#still trying my hand on drawing detailed clothings .... i have only ever drawn shirts and jackets hhhhh

[lucaonthropy]

Bai Zhan War God!!!

[thehylianidiot]

Hi folks. Just a teensy bit of a slow trying to got the next arc for that Fairy Tail role swap fanfic I've been working on (slow progress, constantly second guessing myself, but you know what? I'll take it at my own pace)

So in the meantime, I guess I'll share progress in the drawing aspect so I can get some feedback, and I've given it my usual over-thinking-it treatment so I might as well share it.

I've been working on making drawing references for the each of the main cast. This is after trying to draw characters for a few chapters and going: I really need a reference to keep it consistent.

Why do that? You already got the canon designs. Two reasons.

One: It's a role swap. The designs fit the canon roles, but may not 100% fit in when a character has to do something else in the story. Take Mavis for instance: her design is based around her status as Fairy Tail's first guildmaster, but it would look a teensy bit out of place as the guild's newest recruit.

Two: Limitations of the artist. I can't draw all the detail the manga's creator puts into these characters at my skill level. Heck, this is the first time I've ever drawn characters beyond just a t-shirt and pants. So, I need some sort of simplified design that fit my skill level so I don't get overwhelmed with every chapter's drawing (I swear I will learn shading eventually).

First time making a character sheet so I set some rules: hands to sides, look at the camera, feet pointing away from each other. Whether or not each character follows these rules is another story, and can help as a characterization exercise as well.

Is there room for improvement? Yes, but nothing's stopping me from making an updated version down the road.

I just got one design in this post, and I guess I'll try for one post like this each arc, but here's the swap design for Zeref (and Happy). I put details/notes in the keep reading section.

I really like Zeref's canon design. It's a good silhouette, and it tells a lot about the character (clothing from another time period, same color scheme as a certain other main character, wears used-to-be emotionally significant item, plenty of triangular shapes in form to represent danger). But I can't for the life of me draw all that loose fabric.

Luckily, I found that the Mildian uniforms were much simpler (and were hilariously enough black-on-white instead of white-on-black), so I used that as a basis. The only issue is that I only have one manga panel (barely a full page!) to go off of.

So make up the shoes (that I did have to look at the canon design for), forget the dang belt in the middle, add dark red for a teensy bit for color (because gold wasn't working, and didn't want dark blue), and uh ... tada I guess.

Happy's got a simple design to begin with that I have no drawing difficulties with. And he's still the tag-along cat (although add in a little bit of being the voice of reason at times, which is really weird for Happy but I feel like it works here). The furball's perfect as is.

Design with notes on a few more details:

Explanations to the words on screen

Unkept (blame Happy): the cat just decided he had a habit of sitting there and I let that habit stay there. Also, I don't know how to hair.

No high colar: Because I can't draw one. I know I can't draw one, so I won't bother trying right this minute.

No eye contact: Did not look at the camera.

Important neck item: Oh look, a parallel to the character he swapped with.

Bit of red: I think this also may be a bit of reference to his debut volume's design before switching to black.

Used to fit: Doesn't even go down to the waist.

Trying not to fiddle: Arms are to the side. Barely.

Again used to fit: A smarter artist would know how to emphasize this in the design. I am not one of them.

Baggy: I tried.

Pointy: Because I don't know how cloth boots work.

Not his cat: It stuck during the writing part.

That's all for this post. Thoughts? First time doing any character design period, so would love feedback.

I got Mavis's design drawn out too (that one took a bit more creativity), but want to experiment a bit more with color first. So I guess I'll post that next arc.

Thank you very much for reading my overly-long post. Best wishes!

[frosted-night]

Jack Frost Designs Review

Yes it’s finally his time. This is going to include his book designs including previous incarnations in said books. There are more movie concept designs than book so, let’s dig in shall we?

This was in fact the first ever Jack Joyce designed while he came up with The Guardians Of Childhood. He even comes with his own backstory! (Which was cut. Sorry Joyce posts walls of text so it’s a girthy read.)

So instead of a young mischievous trickster, we got a much more depressing story of Jack. (Jack by default is sad obviously) but this one... It kind of hits differently and almost reminds me of the story he crafted for Pitch. A dad who tried to defend his family but through tragic events was ripped from them and changed completely. Design wise, he’s a lot more tree than snow. There doesn’t exist a colored version of this so we’ll never know if he sported winter and dull dead leaf colors rather than grassy greens.This Jack has a weird presence to him, I can’t put my finger on it. Rating: 6/10 He’s really neat! Just a little too Autumn feeling rather than a blend of both Autumn and Winter.

Nightlight feels like the baby evolution if Jack was a pokemon and that's what I’m gonna stick with. Below is a more recent version of him colored.

In all honesty that one is easier on the eyes proportion wise because sometimes Joyce has ‘interesting’ anatomy choices but we aint going into that today. It’s interesting how his hair somehow looks shorter and longer than Jack’s at the same time. Could be because the longer strands float seamlessly but star boy hair physics what can ya do. It’s a little hard to tell what is his skin and what is his armor, so that is a casuality in making a character only have one or two colors in their color scheme. I love other artist’s depictions of Nightlight but the canon one feels a little weak color wise. Rating: 5/10 Sorry, get some better LEDs and then come back.

Here we have a book Jack but I can’t entirely recall if this was used in the books or not. I digress. This design looks like him still wearing very Nightlight-esque armor/clothing and slowly growing into his new persona as Jack Frost. The intricacies are hard to make out but we’ll work with it. This one is very interesting to me because he very much looks like an older teen close to young adult. His hair looks very fluffy too. Not many complaints about this one but not much praise either.

Rating: 6/10 Not great but doesn’t stand out that much.

Remember when I said Joyce had ‘interesting’ anatomy decisions? Jack looks like he has half a head here and it bothers me GREATLY. This is the adult Jack design he went with. Supposedly he likes the opera and he sure looks it. This! Exists!! Kind of wish it didn’t. The outfit is nice but it just doesn’t fit Jack as a whole. This just screams to me that it’s someone else with a similar-ish hairstyle.

Rating: 3/10 Guess he’d be the...Phantom Of The Opera. (I’ll go home and so should he.)

And finally the final Jack. This is the one that almost exactly resembles the Jack we got in the movies(Probably because it was made after the movie but w/e) but just add a cape on him. I can’t really tell if hes got a hoodie and a cape, or just a cloak+hood on top of a sweatshirt. It isn’t too important because my thoughts on this one are obvious. Rating: 10/10 Edna Mode would have a field day with you boy.

MOVIE DESIGN TIME

Joyce claims this is a design he drafted when Leonardo DiCaprio was considered to voice Jack and I can kind of see that with how his face is drawn here. This Jack looks a lot more like a warrior and less of that trickster look. I can’t say I’m a fan of the weird antenna his hood has but his sword is really cool looking.

Rating: 4/10 Nice bow and sword but it can’t save your fashion choices.

This looks like a lanky 11-13 year old who would put rocks or slugs in my shoes and relish in my disgust. He has the exact look of a snot nose kid and I’m unsure how to feel about it.

His various hairstyles drafted here sort of make him softer looking or just more of a snot nose, no in between. Maybe even an Anime Protagonist.

The top right one almost looks like Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon if you squint. It’ll be a little hard to rate them all as one individual but why not.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate them but they aren’t my cup of tea.

AH- IS THAT A FUCKIN GREMLIN?

Oh wait no it isn’t he looks like a 10 year old. Whatever don’t feed him after midnight. The staff’s design of not being shaped like a G is an interesting tidbit but the whole design looks like he’s really young or like a troll etc. This Jack looks like he thinks girls have cooties uses outdated slang.

Rating: 4/10 This is me being generous.

It honestly looks like he hiked his pants up all the way to his chest. A late teen with horrid fashion choices once again. Not many other thoughts here.

Rating: 2/10 Get a sweater on or something.

This is one is very interesting looking to me. His clothes looked a lot more leather based and very human-like. The tatters, tears and frays all make him look like he was a victim of an accident that never changed his clothes. It makes me wonder if this Jack had the same death as the final movie Jack or something else entirely. Either way, this one looks like hes a mid to late teen which really adds to my intrigue.

This was another image that greatly resembled the design so I included it here. It almost looks like his skin is blue here which is pretty neat to me at least. He’s also got leaf motifs here, which from the first Jack design Joyce made, we can see a pattern here.

Rating: 8 /10 I was originally weirded out by his head but now its not so bad.

This Jack is definitely dressed more like a nature boy rather than him having human influenced fashion and it’s an appealing touch. The tiny leaf sprouting from his staff is also kind of cute since the designers seemed to want to put leafs somewhere on his designs. His hairstyle is also very cute but it reminds me of Sasuke Uchiha in a sense. (Not a setback for me at least)

Rating: 7/10 13 year old Jack is going thru a phase.

I thought this Jack didn’t show up again in story boards but I was wrong!

They look a little different from each other but just similar enough to pair together, so bare with me. The first one obviously has looser pants, slightly longer sleeves and got his leaf motif going. This second Jack is a VERY green. It gives the impression that this Jack made his clothes out of plants and natural materials. Again I’m not wholly sure if greens fit his color scheme but they sure went for it for a while. I can’t say I’m a fan of it because it heavily reminds me of Peter Pan.

However a very similar looking Jack could be found in this storyboard. It doesn’t look as green as the other storyboards made it out to be and looks more like dead grass. Which is a pretty nice touch.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate it but it just doesn’t vibe yknow.

Speaking of a vibe...hoo this certainly has one.  This Jack isn’t old but certainly doesn’t look very young, maybe in the 20-30 range, thats just me. He has facial features that remind me of Pitch but resembles the Jack Frost of Santa Clause 3

That being said, I wondered if him looking similar to Pitch was in the storyline of them being brothers.(Which was a scrapped thing, who knew.) He’s a bit more menacing in this design but certainly seems like he relishes in his work.

Rating: 4/10 I’d make it a lower score but I gotta give it props

NOW THIS JACK IS KINDA INTERESTING. This one looks like he’s 16 and going through a grunge phase. He’s gonna play Nirvana loudly and not turn it down even if you tell him too. His staff itself has mini icicles hanging off of it and leafs look stuck to his shirt. Did you glue or staple those on Jack? His hair also looks much longer than his other designs and I kind of dig it( Shut up I’m bias.) I’m not wholly sure why else this design has stuck with me but it just has something about it that I just love. I wish there was a full body drawing of it.

(He also kinda has the same hair as the Jack Frost in Runescape but I wont go on about that hoo hoo)

Rating: 9/10 *Bad Boy by Cascada plays in the distance*

This one definitely feels like middleschooler trying to be in a band. His sticks just resemble drumsticks to me what can I say. I’m a big fan of his shoes and his color scheme screams a hibernating tree in winter. His hair also looks like it’s covered in frost rather than it being wholly white, which is very neat!! He looks like he wants to fight but has slight hesitance. Overall a very balanced Jack.

Rating: 8/10 He’s ready for band practice

Not many thoughts here, I just found these tiny Jack designs cute. His hoodie being a jacket instead just adds to the charm of this one.

No talk to him he angy.

Rating: 6/10 fun sized boi

Now this Jack resembles the one earlier that dressed entirely in leather brown colors, however he clearly is different than that one. I’m gonna say it, he looks like a zombie or undead in this design and its pretty fucking gnarly. I don’t know whats going on with his hair but I’m gonna assume it’s just the wind making it look like that. He just has the vibe that he was once human but was turned into something else entirely. It isnt in uncanny territory but borders that. This version of Jack meeting Pitch and the others would have been *very* interesting. Rating: 7/10 Eat a twinkie Jack you’ll feel better.

The final design! I can’t complain much about this one. The way his staff subtly has a G shape and a hexagon(his signature shape) is a wonderful touch. Additionally, the way the frost is gathered mostly where his hand is such an intricate detail. His signature hoodie is iconic at this point so I can’t bad mouth that either.(I can’t anyway because there's no complaints from me here.) Although, I never understood the leather straps that his pants had or their functions. I couldn’t find any colonial outfits that resembled Jack’s pants so its a total mystery to me at least.

And I can’t go on about this design until I mention the snowflake pattern in his eyes

Pure beauty. It’s at a hue of blue that almost looks impossible to have, combined with the electric blue color of the snowflake in his eyes. The amount of detail in this movie amazes me to this day. Rating: One Great Blizzard <3/10

[raggaraddy]

I'd Die Fighting

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Thank you for your request! I really like the concept, and kind of got carried away with the stories and now they're too long. So I'll release them as individuals as I finish them. I hope you like them! ^-^

If anyone else wants to request you can here.

Mafia Bangtan Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Taehyung

Jungkook

Summary: Pinned down by the cops, you know you're the only one who can stop Jimin from getting himself killed.

Trigger Warnings: Police shooting, gun usage, blood, violence, death, ambiguous ending.

Jimin

Mafia! Jimin

You were in the middle of a scheduled pick up, collecting the gang's share of the profits for the month. There had already been 3 today and all had gone as routine as the times before. You're in a residential building site, parked in one of the driveways, and on a Sunday too, so it's nice and quiet and empty. There was no reason to think that this stop would be any different than the last.

That was until the lights and sounds of police sirens filled the street.

You could only watch on in dread as 4 cop cars sped into the driveway trapping you and the two men into a box. With a 10-foot foundation wall behind you and building walls on either side, you were now realizing that this location wasn't so much secure, as it was an obvious dead end.

Looking back in the side-view mirror, you can see Jimin with the dealer. The guy panics instantly, pulling out his gun without a chance to even aim it before he is blown away. There are dozens of deafening shots all at once and the guy, no older than you, drops down dead.

Barely able to contain your terror, you are not able to do anything but to watch helplessly as Jimin dives behind the rear of the car to avoid the stray bullets.

Slowly, the officers start down the concrete path, closing in tighter, all of them with their guns drawn, all of them looking alarmed and ready to fire. With this many cops, you know neither of you stands a chance. There is no escape here, not without a miracle. But you know Jimin. You know he isn't going to just give in. He's said it before, he's said it often. He might die, but he'll die fighting before he dies in a cage.

The officer coming closest to the car bangs on the hood to draw your attention making you jump. "Stay in the car," He mouths the words.

You can't abide. If you don't do something Jimin is going to get himself killed. He may be willing to die, but you're not willing to lose him. You shake your head hard, swinging the car door open, stepping out tensely with your hands upright. Your arms and legs are shaking with pure adrenaline, relying on nothing but a prayer that they don't shoot you right now.

"Get back in the car." "Stay in the car." "Miss, get back in the car." A sea of loud, demanding voices shout at you all at once. While your survival instinct is telling you to obey the angry people with guns, you ignore them all. Your instinct-your love for Jimin is greater than your fear.

Walking paced steps backwards, you're watchfully eyeing them. They're still pressing forwards, but they have slowed substantially. Half of the group aiming more aggressively, and the other half pointing their guns at you more hesitantly. Calls of stay in the car turn into orders to get on the ground. But you can't, you won't.

Coming in line with the back of the car, Jimin is knelt behind it his gun in hand. "Y/n! What the fuck are doing?!" he snaps, eyes full of worry.

He may bluster to everyone else, but you know the full expression. In private he'd whisper the ending to you and only you. 'I'd die fighting before I ever die in a cage. And I'll spend my life locked up before I ever see you hurt.'

"Get back in the car!" He growls.

"No," you whisper.

"Get back in the car!"

"No."

"Oh for fucks sake, will you just listen to me for once!" He growls, running his hand back through his hair, about to lose any composer he has remaining.

"No!" You shout, your eyes darting from the cops to Jimin and back.

He roars, grabbing your shirt, yanking you down the ground beside him. The commands of the police heighten and start coming more frequently as they steadily begin to entrap the two of you again.

"I'm gonna beat the hell outta you after this." He shouts, reaching over the top of the car to fire a slew of shots, not aiming to hit anyone but just trying to keep the cops away.

"Fine. Do it. But just let there be an after." You plead, eyes filling with tears. "Put the gun down. Please!"

"What?! No!"

"Come out with your hands up or we open fire." A far off voice, coming through a speaker, gives a sickening order.

Jimin's harsh defiant look turns to one of pure fright and frenzy. He knows if they're shooting at him, they're shooting at you.

His hand scrunches in the scruff of your shirt, dragging you flat to the ground further out of harms-way, using the same momentum to launch himself into the open, weapon ready. He gets only 2 shot off before they retaliate with more than half a dozen. Not all connect, one catching his leg, another his shoulder. The hits double him over, making him drop the gun.

It all happens before you are able to even turn back over. The sight of him struck has you screaming, acting rashly and impulsively. You wail his name clambering to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. Lifting him upright, you're covering him with your body as much as you possibly can. You don't pause think what might happen right now if the officers began to fire again. You only know you need to save him from them. Save him from himself. Pushing him with your chest, you force him back more and more until his body hits the foundation wall. You turn yourself around towards the encroaching men and women, shoving your weight roughly against him. To shield him, and trying your best to keep him pinned to the bricks so he is unable to act suddenly or foolishly.

Thankfully the cops still seem hesitant to shoot at you. Although you don't trust it for it to last much longer.

Your stomach drops, feeling a warm wetness dripping over the exposed skin on your upper back. Jimin's shoulder is bleeding heavily down you.

This is so fucking bad.

"Stop, please stop, Baby!" You whisper to Jimin, nearly unable to form the words due to the shake in your voice. It's just the two of you opposing 7 armed police officer. You know he hates the thought of defeat, he may even hate you for this, but neither of you has any way of winning this standoff.

His forehead presses to the back of your head, his hot breath fanning down your neck. In the smallest motions, you feel him nod against you.

Raising them in surrender, his arms come out from behind you. There's a sharp pain in your side with a sudden booming sound. It knocks your breath away. You whine, your hand squeezing tighter against his legs, into the fabric of his jeans.

"Y/n?" Jimin knows what's happening before you do.

One of the officers mistook Jimins actions as hostile and got twitchy with his gun.

You gasp slumping back into him, your legs weakening. He catches you, lowering with you as you fall to the floor. "Baby!"

Jimin looks up to the cop who fired. He's memorizing every detail of their face. Already having resigned to hunt them down and make them suffer.

Finally able to inhale, you cry out a low scream, pain spreading from your stomach up. "Jimin," you cry clawing his arm, fingers wrapped in his sleeve.

The swarm of police starts to move more frantically. A knee flies at Jimin sending him into the wall, separating him from you. Without him, you fall flat into the dirt. To your right one of the men is forcing Jimin to the ground with a knee trying to flatten him. But he isn't giving in, fighting and struggling against the weight, desperately trying to get back to you.

Even as there are three of them versus only Jimin, he is still putting up enough resistance that they are unable to fully hold him.

"Y/n!" He yells, as one of his arms is pinned behind his back, driving him heavily into the dirt. "Get the fuck off!" he snarls.

Your throat feels full. You're starting to choke, spluttering blood out and down your cheeks. Your hands clutching your stomach are wet and slippery from blood. The heavy amounts of it pouring from you making you weaker with each passing second.

"Alright!" There's a heavy thump as Jimin stops resisting and is plunged aggressively into the floor. "Just help her! Help her!" With all of the pain and fear you're feeling, it's the pure panic in Jimin's voice that finally brings you to tears.

Rolling your head towards him, his chin is dug into the concrete floor, his skin and clothes red with blood, his face pale and flush, his eyes red and teary with emotion. With him no longer fighting they are able to cuff his hands. They haul him to his feet, carrying his weight. He yells in pain, his cries turning into pleas for you, calling again and again for someone, anyone to help you.

One of the officers comes to your side pressing firmly on your wound making you shriek, spitting out even more blood. They speak into their walkie-talkie describing your state and injuries calling for an ambulance. Explaining that a male will be coming to the hospital by a police cruiser.

In front of you, the others are dragging a limping Jimin away. Being pulled from you he begins his fight again, battling to not leave you. But he's too injured and restricted to combat them much more. Only able to call out to you over and over.

Even as the car doors close on him, you can still hear him shouting your name. Even as you lose consciousness you can still hear the echo of his voice.

[bonny-kookoo]

Carrots and Whiskers (JJK x Reader) 💜🔞🐾

🥕 Pairing: Rabbit!Jungkook x Wolf!Reader

🥕 Genre: Hybrid AU, fluff, smut because why not amirite-

🥕 Warnings: stereotyping, mild mentions of past bullying, fluff, oh god they’re so cute, Dom!Jungkook despite being technically food for Sub!Reader, Dirty talk, it’s sweet though he ain’t calling his baby a hoe don’t worry, unprotected sex because in this hybrid universe they’re unable to conceive due to their different species, please keep that in mind thank you, sweet sweet lovemaking, aftercare, buff boi JK, Big dick JK but what’s new I guess, yeah I’m done now

🥕 Summary: He’s the prey and she’s the predator. So why does she feel like the roles are reversed?

This is a oneshot! If you have any ideas for future content in this universe, feel free to send in asks or requests!

A reputation could easily define your entire life it it was bad enough.

Both sides knew this; Jeon Jungkook, being depicted as the cowardly prey hybrid he was, and Y/N, the bad bad wolf with always malicious intentions. However, none of these depictions were actually true.

Jeon Jungkook was an actually pretty rough and brave young man, never really backing down from a challenge, uncaring on who was in front of him. He got into trouble often as a kid, as a teenager, and now as a young adult.

Y/N was soft spoken, a caring yet quiet hybrid who liked to stay hidden, the spotlight being more of a fear than a goal for her. She loved the simple things in life, liked to be by herself or surrounded by people she trusted and loved.

And she also got a major crush on the bunny in her art and music class.

It was quite cliche really, yet it also wasn't- it was as if she was stuck in a bad joke, never to make it to the punchline. She knew for a fact that he probably didn't even knew who she was, and the worst part about it was that she couldn't even blame him. She loved to not be seen, after all.

"Uhm, excuse me?" Said the voice, forcefully hitting her as she looked up, her own eyes meeting the big brown orbs of-

wait.

"I eh, we're supposed to choose partners for this project, and I know for a fact that you can draw so eh, wanna be partners?" He asked, and she simply stared. Was he- talking to her? "I mean, Its okay if you don't want to-" He started, the squirrel hybrid girl behind him already perking up at her chance, making her swallow a bit.

"N-no, I uhm.. I'd like that." She squeezed out, voice quiet, but he thankfully still heard her. He smiled, brightly and so awfully cliche as his bunny-like teeth showed, sitting down next to her as he pulled out his sketches. "So uh, what did you have in mind.?" She quietly asked, and he talked away, as if he'd always known her.

"Well since we weren't given much other than the theme and colors, I made some small sketches. You know, I get Ideas that are pretty neat sometimes but then I forget them easily, so I have to draw or write them down right away, otherwise I'll wanna bite my own ass later on." He rambled on, gently moving the rough sketches towards her, his eyes watching her as she looked at them, carefully studying his lines.

"This- this one would fit, I think.." She mumbled, tapping on one of his more detailed drawings. He grinned again, nodding, seemingly in agreement. He attempted to say something as the bell rang, students around them both scrambling up to get out as soon as possible, either to catch a bus or to drive home on their bikes.

"Hey do you-" He stumbled, his foot catching on a stray chair as he almost fell. "Do you wanna meet up on the weekend? That way we can finish faster, you know, time to sleep in class." He said, and she simply nodded, until he held his hand out. Her head tilted to the side, ears flopping a bit as he chuckled, mumbling. "cute. Your phone, so I can give you my number?" He explained, and she blushed, stepping back a bit as she placed her bag down on the table next to her, pulling out her phone, charms on the device dangling, making him smile. She really was adorable. "Alright." He said as he took it after she'd opened the phone app, his fingers typing away, before he gave it back to her. "Do you take the bus home?" He asked, and she nodded. "Oh really? I thought the pink bike outside was yours actually." He chatted away as she walked next to him, now a bit shy.

"I actually.. well, I can't, you know, ride a bike, so.." She mumbled, and he laughed for a moment, until he went quiet, sensing that she was serious.

"I eh, I could you know, teach you, if you want?" He asked as he unlocked his own bike. "I mean, not now but like, this weekend?" He asked, and she looked a bit hesitant. "I mean, you don't have to. But I promise I won't let you get hurt." It seemed odd maybe, for a prey hybrid to say that to a predator, but for her, it seemed like the most cheesy and romantic thing she'd ever heard. So she smiled, and nodded. "I uhm.. I think your bus left-" He pointed out, making her ears droop as she watched the vehicle drive off without her. "I can bring you home. It's kind of my fault you missed it, after all." He said, scratching the back of his neck as he suddenly rumbled in his backpack, pulling out a zip hoodie, before folding it, and placing it on the bag of his bike. "My'lady." He offered, and she giggled, making his ears flinch in excitement.

She'd been unaware of him for long enough, and after a talk with his fellow friend Taehyung, he'd decided to finally act on his interest in her. Even though he did get some odd looks from his classmate Jimin, he didn't care about what she was- he cared more about who. Her drawings were always so detailed in a way that would show exactly what she'd though while creating each line, something he always found remarkable. She also had a talent for photography, a hobby he had for himself as well.

"Hold on tight okay?" He said, and she nodded, her arms moving around his waist, redness creeping onto her cheeks as she felt his toned body underneath his thin shirt and loose jean jacket. She held a bit tighter as he finally pushed the bike forward, paddling at a decent pace that made her hair flow a bit with the wind. She couldn't help but enjoy the moment; the way his smell calmed her, the scenery around her, and the fact that it seemed like everything was finally working out for her.

"I'm gonna let go now and you'll just-" He started, but she suddenly grew anxious, her wide eyes immediately finding his.

"no no don't let go I'm gonna fall-" She scrambled out, scared as he simply laughed, one hand on her back as he kept the other on the bike for now.

"I promised, didnt I?" He hummed into her ear, and she blushed at the gentle tone of his voice. He was everything she never thought a prey hybrid would be; he was cunning, brave, and confident in himself. He wasn't after attention at all, simply trying to live his life yet he pulled everyones gaze on himself wherever he went simply by nature. His ears seemed too soft to be legal in her opinion, black and white tuft of fur that was his tail seemingly completely out of place; the rest of his body was toned. It showed that he knew how to take care of himself, it underlined the way he held himself wherever he went.

He was the complete opposite of her it seemed.

She liked to hide in oversized clothing, hybrid features the only thing really giving away that she wasn't just a mouse in disguise.

To him however, it was an entirely different story.

She was so sweet, always trying to help, and always trying to not be a burden. She had so much talent, a unique way of seeing the world, and a gentle way of always looking out for others. It also didn't ease his crush on her that she was absolutely beautiful in his eyes; shorter in statue than him, surprisingly, but he was pretty tall for a rabbit hybrid, he had to admit. His mother had once told him about the different subspecies of wolves when she'd noticed his crush on the girl; her best friend having been a wolf hybrid as well when she'd still been in school. Apparently there were different subtypes for them; alphas, betas and omegas. He guessed that the girl on his bike was an omega, maybe, as it would explain all her characteristics.

"You're doing so great!" He said, bunny smile making her feel more confident as she noticed he only held her by her back; she was actually riding a bike. "See? You can do it!" He happily exclaimed as he helped her off, seat a bit high for her to get down herself. "Lets sit down there and exchange some sketches, yeah?" He offered, and she nodded with a smile, walking next to him as they both sat down on the grass, after Jungkook had put down a small blanket he'd taken with him. "Okay, hit me." He playfully shot her way, as she pulled out her sketchbook, simply sliding it towards him as he opened it, looking through the pages she'd opened for him. "Uah, these are great! I'd use a bit more color on these ones, but the rest is awesome!" He mumbled in thought as he proceeded to change the page, his eyes widening at a familiar pair of eyes, when two delicate hands held his wrist in place.

"Pl-Please uh, that's not for the project eh-" She stuttered, panic evident in her voice as her red face and tilted ears gave away her embarrassment. He simply stared for a moment, before his other hand simply loosened her grip on his wrist, freeing himself without much force. He slowly turned the page, revealing multiple rough sketches of..

Him.

It was him, not very detailed, but clearly visible. Small scenarios were drawn on the page, him staring out the open window of the classroom as he talked to friends, him at the sidelines of his basketball game as he'd taken a break, or him asleep on his desk during class. He studied the drawings, noticing how she'd not cared much about his clothing, or the background; even the desk or the window weren't really drawn very realistically, simply a fast sketch. What did stand out was.. well, his face. The way the sun reflected in his eyes, how his ears had been slightly damp from the slight rain outside, or the tiny things he would've never thought she'd notice about him, like the tiny beauty mark under his lower lip, the slight scar just above his cheek, or how the sides of his eyes crinkled when he laughed, nose scrunched up.

As he looked up she was looking down, hair hiding her eyes as her ears were flat against her skull, tail in her hands, which nervously fiddled with the fur. "I-" He started, before he began to open his own bag, ruffling around in it as his own ears lowered themselves while he tried to find something. "Hah!" He exclaimed in victory, hands sliding off the rubber band of his own folder which kept his messily organized sketches and finished works. He rummaged through them, before he started to lay some of them out in front of her, one by one. Slowly, her ears turned, attention on what he'd put down in front of her.

He always had a different way of drawing things, not really putting a lot of effort into the outlines or sketches themselves; but he had a way of coloring things, a unique style that made things feel almost alive. In every picture, he'd dedicated most of his effort to color the fur of her hybrid features almost perfectly- he also payed special attention to her postures in every picture. He never drew her eyes however- which she noticed. "I uhm.. I've never got the chance to see them up close, so I had a bit of trouble with them.." He explained. "I've noticed you pretty early when we shared our first classes together.. But I never really got around to talk to you. You and Namjoon-Hyung always seemed so close, I thought.." He revealed, scratching behind his own ear as he suddenly felt a bit bashful.

"You.. I mean, Joonie is a good friend but we uh.." She started, voice a bit low as she laughed a bit.

"I know, I know, he told me-" Jungkook answered, now chuckling. "Thats why I immediately took my chance when they'd announced the group project." He said. "It gave me a chance to you know, get to know you better. Get closer, you know?" He explained, and she nodded. "So uh.." He mumbled, before he smiled at her hopefully. "Wanna uh- get cake together today? Like a date?" He asked, and she nodded, making him suddenly jump up as he fist bumped the air, making a passerby elderly couple laugh. "Yes!"

"Carrot cake?" She asked, an almost teasing smile on her lips as he looked at her.

"What? Don't judge puppy!" He said, making her scoff scandalized.

"Hey, I'm a wolf, not a dog!" She explained as she stirred her milkshake with her pink straw before grabbing the spoon from her small metal plate.

"And I'm a rabbit, not a bunny. So guess we're even." He said, before his smile faded a bit, eyes stuck to the spoonful of whipped cream which made its way inside her mouth, tongue darting out to lick her lips clean before she noticed his gaze. He snapped out of it, suddenly the one growing a bit shy. "You uh.. wait, lemme just-" He mumbled, hand moving to wipe the corner of her mouth as he licked his finger clean himself, making her eyes widen before she mumbled a 'thanks' under her breath. He grinned.

"So uh-" He asked, pushing down his small cake fork to pick up a piece of cake, holding it out towards her. "open up?" He asked, and she hesitated a bit, before leaning forward a bit, lips parting. He placed the piece into her mouth, watching as she closed her lips, accepting his offering of food before she nodded her head approvingly. "See? Don't judge before you try!" He exclaimed, and she giggled at that.

He was right.

"I'm absolutely beat." He suddenly exclaimed, falling down onto the mattress laying on the ground in the corner of the new, unfurnished bedroom. The wolf hybrid sat down next to his sprawled out form, gently moving his blonde tipped hair away from his eyes. He'd dyed it months ago, his roots more than visible at this point, yet he'd simply decided to let it grow. "Come here~!" He playfully demanded, hands reaching out for her as he pulled her down with him, happily humming when she was laying on his chest. "Can you believe we're actually gonna live together from now on?" He asked, and she shook her head, moving around a bit so she straddled him, sat on his thighs as he suddenly watches her with hooded eyes, hands on her hips as his thumbs move in circles over the skin underneath her sweater- his sweater. "Hm.. I mean.." He offered, suddenly moving to sit up, changing position as she's now underneath him, his hair tickling her face slightly when he begins to kiss against her pulse. "I was about to ask if we should at least put up the bedframe, but having a mattress on the floor.." He started, hands wandering underneath the clothing of his she wore as he continued in a low voice. "..means I can't break the bed this time." He said, and she giggled at that, remembering the time their time together had been roughly interrupted by the weak frame of his old bed breaking. "Oh, my puppy thinks that's funny?" He wonders, making her grin as he kissed her deeply.

Moments like these made her almost forget the stereotypes she'd grown up with during her live- since Jungkook was nothing like the typically depicted rabbit hybrids. Because right now the roles seemed completely reversed, as he mouthed at her neck, feeling her pulse race as he continued to map out her body with just his hands, no need to watch where they were, able to seemingly paint a picture of her by touch at this point. Clothes suddenly seemed to tight, itchy, as if bitten by a mosquito. She whined as he chuckled darkly, helping her out of his sweater as he immediately grabbed her breasts, kneading them before he continued to undress her, making quick work of her shorts as he pulled down her underwear as well- her already glistening center clinging to the damp fabric of her underwear as she squirmed, making him humm in appreciation. He pulled his own shirt over his head as well, revealing his body to her as the sun outside painted glowing stripes onto it, the blinds drawing patterns on her skin as well. He finally freed himself from the confines of his own underwear as well, standing proud and ready as she became restless.

"Hm, puppy wants to be filled up yeah?" He asked with a teasing undertone, proudly making use of the privilege to be able to call her that- since she hated it when others did it. It was the same the other way around however; typically, being called a 'bunny' was an absolute insult to him, but for some reason it seemed like a cute nickname coming from her. Maybe he was just whipped. Or maybe she was just privileged as well.

He entered her slowly as he sighed alongside her, not wasting any time as he fell into rhythm, hips thrusting forwards as her hands reached for his, intertwining their fingers as he felt his soul warm up at the gesture. He felt so loved, so cherished, it made him fear for his heart, as he swore it stopped every time he was close to her like this. He felt complete, like he'd found his soulmate, his other half- it didn't matter to him what she was. Sure, his parents were a bit dissapointed since they couldn't have kids naturally because of this, but they both could always adopt in the future. Thinking about it made his heart swell as he thought about her, caring for their kids, making this small apartment into a family home one day. Maybe it was instinct, but he'd already been driven nuts by the way she'd helped him choose furniture and wallpaper for the small living space they'd be sharing; the simple fact that she wanted to make their apartment into a home feeding his inner instincts to build a home to keep her safe in.

He felt her legs shake a bit as he shifted a bit, making her whine as he suddenly picked up his pace, sweat already slowly beginning to coat his skin as he didn't seem to notice how the sound of skin against skin still echoed in the almost empty room since it lacked furniture- but it didn't matter for now anyways. They'd both fill it with things and memories of the both of them, and he couldn't wait for it. He huffed a bit as he moved, leaning down a bit to rest his forehead against her neck as she bared it for him, a natural instinct of hers to submit to him even if he was of another species with no need of such gestures. He'd adapted to it however, gently biting the skin as he felt her shiver underneath him, a sign that she was getting close. "Hm my baby wanna cum?" He asked, gently beginning to tease her as she nodded, eyes closed in bliss. "You want a knot huh?" He asked, and she shook her head no, as he chuckled. He'd felt a bit insecure the first few times around as he knew how things worked for canine hybrids, worried that he maybe couldn't give her what she wanted or needed, yet she'd always reassured him. Now it was more like a teasing thing for him, and a way to tickle a praise out of her- a way of reminding himself that she loved him just as much as she did her. "No? You don't?" She shook her head again, her fingers holding his hands tighter. "What do you want then, huh?" He asked with a grin as she whined.

"You- you, only want ngh.. only need Kookie-!" She pressed out, and he hummed approvingly, his thrusts beginning to grow sloppy as he neared his end.

"That's right, only me, only mine, yeah?" He asked, and she nodded, suddenly opening mouth as her head buried itself into the mattress below her, clenching around him as he groaned out, burying himself deep inside her as he spilled. "Thats it, take it like a puppy- good girl!" He praised, making her whine as he leaned his body down, kissing her neck, her throat, and then her lips as they both calmed down from their highs, breathing slowly growing more and more even as he moved a bit to grab a box as he slid it towards him, rummaging through it before he took out a roll of kitchen towels, grabbing a few as he slipped out of her, carefully catching his release and her own juices as to not make a mess. He had a gentle smile on his face as he carefully cleaned her up before he stood, walking towards another box where he pulled out a large pillow and a few blankets, instincts taking over as he began to cover her now rapidly cooling body in soft fabrics before cuddling up next to her, pulling another blanket over his own form as he made sure his partner was comfortable. She slipped out of her makeshift blanket burrito to invite him in, making him grin his signature bunny smile as he held her close, skin on skin as he closed his eyes, the only light in the room the streetlamps outside.

This already felt like home.

[mammons-tax-returns]

How would the brothers react to a very punk goth Mc like platforms and all black and just the whole shebang he’s very nice but also will throw hands (there’s not enough male Mc your doing the good work my dude)

BROTHERS REACTING TO A GOTH/PUNK MC

Perfect way to start off the new blog !! Thank you for requesting, hope this is what you had in mind <3 (and that it’s not too apparent that i’m not super well versed in punk or goth culture ACK)

I hope that you guys don’t mind some being shorter than others, I’m still getting a hang of personalities!

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Lucifer is probably one of the ones that’s into the style from the very beginning.

As soon as he sees MC, his interest is clearly shown on his face.

Sometimes, he’ll drop compliments on his fashion. Depending on his reponses, he’ll start getting more apparent with just how much he enjoys seeing his outfit everyday.

GIFTS!! He’s not mammon level of stacks upon stacks of gift wrapped boxes, but he’ll certainly stop by your room every once in a while with a new accessory he saw while shopping.

MC will probably notice that he is especially keen on chokers :).

Stares discreetly, but consistently. When Lucifer invites him to listen to music in his room, he waits until MC is occupied with something like a book or the music. Then sneaks glances at him to see how his clothing moves every time he reaches over for something, or how the necklace he bought the other day glints in the light radiating off of the fireplace.

He knows that MC is nice, and grows increasingly more and more worried for his sake because of that. The exchange program is important, but his treasure perpetually adorned in black garbs is significantly more prominent in his concerns.

So when he sees MC readily defending himself against some low level demon with no hesitation? Holy fuck. He starts to panic, but there’s nothing surpressing his respect for him, as it only grows stronger.

Although, it becomes very apparent that he’d have to do something about all of his brothers’ staring at MC.

Mammon is so into it. Like... So into it.

We all know and love that our tsundere boy has a problem with getting embarrassed, but how could he NOT get flustered everytime he’s face to face with an alternative KING

At first, he actually tries to tell MC how much he appreciates his aesthetic, but fails every time. Stuttering is a difficult thing to overcome when you can barely breathe out of embarrassment.

When he finally brings himself to actually get a compliment out, it’s accompanied with his signature bashful look. Downcast gaze and shifting posture and everything.

Upon recieving a positive response to his words, he takes it as a sign that he should start doing it more often. And so... That’s exactly what he does!

Compliments upon compliments, expensive outfits and accessories finding their way into his room, MC gets it all.

He ADORES the nice personality. So really. This MC is one of the people that Mammon can’t help but get along with. Nice, can throw hands, AND IS FASHIONABLE? Now you’re speaking his language.

They definitely get called a model power couple, even if MC isn’t a model.

Will definitely mention the idea of MC doing a photoshoot with him for work, but won’t press further if he says he’s not comfortable with it.

Levi geeks out so badly

So yeah, his initial interest in MC is kickstarted by his fashion reminding him of a badass video game character, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate him for who he is!!

He actually doesn’t know whether to be sad that he doesn’t have the same amount of fashion sense or to be happy that he has MC as his best friend that does.

But after a bit of positive affirmation from MC, he’ll surely settle with the latter. (and also hope for them to become more than best friends :). )

He finds himself subconsciously posting about MC in his socials. Normally it’s filled with “Lucifer just did (blank)” but now, it’s ALL about MC. Nothing else. MC fan account.

We know that Levi draws, and so I have no doubts that he would be drawing every outfit he sees MC in.

At first, he’s only drawing faceless figures in the clothes, probably adding his own personal flair. But as time progresses and Levi gets closer to him, he starts subconsciously conpleting the figure’s appearance (hair, face, stature, etc). And before he knows it, half of his pages are filled with doodles of MC.

But if he were to ever find out that MC saw his art, RIP Leviathan 2020

And who’s to say he’s not drawing him in... Risqué outfits.

But if MC says that he doesn’t mind getting drawn, then Levi will activate cute fanboy mode again.

He’ll ask him to model outfits for him as he draws, sometimes in cosplay.

MC would just be chillin’ with him in his room, and when Levi finally looks up from his tv after finishing an anime, he’ll sometimes gasp and immediately say, “Stay right there, I HAVE to draw this!”

Although drawing wasn’t and will likely never be his favorite thing to do in comparison to video games/anime, it gives him an excuse to stare at his best friend with minimal blushing.

Satan is good at hiding his appreciation for MC’s outfits. At least, he’s good at it to everyone BUT MC.

If anyone asks, he’s indifferent about MC and his dashing looks and fashion.

But as soon as MC confronts him... Oh boy.

Red-faced, he’ll compliment his clothing on occasion, then wave it off as “something everyone does”. Which is true, but we know that it’s more than just that.

Similarly to Lucifer, he finds himself staring at him secretly. Except, I like to think that he’s less careful about it. Often MC will look up to meet his eyes, before he ducks his head back into his book, acting nonchalant.

Not a single person can convince me that he hasn’t found a stray black cat and discreetly named it after MC.

He wouldn’t hide the fact, but instead would actually bring it up at the right time. Ex: Right before some dramantic moment like before proclaiming how much MC means to him. Both as the cat and human.

The cat’s collars are decorated similarly to the clothing that MC wears! Satan is a diligent worker (especially when putting lucifer through immense stress) and a lover of arts, so he’s pays attention to little details like that.

This is Asmo we’re talking about.

He ADORES the aesthetic.

It’s not something that he himself would wear, but damn is it appealing to the eye.

Once you get him started on all the things he’d do if given the chance to dress MC up in whatever he wanted, you’ll never hear the end of it.

(^ especially when he starts talking about the undressing)

He loves a monochromatic color pallet, but every once in a while he’ll push for a pop of color in MC’s outfit for the day.

If MC wears minimal/no makeup, Asmo will constantly ask if he can use his face as a canvas for makeup experimentation while he rants about his nail tech.

Asmo’s favorite activity is going through MC’s closet. He gets to not only try things on, but he also gets to know what he has to work with when choosing MC’s outfits for their days out together.

Knows the perfect boutiques to bring him to

“You know, the color black really accentuates your figure... And if you look this good with it on, I wonder how great you look with it off~”

Beel isn’t interested in fashion or anything related to it. He isn’t picky about the presentation of things (namely; food.)

So he wouldn’t be immediately enticed upon first meeting MC.

But that is not to say that he doesn’t find him VERY pleasing to the eye.

Our sweet boy is not afraid to express his love for those boots!! For the destressed fabrics!! He hangs around him often just so he can sit and ogle at how cool MC looks!! All the damn time!!

Asks MC to come with him to work out just so he could have some motivation by seeing him. And his GAMES. He’s gonna love to see him cheering him on in the stands.

Beel would admit that he himself couldn’t bring himself to care so much about his clothes or ‘aesthetic’ , and couldn’t imagine having such a consistent style.

^ And because of that! He’s dying to see what he looks like in other styles. Of course, if he doesn’t want to change out of the usual attire, just seeing him wearing beel’s huge ass jacket is enough.

Wouldn’t care to buy clothing items for him, but will most certainly stop by devildom’s no. 1 bakery, grab some sweets with that signature gothic devildom appearance and bring it back to the House of Lamentation for him. (Given that he didn’t already eat them.)

In comparison to his personality, MC’s closet isn’t very important.

Beel loves his kind nature! But he will always be there to defend him in any sort of risky situation, especially when any low level demons would like to try and take advantage of MC’s niceness.

Belphie is taken aback the first time he sees him. In the best way possible.

It’s like he just knows that he’s going to be interesting to be with just by seeing his clothing style

He actually probably assumed that MC would be very different from what he’s really like. (Like how people will assume that everyone who wears dark colors often are always sad)

But both to his surprise and not, MC is nothing but kind to him! And he’s kinda like 😳. Damn. Alright. I can get down to this.

Fashion isn’t his expertise, so he isn’t as forward with compliments. It’s mostly, “As long as I’m comfortable when I lay on you, the clothes are fine. Right?”

“I had a dream about you last night... It was like you were some prince clad in black chain mail armor... I suppose we couldn’t make that a reality though, huh? You can be my prince in band tees and ripped jeans.”

The only reason he starts dressing similarly to MC is because of how many times he’ll fall asleep beside him. He knows MC will probably offer one of his jackets or extra shirts, and that he’ll likely get to keep it. (He gives it back eventually, it’s just nice sentiment.)

It’s also kind of entertaining to see some of his brothers go ballistic in response to seeing him adorned in MC’s signature clothes.

[aaetherius]

@cxffexngel:

[ cxffeexngel ] modern AU!! || because this has been in my mind for days sFÑKDSFDf have soft time!

Unlike the pouring rains of an announced storm and a message sent in a whim. Sandalphon’s invitation fell on a calm day, with pillowy clouds dusting the canvas of the stretching blue skies on a quiet afterwork hours of sundown. A confession made in days passed and an evergrowing bond with stolen gazes and lips touching whenever extra eyes did not pry over them. Sandalphon adored kissing lucifer, adored those warm welcomes whenever Lucifer was the one already first thing in the morning for their shared shifts, or taking that mantle himself and welcome the taller with cups ready in their favorite spot under the gaze of the sun filtered through the windows adorned in flowers that never had ceased coming as offerings and all the more secret words his voice couldn’t hope to whisper to the other. The you g man resided now during one of those free days closing the flowershop, dusting off tables and leaves, changing pots and moving those that needed extra hours of sun before the evening would claim the rest of the day thorough. The slightest tinge of anxiety clinging behind his mind, after mulling for hours to pour just exactly which words to type over the phone and let Lucifer know he could come over if he wanted to, having deleted the message over and over until settling with the simplest ’ I have nothing to do, feel free to come over if you want ’ only to be replied within seconds with the most adorable message, if not perhaps a bit formal considering Lucifer’s tendencies if not to how he adorned his texts with cutesy stickers the young man failed to not blush for or ever not find them less than endearing when they were between sheep, drawn cats happy with sparkles and very colorful animated ones. Ah, he really finds ways to fall in love with this man everyday, isn’t he? With the flowershop properly locked, and turning over the ’ Open’ sign to seal it for the day, the young barista and shoopkeeper is done for the day, the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeating every inch of his home as it rests in idle silence, if not by the gentle song of water heating over the stove not too far from the main room - and the open bags of beans and cups ready to be filled. For now, Sandalphon only attempts drowning every voice about how anything could go wrong, his coffee going acid, the temperature not being right - thinking too much like Gran often liked to poke fun at the cranky barista those days the young man inadvertently broke into his house somehow despise having checked each of his locks twice or even trice just to ensure that the pest the other adored to make himself out to be couldn’t get in. Always futile because it seemed like no lock was match against Gran’s lockpicking and his indestructible will to simply invite himself into Sandalphon’s home. Sometimes even with the girl in blue who made it even easier for the barista to simply cave in and let them stay and steal his food. - those memories are enough to ignore the impending doom that could brew should he mull over the little details about this and that. A soundless sigh slips past somewhat dry lips, tired eyes blinking calmly when attention flicks towards one of the windows as gentle breeze blows curtains into a serene dance matching leaves of branches and leaves outside, palm over his cheek scratching aimlessly any tension left that arises as spontaneously as it leaves. Only finding light within the autumn scarlet within his eyes when spotting the familiar shine of opal locks shimmering behind the blurriness barely transparent curtains of white could offer casting a shadow over that form that Sandalphon could arguably recognize even amidst a crowed street. His body moving before he could think towards the main door, and fingers curling tightly over the handle to twist it and push the frame open for the other, a sheepish smile drawn all over dusted rose pale features, sporting Lucifer’s borrowed hood and black legging the young man often wore whenever there was no work to be done, and the always needed pair of heeled boots rarely Sandalphon took off. “A-Ah! Welcome, Lucifer! ” Sandalphon almost wanted to visibly wince at how drearily hoarse his voice comes despise his initial joy - but he doesn’t, instead clearing his throat with a small cough over his palm. “ Please come on! I’m readying our cups, feel free to choose any seat if you’re tired. ” Continues, while stepping to the side giving the taller enough space so he could finally step in, and their time together start and go along however it takes - ah, how feeble his heart is that the thought alone of Lucifer in his home makes it leap into his throat, and rob any coherent thought or even the plans he mulled over the whole morning about everything.

    Sandalphon’s text had kick started his heart after he had returned to his apartment to try out a handful of new coffee recipes he had written down in his journal when he hadn’t been attending to customers this afternoon - something that had become a less frequent habit of his following his confession as the slow hours were typically spent with his attention fixed on the barista instead of a notebook these days. He’d texted the other back before thinking much about his response - he could never deny Sandalphon’s company, and he had tossed off his work clothes to change into something a tad bit more casual in a matter of minutes as well…only to pause as he was slipping out of the door with a mildly displeased Ellie seated comfortably, he thinks, on the plush cushion nestled inside of the feline backpack strapped safely around his shoulders. After all, he couldn’t leave her alone for the night - that would be downright criminal when she’s spent a night on her since he had rescued her. His unwilling companion (who would have been perfectly content to romp around the apartment unattended) aside, he had realized that he hadn’t prepared anything to give to the other. Perhaps it was a somewhat trivial notion, but despite all of the flowers and beautiful poems Sandalphon had gifted him with, he hadn’t done much in return for the other. His own knowledge of flowers had come from the barista himself, and he had little talent when it came to writing out meaningful poems. Even Michael, who had known him nearly his entire life, struggled to follow his notes. Neat as his handwriting naturally was, he had a terrible habit of jotting down notes in a manner only he could truly understand. Ah, and bringing flowers to a flowers hop didn’t seem like a suitable gift either. Sweets wouldn’t do wither, Sandalphon favored bitter and savory foods, much like how he preferred his coffee. So, quickly, the smile upon his features had faded as he lingered in the doorway of his apartment, smiling softly at the various neighbors that walked past him. A low hum rumbles in throat for moment as he strokes his chin absentmindedly before turning tail back into the apartment, gingerly removing a handful of things from the cluttered bookshelf and carefully tucking them away behind Ellie so they weren’t terribly apparent before he slipped outside to a day distinctly unlike the one he had mindlessly invited Sandalphon over on when it had been storming dreadfully.

    The walk to the flower shop is a short one, yet, despite that, he checks his phone constantly on the way. He had memorized the address when the other had sent it to him, but the rush of joy that had held his heart tightly enough that it made his chest throb was enough to make that information leap to the very back of his mind. He had never been to the barista’s home before, and he hadn’t been aware of the fact that he owned a flower shop until very recently - to say he was delighted would be an understatement when he feels something akin to excitement for the first time in years; perhaps for the first time since he had dabbled in coffee that fateful say more than a decade ago. And his hand comes up to press firmly against the center of his chest as if doing so would somehow quell the swan song of his heart as every step brought him closer to the one he loves most. For so long, truthfully, he had felt numb - the emotions he harbored had been tucked deep within him, unable to break free from the constant guilt and sense of melancholy that hung over him. He had forgotten what feeling excited was like - what looking forward to something could be like, and he had thought, for quite some time now, that he was incapable of feeling something so unbridled. But Sandalphon brings him more joy than he could have ever dreamed of experiencing, despite the pain that comes alongside it, so he can only tighten his hold around the fabric clumped between his fingers as he exhales in the humid air, and allows his gaze to wander upwards towards the clear sky. Its color paling now that the better part of the day had come and gone, but it still casts a gentle, blue shadow onto his pale features as he stops in front of the flower ship, and Sandalphon’s home. Pearly strands of hair absorb the colors cast upon them, and reflect them back with a gentle shimmer that almost makes it appear as if wayward strands of his hair are glowing in an array of dazzling colors. Sometimes, he’s reminded, the world can be a beautiful place. But, truly, he’s always found the sky to be something remarkable - something free; something wondrous, and grand. As a child, he used to dream of reaching his hand up high enough to touch the clouds despite knowing all he would come away with were damp fingers. Even now, a small part of him is still drown to the vast blue, and the gentle, creamy clouds that float through it without a care.

    The click of the door draws him away from his thoughts, and he quickly loosens his hold on the white shirt he’s wearing before trying, and failing, to smooth out the wrinkles he’s formed in the fabric before trying, and failing once more, to cover them with the light blue sleeve of his hoodie as an impossibly warm smile spills onto his rosy lips. Their hue nearly the same shade as the color that dusts over Sandalphon’s features, though the utterly fond look stretched across Lucifer’s visage doesn’t quite match the other’s sheepish one. And it brightens all the more once he realizes the barista is wearing the hoodie he had borrowed from him. And that, too, makes his chest ache, but in a different way than the anticipation that had crept through his bloodstream a moment ago. Love is a strange thing, he thinks, it’s not a singular emotion but rather a collection of so many complex feelings he can’t place individual names to that he hardly knows what he’s supposed to feel at any given point in time. “Good evening, Sandalphon,” he offers, his voice gentle and soft and full of affection. And the sound of the other’s name appears to be all it takes for Ellie to meow loudly from her bubbly, lavender prison upon Lucifer’s back as she tries to crane her neck around to curiously peek beyond her owner’s shoulder at the younger man - her keen eyes narrowing into a glare once she spots that familiar nest of auburn hair. Lucifer, for his part, seems entirely unaware of Ellie’s struggles when he’s utterly captivated by the sight of Sandalphon dressed in his hoodie alongside his typical leggings and heels. “Thank you, and thank you for allowing me to visit you. I’m looking forward to tasting the coffee you’ve made, and – ah, I have something for you, as well, when we have a moment.” It’s hard for him to focus when he’s still awestruck by the sight of the homely flower shop that doubles as the barista’s residence. Something about it seems magical to him, perhaps if only because it’s where Sandalphon lives. And he can’t imagine a place he would rather be than beside the other, yet, even so, stepping into the smaller’s home is a strange mixture of comfortable and wonderful. His eyes wander everything and anything for a moment before he shakes his head gently to snap his attention back to Sandalphon. “I’m grateful you invited me over, and I’m so very happy to see you, Sandalphon.” Slowly, he reaches out his hand to push a few strands of auburn hair behind the other’s ear - his fingers gently gliding over the other’s skin as he leans forward to place a kiss in greeting upon the top of the smaller’s head before withdrawing again at the sound of another meow echoing against the rounded window of the backpack Ellie is still seated in, and he can’t stop the hoarse chuckle that falls from his lips. “Forgive me, I may have brought an uninvited guest along. She has never been left alone, so I’m afraid I didn’t have the heart to leave her behind today. I’m certain; however, that she’ll be on her best behavior. She’s rather fond of you after all.” Fond is not the word most people would use to describe Ellie’s feelings towards rival, and it most certainly wasn’t how the feline felt to the man she had dubbed an intruder in her quiet, and peaceful life, but, well, Lucifer, for whatever reason, was convinced they got along wonderfully.

[4aloysius-porteu]

i really wish i hated you || tsukishima kei

masterlist | 1 | 2 | chapter 3

pairing: tsukishima kei x f! reader

sypnosis: It was an accident that (Y/N) met a certain tall, blonde male; a memory she isn't fond of remembering, but it is where it all started. And ever since, she magically makes her to his path. The image of the bespectacled man dwelled in her mind more than she thought. Tsukishima pushed away his softer emotions and denied their existence, or at least that's what he told himself. But then, he couldn't believe that this girl he labeled as a clumsy, unlucky creature who smashed his glasses is slowly bringing these strange emotions back to him. She might be irritating and dumb sometimes, but he couldn't get himself to completely hate her. Either that destiny was stupid, or he was blessed or cursed.

genre: fanfiction, fluff

wc: 2.6k

She has met the tall, blonde, and bespectacled male yet again.

"Oh, the midget stalker is here."

"You again?! Seriously, I think it's you who's following me!"

"Hah, what do I get from following an extremely short person like you?" He said, borrowing her words from yesterday.

(Y/N)'s eyebrows creased further in irritation. "Why do you keep mentioning my height?!"

"It was you who started it. Anyways, can you shut up? Do you know that you're in a library?"

She didn't retort back and simply sat on the chair with her arms crossed. It was a fine day then —BOOM— this giant decided to appear out of nowhere. She was trying to forget this person who's associated with some of her embarrassing moments but those just got smashed back to her mind. (Y/N) sighed and pulled a book at the bottom of the stack to start reading, but noticed that the blondie is still standing near the edge of the table, hesitating to sit down while glancing somewhere and back to her.

"What?" (Y/N) frowned.

"Why am I unnecessarily stuck with you on this table?" He sighed, pulling out the chair.

"Because all of the tables here are taken? If you're worried about your glasses being knocked off, don't worry, I won't do anything reckless anymore."

"That's a nice reassurance," He settled down and brought out his studying materials.

Both of them shared the table in the crowded library. Ignoring the people, between them was a silent atmosphere. No one was talking as they both minded their own studies; he was reading quietly and turning pages of a huge book while (Y/N) wrote key points from the printed work and highlighting her notes. Sometimes, the other would leave to return books to their shelves and came back with new stacks. This went on for a few hours until her pen ran out of ink. She scribbled at the back of her notebook in hopes that the ink just got stuck, to no avail. She sighed, resting her head on the notebook. But she really needed to take down notes for her upcoming entrance exam.

"Hey." (Y/N) reluctantly said.

The blonde male looked at her, confirming if he's being called, "What?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your business but... do you have a spare pen?"

He stared at her with a straight face and placed his chin on the top of his knuckles, implying his refusal to lend one.

(Y/N)'s mentally gritted her teeth. I'm just going to borrow a pen and he's making it hard for me?!

Swallowing her pride, she said, "Look, I need to finish my notes. I'll return it to you right away when I'm done. I promise. Please?"

He scoffed as brought out a pen, "An inkless pen is all it takes for you to become a less lively puppy? You better keep your promise."

A puppy?! "You didn't need to compare me to a puppy but, thanks."

She continued her work but her focus was a bit shaken. This happens whenever she's interrupted or took a break away from writing. Soon, her focus vanished and boredom took over. She tried to read a book to review ideas but her brain won't cooperate. She groaned, her head and arms fell to the table again. The blonde saw but chose to ignore her.

She closed her eyes for a second, however, her gaze fell to the blank paper in front of her face. Her hands are itching to do something other than reviewing and writing, so she put down the pen she borrowed and took a pencil out of her pocket. She placed a pile of books near her notebook so that the male won't notice what she's doing. There, she started to sketch the base of the figure.

She would observe the four-eyed guy who's busy reading some sort of article while taking notes. He has a calm expression on his face rather than an irritated scowl or a mocking grin he usually has. He wears a long blazer and probably a long-sleeved shirt inside. His blonde hair is short yet the edges are a bit curly and his upper eyelashes are prominently long. This was the first time she stared at the jerk's face who she kept bumping into random places that irked the hell out of her, but for some reason, she felt that she had seen this person before the accident in the park, albeit she doesn't know where. (Y/N) came to a conclusion; he was a little good-looking.

The girl looked back to her drawing and shook her head at her own ideas. I can't believe I actually thought that this guy is handsome. How can such a mean creature be blessed with such looks?! Ugh, don't mind, (Y/N). I'm only drawing him because he seems like a great canvas subject, it's not like I haven't done this to other people before...

She went on drawing and drew details to the sketch similar to the boy in front of her. To make the drawing more accurate, she stole small glances at him. She kept things low key because it'll be another embarrassing event if he found out what she's doing. She made the lines smoother in one swift move. The hair and clothes' folds are already well-drawn while she focuses on the detail of his eyes and glasses. She was about to shade when the male finally caught her.

"What is it?" He questioned, closing his book with a low voice and creased eyebrows.

(Y/N) froze on the spot. As much as she doesn't like it, she maintained eye contact with him, thinking of the best alibi that he couldn't argue with. Then, she remembered that she doesn't know his name.

"Uhm... nothing. I was just wondering if you have a name." While talking, her finger subtly moved to grab the nearest object it could get to cover her drawing.

"I have, but why would I mention it to you?" He cooly replied.

"It's alright. I'm not asking you to. Unless you want to be referred to as he/him or the tall, blonde glasses guy all the time?" (Y/N) countered.

He silently turned a page before answering, "Well, it's not like we'll meet every day."

"Oh," was her only reply. Looks like he will stay a nameless guy in her head for a long time. She was about to get back to her business when he spoke.

"Tsukishima Kei."

(Y/N) looked at him in surprise. "I'm not going to repeat it." He added.

She smiled, having clearly heard it right away. "Can you tell me how it is written?"

He looked at her to check for ill intentions but found nothing in her eyes. He hesitantly wrote the characters of his name on a piece of paper.

"I'm (L/N) (Y/N), nice to meet you again, Tsukishima-san." She'd like to initiate a handshake for peacemaking, but she knows how he'd only decline it. She wrote her name for him to see as well.

Tsukishima Kei. She repeated in her mind. What a nice name.

With a notebook covering the upper portion of the paper where she had drawn his portrait, she wrote his name at the bottom. She proceeded to the shading and background features. Backgrounds are one of the things she hates in art because it takes too long to draw one compared to the subject itself. Luckily it's only a sketch so she won't have to suffer. Although she doesn't know if Tsukishima had seen whatever she's doing so she's still cautious. She peered at him for the nth time so she could distract his peripheral vision. Maybe to test the social initiative skills she hasn't used for a long time too.

"Uhh, can I ask something?" She started.

"Hm?" He responded without taking his eyes off the page.

"What school are you from?"

"Amemaru Middle School."

(Y/N) hummed, thinking of another question, "Then, what school are you enrolling to? It must be an upper class one since you had to read those large books and all."

"Not really," Tsukishima closed the book, "I plan to go to Karasuno High School. They may not have a difficult entrance exam, but these readings are for decent grades and some stock knowledge."

"Decent grades, huh... you look like you could achieve more though. I'm pretty sure you'll ace it." She answered, "I was from Kitagawa Dai Ichi. I'm taking an exam in Shiratorizawa soon."

"You're going to that high-class academy? I see, I failed to notice that because you don't look like one. Have fun clashing with other elites there."

"Elites? What are you talking about, you still believe there's such a hierarchy?" (Y/N) chuckled.

"There is though. A gap between them and mere humans in terms of skills and power."

"In the end, they're still humans though. Be it numbers, hard work, or some unique strategy, those 'mere humans' you say will always struggle to step on equal levels with those on the highest rank."

Tsukishima only hummed and stared down at her, "Perhaps I was wrong on assuming you're an elite. You're clearly not."

"Are you underestimating me?" She challenged.

"No, I was just saying. Can I ask something though?"

"What?"

"Why are you suddenly talkative?"

She was caught off guard but tried not to stutter, "Me? Talkative? I'm always like this."

"Really?" He raised his brows, totally not buying it.

"Ugh, fine! I'm tired of studying!" She sighed, "I was scribbling some doodles on my notebook because I'm bored so I thought it wouldn't hurt to talk to Mr. Beanpole in front of me. Forgive me and my awkward social skills."

"Your social skills are not bad. I'm just thankful you aren't using the precious ink of my pen for drawing." He said, stacking the books he used.

She gasped, panicked inside, "You aren't looking at my drawing, are you?"

He got up to return the books,"Don't worry, it's none of my business."

She exhaled in relief, spared from another memory of embarrassment. Her eyes followed his walking figure and watched his movements. She looked at her drawing to compare and used her fingers to define lighting. When Tsukishima got back and placed new reviewers on the table, (Y/N) asked him once more.

"Do you ever get tired of studying?"

"Sometimes I take a break, but I can only do that if I have finished everything."

"What a diligent student you are."

"I hardly see any benefit in being dumb and slacking off all the time."

"Eh, I hardly see any benefit in studying Algebra and Calculus. I have a lot of questions. Do you use derivatives in counting money or salary? Do you use trigonometry in dividing pizzas or corn chips? Why do I need to find the limit of a function if numbers are infinite? Why do I need to get the formula of a certain point in each line or curve I draw on the graphing paper? What is the correct answer for?" (Y/N) complained.

Tsukishima looked at her blankly, doubting her chances of passing the Shiratorizawa's board exam. "I couldn't argue with that, I'd rather read a book composed of words than formulas, but you don't have a choice. Although, if you plan to be an engineer or something, that'll be a different perspective."

"No, thanks, I won't eat math books for breakfast. Other subjects are interesting enough to keep me awake in class, but numbers don't really entertain me."

"Then, what do you do?" He asked, writing on his notes.

"Not much. I just draw, paint, listen to music, and watch anime."

He let out an amused hum, "How about you? What do you do other than to study?" (Y/N) asked.

"I play volleyball, listen to music, and read narrative books."

"Volleyball? So that's what your height is for! I thought it's just for cleaning and reaching high places."

"That's rude."

"If I am, what do you call yourself? Besides, I don't want to make wrong assumptions."

"You just did."

"...right. I'm sorry."

The sense of familiarity took over (Y/N)'s brain, telling her that she definitely had met this Tsukishima guy before. Her face scrunched a little, trying to search her memories and connect the dots. Her eyes found his face again.

"Why do you keep looking at me?" His eyes narrowed, his annoyance towards the girl slowly rising.

"I HAD met you somewhere... before that accident, where did I see you?"

He was about to say something when (Y/N) stopped him, "Shh, I'm thinking."

He crossed his arms and frowned at her. Volleyball, Amemaru MS... She was about to say it but Tsukishima spoke first.

"Were you one of the audience who watched the middle school volleyball inter-high a year ago?"

"I was! Wait, you remember?"

"That was the only place where I could find someone from Kitagawa Dai Ichi." He confirmed.

"Correct. I was a part of the school paper where I was assigned in the sports category. I took a picture of you when my senior was interviewing you! You were the tallest middle blocker in the games! How could I forget that! So that's why whenever you irk me, it was familiar!"

"How am I annoying you? Aren't you the one who kept on talking right now?"

"I've figured out that there's no kind bone in you. And the way you keep on stuffing the spikes from the opposite team. It was never-ending that they didn't have a chance to score properly." She pouted.

"What do you expect from a middle blocker? It was my job to block spikes."

"You could've gone easy on them."

"The game would lose it's sense if that's the case."

"Fine. You're not wrong." Their conversation was cut short after she ceased talking. At least she found out where she first met Tsukishima. She finished the portrait sketch. Grinning, she believed that she captured his features accurately in her drawing. She'd like to hold it near him and compare to make sure though. Satisfied with her work, she went back on turning pages.

"So, you've finally decided to continue to study?" Tsukishima prodded.

She smiled, "I guess. Thank you for talking to me. That was a great stop."

Both of them worked quietly, but now, the irritation they felt towards each other lessened. After some time, a person in the speaker announced that the library will be closing before 6 pm. Tsukishima returned all the books he borrowed and packed his things.

"You're going home?"

"I don't want to come home late. You aren't finished with your notes yet?"

"Yeah, maybe I'll leave five minutes before six."

"Alright. I'll get going now." He swung his bag over his shoulder.

"Hey, wait! Your pen!" (Y/N) abruptly remembered seconds after.

"I don't need it anymore. It was useful, apart from its close on running out of ink."

"But it's yours and you told me to keep my promise!"

"Whatever. Keep it or throw it." He walked out and wore his headphones, having no intention to listen to anyone.

She sighed and checked the ink. More than half of it is gone, but she can use it again if she wishes. (Y/N) placed her fist to her cheek while writing.

Random Tsukishima Kei facts:

In the second prototype chapter (unserialized, one shot, the first idea of the author on how haikyuu will go) Tsukishima was a second-year, which was changed in the serialized version where he's a first-year. His initial height in the prototype chapter is 184cm, a little shorter than his official height (190.1cm). In an extra sketch, Furudate commented, "Tsukki and Tanaka being in the same year would spell chaos!

©4aloysius.porteu.2021. please do not repost, copy, or edit. plagiarism is punishable by law. 

[brittywritesstuff]

offer me that deathless death, good god let me give you my life

Read on AO3

Warnings:  A bit of sexiness

“Cas!” The details are hazy as to how they got here; Dean can hardly remember any of it. It’s all a blur of blood, sweat, tears and celestial power… The important thing is that he’s back. He’s here and he’s real and he’s back. The thing resonating the loudest in his head now: We’ve got time. He throws his arms around the angel; one hand splayed out between his shoulder blades, the other grasping the back of his head, Dean’s fingers curling in that mess of dark hair. Sam’s behind him, shuffling his weight, ready to give his greetings, but Dean couldn’t fucking care less.

He pulls back just enough to grasp Cas’s face, his eyes dragging over him, like he’s making sure everything’s there. Every freckle, every line, the breathtaking blue of his eyes, the perpetual stubble, scratchy beneath his fingers. “You-- you’re here. You’re you?”

Cas holds his gaze, tears flooding that stunning blue. “Yes.”

“Man, it’s so good to have you back.” Sam crowds in, clapping Cas on the shoulder. Dean relents and steps back, his hands falling away from Cas’s face. He doesn’t want to let go, though. He’s afraid if he lets go, Cas will just disappear. Or the Empty will take him back. And he can’t. He can’t handle that. Sam seems to take the hint and steps back, glancing at Dean with a smirk. “Sorry. I’ll let you two catch up.”

Sam remains and clears his throat, watching his brother, who can’t take his eyes off of Cas. Eileen is at his elbow, and tugs at his sleeve. He looks down at her, and they exchange a look. Leave them alone. “Alright.” Sam shakes his hair away from his face and nods, like he’s made a decision. Dean tries not to hear the smirk in his voice. They’ll have a conversation about this later, he knows, and he’s not entirely interested in it. But, for the moment, he’s glad that Sam is leaving it be. “We’re heading to bed. I’m beat.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, his eyes still fixed on Cas. “Night, Sammy. Eileen.” Sam waits a beat, then takes Eileen’s hand and finally leaves, and Dean drags in a breath. His heart is racing, and he wonders if Cas can hear it. Suddenly, the panic room makes him feel too vulnerable, remembering what happened here. “Can we--” He stops and clears his throat. “Can we talk in my room?”

Cas’s eyes search Deans, and he nods slowly. “Of course, Dean.”

They walk together to Dean’s room, their footsteps too loud and echoing in the silent, still bunker. Cas steps through the door first, and Dean follows, closing it behind them. With Cas’s back to him still, Dean scrubs his hands over his face, trying hard to calm his nerves. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it to the desk chair. It misses and flops to the floor, but he doesn’t bother to pick it up. “D’you-- you wanna make yourself comfortable?” He asks.

Cas turns to him, his brow drawn together in confusion.

“The, uh,” Dean gestures to Cas’s coat. “The coat. You wanna-- you can-- if you want.”

Cas looks down at himself, his fingers trailing the lapel of the coat. He hesitates a moment before shrugging out of it, and the suit jacket. He drapes them carefully over the back of Dean’s chair, then bends to pick up Dean’s, giving it the same treatment. Watching it makes Dean’s heart ache.

“Listen, Cas,” he starts. Cas stands upright again, his eyes fixed on Dean’s, and there goes his heart again -- ready to pound out of his chest.

Cas tilts his head, and Dean tries to read the look on his face. Is that pity? “You don’t need to say anything, Dean.” He huffs, a wry smile turning up one corner of his lips. “I told you my truths, and I made it clear I know that it — you — it’s something I can never have. I made peace with telling you. I understand it’s… it’s unrequited. You don’t owe me an explanation--”

“But I do!”

Cas stops, closing his mouth. His brows draw together, and he tips his head.

Clearing his throat, Dean swallows against the sudden dryness. He glances away, focusing on a spot on the wall like it’ll give him the strength he needs to say what he’s gotta say. “Look, Cas,” his gaze drops to his shoes briefly before he finally forces his eyes up again. Cas, of course, is watching him patiently and intently. Dean moves closer and clenches his fists. Spit it out, Winchester. “Fuck,” he breathes, shaking his head, “there’s a lot. I… All that stuff you said, about me, I…” The lines between his brows deepen. “You really think that?”

“With my entire being,” Cas says, with no hesitation.

Dean nods, like he’s trying to rattle the thoughts into their proper places. “I never got the chance to say anything. You say it, and the Empty’s there, and you’re gone. That wasn’t fair.”

Cas sighs. “I’m sorry, Dean. I--”

“That wasn’t fuckin’ fair because you died not knowin’ my side of things.” Clenching his jaw, Dean takes another step forward. He reaches out, settling his hands on Cas’s shoulder. He pauses a beat, then decides, fuck it, and slides his hands up, his fingers brushing Cas’s neck before cradling his jaw. “No one’s ever seen me like that. Not even me, Cas.” He searches the angel’s eyes, feeling tears well in his own. “You’ve seen everything, and you still-- you--”

“Love you,” Cas finishes for him. “Yes.”

Dean punches out a breath, and when he blinks, those tears spill over. Instead of wiping them away, his thumbs brush Cas’s cheeks, once again delighting in the scratch of stubble. “I ain’t ever felt like this about anybody. And it scares the shit outta me. And I guess I never thought... I never thought you could or whatever, but damn it, Cas. I do love you. You can have me. All of me.”

Cas’s lips part in surprise at Dean’s words, but Dean takes the opportunity he’s wanted for years. He leans in and kisses Cas. It’s slow and tentative at first, but Cas relaxes into him, his hands gripping at the back of Dean’s shirt. Dean’s tongue glides along Cas’s bottom lip, begging entrance, and he groans when Cas allows it. One hand shifts to the back of his head, gripping at Cas’s hair as he deepens the kiss, holding Cas as close and tight as possible. His fears from earlier had yet to dissipate; the last thing he could possibly handle is Cas disappearing again.

When Dean needs to breathe, he tilts his mouth away, his forehead pressed against Cas’s. His eyes remain closed, and an actual fucking smile turns up his lips. “I shoulda told you a long fuckin’ time ago, Cas. I shoulda done this long fuckin’ time ago. I’m sorry. I just--I--I didn't--”

Cas’s hands smooth up Dean’s back, and pull him closer. “Please don’t apologize, Dean,” he whispers, his breath warm on Dean’s face. “Just... don’t stop.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s spent years denying it. He’s spent years beating himself up over it. But he’s done. He’s lost Cas too many times, but he finally has him, and he’s not gonna fucking let go.

He captures Cas’s lips in a heated kiss, groaning at the taste of his tongue. His movements are sloppy; it’s definitely not his best work, but he doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t give a damn about anything except this, here, that Cas is in his hands, moaning under the feeling of Dean’s kiss. That’s all he wants to think about.

Relinquishing his grip on Cas’s face, he works his hands between them to loosen that ever-present blue tie, yanking it away to let it flutter to the floor. He pulls back enough to look at Cas’s face as his fingers work at the buttons of his shirt. Cas is breathless, his lips red from Dean’s kiss, and his pupils blown. Fuck, Dean’s never seen anything so stunning.

When he gets the shirt open, he takes a breath and runs his hands up Cas’s stomach, over his chest, pushing the shirt from his shoulders. There’s only been a few occasions over the years in which Dean has seen Cas shirtless, but to have him so close, and be allowed to touch him… it’s a whole different playing field. One he never wants to leave. “You sure about this, Cas?” His voice is strained, rough, and quiet -- full of emotion and desperation he’s never felt before.

Cas lifts his hands, pushing Dean’s open flannel from his shoulders. He smirks as it falls to the floor and slips his hands under Dean’s t-shirt. “I have never been more sure of anything, Dean, as I am of this. Of you.”

It’s all the confirmation Dean needs. He dives in for a hard, heated kiss, pulling away only long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head. The feeling of Cas’s skin against his own sets him on fire, and for the first time, he feels alive. Putting an end to Chuck and his story had been a relief, but this… This is something else. This is what he’s been searching for his whole life. Kill after kill, conquest after conquest… it’s never made him feel like this.

He hastily and clumsily toes out of his boots; Cas follows with his shoes, and Dean pushes him back to the bed. The frame groans beneath the weight of two grown men atop it, but Dean pays it no mind. There’s not a single part of this that can deny he hasn’t thought of this before; hasn’t fantasized about it in the shower a time or two or ten. He’s not as graceful or suave as he’d like to be, but again… it doesn’t matter, because it’s Cas. Finally, it’s Cas.

The rest of their clothes are shed hastily, falling forgotten to the cold cement floor. They move together until they break, and Dean huffs a laugh when the lamp on his desk flickers. Closing his eyes, he drops his head, pressing a warm kiss to the hollow of Cas’s throat. Cas tips his head and Dean looks up to see him smiling.

“What?” Dean shifts to settle beside Cas, laying on his side. He props his head against his hand, his free hand smoothing over Cas’s chest before it stills.

“I’m just--”

“Happy?”

Cas covers Dean’s hand with his own and shifts to turn his head toward Dean. “Yes. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, his eyes dragging over Cas’s face. “Me, neither.”

Dean falls asleep that night with his chest pressed flush to Cas’s back, his arm wrapped firmly around the angel. He knows Cas doesn’t need to sleep, but he’s grateful for the pretense. Because he craves the intimacy, the normalcy, the pure elation he feels in getting to hold Cas in his arms after… well, everything.

+

Dean wakes in a panic. “No, no, no, no!” His breathing is heavy and labored, the sheets clinging to his sweat-damp skin. He’s sprawled on his back, and his hand is pressed to his chest as he sits up; his heart racing. “Cas!”

Cas’s hand settles on his shoulder, and when Dean turns, the other grasps his jaw. “I’m here, Dean. What’s the matter?”

Swallowing as he heaves a breath to calm himself, Dean closes his eyes and leans in to press his forehead to Cas’s. He lifts his hands, pushing his fingers into Cas’s hair. “Had a dream you were still gone. Fuckin’ nightmare. Sam ‘n’ I just… didn’t care. Didn’t try to bring you back.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas wipes away his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Dean. It was a dream. I’m here. It’s alright.”

“It felt so fuckin’ real.”

“I’m real. You and me, this. Us. This is real,” Cas whispers.

Dean kisses him, desperate to anchor himself in Cas. In his words, his kiss, his touch, in this. The dream had terrified him; the idea that there could be a world without Cas in which Dean wouldn't care. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Every time… every single time he’d lost Cas over the years, he was broken. Every time, he’d wanted to welcome death, himself. Because the pain was nearly unbearable. Life without Cas was Hell on earth for Dean, and he’s been to Hell a few too many times. He never wants to go back. The next time Dean dies; the next time Cas dies, it better be together, only to find each other in the afterlife.

Because life without Cas is Hell, but he knows the only Heaven he’ll be sent to; the only one he wants is one in which he’s with his angel. Until then, he’ll hold on for dear life yo the time he has with him now… to the life they’ve finally been afforded together.

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine

This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.

Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.

Kirby's POV:

Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.

Jobber VS Newcomer.

Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.

The bell rings and the fight starts.

"Strong throws the first punch and misses."

"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."

"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."

"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."

"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."

"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."

"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"

Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Good work out there, Kirby."

I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."

"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."

"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."

"See you soon, Kirby."

I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.

"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.

I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."

The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."

"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."

He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."

"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."

He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.

Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.

It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.

I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.

I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.

I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.

When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.

I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.

What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?

I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.

I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.

The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.

Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.

The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.

"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.

"Kirby?"

FUCK

…

That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?

"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.

"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.

I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.

"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.

His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.

"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.

I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.

"Kirby, are you okay?"

"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"

"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"

I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.

"Stay there, Piper."

"Oh, feisty."

"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."

"Yes Ma'am."

I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.

"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"

"Alright, alright. … feisty"

After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.

"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."

"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.

"No, Roddy, get some rest."

"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.

"Jesus, Roddy, fine."

I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.

"Rod, get off."

"Wha'?"

"Get off of me."

"Why?"

"Aren't you married, get off."

"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."

"Oh. Still, get off."

"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.

"Leave me alone, Roddy."

He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.

"Small bed, Kirby."

"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."

"Your tattoos are nice."

"Sleep, Piper."

"I'm just saying."

"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."

"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."

"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."

"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."

"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."

We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.

"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."

"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."

Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.

"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"

I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."

He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."

"Were you even supposed to be in town?"

"Well no, but I …" He trailed off

"I can't hear you, Roddy?"

"It's nothing, really."

I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.

"Who is this?"

I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.

"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"

Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.

"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."

He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.

"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm

I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."

"So, he adopted you?"

"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Now!"

"Promise you won't tell anyone first."

"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."

"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."

"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"

"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."

"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"

"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."

I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.

"So, he passed away?"

"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."

"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"

"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."

"Eric, your dad?"

"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."

"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"

"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."

"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."

"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."

"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"

"Well I jus-"

"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."

"I know I'm stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and... the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader

Warnings: angst? mentions of J killing reader, descriptions of cutting, blood, just a titch of knife play (not nsfw just yet though)

Word count: 2,577

Author’s Note: I’m excited about this one, guys!! Things are getting intense! Also RIP my laptop, I’m posting this on the mobile app so the formatting is kinda crazy and I can’t inset a keep reading 😭 so scroll with caution and heed the warnings!

Musical Inspiration: Venus In Furs by The Velvet Underground

- Part Four - A suit. It was a suit that put you in this position, standing next to him. He seemed even broader, taller, his presence more imposing. His smile said everything. It sent a shiver down to your toes, goosebumps prickling your back.

You tried to move but you were stuck, staring at him. He had a look in his eyes, different than before. He knew the effect, his allure, the pull, that his just standing there was having on you.

He basked in your reflexive attention, wide eyes taking in the way he looked in the suit. He looked… incredible. Striking. It turned out better than you’d ever hoped. Something fervent and inauspicious was displayed in front of you, stirring an unfamiliar feeling in your guts. You really weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, looking at him. Seconds? Minutes? You opened your mouth but no sound came out, only a huff of breath.

“I, um, I’m sorry,” you finally managed to squeak past your vocal cords.

Joker chuckled through his nose and asked, “Sorry for wha-t?”

Your face flushed, heat rising into your cheeks. “U-um, I um, for staring,” you answered quickly.

He chuckled louder this time, sending butterflies quivering in your stomach with a queasy jolt. Looking back at the mirror, he said, “Uh, aren’t you supposed to?”

You took a moment to process what he meant before swiftly jerking yourself in motion to grab your tailoring chalk and set of pins from the table, keeping your eyes down as you suddenly felt uncomfortable meeting his gaze again. Something about him wearing your suit set your nerves even more on edge, heightened with anxious energy buzzing through you. But you had to calm yourself. Focus, breathe. You decided to start with the back of the coat so that you could avoid his hypnotic eyes a bit longer.

Blowing a breath through your lips, you looped your measuring tape over your neck and approached him from behind.

“I, I’m gonna check the fit of the coat,” you said.

His green-haired head nodded silently and you slowly reached out to touch the coat. In spite of your best efforts, your hands shook frustratingly, lingering out in front of you until you pushed past that pervasive hesitance and placed your palms on his back, between his shoulders.

The wool warmed by his heat met your skin, tingles shooting down your back in reply. Your anxieties were beginning to irritate you. Every little sensation, movement, or sound from him made you feel like you were on fire and it wouldn’t stop. Just keep going, he’s watching you, he’s waiting. Your own thoughts didn’t help either.

You let the resulting electricity run through you as you moved your hands, smoothing the purple fabric until you reached the edges where you tugged at it, checking how it fit his broad shoulders. They curved beneath the heavy layer, the fit leaving just enough room to move them. Your heart pumped a bit faster, anxiety beginning to twist into some sort of exhilaration at the feeling of his form beneath your hands.

It followed you as you checked the sleeve pitch, your fingers straightening the sleeve where it met the body of the coat, falling in line all the way to the cuff. They buzzed with nervous anticipation as you fluttered them over more of the fabric. It almost felt good.

Routine took over while you continued to muse over the garment, now scrutinizing the details more carefully with pins between your teeth to pluck and slide into place over any areas where you felt the fit needed improvement. So focused on your ardent task, you hadn’t really noticed that you’d stepped in front of him, eyes glued to the lapels resting on his chest that steadily rose and fell, his body otherwise completely still. Like a living mannequin that wore your creation so perfectly. You marked where the lapels laid against the front of the coat with lines of chalk and stepped back to check the symmetry. Suddenly you stiffened and your pulse thrummed faster as you felt his eyes on you.

You swallowed and slowly lifted your gaze, you breath quickening. He was staring at you. His expression was blank, unreadable, all you could do was stare back.

His tongue flicked out over the forked scar on his lip, drawing your eyes to it, then to the rest of the damage to his face. There was no ignoring their presence. If people were always staring at them, then how much did he think about them? Do they still hurt? Would the phantom of the sensation that came with their creation spark with pain at random? Perhaps the damaged nerve endings conducted tangled signals, the haphazardly healed tissue trying desperately to function as it once did. Varying between feelings of numbness, stinging, prickling, overwhelming sensitivity, or any combination of these crawling across his permanent smile. Maybe sensations were elicited from no stimulus at all, as if recalling its own former trauma.

His gravelly voice pulled you out of your thoughts when he asked, “How does it look, hm?”

“It, it looks incredible,” you words tumbled out before you could think, prompting the heat of embarrassment to rise up to your ears.

He grinned at you and replied, “Is that so?”

No knowing what else to do except play along, you nod slowly, your eyes still locked on each other’s.

“Ahh the creator speaks well of her creation, hm?” he said.

“Uh, no! Well, I mean, yes? It, you, uh, I think it came together nicely,” you sputtered in response.

Joker chuckled and responded in a husky voice, “Gooood.”

Your heart flipped in your chest and your lips parted to take in a deep breath. You didn’t know what to think about what was happening. You were afraid. But fear was now joined by another feeling. Some faint excitement reaching up from deep down inside, drawn out by the way he looked at you. They swirled together in your stomach, telling you to run away but keeping you there in front of him, filling you with some want for him to speak to you again.

“Um, do you like the fit?” you finally asked.

He shifted his gaze back to the mirror and gripped the collar of the coat to shift it slightly.

“You’re the ex-pert, doll,” he said, not taking his eyes away from the mirror.

“Oh, o-ok,” you said quietly, almost under your breath, as your feet carried you toward him again.

You walked around him in a circle, checking your marked alterations once more. It was perfect. But you could stand there all night, inspecting how it hung off his body. Why? You didn’t really know.

Trying not to linger too long, you said softly, “It, um, it, looks good to me. So, uh, let’s have a look at the, um, the jacket.”

He slid the coat off of his shoulders to hand it to you, the fabric still warm in your hands as you draped it over the stand. You turned back to him to check the suit jacket, knowing his eyes were on you made your skin tingle. Hesitation flashed in your mind but was promptly snuffed out by the inexplicable fascination that continued to take you over.

You reached out and took both sides of the jacket front in your hands, lining up the buttons with their corresponding holes and gliding them through. You walked around him, trying to focus on your task and not the quivering of your stomach. After checking the sleeves and making some adjustments, you reached for the buttons once more. You could tell him to take the jacket off, or you could do it yourself. Like you had no control over them, your fingers unfastened each button before moving to slide the jacket from his shoulders as he silently complied.

Your hands trembled less the longer you touched him. It felt dangerous, getting used to that feeling of riskiness, imminent consequence not setting off the response it should be. Your feet should carry you away from danger, not draw you toward it. But oh, was it tempting. You stood closer to face him. The tension of your muscles and tingling of your skin had become strangely addictive, your nerves encouraged you to chase the feeling, despite what would be better judgement.

Your systematic undressing left him standing in the pinstripe pants with the hem reaching just to the tops of his brown shoes, hexagon patterned shirt, and green vest that hugged his sides to outline his broad chest down to his lean waist. You stepped closer. He smelled like greasepaint and cigarettes.

When you straightened the collar of the shirt, your fingers grazed over his neck in what was almost a seductive manner, raising goosebumps up your arms and suddenly the silence in the room became all too obvious. You sucked in a breath, pulled your hands back and froze with your eyes on his chest in front of you. It expanded with his breath that now warmed your face and you found yourself unable to move once again, stuck in the pull he had on you.

There it was. The familiar feeling of arousal fluttered in your core and your face flushed. You cursed your body’s reaction. This can’t be happening. Not with him.

“Look at me,” he said plainly.

Your breath trembled slightly as you shifted your eyes up to meet his. His gaze sent your heart racing, overwhelming and entrancing. He looked as though he could swallow you whole. Fear is a fickle thing. It could save your life, keep you out of danger. Don’t go down that dark alley, someone might be lurking. Don’t touch that snake, it might bite you. But it can betray you, too. It can mingle with desire, giving you that toxic gift of adrenaline, flowing through your veins like a drug. It saturates your mind, drowning out the instincts you thought were instilled so steadfast. You reached for that snake to let it sink its fangs into your flesh.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice thick like honey.

Your eyes burned, locked with his dark pupils as you nodded slowly, your body acting on raw impulse.

The click of a switchblade met your ears and you stiffened as he brought it up to your cheek, holding the back of your neck with his other hand. Your body shuttered and twitched uncontrollably, your head beginning to feel light.

He stared deeper into your eyes and growled, “No you’re not.”

His words spun around in your mind. You were afraid, you wanted to be afraid. But something wouldn’t let it come to the surface. It shouted for you to run, scream, anything show him it was there. But it’s voice was muffled by the sick thrill that his knife at your cheek sent coursing through you. Would he cut you? Would he kill you? The threat of blood dripping to the floor weighed heavy over both of you.

“Careful doll,” he rumbled, lowering the knife from your face. “Tha-t is a danger-ous game.”

Game? It didn’t feel like a game. Your chest squeezed uncomfortably when you thought about his knife dragging across your skin, the sting that would follow it as the surface split open.

“A… a game?” you asked with your voice quivering.

He hummed and nodded his head, his gaze never breaking away from yours.

“Play with fire and you get burned,” he rumbled, bringing his face even closer.

Your heart pounded up into your throat and your blood ran hot. He saw something in your eyes. He knew. He knew the thought of being with him excited you and you had no control over it. You ached with need. A need that was new and sharp, pricking at your insides. You needed to know what it would be like. Had you lost your sensibilities?

Suddenly he stepped forward and you backed up reflexively, each step steering you backwards until you were halted by the wall, nowhere to go. He put his hand on the wall beside you and leaned against it. He lifted the knife he still held in his other hand and placed the point at the top of your chest, right in the middle. Then he leaned in, bringing his lips to your ear.

A powerful shiver ran down your back as he spoke in a low voice, “How about now?”

This was the game. A contest of wills. Would you cry? Try to get away? Or would you bleed for him?

Your skin was set ablaze beneath the blade and your jaw clenched as you sucked air in through your teeth. A trickle of sticky red ran onto your shirt as he moved away with the knife, watching you through heavy lids. The tiny cut on your chest stung, the pain mixing with your heightened senses. It was confusing, this feeling of fulfillment. He still held the knife, he could still kill you. But this felt different. Your heart began to slow its unforgiving racing and you breathed deeply.

His red lips twitched into a smile, impious and entrancing.

“Ahhh look what we have here. There it iiis,” he purred. “Don’t forget, doll, the fire’s hot. Wouldn’t want ya to, uh, get burned too bad, hm?”

Your jaw dropped open slightly as you stared at him, speechless. What just happened? What does he mean?

Before any words could form from your mouth, be stepped back. He clicked the knife into its handle and casually strolled back over to the mirror.

“You, uh, really have outdone yourself, doll,” he said, starting to unknot the tie around is neck. “You have ta-lent.”

You remained silent and wide eyed, stuck in place against the wall as he stripped down to his boxer shorts in front of you, rendering you even more stunned. Then he pulled on his tattered shirt and pants with the frayed jacket he arrived in.

He straightened his collar and turned back toward you. His eyes made your stomach quiver once more before he purred, “I’ll be back tomorrow. Looking forward to it, doll.”

You blinked and the door closed. He was gone.

Reality came rushing over you in a cold sweat. You slid down the wall to sit on the floor, suddenly gasping for air and panting as your hands trembled.

You forced yourself to take deep breaths and closed your eyes, wiping the sweat from your brow as you leaned your head back against the wall. Then your eyes snapped open and you lifted your hand to gently touch your finger to your chest. You looked to see your blood glistening on your fingertip.

He cut you. Shallow and small, but skin was broken. You should have been afraid but you didn’t fear the act itself. No, you feared the feeling it left behind. The thrill was intense, filling you up with a strange euphoria. An arousal. You should be dead, drained of life by the point of a knife. But you only grazed the blade. You wanted to chase that feeling, follow it for more. Tangle with danger and let it touch you all over.

You danced with the devil and he left you wanting more.

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

Taglist: @amethystmoonprincess @call-me-harley-quinn @liz-rdwitch @germansarechill @thesadvampire @tsukiakarinobara @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @apocalypticwafflekitten @astheworlddturns @komatheterrible @jokersqueenofchaos @killingjokee

[girlpornparadise]

The Caged Bird Moans (pt 1)

Pairing: Diego Jimenez/f!Reader (Power - Starz)

Word Count: ~2600

Warnings:  It's a bit Stockholm syndromey, but that's not a real thing anyway (look it up). Not exactly non-con, but it skirts the idea, so if power disparities aren't your jam, please move along. It just real dirty. SMUT!

Personal ramble: Would anyone actually react like this to the situation I've set forth? No. But just as the pizza guy is never hot and doesn't offer you his extra sausage, this is porn people! So suspend your disbelief and don't hate on me for my bullsh*t.

I also wrote all this nonsense a week ago before I read anything from the lovely @1zashreena1 , @heresathreebee or @nicke0115 so sorry if it looks similar, I swear it's a coincidence.

"Ouch", you think to yourself but instead swallow the pain. Your arm hurts under the firm grasp of the thug dragging you from the elevator into the spacious penthouse.

"Be careful with that." Says a commanding voice from across the room.

The grip loosens, but he's still using your momentum to force you forward. You stumble, unsure of just how much danger you are in.

As you take in your surroundings the owner of the voice turns around and approaches you. He looks you up and down, examining you like a prize he had won.

"We can't afford to damage her." He states plainly, looking at the man still holding you in place.

As he examines you, you examine him right back. Whereas he is doing it in an obvious way, head nodding to rake his eyes over you, you move your eyes only, unable to control your body in this moment. You follow the carefully polished boots up past the fitted black jeans to the black buttoned up shirt with the slight sheen to it, that accentuates his frame. Everything is obviously expensive and very deliberately chosen. As your eyes settle on his face, a recognization dawns on you. Diego Jimenez. One of the heads of the Jiminez cartel. His reputation was well known to you. An unstable, merciless man whose penchant for partying made him a big name in certain circles. You were scared before, but now your body goes rigid with fear and your gaze hits the floor with force.

Though you're no longer looking at him directly you can sense his smugness and satisfaction at knowing you are now showing the appropriate amount of fear for the situation you're in. Maybe it's your hind brain telling you you are in the presence of an apex predator. Maybe it was the clipped snort he let out, tinged with amusement as he nodded with approval.

After what feels like an eternity, but was probably mere seconds, he speaks again.

"Take her to the guest room." He orders the man still firmly gripping your arm. "Lock this little bird in her cage."

Dragging you again, this time down the hall, Diego's orders are followed to completion. You are practically thrown into the room as the door slams shut behind you.

You stumble, catching yourself on the bed. You collapse onto it as tears prick your eyes and subsequently fall down your cheeks. You begin to sob, but muffle it in the covers, assuming someone is standing guard outside and not wanting to seem even weaker in such an intense situation. But the tears flow freely as the shock of what's happened slowly wears off and you begin to process the details of your abduction.

You hadn't grown up in this world, though your ties to it were strong. You were part of the Bennet family, a rival cartel, headed by your grandfather. He insisted you grow up distanced from this world. A world of violence and cruelty. A world of drugs and guns and transactions ending in death. Based on your current reaction, you couldn't help but think maybe it was because you're so weak. Both you and he knew it was true, you were too soft to be a part of the business, too kind to do what would be required of you. So he kept you away, from his city and his dealings and all of the darkness that came with it.

You were in town for a rare family visit when you were taken without warning, snatched from the street at gunpoint. They were able to do it without drawing attention, entirely professional, and you complied with their every demand as a sense of terror ripped through you.

And now here you were, trapped by a barbarous stranger who could end your life at any moment without a second thought.

As you wore yourself out from crying, you began to take in the room, determined to get your bearings. It was sparsely decorated, obviously the work of a man unattached. It was also immaculately clean, obviously the work of his maid. As your breathing slows and your senses sharpen, you become aware that the comforter you are still on top of is plush and expensive, like the kind found at a swanky hotel.

Curiosity returning with your senses, you walk over to the window that stretches from floor to ceiling and take in the impressive view of the city. If the long elevator ride weren't a clear enough indicator, the view tells you that you are in the penthouse of a very upscale building.

Next to the window is a large bathroom and you walk in. You splash cold water on your face and dry it on one of the plush towels. You can't help be momentarily amused by how well stocked the room is with soaps and lotions. There were definitely worse places to be trapped. Was this the definition of a gilded cage?

As you settle down, you take off your shoes and sit back down on the bed. You're exhausted to your core, and you sink into the mattress, wanting to disappear. You want to keep your wits about you, alert and on guard, but instead the stress combined with the late hour forces you to sleep.

You are woken up abruptly the following morning when the door swings open and you are literally dragged out of bed by the same man as yesterday. 

You're a bleary eyed, rumpled mess and the same fear and pain shoot through you as you remember where you are and how you got there. Your breathing is shallow as you try not to panic.

You've been dragged before Diego who is standing imposingly before you, hands clasped in front of him, chin slightly upward so he can look down his nose at you.

He examines you once more and you can tell he's disgusted by what he sees.

"Get our guest something to wear." He barks. "And get her something to eat. We can't bargain if she's broken."

As he turns away from you to resume whatever you interrupted, you catch the flash of the gun in his waistband and the fear settles once again in the pit of your stomach.

You are escorted back to the room forcefully and your mind is racing. You know everyone who comes through the penthouse is armed to the teeth and there's no chance of escape. You're not just weak, you're helpless. You assume you're being held for some kind of ransom, probably territory or resources as opposed to money, and you silently pray that a deal for your release is struck quickly so this nightmare can be over.

Soon after, the door opens and a housekeeper enters carrying a couple of bags of clothes. She doesn't look you in the eye and you wouldn't know what to say to her anyway. 

Once she has left, you rummage through the clothes. There's nothing there you'd pick for yourself, but you settle on a white fitted t-shirt and jeans. You carry them with you into the bathroom along with a handful of drugstore makeup you find in the bottom of the bag.

You look at yourself in the mirror and the reason for Diego's revulsion becomes clear. Your clothes are wrinkled and creased and your mascara is smudged under your eyes. You lock the bathroom door behind you, strip down and take a shower. The running water calms you and once you finish you get dressed and approximate your normal makeup routine with what you have. If you're going to put on a brave front, you need to be as put together as possible.

When you emerge from the bathroom a tray of breakfast is waiting on the nightstand next to the bed. Eggs sunny side up and toast, simple and straightforward. You devour it greedily since you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday.

The day passes with 2 more meals brought to you by the same housekeeper at the appropriate intervals. In the absence of your phone, you distract yourself with mindless TV on the rather large set opposite the bed. You don't take in much as you think about your predicament and then try to force those thoughts of the worst case scenario from your mind.

Your sleep that night is restless.

You are brought before Diego once again in the morning, shortly after you wake. 

This time you are allowed to walk under your own power, though your legs feel wobbly and your feet unsure as you approach him.

You're wearing a cotton t-shirt and shorts,  the closest thing you could find to pajamas. As he looks at you, you become painfully aware that you're not wearing underwear, his eyes seeming to stop at all the places where it should be.

You are at least able to look at him and take in more this time. He's clad in a similar black button up shirt and black jeans as yesterday, a uniform of sorts to convey his status. His hair is neatly cut and accentuates his angles, sharp jaw and well placed cheekbones. His greying facial hair gives him some earned distinction and his expression is hard and deliberate to elicit a specific reaction of fear. Through the careful tailoring of his shirt you can see that his body is sturdy and muscular. His tense posture using his frame to his advantage, making him seem larger than he actually is. You know to fear him, but he may be the most attractive man you've ever seen in real life.

He obviously cultivates an aura of power, and you can't help but be drawn to him as an Alpha Male. As you steel yourself, you dare to look him in the eyes. His eyes are cold but impossibly magnetic and you can't look away. He's looking back at you now, into you. Your heart forgets how to beat in rhythm and you swallow thickly.

He sees your fear and is clearly amused by it.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. You should go take a shower." He says, his lips curling upwards. 

"I, I was going to." you stammer.

"Good girl." It comes out as almost a purr and sends a shiver down your spine.

This time it's Diego, not his associate who accompanies you back to the bedroom. His hand is hovering above the small of your back, ushering you forward while maintaining a small distance. You enter the room and the lock clicks behind you.

You turn to see that he's still in the room and with his gaze set upon you, you begin to back away towards the bathroom,  afraid to turn your back on him. This was clearly his intended effect.

You expect him to leave, but he's doing the opposite. He is stalking forward. Your heart is pounding out of your chest and your uneven breathing becomes gulping for air.

As he closes the gap between your bodies, he repeats his suggestion. "You should go take a shower." It's not a suggestion though, it's a command.

He leans in. "Go on." His lips are close enough to your ear that his breath catches in your hair.

His thick body is now urging you through the bathroom doorway by its approach. You back through it, still transfixed by his gaze. 

You glance side eyed to your left at the shower that takes up the far wall. It's one of those large walk-in showers with a stone floor and a rain showerhead. It suddenly seems less like a shower and feels more like a trap about to spring shut.

"Take off your clothes." He says. He's not asking.

You gulp, your eyes have gone wide at the demand.

"Take. Off. Your. Clothes." He repeats in a tone that is both amused and losing patience. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he says it.

You look away, ashamed, and slowly and nervously acquiesce. You stand before him completely naked and try to avert your gaze. You are drawing your body inward, trying to conceal yourself in any way you can.

"Turn on the water." he says with his wicked smile widening.

You turn on the shower and wait for it to warm. It dawns on you that there's no shower curtain to protect you or glass wall to hide behind. You are fully exposed and will remain so.

You step under the water, unsure of what to do next. You'd obviously showered hundreds of times, but this wasn't a shower. It was a show.

"Wash yourself." His voice is quieter, more of a harsh whisper.

You grab a washcloth and pump the foaming body wash onto it. You rub it on the back of your neck and slowly work your way down to your shoulders. Your nerves have subsided a little as the water washes over your skin.

He's mesmerized by the motion of your hands and you drag the washcloth across your collarbones and down to your breasts, where you languidly rub them with the cloth as well as your free hand.

Your nipples harden at your own touch. He notices and his tongue drags over his bottom lip. You close your eyes in an attempt to momentarily escape.

When you open your eyes you notice him shift his weight and catch a glimpse of the shift in his muscles under his shirt. You get a rush as you feel the power dynamic shift slightly. You are slow to rub the washcloth down your legs and you arch your back slightly as you bend over, purposely sticking out your ass more than you naturally would. 

His eyes are dark with lust and you can feel the warmth radiating from between your own legs.

"Rub your clit." He says, reclaiming his power.

You look at him with shocked eyes and your eyebrows knit.

"You heard me." he says. "I won't ask again." His head tilting slightly.

You put the washcloth aside and tentatively slide your middle finger between your thighs to your bundle of nerves. You notice how wet you already are and using gentle pressure you begin to rubbing in circles.

You close your eyes and swallow as your walls contract and release. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier until you're panting. Panting and touching yourself for this fixated man. 

"Cum for me." He demands. "I need to see you cum." 

You think to fake an orgasm. To end this little game he's playing, but it's too late. Your finger presses harder on your clit and you tremble as the real thing rips through you. You close your eyes and cry out with abandon.

When you regain yourself you look at him. You are raw and exposed and at your most vulnerable. His mouth is in a wide smile and his eyes gleam with satisfaction. 

He reaches out to you, towel in hand. You steady yourself, turn off the water, and take the towel from him. You wrap it around yourself, suddenly panged with shame at how readily you revealed your most intimate self to this menacing stranger. Your posture closes, and reflects your return to shyness.

"Good girl." He says, and you feel the words like honey dripping in your ears.

He turns and leaves, his confident stride drawing your attention to how his jeans hug his perfect behind. 

You dry yourself off and as you get to your inner thighs you're reminded of how wet you are. How wet you are for him. You want to blame the shower, but you know the truth. You're spellbound by this man, and god are you in trouble.

[cocastyle]

Despite It All

Pairing - Bill Denbrough x reader

Word Count - 2,442

Warning - none

Prompt - (request by @big-dick-denbrough ) Hi! I love your writing and was wondering if you have the time could you write a young bill denbrough x reader? Where bill gives the reader some clothes so she can stay over. And before they go to sleep he's being all cutesy kissing the reader and her neck and just being sweet and clingy. And he falls asleep nuzzled and cuddled up on the reader's chest. Over all just wholesome fluff. 🥰

A/N - quarantine is kicking my butt and all I want to do is just see my friends again and be able to finish my senior year :(( is that too much to ask? in the mean time though I’ve been able to catch up on quite a bit of things and finally painted/rearranged my room and finished some other things I’ve been trying to finish for a while now. I thought I would take a break and write up this request which is super cute!! I hope you all like it!

requests are open so if you all would like something send it to my inbox please :))

The soft pitter patter of rain and the sound of colored pencils grazing across paper was all Bill could hear as he sat at his desk late one night, his sketchbook lying in front of him. He had his concentration face on as he drew, a soft smile taking over his features as the drawing came even closer to being finished.

It was a drawing of a young girl, her h/c hair flowing behind her while she gazed back at the viewer from behind some sunflowers in her hands. This drawing was supposed to be for his girlfriend Y/N. He knew that she had been having some trouble lately with nightmares and he had wanted to cheer her up with a drawing of his.

She had always gushed about his art, saying it was nothing like she had ever seen before. Bill couldn't tell him she was saying that just to be nice, but he didn't care because the way she looked at the art and then to him had him believing it. He had drawn many pictures for her before, but it had been a while since the last drawing he had given her. That led Bill to thinking that giving her a drawing might make her feel better.

Bill was just about to finish with the sunflowers and move onto the last touch details of the hair when a knock had him jumping in his seat. If it had been from his door, he probably wouldn't have even thought twice about it, but the knocking was coming from his window which also happened to be on the second floor of his house.

He found his green eyes flickering over to the window and he was quick to slam his sketchbook shut before rushing over to the window. On the other side was none other than his girlfriend Y/N who had her head lowered as the rain rolled off her already drenched body.

Bill didn't even hesitate to throw his window open, his eyes taking in the girl in front of him as a worried look crossed his face. "Y/N?" he whispered and that was when her e/c eyes flashed up to lock with his.

Bill's breath hitched in his throat just like it did every time he saw her eyes and he would've lost his ability to breath as well from just how beautiful she was if it weren't for the fact that she was crying, her tears mixing in with the rain.

It didn't look like the girl was in the mood to talk so Bill just gave her a soft smile and held his hand out for her to take. Y/N gently took it and Bill couldn't help but smile wider at the feeling of her hand in his, his whole body warming instantly as it always did whenever he held hands with his girlfriend.

Bill helped the girl climb inside and was quick to bring her to the nearest bathroom. Luckily his parents had already gone to bed, so he didn't have to worry too much about being caught but he was still quiet just in case.

He left the girl standing by the bathroom and returned seconds later with not only a towel but a pair of his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts as well. "Here," Bill whispered as he handed the items to the girl. "G-G-Go rinse off and warm yourself up so I don't have to worry about m-m-my girlfriend dying from hypothermia."

He sent the girl a teasing smile, but all Y/N could muster was the small upturn of her lips before she had turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving Bill to stare after her in concern.

Bill was sitting on his bed with a worried look on his face by the time Y/N came back and he quickly jumped up onto his feet at the sight of her. It took a second for him to process that she was standing there with his clothes on and once it had, he couldn't help but stare at her agape, his cheeks reddening slightly. How had he gotten so lucky to have a girlfriend as pretty as Y/N?

Her tears were gone now, but her eyes were still a little red as she looked down at the floor embarrassed. It took Bill but a second to put together what must've happened and he sighed before taking a few quick strides across the room.

His arms were wrapping around the girl almost instantly and Y/N was quick to react, balling her hands into fists around his shirt as she tucked his shoulder under her chin. Bill nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck with his arms tight around her waist and he held her like that until he finally felt her begin to relax more and more.

Bill pressed a soft kiss to the girl's neck, smiling softly once he felt her begin to smile against him. He held onto her a little tighter and inhaled her scent once before letting out a sigh of content.

"Another nightmare?" Bill finally asked, his voice warm and comforting despite the heavy topic.

Y/N was silent for a moment as her grip on the boy tightened. She had been getting nightmares ever since the end of the summer and the horrors with It. The nightmare was always the same thing with Pennywise torturing her before realizing it wasn't working and moving onto Bill and her other friends.

They were tortured before her very eyes until It was sure the girl was afraid. Then he would kill them and there was nothing she could do about it, her screams being what woke her up every night. Their screams of pain were what kept her up for the rest of the night, echoing through her ears despite it having been nothing but a dream.

Y/N let out a shaky breath and whispered, "Yes."

That was all Bill needed to hear and he frowned before pressing another kiss to her neck and pulling away to look at her. "You w-w-want to sleep over for the night? I can set an alarm so that we make s-s-sure you're gone before my parents wake up," Bill suggested.

Not wanting to be a bother, the young girl was about to deny, but the hopeful look in Bill's eyes was enough to have her slowly nodding her head. A huge grin broke out on Bill's face at that and he was quick to hug the girl around the waist again, picking her up and spinning her around once out of pure excitement.

Despite all the worry and sadness that had been looming over her, Y/N felt her heart soar as laughter bubbled up through her chest. Bill always had this affect on her and maybe that's why she tended to come to him when her nightmares got too much to handle.

The nightmares were tough for her, but Bill always knew how to get her mind off of it enough to let go and feel happy. He was the light of her life, so it was really no surprise that after only having met him this summer and a few months of dating each other she was already falling in love with him.

Bill Denbrough could do that to a person—make them fall in love with him with just a simple smile—and Y/N sometimes wondered if he knew he had that type of effect on people.

It wasn't long before the two found themselves sitting on his bed, each of them sitting facing each other with their knees touching. Bill was doing everything in his power to keep the smile on Y/N's face and it was only when he felt himself begin to run out of things to say merely because he was becoming to entranced with the girl that he averted his gaze towards his desk where his sketchbook sat.

"I-I-I want to show you something," Bill suddenly said earning a confused look from the h/c haired girl. Bill only gave her a small smile in return before pulling himself up off the bed and heading over to his desk. He returned to her a moment later with his sketchbook in hand and flipped through the pages as he sat back down on the bed.

"I-I-I was going to give this to you when I was done, but I g-g-guess I can give you a little preview," Bill said, a small nervous smile on his face as he handed the sketchbook over to his girlfriend.

Bill watched in a nervous silence as Y/N gently took the sketchbook from him before allowing her gaze to fall on the drawing. She stilled almost immediately, her eyes flickering over the drawing as they began to widen slightly. Bill couldn't quite read her expression and that only made him more nervous as time went on.

But then she was looking up at him, her eyes still wide before a smile of disbelief appeared on her face and she whispered, "I love you."

It was Bill's turn to freeze at that. The couple had never said those words before. It's not that they didn't feel that way because they did, but neither had ever been the first to utter the words. But now it seemed like Y/N was the first one to have enough courage to say it.

Bill's heart was thumping in his chest so loudly that he could hear it in his ears, his face reddening so much that he could feel the heat radiating off of his face. His smile started out small before it slowly began to grow, his eyes flickering over the girl's face in disbelief.

"I love you too," Bill whispered, still in shock from the fact that Y/N L/N loved him. If this was a dream, he really didn't want to wake up.

Before Y/N could even blink, Bill had grabbed the sketchbook and tossed it aside before tackling the girl back onto the bed. Laughter escaped the girl's lips and she quickly had to quiet herself so that Bill's parents wouldn't wake up. Bill was smiling so wide as he showered her in kisses, the girl's face getting redder by the second as Bill kissed every inch of her face.

"Bill, stop!" Y/N whisper exclaimed between laughs.

Bill paused and propped himself above the girl as he grinned down at her. "What? All I'm doing in showering my girlfriend with my affection," he said before going down and kissing her cheek, making the girl blush more than she already was.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh and Bill pulled away to look at her with that goofy grin of his, his eyes sparkling as he stared down at the girl that had stolen his heart.

"I love you," Bill said, making sure to put emphasis on each word so that Y/N knew just how much he meant it.

The grin she gave him almost made him swoon at the sight, his heart beating so fast that he thought he was going to have a heart attack. "I love you too," she whispered, her hand coming up and gently cupping his cheek as she smiled at him.

Bill was quick to duck his head down and capture the girl's lips with his own, propping himself up above her while Y/N's hands slowly went up to his neck so that she could pull him down more. It was a soft and gentle kiss, one that made each of them feel like they were in cloud nine. Kissing Y/N still gave him the same feeling he had got the first time he kissed her and Bill knew that this feeling would never grow old.

Bill pulled away to look down at the girl and he bit his lip before shyly looking down and asking, "C-C-Can we cuddle?"

Y/N let out a small laugh at that and was quick to pull the boy all the way down on the bed with her, an action that made Bill chuckle softly before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his side. He was quick to nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck, pressing a soft kiss there before relaxing against her and letting out a content sigh.

Y/N blushed almost instantly and was silently thankful that Bill couldn't see her face. Wordlessly, the girl brought her hand up and began to run a hand through Bill's hair while he pressed another kiss on her jawline before nuzzling into the crook of her neck even more.

The two laid like this for a while until each of them were barely able to keep their eyes open. It was only then that Bill let out a soft yawn and pressed one more kiss to the girl's cheek as he whispered, "I know this past summer wasn't the best, but I'm still thankful because it gave me you."

Y/N went silent at that, her hand freezing momentarily before she continued to run her hand through the boy's soft hair. This summer may have been terrible, but not all of it was. After all, she had met all the Losers this past summer. She had met Bill.

A soft snore was what pulled the girl out of her thoughts and she glanced down to see that Bill had fallen asleep with his head nuzzled into her neck and his arms tightly wrapped around her waist. Y/N let her eyes flicker over the boy's face for a moment and she smiled softly as she admired the boy.

Gently brushing some hair out of his face, Y/N pressed a small kiss to Bill's forehead before whispering, "I'm thankful too.”

Bill was still fast asleep so he couldn't hear her, but for a moment it was like he could because he smiled a little more and tightened his grip ever so slightly on the girl. Y/N kept her eyes on her boyfriend with a small smile on her face until she too fell asleep holding onto the boy.

That night was the night that she knew that despite everything that went wrong with the summer of 1989, she always would be thankful for it—for that was the summer she met Bill Denbrough and not even It could ruin her love for him.

* * *

Permanent Tag List

@marvelismylifffe @purplelittlepup @amberkay284 @blogforhoes @artlovingbre @the-story-of-the-tucks @thisismythirdblogandihatethat

[sunshinepeter]

the art of fashion

one

It started when Peter showed up for his and Tony’s new “Lab Day” in a shirt that said “You matter, unless you multiply yourself by the speed of light squared. Then you energy”. Tony didn’t comment, not wanting to destroy the fragile thing they had just established, whatever it was. 

But when Peter was wearing a “barium cobalt nitrogen” shirt the next week, Tony found himself commenting before he could stop. 

“Nice shirt,” he snorted. Peter looked down, and smiled dorkily. 

“Oh, yeah. May bought it,” Peter said quietly. He was blushing just slightly. 

“You know, no self respecting… person would wear that.” Tony sat down at his workbench, and Peter sat down at the one across from him. Peter had a slightly confused look on his face. 

“Then why would they sell them?” Peter asked, and Tony smirked in lieu of a response. After a second Peter mumbled, “I like it.”

“Then I like it too,” Tony said, still smirking. 

The next week he showed up in a shirt that said “name’s Bond, Ionic Bond”. Tony just smiled and told the boy that he thought it was funny. 

two

When Peter invited Tony and Rhodey to the small Halloween get together he and May had every year, he hadn’t really expected Tony to say “alright, what time should we come?”. 

But there they were, at seven (like Peter told them), Tony wearing a name tag with “Dave” on it, a la The Office and Rhodey wearing a fedora. Peter was in a full Peter Pan costume. 

“Get it?” Peter said awkwardly, spinning in a circle to give the full view of the all green outfit, and Tony burst out laughing. 

three 

When it started snowing at four p.m. on Christmas Eve, Peter didn’t think much of it. He was at the Compound with Tony and Rhodey, waiting for May’s flight to come in so he could go home and they could binge watch some Christmas movies, as they did every Christmas Eve. 

It was still snowing at six p.m. when Peter’s cell rang. May’s number. 

“Hey. Did you get off your plane?” Peter asked, and Rhodey looked up from across the room, where he was reading a book. Tony was on the phone in the other room with some investor or something. 

“Uh, didn’t get on it. I’m so sorry sweetie, the plane was delayed and I didn’t think anything of it, just a bit later, then it was delayed again, but they just cancelled it. I’m stuck here for the night.” 

“What?” Peter sat up straight, out of the slouch he had assumed while he sat on the over-fluffy couch. “You’re still in Minneapolis?” 

Rhodey stood up, stepping closer and sitting next to Peter, cocking his head to the side in confusion. 

“Yeah. Baby, I’m so so sorry,” May’s voice was hushed, obviously she was still in the airport. Peter felt bad, of course, but he also was sad because of course this would happen on Christmas Eve of all days. 

He hung up after a few minutes of her telling of how she was getting on a flight in the morning, right when the snow was supposed to stop, and how Peter would stay at the Compound for the night. 

“I’m sorry, kid.” Rhodey rubbed his arm consolingly, and Peter just sighed. “I mean, me and Tony aren’t that bad. We can still have fun if you’re up for it.” 

“I guess,” Peter grumbled. 

“C’mon. What can we do to make it a fun night?” 

Which is why an hour later when Tony finally got off the phone, he found Rhodey and Peter sitting on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn between them, the smell of cookies in the oven, and both of them wearing Christmas-themed onesies while watching Elf. 

“Wha…” 

“We are having a Christmas sleepover. There’s a onesie in your size in the bathroom,” Rhodey said with a smile and threw a piece of popcorn at his boyfriend. 

Tony came back in an Olaf onesie and a grimace on his face. Peter flipped his hood up on his onesie and grinned. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was still good. 

four

Peter was already halfway through a cup of hot chocolate by the time Rhodey had managed to wake up and get to the kitchen, which was a miracle in itself. Rhodey naturally woke up extremely early, so coming in and seeing the kid already perched at the breakfast bar, scrolling through his phone, was odd. 

“Good morning,” He said, beelining straight to the coffeemaker to turn it on for Tony. He knew that Tony was going to want to see Peter before he went back to his aunt’s house, and the best way to wake Tony Stark up was with coffee, so he figured it was a safe bet. 

“Merry Christmas!” Peter chirped, obviously too chipper for the kid this morning. 

“You seem uncharacteristically awake this morning,” Rhodey commented as he prepared Tony’s favorite coffee, back to the kid.

“Christmas does that to me. No matter how late I go to bed or where I am, I always wake up extremely early on Christmas. The child in me is just excited, apparently. Thanks for the clothes, by the way.” 

Once Peter had gone off to bed, after many Christmas movies watched with Tony and Rhodey, Rhodey had peeked in to check on the kid per Tony’s request. He had seen that Peter had taken off the onesie, leaving it on the floor, which was obvious as onesies were extremely uncomfortable to try to sleep in, so Rhodey quickly gathered a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt for the kid to wear when he had woken up. 

Rhodey turned to tell him that it didn’t matter, and that he knew that onesies were uncomfortable, but stopped when he finally laid eyes on Peter. 

Peter’s hair was a mess, frizzy and all over the place on top of his head, caramel curls waving down in front of his eyes and ears, showing his desperate need for a haircut. He was slumped over a white coffee mug, wearing an oversized, red MIT sweatshirt that made it all the way around his hands, almost covering his fingertips, as he gripped the mug to seemingly capture it’s warmth. 

The sweatshirt had, at one point, belonged to Rhodey. It was eventually stolen by Tony, back in their early days of college. When Tony was no older than Peter was right now. 

“What?” Peter asked, seeing Rhodey stare at him with a… look in his eye. Rhodey snapped out of it, and turned back to the coffee. 

“Nothing. You just look like Tony,” Rhodey said, back already to the boy, but he could hear him choke on the hot chocolate. 

five 

Peter had gone suit shopping with Tony about a month and a half before the wedding. He kept insisting that he didn’t need anything fancy, that Ben probably had a suit that would work somewhere, but Tony ignored him. 

“We will get you a nice, tailored suit, and that way you can look snazzy at my wedding, and if you ever need a suit for another event, you have one. A traditional black suit should do just fine. Plain enough so as to not be too flashy, but classic and sleek that doesn’t make you seem too old.” 

They spent a good portion of that day laughing as Peter tried on an array of suits. Some were just plain suits of different fits and slightly different details, like Peter and Tony discussed, but others, like a baby blue suit a la Troy Bolton in High School Musical Three, was for Peter’s own amusement. For once he ignored the weird, odd looks he got when he was with Tony, and enjoyed his afternoon suit shopping. 

They left the store with Peter’s suit in hand, ready to be taken to be altered, and Tony threw an arm around the boy as they approached Happy’s car.

“You know, the suit might be the most classy thing I’ve ever seen you wear, Pete,” Tony said, and Peter smiled. 

“The things I do for you,” He responded, only to reveal that he was wearing a shirt that said “molecool’ with a drawing of a molecule with sunglasses drawn over it. Tony just groaned, but kept smiling anyway. 

plus one

Three months (but also five years) after that day, Peter was wearing that exact suit at Tony Stark’s funeral. Rhodey’s hand was planted on his shoulder, May was squeezing his other hand, but all he could feel was the phantom of Tony Stark as he relived the memory of Tony adjusting Peter’s cufflinks and smiling at the boy in the mirror of that suit store dressing room, telling him that he looked very grown up in such a nice suit. 

“Very handsome, I would even say. This suit will definitely come in handy for you in the future, Parker, just count on it,” was all Peter could hear as the arc reactor was lowered into the water, forever releasing Tony Stark from the rest of the world.

masterlist

[avengerscompound]

She Sets the City on Fire - One Summer’s Night

She Sets the City on Fire: A Bruce Banner Fanfic

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Square: @brucebannerbingo​ - U4 Pining

Rating:  E

Warning:  Age Gap, Self Doubt, Recreational drug use, Smut (M|F  vaginal fingering vaginal sex, squirting, sex while under the influence of drugs)

Word Count:  5234

Pairing:  Bruce Banner x OFC (Summer)

Summary:  Bruce is drawn to Summer.  She’s everything he wished he could be.  Carefree, exciting, and she knows exactly who she is.  There are so many reasons a relationship with her wouldn’t work.  So why can’t he stop thinking about her?

A/N: On the first chapter

2. One Summer’s Night

Bruce didn’t call Summer.

She was too young.  This was a one-time thing.  A guy like him couldn’t be with a woman like her.  He wasn’t sure there was a person on the planet that could tie Summer Martin, but he was fairly certain that if there was it wouldn’t be an over-the-hill scientist with a rather serious rage issue.

Although…

Maybe there could be something.  Starting with sex wasn’t a good sign though.  Especially for him.  He’d never done anything like that before.

Besides he didn’t have her number anyway.  So it wasn’t as if he could call her.

He did have Aidan’s email address though.  He could email him and ask for it.

But it wasn’t like Bruce was a hard man to track down these days.  People knew where he lived.  His email address was on five different official websites.  If she wanted to see him, she could have contacted him.  She probably didn’t want to start anything with him.  And who could blame her?

If only he could stop thinking about her.

“You’re thinking about her again.”  Tony teased as Bruce had been staring off into space again.

Bruce shook his head and looked over at his friend.  “Sorry.  Sorry.”

“She really got you good.  I haven’t seen you this smitten.  Ever.”  Tony said.  “Why don’t you call her?”

Bruce shook his head again and tapped the screwdriver he was holding on his hand.  “I can’t. Tony.  I’m old enough to be her father.  That’s not an exaggeration either.  If I had a child her age, no one would even think I’d had them young.”

Tony snorted.   “Wow.   Of all the men in the world to start fishing for jailbait, I never expected you to be one…”

“See … which is exactly why I need to leave her alone.  Even if… even if she was interested in me like that, I can’t do that to her.  I can’t condemn a person to a life with me.  Especially when theirs is still laid out in front of them.”

Tony came over and put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder.  “I have never seen you like this.  I mean…. When was the last time you even got laid?”

“Before the accident,”  Bruce said.

“Maybe she’s just what you need.  Someone casual who won’t be tied down and doesn’t get caught up in the details.  Call her.  Let her decide what she wants to do with her life.”  Tony said.

Bruce frowned and thought about it for a little while.  He decided he’d send an email to Aidan.  If Aidan ignored it, then that was fate telling him it was a bad idea.  He didn’t say what he wanted to ask about, just that he wanted to talk.

It was ten minutes later when his phone rang.

“Hello, Doctor Banner, why do I get the feeling that you’re not calling me about my research?”  Aidan said.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said.  “Not that I’m not interested in it…”

Aidan laughed.  “It’s fine.  I’ve seen how Summer draws people in.”

“Do you think she might … would she be interested in…”  Bruce said, not sure how to even ask the question.

“Yeah, I do.  And you should call her.  I saw her reading one of your books the other day.  I don’t think that’s because she has a sudden interest in Nuclear Physics.”  Aidan explained.

“Don’t you think… aren’t I maybe… a little unsuited for her?”  Bruce asked.

There was an exhale of breath on the other end of the line before Aidan spoke again.  “It’s not for me to say who either of you sees,” he said.  “Summer is low commitment and low maintenance.   And she is a lot younger than you.  Whether that makes it a bad match isn’t for me to decide.  But can I tell you a story?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, as his stomach began to turn itself in knots.

“I didn’t grow up with Summer.  Part of that is the fact I’m eleven years older than her.  And part of it is because I was raised by my mom and my dad barely had anything to do with me.”

“Yes,”  Bruce said.  “Summer told me.  I’m sorry that happened.  I know what it’s like to have a negligent father.”

“Shit happens,” Aidan replied.  “When I finished school, my dad paid for me to go to college and gave me a job.  I didn’t even have to try to do anything.  It was all being handed to me but with the condition that I didn’t embarrass him.  So I went a little wild.  I started partying.  I got into some pretty heavy drug use.”

The story was a familiar one.  Tony had done a similar thing thanks to neglect from his father.  He’d also pulled himself around so Bruce knew not to hold that kind of thing against anyone.

“When I found out Summer had moved into the city for college I tracked her down,” Aidan continued.  “She was so excited to spend time with me.  I was a complete mess, but she followed me around.  She came over on weekends and she’d make me breakfast.  She’d follow me out clubbing.  One night she came to a really skeevy party with me.  Fuck, I regret taking her to that.  Except I don’t, because I ODed.  She found me unconscious with a needle in my arm.  Called an ambulance.  Called our dad.  Demanded that he send me to rehab.  Convinced him to buy that building under the pretense of us living together so she could keep an eye on me.”

“She told me your dad forced her to live with you,” Bruce said.

“She says that so it looks like our dad loves me.  I’m sure he does, but not like he loves her.  I don’t blame him though.  She’s the best of us.  I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for her.  She turned my life around.  I have my Ph.D. and my job because of her.  I’m clean because of her.  She’s worth having in your life even if all you get from her is a weird friend.  So call her.  You have my blessing.”

Bruce took down her number and then stared at it willing himself to call.  If Aidan was right, maybe that’s what she could be.  A friend.  Someone to help get him out of his head.  She did seem to have that effect on him.

He dialed the number and held the phone to his ear.  It rang three times before Summer picked up.

“Who hasn’t heard of texting?”  She said in way of introduction.

Bruce’s heart began to race and he felt the Hulk raise his head.  “Hello.  Yes.  Sorry.  It’s Bruce.”  He stammered.

“Who?”  She asked.

He swallowed thickly and tried to calm himself.  This had obviously been a mistake.  She thought of him so little that she didn’t even recognize who it was calling.  “Bruce Banner.”

There was laughter on the other end of the line.  “I just got you to say your full name.  It’s nice to hear from you, Bruce Banner.”

Bruce felt a large part of him relax and Hulk seemed to settle back into a doze.  “It’s nice to hear you too.”

“Aww, that’s always nice.”  She said.  “What are you doing tonight?”

“Something with you?” He said and cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

Summer burst out laughing and a deep flush crept into Bruce’s cheeks.  “That was so smooth.  I bet you’re drowning in pussy,” she teased playfully.  “Anyway, Romeo.  There’s a rave on in Hell’s Kitchen tonight.  I’m going with some friends.  Wanna come?”

Bruce agreed before he even registered what he was agreeing to.  When he hung up the phone, he immediately started to freak out.  A rave?   He’d just agreed to go to a rave.  The guy with the huge green rage monster hiding inside him agreed to be pressed up in the dark with a bunch of sweaty strangers listening to music that grated on his nerves.  Not to mention that a rave was the worst place for a first date ever.  How could he even talk to her at a place like that?

As the hour approached, he got ready to go out.  He put on a dark purple button-up shirt but left it unbuttoned at the collar and put on a suit jacket.  He knew he wasn’t going to fit in but he didn’t think there was any way that he was going to be able to regardless of what he wore.

He had a car take him to the club and when he got out he scanned the crowd for Summer.  There were a few groups milling around the front and a line forming at the door, but he couldn’t see any sign of her.  He thought he’d go get in line with the people who were not only 20 years younger than him, but dressed completely differently, just to save a spot when there was a tap on his shoulder.

He turned around to see Summer, only she was barely recognizable to him.  She was wearing knee-high faux fur boots in hot pink and black and a matching latex outfit that consisted of what looked like just a bra and panties.  There were pink fur cuffs on her wrists and she was wearing a wig made of pink and black tubes and ribbons in various shades and materials.   She had appeared to accessorize with pink glow sticks.  They hung around her neck and wrapped around her arms and waist.

“Hey, Bruce!” She chirped, leaning up and pressing her lips to his.

It was one of those kisses that could be whatever you want it to be.  Her lips only barely parted and it lingered just that little longer than normal.  Bruce was so startled by seeing her in a complete cyber costume that he forgot to kiss back and she pulled away and grinned at him.

“Bruce, these are my friends; Cassie, Amanda, Liam, and Rachel.  Everyone, this is Bruce.”  Summer said indicating to her friends.  The group was all dressed in similar clothing, but various colors and levels of skin showing. Liam had color in his hair and he was wearing black flared pants and a black mesh singlet with yellow hazmat symbols on both.  Bruce felt extremely out of place, but he shook everyone’s hands and even returned Cassie’s kiss when she leaned in to kiss him.

“Cass, do you have any more glow sticks?”  Summer asked.

Cassie dug through her bag and pulled out a handful of glow sticks - the kind you’d get in tubes from the dollar store.  She and Summer then went to work cracking them and popping them together so that Bruce was wearing two circles of different lengths around his neck and one around his left wrist.

Summer took Bruce’s hand and led him to the door as the others followed behind them.  The bouncer looked Bruce over.  Bruce was sure he was about to get turned away.  Especially given how long the line now was.  Instead, the bouncer pulled the rope away and stepped out from in front of the door.

“Enjoy your night, miss Martin,” he said, holding the door open for all of them.

“How many times do I have to tell you; it’s Summer?”  She said as she passed him and headed inside.

“The bouncer knows you?”   Bruce asked, glancing back at him.  He had to yell over the sound of the club.  The loud and rhythmic thud of the bass traveled right through him and the scratch of what he could only think to call melody, though it was anything but that, drowned out almost everything else.  As they walked through the club, Summer and her friend lit up under the blacklights.  Their bare skin painted with some kind of UV paint. 

Summer stopped walking and pulled him down so her mouth was against his ear.  “I’m kind of a big deal around here.”  She said.

She led the group into another roped off area and up some stairs.  A guy who looked like he was Bruce’s age greeted her, pressing himself close to her body as he spoke with his lips hovering close to her ear.  She laughed and then continued on her path to a long, low table surrounded by beanbags and cushions.

It was a little quieter in this part of the club.  You didn’t need to yell to be heard and the music felt a little more like it was a background sound.  Bruce took a seat on one of the beanbags and Summer sat down directly in his lap.

“Who was that guy?”  Bruce asked.

“My uncle,” she said uncle with air quotes, which made Bruce think it was just a man who was friends with her parents and she’d been raised calling him that.  “He works with my dad.  Total creep.”

Bruce looked around the group.  He wasn’t sure what to do and they were all digging around in their bags.  He wasn’t sure where his hands were supposed to go either and all he could think was how much he wanted to put them on her thighs and how completely inappropriate that was.  “Did you want to dance?”  He asked.

“In a minute.”  She said, almost casually.

A waitress arrived with a tray full of bottled water and she placed it on the table and left without even waiting to see if they wanted anything else. Liam pulled a baggie of colorful pills from his pocket, took two out and swallowed them with water before tossing the baggie in the middle of the table.  The others each took one or two. When Summer went to take one too Cassie snatched the bag and shook her head.

“I’ve got yours right here, bitch,” she said, putting a little pink unicorn tablet on her tongue.  Summer leaned over to her and Bruce watched as they kissed.  They were all tongues, and Bruce shifted a little uneasily under Summer.

When Summer pulled back she looked down at Bruce.  “Do you want one?  No pressure.  I don’t care either way.”

“Do I get to take it like you did?”  Bruce asked aiming for playful, immediately cursing himself as soon as the words had left his mouth.

Summer started laughing.  She pushed her face into his chest, trying to smother it.  “Okay.  Okay.  Let me just go ask Cassie.  She does like kissing so I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

Bruce shook his head, the flush he felt creeping into his cheeks and up the back of his neck.

Summer tilted his face up to hers.  “Let me get something out of the way, so I know for sure you aren’t agreeing to take drugs to fit in or impress me.”  She said.  Her hands went to his hair and she leaned in and kissed him.  Her tongue coaxed his lips apart and dipped briefly into his mouth and one of her hands slid down his arms, moving his hand to her thigh.  When she pulled away she looked him dead in the eyes.  He had trouble keeping eye contact with her, but he forced himself as he felt his breath hitch.  “I’m here with you, Bruce.  I plan to go home with you if that’s something you want to happen.  Unless you choose not to or something unforeseen happens, you’re getting laid tonight.  So knowing that, do you want to take some E?”

Bruce shook his head.  There was a part of him, this part that had never got a chance to shine.  The one smothered by bullies at school and then crushed by the accident that created the form of the Hulk, that wanted to be reckless.  That was relishing being with these carefree youth that had just accepted him as part of them, as much as he didn’t fit in.  He knew what ecstasy was supposed to do too.  That could make the Hulk quieten right down and he could be a version of himself he only knew the edges of.  But the risks with it were that he come out and Bruce couldn’t risk that here.

“Come on then, let’s go dance,” Summer said, getting to her feet and pulling Bruce along with her.

She led him down to the dance floor.  It was crowded and the strobe lighting played off her skin.  The UV paint she’d used on her skin glowed in the lights and made her look like fae.

They started dancing.  Nothing over the top.  It was just face-to-face with her arms around his neck and his hands on her hips.  She moved against him, bouncing and rolling her hips in time with the deep thud of the bass.  She seemed to have unlimited energy and moved with such abandon.  It was like the music just flowed through her.

He seemed to get high just on her.  He was mesmerized by her.  Drunk on her own enjoyment.  The way the light played of her skin.  The way she moved.  She was the music come to life.  She turned in his arms and began to grind her ass up against him and brought his hand to her public bone.

He nuzzled into her neck and she leaned back and kissed him.  It was wet and hot and his hands slid up to her stomach.  Her friend Cassie came and joined them, grinding into Summer.  Summer broke the kiss with Bruce and leaned in and started kissing Cassie.  When they broke apart, Cassie leaned over Summer’s shoulder and captured Bruce’s lips.

“I need a drink,” Summer said, squeezing out from between the two of them.  Bruce pulled away from Cassie and followed after Summer.  Cassie appeared completely unphased, simply turning to the closest person and continuing to dance.

The table they had staked out earlier was still free.  In fact, their bags were just sitting underneath, undisturbed.  Summer collapsed down in a bean bag and grabbed a bottle of water as Bruce sat carefully next to her.  He took his own bottle and drank it quickly.

“Are you having fun, Brucie?”  Summer asked shifting so her legs were draped over his lap.

“I think so.  Yes.”  He said, running his fingers through the fur on her boots.

“Those feel nice don’t they?”  She said leaning forward and running her hands over his cheeks.  “This is all scratchy.  I wonder what it feels like on my thighs.”

Bruce looked from her blue eyes that were blown out thanks to the ecstasy coursing through her system and down to the bare skin on her thigh.  He then did something he couldn’t have ever even imagined doing before.  He lifted her leg and leaned down, rubbing his cheek on the inside of her leg.

Summer snorted and broke down into giggles.  “That tickles.”  She leaned in and rubbed her nose against his and teased her lips over his cheek.  “Do you want to dance some more?”

“I will if you want to,” Bruce said.

She trailed her fingers through his hair, making his scalp prickle.  “Do you want to go home and fuck?”

He swallowed and nodded.  “Yes.  Please.”

She grabbed her bag and got up, grabbing Bruce’s hands and helping him to his feet.  They went and found Cassie and Amanda on the dance floor and let them know she was leaving.

“Can I come too?”  Cassie asked, trailing her fingers up and down Summer’s arm.

Summer shook her head.  “Maybe next time.  I love you, Cass.”

Cassie leaned in and kissed Summer gently.  “I love you too, Summer.”

In the back of the cab, Summer linked her fingers with Bruce’s and nibbled at the skin under his ear.

“Is Cassie your girlfriend?”  Bruce asked.  He was afraid of the answer.  Summer was exotic and hard to read.  He wanted her, but he wasn’t sure how much of her he could handle.

“No,” she said simply.  “We have sex a lot.  I think if we were different people we might be girlfriends.  Mostly she’s just my friend.  She has sex with Aidan too.”

“Would you like to date?”  He asked.  “Me that is.”

Summer hummed, running her fingers up and down his thigh.  “I don’t know.  I haven’t been anyone’s girlfriend for so long.  I don’t know if I’d make a very good one.  Last time I did it, I felt like I lost a little bit of what makes me, me.  There’s a song I heard once…”  Summer licked her lips and started singing.  “A triangle trying to squeeze in a circle.  He tried to cut me so I fit.”

“I don’t want to change you, Summer,” Bruce said.

“You know what I’d like to find?”  She said.  “I’d like to find a person who met me and loved me just exactly how I am, even though I don’t want to be tied down.  They’d love me so much that they would be happy to let me float about and do the things I like to do and they’d trust that I loved them too and I’d always find my way back to them.  But because I loved them and they trusted me, I didn’t feel like I wanted to do those things anymore.”

“You want someone who doesn’t change you, but inspires you to change yourself?”  Bruce asked.  “But then what if the person you changed into wasn’t the one they loved anymore?”

Summer shook her head and for a moment she looked really sad.  “That’s a huge problem, isn’t it?”

“I really like you, Summer.  I can’t stop thinking about you,” Bruce said.

“I’m here now.  Let’s just see what happens in the future when we reach it.”

The cab pulled up out the front of the Avengers Tower and Bruce paid and let Summer in. She looked around in the empty lobby at all the official signage and in the elevator, she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled into his neck.  As soon as he let her into his apartment she began to work the falls in her hair out which he realized now were more like hair accessories than a wig.

“Do you want anything to drink?”  Bruce asked.

Summer looked up at him with a handful of ribbons.  “If you have something like Gatorade I will love you forever.  Otherwise, water is just fine.”

“I don’t but if you give me a minute I can get some,” Bruce said.  “What color do you want?”

“Ooh, blue, please!”  Summer chirped.

Bruce headed up to the labs and helped himself to a blue Gatorade from the drinks fridge.  When he got back to his apartment, Summer was sitting on his bed.  The falls were all gone from her hair and she’d taken off her boots.  She took the drink from him and she drank half the bottle in one go.  She poked out her tongue at him as she screwed the lid back on.

He chuckled.  “Yes, it’s blue.”

“Like one of those lizards,” She said putting her drink on the bedside table.  She took Bruce’s and pulled him closer to the bed. “Would you like to see if you can get me to do my little trick?”

“What’s your little trick?”  Bruce asked.

“Go get some towels.”  She said.  “This can get a little messy.”

Bruce looked at her confused but did as he was told.  He collected some towels from his linen cupboard and brought them back to his bedroom.  When he returned Summer was standing by the bed completely naked.  He couldn’t quite get over how perfect she was.  Even the little imperfections she had.  The stretch marks on her hips, the scar on the top of her left thigh, the small amount of cellulite she had, all those little things that everyone has just made her more perfect to him because it meant she was a real person despite how she might otherwise come across.

She motioned to him to come close and he approached her slowly, starting to get a little nervous again.  She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her cheek against his before kissing him on the corner of the mouth.

“I still have my clothes on and you’re completely naked,” Bruce said.

Summer laughed.  “Something does seem remiss.  Let me help.”

She began to slowly and carefully undress him.  Hanging his jacket over the back of a chair.  Unbuttoning his shirt slowly and kissing a trail down his chest as she did.  She helped him off with his shoes and then his pants and when he was finally naked he was so hard, his cock felt like it was throbbing.

She took his hand and guided him back on the bed.  He ran his cheek up the inside of her thighs and she moaned and spread her legs wider for him.  “Oh god, Bruce,” she moaned, clutching at the sheets.  “Your skin feels so good on mine.”

Bruce ran his nose along Summer’s pubic mound, dipping his tongue between the folds of her labia.  He hummed as he relished the taste of her, her fluids coating his tongue.

“What did you want to show me, Summer?”  Bruce asked, looking up at her from between his legs.

Summer sat up and spread the towels, before sitting down on top of them.  “Have you ever made a girl squirt?”  She asked.

Bruce raised his eyebrows.  “I uh… maybe?”

“That’s a no.”  Summer teased, pushing him with her foot.  “Come on I’ll teach you.”

She took his hand and using her fingers she guided two of his up and down her folds.  She let his hand go and lay back, letting Bruce take his time.  He rolled them over her clit and circled her entrance a few times before pushing two of them inside of her.

“Okay,” she sighed.  “Push them right in as far as you can, and then you need to curl them towards you.”

Bruce followed her instructions, pushing his fingers into her right up to his knuckles.  He curled them inside her pressing his fingertips up against her inner walls.

A shudder passed through her and he felt her clench around his digits.  “So now, move them around a little, you’re looking for a bit that feels smooth and spongy compared to everything else.”  She said, with a slight breathlessness.

He moved his fingers inside of her until he found a spot that did feel different. Softer and with more give.  He pushed his fingertips against it.  “Here?” 

Summer moaned and raised her hips up, pushing into his hand.  “Fuck.  Yes.  That’s the spot.  Now you need to press really hard and do this.”  She made a gesture like she was beckoning him to her.

Bruce started stroking his fingers up and down along that special spot.  Summer moaned loudly and squirmed on the bed.  “Fuck.  Just a little harder, Bruce.”

He pressed down harder and the noise she made didn’t even sound human.  It was such a deep animalistic cry of such complete pleasure.  It made his erection throb painfully and his hand went to his cock without even thinking.

Bruce continued to move his fingers inside Summer.  He increased the pressure and pace as he elicited more and more incoherent noises from Summer.  He was completely entranced by her.  The way her body moved as it clenched and squirmed below him.  How her face contorted in a look of pure pleasure.  All of a sudden her whole body seized up, her cunt clenched around his fingers and as her body let go again, she came.  He’d never seen anything like it.  She gushed on him and cried out a long string of curse words he hadn’t heard outside of Tony hurting himself in the lab.

“Holy… Summer!”  Bruce gasped.  He desperately wanted to taste her again and dropped down between her legs and lapped at her soaked pussy, drinking everything he could.

Summer sat up and grabbed the Gatorade from the nightstand, drinking what was left and tangling her free hand in Bruce’s hair as she watched him eat her out.

“Brucie,” she half moaned, as Bruce’s teeth grazed over her clit.  “How about we take care of you?”

Bruce gazed up at her.  “Can we just make love?”  He asked.

She giggled and pushed his hair back from his face.  “Of course.”

“Oh,” Bruce said jumping up and going to his side table.  “I saw these and thought of you.”

He pulled out a box from the drawer and handed it to her.  She looked at it and her face lit up.  “You bought glow-in-the-dark?”  She said as she excitedly opened the box and pulled one out.  She stood up on the bed and held it up to the light.

“What are you doing?”  Bruce asked.

“You have to charge them up,” she laughed.  Bruce laughed softly with her and moved the towels off the bed.

“How long will that take?”  He said sitting beside her and kissing along her soft stomach.

She giggled and flopped back onto the bed, pressing the packet into his hand. “Go on then.”  He got up and sheathed himself and she started giggling.  “You need to turn off the light.”

He chuckled and switched the light off.  With the blinds drawn it was almost pitch black.  There were now only two sources of light.  The glow of his alarm clock and the brighter green glow of his dick.  Summer squealed with delight and clapped her hands.

Bruce chuckled and moved back to the bed, his cock bouncing as he walked.  Summer laughed harder and got up and wrapped her arms around him.  They started to kiss and Summer turned them, pushing Bruce back onto the bed and climbing into his lap.  Ever so slowly she sunk down onto his cock humming as he filled her.

“What do you think it looks like inside of me now?”  She asked as she slowly rolled her hips against Bruce and held him close.

“A spooky green cave?”  Bruce offered.

She started giggling.  It was infectious and he was soon laughing with her.  “My mysterious glowing uterus.  It’s where you need to go for healing potions.”

Bruce pushed her hair from her shoulder and rubbed his cheek on her exposed skin.  “You’re so odd, Summer.”

“You love it.”

Bruce hummed in agreement and rolled her onto her back.  They began to move as one, thrusting and rolling their hips with each other.  They kissed and nipped at each other’s skin.  Moans were made and names were murmured as they brought each other to the brink of climax.  When the came, it was together.  Clutching at each other.

Bruce slopped out of her and got up to dispose of the condom.  When he came back Summer was sitting up on the bed stretching.  He sat down next to her and leaned back against the headboard.  She snuggled into him, draping her arm over his waist.

“You’ll stay?”  It was half question, half statement and full of hope.

“Of course,” she replied.  “Will you make me breakfast?  I like when people do that.  I like doing it too when people sleepover with me.”

“Anything you want,” Bruce answered.  The answer scared him a little.  He knew it was true, but he knew right at this moment, he belonged to her.

// NEXT

[chaostheoryy]

Flashes of You (A Reddie One-shot)

Summary: Richie’s childhood comes to him in flashes. It isn’t until he travels back to Derry, Maine and sees Eddie Kaspbrak that any of them start to make sense.

Word count: 2,185

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Language

A/N: This is my first time writing for Reddie and I’ve been in the It fandom for approximately 96 hours so forgive me if my characterizations are off.

For two decades, Richie’s childhood came to him in white hot flashes. He couldn’t fully recall a single event or a single friend’s name but he would see details and hear sounds so clear that he couldn’t understand why everything else surrounding these points on the road map of his mind was fuzzy.

The flashes would come at random. Sometimes he’d be going through the mundane moments of life like showering or eating. Other times the flashes would come to him in the middle of a gig. One moment he was setting up the punchline and the next he was staring at a massive statue of Paul Bunyan.

None of the flashes made sense and yet he knew they were somehow all connected: a crimson “V” scribbled over a sloppy “S”, an underground hammock, a pink polo, a fanny pack full of medicine bottles, the letter “E” carved into a wooden plank.

And oh God, the laugh. Every so often his ears would ring with the sound of a boy’s laughter — a sound so pure and contagious that he couldn’t help but smile every time he heard it. He didn’t know who it was that laugh belonged to, but he never wanted it to stop. He didn’t tell jokes for the fame or the money. He became a trash mouth comedian for that laugh.

***

When Richie got the call from Mike, his stomach flipped. Flashes bombarded him like lighting bolts striking the ocean. Blood, lifeless bodies, a red balloon, a condemned home surrounded by weeds. It wasn’t clear as to what these flashes meant, but Richie couldn’t deny that he was afraid. There was a reason he couldn’t remember his childhood. Something terrible happened in Derry, Maine and, frankly, he didn’t want to know what it was.

After throwing up and downing a couple of drinks to burn away the taste of his own bile, he made it out on stage for his comedy special. He was a mess, stumbling over his bits and forgetting the punchline to his opening joke. A man shouted “you suck” from the audience but Richie just smiled. That soft laughter of the boy was ringing in his ears again.

He wasn’t going to Derry tomorrow to follow through on some cryptic oath he couldn’t even remember making. He was going to Derry for that laugh.

***

The moment Richie stepped through the doors of the Chinese restaurant with Beverly and Ben, he locked eyes with a stranger across the foyer. His hair was slicked back, his brow creased with incessant worry. A small smile tugged ever so slightly at the corner of the stranger’s mouth and suddenly Richie felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Eddie.

The flashes started again, only this time with a wider scope: the crimson “V” scribbled over the “S” on Eddie’s arm cast, the underground hammock where Eddie draped himself over Richie and knocked his glasses off with his toes, the pink polo that Eddie loved to wear whenever he needed to convince his mom to let him hang out with the Losers, the fanny pack hooked around Eddie’s waist that held every stupid pill his dipshit doctor had prescribed to him, and the letter “E” carved beside Richie’s own initial on the kissing bridge.

Richie’s stomach flipped and a lump formed in his throat. Eddie Kaspbrak was the first person he had ever loved and it took him two decades to even remember that.

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath before following Beverly and Ben to the table. How he was going to get through this, he honestly couldn’t say.

***

Dinner somehow went even worse than Richie expected from a bunch of friends-turned-strangers getting together for the first time in twenty plus years. The food was great and the conversations were surprisingly lively up until the point Mike brought up the murderous clown from their childhood. All of a sudden the table started rattling and the bowl of fortune cookies turned into a smorgasbord of nightmares. Richie’s own cookie mutated into an eyeball with tentacles and attempted to crawl across the table toward him like a zombie. He couldn’t recall a time in his entire life where he had been more disgusted.

Amidst all the chaos, he kept his eyes on Eddie. The man was terrified, trembling in the corner as a cookie with the wing of a bat fluttered around and shrieked at him. The attack brought back more memories of his childhood, moments where he had done everything he could to protect and comfort Eddie — drawing Eddie’s eyes from the horrors of Pennywise’s illusions, pushing Eddie behind him to keep him out of harm’s way, firmly grasping Eddie’s shoulder whenever he was afraid to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

When the illusion stopped and the dust settled, Richie bolted from the restaurant as fast as he could. He couldn’t stay and face the facts. If he stayed, he was going to die. And, on top of that, he would be forced to come to terms with the ugly ass truth that was his feelings for Eddie. Being closeted for his entire life was one thing. Finding out that the man he had unknowingly been in love with for nearly thirty years was married to somebody else was a whole other level of suffering.

Standing in the parking lot, Richie was surprised to find Eddie at his side. Eddie wanted out just as badly as him and, frankly, Richie was relieved. If Eddie ran away just like him, they would both survive. The idea of going back to the life where he no longer knew who Eddie was sucked. But a life of oblivious wandering and shitty stand-up was better than a life where Eddie was murdered by a psychotic, shapeshifting clown.

Mike tried with every ounce of his being to convince them to stay and defeat Pennywise together but their will to live was stronger. Richie hopped in his Mustang and headed back to the inn with Eddie hot on his trail.

***

Neither Richie nor Eddie said anything to one another when they got back to the Derry Town House. They simply bolted up the stairs to their respective rooms and started packing. Having brought nothing more than a small carry-on sized duffle bag, Richie finished gathering his belongings before Eddie had even managed to lay his clothes out on the bed.

“What’re you moving in?” Richie teased when he peeked his head into Eddie’s room and saw the two open suitcases on the floor. “Look at all this shit.”

Eddie frowned. “Fuck off. I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing coming to Derry so how was I supposed to know what to bring?”

“I only own like two shirts. Guess I’m not in any position to judge.”

Richie eyed the pile of clothes and was drawn to a vaguely familiar shade of pink. A soft smile yanked at the corner of his mouth.

“Your style hasn’t changed much has it, Eds?”

Eddie followed his gaze to the pink polo laying by the foot of the bed. “Myra hates any outfit that’s not a suit and tie,” Eddie said as he continued folding his collection of dress pants.

“Well, somebody needs to pull the stick out of her ass ‘cause that shirt is bitchin’, man.”

Richie’s heart nearly soared when Eddie laughed. That was it, the whole reason Richie came back.

A long silence blanketed the room as Richie watched Eddie work. Twenty-seven years later and Eddie was still as precise as can be, making sure every article of clothing was folded into the same dimensions before he put them in the suitcase. Things had to be as perfect and clean as possible. At least, that’s what Eddie’s mom had taught him.

“Jesus Christ, would you pick up the pace? I’m gonna pass a fucking kidney stone before you finish packing,” Richie quipped to break the silence.

Eddie threw him a look. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, dickwad?”

“Not until Tuesday night when your mom and I meet up for our weekly date night at Olive Garden.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie snapped despite the amused gleam in his eye.

“I’m serious, Spaghetti. You better not cock-block me on my date or I swear to God I’m shoving those unlimited breadsticks up your ass.”

Eddie stopped all of a sudden, the shirt in his grasp hanging limply in wait to be folded. The expression on his face was almost impossible to read. Richie felt his chest tighten.

“Eds? You alright?” Richie asked hesitantly. “Look, if the mom jokes are too much, I can ease off-“

“No it’s fine. It’s just that no one’s ever...” Eddie’s thought trailed off. “How much do you remember? About our childhood?”

Richie adjusted the shoulder strap of his bag and shrugged. “Not much. Bits and pieces used to come back in flashes but I couldn’t even figure out what the hell they all meant until I got here. It’s like some fucked up jigsaw puzzle that my brain’s still trying to put together.”

Eddie laid the shirt in his hands down on the bed and leaned against the wooden post. “It doesn’t make any sense, man. How can we be best friends for years and then suddenly forget everything about each other once we separate? You don’t just-“ Eddie swallowed. The worry lines on his brow were even deeper than before. “I saw you on TV — one of your comedy specials. I looked right at you and, even though I had never heard your name before I just got this feeling like...Like I knew you.”

Richie felt like his throat was going to collapse in on itself. If Eddie had gone through the same things he had, what kind of flashes had come to him over the years? What pieces of Richie Tozier had stuck in his brain?

“Did you finish the special?”

“God no. It was terrible. I don’t know who the dipshit is that writes your jokes but he fucking sucks.”

Richie grinned from ear to ear. “I’m firing him the second I get back to New York.”

Eddie returned his smile with one of his own. “Good. You’re ten times funnier than any of the shit he writes anyway.”

Richie’s breath hitched. “Holy shit, Eds.”

“What?” Eddie’s eyes grew wide with concern.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever complimented me,” Richie joked, stepping toward Eddie with his arms outstretched, “Come here you little Smurf. I always knew you secretly cared about me.”

“Fuck that. I take it back!” Eddie tried to slink out of the way but Richie scooped him into his arms and crushed his entire body in a bear hug.

Eddie groaned as Richie squeezed him. “You’re gonna give me an asthma attack.”

“You don’t even have asthma, fuckhead.”

Eddie went still in his grasp, his squirming ceasing without warning. He was quiet for a long moment. Richie swallowed and eased his hold, worried he had squeezed too hard and hurt Eddie. But instead of slipping out of the hug when the vice of Richie’s arms loosened, Eddie reached up and clutched at Richie’s jacket, hugging him back. Richie’s heart skipped a beat.

“I missed you,” Eddie mumbled lowly, “Even though I didn’t know it, I fucking missed you.”

Richie felt breathless. His eyes burned, threatening to form tears he never planned on shedding. He tightened his arms around Eddie again.

“You’re such a sap,” he murmured, “It’s a miracle you got a woman to marry your wussy ass.”

Eddie slammed the toe of his shoe into Richie’s shin just hard enough to really make him feel it. “Fuck you.”

Richie smiled despite the pain ringing in his leg. “Fuck you too, Eds.”

They hugged each other tightly for a good thirty seconds before Richie pried himself away. “Would you finish packing your shit so we can get the hell out of here?”

Eddie stumbled backward. “Fuck. Yeah. Gimme like ten minutes and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“I’ll head down there now and make sure our psycho friends don’t summon the devil and get themselves murdered.”

“Good idea.”

Richie headed for the door only to pause in the doorframe when Eddie called his name. “What’s up?”

Eddie smirked, a familiar mischievous gleam in his eye that Richie had grown all too familiar with as a kid. “I probably should’ve told you this years ago but I fucked your mom.”

Richie rolled his eyes and flipped Eddie off. “Hurry up, asshole,” he grumbled before stepping out into the hall and leaving Eddie to finish packing.

As he made his way toward the staircase, Richie felt his chest swell with joy. Eddie had missed him just as much as he missed Eddie and, now that they were back together, they were joking with the same ease as they did when they were younger.

His entire adult life, Richie had wondered why he’d never fallen in love with anyone and now he understood why: Eddie Kaspbrak held his heart. Always had and always would.

***

Tagging: @justauthoring, @beepbeepstiney, @atownofeggs