a sweat. Your head feels light at the realization that something's wrong. He shouldn't be in this much pain from the familiar burning of antiseptic he's felt a dozen times over. Maybe it's from a cursed weapon, or a technique where—

A stifled sob cuts you off.  

Like a glass cracking beneath pressure, you feel something inside you break. No longer caring about cleaning his cuts or avoiding sensitive areas, you can't stop yourself from wrapping around his hunched frame. 

Megumi's breath hitches as you hold him, feels your hair tickling his neck when you rub his back and whisper.

"I'm sorry, I know, but you're doing so good, okay? And I'm almost done—"

"Don't do that," he bites. 

Assuming he's referring to prodding at a specific wound, you flinch and loosen your grip, "Do what?"

"Talk to me like that," he snarls with a crack, "in that—voice."

He feels your head remove its weight from his shoulder slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't—" Megumi's voice almost breaks before he whines, gritting his teeth when he whimpers, "I can't handle it."

And just like that, Megumi is four years old again. He's scraping his knee on the concrete of his front lawn, and a blurry father-shaped figure with dark hair and legs far too tall tells him to be a man. Not being old enough to use the stove without supervision, but still knowing enough to save his cries for his pillow when Tsumiki is snoring and can't overthink his tears. He thinks of Gojo—of the first time he broke down in front of him and was met with whispers of good intent and love that registered in his brain as pity. Humiliation.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your fingertips on his wet cheeks, replacing the stinging of antiseptic with a fluttering and velvety touch. 

Between sniffled strings of apologies and a few hiccups of words that don't quite make sense, you piece together that Megumi isn't crying because he's in pain. He's crying because he can, because you're helping him in a way he never asked for, let alone known. 

"I've never...been allowed to, like, feel—"

"Hey," you're soft again, as if you ever weren't. "I know," fingers delicately brush his sticky eyelashes when you remind him, "but you are now."

"Are what?"

"Allowed," you whisper against his cheek, "to feel however you want when you're around me."

And Megumi doesn't know how you do it. How you remain a light in a world that's constantly doing all it can to kick you while you're down. Maybe you're just naive, so stupidly optimistic that it'll eventually be your own demise. Maybe.

But, Megumi can't find himself to care, because he knows that for as long as he's on this earth, he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to that light of yours. 

Back to reality and rubbing at his stinging eyes, Megumi softly scoffs. "Y'know, sometimes you look at me with those stupid eyes and I don't know what happens, but I almost feel sick."

Your laughter tastes like water, "I know what you mean. But in a good way though, right?"

"Yeah," he nods, "in a good way."

When Megumi's back finally hits his mattress at an ungodly hour of the morning—something he's been dreaming of since he'd left it hours ago—he's sickeningly sore and his eyes burn with hypersensitivity. He lets himself close his eyes thinking of your hands, the ones that soaked his now scabbing wounds and wiped his watery eyes. 

Megumi plans, sure, but he never could have prepared for you. 

[midnightmah07]

Midnight Waltz.

Story: the Midnight Waltz, an anual dance held in a ball at professor Trein's hometown, is about to take place. This year, Trein has decided to take his students to the ball in order to learn about the place's culture and history, and hopefully win the competition for the 'Midnight Princess/Prince' as the headmage demands.

During their stay, the characters end up meeting Jasper and Angus who were visiting for the event, as their extended family lives there, and because they're fascinated by Daisy, the brothers decide to tag along, and Trein accepts as long as they don't cause any trouble and Daisy watches over them. However, once the group meets Trein's childhood friend and organizer of the event, Faadhil GoodMoore, ( @4necdote's OC) the brothers and Grim get into a petty fight and end up accidentally messing with Faadhil's magical wand, pointing it towards Daisy and making everyone forget about her.

Now, Daisy, Grim and the Souris brothers have to find a way to make things right before midnight when the waltz will start... Will Daisy be forgotten forever or will the group manage to get everyone's memories back?

Featured characters:

Daisy SSR (Midnight Attire)

Ruggie Bucchi SR (Midnight Attire)

Silver SR (Midnight Attire)

Rook Hunt SR (Midnight Attire)

Ace Trappola R (Midnight Attire).

Rules to enter the event:

- you must tag me and give me credit for the idea once you post!

- fics, character cards, fanarts, OC and/or canon characters posts etc are all welcomed!

- no NSFW, pro-ship etc allowed.

- no specific deadline for the end of the event, as well as no clear winner, this is simply for fun!

- if you've got any questions, please lemme know!

Background for the event:

That all said, I am super duper excited for this event! I have my own character cards of the featured characters here, and I will post them shortly!! Whoever wants to join is super welcomed!!! Tysm for 1500 followers you guys!!!

Link for the dividers.

Trivia:

prologue.

my outfit designs.

"sneak peak" video.

Entries!

Barbs' yuusona ( @4necdote)

Shuu & Riddle ( @oya-oya-okay )

Joseph ( @readsrandomstuff67 )

Yusuke ( @twisted-wonderland-memories )

Yujie ( @gimmeurmoneyagh )

Yuusona ( @hittisbuzzing )

Yukana ( @babyghoul138 )

Yuusha ( @crystallizsch )

Jamil ( @crystallizsch )

Augustine ( @slumberingrose-fandom )

Kogane ( @kogane-twst )

Yumi ( @marinahavik )

Iris ( @ificanthaveloveiwantpower )

Circy ( @hello-i-am-wimothy )

[crystallizsch]

"stop looking at me like that"

fanart of jamil's cheer wear for @cheerleaderman's fan event!!

[oya-oya-okay]

<Midnight Waltz> by @midnightmah07

THIS IS A REALLY CHARMING AND INTERESTING EVENT!!😭💕💕💕💗💗💗 I congratulate you on reaching 1500+ followers!!!🥳💗❤️

{ SR } Shuu! 🐿️

{ R } Riddle! 🌹

background HERE by @/cherryartemis0

I chose Riddle because he can waltz and I think it would suit him!!🥺😭💕💕 ALSO It's not a Shuu x Riddle, it's just a Shuu and just a Riddle🛐🛐🛐 Enjoy 🥰🌹❤️

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 3420 | Rating: E | CW: Language, Sexual Content, Male Titty Fucking | POV: Eddie | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two, Matching Each Other's Freak

I actually got assigned the prompt "soulmates" on both the Christmas and New Year's bingo cards. Instead of trying to double-up, I decided to just make them companion pieces. Here are the links to both:

Part 1: Steve POV | Part 2: Eddie POV | Also on AO3

They are intended so they could be read standalone, but I wrote Steve's first, so I say go back and start there if you'd like to read both.

Eddie wears it like a badge of honor. He wishes it was scrawled across his forehead instead of his arm. Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker! is a damn good soulmark, if he doesn't say so himself.

Feisty. He likes that. 

He hasn't met him, or her, yet. He's not picky, never has been. 

Eddie rolls up his sleeves, and the mark is dark black, prominent. Like the freshest, newest tattoo. And he knows tattoos. He's got some good ones, and some bad ones, but this right here is his favorite and he didn't even get to choose it. It just showed up one day, a promise of who was to come.

They have nice handwriting, whoever they are. He's always thought so. He brushes it with his thumb. He just wonders when he's finally going to get to meet them. 

It wasn't in high school, not during any of the three senior years he had. He kind of thought that was why he kept sticking around, like he was just waiting for them to round a corner.

They never did.

Now, he's a senior in college on schedule to graduate in one go, thank you very much, and still nothing. Nada. Zilch. 

Oh well. It'll happen, or it won't. 

"You about done primping your hair or what?" Jeff yells from down the hall, and Eddie laughs. Jeff wanted to go to the big frat party on campus tonight and Eddie definitely wasn't opposed. He can probably off-load some weed, make a little extra cash, so sure, why not? 

Eddie settles onto the couch where he usually does his business. Right out in the open. He's the one to be feared, not the other way around. Gareth is next to him, yapping about some movie that they watched in his film class last night. Eddie's slightly interested. Playing chess against death for your soul? That does sound like something he'd like.

His arm itches. He looks down to scratch at it, right over his soulmark. This couch had better not have fucking bed bugs.

"Oh shit, Goodie's fighting with some frat boy," Gareth announces, sitting up to lean closer to the action, and Eddie looks up.

And Goodie most certainly is doing just that. 

Goodie just shoved a guy, and Eddie has about two seconds to open his arms to catch the cussing heap of a man as he slides across the coffee table, knocking Eddie's lunch box of inventory, and every goddamn drink, onto the ground. Not cool. 

What the fuck is Goodie doing? Yeah, he got the first cheap shot off, but this guy isn't small, and Goodie's definitely gonna get them all into a brawl if this dude has friends. Still, Eddie can't help but laugh, and he yells at Goodie, "You're a fucking dickhead!"  

He shifts the guy over onto Gareth, who makes an oomph sound like he's a delicate flower, as Eddie hops up to try and get this straightened out before it progresses into an actual problem.

Eddie slides his arm around Goodie's neck, and tucks him into his side in a headlock. Goodie lets him, laughing.

"What the fuck, Goods? You just laid that poor guy out, say you're sorry," Eddie demands, looking back at the pretty, if very confused guy still sitting on Gareth who has his hands up in the air, like he's being accused of a crime.

"I'm sorry," Goodie laughs, hand finding Eddie's side, and Eddie damn well knows he's positioning himself to get out this headlock if he needs to, "It was an instinct! A remnant from high school. Get bullied, push back, that's what you always said!"

Eddie turns back to look at the guy. If he really was picking on Goodie, there's gonna be a problem here, "He was bullying you?"

"I was not!" the guy yells. 

"He stepped on my foot!" Goodie clarifies, and Eddie laughs. Stepping on a foot is not bullying. It's an accident.

"He stepped on your foot, so you shoved him in my lap?" Eddie asks, making sure he's got this right.

Goodie huffs, "Well, I didn't think you'd mind!"

It was a nice gift, but still, Goodie's gonna get them in real trouble one of these days if his temper can't be, well, tempered.

"What's going on here?! I just went to the bathroom, there wasn't even a line!" a girl shows up shouting, hopping mad. "Now Steve is sitting in Gareth's lap? How do you know Gareth? You can't sleep with Gareth!"

She's rambling, hands waving in the air.

How do you know Gareth? Eddie thinks. He's never seen either of these two people in his life.

"I'm fine. We're fine, I think?" the guy says, but he doesn't sound sure about that. Eddie's sure. He's fine. He's definitely fine. In more ways than one. Goodie's not gonna do shit. None of them are. "I'm not sleeping with Gareth?" he adds, and Eddie's also sure about that. Gareth's not into men. 

This was just a misunderstanding. A comedy of errors.

Eddie's life, in a nutshell. 

"Not a question. Absolutely not. No offense," Gareth says, and well, that's his loss. Eddie would definitely take one for the team.

But he can't resist. 

"Look what you've done, now you've made his girlfriend mad," Eddie teases, still not releasing Goodie from his grasp. He deserves a little more torture. 

"Ew, gross. Not my boyfriend," the girl says, like she's absolutely disgusted by this idea. Has she not seen that guy? 

"She's a lesbian," Gareth says. And oh, that'll do it. Mystery solved. If neither of them want to sleep with this guy, Eddie will volunteer.

"Don't be so disgusted," the guy with the good hair and bitchy face complains. "I'm a catch."

That he most certainly is. Eddie caught him, if only briefly, and if he can reel him back in, he'll definitely be doing that.

"Do you still have a dick?" the girl asks, snippy.

"I still have a dick," he confirms quietly, and they're bantering. Eddie likes them. Likes this show he's unexpectedly been invited to watch.

"What she said," Gareth pipes up.

And Eddie definitely likes that this handsome devil has a dick. Eddie would like to be introduced to it, up close and personal, post-haste. 

"Well, we're all glad to hear it," Eddie says, finally letting Goodie stand up. Goodie shrugs, trying to get re-situated, and Eddie pats him on the back.

Jeff comes back, having missed the whole altercation, "What's going on?"

Then it turns out the girl, Robin apparently, knows all of his friends. And that is just an unfair and unjust world. 

Gareth seems determined to get Jeff caught up on all the action he missed, "Oh, Jeff, you picked the exact worst time to wander off. Short story: Goodie pushed this guy—"

"Goodie's here, too?" Robin says, like she hadn't even noticed him.

Gareth keeps talking, but what else is new, he's always talking, "—and get this, turns out, this dude is Eddie's soulmate."

Wait, what?

Eddie turns his head, eyes darting between Gareth and the very pretty man that looks like a deer caught in headlights, "What'd you say? Gareth, why do you think…" he trails off, and then looks down at his arm.

"You're Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker?" Jeff cuts in, beating Eddie to the punch. Well, he might not have asked it like that, but the guy laughs.

"Well, I prefer Steve, but I'll answer to anything, I guess."

Steve. His soulmate's name is Steve.

That's officially his favorite name ever, now.

"Jeff, help me. Eddie tried to take my head off my neck," Goodie complains, and while Jeff will take Goodie's side, he's not gonna come in hot at Eddie, even if Goodie is angling for it.

"You pushed my soulmate. You got off easy, my child," Eddie banters back, circling Goodie, like he's sizing him up. Pushing at his chest, and Goodie laughs, batting his hands away.

"Let me see," Steve says quietly.

Eddie stops in his tracks. He knows exactly what Steve wants to see. Eddie walks over to him, and offers up his forearm:

Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!

The words, Steve's words, have finally been said. They're right here on Eddie's skin in Steve's messy cursive scrawl. 

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's mark, and Eddie feels a jolt go up his spine, as he goes half-hard in his jeans, immediately.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers, he's never reacted to anyone like that.

"Uh, yeah," Steve says, and Eddie can't stop staring at him. 

They've got to leave here before he does something embarrassing in front of all his friends and a house party full of strangers.

"Wanna get out of here?" Eddie asks, and Steve is nodding before Eddie's even done asking. 

Back in Eddie's room, Eddie keeps running his hands over every inch of skin he can. All those moles and freckles. He's gorgeous.

This was the man made just for him?

He's never been that lucky a day in his life.

"You said it, and I missed it. Can you say it again?" Eddie asks, hand tangled in Steve's hair, pulling his mouth closer, so he can brush his lips against Steve's.

"Say what?" Steve asks, eyes glazed over. Nobody told Eddie meeting your soulmate would be such horny business. They've been touching, and rubbing all over each other for what has to be hours at this point.

"The words, your words," Eddie says, and Steve has to take Eddie's arm into his hand, looking like he's double-checking what he even said.

"Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!" Steve pops off, laughing as he says it, and Eddie giggles with delight, pressing his face into Steve's neck.

"You're a fucking dickhead," Eddie says back with affection, and Steve wraps his arm around Eddie's back and pulls him tight. 

Eddie can't believe he finally met him, and he's this gorgeous. Way out of Eddie's league, but Steve seems just as happy to be here as Eddie is, which, hot fucking damn.

He just wants to touch him everywhere, wants to see every inch of his body, wants to worship him now that he's finally here. 

Stripped down and bare, Eddie's checked him over, and Steve only has the one mark. No other tattoos. Just Eddie's own words, and miles of tan, freckled skin. And the moles. Oh, the moles. Not to mention the thick thatch of chest hair that lights a fire inside Eddie. Eddie rubs his fingers through it, and has the unexpected thought that he wants to come in it, wants to titty fuck him, even if that wouldn't exactly be an easy endeavor. Not to mention, well, maybe not something to suggest on the first date. He doesn't have to let his entire freak flag fly. 

He moves on, but will tuck that pretty mental image somewhere safe in the back of his brain, as he slides his hand down to thumb at Steve's nipple. Steve's hips come up off the bed, and Eddie knows they are going to have so much goddamn fun tonight.

Not just tonight.

Forever.

And isn't that a heady thought?

His fingers go right back to that chest hair, and his hand wanders, getting a handful of his chest, squeezing, and Steve chuckles. 

"Boobie man?" Steve asks, and it's playful, not judgmental at all.

"Fuck," Eddie says, and he wouldn't have especially said that he's a boob man. He likes them just fine, but there's something about Steve's chest hair. Manly, dark and thick in the middle, spreading up and out, that is really pressing buttons he didn't even know he had.

"I'm a pervert, the things I want to do to you will send you running for the hills," Eddie says, and Steve lets out the best sounding laugh in the world.

"Doubtful. Do 'em," Steve says, "I'm no blushing virgin. I've been around the block. I've been around several blocks, and had fun on every corner."

"Fuck me," Eddie says, rubbing his hard cock against Steve's thigh, "how come our blocks never crossed until now? My map was faulty."

Steve giggles, and it's adorable.

"You're gorgeous, and your chest hair is making me think all kinds of thoughts," Eddie admits, leaning back so he can see Steve's face.

By giving Steve space, Steve takes both hands, and presses his pecs together. There's just enough softness, just enough give, that Eddie is sure he could actually do it.

He could slide his dick between them, and feel all that hair hugging the underside of his cock.

Eddie starts fisting his own cock, watching. Wanting.

Their first sexual encounter cannot be him fucking Steve's chest. He's weird, and proud of it, but maybe not that weird.

Instead he slides down the bed, and admires Steve's impressive cock as it lays against his belly, hard and leaking. Steve flexes, making it bounce, and Eddie laughs, delighted. Can he already love him? Because he thinks he already loves him.

Eddie slides his fingers between Steve's cock and his belly, guiding it upwards, rubbing the head against his bottom lip, tongue sneaking out to taste, and then he sinks down, taking him fully into his mouth. He's a mouthful, more than, but Eddie's no quitter. Eddie moans, and Steve echoes him, as Eddie uses his free hand to grip Steve's hip.

He wants to blow him, wants to roll him over and eat him out until he cries and begs for Eddie's cock. He wants it all, wants everything, and thinks he just might get it.

Eddie's never had sex like this before. And he's had some damn good sex. This just feels like a whole different level of attraction, of connection.

Soulmates. 

He thought he knew, but he really didn't.

Steve's in his lap, rocking back and forth on his cock, working him over like a goddamn pro. Arms wrapped around Eddie's neck, mouths locked together, sharing breath, unwilling to let one another go. 

He was right. He is feisty. Just not in the way Eddie had always expected. 

Eddie's getting close, and he snakes a hand between them, fisting Steve's cock, hoping he'll be able to to take him over the edge right along with him. 

"Eddie," Steve breathes against his mouth, a warning, and Eddie nods up and down, encouraging him.

"Do it, god, do it. Come," Eddie demands, and Steve does. Warmth hitting Eddie's hand, his belly, as Steve tightens down on Eddie's cock, pulsing with his orgasm.

Eddie pushes up into him, still chasing his own, when Steve unceremoniously slides up and off him. He's bewildered, stunned for the heartbeat it takes Steve to flop onto his back, hands pressing the sides of his chest together, an offer.

Eddie strips off the condom, slides his thighs along Steve's ribs, and leans forward, bracing himself against the headboard. Slick cock pressing into Steve's skin, the slight roughness of the chest hair a new sensation, and he thrusts. He can't see Steve's face, not from this angle, but the idea alone is enough to get him across the finish line, and he slides back, a downstroke, coming with a long, hard groan. Fuck. That was something. Too quick, but so fucking filthy that he couldn't hang on a second longer.

He pants, and scoots back down to Steve's waist. Admiring his handiwork. Come is stuck in Steve's chest hair, and some shot upwards, hitting the underside of Steve's chin, pooling in the hollow of his neck.

"Fuck, we are meant to fucking be," Eddie says, rubbing his thumb through the mess, darkening his chest hair even further, matting it together.

Steve laughs, "I'm gonna need a shower, but goddamn, you were worth the wait. I've been waiting for somebody to match my freak."

Eddie laughs, delighted and wowed by this man under him. His fucking soulmate. He moans, and buries his face in Steve's neck as they cling to each other, spreading the mess further. They're both gonna need showers, and that's totally fine with Eddie. Worth it.

And this was just the first time. First times have no business ever being that good, and Eddie presses his mouth to Steve's sweaty neck, offering him open-mouthed kisses.

Offering Steve himself, his love, his whole future if Steve is willing to take it.

All of his freak, and more.

Morning comes too soon, and Steve slides out of bed to get dressed. Eddie watches as Steve pushes down his sleeves, and then changes his mind, pushing them back up towards his elbows. 

"It's supposed to be sunny and seventy, definitely up," Eddie chimes in, hands tucked behind his head, just enjoying the free show.

Steve smiles, "Yeah. Just, habit. I've hidden my mark for so long it's gonna take some time to break the habit."

"You hid it? Why?"

"Well, you're a fucking dickhead didn't seem wildly romantic. I had no idea it wouldn't be directed at me," Steve says, and oh, Eddie never thought of that.

Eddie gets out of bed, and wraps his arms around Steve's middle, squeezing him tight, "I'd never. But I get it. I thought mine was towards me, too. But I was wearing it like a badge of honor. Fucking Goodie," Eddie teases.

Steve grins, "He finally introduced us. I can't be too mad at him."

And Eddie isn't mad either, he owes Goodie several beers. A new pair of shoes if he's still salty that his toe got stepped on. Whatever he wants, within reason.

"Do you really have to go to class?" Eddie asks.

"At least my first one. Six more weeks to go."

"Yeah, yeah. Same boat. You anywhere near the union for lunch?" Eddie asks, hopeful.

"Yes. Meet you there at twelve-twenty?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. That works. Eddie doesn't want to take his hands off of him, doesn't want to let him out of his sight, like he might disappear, even if that's irrational. They've exchanged numbers. Apparently all of Eddie's friends know Steve's best friend. Steve's not going anywhere. 

"Here," Eddie says, walking over and rummaging through his closet, pulling out a black t-shirt, "wear this. Nowhere to hide."

He hands over the shirt, and watches as Steve tugs off his Henley, tossing it onto Eddie's bed, and then slips the new shirt over his head. Corroded Coffin emblazoned across his chest, and Eddie grins. He's got a soulmate.

He's got Steve. 

"Look at you," Eddie says.

Steve looks down at his chest, "Oh, my friend Chrissy talks about this band."

"You know Chrissy?" Eddie asks, because Jesus H. Christ, of course Steve does. The universe was working overtime to get them connected, but for some reason they were just stumbling around the same campus like fools, not making it happen, for four years.

"You know Chrissy?" Steve repeats. "I've been meaning to introduce her to Robin, I think they'd hit it off. We should all do something. Goodie can push me down again, or whatever it is that you all do for fun."

Eddie tosses his head back and laughs, "He's not usually that aggressive. He must have been possessed by our profane soulmarks."

Steve smiles at him, and it makes his heart flip in his chest. How did he get this lucky? Steve Harrington is perfect. He couldn't have picked better if given the choice. He's really something else.

"The universe thought we needed a shove, literally."

Eddie grins. Definitely worked. Job well done.

"Full transparency? That's our band," Eddie says, a smile tugging at his lips as he touches the logo on Steve's chest, "and we have a slot at The Cave on Friday."

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve says, leaning forward to kiss him one more time. Eddie kisses him back before Steve really has to leave, the door closing softly behind him.

Steve may have had to go, but Eddie'll see him later, and they'll pick this right back up where they left off.

Eddie picks Steve's discarded Henley up off the bed. Maybe he'll wear this today. He doesn't need to wear his mark like a badge of honor anymore. He won the whole goddamn lottery, because Eddie's finally met his match, his soulmate, and Steve is more than he could have ever hoped for. He can't wait to see what the future brings for them. 

He pictures an entire life shared between Mr. You're A Fucking Dickhead and Mr. Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker.

And Eddie laughs, absolutely delighted by the prospect. 

He can't wait.

Read Steve's POV here.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 💞

Notes: I don't think I've written soulmates before, so I'm not sure if I've stayed with the trope or veered into left field, but I know I had fun with this one. I loved the idea that their first words in each other's presence would be something so unhinged, lol. And Goodie shall never let either of them forget that their soulmarks were spoken to him not each other.

[pseudospectre]

[thebramblewood]

The first meeting of the Vatore Book Club has commenced.

Previous / Next

Helena: Caleb, are you in here? [telepathically] Caleb?

[silence]

[under breath] Where are you? You promised you’d show me more today.

[picking up journal] Hmm. These definitely weren’t here before.

[begins reading]

May 25, 1918: Another night daymare. Same as all the others. Calloused hands squeezing my throat, phantom fists pummeling my stomach, shrill bursts of laughter assailing my ears, sky of taunting stars, blinding white moon, a monstrous form looming over me… Straud insists I should no longer be able to dream. One more bold-faced lie from a man who speaks arrogant, empty words just to hear his own voice - and endlessly, endlessly. I already tire of his dull speeches.

July 10, 1918: The days stretch eternal in this crumbling mansion. I am Straud’s prisoner, though he claims I am free to come and go as I please. Yet he prattles on with excuses as though he does me a favor by denying me. I’ll not be allowed off the grounds until I bend to his will, until I  have suitably mastered discipline. How I loathe that word! I’ll be sick if I hear it once more.

September 8th, 1918: Killed two men last night. Only meant to step out for fresh air but instead found drunken idiot humans stumbling unknowingly across town lines. Their thoughts came to me easily. (So the old man taught me something after all.) Vile and crude remarks on my body, naturally. My vision flashed white with rage, and my body convulsed as if to split in two. Their taste of their blood was exquisite. It’s a funny thing, though. I kept expecting the swell of remorse to arise, but it never did, even when my brother, drawn by the cacophony, flinched away at the sight of my monstrousness, truly frightened of me for the first time. Further reflection is required, but for now I must depart. Straud requires placating.

Helena: [thinking] This is Lilith’s diary?

[flips to final pages]

February 22, 1921: Caleb’s birthday tomorrow. If it passes, he will be 27. He will continue to outpace me in physical age. He will eventually die. I’ve promised it will not. All week, he has been nervously pacing and eerily silent, too afraid to ask the obvious question: Will I truly make him like me? I know how to do it, but thirst remains a constant presence in the back of my throat. I suppose I will take it up with Straud one last time, though he will respond as usual. He believes the gift should be offered only to those who have been deemed worthy. But he grows uncomfortable when I ask how he determined my worthiness. I know he saw me merely as an opportunity, a flimsy young girl in distress who could be easily remolded in his image. I disappoint him every day. We must be free of him soon.

-

Vlad, telepathically: I can still hear every thought that passes through your mind, girl. Your barricades are sloppily constructed. And, no, my position has not changed.

[leftneb]

Finality

original picture and a speedpaint below the cut!

TAGLIST

@santongkabayo @lyslsstuff @cyclonixi @alto-the-avocado @lailau7904

@mintraindrop @loquarocoeur

[hittisbuzzing]

Midnight Waltz

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I'M HERE TOO

First fandom event I've joined, it was fun to draw :D Tysm @midnightmah07 !!!

I was planning to include a card with Neige but I'll probably do it later (or whatever my laziness decides)

[neiptune]

hellaur for ur lovely event could I pls req

“This is the first time I’ve felt the need to confess.”

with itto if possible? I know genshin isn’t in the fandom list but I’m rly rly obsessed with him rn 🥹🥹 (also u love me right)

take ur time and thank uu <3

arataki itto x this is the first time i've felt the need to confess

warnings: mentions of alcohol

a/n: you're special enough to get a special itto piece <3

The first thought that crosses your mind is that it feels sticky. Not figuratively, because air can't actually be sticky, but metaphorically it absolutely feels like you've just stepped into some icky environment where the only air you can breathe is thick and gooey and disgusting.

The music and chatter are so loud you clench the plastic bag filled with the stupid chicken empanadas you've let Yoimiya, your roommate, convince you to bring to the stupid party you didn't even want to go to in the first place. She, on the other hand, seems ecstatic as always. The energy she carries around never fails to match the environment she finds herself in and her bubbly personality is the perfect match for rooms filled with obnoxious, loud, excited people. Like the one you're currently in.

“It was so nice of him to invite us!” she happily looks around and waves to a stranger or two as your nose cynically scrunches up.

“It was nice. We didn't have to accept” you grumble, mindlessly leaving the plastic bag on a kitchen counter filled with bottles, toppled red cups and chip crumbs. Even this room is filled with people, which is enough to make you attempt a deep breath to swallow your anxiety. Small apartment plus hordes of guests is one of the worst equations you can be part of.

“But he wanted you to come so bad” she grins, casually diving one hand into one of the colorful bag of snacks abandoned on the table.

“It was a guilt-ridden invitation. He knows he hasn't done shit for our group project and still managed to score a good grade”

“Thanks to you”

“Thanks to me, Sara, Kazu, and Thoma”

Yoimiya impatiently rolls her eyes.

“Okay, but he was still nice enough to invite you to his party. This could be our chance to meet new people!”

“Christ, just go tell the Kamisato siblings you have a crush on them so we can leave”

Your best friend opens her mouth to protest, cheeks already flushed, but is interrupted by both the laugh you huff and a boisterous voice from behind you that makes you jump.

“You came!” Itto cheers, crimson eyes boring into yours and smile so wide you're almost tempted to reciprocate right away.

“Thanks for inviting us” you feel yourself sound so proper and polite you suddenly wish Sara could've been there instead of having to surrender to the supid flu. She would've pinched you.

“Nah, don't mention it! What can I get ya?” Itto is so tall and broad he's basically hovering above you but he has this weird, affable aura that never once makes him intimidating. He'd meet someone and become their friend in the span of 30 seconds, something very similar to what had happened when you were assigned to the same group project. He had arrived at the campus library, cracked one joke, offered to get everyone coffee to apologize for being late and boom, he instantly became everyone's favorite person (an outrage, given that you, Thoma and Kazuha grew up together and Sara is one of your closest friends). What makes it worse is that it's impossible to dislike him because he's so irritatingly genuine. Not an ounce of deceit in that gigantic body.

“Thanks, m'good” you mutter.

“If you don't drink there's a bowl of virgin sangria” he hasn't looked away from your eyes once so you nervously shift your weight from one leg to the other. Yoimiya has disappeared god knows where, your guess is she's on a mission to grab enough mojitos to muster the courage to introduce herself to Ayaka by the end of the night. It'd be about damn time.

“Okay”

His smile is blinding as he reaches across the kitchen counter to fill you a glass. He's grabbed a proper one, not one of those red plastic cups.

“Thank you” your fingers graze his as you accept the glass. They're cold, must be why you shudder. Does he ask someone to paint his nails black or does he do that himself?

“So, uh, how come the rest of our group couldn't come?” he's invited everyone, of course he has. It's hard to ignore the way your stomach contracts at the way the words our group leave his mouth. It sounds good. It sounds non temporary. It sounds threacherous.

“Sara's sick, Kazu and Thoma are having one of their dumb gaming nights”

“Right!” he laughs another one of his overexcited laughs “their channel's so cool!”

Cool isn't exactly the word you would use but it is kinda cute how thrilled they get whenever they receive a donation or a nice comment. They also get their fair share of indecent proposals, an information you often enjoy using for teasing purposes.

“They'd be happy to have you as a guest” you take a sip of your drink and the sweetness of the cranberry juice burns your throat a little.

“Would you be there too?” now that's one malicious smirk, sharp but cute canine teeth in plain sight. Fuck.

“It's not really my thing” you attempt to brush the question off with a nervous chuckle. He opens his mouth to respond with god knows what charismatic comeback but, thankfully, he's interrupted by a clearly drunk Gorou who materializes next to him and places a small hand on his massive shoulder.

“M'looking for more shrimps” he leans into his arm and hiccups. Itto rolls his eyes with fake annoyance but you can read the fondness in them.

“Whatcha gonna do with shrimps?” he politely asks, foot tapping impatiently.

“Did I say shrimps?” Gorou chuckles to himself "I meant drinks"

You seize the opportunity to sneak out of the kitchen and dive right into the living room and its throng of guests. Catching a glimpse of Yoimiya sitting on a couch next to the Kamisato siblings makes you smile, but you don't let yourself get distracted and keep marching towards your (hopefully) oasis of fresh air and muffled music: the balcony.

As you close the sliding door behind you, the cold breeze feels like a balm on your feverish skin. You quite literally sink onto the orange bean bag and take a deep breath, fingers clenching the glass still in your hand. Okay you might, perhaps, have a small crush on the tall, broad, popular idiot. You might think the red makeup that extends from his upper eyelid to this lower one is attractive, you may wonder if his silver hair is as soft as it looks, and it's possible that you have asked yourself how his arms would feel under your fingertips, how his muscles would contract if you so much as grazed—

“Nope” you grumble to yourself and promptly take your phone out of your pocket, tapping your dating app open right away. It hasn't worked wonders for you (yet) but it's a nice diversion and some guys are entertaining enough for you not to want to stick a fork in their eye. Not immediately, at least.

“6'3 my ass!” the proximity of the woefully familiar voice makes you jump but Itto doesn't lose his composure as he rubs his chin, eyes skeptically scanning the bio of the red haired guy you didn't actually want to swipe away.

“What?” you're appalled as he casually sits down next to you, back pressed against the sliding door, so close his knee is brushing against your thigh.

“He's lying. I can tell” he shrugs “why're you using that shit anyway?”

“You don't?” in an attempt to dodge a question that makes you appear equal parts lame and pathetic, you ask an even dumber one. As if he would ever need to.

“Yeah, sometimes. M'not really lucky though” he takes a sip from the beer can in his hand.

Huh?

“You're kidding” it's impossible to hide your skepticism and he smiles at your frown.

“I have a hard time dealing with women”

“There's literally a facebook group named after your abs”

He laughs at that, although it's a softer sound that surprises you.

“I know, I've been invited to join” his chuckle fades into a sweet smile, eyes suddenly avoiding your gaze “but doesn't really matter when you feel so inadequate, does it?”

The Arataki Itto feels what?

“Are you drunk?” you inquire and he glances at you again, making your heart skip a beat. You've never been close enough to smell his woodsy cologne before.

“It's true. I try to compensate, ya know, by being all loud and positive and exuberant but I hardly fit in and no one ever takes me seriously” he takes another sip from his can and then proceeds to slowly crumple it up in his hand “shit, s'weird. This is the first time I’ve felt the need to confess. Am I being too lame?”

“No” your reply is as quick as your pulse, although slightly quavering “I don't think you could be lame if you tried”

Itto's gaze softens as he lets it flicker from your eyes to your lips, as if to make sure you've actually uttered those words. He absentmindedly raises his hand to cup your cheek, brows furrowed in concentration as his thumb gently strokes the corner of your mouth to get rid of a pinkish droplet of your mocktail.

“So” he tilts his head as a curious puppy would, absolutely unaware of how dry your throat suddenly is “am I not lame enough to kiss you?”

[ministarfruit]

day 20: get you a girl that can do both ♡

(prompt list for femslashfeb)

[missmeinyourbones]

"we were supposed to be just friends." and gojo please?

WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE JUST FRIENDS (s. gojo)

a/n: slightly suggestive, will they won't they (they will), mentions of alcohol, satoru can't not be annoying for like three seconds

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Everything feels hot. And it shouldn't.

Because it's the end of autumn and your dress flows down past your knees and the wine in your glass was supposed to warm you up but now Satoru is everywhere and everything feels hot.

He has you pinned against the wall, and how you got from the front door to the hallway, you don't remember, but his lips feel like fire as they dance along your neck and down to your exposed collarbone.

Even breathless and tingling, you know this is wrong.

You knew from the moment Satoru asked you out for a few drinks—as friends, he promised. The second he pulled your chair out for you at the bar, the moment you took too long to pick out a dress, you knew this was how the night would end.

Because while you and Satoru are supposed to be friends, that's never been quite the case.

With eyes closed and a heaving chest, you manage to pant out a pathetic, "This shouldn't be happening—"

"Y'know, I'm not judging you or anything," Satoru chuckles against your sticky skin, his lips moving faster than the speed of light as they crawl up your neck and below your ear, "but if that's your idea of dirty talk, we might need to teach you a thing or two."

When he gently paws at your earlobe, you disguise the wanton whimper as an aggravated sigh, attempting to paw at his broad shoulders and remind him.

"This is a bad idea, we both agreed that it's a bad idea."

"Impossible," he gently smirks against your jaw before sinking his canines into the bone with a smug exhale. "It's half my idea, and I've never had a bad idea in my entire life."

Wrong, you immediately note.

You can think of a minimum of seventeen bad ideas Satoru has had, and that's just off of the top of your head. And of those seventeen, at least ten of them ended up like this—with the two of you gnawing at one another like animals.

Still embarrassingly breathless, you try to regain the upper hand, "So you're just talking to hear yourself speak?"

"Well, I can think of a few sweeter things to say," he smoothly mumbles against your jaw, relishing in the way his teeth gently scrape the skin lovingly.

His (huge) palms find your thighs with ease, and just as he's about to lift you in his arms and inevitably fuck you raw against your shitty apartment wall, a miracle happens.

With every ounce of strength you have, you're able to push him far enough away from you to actually look at him. Both of you panting and warm to the touch, you're able to look into his eyes with a telling frown.

"Satoru, we are supposed to be just friends."

And though your tone is stern, his reply is light and airy as he leans back in, insistent.

"We are friends."

When his tongue prods at your swollen lower lip once more, you pull him back by his hair. Not missing how he whines at the tugging, you raise your eyebrows, unamused.

"You kiss all your friends like this?"

"Only the ones as pretty as you," he coos immediately, leaning back into your mouth. But your grip on his hair prevents him from reaching what he wants, and when he notices the stern look in your eye, he softens.

"No," comes softly from his chest as he pulls away to properly look back at you. "No, I don't."

You exhale deeply, catching your breath and attempting to firmly plant your feet on the floor. Satoru's listening to you, or at least he's doing a good job at pretending to, and your gaze can’t help but fall to his swollen and spit-shined lips.

"We agreed to take things slow, to be friends for a while and not rush into things like we—"

Conveniently, his eyes do the same and flicker down to your own distracting pout.

The words meekly crawl out from his throat when he practically whimpers, "But you're wearing that lipstick you know I like."

"I shouldn't know you like it," you coldly remind him, "because we were supposed to be friends."

Satoru moves his hands from your thighs to your hips which, believe it or not, is a conservative improvement for him. Though his hands made a safe choice, his eyes falter back down to your neck when he presses a feathery kiss to your pulse point.

"Baby," he coos and you despise that you feel yourself clench around nothing. From a sixth sense or eye, Satoru somehow knows, because he smirks against your skin and brings his attention right before your lips.

"From the moment we met, we both knew we were never gonna be just friends."

He doesn't give you the privilege of a kiss, but lingers just above your lips as if his infinity is still on. You know enough to know it's off, it always is around you, but with the way he's so close and denying you his actual touch, you don’t quite know the difference.

When you don't answer, he prompts you tenderly. "Right?"

Stubbornly, you turn your head to look away from his stupid face, but all that does is further expose your neck to him.

Practically singing with mockery, Satoru's tongue dances along your jaw when he grins.

"Your silence is more telling than you think."

You gently shove him off of you, rolling your eyes in frustration at his cocky (yet correct) statement. He jokingly stumbles back at your shove, hand over his heart as he huffs out a whine.

"I can't stand you," you grumble.

With a shit-eating grin, Satoru sighs and lays back on your sofa, spreading his legs comfortably wide and patting his thick and barren thigh.

"Then come sit."

[midnightmah07]

Coming very soon!!👀👀

Disclaimer: subtitles are obviously false, the voice actress' lines were taken from Yubisaki to RenRen anime!! And the song is Cake Waltz from BTS World

[crystallizsch]

“Crystal City… Professor Trein’s hometown. Are you sure that I’m an adequate choice? I’m sure there’s better options like— …..Well, if you insist. I will do my best as one of the representatives of Night Raven College. I will not disappoint.”

Jamil Viper Midnight Waltz (fan event by @midnightmah07)

so i used the outfit designs for the canon characters as references and uh made an attempt,,, i also couldn’t resist giving jamil the half-cape (again) dhsjjds

ALSO i still think it’s cool that their midnight attire are also color coded to their dorms 😤💥💥💥