#well.. okay maybe not quite worm's eye but still

[paxtito]

birthday girl

pairings: wednesday x reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: none really, kissing and swearing here and there.

summary: wednesday was born november 13th, 2006, it’s her birthday soon so enid- being overly invested in your relationship- convinces you to plan a birthday surprise. you steal a very expensive book and put together an addams family themed escape room.

a/n: i’ve written quite a few fics since august so i’m just doing a little clear out of my drafts. apologies in advance for any mistakes. i’m no edgar allan poe expert, don’t come for me if the price is wrong.

MASTERLIST

It’s officially November. Wednesday’s birth month. You wasn’t planning on doing anything for it out of respect to her boundaries but Enid’s constant yapping in your ear brought you to the brink of insanity.

“Jesus! Fine, Enid… We’ll plan something, okay? Stop talking my ear off.”

Enid squealed excitedly, clapping her hands together. "Oh my gosh, yes! This is going to be so much fun!"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. Enid's enthusiasm was infectious, even if her ideas were sometimes a bit... much.

"Alright, let's brainstorm," Enid said, plopping down onto your bed next to you. "What does Wednesday like? Besides death and darkness, I mean."

You chuckled. "Well, she seems to enjoy solving mysteries and puzzles. And she has a thing for creepy crawlies… Dead things…”

Enid wrinkled her nose in distaste but nodded. "Okay, so maybe not a spa day then. How about a murder mystery party? We could invite everyone and have them dress up in costume!"

You shook your head. "Wednesday doesn't really do 'parties' or 'people'. She'd probably just end up killing someone for real."

"Good point," Enid sighed. "Hmm… What about a private escape room experience? Just the two of you, working together to solve some kind of creepy puzzle. That way it's intimate but still fits her interests."

You considered it. That actually didn't sound half bad. "Yeah, I could see her getting into that. Let me look into it."

Enid beamed. "Perfect! Oh, and don't forget her favorite foods - bugs and gross stuff. You could make her a special birthday cake with... I don't know, worms or something?"

You made a face. "I have to draw the line somewhere, Enid. I may love her, but I'm not putting actual worms in a cake… I’m not touching worms.” You grimace, a shiver running down your spine at the thought.

Enid pouted but nodded in understanding. "Fair enough. I guess you could always just make it look like there are worms in it. You know, like those chocolate bugs they sell online? That might be more her speed anyway.”

You shake your head firmly. "No food. Definitely no bugs or anything gross. I'm drawing the line there."

Enid sighs. "Alright, alright. No bugs in the food. But we need to get her something, right? Like a present?"

You nod, considering Enid's suggestion. "Yeah, a present is a good idea. But what do you get for the girl who has everything? Especially when 'everything' is basically just death-related shit."

Enid taps her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... Maybe something personalized? Like a custom-made necklace with a little vial pendant that holds a drop of your blood or something."

You cringe. "Uh, no. Definitely not going to give her bloody jewelry. That's just weird."

"Okay, okay," Enid says, holding up her hands in surrender. "How about a book then? Like a rare edition of some creepy classic literature?"

You mull it over. Wednesday does love to read. "That's not a bad idea actually. I could look for a first edition copy of one of her favorite Edgar Allan Poe stories or something.“

Enid claps her hands together. "Yes! Oh, and you could inscribe it with a little personal message inside the cover. Something like 'To my darling Wednesday, may your days be as dark as your soul.' "

“Where would I get the money though?”

Enid smiles slyly, leaning in closer. "Well, you could always ask your parents for some birthday money. Or... you could sell some of your old junk online. I bet there are a ton of weirdos out there who would pay top dollar for your crusty gym socks or used toothbrushes."

You make a disgusted face. "Ew, Enid! That's gross. I'm not selling my dirty laundry to some freaks on the internet."

"Suit yourself," Enid shrugs. "But if you change your mind, I know a guy who runs a pretty lucrative online market for this kind of thing. He's always looking for new... supplies."

—

A week later, you and Enid are hunched over your laptop, scouring online bookstores for the perfect rare edition for Wednesday.

"Ooh, look at this one!" Enid exclaims, pointing at the screen. "It's a first edition of 'The Tell-Tale Heart' published in 1843. And it comes with a handwritten note from Poe himself!"

You lean in to take a closer look. The book does look impressive, with its aged leather binding and yellowed pages. But the price tag makes your eyes bulge. "$25,000?! Are you insane?"

Enid pouts. "C'mon, it's a collector's item! And it's not every day you find something this rare. Wednesday would love it!"

You shake your head. "I can't afford that, Enid. I'm just a high school student… I’ll steal it.. Where’s the store located?”

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples. Stealing a rare book from a specialized antique store sounds like a terrible idea, but you're desperate to impress Wednesday. Plus, you've always been pretty good at breaking and entering.

"The store is downtown, near the old theater district," Enid says, squinting at the screen. "It's called 'The Raven's Nest' - fitting, right? They specialize in rare horror literature and occult artifacts."

You smirk. "The Raven's Nest... I like it. Okay, here's the plan: we'll case the joint tonight, figure out their security system. Then tomorrow night, I'll break in and grab the book while you keep watch outside."

Enid looks nervous. "Are you sure about this? I mean, what if you get caught? What if there's some kind of magical protection on the book?"

You roll your eyes. "There's no such thing as magic, Enid. And I won't get caught - I'm the fucking master thief of Nevermore Academy.”

—

As you and Enid walk down the darkened streets of downtown, you can't help but feel a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. The anticipation of pulling off this heist and surprising Wednesday with the perfect gift is almost too much to bear.

"Alright, here's the plan," you whisper to Enid as you approach the old brick building that houses The Raven's Nest. "I'm gonna scope out the back entrance while you check out the front. See if you can spot any security cameras or alarm systems."

Enid nods nervously, clutching her jacket tight around herself. "Got it. But be careful, okay? I don't want you ending up in jail or worse..."

You flash her a cocky grin. "Relax, Enid. I've got this. Nothing can stop me once I set my mind to something."

With that, you split up, each of you slipping into the shadows to survey the store. The back alley is dimly lit, with only a single flickering bulb casting a weak glow. You notice a rusty fire escape leading up to a second-story window - the perfect entry point.

Enid shivers, pulling her collar up against the chill night air. She scans the front of the building, noting the ornate iron gate and the dim lights from inside. There seem to be cameras positioned above the door, but no obvious alarms.

You quietly ascend the fire escape, each step sending a faint creak echoing through the alley. At the window, you peer inside, spotting rows of shelves packed with dusty tomes and strange artifacts. In the center of the room, a glass case catches your eye - and inside it, the priceless first edition of "The Tell-Tale Heart".

You carefully pry open the window, wincing as the old hinges let out a soft groan. With a deep breath, you hoist yourself inside, landing softly on the creaky wooden floorboards. The musty smell of old books and mothballs fills your nostrils as you creep through the shadowy aisles, your heart pounding in your chest.

As you approach the glass case, you can't help but marvel at the beauty of the ancient tome. The leather cover is worn and cracked with age, but the gold lettering still glints in the dim light. You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly as they brush against the cool glass.

Just then, a sudden noise from the front of the store makes you freeze. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, growing louder with each passing second. You glance around frantically, searching for a place to hide, but the open layout of the shop offers little cover.

Panic rising in your throat, you duck behind a nearby shelf, praying that whoever it is won't spot you. The footsteps grow closer, accompanied by the jingle of keys and the click of a lock being undone.

You hold your breath, pressing your back against the wall as the footsteps draw nearer. Your heart hammers in your chest, threatening to give away your position. The shop door creaks open, and a beam of light slices through the darkness, illuminating a section of the floor just inches from where you're hiding.

"Who's there?" a gruff voice calls out. "I know someone's in here!"

You remain perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. The light from the doorway sweeps across the room, and you shrink further into the shadows, praying that your black clothes will camouflage you against the dimness.

The footsteps move closer, the owner of the shop clearly searching for the intruder. You consider making a run for it, but the thought of being caught red-handed with the stolen book makes you hesitate.

The owner's footsteps pause just outside the aisle where you're hiding. Your palms are slick with sweat as you grip the edge of the shelf, preparing to bolt if necessary. The seconds tick by agonizingly slowly, each one feeling like an eternity.

Suddenly, a hand reaches around the corner, grasping at the air mere inches from your face. You flinch instinctively, but manage to hold your ground, not daring to make a sound. The owner steps into view, his thick-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim light as he scans the area.

"I've got you now, you little thief," he growls, his breath hot and rank as it washes over you. "Come on out, hands where I can see them!"

Your mind races, desperately trying to formulate an escape plan. You could try to overpower him, but he's significantly larger than you, and the risk of him calling the police is too high. No, you need to be smart about this.

As the owner takes another step forward, you make your move. Ducking low, you sprint past him, heading straight for the back of the shop.

The owner bellows in anger, his heavy footsteps thundering after you. "Stop, thief! I'm calling the cops!"

You don't dare look back, pouring every ounce of speed into your desperate flight. Your lungs burn as you race through the cramped aisles, dodging past stacks of books and leaping over precariously balanced piles of occult trinkets.

Just as you're certain the owner is about to catch you, you spot the back door. With a burst of adrenaline, you lunge for it, your fingers scrabbling at the handle. The door swings open, revealing the darkened alley beyond.

You tumble out into the night, the cool air hitting your face like a slap. Behind you, the owner's furious shouts echo from the shop, followed by the shrill ring of a phone - no doubt calling the police.

You don't stop running until you're several blocks away, your chest heaving and your legs burning with exertion. Only then do you allow yourself a moment to catch your breath, leaning heavily against a brick wall as you gasp for air.

You turn to Enid who’d been running after you, “you’re an amazing lookout..” You mumble sarcastically.

Enid looks absolutely terrified, her eyes wide and her face pale in the moonlight. She's breathing hard, her chest heaving with each ragged gasp. "I... I tried to warn you," she stutters, her voice trembling. "I saw him coming in and I ran to find you, but... but you were already gone."

You push off the wall, your legs still shaky from the adrenaline rush. "It's okay," you say, trying to sound calmer than you feel. "We got away, that's what matters… I got the book.”

You pull the book from your jacket, holding it up in the moonlight. The leather cover glistens, and you can't help but feel a surge of pride at your successful heist.

Enid's eyes widen as she takes in the ancient tome. "Wow," she breathes, "you actually did it. You stole a first edition Poe book!"

You grin, tucking the book safely back into your jacket. "Of course I did. I told you, I'm the best thief in town."

Enid shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you just broke into a store and stole something. That's so... so..."

"Cool?" you suggest, raising an eyebrow.

Enid laughs nervously. "No, not cool. Crazy! You could have gotten in serious trouble."

You wave a dismissive hand. "But I didn't. And now Wednesday is going to have the most amazing birthday present ever."

Enid bites her lip, looking uncertain. "Are you sure about this? I mean, what if she finds out you stole it? She might be mad."

“She won’t. Trust me.”

—

After weeks of planning and anticipation, the day has finally arrived. You've managed to lure Wednesday out of the house under the pretense of a "special surprise", blindfolding her before she could ask too many questions. Now, as you guide her down the street towards the escape room, your heart is pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Where are we going?" Wednesday asks, her voice muffled by the blindfold. "This better not be some kind of lame party or something."

You can't help but chuckle at her grumpy tone. "Relax, Wednesday. It's nothing like that. Just trust me, okay? I promise you're going to love it."

Wednesday huffs but doesn't protest further, allowing you to lead her onwards. As you approach the escape room, you can feel a sense of anticipation building in your gut. You've put so much thought into this surprise, and you're determined to make it perfect.

The door to the escape room looms ahead, and you take a deep breath before pushing it open.

As you guide Wednesday inside, the blindfold is removed, revealing a dimly lit room decorated with eerie candles and macabre artwork. Wednesday blinks, her eyes adjusting to the gloom as she takes in her surroundings.

"What is this place?" she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Some kind of gothic-themed restaurant?"

You grin, shaking your head. "Nope. It's an escape room. And it's all for you, Wednesday. Happy early birthday."

Wednesday's eyes widen, a flicker of surprise crossing her usually stoic features. "An escape room? Seriously? You know I hate those tourist trap things."

You place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know, but this one is different. It's tailored specifically to your interests. Mysteries, puzzles, all that creepy stuff you love. Plus, it's just the two of us. No annoying strangers to deal with."

Wednesday narrows her eyes, studying you intently. "Okay, I'll bite. What's the catch? There's no way you'd actually think I'd enjoy some dumb escape room."

You can't help but smile at her skepticism. It's one of the things you love about Wednesday - her sharp mind and unwillingness to be fooled by empty gestures.

"No catch," you assure her, holding up your hands in a gesture of sincerity. "I know how much you love a good mystery, and I thought this would be a fun way to celebrate your birthday. Plus, I may have mentioned to the owners that you're a bit of an expert in this kind of thing. They're really excited to have you try it out."

Wednesday's expression softens slightly, a hint of curiosity sparking in her dark eyes. "They know about me? How?"

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "I may have dropped a few hints about your... unique skill set. But they were sworn to secrecy. This whole thing is just between us."

As you and Wednesday enter the dimly lit escape room, you can't help but feel a rush of excitement. The space is decorated with an eerie attention to detail, filled with cryptic symbols, antique furniture, and a general atmosphere of macabre intrigue.

Wednesday's eyes dart around the room, taking in every detail with a keen curiosity. "Looks like they did their research," she murmurs, running a finger along the spine of an ancient-looking book resting on a nearby table.

You nod, grinning with pride. "I told you, I made sure it was the perfect fit for you. And trust me, the best part is yet to come."

Wednesday raises an eyebrow, but before she can respond, a low, ominous voice echoes through the room. "Welcome, dear guests," it intones, "to the Addams Family Escape Room Experience."

Wednesday's head snaps up, her eyes widening with surprise. "Wait, what?"

The voice continues, "In this immersive adventure, you'll navigate the twisted world of the Addams family, solving puzzles and unraveling secrets.”

The voice pauses dramatically before continuing, "Your objective is simple: escape the room before the clock strikes midnight, or risk being trapped forever in the Addams family's morbid mansion."

A sinister laugh echoes through the speakers, sending a shiver down your spine. Wednesday, meanwhile, seems entirely unfazed, her expression one of intense focus as she begins to examine the room more closely.

"Impressive," she admits grudgingly, running her fingers along the intricate carvings on a nearby bookshelf. "They've really captured the my family’s aesthetic."

Wednesday's eyes narrow as she takes in the details of the room, her mind already working to piece together the clues. The walls are adorned with eerie paintings and strange artifacts, each one seemingly hiding a hidden meaning or secret.

"Okay, let's start with the basics," Wednesday mutters, more to herself than to you. She begins to methodically search the room, her movements precise and purposeful.

As she works, you can't help but marvel at her incredible focus and deduction skills. It's like watching a predator stalk its prey, every action calculated and deliberate.

Wednesday pulls a dusty old book from the shelf, its pages yellowed and brittle. As she flips through the pages, her eyes widen. "Found something," she says, showing you a page filled with cryptic symbols and riddles.

You lean in closer, trying to decipher the message, but it's like reading a foreign language. "What does it say?" you ask, feeling a bit lost in the face of Wednesday's brilliance.

Wednesday's lips curve into a small, enigmatic smile as she traces her finger over the cryptic symbols. "It's a riddle," she explains, her voice low and conspiratorial. "A challenge, of sorts."

She reads the words aloud, her tone almost reverent:

"Seek the key that lies within

The heart of darkness, where the shadows begin."

Wednesday closes the book, her gaze sweeping the room once more. "Darkness, shadows... I wonder if that's literal or metaphorical."

She strides over to a large, ornate mirror hanging on the far wall. As she approaches, you notice a faint glow emanating from the frame, pulsing in time with some unseen heartbeat.

Wednesday reaches out, her fingers hovering just above the surface. "Interesting," she murmurs, her breath fogging the glass. "This could be it. The 'heart' of the room."

She turns to you, her eyes glinting with a newfound intensity. "I'm going to need you to do something for me," she says, her voice steady and commanding.

"I need you to stand behind me," Wednesday instructs, her voice low and authoritative. "And when I give the signal, I want you to push me against the mirror as hard as you can."

You blink, taken aback by her request. "What? Are you sure that's safe? I don't want to break it or hurt you."

Wednesday's eyes narrow, a hint of impatience flashing across her face. "Trust me, Y/N. I've done my research. This mirror is reinforced, designed to withstand pressure. It's part of the puzzle."

Still uncertain, you nevertheless comply, moving to stand behind her. Wednesday positions herself in front of the mirror, her stance wide and her muscles tensed. She nods once, a silent signal for you to proceed.

Taking a deep breath, you place your hands on her shoulders, feeling the firmness of her muscles beneath your palms. With a grunt of effort, you push, propelling Wednesday forward into the mirror.

As Wednesday collides with the mirror, there's a blinding flash of light and a crackling sound, like electricity surging through the glass. For a moment, you're blinded, your vision swallowed by the brightness. But as the glow fades, you blink rapidly, trying to clear your eyes.

When your vision returns, Wednesday is gone. Vanished. In her place, the mirror reflects an image of a dark, shadowy hallway stretching into the distance.

For a heart-stopping moment, you're frozen in shock, your mind struggling to process what just happened. Then, as panic starts to set in, you hear a voice echoing down the hallway, distant but unmistakably Wednesday's.

"Y/N! I'm in here!"

You lean closer to the mirror, your breath fogging the glass as you peer into the shadowy depths. "Wednesday?" you call out, your voice sounding small and uncertain. "Where are you?"

There's a pause, and then Wednesday's voice returns, sounding strained and urgent. "I'm stuck, Y/N. I need you to follow me. Quickly!"

"Hurry, Y/N!" Wednesday calls out, her voice echoing strangely in the shadowy hallway beyond the mirror. "I think I found the key, but I can't get it out."

Your heart pounds as you lean closer to the mirror, your reflection staring back at you from the darkened glass. The image of the hallway wavers and shifts, as if the shadows themselves are alive and moving.

Taking a deep breath, you reach out and press your palm flat against the mirror's surface. The glass is cold and smooth beneath your fingers, but as you apply pressure, you feel it beginning to give way, like a door yielding to a firm push.

With a grunt of effort, you step forward, feeling the resistance of the mirror against your body. For a moment, it's as if you're being pressed between two planes of existence - the real world behind you, and the shadowy realm ahead. Then, with a final heave, you stumble through, tumbling into the darkness beyond.

You land on your hands and knees, the floor beneath you cold and damp. As you push yourself upright, you see Wednesday standing a few feet away.

She's standing in a shadowy corridor, her face illuminated by the faint, eerie glow emanating from the walls. Wednesday's eyes widen as she sees you emerge from the mirror, relief and urgency flashing across her features.

"Thank god you're here," she breathes, her voice trembling slightly. "I was starting to think I might be trapped in here forever."

You take a moment to orient yourself, taking in the strange, otherworldly environment surrounding you. The walls seem to pulse with an inner light, casting shifting shadows across the floor. The air is thick and heavy, carrying an unsettling scent of decay and old secrets.

"What is this place?" you whisper, your voice sounding too loud in the oppressive silence.

Wednesday shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the object clutched in her hand. "I'm not entirely sure," she admits, her tone uncharacteristically uncertain. "But I think it's part of the escape room's final challenge."

She holds out the object for you to see - a small, ornate key, its metal surface etched with strange, twisting symbols.

Wednesday holds the key up to the flickering light, examining its intricate design. "The inscription... it matches the symbols from the riddle in the book. I think this is what we've been searching for."

She glances around, her eyes scanning the shadowy corridor. "But there's no lock here. We need to find where this key belongs."

You nod, following Wednesday's gaze as she begins to move down the hallway, her steps cautious and deliberate. The walls seem to shift and sway as you pass, the air growing colder with each step.

Wednesday stops suddenly, her head tilting to the side as she listens to a distant sound. "Do you hear that?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the oppressive silence.

You strain your ears, trying to pick up on any noise. At first, there's nothing, but then you catch it - a faint, rhythmic thumping, like a heartbeat echoing through the darkness.

"It's coming from that way," Wednesday says, pointing down a side passage branching off from the main corridor. "We need to follow it."

As you and Wednesday move deeper into the shadowy realm behind the mirror, the atmosphere grows heavier and more oppressive with each step. The thumping sound grows louder, more insistent, echoing through the dark corridors like a macabre heartbeat.

Wednesday's brow furrows in concentration, her eyes scanning the walls for any clue or hidden passage. She moves with a predatory grace, her steps silent and purposeful as she navigates the twisting labyrinth.

Suddenly, she stops, her hand shooting out to grab your arm. "Look," she hisses, her breath hot against your ear.

You follow her gaze to where the wall seems to ripple and shift, like water disturbed by an unseen hand. As you watch, a shape begins to emerge from the shadows - the outline of a door, its surface covered in the same eerie symbols that adorn the key in Wednesday's hand.

Wednesday's grip on your arm tightens, her nails digging into your skin. "This is it," she breathes, her voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "The final challenge."

Wednesday's hand trembles slightly as she raises the key, the metal glinting in the eerie light emanating from the walls. With a deep breath, she fits the key into the lock, the symbols aligning with a satisfying click.

As the lock disengages, the door creaks open, revealing the room they’d started in.

"That was... impressive," she says, turning to face you. "I mean, it was still an escape room, but at least it had some real challenges. Whoever designed this clearly knows their stuff."

You step forward, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of your mouth. "You're welcome," you say, pulling the carefully wrapped package from behind your back. "Happy birthday, Wednesday."

Wednesday's eyes widen as she takes in the small, rectangular shape of the gift. She reaches out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the smooth paper. "What is it?"

"Open it and see," you encourage, handing her the package.

Wednesday tears into the wrapping paper with gusto, revealing the pristine leather cover of the book underneath. Her eyes widen as she reads the title embossed in gold lettering: "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe.

"Is this...?" she breathes, running her fingers reverently over the ancient binding. "A first edition? Y/N… How much did you spend-��� She begins, ready to scold you.

“-I stole it.”

Wednesday's eyes snap up to meet yours, her expression a mix of shock and awe. "You... you stole this for me?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, but there's an undercurrent of something else beneath the surface - something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"That's right," you confirm, stepping closer to her. "I knew how much you loved Poe, and I wanted to give you something truly special for your birthday. Something no one else could ever give you."

Wednesday's gaze drops back to the book, her fingers caressing the leather cover with a reverence that borders on obsessive. "This is... incredible," she murmurs, almost to herself. "I can't believe you'd go to such lengths for me."

You reach out, gently tilting her chin up to meet your eyes once more. "Of course I would," you say softly, your voice low and intimate. "You're worth it, Wednesday. More than worth it."

Wednesday's breath hitches as your fingers brush against her skin, her dark eyes searching yours for any sign of deception or ulterior motive. But all she sees is sincerity, and maybe something deeper - a longing that mirrors her own.

"Why?" she asks, her voice barely audible. "Why would you do this for me?"

You lean in closer, your lips nearly brushing against her ear. "Because I care about you, Wednesday," you murmur, your breath warm against her skin. "More than I've ever cared about anyone else. And I wanted to prove it to you, in a way that no one else could."

Wednesday's heart pounds in her chest, her body responding to your proximity in ways she didn't know were possible. She's always prided herself on her emotional detachment, her ability to remain unaffected by the whims and fancies of others. But with you, she feels herself crumbling, her carefully constructed walls beginning to fall away.

Wednesday's breath catches in her throat as your lips brush against her ear, your whispered confession sending a jolt of electricity through her body. For a moment, she's frozen, her mind reeling as she tries to process the intensity of the moment.

But then, slowly, she raises her hand, her fingers coming to rest gently against your chest. She can feel the steady thrum of your heartbeat beneath her palm, a reminder of the life and warmth that lies beneath your skin.

"Y/N," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "I... I don't know what to say."

You pull back just enough to meet her gaze, your eyes dark with desire and something deeper, more profound. "You don't have to say anything," you murmur, your hand coming up to cup her cheek. "Just let me show you."

And then, before she can react, you're leaning in, your lips capturing hers in a kiss that steals the breath from her lungs. Wednesday's eyes flutter closed, her body melting into yours as she surrenders to the sensation of your mouth moving against hers.

Wednesday's mind reels as the kiss deepens, her senses overwhelmed by the taste and feel of your lips against hers. She's kissed you before, of course - quick, furtive pecks stolen in the dark corners of school. But nothing like this. Nothing that makes her feel so alive, so utterly consumed by the other person.

Your hand moves from her cheek to the back of her neck, your fingers tangling in the silky strands of her hair. Wednesday lets out a soft moan, her body arching into yours as her hands come up to grip your shoulders. She's never felt so wanted, so desired, and it's both thrilling and terrifying all at once.

For a long moment, Wednesday is lost in the sensation of your kiss, her mind going blank as she succumbs to the heat of your touch. But then, with a sudden surge of willpower, she pulls away, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.

Wednesday's eyes snap open, her gaze locked with yours as she tries to regain her composure. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss, and she can feel a warmth spreading through her body that has nothing to do with the heat of the moment.

—

[thedevilspearl]

asking them stupid questions — all brothers

a/n: having a hard time writing smut atm so here’s some silly headcanons with the brothers. i was really tired when i proofread this so there may be some mistakes.

tags: 2k words, no gender specified, reader x lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub + belphegor. (belphie’s is a little suggestive).

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑

lucifer has had enough.

it’s been a long day and he wished for a quiet night in his office to relax with some tea while overlooking the bills his brothers have riled up.

but he’s quite distracted tonight.

peace and quiet is not an option. especially with you loitering, floating around his office and touching all the trinkets and décor. you’ve never shown interest in them before, but tonight, all of a sudden lucifer’s office is the most inviting place in the world.

“mc?”

“yes, honey?”

“is something the matter.”

there is a painstakingly long silence before you answer. “….no.”

letting out a little sigh, he asks, “are you quite sure?”

you hum with a subtle nod, barely looking him in the eye and he is now certain something is wrong.

“mc, please. if you aren’t feeling well, you can tell me about it. you don’t need to make this difficu—”

“would you still love me if i was a worm?”

“what?” lucifer’s voice croaks.

“it’s just that i felt sad thinking about how you might not love me anymore if one day i turned into a worm and couldn’t turn back into me.”

“mc, in what world would you ever turn into a worm?”

“most likely this one. remember that time mammon accidentally turned me into a sheep in spells class? i was cute as a sheep, so it was okay. but as a worm, i’d be small and slimy and gross. i’d be unloveable.”

“that is enough,” he rises from his chair, speaking with command but still gentle enough to not upset you further. “you shouldn’t think of such things. it is so silly of you to think i would ever stop loving you.”

“luci….”

“if i must spell it out for you, then yes. i would still love you if you were a worm and i would carry you everywhere with me to ensure you’re never lost or hurt. i would need something small and protective to carry you in, but yes. i will always love you.”

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍

“if there was a zombie apocalypse and i was bitten, what would you do?”

“hah?!” mammon’s face contorts at your random question. “what are ya talking about?”

“i’ve been thinking about that movie we watched….the zombie one. and just wondered what it would be like.”

“gave up on surviving already, did ya?” he chuckles, collapsing onto his bed beside you, his hand resting on your waist.

“no, but i wanna know! what would you do if i turned into a zombie?”

“well….what are the options?” his smirk earns him a playful smack on the chest. “hey! i’m serious. i’ll be so sad that i won’t be able to think straight, so ya need to give me some options.”

“fine,” you pout, scratching your brain for solutions. “i suppose the most humane thing to do would be to kill me. you know, to make sure i’m not forced to live as a mindless zombie eating other humans.”

“okay….”

“or you could tie me up, maybe chain me, and keep me alive by feeding me living people.”

“why would i keep ya around if you’re gonna stink like a rotting corpse?”

while mammon laughs, your brows furrow with annoyance, mostly feigned but there’s a small sense of hurt in there when you think about mammon not wanting to keep you after you turn into a zombie, despite it being completely logical and reasonable.

“hey,” his voice is soft as he leans over and kisses your cheek, “don’t worry. i’d handcuff us together and let you bite me. then we can be zombies together and never be separated.”

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍

movie night always means one thing, and that’s you and levi curling up with tangled limbs and a hoard of cushions and blankets. a joint blanket burrito with little space between you but that’s a good thing.

the closeness makes it cosier.

tonight, you opted for a more emotional movie. a romance, but romances are always emotional for both of you. that’s why you try your best to stay away from the romantic movies and stick to action packed fantasies or sci-fi’s that are the furthest thing from romance.

but there was a new and popular movie making the headlines and levi couldn’t wait to watch it. you knew watching it was a lost hope, and now you’re sobbing in levi’s arms watching the struggles the love interests are going through to get to each other.

“i’m so glad it wasn’t that difficult for us to be together,” you sniffle, feeling a wave of gratitude take over. “i love you, levi.”

“i love you, too,” his voice trembles and he quietly wipes his own tears.

“hey, levi?”

“what is it?”

“can i wipe my nose on you?”

“what? no!”

too late. you buried your head into his chest, wiping your face clean and covering his favourite shirt in snot.

“gross!”

“i’m sorry. i wanted to get a tissue but they’re too far away. i didn’t want to leave the burrito.”

“it’s fine,” he grumbles, begrudgingly patting you on the head to tell you it’s okay despite ruining his shirt. “let’s finish the movie.”

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍

“would you still love me if i told you the truth?”

satan tries to hide his piqued interest, like he usually does. he likes to come off as the too–cool–to–show–i–care kind of guy but the truth is, he is more invested in this truth than anything else.

he nonchalantly turns the page of his book and with a swipe of his tongue over his lips, he asks, “what truth?”

“that i’m really a lizard.”

well, he wasn’t expecting that.

he watches you intently over the pages of his book. you stop pacing around the library and make your way to him, showing no expression on your face. usually, he would be quite good at reading your face but in all honesty, he can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

“a lizard?”

you nod. “a lizard.”

“you don’t look like a lizard.”

“that’s because i’m a lizard pretending to be a human.”

“a what now?” he shuts his book, sitting upright from his laid position. he tried his hardest not to give in to your silly but mysterious notion but he is far more interested in your explanation.

“you know about the lizard people, right?”

“i do not.”

“so i just exposed myself for nothing?”

“what in the devildom are you talking about?”

“it doesn’t matter. forget i said anything. if anyone finds out i told you, i could get killed.”

“please tell me that isn’t true.”

silence.

you refuse to even look him in the eye. surely, you are joking. there’s no way you’re really a lizard, let alone it be possible for lizards to be secretly living inside of humans. what kind of conspiracy would that be?

it’s unimaginable, even for demons. but whether the lizard thing is true or he’s falling for a joke, you still need an answer to your question.

“yes,” he pulls you into his side. “i would still love you if you were really a lizard.”

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒

“asmo,” you sing the demon of lust’s name, catching the attention that he would devote to you at any given moment. “can i ask you something?”

“go ahead, my dearest. fire away.”

he winks, hoping it would be something on the more flirtatious side, but instead you fill his mind with a grotesque image.

“what would you do if you could never touch me again?”

he immediately smothers you with a hug. “what are you talking about?! of course, that would never happen!”

“but what if?” you snuggle into him further. “what if you could never touch me?”

he hums, thinking of any solution to be able to touch you again.

“i’d cry,” he says simply. “i’d cry a lot.”

“aww,” you pout. “i don’t want you to cry.”

“and i don’t want to imagine a world where i can’t hold you like this,” he kisses your lips, “where i can’t kiss you like this,” he lifts up your hand and intertwines your fingers with his, “where i can’t hold your hand like this.”

“asmo….”

“i don’t know what would ever cause me to never be able to touch you again, but it would be the end of my world if it came true. i don’t know if i’d be able to live.”

“you’d still be able to see me and speak to me.”

“but not being able to touch you when i see you and hear you is the most painful torture imaginable. but you know what that means, right?”

“what does it mean?” you squeal and his hands tickle your sides.

“it means i need to do all the touching i can now to make up for it!”

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁

“hey, beel?”

“yeah?”

your quiet voices fill the dark path home from rad. beel always walks you home; be it in comfortable silence or deep conversations, you don’t imagine walking home any other way.

and the quiet air of the evening provides the perfect chance to ask him a question you’ve been waiting to ask all day.

“can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

“if i had five million cheeseburgers and you could only eat them if you slapped me in the face, what wou—”

“i’d slap you in the face.”

“i didn’t even finish my question.” you yelp, brows furrowing in frustration.

“you don’t need to finish it. i’d do anything to eat that many cheeseburgers.”

your feet plant in the ground and beel doesn’t stop walking until your hand which holds his pulls him back.

“are you serious?”

“uhmm….i think so?”

you’re grateful for the fact that he’s rethinking his answer but it was a shock to hear him say he’d slap you so firmly in the beginning. it was a stupid question to ask in the first place, but you never imagined beel ever wanting to hurt you.

he tugs on your hand and you continue walking with him, picking up the pace to get home.

“mc….” he asks. “did i say something wrong?”

his obliviousness to his own words is a harder slap in the face than the slap he promised those five million burgers.

“you said you’d slap me, beel, and it makes me sad.”

“hm….we can go halfsies on the burgers?”

“huh?”

“i’ll slap you and then we can share the burgers.” he promises. “you’d feel bad because i slapped you. and i’d feel bad because i slapped you. so to make it better for both of us, we can split the cheeseburgers.”

you look at him, astounded because you don’t know if his explanation makes his answer better or worse.

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑

a cuddling session in the attic with belphegor is exactly what you needed after a long, draining day. you naturally made your way up to him as soon as you had some free time, desperate for his warmth.

but belphie had a different warmth in mind with all the kisses he litters up and down your neck.

“belphie, i’m tired.” you whine, but still urge him on to kiss you harder.

“then close your eyes. i’ll kiss you until you fall asleep.”

your heart swarms with the thrill of his words, the promise of being here and showering you with affection even on your worst days.

“is something wrong?” he asks.

“no. why?”

“you’re not falling asleep.”

“that’s because you’re kisses are keeping me awake.”

“they’re meant to help you fall asleep.”

“i hate to break it to you belphie, but they’re having the opposite effect.” you tease.

“is that so?” he nibbles you ear. “what about this?”

you arch into his body, sensitive from his kisses and now the more urgent movements of his lips ignite a fire in your belly. his lips graze you, teeth nip you and tongue swipe over your skin. he sucks hard enough to leave bruises, and kisses softly on every mark he leaves.

“belphie….” the soft whisper of his name catches his attention. “how many ghosts do you think are watching us right now?”

he ceases for a moment, then lifts his head from the crook of your neck. “what?”

“what if there’s ghosts watching us right now? and what if they keep watching us while we….you know….?”

“i never thought of that before.”

“it’s weird, right?”

“definitely. let’s never have sex again.”

[obbystars]

It hurts to be something, it’s worse to be nothing with you.

NOTES: dividers by @cafekitsune !!

( Written before 2.2 / Kinda short tbh / Boothill may be OOC / not really angst as it turns into fluff tbh / I blame this / title was chosen because I was listening to the song at the time / GN!Reader )

It took a while for Boothill to even get used to this new life, or new body. Every time he looked at himself, he’s reminded of what was stolen from him. For a time, he hated his body. He sometimes wished he stayed dead. He feels so cold. He didn’t… He never wanted this, though as time passed, he grew accustomed to it. He eventually accepted it, but it never stopped those thoughts from worming their way back into his head.

He doesn’t quite feel… human. Nothing about him truly felt human.

“Boothill? You still there?” The voice was barely above a whisper.

“Hm?”

The gentle beating of a heart entered his ears. He felt warm. He felt a warm hand gently rubbing his face. Another hand was playing with a few strands of his hair before it was now gently brushing it. He opened his eyes, finding himself in an all too familiar room. One he had always looked forward to going back to once he finally had time to spare.

And underneath him? His favorite person, of course. Someone he always looked forward to seeing again, to spending more time with. He looks up at you, and you took note of his expression.

“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head, burying his face into your chest and closing his eyes again, “No, no ya didn’t... Don’t worry ‘bout it,”

His arms were wrapped securely around your waist, trapping you in bed with him. You wiggled around in his grip for a bit to get a bit comfortable, resulting in you having to move him further up. His face was now in the crook of your neck.

Was he crushing you? Surely if he was, you would’ve said something or even tried to nudge him away. Were you cold? He hoped not… You did sometimes push him off of you because he was too cold. Sometimes he wishes he could provide you the warmth you always give him, but it’s not like he can feel it anywhere else other than his face. He hated that.

“You okay?” You questioned, your voice snapping him back to reality.

His answer was only a faint hum this time. He feels your hand brush his hair again, and you swear you can just feel him melt under your touch. It surprised you sometimes. A brash, flamboyant Galaxy Ranger, always full of energy and ready for the next journey across the stars almost turning into mush once your hands meet him. It was something you picked up on very quickly, and it didn’t take as long for you to realize why he reacts this way.

“Does it bother you?”

Your hands stop moving through the white strands, “Does what bother me?”

“This… My body. Does it-”

“No. Not at all,” you suddenly cut in, “You get cold sometimes, but that doesn’t bother me. Why do you ask?”

“…it’s nothin’,”

You turn your head to face him, nuzzling him knowing he can feel you there, “Well… It definitely is something, but… Whenever you’re ready, I’m all ears,”

He can feel you gently press a kiss on his head, and another, and another, and another. The only place where he can feel you, and you were practically showering him with small kisses.

He feels warm, especially when he’s with you. Maybe that’s why he always looks forward to moments like this with you because for once, even if it’s just for a moment, he feels human.

ehhh, this felt better in my head but oh well, I just really wanted to write Boothill

I don’t regularly post fics or hcs like this but maybe I’ll make a silly side blog for it if I do find myself wanting to write so much more for Boothill ( I literally love him so much )

[italiansteebie]

so the thing is.

steve really really wants this teddy bear.

he was never allowed stuffed animals as a child and had taken it upon himself to build that collection and nurture that part of him. and he's got quite a few now, most of them sit in his closet, save for a few under his bed for easy access, but he keeps them hidden.

because if anyone saw them, if the kids saw them, well. then he'd have to explain. and then it'd go from a funny "make fun of steve" moment to a "steve had a horrible childhood" moment.

so he hides them.

but not as well as he thought.

because eddie has seen the fuzzy little creatures in passing. seen their heads poking out from under his covers, caught glimpses of them tucked away in steve's closet.

and he thought it was cute.

he knew steve didn't have a great childhood, and hey. the guy deserved some soft things in life. eddie too, had some stuffed animals smooshed in with his bedding. so sue him, he likes to be cozy, and those little guys make him comfy.

and he too saw the teddy bear.

and saw the way steve looked at it.

it was pretty cute, eddie has to admit. it was a pretty big bear, soft pink, with a little white bow around its neck.

it was much more... childlike. than steve's others.

but.

the way steve looked at it. it was like he was watching a soldier come home from war. breifly eddie wonders if it looked like something from when steve was a kid, but he didn't delve deeper. he'd make himself too sad.

so he made a plan.

---

steve would never admit it, but he was heartbroken, having to leave that teddy bear like that.

but he was with the kids.

and robin.

and eddie.

and he couldn't exactly just go buy it. he couldn't give his usual excuse that it was a gift for the kids if the kids were with him, it just wouldn't work.

so he gave it up.

but it didn't stop him from thinking about it.

it just looked so soft. and maybe he was touched starved, and maybe this was his way of solving that. and maybe that wasn't "healthy." but it worked for him. and damnit. steve wanted that goddamn teddy bear.

it had been 2 days since steve saw the bear, and it was still knocking around in his mind. so he decided to go and get it. he had the plot in his head, it was a gift for holly wheeler if anyone saw him, and yes, he would like it gift wrapped please and thank you. and so he brushed his hair, and grabbed his keys.

and he swung open the door and came face to face with none other than eddie munson, bag in hand, fist raised, ready to knock.

"hey eds! i was just about to go get... uh. i. run some errands..." steve cringed at the awkward sentence, luckily for him, eddie paid it no mind.

"steve! can i come in? let's hang!" eddie left no room for an answer and pushed his way past steve into the large house.

"wh- eddie! i was about to leave," and he did not whine. he didn't.

"too bad, steve-o. i already ordered the pizza!"

"you pre ordered a pizza? to my house?"

"yeah. now come sit. put on a movie."

and well. steve relented, eddie wormed his way into his home and his heart and so what if he had a crush on the metal head. he was just a boy! he was allowed to have crushes, okay, robin?

so he sat.

and put on a movie.

and the pizza got there.

and they ate.

the sun was going down, and steve's eyes were slipping closed in the peace when eddie jumped up. "i almost forgot!"

steve jolted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "what?"

"i got you a present," eddie sang, waving the bag steve had spotted when he first got to his house. steve eyed him suspiciously, "what is it?" he questioned, reaching towards the bag.

"just open it steve!" eddie said, flopping back down on the couch, kicking his feet as he watched steve.

steve pulled back the tissue paper, and caught just a glimpse of the soft pink fur, and he stopped. "eddie..." he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. "open it up, stevie." eddie encouraged gently.

steve pulled the bear from the bag, "oh my god," he whispered, brushing a hand over the bears head, before squeezing it against his chest, eyes shut tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

eddie smiled, placing a gentle hand on steve's shoulder.

"thank you, how- how did you know?"

"i saw you looking at it. i couldn't just let you leave it."

"eddie..."

steve sighed gently, eyes shining, peering up at eddie through his eyelashes, "i can't tell you how much i appreciate this." and with that he threw his arms around the metal head, the teddy bear squished in between them. steve pulled away, eyes locking with eddie's.

"steve, can- i hope what i'm about to ask doesn't... ruin anything, i just. can i kiss you?"

"please," steve breathed, lips meeting and eyes fluttering closed. it was soft, and sweet, and it felt like... home. eddie pulled away, steve letting out a soft whine as he does. eddie cupped his face, letting his thumb run gently over the softness of steve's cheek.

"i have wanted to do that since you carried me out of hell."

"i'm happy you didn't wait any longer because i've been wanting to kiss you since you had that bottle pressed against my neck."

"stevie, so scandalous." eddie gasped, giggling in unison with steve.

the fluffy hair boy stood, grabbing eddie's hand and pulling him with him. "i wanna show you something."

steve led eddie through the house, quiet before coming to a door, "this was my nonna's room, when she would come to visit. it didn't happen that often. but i loved it when she was here. she taught me how to cook, how to speak italian. she was my best friend for a really long time." steve spoke softly, trailing around the now plain room. eddie followed him, hanging onto his every word. they stopped in front of an old photo.

there was a young woman, holding a bear that looked very similar to the one he had just bought steve. "this is my nona when she was young. and that... that was her friend. i always called him bobbie. i don't... know why, but that was his name. and she brought him every time she visited. but she always took it home... because she knew my dad would take it away," steve's voice cracked, and eddie wrapped his arms around him, showing his support.

"she was buried with him. and. i lost two friends that day."

eddie moved to hug steve from the front, letting him bury his head in his neck. "i'm sorry you lost them, stevie."

steve pulled away slightly, "you brought them back." he whispered. and it felt like a confession of something more serious. and eddie was all in.

they shared another soft kiss, sealing in the beginning of something beautiful.

that night they slept in the same bed, the soft pink bear wedged between them.

[gunaerystargarygun]

The brain worms continue to infest my brain.

Posted on Ao3, but posting here as well: Here's my contribution to the Stan x Reader genre.

Tags: Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, porn with mild plot, c'mon you guys know me at this point.

Know When to Fold 'Em

"Thanks for all your help, you're doin great, dood!" Soos's voice is full of pride, contentment as you hand over small zipped bag, the profits of the day. You smile, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Soos, you've told me that every day for the past two years."

"And I mean it every time! Can't imagine runnin' this place without ya," he beams at you, his crooked smile making your own smile grow a little larger. Despite him being a few years younger than you, he makes a fantastic boss. "Can't believe Mr. Pines thought you was gonna be useless when I hired ya."

Well, that makes the smile drop.

You met Mr. Pines, well, both Mr. Pines when you got a job here at the shack, cashier and handyperson. A little odd, yes, but you needed the job and for a tourist trap? The place paid well enough, you could afford a small house and just about everything else you needed. You tap your foot, pressing your lips together. "Soos, not that I don't appreciate the words of encouragement, but you don't have to be up here." You throw a thumb over your shoulder and gesture to the shack. "I'm sure Melody could use your help with the baby."

"You sure? I feel kinda bad leavin' you here with all the clean up and restocking." Just as you're about to assure him that you're more than capable of restocking bobble heads and putting out minimally designed bumper stickers, the doorbell chimes and another voice breaks in. "Don't worry about it, Soos. I'll make sure everything gets put back in its place." The old Mr. Mystery poses in front of you. He stands tall, a rather tacky Hawaiian shirt with luau girls and surfboards plastered on it, a pair of khakis completing the look. He stretches his arms out in a flourish, making his entrance more grand.

You roll your eyes slightly, it's the same every time he comes into the shack, which...has been quite a lot, recently. "I haven't had a complaint once," you remark as Stanley begins to look around the place.

"That's cause Soos is too nice of a boss," he says, running his finger along the underside of the checkout counter. "See all this dust? Unbelievable!" He sticks out a finger towards your face, which you squint at.

"There's nothing there."

"To the untrained eye, maybe! This place may as well be covered in mud." You grumble an unhappy sound before Soos speaks up again. "Ah c'mon, Mr. Pines, they're a great worker!" Soos' arm comes around you in a one sided hug, squeezing you tight against his side. "Say, you been around a lot." Soos relaxes his grip on you, which lets you take in a deep breath. "You miss runnin' the shack?"

"What? No, no." He waves a hand dismissively. "Just makin' sure my life's work is still up and runnin', you know. Plus, the kids loved this place."

That was true. You had the pleasure of meeting the twins at the start of this summer. The girl, Mabel, was charming as all get out - she even made you a sweater, which you promised to wear in the colder months. The young boy, Dipper? A little surly. You swore he was running tests on when you weren't looking, or was trying to, anyway. At least by the end of the summer, whatever anxiety he had about you seemed to wash away.

"Okay! I'm gonna trust this place to yous guys. Lock up!" Soos waves his goodbyes, disappearing from the gift shop and somewhere into the house.

"I can handle this, you know?" You make your way to the small storage closet, taking out a box and ripping it open.

"I'm sure you can," he shrugs his shoulders. "Just makin' sure you do it right." Stanley then makes his way behind the register and takes a seat. You stand, blinking.

"What?" He asks.

"Aren't you going to help?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm not helpin' like that. I'm supervisin' ya," he laughs, slapping his own knee before propping them up on the counter.

You don't know why you expected anything different. You've known Stanley for the better part of two years and while he certainly has his redeeming qualities, being extra helpful isn't one of them. You sigh, and begin unpacking the restocks.

To your surprise, Stan is the one who strikes up the conversation. It's simple questions at first, how the shack has been, the types of tourists that've been coming around, and how Soos has been running the place. Whenever you think you finish with an answer, he probes for me, and you notice, his eyes stay on you a large majority of the time.

You feel your face flush a little with that.

Finally, the restocking is done, and you get the broom. Minimal housekeeping; the weather has been dry, so no mud. "You got any plans tonight?" The question catches you off guard, making you turn completely around to face Stan.

"Uh, other than eating a frozen pizza? No. Why?"

"Wanna play a couple round of cards?" He stuffs his hands in his khaki pockets, shrugging, as if he doesn't care how you answer the question. The way he shifts his attention to the floor, however, makes you think otherwise. "Ford's out on a nature hike, or whatever it is that nerds do in the woods, so I got no plans myself."

"Sure." You answer. "Sounds like fun, and beats eating the pizza alone."

By the look of quick surprise, he clearly wasn't expecting you to say yes. He shrugs it off fast enough, shooting a finger gun at you. "Perfect! What's the address? I'll be over at seven." You grab a pen and paper, scribbling it down and passing it over.

Huh, this'll be the first time he sees your house. You think that you better clean up a little bit, not that you think he'd particularly care, but still.

It takes very little to actually clean up your house. A few stray pieces of clothing that make it to the hamper (you missed each time you threw it in, but who's here to see?) and washing a few of the dishes. Just as you finish putting the pizza in, there's a knock at your door.

You hurry up, stopping at the mirror in the hallway just before the door, and look at yourself. You smooth out your shirt, nodding and opening the door.

Stanley stands on your porch with a twelve pack in one hand and two bottles of liquor, held precariously by the neck, in the other. He's still in the same outfit from earlier, but the top few buttons are undone. Were they like that earlier? "Figured it'd be impolite if I only brought it for myself," he shrugs the pack in his arm a little, the bottles clinking together. He glances around. "Nice place."

"Thanks," you say, stepping to the side and letting him in. "Just set it on the table." You watch as he strides through your house, the pack of alcohol landing with a thump while the bottles settle down nicely. He pulls out a chair, easing into it as he props up a foot on one of his knees. The way he leans against the table...

"Where's the cards?" You clear your throat, sliding out a chair across from him and taking a seat. You need something else to distract you.

"Right here," he sticks a hand in his pocket and pulls out a rather beat-up-looking deck of cards and slaps them on the table. "You shuffle, or me?" You eye the cards for a moment, reaching out and grabbing the deck.

"I will." The cards are pleasantly worn, and you can't help but wonder how much use these things have gotten. "Go easy on me? Been a while since I played."

"First rounds are on me," he nods. "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes." He playfully points an accusatory finger at you.

"I know, I know." You cut the deck, shuffling them thoroughly before dealing them out.

It's...pleasant. You didn't expect it to be unpleasant, to be fair, but aside from the one off times of drinking, there's a handful of times when the two of you have been alone together. Stan takes the time to tell you a wild tale of when he was a "much younger buck,"  when he managed to steal a shipment of some undisclosed items from a smuggler. It's amusing, even if it isn't real. You can never tell with him.

Eventually, the oven dings and the pizza is ready. It's served, and you bring two glasses out as well. Before the beer, Stan reaches for the liquor and twists off the cap. "Want one?" You press your lips together, thinking for a moment.

"Hit me." It's a guesstimate on how much a shot would be. Or maybe two.

Either way, you wait until Stan pours his before clinking your glasses together and downing it. Whiskey may not be your go-to, especially when it's warm, but the burn in your throat has a familiar comfort. You cough a little, shaking your head and nodding. "Strong." You comment.

"That's the point." He says. Stan sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers as a sign to hand the cards over. You do, still reeling from the shot as you fish out a bottle of beer. It goes down much easier than the whiskey.

You try very hard to not stare at his hands, but it's difficult. It wasn't something you noticed immediately, but Stan's hands are.... big. Large. Pretty much every synonym for big is how you would describe them, and you vaguely recall the one time you touched them as you passed him something in the shop. They were rough, calloused, but also incredibly warm.

You're not drunk enough to blame that thought on the alcohol right now, so you just push it from your mind as he deals the cards.

Once again, things go back to being pleasant. You nurse your beer as the cards continue to get played, one bottle quickly multiplying between the two of you, along with the cash piling in the center of the table. The conversation steers to him telling you about the adventures he had with the Twins, an endearing tone in his voice that you can't help but smile at. The pizza gets devoured, and when you glance up to the clock, you realize that it's almost eleven o'clock. Have you really been here this long?

That's when it clicks in your alcohol muddled brain.

Stan is lonely. He's been in the shop almost every day for the past week, since the twins left, and even before then, he and the twins were around quite a bit. It would make sense, he went from being around them, his brother, Soos's family, and you for almost three months straight. You look down at the cards, your focus fading for a moment before he speaks.

"Think I mighta run you outta money," he gestures to the table. Your attention turns to it and yeah, there's a decent pile of cash on it. You're pretty sure there's also monopoly money in there, but you're a little too drunk to really notice. "Got anything else to bet?" You think for a moment, tapping the table.

"M'clothes." You answer, plainly. He stares at you.

"Uh, didn't quite catch that?"

"M'CLOTHES." You say it in a louder tone, making sure he can hear it this time. "S'all I got, I'm not up for bettin' my appliances." You point at the blender that sits atop the counter.

"C'mon," he rubs at the back of his neck. "That'd involve me takin' my clothes off too, you don't wanna see that."

"What if I told you that's why I suggested it?" holy shit, why are you saying this? Why are you suddenly so bold, what the hell is in this drink?

"I'd tell ya, you should stop teasin' an old man." You grab the deck of cards, shuffling them in the absolutely worst way ever before slamming them back on the table and pushing them over to him. "Deal 'em."

"You're too drunk for this." The rather sincere reply catches you off guard.

"No, I'm not." You say, stern in your rebuttal. "Look." You jump to your feet, a little wobbly, and begin putting one foot in front of the other, walking a line in the linoleum of your kitchen. While you're not walking perfectly straight, you're doing better than expected. You think so, anyway. "See? I'm f-" just as you're about to finish your sentence, you perform the miraculous feat of tripping over air. You fall a freshly logged tree.

You expect to crash to the floor in the most painful crash since the last time you went to the roller rink, but you never meet the ground. Slowly, you open your eyes, staring up at him. You must have spun in your fall, his hands tucked under your armpits. "What were you sayin' about bein sober enough?" Oh, he's so fucking smug about this.

"I trip on nothin' all the time, drinkin' doesn't have anything to do with this." you weakly shrug your hands, but this close, you catch the smell on him. Mixed with the alcohol, you can catch the scent of cigar smoke, but something faintly woodsy and earthy. It takes everything in you to not sniff at the air. "Uh-huh." he chuckles.

There's a brief moment of silence that passes over the two of you. He doesn't make a move to pull you up, but you're not making a move to get up, either. Instead, you raise a hand and gently press it against his cheek. "You're handsome." You mumble.

"Oh, you're fuckin' wasted."

That makes you twist in his grip. You manage to push yourself to your knees, putting your face just a few inches away from his. "Stop talkin' like I don't mean it."

"You don't mean it."

"I mean this." You grab the sides of his tacky Hawaiian shirt and pull him forward. Your lips crash against his, not realizing how hard you pulled him into you. The scrape of his stubble burns against your chin, a slight shiver running through you. There's the faint taste of tobacco that lingers on him, the chapped skin of his lips. It isn't how you expected this to happen, but to be quite frank, you didn't think this was ever going to happen.

It's only a moment later that you realize he hasn't made a move to kiss you back. He hasn't done anything. You quickly pull back, embarrassed. Why did you do that? God, you're never drinking again. You're not even an alcoholic, and you're planning to go to a 12 step program the second you get sober enough to drive. Your mind races - where else could you move? Maybe the Arctic, right? That's far enough way, that way you c-

You're actually not even far away from him before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his broad chest. You squeak in surprise, hands resting on his thick thighs as he deepens the kiss.

Even through the clothes, he's hot, almost like a furnace. He's burning against you, and this kiss. It makes you dizzy, head spinning. There's a hunger in the kiss, a desperation that you don't think you've ever felt when you kissed other people. His hand holds a tight grip on you, squeezing your side, and you practically melt right into him.

It's a little awkward at first before you two manage to change your positions; neither one of you is keen on breaking the kiss. Eventually, you end up sitting on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, he sits on the kitchen floor. Shifting, you can feel the hardness of his cock beneath the fabric of the khakis.

Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt. They don't make it far, Stan's hands gripping your wrist. He's somehow even stronger than you expected, your stomach flipping at the pressure. He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, panting. You're expecting him to say something filthy, something that's going to make you squirm in his lap.

"Say your alphabet," is what he says instead.

What.

"What?" You ask.

"Say your alphabet," he repeats. "Not sleepin' with ya if you're not in the right state of mind."

"I walked, didn't I?"

"You fell."

Okay, fair enough.

So, you recite your alphabet. It's deliberate, and it's not too slow to cause any concern. As soon as you finish, he releases your wrists and grabs your shirt. It's the fastest your shirt has ever been removed, Stan's face immediately between your tits as soon as he's able. The stubble scratches as your skin, laughing slightly as he plants kisses against your chest. His hands reach around to your back, and you expect him to have trouble with it.

It's off before you can even blink.

"You're suspiciously good at that," you say.

"Aww, you jealous?" He laughs, sliding the bra off and tossing it somewhere behind him. "Don't worry, ain't nobody else gettin' the treatment you are."

"That's what you tell m-" you're cut off, Stan's tongue flicking against your nipple.

"Sayin' somethin', sweetheart?" He glances up, not giving you a chance to speak before he presses his mouth against your left nipple. You grab his shoulders, squirming against him as his tongue swirls around the hardened flesh. One arm wraps around your waist, grinding you against him while his free hand finds your other breast, kneading the flesh in his hand.

Your body feels like it's on fire under his touch. He plays with how much pressure he can put on you, rolling a nipple between his fingers while he sucks mercilessly on your other. Sweat beads on your brow, bucking against him while whimpering sounds escape you. "C'mon, sweetheart." He takes his mouth away from you, the cold air assaulting wet flesh. He playfully bucks his hips up, his cock grinding against you for just a moment. "Wanna hear what a good job I'm doin," he changes the arm that holds you against him, his other hand rising and brushing against the spit slickened skin.

Between the cold and his rough, calloused hand, you feel like you're already on the edge. "You aren't done already, are ya?"

"N-no," you mumble, tilting your head back and moaning as his mouth closes around the other nipple. Judging from the way his tongue flicks against your skin, he certainly appreciates the reaction. The way he sucks against your skin is greedy, teeth nipping at the skin. You're going to have bruises, you've accepted that. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair, running through the gray, surprisingly soft, hair.

Using everything you can muster, you grind yourself against him. He groans against your skin, the grip on your skin tightening. He pulls away from you with an obscene sound, the words practically a growl in his throat. "Where's the bed?"

"Down the hall, last door on the right."

He gives pause for a moment, thinking. "Too far." He decides, aloud. Before you can process what he says, you're suddenly scooped up. You wrap your arms around him, tits bouncing as he hoists you around him. You leave the kitchen, and in a few feet, you're tossed unceremoniously on the couch. Your hands find the button of your jeans, getting them half way down your thighs before Stan takes over. They're off before you can even blink, Stan settling between your thighs. He picks one up, hooking your leg over his shoulder while he presses a thumb against your soaked panties.

You're already trembling, and your entire body jumps as he presses his thumb against your clit, rotating it in small painfully slow circles. He leans over you, grinning. "You want somethin'?"

"You know what I want," you breathe, fingers gripping the couch cushion.

"'Fraid I don't, sweetheart. You're gonna have to tell me." He lets up on the pressure, eliciting a whine from you. "I want your fingers," you reach out, gently touching his arm.

He's happy to comply. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" There's that smug fuckin' tone in his voice again. You expect him to pull off your underwear, but it doesn't seem like he's patient enough for that. Instead, he pulls them to the side, his middle and ring fingers sliding up and down against your wet cunt.

"W-wait!" You sit up some as he presses against you. "It's, uh..." you clear your throat. "It's been a while." You feel almost embarrassed to admit it, but with how thick his fingers are, and two of them? You don't wanna run the risk of getting hurt. He pauses, offering just the middle one to you in compromise. You make a face, and he laughs before he raises the finger to his mouth. He presses it against his tongue before dipping it back between your thighs. "Don't think that would've been an issue," you murmur as you feel him begin to slide into you.

You tilt your face against the couch arm, moaning as he buries the finger inside of you. "Bein' careful doesn't hurt," that's true, and you do honestly appreciate the sentiment. He moves his hand in a steady rhythm, the other hand keeping your legs spread apart. You bite your lip, and after a few minutes, he judges that you're ready for another and adds the ringer finger inside of you.

It's thick, and stretches you in the best possible way. "Feels good, don't it?" He leans over you, his face just a few inches away from yours. You don't know why it slips out - maybe you lapse back into what you were taught when you were younger. "Y-yes, sir." You pant the words out.

Stan's fingers stutter for just a moment before he thrusts them back into you, a moan immediately muffled by his lips against yours. He curls his fingers in the same way as before, the way that made your body shake like a leaf in his hand. "Like the way that sounds comin' outta you," he says the words against your neck, pressing kisses against your rapid pulse.

You can't handle it anymore. "Stanley," your voice teeters on the edge of breaking, fingers twisting in the Hawaiian shirt fabric. "F-fuck, Stanley, I-I.." the words die in your throat as he suddenly removes his fingers from your cunt. "W-what?" The words come out a whine, grabbing the shirt tighter and moving your hips to try and find his hand. "Stan," you groan.

"I can't have you all tired out before we get to the good stuff," he tells you. His hands move to the belt, making quick work of it. He slips off the khakis, positioning himself between your legs again before pressing the shaft of his cock against you, sliding against the slickness. You look between your legs, the head of his cock dipping in against your cunt before his hand tilts it up, bumping against your overly sensitive clit.

You're dizzy, just like before. Your head swims, biting your lip as he teases you constantly, angling himself and barely pushing himself in before pulling out. "You're lookin' desperate, sweetheart." He does a poor job of concealing his own desire, unable to take his eyes off your body. "Fuck, you're drippin'." He grins at you. "Still got it, huh?"

You suddenly brace your arms against his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch and straddling his lap. "You talk too much," the words come out in one rushed breath as you reach between your legs and grab the base of his cock, holding him steady as you bury him inside of you. A stifled moan escapes you as your body adjusts to his size. One hand grabs your waist, stilling any movement you might make, while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "You alright?" You nod your head, your lips slightly pursed from how he squeezes your face.

"Good," he breathes, releasing your face. His hand drops to your chest, holding your breast. As soon as you roll your hips forward, Stan can't keep his mouth shut. "Shit, fuck," his eyes are half-lidded, head resting against the back of the couch as you ride him. "You're tight as a fuckin drum, and hotter than hell." You smile, bracing your hands against the couch as you snap your hips forward, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Both of his hands are on your tits, thumb brushing over the nipples. "Perfect," he mumbles out. Sweat beads across your body, Stan's hand eventually traveling downwards and finding your clit again. The moan rips from your throat as the calloused finger pads press against you, an almost aggressive rub against you - but it's exactly what your body wants. "There ya are," he practically purrs the words out as you lean down.

Your lips catch his, sloppy kisses without much care, as long as you can kiss him. Your burning in every sense of the word, body and nerves as Stan grabs your ass, timing your movements with his own thrusts. He somehow manages to go even deeper inside of you, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Stanley!" His name is barely above a whisper as he suddenly pushes you back against the cushions, back on top of you.

He takes a leg, hiking it over his shoulder and leaning over you, your body curling slightly. His pace is merciless, whatever words you had before devolving into incoherent moans of pleasure as they spill from your lips. It's when the orgasm wrecks your body that you swear to God, you see literal stars in your vision as you cum. Your body tenses, nails digging into his forearms so hard that you're a little worried you may draw blood. Stanley, somehow, has enough sense to pull himself from you, his cock sliding against you before he cums.

Thick, milky ropes land on your stomach and tits as he slows his thrusts, breathing heavily before slumping down over you. You're catching your own breath, a hand raising to his back and gently running up and down the now sweat soaked shirt.

"You good?" He asks, his voice somehow hoarser than before.

You can't really respond, offering a thumbs up in response.

"Huh, fucked you so good you lost the ability to talk huh?" Weakly, and playfully, you slap him.

"Asshole." He snorts, removing himself from you and sitting back against the couch. He looks at you. Then the mess on you. "Where's your shower?"

"Bathroom, which is in the bedroom." You yawn. Stan picks the boxes out of his khakis, sliding them on before bending beside you. "Put yer arms around me," you stare at him a moment. "C'mon, before I change my mind." You do as he says, looping your arms around his neck as his hands slide under your sweaty body, hoisting you up.

"Not too much for you, is it, old man?" You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I can still drop you, ya know?"

"Mhmm." You mumblr. He feigns the drop, your grip tightening on him.

"Gotcha." He winks at you, but at this point, you're too tired to really fight back. Stan manages to open the door to your room and find the bathroom, setting you on the closed toilet. He reaches into the shower, turning the knobs and keeping his hand in for a moment. "You want it on the hotter or colder side?"

"Uh, hotter." The question catches you off guard.

"Figures, every woman wants it hot as hell." He adjusts the knob behind the curtain, taking it back and shaking off the water. "What?" He asks, raising a brow as you make a face at him.

"Just, uh..." again, you're trying to avoid sounding like an asshole. "Didn't expect aftercare?

"I may be a lot of things, and one of those things may be an asshole, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He sets his hands on his hips and you can't help but snort a giggle. "Up." he tells you, offering an arm. You stand on wobbly legs, leaning against him.

"Not sure how this is gonna work." You admit. "Kinda feel like a newborn deer."

"I'm gonna help you," he says. "Also, get a new metaphor."

"That's a simile."

"Oh, look at me, I paid attention in English." He mocks in a joking tone. "Just.. stand here." You do as your told, watching as he unbuttons his top and shakes it off, revealing the sweat covered girdle that's still wrapped around his waist. "You kept that on the whole time?" That's...kind of impressive.

"Done a lot more uncomfortable things, sweetheart." He says. He drops the girdle on your bathroom floor, gesturing for you to get in the shower. You do, Stan offering his arm for support as he follows you in shortly after. He keeps an arm around you, just below your breasts, in case you slip.

It does make you feel safe. You take the washcloth, soaping it up and slowly begin to scrub your body. The hot water feels amazing on your tired body, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo. When you're happily scrubbed, you turn in Stan's arms. "Your turn." You say.

"What?"

"You need to get clean too," you tell him. You don't let him protest, reaching over to your shampoo and squirting a pump into your palm and scrubbing it onto his scalp. There may have been a moment of protest, but it falls off quickly. His eyes shut, letting you work as you comb through his thinning hair. You take a few steps back, turning as carefully as you can so that he's under the stream of water. You work diligently, ensuring all the soap is off before you apply the conditioner and repeat it. He's strangely quiet the entire time, and yet you notice, he's relaxed. It's the first time you think you've ever seen his body this loose.

You grab the washcloth again, soaping it up again before pressing it against his chest. Now that there's no risk of soap in his eyes, Stan cracks one of his eyes open and looks down at you. "You're sweet, y'know?"

"Mhm." You hum in response.

"Seriously," he says. His thumb and forefinger catch your chin, tilting you up to meet his gaze. He leans down, the kiss tender, soft.

There's no intent behind it than affection. Somehow, it makes you feel hotter than what happened in the kitchen. You know you have the dopiest smile on your face, but at the moment, you don't care. You drag the rag over his body, his stomach, everywhere you can as he holds you close to him. When he's finally rinsed, he turns off the shower and carefully helps you step out. A few towels later, you're dry, warm, and exhausted.

You have a few oversized t-shirts that you used to clean the house in, and you manage to find one that fits Stan. There's no way he's making it home tonight. In your own pajamas, you climb into bed as Stan sits on the side of it. "Oh this thing is way comfier than your couch, no offense." He tests the springs, looking at you. "Maybe next time we'll make it to the bed."

"I'll hold you to that," you laugh. "Not tonight, though."

"What a shame," he winks. "You, uh, actually fine with me sleeping in here?" You're getting comfortable beneath the sheets, resting your head on the pillow.

"Stan," you start. "You were literally inside me. You can sleep next to me."

"You'd be surprised how often those two things don't go hand in hand," he remarks off-handedly. Your face creases in worry, about to sit up before he reaches out and pushes you back down. "Story for another day." He pulls the sheets back, sliding in beside you and staring up at the ceiling. A shiver runs through you, scooting closer to him and hooking a leg over his. He raises an arm, putting it behind you so that you're able to rest your head against his chest. "Don't get used to this," you know he doesn't mean a word of that.

"Goodnight, Stan." You stretch, placing a kiss on his cheek. You settle back down, shutting your eyes.

Gently, you feel the ghost of a kiss on the top of your head. "Goodnight."

You fall asleep to his heartbeat, something you think you'd enjoy getting used to

[queenofallimagines]

Satan if you were a satanist before you arrived in the devildom

A/n: listennnn in between getting dragged by the Lucifer chat bots, writing two really long fics and having brain worms about this Au I’ve had so many thoughts and Satan has landed in my radar☺️ asmo and Simon are NEXT bc guardian angels are a whole DIFFERENT can of worms

I’m gunna use like ACTUAL satanic lore mixed in w the game lore

Satan:

- okay so boom

- Right off the bat he can tell you are different

- Sitting back waiting to see how you react to everyone

- Takes note you’re much more respectful to him than the rest

- Thought you were walking on eggshells because you were terrified of him but you ain’t scared at all

- You see through all his pranks

- “He’ll probably see that coming a mile away. Try moving it over here Lucifer don’t check there.”

- Color him impressed

- Does see you don’t really freak out like his brothers when he goes into one of his little rage fits

- When he offered to make the pact with you to piss Lucifer off you were really caught at a pass

- Like for one you technically already have a soft pact with him being a devotee

- But also you don’t want to disrespect him by saying no

- Choosing to not get on Lucifer’s bad side because you still do have a mission to do in that attic, soyou politely decline

- “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to make a pact with you that isn’t built on a mutual trust and understanding”

- He’s always told you to sniff out a trap and you were NOT falling for it

- Blinded by rage for not getting his way, that’s when he lashes out

- He feels something weird in his chest when he looks at you in that moment but he can’t quite understand it. Like a tugging feeling at the back of his head trying to tell him something

- When you get caught I. The middle of the whole “they’re the same person thing” you just roll your eyes

- “No shit they’re not the same person🙄😒 Satan and Lucifer couldn’t be more different, Lucifer is the morning star and Satan is more tricker than anything :/ crazy how yall don’t do research”

- Ngl he almost fell for you right then and there

- He cannot STAND that especially when humans call anything and everything Satan and refer to him and Lucifer like they’re the same person.

- Looks at you with star eyes for a second before sticking to you like glue. He’s very fascinated with you and wants to study you under a microscope

- Ask you if you’re like Solomon and have been studying for years

- Did you manage to get your hands on some devildom textbook somehow?

- Maybe even some texts form the celestial realm

- “Not really but that would be super cool to read.”

- He himself hates misinformation so you be correcting all the demon brothers with the quickness

- Lucifer is very annoyed and Satan is elated

- Notices you looking at him a lot, like you’re analyzing him

- Ofc he’s blunt and isn’t gunna beat around the bush he asks you what you’re doing starring at him like that

- “It’s really nice to see what you actually look like… if you’re shape shifting all the time and this is the form you stay in full time it’s… nice to see you face to face”

- Confused for a second because he doesn’t often make trips directly to the human world even for a summoning

- “Well I mean, in the human world we don’t actually know what you look like. The only book that has a description of what you looked like and are has the pages mysteriously ripped out and have never been found. I assume that was your doing?”

- Shocked pikachu bc he fr forgot he did that in his younger years

- His mischievous tendencies have been delegated directly to Lucifer, he understands the value of books now

- “Ah,,, I do recall doing that. It would make sense why you’re starring at me so hard.”

- Blushes when you call him a pretty boy

- Like he’s in his room kicking his feet giggling

- You bring him his offerings directly

- He won’t even realize you’re doing deity work with him and is just excited to spend time with you

- Whenever you come back home from class or whatever you give him little things you got in your way back or snacks he likes

- Nobody has ever seen satan smile this much

- Lucifer peeps when it’s your turn to cook dinner you just so happen to favor foods Satan likes and uses ingredients he does to cook too

- Will be very suspicious of you mirroring his behavior

- Satan is none the wiser truly he’s assure at familiar feeling is like some star crossed lovers stuff and you were meant to meet by fates hands

- Has so many cute cat themed things in his room from you

- Lucifer is not liking how you seem to be trying to gain his trust for your own reasons but he can’t sense anything malicious.

- He can’t pinpoint any alternate motive for this behavior

- Satan will not notice until someone points it out to him

- Lucy straight up asks you why you’re getting so friendly with him

- Mammon also chimes in that you seem like you’re sucking up to him, and Satan feels conflicted be he doesn’t like how they’re accusing you but also the fact that you might be just being nice to him because you want something is setting his nerves on fire

- Rolling your eyes you shoot back at Lucifer that you’re just worshiping Satan like you usually do

- The old man is takes aback and Satan is like…. I beg your pardon?😀

- “Satan has been my patron for years now, the only thing that’s different is that I can give him my offerings and ask him for help directly”

- Mammon is chewing the carpet he’s supposed to be your first man!

- Satan is flabbergasted and is searching his memory for this information

- Before he remembers

- “How did I not notice??”

- “I thought you knew??”

- “NO???”

- Dinner is wild bc now asmo asking for embarrassing memories of you

- Rip bc Satan gon tell it ALL😭

- I feel like he’d be the type to keep a log so he might not remember every single face and name because he does fuck with some people who summon him

- Grabs your notebook from his room and starts reciting shit BAR FOR BAR

- “Oh yeah i remember this! You were quite a rowdy child picking fights with everyone. Your temper was awful”

- “YOU DO NOT GET TO FUCKING SAY THAY TO ME!!”

- laughing because he’s taking a stroll down memory lane and he’s dragging you along

- Can feel your anger a mile away, he’s in your ear now more than EVER going “don’t you want to go apeshit?”

- Constantly encouraging you to loose your temper on Lucifer

- He feeds off your rage and it feels almost euphoric to him, because he’s an instigator if anything😭

- “Where the fuck is your rage?? Lucifer was definitely disrespecting you👀👀”

- Exhausting

- Lucifer will get on him about having you up for hours on end reading and studying when you need to sleep

- You will NOT fail any class not on his fucking watch! He’s gunna make sure you excel in this exchange program academically

- Even if he’s not who you ask for things he’s helping you

- “Do NOT as belphie for help with dream interpretation I’ll help you!!”

- Very proud to show you off

- “Y’all see MY human?”

- Mammon is trying not to start problems on purpose

- He will probably bend you over Lucifer’s desk bestie it’s inevitable

- If you’re intimate before he knows he’s really gentle and makes sure to take his time with you

- If it’s after he will be rough and mean

- He definitely cares about you and loves you but he will pretend he’s using you as a toy

- As if he’s your god and you’re nothing but a lowly mortal designed to be used and filled up by him

- Choking you out and breeding you for hours on end

- Will be so incredibly gentle with aftercare it’s almost like he’s a different person

- “Look at you drooling and can’t even keep your eyes focused. Pathetic. You’re too stupid to think of anything other than how I’m ruining you”

- Makes you struggle to walk every time

- Gets carried away and marks you everywhere like diavolo asking you why there’s a hickey on your ankle😭

- Almost buys you a collar if Lucifer didn’t stop him

- Wants you to know you belong to him and you’re his little follower

- Tells you how good you are for him and gives you a nice reward

- “You’re so good for me, so eager to please and make me happy. My human deserves a reward hm?”

- Cocky asf for no reason PLEASE humble his ass!!

- Gets off on it when you pin him down and call him pathetic

- “The great avatar of wrath Satan himself bouncing on my lap like a whore desperate to get off.”

- He’s literally turning to mush for you

- Whimpering and looking at you with teary eyes

- “P-please I need to cum I’ll do anything”

- Bites back a moan when you coo at him that he’s so pathetic needing a mortal to get off

- He can feel how mean you are and your anger through your pact and it’s making his body buzz with excitement

- Panting and wiggling his hips he’s begging you to fill him up

- Call him a good kitty and he probably won’t be able to last

- Likes when you punish him like best his ass fr leave bruises make his ass bright red!!

- He’s really just attached to you and will cause a big issue when you have to leave the devildom at the end of the year😅

[sarahblueskyyyy]

Games

MINOR DNI! Dad! Price's best friend AU, Simon x Reader x Kyle, threesome, blowjobs, vaginal sex, squirting, rough, phone call in the middle of sex thingy, dirty talk, PWP, overstimulation, age gaps (I didn't specify, but make it legal, okay?) multiple reader orgasm, etc.

“Oh,” his voice is raspy—and far too relaxed, despite the visual that is being presented in front of him. He cocks his head and he physically have to contain his amusement when he says, “Guess you beat me to it, Garrick.”

Kyle’s laugh is light. His hands are still traversing on your curves, before both of his palms settle down on top of your breast, cupping it firmly from behind. You gasp softly, head rolls back against his shoulder. His fingers are absent-mindedly twirling on your bundles—yet, it is capable of making you squirm.

“Early birds get the worms. Glad you’ve taken notice of the invitation.”

“Hard to miss that one,” Simon remarks and slowly closes the door behind him. His gaze is unswerving, pointed at your and Kyle’s bare figures; both are sitting on the top of the bed. Doing a scrutiny is instinctual for him—and he catches the taut nipples of yours and how you adhere your thighs into each other; as if you’re afraid someone might peek in between them. “The little slut basically undressing us with her eyes in front of her fuckin’ dad.”

“Ha!” you scoff. The genuine delight, coated by a faux mockery, is being delivered graciously. “Oh—I didn’t do that.”

“You didn’t?” Kyle lowers his tone, nose nuzzles at your jaw. His lips are placed on your neck and a small kiss is given. Leisurely at first. “Then what’s with those gestures under the dining table before?”

You still maintain the playful attitude, tilting your head a little for him to nib at your neck. “What gesture?”

Simon rolls his eyes. He crawls onto the bed and the soft mattress slightly sinks due to his body weight. His body, big and carved by muscle, towering you as if he’s able to swallow you whole.

Well—in a way or another, you’re gonna be.

“What gesture, indeed?” he states back. Question is seeped with thick sarcasm. He stretches out his arms, fingers latched onto your knees, and spreads it out; and it elicits a small grunt from you. Arousal is clear and indisputable, as his eyes locked into your wet cunt, already dripping because of the subtle foreplay Kyle has been giving you. “Wouldn’t you want to explain it yourself.”

You bite down your lower lip. Kyle’s teeth are comfortably trapping your earlobe—not too rough it’ll hurt, but definitely not a tender one.

“This gesture?” Simon doesn’t wait for your answer. His fingers travel down, to your inner thigh, before the thumb rests on your engorged clit. You flinch involuntarily, tingle and heat crawling up from the base of your sex to the every end of your nerves. You’re sensitive—and the two pairs of arms increase that sensation tenfold. “Your hands accidentally brushing our cocks under that table?”

Kyle’s laughter is ringing mellifluously—once again. Simon has always been crude and raw with his words.

And perhaps—you’re getting a bit distracted by how that low chuckle beats into your eardrums, sending shivers to the centre of your heat.

“Maybe it’s your cock that accidentally came in contact with my hands?” you grin, both sides of lips tugging upward, and it’d be a lie if you told them that you didn’t find bliss in this whole … antics. Your antics.

“Wonder what’d Price says if he sees his daughter fuck around,” Kyle blurts out. His hands never stop—exploring, claiming, through the fingers that are pressing on you, feeling every slope. “Flirting with his old friends, offering herself on a pedestal—you’re quite the rebel one.”

You smile. “I’m just having fun and being a responsible adult—is all.”

“Being responsible?” Simon presses your clit. His thumb circling the bundle of nerves, reddened. Your breath hitches and even the smallest reaction isn’t escaping his eyes. “Is fucking your dad’s old subordinates—plural, mind you—count as being responsible?”

“Well, since you guys are taking the opportunity to stay—ah, fuck!” You wince when three of his fingers slide into your pussy without even a tad warning. Kyle holds your body down while Simon pushes into you, deep and slow. Squelching noise is heard, in tandem with every pump, and the stretching feeling is maddening. Simon pokes at the spongy walls, imitates a digging movement, and by God—you feel your cunt clenching on him. You’re enveloped with embarrassment when you realize you whimper and moan just by his fingers, but the way he plays with them, and bully your sex relentlessly, you justify your own response towards the stimuli.

“Ah—no,” you yelp out, verbalizing high-pitched words, and arching your back. There is a recognizable build up on your lower stomach, and it burns you, making you unconsciously stiffen your legs muscles. It doesn’t help that now Kyle’s middle finger and ring finger are circling your clit, massaging it with enough gentle force to render you wordless. Your breath heavily and you sense a tight knot down there, threatening to bust at any time; awarded you with a blowing orgasm. “Kyle—”

“Oh, not me, love,” Kyle coos. He can’t help but let out a groan, seeing your whole body trembling, tits fumbling in every littlest shake. With his other hand, he cups your left breast, clutches on it. “Beg to Riley. He might make you cum if you ask him nicely.”

Simon’s lips form a crooked smile. You can see a line of scar trailing diagonally from his left cheek and ending up on his lower lip.

“Ple—ase,” you articulate as best as you can. More in literal than metaphorical sense, your breath is being taken away, and the fingers that have been abusing both your spongy wall and stiff bundle of nerves are being fiercer than ever before. It’s just the starting game and your cunt already flooded by your own slick. You whine, muster the most adorable plead you can give, “Please, Simon—make me cum, pleasepleaseplease ….”

“Oh, I will,” he growls. He feels you are clamping down on his fingers like a vice and he doesn’t miss the flutter of your inner muscle. It’s incredulously warm inside and his head is almost empty except for the thought of replacing his fingers with his fat dick; wrapped by your pussy. “We will make you cum and scream repetitively that your daddy will know his daughter is a whore.”

“You’re deranged, Riley.” Kyle’s words indicate nothing but a pure lust and projection of his own thoughts—because it does sound heavenly; to break you and fuck you dumb, letting Price know his only kid is being passed around like a slut, enjoying the touch of a pair of older men.

“You gotta blame me for everything.” Simon’s orbs dart at your lolled head. Then, to your tightly-shut eyelids and the knitted eyebrows. The muscle on your neck is tensing, emphasizing the v-line from both sides of your jaw to your clavicle. Sweats create beads on your temple and the rosy cheeks, agape mouth—are enough signs for him. “Cum for me. Hey—let it go.”

“Be a good girl and cum for Simon, mkay?” Kyle kisses the side of your head. Fingers are steady and the rhythm of his strumming is not changing while he’s making sure you reach your peak.

“I—fuck ... !”

When you come, as if every single cell is exploding—it arrives strong and like a big wave washes the shore. You quiver and you practically hear your own heartbeat, running around and echoing in your ears. Your limbs are strained and when the euphoria is descending from its peak, your body sag, leaving you with a twinkle on your eyes.

Kyle snickers. The dark-skinned man caresses your forehead, wiping the rivulet of sweat. “Satisfied, yet?”

You put on a smile. A shake of your head is the answer you give him.

“Of course not,” Simon enunciates. He groans as the biting zip of his pants is suffocating him. The outline of his erection is visible and you can see how big he is.

You blink a few times, helplessly attracted to the view in front of you; the bulge that is in the same level as your eyes are.

Simon scoffs. “Don’t drool.”

And you return the simple jest with a blop of your tongue. “I’m sure you’d rather have me drooling.”

“God, this fuckin’ kid.” He unfastens the zip of his trouser, then brushes his own cock, still coated with underwear, before he pulls down the boxer to his knee, and his hardened cock is now unrestrained, curving up alluringly. You observe it from the bulbous, reddened tip, to the prominent nerves that covered it, to the hilt and the trail of his pubic hair—blonde and all.

“Yeah—she’s drooling alright.” Kyle puts his arm on one side of your face. Bringing you into a kiss, with his teeth nibble on your lips, and his tongue slips in furtively.

You hum, the clicking sounds are timid, but it undoubtedly reignites the fire.

“Had enough rest, doll?” Kyle whispers after he backs away from the kiss. “Wanna fuck your throat. Sounds good?”

You giggle. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Simon is palming the throbbing dick. Pre-cum emerges from the tip, half-transparent. “I’m taking her first, Garrick?”

“Yeah,” Kyle answers the light-haired man. Then, he shifts the inflection of his sentence towards you, “Bend over, on your knees—can you do that for me?”

You nod and obediently do as you’re told. Knees and elbows on the mattress, orbs are looking up at Kyle, filled with anticipation and impatience grows in every second passed.

“Don’t worry. We’ll switch.” Kyle raises his eyes, looking at Simon. “Or we might even do her simultaneously. ‘S that what you want?” He ruffles your hair, thumb grazes on your eyebrow, down to your eyelids, and to the bridge of your nose, before it anchored on your lower lip, encouraging it to fall apart.

Simon from your back is landing a harsh, sharp blow to your arse, and you can’t help but wail and bend your body even more.

“Can’t do anything without an answer,” he says. The hoarse voice is softened to coax you into giving a verbal confirmation that the three of you have actually known, “‘S that what you want? To be filled with both of our cocks?”

“Yes. Fuck—please. Want you both to fill me up,” you open your lips and Kyle uses the chance to dig his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing into the surface of your tongue.

Honesty is a virtue. And for a while now—they have been the objects of your longing. Whether it’s one of affection or an undeniable thirst—to be honest, it feels a little bit overwhelmingly good right now.

Kyle’s dick is pulsating already. He prods the tip of his shaft on your lips and the sound of your heartbeat ricochets once more. Your jaw lax even more, welcoming the hardened flesh, a particular tang invades your taste buds. Kyle pushes his hips, lazily, takes in the feeling of your palate slowly gripping his cock.

He groans, head is thrown back a little, and Kyle’s arms carefully holding your head, slithers his fingers between the strands of your hair.

“Mhh—” The gag reflex is working and tears are building on your glossy eyes.

Simon kneads your ass and he mumbles near your ear, persuading and guiding you, “Good girl. Breath through your nose—there we go. Can you take more of him?”

The consistency of Kyle’s breath is starting to dissipate, and both you and Simon can hear the way that man is trying to focus on the pleasure of his lower body.

You mutter an intangible word. An affirmation that you can, in fact, take more.

“Kyle, push more. Slowly.”

“Fuck—,” he exhales heavily, sinks deeper into your throat. And when he finally settles in you, up to the hilt, he gulps down. God. The sight alone could make him burst out. The way you’re struggling taking him whole, eyes gleaming because of the tears—truth be told, this is not the first time he has such a fantasy. Sure is the first time he executes it.

“Good man.” Simon kisses your nape. His pecks tracing your spine, and he goes down until his lips end up at your tailbone. He taps his cock, nudging your pulsating arse hole. “Spread your thighs a little more.”

You oblige. The expanding access allows him to rub his dick between your flaps, smearing himself with the natural lubrication of yours. His callous thumbs unfold the labia and you can feel even more of your wetness. You leak out a short, needy whine—a manifestation of the coil that breaches your stomach.

Simon glides himself easily into your cunt and his hips slap your arse—and your moaning is high-pitched, composed from your throat, squeezing Kyle’s more strongly than you intended to.

“Fuckin’ hell—Simon,” Kyle sighs.

“What?” Simon would be lying if the dirty squelch when he put it in didn’t rile him up. However, it’s always fun to show a little façade, a nonchalant response, even though—he swears his sanity is crumbling down and his brain is addled because of the flesh that entraps him. The muscle of your sex is perfectly oval; it outlines the shape of the grith of his cock. “Fuck—she’s tight. Grippin’ me so hard down there.”

Kyle lets out a broken, wheezing laugh. “You ready for us to move?”

“Mh-hmnn.” You inhale. Your nose touches the slightly curly pubic hair of his.

And from that on—it’s just a series of pull and thrust. Kyle ruts into you, balls swat on your jaw, and when he pulls back, it’s Simon’s turn to sink your swollen cunt, ramming deep into the entrance of your cervix. Grunts and groans are heard from both men, ripped from their chests, synchronizing with the quenching, lewd sound from your fluids. You try to follow the orchestrated movements of theirs, but it’s futile since both of them practically hold the wheel, drive into you as they wish.

At some point, the movements turn erratic and uncoordinated. Simon is still as deep as he can reach; withdraw as far back as he can before lunges himself into you, pressing every crook of your velvety walls. When he slides out, he’ll lower himself a little, and he snaps back in with an upward roll from his hips and you feel the inevitable climax; magnifies itself in every strike.

Kyle is more vocal than the light-haired man. He abuses your mouth in a tender way—a contradicted adjective, but you couldn’t define it in any other way. His fingers clasp onto your scalp, his cock is entering the deepest part, racing himself to cum in your tight throat.

You wail almost pathetically—pussy is sloppy with Simon’s thick shaft burying into you and his hands keep wandering all across your body; catches your bouncing tits, rolling your nipples with his palms, appreciates you through his spanking on your arse.

“Argh, fuck, love, I need to cum,” Kyle announces. He grits his teeth; whimper escapes him freely. His pelvis meets your cheek with each pound. Cock surely bruises your palate and it’s gonna leave an obvious mark there. “Si?”

Simon nods. He bites down his own groans, voice grows even more gruff. “Yeah. She’s about to as well. Don’t you? Keep throbbing around me—fuck.”

Let me cum, I want to cum, your mind screams. There is a muffled cry from you, a varied train of mm, mnn, nngh—like a mewling of a dog, loud and needy, begging even without any syllable. At the same time, it feels too much—and you keep bucking your hips in a ridiculous attempt to run from the alarming sensation.  

“Fuck’s sake,” Simon grips down your hips, stopping you from wriggling. “Pipe down. Your dad is sleeping downstairs. Don’t want to wake him up, do we?”

“Simon—,” Kyle mutters one more warning.

Simon nods. Hands holding on your hips as the intensity of his ruts increases.

“Cum for us. Good girl—gorgeous girl.”

And then—it’s a simple countdown. The tight pressure in your stomach bursts and your head once again spiralling.

Water-like substance is squirted out from your pussy, gushing like it is a small river stream, dripping to Simon’s cock before it trickles onto the bed. Your toe curling because Simon hasn’t stopped knocking on your sweet spot, scratching every part of your cunny.

Doesn’t take long for Kyle to catch up, cum smears your mouth, and he whimpers. The unbearable glee overtakes him—like an ecstasy to a healthy mind, Goddamn—the feeling is addicting.

“Don’t swallow,” Simon’s order is loud and clear.

Simon is the last to reach his orgasm. Your wall squeezing him, firm and quivering—makes his cock twitching to the point it is almost painful. When he lets himself fall to the edge of release, he’s growling a moan. His plethora of a load forming a dense milky liquid on the ring of your pussy, oozing out shamelessly. Like a white paint drizzling on your thigh and his.   

“Good girl,” Simon appreciates you. His heart swells in an indescribable way as he reaches for your arms, elevating you tenderly, before he puts you into a sitting position; your back against his chest. He knows when to be rough—and definitely knows when not to. “Doing so good, aren’t you—sweetheart?”

He smiles when he realizes you did comply with his order. So, he brings your lips into a collision with him, and his tongue drives inside, tastes the same tang you do. The remnants of Kyle’s load, and it’s so messy, it’s insanely hot—some of it slips away from the sides of your mouth.

“Fuck,” Kyle’s eyes are a crosshair; secured at the erotic, almost pornographic view that is laid-out in front of him.

Simon pulls away from the gentle clash between two lips. His thumb swipes your lips. “Bet your brain is a mush right now, huh?”

You let out a choked sob, still trying to come down from your high. Simon placed a kiss on your temple. Hands cozily set on your body, grounding you down, sending a warmth from his burning fingertips.

“One more, okay? Kyle needs you.”

And before you could reply, Simon uses her arms to spread wide your thighs, pussy still sticky and puffy; the result of the previous activity. Kyle is positioning himself in front of you and inserting his cock into your pussy; still aching and sore.

You writhe and whine, “‘S too much—”

“Sh, hey—I know,” Simon’s tone is mellowed. In an effort to comfort you, he’s hugging your stomach, snaking his arms around you. “Just a little bit more. Yeah?”

“Mhh—”

Your head lolls back. Pelvis bucks into Kyle instinctively. The dark-skinned man’s thrust, a bit different from Simon—is deep and swift. It’s giving the impression of agility, but not hasty. The grith is not as big as the other man, but—it is longer, and his length rubs a different part of you.

“Kyle!”

“Yes, doll,” he answers back and grunts. The cumulation between Simon’s cum and your own coat his cock nicely. “Your cunt feels so good—ngh, fuck, love. Could do this all day.”

You mewl. Throat feels bone-dry, but you don’t wish for a stop—not at all. He ruts into you, the sound of slapping is more powerful this time. You didn’t realize how fucked up you are—quite literally—until all you hear is your own broken moan, blaring up to the air. Simon does an attempt to quiet you down a little by giving you a sloppy kiss between each thrust.

When the swirling fire creeps up to his lower stomach—Kyle knows he’s reaching his edge. His words are gentle and even though at this point he recognizes the signs of your climax, he still asks, “You close, baby?”

“Yes, yes, fuck—”

DRRRT.

Simon and Kyle are moving their heads faster than a fuckin snapping turtle when they hear the vibration from the other side of the bed.

Kyle slows down his hips and you're clenching; holding him still. His phone is lit up, and judging by the interval of the vibration—someone is calling him. He looks at Simon through the corners of his eyes.

“Why—what? Who’s calling?” you slur out, mind still hazy.

“My guess?” Simon extends his arm to pick up the phone. He scoffs when the name of the caller is written on the screen. “Yeah. It’s Price.” He throws the phone to Kyle and the man catches it with one hand.

“What?” You feel the instant dread washing over you. “Is he—is he know?”

“If he were, might have come here himself.” Kyle put his index finger in front of his lips. A simple request to mute any sound that might have been—obscene. He clears his throat, and when he answers, he tries to sound as calm as he can be, “Yeah, Price?”

He thought to himself—he should at least behave and bear it, at least until he finishes the phone-call. However, there is a hint of dismay in your face. A clear agitation that shows itself because the perfect daughter is afraid that her dad would find out about her acting like a little minx—is stirring something inside him.

Kyle smirks and rolls her hips; makes you flinch and slaps your own mouth. Deterring any kind of sound you might produce.

Simon widens his eyes, but, honestly—he’s not surprised. Kyle is a ball of unpredictable stuff and he’s not exactly the epitome of tame.

“Yeah? Riley’s with me. We can’t sleep, so we’re buying cigarettes right now in the minimarket.”

Simon rolls his eyes. It’s a shame to ruin the game, so—he participates in a way he can. Fingers pinching at your nipples, pulling it up against the gravity, before releasing them and letting it drop. And when it happens, you bite down your wail, the muscle of your sex is contracting—clasping on Kyle’s shaft.

“Yeah—,” Kyle masks his grunt into a cough. “Yeah. We’ll be back. Is there anything you want?”

Fuck’s sake. Couldn’t he just make it quick and cut the call?

“No? Okay.” Kyle grins widely. “Yeah. See you.”

And when that call is finally finished—Kyle wastes no time to fuck into you. He really needs to blow his load. “Simon, God—muffle her, please. ‘M not gonna go slow.”

“You’re fine with that?”

You nod without thinking. Simon clashing his lips with you once more. His fingers run to your puffy clit, giving it a circular pressing. Your gummy walls flutter and you’re sure that the up-coming orgasm will, for the lack of a better word, break you. In a good way. In a heavenly, sinful way, but still—it’ll drag you down. You’re overstimulated, every inch of body is sore, and the swollen tissue of your vagina has been working for far too long. The aftermath is not gonna be pretty and you’ll feel it for days, aching between your legs—but, whatever.

This is bliss. Simon pulls back from the kiss. He’s putting an attentive focus with your bundle of nerves instead.  

It doesn’t take long until Kyle’s forceful thrust and Simon’s methodical massage on your clit finally evoke your third orgasm. The last peak makes your eyes get forayed by a short, a millisecond whiteness, and you’re doomed by the repeated ejaculations, makes you spasm all over—and it’s followed by Kyle’s own high.

“So good for me.” Kyle’s hand resting on your shoulder blade. He gives you a kiss all across your neck, to the line of your clavicle. “So good, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” He hasn’t pulled out. He lets his seeds pool in your pussy.

Simon sighs. He sees you whimper, tears streaming to your cheeks. And despite how harsh he was in the beginning; he brushes his thumb to your face. “You with us?”

“Mmh …,” you mumble incoherently.

Kyle’s laugh is pleasing to the ears. He eases out his cock from you slowly. “Where did your arrogance go, hm-mnn? You said you’re gonna take us both.”

“That was before I knew you guys are fuckin’ massive and rowdy.”  

Kyle’s laugh is rumbling. “You fucked around, and you found out. A fair consequence.”

You huff. When you remember that your dad was searching for both men, there is a reluctant diminishing gesture. “You guys should go back downstairs. Sleep in the guest’s room.”

“We will,” Simon says. “After we run the bath and clean you up.”

And—without wanting to sound too happy, you say to them, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Of course, we have to.” Kyle comes down from the bed. “Price is likely going back to sleep. He won’t realize if we come back 30 minutes later.”

You shake your head weakly as Kyle walks into the bathroom.

“You know,” Simon speaks out. He can hear his friend turning on the faucet. The sound of water hitting the tub is reverberating softly. “We can give you our numbers. Next time you decide to act like a slut—give us a call.”

“And you’re telling me I’m the slut.”

“Well.” Simon lifts you up with his arms, holding you to his chest when Kyle calls from the bathroom. “You’re the one who asks two older guys to fuck you. My point stands.”

“Then what does it make you?”

Simon scoffs.

“I’ll think about it and give you the answer next time.” 

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Various Storms and Saints- Prologue

"You still haven't told me if he's cute or not."

Scully sighed and pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead, cradling the phone in the crook of her neck. Nobody could make her regret bringing up a subject as quickly as her sister when she put her mind to it. "No, Missy, I haven't," she allowed. "Because it's irrelevant. Mulder's good looks aren't the reason I miss working with him."

"So you admit it? He is cute?"

"Missy. Can we please have a serious conversation, for once?"

"Fine, fine," Melissa acquiesced, though her tone made it clear this point would be revisited in the future. "Tell me why you miss working with him, then."

"Well... part of it is the cases we tackled together," Scully said. "The autopsies I'm stuck doing now that the X-Files are shut down seem so boring in comparison to murderous clones and mind-controlling worms in the Arctic."

Melissa whistled. "Yeah, I can see how that might be a little bit of a come down. What's the other part?"

"What other part?"

"You said the cases are part of the reason. So what's the other part?"

Scully closed her eyes. How to define this most indefinable of relationships, especially to Melissa, who so often seemed to think every person in her life fit into a neat box? "I miss the way he spoke to me," she said finally. "He never talked down to me, not even when he was standing so close I practically had to break my neck to meet his eyes. He made me feel like the things I have to say are important... that they carried real weight with him, even when he didn't agree with me." She chuckled ruefully. "Which was most of the time. He's always shown me a respect that I don't get that often, being surrounded by men in positions of authority who all love to hear themselves talk."

"That does sound like it would be tough to leave behind," agreed Melissa. "Couldn't you... I dunno, lobby to be his partner on whatever assignment he's on now, though? Then at least you'd still be working together even if it wasn't in the X-Files."

"He's working with someone else," said Scully darkly. "At least he was on his most recent case. I don't know if they're officially partners or not."

"And you don't like whoever it is," said Melissa knowingly. "I can hear it in your voice." "I don't really know anything about him," Scully admitted. "But... there's something strange about him, you know? He just makes me nervous." There had been something about Alex Krycek's fresh-faced innocence that had seemed less than genuine, even if Scully couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Bad vibes, huh?"

"Maybe." Scully sighed. "For all I know, it's just my jealousy getting in the way because I want to be the one out there with Mulder."

"See, I knew you liked him," crowed Melissa, and Scully groaned, exasperated.

"Melissa. It's not like that."

"Fine, fine, whatever you say," Melissa huffed. "Hang on a sec, okay?" The phone was muffled, as though Melissa had put her hand over the receiver. Someone's voice asked a garbled question, Melissa gave an equally garbled response, and a moment later, she was back. "Hey Danes, I gotta go, okay?"

"Wait, Melissa, what's your--"

"There's a meditation session I'm supposed to lead and they're waiting for me. I'll call you soon, okay?"

"But Melissa, where are--" There was a click, and the line went dead.

Scully dropped her bedroom extension back into its cradle on the nightstand and sank back onto her bed with a sigh, snuggling into the cardigan she'd pulled on over her work clothes when she'd walked into her apartment. She'd come home from work for lunch, having finished her morning teaching session a little early, and had been available purely by chance when Melissa called for the first time in two months. Phone conversations with her older sister, while always welcome, tended to be exhausting these days. She hadn't seen Melissa in years, not since the day after her graduation from medical school. Melissa hadn't made it to the event itself, but she'd shown up at the party her parents had thrown her afterwards. Melissa hadn't understood her sister's disappointment, and Maggie Scully, as she so often did, had defended her elder daughter to her younger.

"You know big ceremonies aren't really your sister's thing, Dana," she'd said, patting Scully's shoulder consolingly. "She barely sat through her own high school graduation. Just be thankful she's here for the celebration, all right?"

Sitting through a graduation ceremony was boring, to be sure, but that hadn't stopped Scully from doing it for all three of her siblings when they'd finished high school, plus for Bill and Charlie when they'd finished college. In her opinion, it had nothing to do with how exciting or boring the ceremony itself was, and everything to do with showing up for the people she loved when their hard work and accomplishments were recognized.

Showing up. That was something Melissa had traditionally had difficulty with, when it came down to it.

They hadn't even had a working phone number for Melissa last Christmas when Ahab had passed. Scully, tasked with handling everything while her mother waded through her initial shock and grief, had called every friend of Melissa's she could think of, trying to locate her sister, and had failed. She'd been reduced to sending a letter to Melissa's last known address in hopes it might get correctly forwarded. But it never got to her, as was evidenced three months later when Melissa had called home, chatted with Maggie cheerfully about her recent travels, and then had asked to speak to her father and had been completely lost when her mother had burst into tears.

"Free-spirited" had always been how the family had described Melissa. But deep down, in her darkest and most shameful thoughts, the word Scully sometimes landed on was "selfish."

Scully's cell phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. She half-expected it to be Mulder, begging her to do another autopsy he couldn't trust with anyone else, but it was Roy Seekamp, a fellow FBI pathologist whose office in the Hoover building was next to Scully's.

"Where are you?" asked Roy. "One of the AD's came looking for you but your office is locked. Skinner, I think his name was?"

"I came home for lunch. What's going on?"

"Something big is going down in Virginia," said Roy. "Some hostage situation with an escaped mental patient."

Scully frowned, confused. "Why would they need me for that?" she asked.

"I don't think they actually need you or anything," said Roy. "The AD was just looking for you to let you know your old partner is there on the scene."

Scully's heart skipped a beat. "Mulder is there?" She got off the bed and raced out of her bedroom, tearing off the cardigan and snatching up her bag. "What's he doing there? He's not a hostage negotiator!"

"No idea," said Roy. "I think AD Skinner just wanted you to hear it from him. You coming back to the office?"

"Yes," Scully said, pulling on her shoes. "Be there soon." She ended the call and stuffed her phone into her bag, then looked down and realized she was still clutching her cardigan. She folded it in half and draped it over the back of her couch on her way out the door.

It stayed there, untouched, for over a month.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Male Monster Musume | Resting Easy

Last Part

“Hello I’m Centoreo, you are my destined master!” 

“No, I’m not. I’ve never even met you in my life.”

“Perhaps not but I’ve already observed you enough to know that you are. Not to mention that legally I’m meant to stay with you.”

He pulled out a paper with an official seal and Smith’s signature off to the side there was a sticky note on the side with a smiley face and a message:

‘Got you another tenant, sweet pea! No sex!’

–S

You frowned as you recognized the handwriting, silently cursing the agent in your head. You tried to look past the centaur at the clinic only for the long-haired male to tilt himself in the way. You sighed again before looking to the sky. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, considering you got to skip the whole thief chasing and the painful misunderstanding of riding the back of a centaur. You took another breath finally looking into the centaur's sky-blue eyes as you smiled. 

“Hey, well welcome to the family. Uh, we can go back after I go to the doctor over there. So you’ll have to wait until I’m done.”

His face fell before he easily scooped you into his arms. Turning around back to the clinic, all you can hear is the speedy clopping of his hooves as he reaches the door. 

“Excuse me! Would you please help my master? They’re gravely injured.”

“S-sure.”

______________________________________________________________

“Uhm Centoreo? Are you sure it's okay to be on your back like this? Isn’t this reserved for like your…special person?”

“My destined master? Well didn’t I say you already were? I’m perfectly fine with this. In fact, I’m more than happy, I’m elated+”

You let your head rest upon his back as he moved closer to the house. You’ve decided you quite liked him. You were already aware of how much the main guy relied on Centorea. Finally talking to someone who listened to what you wanted was nice, he may be a bit forward but he made you feel a lot more relaxed. You fought exhaustion, ultimately losing to the rhythmic clapping of Centoreo’s hooves against the pavement.

“You must have been exhausted (Y/n)...to let your guard down so easily.”

Letting himself smile as he came upon the house already seeing the silhouettes of the monsters he had studied previously.

“...I’ll be sure to lift that burden for you with plenty of happy accidents.”

________________________________________________

Milo was inconsolable. Slithering anxiously from your room to the door, he had been wrestling with himself about the interaction you had just hours before. Torn between guilt for hurting his love and fear that you’d send him away. From crying to angrily slamming his tail against the floor he constantly wrestled with his desire to chase you down and force you to stay. Pypi on the other hand was truly prepared to seek you out himself. He vaguely recalled promising not to do something…but since he can’t remember what it was it shouldn’t stop him. 

“Weee going to find (Y/n)-shi-eh!?”

Pypi’s winged limbs were being held against his body by the muscled tail of the lamia. He tried to fly away again only to find he still couldn’t get very far. In fact, his takeoff was entirely interrupted by that tail flinging him into an adjacent wall from the door. Rubbing at the offending area, the harpy quickly got up to pull out his talons.

“WHATS YOUR DEAL, WORM!?”

“Worm?! And of you weren’t such a bird brain you’d get deported…but now that I think about it maybe I should let you go..”

“Deported!? But then I’ll never get to mate legally with them!”

“But you can’t now either.”

“That won’t stop me! So let me go!”

Milo blushed in embarrassment as he already felt the subconscious wrapping of his tail around the harpy’s legs. 

“B-because I’m not letting you find them without me!”

“...Are you serious…your such a crybaby.”

“Says you!?... So are you bringing me or not?”

“Fine but I’m dropping you the moment we find them!”

At that moment there was a strong knock on the door which both sparked hope and fear of who was behind. Releasing Pypi he let the overexcited harpy dart towards the door swinging it open. 

“Horsey? Smif?”

“I’m not a horse.”

“Hehehe well guys this Centoreo, a centaur, and they're your newest roommate!” 

An icy glare was exchanged between Milo and Centoreo, the latter giving an insincere smile that had Smith chuckling.

“Don’t be so mad Milo. See, Centoreo is doing happy to meet you, right?”

“Yes, I’m delighted.”

“...”

Pypi whipped his head between the two before grimacing at Centoreo, “For some reason, I feel like you aren’t very nice.”

Them agent felt the cold sweats run down his back as the beefing monster boys directed their angry stares towards him and the harpy.Smith held his hand over the harpy’s mouth while stepping away from the glaring monster boys towards the kitchen.

“So uh your darling’s back and safe, courtesy of him.” 

He directed Milo to your resting form who immediately snatches you from Centoreo. Hugging you into his chest he growled in everyone else’s direction before slithering off to his room. Laying you in his bed, he let himself inspect you. Staring at the brace around your ankle had globs of tears welling up in his yellow eyes. 

“Oh Darling its all my fault! I’m sorry Darling! Its just…you act so nonchalant I can only hope to…squeeze it out of you.”

He played with the hem of your shirt lightly pulling it up to let his finger pad press against the skin of your stomach. He continued to eye the way your skin bounced unfer his hand. He let his head rest next to the spot he was playing that, purposefully letting his breath tickle your skin. He nuzzled and caressed before pulling away with a conclusion. Decided, he protracted his fangs and sunk them into your skin. 

“OW! Hey!”

You snapped up trying to push his head away only for your arms and body to be kept still as he kept his fangs in place. You called for him frantically in hopes he’d snap out of it only for your voice to die down with the sight of Milo. His yellow irises were slitted and he didn’t look…completely there. So you kept as still as you could with his fangs planted inside you, the pain being soothed with the soft, wet gliding of his tongue. When he was seemingly satisfied he retracted his incisors before absent-mindedly crawling up to lay beside you. 

You poked at his face; finding no response you carefully untangled from his tail to limp out of his bedroom. You slowly made your way to the main room, following the aroma of freshly brewed tea. 

“Master (Y/n)! I’m happy to see you survived him. I’ve just made some tea to put everyone at ease.”

“Uh yeah, thanks for that Centoreo.”

You looked at the sleeping Pypi who was fast asleep with an empty cup on the couch, you sighed in relief. 

“I would offer you some but its specifically for us, male monsters. Tonight is a full moon after all.”

You blinked before letting your eyes widen in recognition. That’s right the moment Centoreo returned home Smith would clear the tenants in the house for marriage with the main guy. Not soon after he was attacked, room broken into, and forced to juggle three horny monster girls through the night. 

“Wow, yeah thanks for that…uh by the way was there anything Smith left for me or meant to say to me? Usually when someone moves in here he has something to say.”

Centoreo tilted his head with his heart-pumping smile as he carried his cup of tea. 

“Nothing that I can recall. Maybe some more paperwork but I’ve already went through as much as i could.” 

“Oh okay…” You were debating if this was the truth or not. You were sure the original series included something of a fight before the moon scene went down but the original series didn’t have a centaur who was really on top of it. 

“Uh well I’ll be going to bed. We can all give you a proper welcome tomorrow.” 

Centoreo chuckled scooping Pypi up before walking alongside you to your respective rooms. 

“Thank you, master. I will see you tomorrow.”

Shoving at your heavy steel door to open, lock, and close before plopping down onto your bed. Ignoring the distant screeches of what must be Milo as he awoke, you cuddled into your blankets mentally preparing for the worst. 

It won’t be long now before rest is simply a dream.

[rintarousgirl]

kiss me better, baby - an atsumu miya two-shot

PART ONE - MASTERLIST

synopsis -

you and atsumu had been living together happily after your marriage, but after conflicting work schedules and bottled-up feelings, the two of you break into a heated argument. now, it's up to the two of you to mend it, maybe with a kiss? | tags: lack of communication, angst, making up, hurt/comfort, toxic relationship.

a/n: for my more dedicated followers (and those of you who simply are curious) i now have a nsfw blog so this blog is now strictly sfw! ofc, i will still post some suggestive stuff but for nsfw requests and works go to @tarousbaby!

"you look horrible," osamu drawls from the foot of the couch, eyebrows raised. you scoff, shifting so you're upright as you wipe at your red and splotchy face.

"thanks," you mutter, "you're quite the charmer."

osamu rolls his eyes, moving around the couch to sit beside you. he picks up your legs, dropping them back down into his lap as you huff. "why're you here? have you come to apologize on your brother's behalf?" you grumble, resting your cheek against the couch.

it'd been a week, and you'd been so down that you'd called sick out of work. you'd changed maybe once in the past seven days, and you're sure you stink. your shirt has a stain on it, and your hairs a rats nest but you couldn't find it in you to care. there wasn't anybody for you to bother looking pretty for.

"'tsumu told me what happened," he explains, rubbing small circles into your ankle, "though I'd like to hear your side of the story too. i don't trust half of what he says when he's angry."

you frown. you knew atsumu had a bad habit of blowing things out of proportion or simply not caring about them enough that he undermines them. it makes you wonder what story he'd spun for his twin.

"what'd he say?" you ask first, your shoulders hunching a little.

osamu clicks his tongue. "ah, ah, your story first remember? after, i'll make you something to eat, 'kay?"

you nod, partially enticed by the idea of osamu's cooking. falling back into the plush of the couch (which still smelled like his cologne) you begin to share what had occured that night and the events that led up to it.

you watch as osamu connects pieces of your story to atsumu's, and where he finds gaps too. you see his thoughts clear as day on his face, and moments where he judges you and then atsumu as well. at least it was good to know he had a fairly neutral opinion.

you finish of your long rant with a simple question, "where is he now?"

"my place, doing pretty much the same thing you are. he skipped practice too, multiple times. hinata came over once, but atsumu's kind of shutting people out so he left fairly quickly."

something in you aches, and for a moment, there's nothing you want to do more than break down the door and hold him close and beg him to apologize so the two of you could get over this. atsumu's sweet stubborn heart wouldn't let anyone in but osamu, and hopefully you.

but he'd also treated your insecurities as if they were nothing. he pretty much ignored you throughout the day. and when you'd confronted him about it, he'd blown you off. you shouldn't feel bad that he's wallowing in his own self-pity without you, but you do.

osamu stands, reaching above his head to crack his back. it pops, and you follow him as he makes his way to the kitchen. "is he okay?" you find yourself asking to which osamu chuckles.

"he's fine, just pouting. he'll get over it eventually and worm his way back to you," he says whilst rummaging through your cabinets. he finds a few boxes of rice, before turning to your fridge, "you shouldn't do the same. you have a life, a job. he can miss a few practices; you can't miss work."

he's right, and you know it. in the pocket of your sweats, you phone buzzes. probably another text from your co-workers wishing you a swift recovery.

"am i not allowed to be upset over my stupid husband?" you shoot back, despite it all.

osamu hums, and takes a very long very noticeable look at your barren ring finger. "do you still consider him your husband even?"

after that, you can't even find the words to reply.

☆ - - -

going back to work wasn't as hard as you thought it would be. it was easy for you to slip back into a routine, it kept your mind of atsumu.

so, for the next week, you went on with your life. you ignored how empty your hand felt without the comforting pressure of your ring, and how much you missed atsumu's arms around your waist at night.

it was almost easy to forget he existed but then you could look around, see your wedding pictures framed on the walls, smell his cologne on your sheets, see his laundry baskets in the basement.

it made you sick. sick with how much you missed him, and sick with how much you never wanted to see him again.

you'd spent too many nights curled in on yourself in bed, his cologne on your pillow, spotted with your tears.

you wake up one night to a knock on your front door. sitting up blearily from the couch, you rub at your eyes, brushing your hair out of your face. the clock reads 11:37. your tv is still on, some animal documentary lighting up your living room in blue light.

confusion settles in you along with a thick level of wariness. getting up, you try to keep your footsteps light as you approach the door. hovering your hand over the lock, you peek through the peephole and feel your heart skip a beat.

atsumu stands on your porch, hair wet with the rain outside and skin pale and clammy. he looks borderline hypothermic, but his cheeks are still flushed and pink. you stumble back from the door and stand there for a second, jaw dropped.

you move quickly to pull the door open, startling him as he jumps back. he blinks at you, and then he's crushing you.

his arms wrap around you, holding you close and tight and sweet. his face buries in your shoulder, and he lets out a weak pathetic sob into the fabric of your shirt. your hands twitch at your sides, unsure of what to do as he clings onto you.

swallowing a thick lump in your throat, your hands slowly reach up to rub up and down his spine in a comforting manner.

atsumu smells strongly of alcohol, thick and sour. it's clear he was drinking before coming home, and you weren't quite sure what to do. atsumu had never really been a drinker in your years together.

"'tsumu," you mumble, pushing him back lightly. he stumbles, looking at you like a hurt puppy. "let's go to the kitchen...i prefer you sober."

he follows you to the kitchen, struggling not to trip over his own two feet. you prepare him a glass of water and a bowl of food to eat. he digs in happily, small water droplets slipping down his chin.

you watch in silence as he eats, taking in his condition. he looked haggard, frozen, and just overall horrible. and despite all that, he was still just as beautiful as he was the day you married him.

sighing, you walk behind him, and pat his shoulders. "i'm going to set up the couch for you tonight. i don't want you going back out in that storm," he hums, looking up at you with tearful eyes.

“mkay,” he says, slurring his words. he stares up at you with an emotion you can’t quite place. without thinking, you reach out and stroke his cheek, pushing away wet hair that stuck to his face.

there aren’t any words said, but he leans into your touch. even drunk atsumu knew to look for you for safety.

you watch as he finishes his food, before scrambling to his feet to stumble over to the couch. you help him, supporting half his weight as he plops down onto the couch with a drawn out groan.

“thank you,” he says, a little more sober than he’d previously been, taking your hand. “i love you…”

your bottom lip trembles and you lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. his eyes flutter before slipping shut as he falls into a deep sleep. “i love you too, ‘tsumu,” you choke, tears threatening to spill over.

you love him so much.

- - - ☆

you wake up before atsumu does, which you’re kind of relieved about. you were scared that if you slept in, he’d wake up and run back to osamu and you’d blow your chance at a healthy conversation with him.

when you walk into the living room, he’s tangled up in the blankets you’d given him. a small chuckle escapes your lips, and you grab some aspirin from the bathroom and place a glass of water on the coffee table for him.

turning to the kitchen, you begin breakfast. it was a saturday morning, which meant you fortunately didn’t have work. you remember reading somewhere that eggs were good for hangovers so you open your fridge and grab some from the cartridge.

atsumu wakes up not long after that, awoken by the smell of the sizzling eggs and bacon. he sits up with a groan, clutching his temple, and you quickly sprint over to close the curtains to block the sunlight.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” you find yourself saying, the tease slipping off your tongue as easy as water. you catch yourself a second after, and bite your lip.

atsumu looks at you like he’s lost, hurt, and in pain all at the same time which he probably is. you give him what you hope is a comforting smile. “c’mon let’s talk over breakfast.”

you extend a hand to help him up which he takes hesitantly, leaning into you subconsciously. he slides into a bar seat, and you quickly tend to the food for a few minutes before plating it.

besides the stove top, the kettle hissed, letting you know the tea you’d begun to brew was finished. you pour him a cup to have with his food.

he takes it gratefully, but his eyes don't stray from your figure as you make your own plate. "y/n," he calls softly, pushing back his plate. he stands up with a sigh as you turn from the counter, and walks around so you're face to face, only three feet apart.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, "not just for this...for everything."

you watch in silence, swallowing the thick lump of emotion in your throat. he'd said it drunk, but it'd been easy to tell yourself he didn't really mean it then, no matter how much you wanted him to. now that it happened, it almost didn't feel real.

"are you? i mean, like, really?" you end up croaking, eyes darting to the ring glinting on his finger. he brings up his palm and places it over his heart.

"dead serious," he says, before taking your hand. his face falls when he notices the lack of ring, and he brings it up to his face to cup his cheek. he presses a kiss to the inside of your hand.

"i was so stupid, baby. i should've listened to you. i was stressed and couldn't think of anything but myself and that was so foolish of me. when i married you, i promised myself you would always be my first priority and i broke that promise. i am so, truly sorry, y/n."

his eyes are a bit red, but he doesn't cry, and there's a dimple in his chin as he tries to hold back his emotions. your heart breaks and shatters into little glass pieces, spilling out of you and crashing onto the floor.

"oh," you say softly, the wind having been stolen from your lungs. "i...i forgive you, 'tsumu..."

you take a step forward, and his face lights up. you lift your hand from his cheek, and he opens his arms for a hug.

bringing your hand down, you land a harsh smack onto his shoulder, the sound filling the room.

he winces, an immediate hand raising to clasp over his shoulder. "i deserved that," he laughs lightly, and you find yourself smiling back despite it all.

you crash into his arms, burying your nose into the fabric of his shirt.

his arms rub up and down your spine, squeezing you tight. "i promise i'll never disregard you again. i'll listen to everything you say, understand every insecurity. you are apart of me, baby, i wouldn't want to ever hurt you again."

"i love you," you whimper wetly into his shirt, "i always have."

"i know," he replies, "i love you too."

you look up at him and smile. he smiles back, sweet and soft and genuine, and you think it's the most beautiful thing this world has ever seen.

taglist: (anyone who interacted last post)

@snail-squasher | @yamaguchikinnie | @radtragedyarcade

[germworms]

Etho's unexpected face reveal

A shortfic of Bdubs accidentally seeing Etho's face on call.

Wordcount: About 1400 words.

Pairing: Etho&Bdubs Platonically

RPF

---

"I'll see you guys later!"

As he stopped recording, he leaned back in his chair. Through his headset he could hear his friends chatting away, about some random topic. He heard snippets of redstone talk, and that made him zone out. He double checked to see if he had stopped recording, which he had.

"Bdubs!" Someone yelled into his ear, making him jump up.

"Argh! What!" He asked, he moved his mouse around to find whoever scared him, rubbing his eyes. "Oh, hello, Etho."

"You tired?" Etho asked, his avatar sneaking in front of him, up close. He was laughing a bit, his own voice an octave lower. A sign of tiredness from the canadian.

He yawned, "Not at all, I gotta edit my video tonight too."

"Awh, you need motivation?" Etho asked, punching him in the game, "I'll be your ear worm."

"Thanks, you are a sweetheart."

"Yeah, I'll go take a quick washroom break, be right back."

"...Washroom." He mumbled, "Crazy man." He couldn't help but smile, he never could stop smiling when talking to him.

Someone walked into the room, hovering above him while wrapping their arms around his shoulders, "I'm headed to bed, the girls are asleep."

He turned his head to kiss his wife, "I'll finish up my editing and join ya', honey."

She closed the door behind her, smiling before closing it all the way.

He turned in his chair, opening up discord to check when the next hermit meeting would be. He saw Etho in the voice channel and joined, knowing that Etho liked to listen to music through Mee6. A big picture of a room showed up suddenly, his heart dropped.

Should he tell him? How would he even tell him, he was pissing right now! No use in calling for him.

He should have turned a blind eye, gone out of the voice group, but he was a tad too nosey for his own good.

His friend for over a decade, his faceless friend who he had never met. An internet friend whom he had spent countless hours talking to.

They had talked about meeting up 5 years ago, and then again yearly since then, but then Covid spread around right as they finally started making realistic plans. Everything got cancelled and they stopped talking about it. Etho stayed in his apartment alone, and he had his family he needed to take care of.

So as he watched, silently, and listened to every sound, a door closing made him jump. Footsteps.

First comfortable black pants, then the bottom of a black hoodie, "Bdubs I'm back."

He felt his heart speed up, the anticipation, not even Beef knew about this. He felt guilty already, he had seen more than enough, "Etho!"

A face became visible on the screen, a head full of brownish blackish hair, quite skinny face, clean shaven. His eyes were tired, but nonetheless, he was handsome. He gulped, "Uh, uhm."

"What did you do, silly?" He heard minecraft sounds, forgetting all about the game. Etho was probably wondering why he was standing so still, listening to him through the game and not through discord.

He couldn't stop staring, he felt like a sinner. Like this was more embarrassing to admit than when his parents had walked in on him as a teen, than his first kiss with a girl and with that boy in elementary.

An embarrassed blush crept up on him, "Bdubs, are you okay?"

Ethos mouth moved while he talked, of course, but seeing a face to a voice he wasn't even supposed to see made him speechless. The way he said his name made his heart skip in a way he hadn't felt in a long time maybe because he could see every syllable from Etho now.

"I- uh, ugh, your-" He coughed, watching how confusion spread across Ethos face. He noticed how Ethos posture was quite poor, "You should check your posture."

"Oh, thank you."

There was a moment of silence, "Hold on."

"Bdubs!!!" Etho's camera was quickly turned off, "You! What! You should have told me!! I- I don't know what to say!"

"Well!" He started, "I mean! Your handsome! Pretty! I mean, you're very- what I mean- I'm sorry!" He stumbled over his words, not knowing how to react. "I'll turn- I'm gonna turn on my face cam!"

He turned it on, forgetting how his face was completely red in embarrassment, "Oh god." he noticed, "It's the lighting!"

He let his words die out. Should he hide away?

"Are you angry?" He asked in a small voice.

"Angry? I- I don't know... A bit, I guess. I trust you, of course, but this has become a big deal for me, my face. I mean, you were gonna see it one day, I wanted that time to be special." Etho said, his voice became weary. "Be happy I actually wore clothes."

"I wouldn't be un-happy so to say."

"You- You're something else, man!"

Bdubs eased up, "I know, baby."

Etho took a long breath, he could hear the gears turning in his head, not knowing what he was planning. Who knew what that man was thinking anyways.

"You get ONE time of facetime, okay?"

He hadn't expected a sudden meet and greet, "Really?"

"Just make a private call, I don't want any of the other hermits joining, Gem will be so mad at you by the way." Ethos voice quieted down.

All hope of a session of editing went out the window, as he pulled up his private chat on discord with Etho, the last message read, 'U up for mc?'

He clicked the call button, "I'm calling! Okay! It's happening!"

Etho chuckled once, "Well, you already saw my face, WITHOUT me knowing, stalker."

"I'm sorry, okay?"

The call was picked up, eyes staring directly at him, while his mind blanked out, "Uh- hi."

"You're so RED, man!" Etho laughed at him, his whole face full of laughter, a mix of nervousness and excitement.

"I am?" He felt his face, "Well, don't blame me! You're pretty handsome, not more than me, though." He lied, of course Etho would be good looking, he could feel it in his guts from the moment he met him. Beauty followed the soul.

"Don't sell yourself short... Literally." Etho began cracking up again, going off screen to laugh.

"Oh, FREAKING funny, huh! I can prove I'm 5'10!"

"Stand up for me, then." Etho said, showing back on screen to stare directly at him. Making him nervous.

He halted in his action to stand up, "I don't take commands from you! You should trust my words."

"Oh, so now you don't wanna do what I say? Sounds like someone isn't as tall as they say they are, hmm, Bdubs?"

His heart skipped a bit, "I- I uh, I am." His voice more quiet now.

"You okay?"

He had to look away, "Nothing! I'm fine! Can you uh, say my name again?" He spoke the last part quickly, too embarrassed to say it out loud.

Ethos face scrunched, "What?-" His voice high, but then he spoke, "Bdubs? BdoubleO? John? Which one?"

He coughed, "Uh! Thank you! That's all, I wanted you to look stupid! Okay, Ha! Yeah.." Hearing his name from Etho was always something he enjoyed, but from Etho AND his face was something else entirely. He was comfortable with his sexuality, of course. He had always been open to girls and boys, and he fell in love with his wife the first time they met.

When he met Etho, he started wondering how his life would be if he had married a man. A thought for the dreamers, a thought he wouldn't make a reality, because he loved his life. He loved his children, his wife, his job.

He loved Etho as much as he could too.

"You like when I say your name?"

As much as a friend could love him, perhaps he never saw them as only friends, but also not as lovers. His wife knew about Etho, how could she not? And she adored him as well. They would frequently put an Etho lets play in the background when making dinner, laughing at the commentary. His wife never had any problems with, what Cleo would call, his obsession.

"You do, you weirdo." Etho said, leaning back, "Can you say my name?"

"Etho." His eyes scanned the screen, the face for any reaction.

A smile spread across Ethos face, he scuffed, "Yeah, okay."

A small pause between them and then a strange question, "Should I buy a better webcam for you?"

"For me?"

"You're the only one who gets to see me, mind I add, maybe HD is better for you." Etho said with a slight smile in his tone, "Anything for you."

In their years together, Etho had picked up on his adorations for him, and he had never said anything about it. Slowly, after a long time, it became their normal.

"You should get some rest, Bdubs."

"I should."

His head was tilted while the two men stared at each other, Etho said in a low voice, "This is kinda nice."

"Yeah, it really is."

[obae-me]

i have a suggestion!

obey me brothers reacting to "would you still love me if I was worm?"

The age old question. I'd be glad to do some little headcanons for you! These should be cute!

Lucifer

What kind of question is that?...

He's going to take it way too literally. He can't help it, he's an overthinker. "Why would you be a worm? Is it due to a curse? Then I would simply break the curse for you."

He can't quite seem to wrap his head around the scenario. Because...you are simply not a worm. Yes, he loves you, and if you were unfortunately turned into such a little creature, he would do anything in his power to turn you back.

If somehow, in some other timeline, you were once and always a worm, why would he fall in love with you then? How does one go about loving a worm?

Please help him, he's so confused.

Eventually, even if he doesn't quite get it, he'll go the gentlemanly route. "No matter what form you happen to take, I will always love you."

Mammon

Eh? Why are you asking him such gushy things? But...yeah...obviously.

"I could fit ya around in my pocket then! Do you think worms would be good at stealing stuff? Eh, probably not, you'd be smaller than a Grimm. And I would hate to see ya get smushed."

He doesn't overthink it, which this time around is the right answer. Good boy, Mammon!

Of course, as much as he would continue to love you as a worm, boy, does he sure love you just as you are now.

"Just don't go plannin' on getting turned into a worm anytime soon, please. I'd have to bail ya out, and that can be costly. I'd never let you leave my side again."

Levi

Aha! He knows this one! He's been on the internet, he knows what this question is all about!

So, of course, he can say with mild confidence, that he would! "Always! No matter what shape you take, I'll always l-l-lo-love you!" Perfect! Said just like a cheesy anime line. "Just...stay away from Henry 2.0 if you become a worm, okay?"

Maybe he could keep you on his desk, so you could watch him play games and share shows together...wait...do worms even have eyes?

They don't?! Then that would be sad...but he won't go back on his answer!

But seriously, his heart probably couldn't take it if you were a worm forever. Satan might be more of a fan of those sad-ending stories, but he's not!

Satan

What a curious question...

If you were a cat, he'd obviously still love you. "Out of all the world's creatures, why a worm? Is there something about them I don't know about? No? Why don't you turn into a little kitty instead?"

He doesn't fully get the question. You'll have to explain to him that it's not about turning into a worm, but if you would still be taken care of!

Well, if that's all it's about, of course he would still care for you. Just don't eat his books please if you happen to become a bookworm.

"If you're oh-so-curious, I could probably find a spell to turn you into a worm right now."

He's just joking, but he did enjoy the look of mild panic on your face.

Asmo

Of course he would!

Surprisingly enough, he answered that easily, and maybe not quite the answer you expected. "I could keep you in the garden! Oh, or maybe not, what if you got eaten?! Oh, I know! I'd get a little plant for my room and keep you there!"

He simply knows he would find you adorable no matter what!

He doesn't really know what a worm needs, but he would be willing to learn.

He'd get a special fancy plant mister and make sure even as a worm that you'd be moisturized and hydrated! Maybe he'd even make a special Devilgram for you!

"Aw, but then I wouldn't be able to kiss your cute face! Try not to become a worm if you could help it, m'kay?"

Beel

A worm?

He'd be sad if that happened and you couldn't return to normal... "Do worms eat a lot? They do? So you wouldn't go hungry? Good. Could I feed you leftovers?"

Of course he would love you no matter what you were. And he promises that he wouldn't eat you.

Don't ask why he would potentially eat a worm in the first place.

Just thinking about it all makes him seem to love you more while you remain not a worm.

He's got to make sure he can hug you and eat plenty of meals with you while you're still human.

Belphie

You're such a weirdo...but sure, why not?

That's what you want to hear, right? "I bet it would be peaceful under all that dirt. Like a huge blanket. Oh...but then I wouldn't be able to sleep with you anymore. Then no, I take it back, I wouldn't love you if you were a worm."

Brat.

He acts like he falls asleep right after his answer, but really, he's thinking about it further.

Worms are pretty low maintenance, right? He'd just have to make sure no one ate you or crushed you...maybe too much work then.

"If you were a worm, maybe I'd just find a way to be a worm too. Then I wouldn't have Lucifer bother me so much. Then we could just be lazy worms together."

A surprisingly sweet outcome.

[astyrial]

eyes wide open oikawa tooru x gn!reader (angst) synopsis: you confront an old love word count: 1k warnings: egotistical behavior, went hard on this one ngl masterlist | requests are open

    teal and white balloons line the reminiscent halls of aoba johsai. strings hang onto locker handles, each one slightly scratched and torn from years of overuse, students not caring for the longevity of them. banners run along the top of the lockers, words scattered on some of them. aoba johsai's volleyball team's wins written on one of them. 

  you can hardly remember the last time you thought about their volleyball team. of their captain and setter. except now, it's hard to ignore the glaring love the school had for its athletes. the countless yearbook photos and awards all ending up in the hands of the players. especially the famed volleyball team and their captain that oh so loved the attention. 

  he loved it so much he forgot how to love someone else. leaving you years later standing outside of the party, arms crossed over your chest, completely alone. even hearing the music reminds you of why you didn't want to come in the first place. the songs that sound a little too much like prom music and the outfits that are simply there to represent wealth. 

  "reminiscing?" a voice worms its ways through your ears, familiar and yet disturbing.

  "hard to reminisce when none of it was very enjoyable," you stare ahead at the banner, him standing in your peripheral vision, your finger tapping against your forearm. 

  he sighs, lowering his shoulders. he's always been expressive through his body language. how he loves someone, hates them, it's always written across his face like a shakespearean play. and now, you can see the pain your words cause him, "none of it?"

  you look over at the man you once loved, just now noticing the way he's matured. his hair is a little shorter now and his glasses seem much more attuned to that of a grown man. they're a little thicker and closer together, echoing the academic look he carries through his outfit. the browns and loose plaid look quickly screaming professor, something you could never see on him. 

  "yeah... okay, not all of it. some of it was nice," you finally say, eyes still unable to connect with his for more than a few seconds.

  his appearance seems much more at peace with that answer than digging for something that’s a bit more truthful, "how have you been? as we haven't seen each other in quite some time."

  "truly? i don't know if that's any of your business, oikawa. it hasn't been for a very long time. so, i think i'm going to go. you enjoy your celebration with the team and every girl or television network who you had attention from," you push past him, mind throwing you back to every memory you've had in these halls. 

  the way he'd lean against your locker like some american sitcom. his eyes stuck on yours like a mouse to a trap, keeping you in his sights just long enough for him to use you to gain what he wanted. 

  "you're right- if that means anything to you, i want you to know. i wasn't right to you, not in the ways that mattered. especially when i did love you as much as i did," oikawa practically yells out to you just as a new song begins to play over the speakers. 

  you turn around to look at him, chills running up your arms. of course you wanted to know if you ending it with him was the right move. the way you cried over and over blaming yourself for ending something that barely even blossomed into something bigger. when in actuality, oikawa never could've shown that love to you, at least he couldn't then. the overwhelming sense of joy he felt from others impeded the love he garnered for you.

  "i loved you, and maybe it's too late for me to say that to you, but it's the truth. you were too good for me, and i took that for granted," his voice quiets some, hands stuffed into his pockets like a kid getting scolded.

  "it is too late. because- well, i'm a different person. eighteen-year old me would've loved to have heard that spiel," you take a few steps towards him, biting your lip as you shake your head, "but at this point? it's a little off the mark. wouldn’t you say?”

  oikawa stands there for a moment, clearly unable to think of what else to say, "... i know. but truly, y/n- l/n, i am a different person now. and i'd like to at least have a chance to sit down with you, tell you my side of everything."

  "what makes you think you deserve that? to have some sort of closure that i never got when i wanted it? you don't get to change this around just because you've changed," your eyebrows furrow, a clear look of disgust covering your expression, "oikawa, you may be the greatest guy alive right now, but that doesn't change anything."

  "i know- i know. i just want a chance to show you that my eyes are wide open. and they're finally noticing everything that i need to address in my life. that includes how i treated you," he takes a few steps in your direction, bringing his hand up slightly as if he were to hold yours.

  you quickly shake your head, "while it all sounds very genuine, i don't want that. i don't want whatever closure you think i may give you. please, go back to the party and find another person from your past who may want this apology." 

  instead of saying anything else to finally sway you to his side of the court, he stands there, like a fool. fingers pushed back into his pockets as a pout settles on his lips. anything you may have felt for him before, any sort of love or even contentment has been thrown out the window. now, all you feel is pitty for a man who so desperately wants to let go of his past.

a/n: this wasn’t how this fic was supposed to go.. it was supposed to be a fluff piece…

[laylawatermelon]

70.6 - 7.07 Speculation/ Buddie Meta

I am a writer y'know hehe

So, Buddie is happening.

Now let me explain.

Bi buck always existed, but the problem is that most of his consistent emotional relationship one could argue realistically romantically has been with a man he's known for years.

But has always been bi yes, but he's also been in love with his best friend for a really long time.

Friends to lovers where Y'all at? I see y'all madney truthers

Anyways I understand but what has kind of been bothering me is the fact that Buddie the ship has been abandoned/negated as not an important past of the puzzle for bi buck realization despite the fact that Eddie is physically present throughout his entire relationship/storyline.

I could argue that because they're mirrors to each other (corny soulmate type shit is perfect for network tv) this is the best way to ease people into it.

Buck and Eddie are the two beloved firefighters (and respective sex symbols). They have an appeal for the straight audience for that reason.

Lou already spoiled it but he's only here for a while.

There's been almost blatant explanations and dialogue that leads to the fact that this relationship is going to directly lead into buddie one way or another.

Tommy has from the beginning suspected that Buck (I'm calling him Evan in my head in regards to him and it's so weird 😖) and Eddie have an unusual relationship or that Buck is in love with Eddie at least.

(MY attention? is the biggest example.)

My prediction is that their mirrors of each other, the parallels, and red flags pop up too often now.

I know they're still writing the show and are likely watching audience engagement and ao3 (I'm watching you Tim ik you're here I'm new but ik you got shooters out here) for where to go with the story.

In Eddie's (frankly oddly portrayed) plotline is related to his Catholic guilt and his nonexistent relationship with Marisol (no last name?). As the episode maybe suggests they don't know their partners well enough.

Shame to Eddie because it's been months in universe like come on man. In Buck's it's literally been a few weeks, and most of the time Tommy spent with Eddie and not with him.

I like them as a couple and find them affordable. I can't quite bring myself to ship them or be as enthusiastic as others and that's okay.

I still admire the relationship they have and won't bash others for enjoying it.

Hell they still have Taylor and Buck enjoyers and maybe even Abby (i assume I haven't met any honestly).

The reason why I'm a bit confused on why Buddie isn't being all that embraced as a vital part of the storyline is because in a way it is.

I think it spurred the writers on to lean into it heavily due to the actors chemistry and portrayal of the relationship.

Now I'm not saying he wouldn't be bi regardless, because he's always been written that way.

His interactions with worm guy, a gay married couple, Carlos (who I've been waiting to say this but I can't hold myself any longer is Latino, shorter than him, brown eyes, dark hair - Eddie lite/he had a bit of a type aka cute guys.)

I clocked him flirting with him with his cute fact spilling as a way of affection because I do it to to people I love. (🤗i love my ADHD rep!) When he saw him look at the girl he became more platonic in his interactions. Then there was Eddie.

And Eddie honestly is the biggest part of the puzzle.

Yes he likes Tommy, and I don't deny he likes strong confident (suspiciously Eddie shaped 😂) guys.

He has always been attracted to strong personalities regardless of gender.

I do think he did pursue him and I think because Tommy is gay he recognized the flirting Buck does with both men and women as that, flirting.

Eddie doesn't count cause he has a whole can of worms he gotta figure out himself.

If Buck had consistent scenes with an out queer man on the show he'd have been at least clocked. (Eddie was kind of in the way with Josh and the Dispatch crew/his gaydar pinged a lil around him)

I've been saying that now that he's canonically bisexual and it's a known fact, you can't deny he's quite literally been flirting with his best friend the entire show (as a coparent??? Idk man they both said they skip steps/impatient 🤷🏾‍♀️).

When new fans watch it it's obvious, when older fans recall it it's either enlightening or redefining that relationship regardless.

The red flags that are coming up is Eddie's statement of moving too fast and Buck literally moving to fast with his second date (i assume idk how in world time works it's a tv show 🤷🏾‍♀️) being his sister's wedding.

Realistically I know you only invite people to events like that if you're fully committed to each other for a long term thing.

I'm not saying that he's on his wheel but in a way I'm tilting my head at some similarities of Tommy and his past relationships and Buck's tendencies.

Buck will be Buck.

Tommy knows him as Evan, and calls him such.

Which didn't get me wrong cute or whatever but rubs me there wrong away, because we know he prefers Buck as it's his chosen name for a reason. It's defined him and been contextualized and even accepted by his parents.

I believe in calling people the name they choose to be called and I just don't like when that's ignored.

It also doesn't help that he continues to call him that in an episode called You don't know me (you can Even tie it in to Marisol No last name) that deals with identities and lack of knowledge.

Buck has spent most of his remaining twenties with that identity and has defended it so the casualness of him calling him that unnerves me.

It's meant to close the distance and be portrayed as romantic but it can also be interpreted as him seeing Evan, not Buck when with him.

But I did see a post that changed my perspective on calling a name with love instead can recontextualize the meaning of it and I found that sweet and fitting. In that case I can swing either way about it.

If it does make him more accepting of that side of his identity that's great that he's beginning to heal from a path when his name/personhood was used as a weapon or item.

But, I also still feel a bit iffy that it's not interchangeably used with Buck because his family and everyone he knows calls him that. Even his previous romantic partners did and I didn't mind him being called it but I would like it if both names would be used as that is the new part of him where Evan exists as well.

Also narratively they spent too much time on defining his name and what it means to him and everyone around him to not show the importance of his identity being acknowledged in a new unfamiliar relationship.

(whew i think I'm just mad at the writers or this may just be on purpose who knows 🤷🏾‍♀️)

I'm getting to the meta I promise I'm just finally processing what's been plaguing me about this relationship and i gotta let the monster out

That would also explain why he doesn't know the ADHD rants that Buck blabs on about.

But then again the episode is called you don't know me and they weren't even friends he just jumped into a relationship.

(ps you can just start dating someone and learn as you go I'm just saying 🤷🏾‍♀️)

The biggest problem with their relationship is that he's in love with his best friend.

He literally only began to open up and flirt when he realized that he wasn't a romantic threat to his family.

(Which trifling Buck! Your man can't get wined and dined?? He deserves love too!/j)

He literally relaxed/his shoulders open up when Tommy assures him that his son still loves and idolizes him and that Eddie still likes him and he's irreplaceable in his life.

After that's secured he begins to make his move and become more flirtatious (cough sexually open cough) to this confident man in his kitchen in the dim lights and glowy atmosphere.

Damn I'd kiss him too 🤷🏾‍♀️ (if I was a guy ofc)

I also didn't like the parallels of Buck being left (which has happened with his female love interests) and then Buck still having to reach out.

I don't think Tommy is bad for Buck, but I'm still not convinced that he's 100% good. But then again he's been here literally a two episodes and barely any screentime.

And the one he does makes it seem like he's interested but not too invested.

(which makes sense and I will elaborate a bit later in the meta speculation)

The Tommy that everyone is talking about exists solely in fan spaces and head canon and that's why I think I can't get into it. The facts of him are plain in the show but in the fan spaces he has a different image.

Which valid, once again he's almost a blank sheet of what we wish a Buck gets and deserves in a love interest but that's what he is as of now. A blank-ish sheet. Kind of like a projection sheet for movies.

Tommy seems like a caring partner and sure of himself. He's shown himself to be funny, considerate, and as unhinged as the rest of the 118 (ah the fruity fire badasses).

Also i wanna point your Buck likes em a lil older sometimes haha

But back on topic, I can see Tommy being like Natalia (which makes sense as that storyline could've been used) In the fact that he sees that the space in his life is occupied and respectfully backs out.

My meta for 7.06 is this.

Tommy helps out somehow. Buck is ecstatic rightfully so.

They kiss dance and are cute.

The family is very welcoming, the 118 is still loving, but then he sees something that affirms his suspicions.

It's a normal scene for us.

Either Buck is taking care of Chris and then talks to Eddie.

He sees the look in Buck's eyes and the fondness there. He looks at Eddie and sees the same on his face.

He notices how they work together and laugh, them at the family and life he's built all around him, and decides he can't be apart of this. There's no space for him.

It feels too real too fast and he'll only end to heartbroken because he's just interested, not invested yet.

So he gracefully bows out and let's him know that he has enough love in his life if he'd just look for it.

(i also found out he used the word interested in the cafe scene where i recognized it as the ana date. Also Buck was wearing a white patterned shirt and i had a heart attack because it wasn't great the last time he wore it 😬)

Then it leads into ghost of a second chance.

(now imma say this i will be posting more specs about the these episodes I'm just on my buddie storyline juice rn)

This is now Buck trying to salvage/figure out what went wrong and maybe try to contact him again.

In the case of Marisol it's safe to assume they break up, the reason why isn't clear.

It could be related to his sisters disapproval of their relationship (as they're supposed to be coming out did the show forget??) or apprehension towards her as they've been raised/watched him grow up.

They know what makes him happy.

For ghost a second chance I didn't have much buddie assumptions but I'm pretty sure that one is more in relation to other members of the cast most likely and maybe Buck trying to salvage his relationship.

7.08-10 isn't complete so who knows🤷🏾‍♀️ how they must switch it up for more drama?

But I will say, we gotta dive into the Eddie of it all.

Y'all thought I forgot about him?

The bi Buck storyline isn't complete without Eddie either romantically or platonically.

In real life their queer storylines were always interchangeable and they're both feeling out the GA and fans reaction.

Buddie not going canon doesn't make sense because realistically it's one of the biggest ships and the most talked about things for the online fans.

It's a good reason many fans started (me included🙋🏾‍♀️) and stay (if the beautiful found family didn't hit it for them).

The way that they were both discussed and Ryan is fine with Buddie still kind of matches his character honestly. Demi Eddie is a head canon and honestly Eddie would only be comfortable with dating a man at this stage of his life if it's someone he loves already aka Buck.

There could be other reasons but as a Buddie warrior truther (as they named it which is still so insane) as his old interviews alluded to the fact that he loves Buck so much he can't really see himself with another guy he just met like that.

He also maybe wanted a easier storyline as he had always been a bit of a heavy character.

For women it's easier as he's raised to do it and it's "natural" or right for him to do so.

His parents said it, the church says it, God says it so it must be right.

He loves commitment, has said he's a nester and constantly yearns for a family unit.

The only family unit he knows of it feels is acceptable due to his upbringing is man, woman, child.

Not that he's homophobic cause duh, HenRen is literally there, but his standards and pressure doesn't even let him fathom it for himself.

It's also likely if the demi part is true, he's highly unlikely to be like Buck and view others sexually and even realize he's able to have a family/relationship with a man.

I suspect no Buddie this season. I actually hope and pray for it.

Because from both a business and story point it's best to keep the will-they won't-they into season 8 to keep viewers engaged/tuning in and not to rush the story and get some really good emotional moments.

I won't lie I miss the angst we got in the other seasons and as a result the show's identity with Eddie has faltered a bit.

I didn't love episode 5 but I didn't hate it. I still enjoy the show and if they feel a bit unusual it's okay.

There were still some great moments in it.

Eddie's character is now happy but as a result he's also somewhat unfamiliar (that speaks to the whump heavy storylines he has) as he seems less mature. You can argue now that he has a stable support system he's able to let loose because he knows his needs will be covered.

That's also a great point and easy way of showing his development.

His Catholic guilt now that it's been introduced will have to be deconstructed as he will have to redefine his life, what he's looking for/allow himself to be and dare to dream of a life not given to him by someone else or pressure.

This season he's only just started to accept things that make him feel good (which for now is Marisol) and be open and honest about it.

I can argue it is a great sign of improvement of his character.

A bit ooc portrayal yes, but the message of looking deeper still applies.

This can apply to Buddie probably leading through the next half of season 7 by being ramped up and then going full speed ahead season 8.

At the time though since they're still writing they may take a hard right turn and keep it platonic (😭).

But what would be inevitable is Eddie's coming out/self discovery arc that isn't tied to the church or sense of duty.

Which yay! More self discovery I love the message of finding yourself lasts throughout your life and due to life's unexpected events you can change to be a better version of yourself all the time.

We got bi buck (which evidently was influenced by Eddie in some way) now let's free Eddie to even if they didn't do it for Buddie (once again😭😭😭).

Now that I've got it mostly off my chest I'm definitely gonna do an analysis of the parallels and the way it's played pt.2 (and more as seasons passed cause Ryan and Oliver 😘 muah 10/10 no notes).

Okay bye.

[moonbeamwritings]

The mad dash begins as soon as the front door to your shared apartment clicks shut. Motoya’s footsteps race into the kitchen, pattering against the tile as he slings his EJP jacket across one of the chairs at the kitchen counter. 

He pecks a kiss to your hair. “Hi babe.” And another one. “Bye babe.”

He stops for only a second to slip out of a single shoe, leaving it at the opening to the hallway like a volleyball-playing Cinderella. You hear the dull clunk of the other shoe somewhere farther down; you guess somewhere near the bedroom.

“‘M goin’ out with Kiyoomi and the guys tonight!” He calls from down the hall, closet door sliding open as he does. Last week he made plans with his cousin and their old volleyball friends to go out for dinner and grab a few drinks, catch up a little. And now, tonight’s the night.

“I know!”

“You gonna be okay for dinner, sweets? I can bring you somethin’ home.”

“I’m cooking up some stir fry now! Don’t worry about me, ‘Toya.”

He grumbles something you don’t quite catch, and then shouts to ask, “Babe, do you know where my plaid shirt is? The blue one?”

You think it over as the vegetables sizzle on the stovetop. You hadn’t seen it in the hamper, and you can’t remember the last time you saw it in the closet. Shrugging, you reply, “Uhh, no baby. I don’t. Did you check your drawers, too?”

The sounds of drawers opening and closing travels down the hallway. And then, “It’s not here.”

“Hmm, then sorry, I don’t know.”

Motoya sighs and picks another shirt. It’s not that big a deal, but he had been itching to wear that shirt. Maybe when he had more time, he could really look for it. He retraces his steps to pick up his discarded sneakers before dropping them into your bedroom and grabbing his jacket. And as he shrugs into it, Motoya pads back down the hallway, stopping right before he reaches the kitchen. 

He takes a moment to drink you in, admiring your soft curves and the gentle way you flit from one counter to the other, chopping vegetables and adding ingredients to the wok. But as his eyes drag down the line of your neck, he notices something. Something... peculiar.

A familiar blue plaid shirt hangs off of one shoulder, exposing smooth skin and the thin strap of your tank top. With flushed cheeks and a rapidly beating heart, Motoya comes up behind you to worm his arms around your waist and press his chest into your back, to push a smirk into the crook of your neck.

Before he says anything, he kisses your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder. His voice is low and even as he says, “This shirt looks familiar, hmm? Thought you didn’t know where it was?”

Your hands still, gaze flickering down to his arms, weaved around well-worn, navy blue plaid. “Oh, Motoya, I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.”

“Mm,” he presses closer to peck your cheek, nuzzling his nose into your skin when he pulls away, “It’s okay. Looks better on you anyway.”

“Honey,” you warn, “you’re gonna be late.”

A kiss lands right against your temple. “Don’t wanna leave.”

You turn in his arms to cradle his cheek. “Well, I don’t want to hear your cousin complain. So, go.”

Motoya rolls his eyes and leans in to finally press a chaste kiss to your lips. “Alright, alright. I’m goin’.”

At the door, he gives you a long look, like a sad puppy guilting its owner into staying home. He pouts, and you step closer to kiss him again. “Go. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

“Will you save me some stir fry?”

You sigh, fixing him with a knowing smile. “I already made extra.”

With one last peck, he beams. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. See you when you get home.”

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

they meet up for lunch, in one of the dozens of little mostly-private alcoves at school (neither of them can be bothered to go further than the cafeteria to get food). Virgil splits his brownie with Remus, and Remus lets him steal fries.

"would you still love me if i was a worm" Remus asks, leaning into its boyfriend, and Virgil snorts, shoving it off his shoulder.

"don’t think we’d’ve met if you were a worm, Re."

"but if I turned into one, like right now."

Virgil thinks, and then something crosses his mind.

"Is today a ‘turning into a worm’ day?" Remus has those, sometimes, where she feels like her body is corrupting into something inhuman. it makes lu floaty and gives ly a headache, some days. some days are dragon days, where he feels like he’s better than everyone else, on top of the world. those days are okay, but still not as nice as xer human days.

"nah," Remus says, leaning back into Virgil, knocking xer green chucks into Virgil’s combat boots, "my skin fits okay today. jus’ wondering."

"okay," Virgil says, "then probably? as long as I knew it was you. I wouldn’t keep you though. I’d put you in the soil, so you could be a happy worm."

"what if I was like. a worm on a string. but alive." Remus leans over further, and twists so it’s lying with its head in Virgil’s lap.

"new pet." Virgil says, grinning down at em.

"I thought you were my pet," Remus pouts, lifting ver arm to hook ver fingers into Virgil’s spiked choker.

"not at school I’m not," Virgil says, pulling Remus’s hand of his neck and intertwining their fingers.

"no? not even if we went to that little janitor’s closet like last week? or an empty music room, like in Heartstopper?"

"I’m not making out with you in a closet again, that shit was uncomfortable. practice room… maybe. if it gets you to actually practice your percussion."

"hey, I practice," Remus says, fake-offended.

"you practice snare drum and bass drum and that’s it. I bet you don’t even know how to read music."

"like you do???"

"a) don’t shame me for being an art kid. b) I played piano for three years!!!"

"and you don’t remember any of it," Remus says, smugly, squeezing Virgil’s hand.

"and I don’t remember any of it," Virgil laughs, carding his other hand through Remus’s hair. Remus melts under the attention, the sqabble forgotten.

"really though," they say, eyes closed, "I could get a practice room for us. today, even. those jeans make you look even hotter, gotta get me a piece ‘a that."

"or we could just—" Virgil folds over, making Remus reach up into the kiss. they break apart, and Remus quickly sits up and rearranges aerself to sit in Virgil’s lap properly. ae cups Virgil’s face in aer hands and kisses him soft and quick. there’s no one around, not within view of them, anyways. they can make out for a couple minutes before heading to next period. they can be seventeen and stupid.

"you’re pretty," Virgil murmurs, knocking their foreheads together.

"you’re prettier," Remus counters, kissing him again, "we should do this a whole lot more."

"yeah," Virgil says—well, mumbles, really. it’s hard to talk with Remus’s lips so close to his. "maybe not at school though."

"not our best idea," Remus agrees, and then kisses Virgil harder, pushing him back against the wall.

"not fair," Virgil complains, when he gets a chance to breathe. "you can’t acknowledge that this is a terrible idea and then keep doing it, that’s not allowed."

"this is a very good idea then," Remus says, kissing Virgil with nok mouth open, knocking ny teeth against his, messy and perfect. and, well, obviously Virgil has to retaliate, so he tangles his fingers in the back of Remus’s mullet and kisses her with tongue.

from there it doesn’t turn quite as filthy as Remus would like, they are still at school after all, but it’s something that Remus would be very happy to continue in Virgil’s bedroom later.

the lunch-end bell rings, and they pull apart, flushed and mussed up. they scramble to clean up the remainder of their food, and split apart, Virgil to English and Remus to math.

(Remus kisses Virgil one last time, on the cheek. they’ll see each other for last period, but until then, parting is such sweet sorrow)

Gay people <3