#which is worse now that I barely know any of the people who all pitched in to get it anymore bc we all drifted

[yaminerua]

I don’t know why my brain won’t just let me accept other people’s willing generosity ;;;

when I was at that wedding catching up with extended family members I haven’t seen in a long time they were asking what I was doing and how my art was going and I said it was kind of on pause since I haven’t had anything to do my digital art on for ages now and they were like oh don’t worry about that we can get you something and I just was automatically like aaaah no it’s fine you don’t need to spend that money on me;;;

bc I don’t like feeling like I’m putting someone out of pocket or like I’m asking/expecting charity. I guess its like I don’t feel I’m worth people spending money on me;; So I ended up shutting down what had probably been a genuinely well meaning offer to help out ;;

[alovesreading]

Nice Kind Of Messy

Summary: Your friends set you up on a blind date, one that you aren't really looking forward to at all but when you find George Daniel there waiting outside the restaurant, there is no doubt it'll be a date to remember.

Word Count: 16.7k 

Warnings: smut.

A/N: So I wrote this as part of my Alex series but I figured I should turn it into a one shot so my George girlies could read it without having to commit to a long Alex Turner fic lol It took me a while to get it ready on one shot form but I hope you enjoy now that it's here hehehe xx

Masterlist

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You wake up that morning quite nervous. Your excitement makes you shiver in anticipation but the feeling brushes the line of anxiety and it’s rather overwhelming.

You’ve not been really looking to date lately, there hasn’t been any type of enthusiasm when hinted about putting yourself out there again since you got cheated on by your ex boyfriend. You couldn’t be arsed about it—the whole process of actively trying to look for a person that you felt was right and suited what you at least felt was the bare minimum was exhausting just to think about.

Going out with your friends was almost always a failed mission. They tried to get you out on the pull with them but you ended up straying back to the table and waving them goodbye when they came back with someone hanging from their arm, winking at them as if to wish them a good night.

They had only been lucky to send you off with someone a handful of times, but despite their best efforts to push you to pursue those who you had spent a night with, you had left them as that: a one night stand.

So they had used a new method this time, which entailed the fact that they had apparently been scheming about behind your back for a few weeks. You had only found out when you were having a wine night with them over at your flat, your jaw dropping and brows furrowing when they let you know they had made a reservation at a certain restaurant in Covent Garden so that you could meet up with someone they swore was the perfect match for you.

“It’s a blind date, we can’t tell you,” said one of your friends with a wicked grin on her face, sipping on her wine as you took the time to glare at your other two friends sitting on your settee.

They only offered you gallic shrugs and giggles, bubbly and high pitched which unfortunately managed to tug at the corners of your lips until they formed a smile.

A happy, “You’re excited then?” made you realize what you were doing, so you took a gulp of your wine and shook your head in disagreement as you swallowed.

“No, I’m just confused.” You really were, it was worse you didn’t have a clue who it could be because there wasn’t really anyone you think had shown interest towards you that you all knew. “Am I allowed to back out?”

You hoped you could, even if a meal at a restaurant you had been dying to go to for ages paid by one of them was on the cards here, but you were truly wary about throwing yourself into a situation where you actually had to put yourself in the dating mindset.

As you cursed your stupid cheating scum of an ex for ruining the prospect of dating for you, your friends shook their heads and said, “No.” in unison.

And they unfortunately went on to explain how your date knew about it already and had cleared their schedule for it to happen, and since you were an awful people pleaser, you sighed in defeat and agreed to go.

So there you are, slowly making your way to your kitchen to make yourself breakfast, despite the nerves making your stomach flip constantly and making you nauseous. Slowly you eat, slowly you wash your dishes and put them away.

You do everything slowly that day, taking a long shower and lounging in bed, still in your robe and letting your hair air dry. The date wasn’t until four so you still had time, and you figured if you went about it at a steady pace, then by the time you were fully ready you would have to leave and there wouldn’t really be a long space of time for you to bail out at the last minute.

By the time it hits noon, you’re doing your hair. Straightening it and curling the ends leisurely, humming along the music you’re playing on your speakers which is interrupted by a call.

“Good afternoon Miss Y/L/N, are you ready for today?” One of your friends greets you with a chipper tone in her voice, you could practically see the beaming smile on her face just from her voice.

Biting on your bottom lip, you let the phone rest on your lap as you continue with the next section of hair and shyly admit, “I’m actually nervous…”

The way she coos at you makes you roll your eyes but there’s a wave of consolation that comes over you when she says, “Good but also don’t be. He’s an absolute dream.”

The tiny piece of information actually makes you more curious about who he is, so you try your chances again as you ask, “Are you finally gonna tell me who it is?”

You had been trying all week to get anything out of your friends but they had been surprisingly good at keeping this one secret under a lock. And this time wouldn’t be different since you only get a vague, “All you have to know is that he’s fit and I know you’ll get on with him perfectly well.”

At least the reassurance that you and him would get on well eases your nerves a little. Not as much as you would like though, but that’s because you know yourself and when you first meet anyone, you get shy and a bit awkward, so you’re praying that you'll be able to get a bit of courage not to make a fool out of yourself.

Thankfully your friend stays on the phone with you as you finish doing your hair and you actually facetime her when you’re doing your makeup. She keeps making you laugh throughout it all and somehow makes you forget about how tense you had been for a bit.

Her boyfriend, Matty, comes back to her flat from a meeting right as you’re showing your friend the dress you’re wearing for the date and, to her dismay, he almost slips and tells you who it is that you’re seeing in merely an hour from now.

“Matthew!” She exclaims loudly before the name can fall from his lips and he quickly throws his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

His honest, “I’m so sorry.” sounds muffled behind his hand and it only gets an eye roll from your friend which makes you laugh.

But you are gutted that your only chance to find out is gone that way. You whine as you complain, “Why do you react so quickly?”

Your friend takes her boyfriend’s close mishap as a sign to let you go though, completely ignoring your complaint to remind you, “You’re gonna have to get faster Miss, it’s quarter past three and it’s a twenty five minute walk over there.”

“Shit, right.” You curse under your breath, realizing you need to get dressed already and leave as soon as you can so you aren't late.

“You look fucking stunning, babe.” She states with confidence, reassuring you since you seem to start growing panicky, “I’m gonna leave you now so you can change but you have the best time Y/N/N, alright?”

You purse your lips at the camera and clutch your chest, “Thanks hun, love you.”

She grins sweetly at you and reciprocates, “Love you too. And let me know how it goes, alright?”

“Will do, but I don’t promise anything too interesting.” You make sure to make that point clear, you don’t have much expectations for the date just so you don’t end up feeling defeated for it not meeting whatever you could imagine it to be if you allowed yourself to.

But your friend is in heavy doubt of it not being interesting considering she knows who you are meeting with. So she shrugs as she smirks, “Yeah, well… We shall see about that.”

It’s the way that she looks like she’s trying not to laugh that has you narrowing your eyes at her, “What?”

Question that isn’t answered because she plays dumb and simply says, “Okay byeee! Love you!” loudly, blowing you a kiss before hanging up the phone.

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You walk the best you can in your high heeled boots which were not a great pick when mixed with how nervous you are and how far you had to walk. You had debated getting a taxi when you were locking up your flat but decided against it when you realized that if you did, you’d get there quicker and you wanted to stall as much as you could.

You aren’t even late yet, ten minutes left for the clocks to strike four in the afternoon and you are merely five minutes away. The whole walk, you had been practicing in your head whatever you could say to the guy you were meeting with, just to prevent embarrassing yourself. If anything went wrong though, you had brought your camera with you and a few rolls were stuffed in your pocket so that you could at least take the opportunity to take pictures.

In your head, you had gone from any topics you could come up with about yourself, deciding against being the one to mention your tragic love life and picking a few questions that could be interesting to ask your date.

But all the inquiries and words you had been rehearsing die in your throat when you round the corner at the end of the restaurant’s street and you see the tall dirty blonde smoking a cigarette, leaning on a lamppost right by the entrance of the establishment.

You think of making a run back to your building, hesitating which way would be easiest to go and how it would work with your long dress but his eyes fall on you before you can make up your mind and when he smiles sweetly at you, cigarette perched between his lips, you know it’s too late.

On your face a shy smile breaks and you give him a little wave before approaching him, faking confidence as you get closer until he’s only a few feet away so you say, “Oh hi, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Your face is burning up and you know he can see your flustered demeanor because he smirks down at you, and cheekily asks, “Were you hoping for someone else?”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you smile harder at his playfulness and in a rush of bravery you choose to play along, “Do you really want to know the answer?”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke out steadily as he shakes his head, “I’m just hoping you remember my name.”

And how could you forget, “Of course I remember you, George.”

George hums, taking one last drag of his smoke as he takes in your appearance and he’s grinning mischievously when seeing the dark satin and lace of your dress contrasting on your skin, your leather jacket making you look even more stunning and coincidentally matching the one he’s wearing.

“Glad you haven’t, Y/N.” The drummer replies with a wink, dropping the bud on the ground and stepping on it before taking something out of the pocket of his dark jeans, “Y/F/N sent this for you.”

An involuntary “Oh.” falls from your lips, entirely intrigued by what it can be that your friend had wanted to tell you that couldn’t be said on the phone because George hands you a folded piece of paper that only says Y/N/N x on the front.

You carefully open it, trying your best to avoid George seeing it—which is a bit of an issue since he’s so tall he can easily read if he looks down—and you instantly blush harder when you read Get the nice kind of messy ;) x

A flashback of the moment at Glastonbury when you had been gawking at George and you had let slip how fit you found him comes to the forefront of your mind and you can’t help yourself getting a little flustered at the mere thought of it.

“He’s fit as fuck.” Your eyes are unable to move from his figure, the way his muscles contract and define with every hit of the drums and the facial expressions he makes as he plays.

Your friend snorts in laughter and leans in to ask further, “Oh, so you fancy George then?”

You stutter as you try to come up with a response, “I mean… Look at him!” You’re entirely entranced by it all and it doesn’t help that he’s covered in a thin coat of sweat already, only three songs into their set, so his white top is slowly becoming translucent and sticking to his body.

It’s like your brain is shutting down and all that it can register is the look of the drummer because it takes you a few long seconds to realize your friend has teasingly said, “I’ll make sure to relay that message.”

“Oh, no, don’t.” The panic of that happening is the one thing that helps you snap out of your trance.

You watch as your friend’s face contorts in confusion and she fights your answer, “Why?! You need to get back out there and who better than George?”

But you shake your head, “No, that’d be so messy!” You can’t think of anything worse than trying to get with your friend’s boyfriend’s best friend—you cringe just imagining how that going wrong would cause a horrendous change in the group’s dynamic.

All of your worries come to a halt and you choke on your own spit when your friend smirks as her eyes fall on George, “That’d be messy, alright. The nice kind of messy.”

In an attempt to try and play it cool, you fold the note and shove it in one of the pockets of your leather jacket, clearing your throat, adjusting the strap of your camera on your shoulder and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like it’s all fine and normal.

But George can see the way you’re pursing your lips and how you hid the note so hastily so your behavior completely betrays your attempts to be secretive about it. “What did you say?” He kept his promise that he wouldn’t open the note when Matty gave it to him earlier that day, even though he’s been really tempted too, especially when he realized Matty knew what it said because he was giggling when his girlfriend handed it to him.

You don’t give him an answer though, only a little cough that acts as a coverup of you avoiding his gaze and a subtle shrug, “Just a little joke.”

“Can you share?” He tries further, his hand coming to nudge you softly in the arm.

Not even that helps your answer change. You shake your head and say a shy, “Not really.”

“I see how it is.” George narrows his eyes at you and adds, “S’alright, I’ll remember that.” which is a promise that has you biting your tongue.

“Shall we go inside?” The drummer says then, watching you struggling to come up with a response to his previous statement.

The new question is much easier to reply to, a soft “Yes.” falling from your lips, breathlessly.

And he takes your breath even more when he lets you walk ahead, only to rest his hand on your lower back delicately and casually comment, “You look beautiful by the way. Really like that we’re matching with the leather jackets.”

The opportunity to not acknowledge the compliment is perfect because you feel like you’re going to explode under George’s attention. You giggle and nod, “What a great coincidence huh?”

His answer being, “Hot coincidence.” accompanied by a wink doesn’t make it easy for you though and you find out then that being on a date with George Daniel means blushing every five minutes even if the chat is about mundane topics.

You talk about your hometowns and the differences between your upbringings, how different it was that you’d stayed in the same city for your entire life while he lived moving around for a good part of his childhood until his family settled in Manchester. You tell each other how you had ended up doing what you were doing currently and you end up cooing constantly when George tells you how the guys became friends and how the band had come together. You exchange stories about your jobs, finally having the opportunity to ask all that came to your mind about producing music which you had always found fascinating ever since you’d gotten closer to the band. George being fascinated about your knowledge on films and everything to do with photography and cinematography, which really comes with your job as a photographer and videographer.

Then he asks about your hand tattoo—the ‘Pure Desire’ written on the back of your hand is rather enticing—smirking when he rubs his thumb over it and asks if you have any more which ends up in you both sharing the amount of ink you have on your bodies which George beat you to by an incredible amount. You end up taking your jackets off and showing each other each piece you have on your skin.

Eventually, the chat comes back to the band and you ask him whereabouts The 1975 has toured so far. Your jaw drops the more his list continues and you genuinely have a hard time wrapping your head around them being relatively new to the mainstream scene when they are already going to all those places.

“I don’t even remember the last time I went on holiday, fucking hell.” You chuckle out in awe at the information he’s just given you.

And George turns your innocent amusement into a mess of heated cheeks, pressed lips and eye rolls when he suggests how that could be easily fixed, “We just have to take you on tour with us next time, don’t we?”

“Think it’ll be crowded enough now that Matty is taking Y/F/N with him.” Your eyebrows are raised to accentuate how serious you are trying to be about it, it’s so hard to conceal how flustered you are at his insinuation.

But he makes it difficult for you to play it cool when he shrugs, “We can share a bunk then.”

“You’re such a flirt. Bet you say that to all the girls.” It almost sounds like you’re scolding him and he likes seeing the reactions he can get out of you, but there’s one thing that has been constant in the back of his mind and he decides to bring it up.

Taking his glass up to his lips, he takes a sip and gulps softly to start saying, “Surprised me when Y/F/N called me and asked if I wanted to go on a date with you.”

“God, that’s embarrassing.” You wince at the information, hating the way it looks for your friends to be asking people around if they want to go out with you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin and die in a ditch.

George smirks playfully, “Going on a date with me?”

You laugh in response to that, shaking your head before clearing up, “Y/F/N asking if you wanted to go out with me. You know you could’ve said no.”

He frowns at you, like you’ve just said the most outrageous thing and he wholeheartedly asks, “But why would I?”

“Oh George, stop it.” You warn him, pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes at him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” George reaches his hand out to touch yours and you almost shiver under it.

You let your fork down beside your plate and fan yourself with your hand as you admit, “You’re making me blush.”

But that’s not something that will keep him quiet, because he confesses, “Yeah and I quite enjoy doing it.”

The rest of the date is spent between good food, good wine, laughter, a picture you take of George when he asks about your camera, and chatter that has been really entertaining and entirely not awkward like you’d been expecting. Getting to know George in a deeper way is like a breath of fresh air and that’s why, when you leave the restaurant and the drummer offers to walk you back home, you don’t even hesitate to accept.

He takes a few detours on the way, taking you around places where he had hilarious and very wholesome stories of his childhood and teenage years when he would come around to London with the lads and other friends just to mess about. You’re so grateful for the anecdotes because you’re making sure to capture each place in its unique beauty and you know now that behind each shot you’d have the memory of what George had shared with you.

George watches you closely every time you take a picture, taking in every little thing you do before and after you press the shutter. You’re so adorable to him, the way your face lights up when you press the shutter and look at him excitedly when you roll the film.

You guide the both of you back to the way to your flat and as you walk, you’re smoking cigarettes and chatting. It’s so easy to carry a conversation with George, he exudes such an energy that just makes you feel free talking about whatever comes to your mind without having to think for a split second about what you should say or shouldn’t.

And just as easy comes laughter, because not only is his laugh hilariously contagious, he is funny himself and he has you struggling to catch your breath multiple times at his quips and comments.

There is something about this evening that you just feel the need to remember as best as you can so he catches you sneakily trying to take candids of him, every time he’s called you out on it and you shamelessly lie about the frame being focused on just what was behind him—every time something mundane and boring—but by the fifth time, instead of calling you out and have you grumpily change the focus of your lenses, he allows you to take a picture of him and even smiles for you; he doesn’t miss how your eyes twinkle after you’ve pressed the shutter.

The way you smile to yourself and proudly state, “I’m really gonna like that one.” makes George’s chest swell and in a lack of any more self control, he stops dead in his tracks and turns to you, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you into him, your chest hitting his chest eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips.

“Oh hi.” You giggle at the sudden action, your hands subconsciously resting on his chest after that, but any other words die in your throat when he dips his head and traps your lips with his.

You hum into the kiss, which is a dizzying combination between sweet and determined. His left arm stays wrapped around your waist, pulling your flush into his chest but the other one comes up to cup your jaw and he keeps you at the perfect angle for him to kiss you just how he wants.

Your arms slowly move up until they are wrapped around the back of his neck and you let your fingers tangle in his hair. It’s soft and long on the top of his head which you really like. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, his fingers clutching your tighter and you let your mouth open so you can taste each other.

You completely forget where you are until someone walks past you and whistles at the two of you, startling you out of the kiss. You really enjoyed that kiss, and it shows in the way you look up at George with burning cheeks and something written on your face.

“I liked that.” George cheekily states, getting ahold of your hand and resuming your walk.

You hum, trying not to giggle when he intertwines your fingers and a feeling you can easily recognize starts bubbling inside you. “Yeah, I liked that too.”

You felt like a teenager. Blushing to yourself while you walked hand in hand with the person you had a crush on, and it’s so ridiculous but so relieving at the same time to feel this kind of pathetic elation instead of despair and heartache for once.

Your conversation resumed from whichever point you last remember it being left at but after that kiss it only gets more and more flirty, and you like where it is going but soon enough you reach your building and you have to slowly come to a stop with a pout.

“This is me.” You mumble, squeezing his hand in yours but he doesn’t let go.

He hums as if hesitant of believing what you’ve just said and instead he suggests, “Don’t you wanna take another walk around the block?”

“George, my feet hurt.” They had been hurting for a while but you hadn’t said anything just to not ruin things, and because you were enjoying his company so much that you were willing to endure the pain for a while longer.

The drummer comes to a quick solution, “I’ll carry you.”

Which makes you chuckle, “Sure you would.” You genuinely don’t want the date to end so in a bit of a rushed decision, you bargain, “Don’t you… Do you wanna come upstairs?”

He gets a kick of excitement inside him but he wants to play it cool, so he jokes, “What, are you gonna take my picture?”

You hold back a snort of laughter, and shrug as if it was fine by you that he only wanted that. “If that’s what you want.” There’s a little voice in your head that tells you not to but there is another one that purely encourages you to have fun.

“Yeah, that works.” George casually says, like he isn’t praying that he gets lucky to even get another kiss out of you.

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“Where’d you want me?” George turns to look at you as you drop your camera on your bedside tables and take your jacket off to perch on the back of a loveseat you have in the corner of your room.

You take one of the new rolls out of your pocket and change it for the one you’d almost fully used earlier that day. “Wherever you’re comfortable.” you tell him, focusing on perfectly lining the roll before you can turn to him.

“Bed’s quite comfy.'' You hear George say from behind you and when you look up to see him, you find him lying on his side, head perched on his hand and a smirk on his face. “Paint me like one of your french girls.” He teases, resting his other hand dramatically on his forehead.

All you do is giggle at his antics, “You’re such an idiot.” Shaking your head, you come up to the bed and try looking at the scene through your lenses but you aren't quite convinced by the shot.

George watches you struggle, stepping backwards and forwards, to the sides before sighing. He reminds you with a soft smile, “I’m not used to being the one to pose for the camera. You’re gonna have to guide me.”

“Okay.” Silently, you think about it as you bite on your thumb and once a vision comes to your mind, you start instructing him, “Lean into your forearms, sideways so you fit in the bed.” But you find what’s bothering you and it’s that his legs are half hanging off the bed.

“Why are you so tall? Oh my god.” You go over to the drummer and prompt him to go further into the bed, perching one of his sock-clad feet up on the bed and the other leg staying stretched on the bed. “There, now look at me.”

George looks at you with a blank face first to which you complain about but when he actually shows you a smile he starts giggling, and if there had been something you had learned about George quite early into your date was that his laugh was incredibly contagious, so you find yourself shaking with laughter as you try to take his pictures and you end up having to call him out for it.

“Don’t laugh! You’re making me laugh!” You scorn him, struggling to sound serious between your giggles.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes halfheartedly, swallowing his laughter until he goes back to a stoic face and he gives you the perfect soft smolder.

You hum in satisfaction at the result of that frame and then you move onto instructing him to do the next pose, “Throw your head back a bit and close your eyes.” He silently listens and does as you say which earns him a sweet, “Just like that.” from you.

Of course, your words make George give you a look, one that had you lightly blushing and since you know he can recognize the way you get flustered, you hide behind your camera.

“What?” You say behind the device, inquiry thrown out into the air, and warn him, “Don’t look at me like that.”

George chuckles to himself, wondering if you are this naive or if you are playing dumb. So when you take another picture of him, he purposely complains, “My leg’s cramping.” to then throw himself back on the bed, ending up completely splayed over the duvet and breaking the pose.

“George!” You scold him yet again, a bit of amusement sneaking through your words.

He groans in response and without moving, tells you to “Just take a picture like this.”

You kiss your teeth to exaggerate your disapproval and shake your head, “I can’t even see your face.”

“Come here so you can see it.” He resolves easily for you, waving you over to come close to the side of the bed instead of taking pictures by the end of it. You roll your eyes at him in amusement, not moving at first but since he actually doesn’t plan on moving, you have to do as he says.

But attempting to get a picture from above while standing beside the bed is an actual failure, “That’s an awkward angle, look at me.” You try to get him to turn to his side again but he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Need you on your side.” You say explicitly this time but he doesn’t let up either.

Instead he suggests, “Why don’t you just get up here?” He pats the bed, right next to his hip and you blush just thinking about it. At your silence, he opens his eyes and turns his head to the side to encourage you with a “C’mon.”

He offers his hand so you can use it as leverage to kneel on the bed on each side of his hips and hover above him. You struggle as you do so because you’re growing nervous and therefore clumsy.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse under your breath, seeing him from above is an angle that you don’t really know if you can handle.

“What?” George bites his bottom lip to not let a smirk break on his face.

Yet, not even that keeps you from knowing that he knows just what he was doing but you won’t say anything, because you’re enjoying this a lot more than you are supposed to. So you stick to just replying, “Nothing.” as you take yet another picture of him.

Remembering his tattoos, you bit your bottom lip for a few seconds before hesitatingly asking, “Why don’t you take your jacket off?”

George lets his hands rest right above your knees and squeezes your legs as he teases, “Is that code for something?”

You hoped your flustered state wasn’t obvious so you can play off your nonchalant, “For ‘I want to see your tattoos’, yes.”

It goes right over his head though, because he keeps smirking as he sarcastically replies, “Right, right.”

You move so he can take the piece of clothing off without you hovering over him but when he’s done and laying on the bed again, he pats his right side so you can move your left leg there and have you hover over him properly again.

“How’s that look?” He asks cheekily as his hands go to touch your legs again, the skin up to your mid thighs showing because your dress slit allows it to open and rise up in the position you’re in.

“Amazing.” You breathlessly compliment, making him raise an eyebrow at you.

The shutter goes off again and, as you roll the film, he tests the waters, “Do you want to see them all?”

“Sure.” The word comes out so soft it could’ve gone with the wind, his hands leave your thighs for a second to grab the bottom of his shirt.

“Top’s coming off next then, is that alright?” He asks for confirmation first and you nod eagerly, your pupils dilating in anticipation.

He sheds himself off his shirt in the constricted space he had, you’re so spaced out that you don’t move but it isn’t a problem for George. If anything, his smirk grows at your inability to act and it gets bigger when he throws his shirt somewhere across the room and you’re left shamelessly gawking at his naked top half.

After a minute of your eyes wandering everywhere, George brings your back to reality by letting his hands come over your thighs again. You tremble at the same time as the drummer says, “Y/N/N?”

“Yeah?” You ask, slowly coming back to reality. Your brain has been completely taken over by the view of the taut muscles of his arms littered by colorful ink, a pair of symmetric ‘broken’ tattoos on both sides of his collarbones and his torso beautifully chiseled with a defined six pack.

“When are you taking the picture?” He reminds you, trying not to smirk too hard as to not put you off.

“Shit, sorry.” You say under your breath and, after quickly focusing the shot, finally take a picture of him like that.

There was a heavy silence that hung over you two, the trail of his fingers making your skin grow hot and your throat going dry at the growing need for anything at all. So you find yourself surprised when he breaks the silence to ask you, “Can I take your picture?”

“Mine?” You repeated like you’d heard wrong.

George nods and lets you know, “You look really pretty from here.”

In a feeble attempt not to have him do that, you remind him, “You don’t know how to.”

“Matty had a film camera a few years ago, I know how to.” George surprises you even further when he explains and just to try a bit harder, he pouts at you and says, almost begging, “Please?”

“Okay.” You let yourself accept, your mind too distracted by the view beneath you to even fight.

Once you hand him the camera, he lifts it up to his eyes and lets out a chipper, “Smile.” as an instruction, which you follow only just a bit shyly.

You’re about to get the device back from him when he pulls it away from your grasp and pleads, “Another one please?”

You sigh at the drummer’s exaggerated pout until it turns into a giggle and that’s when the shutter goes off. Your cheeks burn again when he compliments as he rolls the film, “Stunning.”

Letting the camera rest beside him, George tries his luck and lets his hands rub on the skin of your thighs a bit further up. You don’t refuse it, he can clearly see the growing hunger in your eyes as you look down at him so he continues, letting his gaze trail down your body to drink in all of your but when he reaches down to your legs is when he catches a slight glimpse of red ink on your left thigh that makes him ask, “Do you have more tattoos?”

He doesn’t remember your mentioning any other tattoos than the ones you’d shown him at the restaurant. So when you nod, he can’t help but ask, “Where?”

“One, right here.” You grab his right hand so he can touch over the fabric of your dress where the one on your rib is. Your eyes looking right into his and his lips opening further when you continue, “And this one here.” lifting the fabric up to show the ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

George lets his right hand fall until it reaches the one on your thigh, you’re still clutching the satin in your first so he can fully see it. He rubs on the red ink on your skin as he stares at it, eliciting goosebumps to break on your entire body.

He looks up and asks with a low voice about the only one he hasn’t seen yet but you had just let him touch over your dress, “What’s the other one?”

“A word.” You vaguely say, as if encouraging him to continue asking about it.

“Which word?” His fingers trail further up, making your knees go completely weak. They had been hurting from hovering over him for so long but his touch is the thing to finally have you finally sit on his lap.

And that’s when you feel him growing hard in his jeans.

His fingers had already been making your every thought go straight down to your core so you’re entirely driven by lust when you fully lift the satin up and shed the dress off your body, leaving you only in your underwear and in full show for George.

It’s involuntary, his hips jerking forward and pressing on your center, his mouth agape at the sight and he grows even more breathless when you roll your center against his hardening cock.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, taking one quick look at the strange word on your rib before perching himself up on his left forearm to wrap his right hand around your neck and pull you in for a hungry kiss.

You lean further into him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and digging into his hair to pull on it as your lips move with each other. Your fingers tugging on his hair made him groan into your mouth and, as payback, he tightens his fingers around your neck, earning a loud moan out of you.

George pushes himself up with his left hand until he’s sitting on the bed, his right arm wrapping around your waist to keep you flush against him. Your tongues taste each other and your breaths grow heavy when you start rolling your hips in sync, meeting in the middle and creating a delicious friction that soon enough forces you to break the kiss only to gasp in pleasure into each other's mouths.

His fingers come to graze the ink on your left rib, your desperate side having you sink your hips down to roll against him and turn his, “What does it mean?” into a gorgeous moan.

Your lips brush as he moans and you respond to his sound with a mewl of your own and when that reaches his ears, George forgets ever asking anything for he can’t wait any longer to feel your lips on his again.

The kiss grows needy then. His hand goes from your ribs down to knead the flesh of your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and encouraging you to move against him. Your clit was getting so stimulated from only being covered by the thin material of your lace thong against his jeans which means you can’t kiss him any longer.

A string of moans falls from you as you quicken your pace, getting louder as you go but your actions are interrupted when George clutches you tightly by your middle and swiftly flips the two of you around so it you’re resting on your back on the bed with him hovering right over you.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden change of positions, your hand flying to cup his face and bring his lips back on yours and wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his hips into your core in a desperate attempt to have the friction back.

The feeling of his hard on coming down to rub harshly against you every time he bucks his hips forward makes your head spin. He starts off by teasing you with the friction and leaving you hanging for a few seconds before going back in but when you start gasping into his mouth, he keeps himself close to you and relentlessly rolls his hips on yours, hard cock pressing deliciously against your throbbing clit.

The pace grows faster, making it impossible for you to continue moving your lips with his so he takes it as a sign to continue on with what he wants to do first. Unfortunately, that means his hips stop moving and leave you throbbing and clenching around nothing but he makes it up to you with his lips all over your skin.

Wet kisses trail down your neck, his lips taking their time to give every bit of your skin attention on the way down. Kissing, sucking, licking. His fingers run down your sides until they clutch tightly on your hips, fingers pressing hard on the skin there and making your cry out in pleasure even louder.

Your breath is heavy by the time he stops sucking bruises all over your chest and abdomen, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on it so he can come back up but instead his tongue runs flat from just above your belly button agonizingly slowly up until his nose bumps against the hem of your bra.

George looks up at you through his lashes, teeth coming to bite on the fabric and tugging them the slightest bit down so you know what he wants to do and you desperately nod.

Without much of a proper attempt to take the piece of clothing off, he just tugs down the lace cups on it and lets your tits spill out freely for him. He groans from the pits of his chest at the sight, hips bucking forwards into the mattress harshly in search of some relief for himself.

But not letting any more seconds go by, George dives to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. Groaning around it, the vibrations of the noise causing white heat to run straight down to your throbbing wet cunt.

He switches the sucking for flicking it with his tongue, blowing cold air and smirking as your nipple hardens at his actions, ending with a soft bite and tug that have you loudly saying his name in call for mercy.

You needed something, anything. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing and it’s almost torturous. But your cries fall on deaf ears for he moves onto your other nipple and repeats his process. You’re only ruining your underwear further, so wet you feel uncomfortably sticky with your thong still on.

“George, baby, please–” You plead in anguish when he starts sucking bruises on your tits, biting them until you whimper loudly under him.

“What do you need Y/N/N?” He asks sweetly, a stark contrast to his vicious attack on your chest.

“Anything. Just–” You try to say, your words catching up in your throat as your desperation for release clouds your logic and makes you sound stupid.

So you rely on grabbing one of his hands from your hips and guiding it down to where you’re aching. The simple graze of one of his fingertips on your swollen clit eliciting a pathetic mewl out of you.

“Oh sweetheart,” George tuts “Made quite a mess, haven’t you?” His pointer finger runs up and down your clothed core slowly and so faintly you don’t even know if you are imagining it.

Applying a bit more pressure assures him to hear every one of your needy sounds and feeling like you had waited enough, he leaves a light feather kiss over your center.

“Need help cleaning up this mess, yeah?” His words are sweet, like he’s finally taking pity on you. The thought of him doing absolutely anything at that moment sounds so fucking good your hum in agreement sounds more like a whine, barely able to make eye contact with him in your hazy mind.

His long tongue runs flat over your underwear, wetting even more than it already is and he moans at the taste of your slick soaking through it. His fingers tug the fabric down your legs and throw it somewhere behind him in record time. He finds himself almost drooling at the sight of you completely exposed to him.

If you had any hint of inhibitions left in you, you would’ve tried to close your legs under his attentive gaze but he’s entranced and you’d had it with waiting any longer so you prop your legs wide open and squirm in your place.

“George, please.”

Your pleading is so sweet, so desperate, he can’t deny you any longer. So he dips his head in between your legs and starts lapping at you like a starved man. At the first proper taste he has of you, he moans loudly, tongue running up and down your slit to gather as much of you as he can and enjoying every drop of your arousal on his tongue.

“Are you not gonna continue taking my picture?” George interrupts his task to tauntingly ask, going back to using his tongue on you, this time flicking it up and down quickly on your clit and making you shiver.

Your words are caught in your throat when he doesn’t relent his actions but still looks at you expectantly through his lashes, “Right– F-fuck! Right now?”

He only allows himself to stop for the amount of seconds it takes him to nod and say, “Yes baby, be a good girl and take my picture.”

That ‘good girl’ makes you roll your eyes in utter pleasure, and all you can think of is doing as he’s telling you to earn his praise; because you want more, you need more.

Your head turns quickly to see where he’s left the camera, and you bring it to your eyes to take a picture as fast as you can. Your thoughts are already becoming clouded by the tightening coil in your lower belly.

His disheveled dirty blonde hair in between your legs, his arms underneath your legs and hands clutching your thighs in place is all that you captured in that frame. The shutter goes off letting George know you have done as he’d said and he congratulates you by praising you with a proud, “Such a good fucking girl.” and a few kisses to your clit which make you jolt.

He goes back down, trying to clean up the mess of slick and saliva that’s dripping down your inner thighs and onto the duvet, but you’re so desperate so you start rocking your hips against his face, trying to steer him back to where you wanted him to be and, to your satisfaction, he follows the silent instruction by going back to your center and this time pointing his tongue and dipping it inside your sopping hole.

Your legs instinctively close around his head, eliciting a breathy laugh from him that hits your core as he continues tongue fucking you. His hands come to spread your legs open again, holding your limbs down on the bed strongly, not allowing you to move any longer.

The feeling of his wet tongue dipping in and out of you has you growing increasingly louder, begging and pleading with him not to stop, your orgasm so close you can feel it.

But despite your words, he stops.

At that very moment, you swear you can cry, knowing you had just been about to come undone on his tongue. But just before you can pathetically let your frustrated tears roll down your cheeks, his lips wrap around your throbbing clit and he sucks on it. The perfect amount of pressure for you to thrash around beneath him as your pleasure resumes and hits you with an incredible force, making you let out a string of moans of his name and then a bunch of “Yes! Fuck yes!”, hands flying down to tangle your fingers in his hair and keep him in his place.

“I’m gonna cum!” You yell out loud, eyes shutting tightly since the pleasure impedes you from keeping them open, and when George starts humming as he sucks your clit, you are done for.

Your legs tremble under his hold, toes curling and your fingers tugging his hair tighter than you had been before. You black out as your orgasm hits you hard, the oxygen in your lungs leaving you entirely as your back arches off the bed and you only come back from your high when his incessant sucking becomes too much for your oversensitive self so you pull him away from you.

He giggles, completely entranced by your fucked out state. Watching you cum had been an experience but god don’t you look beautiful with your chest heaving, bruises looming on your skin, a flush to your face and chest, a thin coat of sweat making your body and face shine.

But before he can give you any more attention, his gaze falls back to your cunt and it’s glistening with arousal. You taste so fucking good to him that he wastes no more time to lick you clean. Your legs tremble at the resumed contact of his tongue on your sensitive core, whimpers stubbornly leaving you as he goes.

Your fingers leave his hair alone but your left hand cradles his head as he laps up at everything you have given him, and after a whole minute of him meticulously licking clean every inch of skin that had been wet with your arousal, he starts a trail of kisses from your mound until he reaches your belly button.

Flashing a smile up at you, George rests his chin on your lower stomach and you can’t hold yourself back from brushing his messy hair back almost adoringly, post orgasm haze making you extra appreciative of him and his skilled tongue work.

His fingers rub circles on the top of your thighs, “Feel good?” He asks before leaving more soft kisses on your lower stomach.

“Very.” You answered with a smile, fingers brushing through his hair.

He hums at the feeling of your touch, “Good to know, gorgeous.”

Turning to see where you’d left it, you reach out to grab your discarded camera. Melting into the duvet under George’s gentle touch and his lips pressing on your skin leisurely, you really make an effort as you lean on your forearms so that you can get a better look at him to take a picture. He looks up at you with a dizzying smirk that you manage to capture, and you know that you’ll adore that picture no matter the outcome of this day.

His lips tickle the skin of your lower stomach when he points out, “Didn’t even have to tell you this time.”

Putting the device back down on the bed, you shrug with a grin sneaking onto your lips, “You look good.”

“Do I, now?” He teases, dropping his hands from your thighs and pressing them on the mattress so he can slowly push himself up and crawl his way up to hover over you again.

“You always do.” Your words come laced with lust, his eyes darkening as he gets closer and you just can’t wait any longer to have him in more ways. “Come here.” You instruct by wrapping a hand around his neck, fingers pressing on the sides of it until he groans loudly in pleasure and when he lets the sound leave his lips, you smirk and warn, “My turn.”

Pulling him in by his neck means that your tongues meet instantly when you start the kiss, and when you taste yourself on his tongue, you moan so loudly George growls just as loud in response.

The kiss is all teeth clashing, spit dribbling down to your chins, noses bumping, deep exhales sounding loudly and trying to overpower the sounds of your swollen lips moving together.

It’s George the one to grow louder when your hand drops from his neck, down his naked torso to the button of his jeans, which you undo with quick fingers and pull the zip down before you can palm him over the fabric of his boxers.

“F-fuck…” He lets out when your nimble fingers squeeze him and stroke him up and down. He’s so hard that your touch makes him shiver.

You can feel him so swollen and heavy under your hand, your mind already spinning about how big he is but you want to have him unravel under you so badly, you push any worries about his size to the back of your head.

His hips move slowly, helping with your movements, clearly wanting to reach his high but you want to taste him and you want it now. So you leave his cock alone to instruct him, “Lay down, baby.”

You switch positions, George laying on his back and you’re kneeling between his legs. He pants as he watches you shamelessly gawk at him, your mouth going dry at the clear outline of his cock.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse as you tug on the top of his jeans so he can lift his hips up for you to take them off him.

He does as instructed and you’re just too impatient to wait any more, you want to feel him heavy on your tongue already. His boxers come off quickly after his jeans, his hard cock springing up to touch right by his navel.

You gulp. He’s thick, angry red tip already leaking from how aroused he is. Intimidating but so inviting.

Dipping your head down, you start kissing his hips. Leaving kisses that go from sweet to wet and messy the more he squirmed under you.

“You…” George pleads, hand coming down to cradle your head. Not to push it towards where he wanted you but to have you look up at him and see just how fucking desperate he is for you.

You feel that look go down straight to your core, clenching your legs together at the feeling. “I know baby, I know.” You say in a coo.

Your fingers wrap around him, the pressure of them making George huff in pleasure with his lips pressed together. He feels so heavy in your hand, veins popping for you to see how pained he is.

“You’re so big.” You trail off, a bit of wander in your voice. You have no idea how he’s going to fit in your mouth, he’s by far the biggest cock you have ever come across but you like a challenge.

Your tongue licks a bold strip from base to tip, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you taste the salty arousal that has already been leaking from him. He curses under his breath at the feeling of your wet tongue on his cock, but the breathy words turn into a loud moan when you wrap your lips around him and sink your mouth down onto him.

Barely able to fit half of him in your mouth until he hits the back of your throat, you pull back to catch a breath, your hand taking over for a few seconds as you inhale deeply and go back in. You gag around him when you manage to get him deeper, George moans loudly as you do so, trying his hardest not to buck his hips upwards into your tight throat.

His hand goes back to hold your head but this time, his fingers tangle in your hair, only to pull you up so you can breathe. But you don’t want to have it easy, you want to see how much of him you can take and hear every one of his pretty moans.

So you go against his hold, sinking your mouth further down and gagging around him again. Your hand stays at the base of his cock, stroking the rest you can’t get to, as you continue bobbing your head up and down on him.

George is a mess of groans and moans, whimpering whenever you gag and moan around him, your throat tightening around him driving him insane.

He lifts his head up slightly to look down at you, pulling on your hair so you come off him and meet his eyes. George is met with you panting, pink wet swollen lips, saliva dripping down your chin and neck, tears falling out of the corner of your eyes, hair disheveled but pupils dilated and a satisfied smirk at it all.

Your hand keep stroking him up and down, fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure and he moans at the combination of your touch and the glorious view of you like this, “Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.”

The praise only encourages you more, so you lean back down and lick a strip up his cock again, this time looking up at him through your lashes. An innocent look in your eyes as you lap at the tip of his cock eagerly.

He exhales in awe, “Look at you– Shit!” He curses loudly when you sink slowly back down until again he reaches your throat, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily and making you gag loudly.

You gasp out for air for a mere second before you do it again, until you manage to control your gagging a bit better and encourage George to fuck your mouth with a simple squeeze to his hip.

“Oh fuck– Such a pretty filthy girl.” He praises as he obeys the silent instructions and rocks his hips forwards slowly and ever so slightly. “You like it when I fuck your throat?” His question is thrown out into the air in between groans.

You answer with a hum that vibrates around him and that’s when George starts feeling like he’s losing control. His hips grow erratic and you notice so you hum and moan around him even more, causing him to get closer to his high.

“Y/N/N m’gonna cum!” He warns you loudly, the wet squelching sounds of him going in and out of your mouth and your moans bouncing off the walls in a pornographic symphony that makes the scene even better.

And when your hand drops from around the base of his cock to play with his balls, he’s sent over the edge. He pushes his hips forwards and stills then as he comes, cock twitching in your mouth and his cum coating the walls of your throat with a warmth you appreciated with another low moan.

His hips fall back on the bed but you don’t relent just yet, sucking him off for a little longer to take everything you can. But he has to pull you off him by your hair when he can't take it anymore, cursing and calling out your name like he was scolding you.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbles, still dizzy from his orgasm but completely entranced by the way you come off him with a whimper and a satisfied smirk.

You wipe the drool off your chin with the back of your hand and slowly crawl up until you are laying on your side right beside him, staring right into his eyes with hunger still darkening yours.

“Feel good?” You ask, just what he’d asked you after he made you cum but in a mocking manner.

It gets you a chuckle in response before one of his big hands comes to cup your jaw and crashes your lips together.

Kissing George has you dazed. His lips are soft but firm when moving along with yours, they’re wet and swollen, warm exhales leaving his parted lips for your to swallow, tongue peeking through them to meet yours. He whimpers so loud when he tastes himself on your tongue, fingers digging into your cheek and making you mewl in response.

Your skin grows hot the more you kiss. He doesn’t even let you get a proper breath whenever he pulls back for a brief second, because he’s back on your mouth with desperation—lips smacking and tongues licking at each other.

Your hands go on a path from his face to his head, the back of his neck, his shoulders, and eventually to his back, nails digging into it when he starts nipping at your bottom lip, at the same time as his right hand drops from your jaw down to pinch your nipples, eliciting gasps out of you.

“George…” You let out in a gasp when he has your nipple pinched and twisted between his thumb and index finger.

He’s smirking right over your parted lips, amused at the way you shiver every time he goes from one nipple to the other. Your nails claw at his back when you feel the electric shocks that his touch gives you travel all the way down to your center, feeling yourself growing wetter and that familiar knot in your lower stomach forming.

His lips slot between yours again, distracting you from his touch going from your tits down to tease your cunt.

With his thumb, George starts rubbing circles on your clit, making you pull back from the kiss with a loud gasp that turns into a cry of pleasure. You could feel yourself throbbing already, and it gets worse when he picks up his pace.

He isn’t going too fast but not slow either, the speed in which his thumb rubs at your clit has you writhing your hips in response, subconsciously trying your best to get closer and closer to your high.

“George! Fuck!” You yell when he slides a finger inside you. It’s thick and long, curling inside you and making you see stars already, half lidded eyes catching him smirking at you and his breaths growing shallow when taking in your reactions.

“You like that?” He asks you teasingly, pecking your lips as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

You manage to hum in response, but he finds that not good enough, so he adds another finger, stretching you out easily and making your back arch as you moan loudly. “Yes! Yes!” You encourage, and when he curls his fingers again, knuckle deep inside your cunt, you felt yourself be completely overcome by pleasure and your words slip past your lips without even thinking of them first, “Oh my– Fuck! George, your fingers feel so fucking good.”

His fingers are slipping in and out of you with ease from how wet you are, your hips erratically moving as he thrusts them inside you to meet him in the middle. “That’s it, cum on them baby.”

The dirty talk has you completely fucked over, “George, I’m so– Fuckkkk!” You can’t help but scream out when he pushes a third finger inside you, feeling completely stuffed with him.

It feels so good how much he’s opening you up, and he’s loving the way whenever he pulls his fingers back your walls push him off so he has to slowly sink his fingers deep inside your cunt again. “I know, I can feel you clenching hard around them.” You’re squeezing his fingers so tight, his throat goes dry just thinking about how good you’re gonna feel milking his cock, “Can’t wait to fill you up and feel how tight you’re around my cock baby.”

You agree, so drunk in pleasure you just want to feel even more of him, “I need you. George, I need–”

But he tuts before you can complete your mumbled sentence, “You’re cumming on my fingers first.” You’re about to cry out like a brat, about to beg for him to stuff you up with his big cock but his words beat yours, “Come on baby, give it to me like the good girl you are.”

His voice is low in your ear, so sultry and inviting you feel it deep in your core and you just can’t say no. Not when you’re gonna earn his praise, those words he says that have you wrapped around his little finger.

So you let go. Your toes curl as his fingers keep pumping in and out of you, hitting that spot perfectly for your to see stars as you come, white heat enveloping you and taking ahold of your entire body as you cum, “Fuck, fuck! Oh– George!”

“That’s it, baby. So fucking stunning.” He encourages, watching his fingers continue to disappear inside your tightening cunt, your legs shaking and your hips moving clumsily to meet his hand. He gets impossibly hard at the sight of it all, biting his bottom lip as he moans.

You gush all over him, slick drenching his hand and dripping down your cunt onto the duvet. He can’t let it go to waste, so he pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean, moaning around them when he tastes you again.

So fucking sweet. He needed more.

You feel his fingers gathering your mess and you manage to peel your eyes open to watch as he sucks it all off his fingers again.

Shamelessly, you just watch as he dips down time and time again until he deems his work of cleaning you up done, the last one being offered out to you and you obey enthusiastically, wrapping your lips around his fingers and sinking your mouth on them to suck them clean the best you can. Your eyes stay on his as you do so, moaning loudly around them while you batted your lashes at him, just fully putting a show on for him.

The view makes George’s cock twitch, a bead of precum leaking from his head. He reaches out behind you for the forgotten camera and when you’re trying to catch your breath, eyes closed in bliss, he takes a picture of you.

Your eyes snap open at the sound of the shutter going off and you look at him all startled like you need an explanation.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” He quickly justifies, lifting the device back up to his eyes and adjusting the focus to take another one as he adds, “All fucked out. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Stop.” You whine when the shutter goes off again, hand coming up to grab at the lenses and forcing him to put it down, “I must look a mess.”

His head shakes in disagreement, tongue swiping at his bottom lip with his eyes drinking you in all over again, “You don’t. You look hot.” Skin glowing due to the thin layer of sweat your activities have caused, lips swollen and wet, your chest heaving and flushed, the gorgeous pattern of every bruise he’s sucked on your skin which are darkening more and more, hair disheveled and splayed over the pillows.

“I’m confiscating this.” It’s the brief ultimatum you give him, grabbing the camera and turning the action on him instead.

You take just one picture of him and he allows it, only to then complain by saying, “You have enough of me.” and taking the camera back.

Rolling your eyes, you fake being annoyed and kiss him quickly before pushing yourself up and off the bed, telling him, “Gonna go to the bathroom.” making a beeline for your wardrobe and getting yourself a new pair of underwear first, adjusting the cups of your bra so they hold your breasts again.

It isn’t longer than five minutes that you take, coming back to him wearing his boxers again and laying over the bedsheets—he’s discarded the duvet and left it a big crumpled knot on the floor by the foot of the bed—, a hand behind his head whilst the other is scrolling on his phone.

His position looks inviting, so you crawl on the bed and sit on his lap with a mischievous smile on your face. You reach out to get the camera he has placed on the bedside table at the same time as he drops his phone there and his hands go up to hold your hips.

“Put your hands behind your head again.” You instruct him softly, almost a mutter that sounds so shy, the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

You take a picture of him like that and another when he runs a hand through his hair but you stop when his hands come back to grab at your skin, going from your waist until they softly come down to rest at your hips.

With a soft squeeze on your sides, he tilts his head to ask, “Am I allowed to smoke?” to which you nod and get off him to open the windows and get him a cigarette and a lighter.

Getting back on top of him, you place the cigarette between his lips but before you can give him the lighter, you grab the camera again just so you can capture the moment he ignites it alive.

George looks so fucking hot lighting it up: cheeks hollowing ever so slightly, brows furrowing, long fingers that make the lighter look minuscule in his hand, lips pursed around the stick.

You snap away and capture the moment he blows out the smoke upwards, before taking another drag and then blowing it in your direction.

The familiar scent of the tobacco and just how arousing you’re finding it all, impulses you to start moving your hips slowly on him. The sudden movement makes his breath hitch in his throat, causing him to erupt in coughs when the smoke goes up the wrong hole. He had been half hard beneath you when you sat on his lap, so you can’t really hold back from wanting to have him in a new way now.

That’s when you guide his hand to your mouth so he can place the cigarette in between your lips for you to take a drag. His mouth opens agape as you do so, the rolling of your hips only growing more intent and he starts twitching and getting harder in his boxers.

He can feel your heat, the way you’re wetting your underwear and starting to wet his own, the pulsing of your swollen clit. He can see how your nipples grow hard through the lace of your bra, and the way goosebumps rise in your skin as you go. Soft gasps that turn into hush whimpers that he wants so badly to turn into those loud moans of yours that he’s quite enjoying getting drunk on.

“Have you brought a condom?” You ask breathlessly, camera being once again forgotten somewhere on the bed for you to be able to rest your hands on his chest as leverage.

A flip switches inside George, the simple hint of him finally being able to sink himself deep inside you making his blood rush down to his cock.

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and it’s a relief when you quickly get off him so he can rush to get it, not without going up to your dresser so he can put out the cigarette on the ashtray that’s laid there by your jewelry.

He had thought it was foolish of him to pocket a couple condoms before he left his flat earlier today, fully scorning himself for being so ridiculous as to assume you would want to shag after your date but oh was he glad he had still done it right then.

Condom in hand, George goes back to the bed but not without shedding himself off his boxers first. You bite your bottom lip as you get your bra off to throw it on the floor behind you, seeing him wrap his hand around his length and pump it slowly as he watches you almost naked figure. Your hands go down to your hips so you can quickly tug down your underwear, eagerly taking it off and throwing it on the same spot on the floor you had dropped your bra.

Crawling up to the edge of the bed, you hum as you watch him stroke himself up and down, your mouth watering for another taste of him. So when you get right in front of him, you dip your head down until your mouth is right before his hardening cock and sticking your tongue out, you lick at his head slowly.

He grows heavier on your tongue as you go, twitching in your mouth when you wrap your lips around him again, his head thrown back at the feeling of your wet mouth enclosed around him and sucking him off patiently.

But he has to use an incredible amount of self restraint to pull you off him, a hand delicately coming around your neck to have you let go off his cock with a pop and pull you up to face him.

“I’m fucking you now.”

George isn’t asking, he’s simply informing you and that makes you squirm under his gaze in anticipation. Thighs pressing together and eyes drinking in the way lust makes his behavior change. But you want a bit of control, even if it’s just for him to ruin you.

“Can I ride you?” You ask innocently, puppy eyes that you pray will get your a yes.

You take the way he pulls you in for a messy kiss as one.

In no time he’s laying on his back with his head resting on the pillows, teeth ripping the condom wrapper open while your hand wraps around him, waiting for him to put the latex on. The anticipation grows and hangs in the air like a heavy cloud as George rolls it down his length, sighing at the feeling of it around him.

You catch a glimpse of your camera through the corner of your eye and you can’t help but think there won’t be a better thing than capturing his pure ecstasy in a picture so you grab it before you straddle him again.

You lift the camera up to your eyes with one hand while the other gets ahold of his cock to line him up, rubbing his head on your clit and making yourself gasp at the feeling. You clench around nothing as you do so, and you can already feel yourself drenched.

Even after he’s stretched you out with his fingers, it’s slightly challenging for you to take him when you start sinking onto him.

Your jaw drops in a silent gasp when every inch of him starts stretching you out, eyes watering at the initial sting. Your eyes want to flutter closed at the feeling but you do your best to not let them close entirely so you can capture the way he groans loudly with his head thrown back as you let your cunt swallow him whole.

Breath hitching in your throat, you sink down completely until you can feel him so deep a pathetic cry of pleasure slips past your lips.

You draw your hips up and back down on him slowly, testing the waters on his size and what angle is good for you to feel the best. You’re both a mess of loud moans at the feeling. He’s so big, he’s filling you up in a way you’ve never felt before so your walls are clenching hard around him which has his head spinning.

“You–” George breathes out, hands flying to your hips and clutching them so tightly just to show how bad he’s holding himself back from just thrusting up into you, or better yet just flipping you around and fucking you into the mattress.

“Fuck–, I know. I know.” You say in a high pitch tone. One of your hands falls to rest flat on his chest and use as support, “I– oh, fuck…” You curse as you roll your hips forwards and then backwards this time, making you completely still at the insane sensory overdrive you’re getting from it.

George knows you need a second or two but you stay frozen for longer than he can hold so he pleads, “Baby– Fuck, baby, I need you to move, you’re so tight.”

“Just–” You try to say, rolling your hips again and mewling loudly. George moans back in response, his hands sliding down to your thighs as your head hangs in pleasure.

You establish a slow place, George’s fingers digging into the flesh of your upper thighs grounding you into the moment and allowing you to take another picture. A picture that captures your legs on each sides of his toned chest, his fingers digging into your skin, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps back a moan, the box tattoo on his thumb right next to the red ink of your ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

But after you press the shutter on that one, barely being able to clumsily roll the film, you just toss the camera to the side mindlessly and use your new free hand to rest on his chest as well, and the second hand of support helps you start moving your hips faster.

It’s fucking delicious the way he keeps hitting your g-spot from that angle, and when he starts bucking his hips upwards, meeting your in the middle, you can’t hold back the noises you let out. “George, fuck baby! Oh fuckkkk.” You cry out, clit feeling a bit of pressure every time you roll down and hit your pelvis, so you’re fully drunk on pleasure.

His hands run up from your thighs to mercilessly grab your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and stinging just in the best way. “Just like that baby. You feel so fucking good.” He praises you with a groan, helping you actually lift your hips up and down on him.

“You’re so– Oh fuck–” You’re so cock drunk, your thoughts are all stupid and leaving you without even being able to finish a sentence.

“Tight little cunt, can barely fit inside you.” George can feel himself meeting the hilt inside you every time, your cries growing in volume the faster the pace gets. “You love it huh, being filled to the brim?”

“Yes, fuck! Yes, I love it, love your cock!” You’re dripping all over him, the noise of the wetness and your skin slapping every time you meet bouncing off the walls and, combined with your moans, makes for a pornographic scene you wish you were recording.

“I know you can go faster. Can you do that for me, baby?” George genuinely can feel himself not lasting any longer with how tight you’re squeezing him.

“I can, I can.” You promise desperately, wanting to be good for him. So you pick up your pace, your hands moving ever so slightly so you can straighten up a bit and when you do so you curse out loud at the new angle, “Ah fuck!”

Your hips grow erratic, your knees helping now when you bounce up and down his cock ever so more intently, enough for you to incessantly gasp in a high pitch every time he hits that spot.

“Such a good girl for me.” His hands stop groping your ass to spank you, making you jolt forward with a loud gasp that turns into a mewl and a whine that tries to pass as a ‘yes’. His cock twitches inside you at that reaction so he does it again and again, feeling your walls flutter around him with every hit, “You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby. Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Yeah, yes…” You gasp, and if you hadn’t been so adamant on chasing your high, you would’ve noticed George quickly getting the camera and snapping a picture of you riding him. Hair a mess covering up your face but your mouth wide open in a moan, tits bouncing as you ride him, hands on his chest as support.

He’s just about managed to put the camera back down when he feels you squeezing him the tightest and that’s when you finally cum. “George! George! Ge–” You cry out his name like a prayer until it breaks down into a loud moan that tips him over the edge along with your cunt milking him dry into the condom as you sloppily continue to ride him.

“Fuck! Y/N!” George moans loudly, his hands going to your ass again to help you continue as he cums, his cock twitching the more he spurts into the condom, sweet relief making him see stars.

Unable to uphold yourself any longer, you collapse over him, chests heaving in sync as you both come down from your highs. It’s hard catching your breaths when your skin burns from the heat and sticks from the sweat. And George knows you’re rather uncomfortable from the way you groan into him, your fingers lazily trying to brush the hair out of your face but huffing as it sticks to your sweaty forehead.

He brushes your hair back, fingers delicately grazing your face and earning a soft smile and a sigh from you. But then his hold goes down to your hips so he can lift you up and off himself to set you beside him. You whine and pout at the loss of him, feeling so empty after he’s stuffed you to the brim.

You don’t even try to open your eyes, completely spent from your activities and snuggling into the pillows to find some comfort in your post orgasm haze.

George sits up on the edge of your bed and sheds himself off the condom, tying it so he can throw it away, and groaning as he pushes himself off the bed to make his way to the bathroom.

He takes about five minutes there and when he comes back into the room, he smiles, finding a sleepy you struggling to keep your eyes open and smirking at him. He giggles as he walks up to bed and after taking your camera and placing it on one of the bedside tables, he carries your bridal style to take you to the bathroom.

Yes you’re still on cloud nine after that orgasm but you still have a bit of sense in you then so, after thanking him with a kiss, you tell George you’re alright from there and he can wait for you in bed.

You only realize what you’d said as you wash your hands after peeing and you’re cringing just thinking about him being gone once you go back into the room. But you find that he hasn’t left and instead, he’s gone under the bedsheets and is waiting for you to cuddle up to him so you can get some rest.

You giggle like a fool when you get under the sheets and he hooks his arm around your waist to push you flush against him, your back pressed to his chest and he nuzzles into your neck from behind. Your legs tangle together and your breaths sync and slow down as the minutes go by until you succumb to their slumber.

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It’s bright outside when you wake up with the horrendous need to go to the bathroom, one that you’d been sleepily ignoring for a while but that had become too unbearable to endure anymore.

George has his hand around your waist and his leg thrown over yours, effectively keeping you trapped in his hold in bed, so you try to very slowly peel yourself away from him to escape to the toilet.

You’re careful so that you don’t wake him up just yet, but when you manage to get your legs untangled from his, he stirs and grumbles, “Where are you trying to go?” throwing his leg over yours again, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist making you chuckle.

“Bathroom.” You mumble as you try to get away again but he’s stubbornly holding you even tighter to him.

You feel him shake his head as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, a soft “No.” falling in your ears that makes you sigh.

“George.” You say softly to not disrupt the silence in the room, but he doesn’t reply so you try again a little louder this time, “George.” Once again, no response, so you end up whining, “Babyyyy.”

To the nickname he does listen, but his response is just a muttered, “Mhm?”

You turn around in his arms with a bit of struggle, cupping his face and pecking his lips a handful of times so he takes it as enough bribery to listen to you, “Please let me go. I’ll just be a minute.”

George steals one last long peck from you before smiling loopily and nodding, “Okay.”

He lazily retracts his limbs to let you get up freely from the bed, and though he’s fighting his sleep, he manages to peel his eyes open for long enough to watch your naked figure walk away from the bed and into your ensuite.

Keeping track of time is impossible to him when his eyes close again after you leave his line of sight, and he only opens his eyes again when he hears you giggle softly at the sight of him in your bed as you walk back to bed.

“You took longer than a minute.” He points out with his eyes still closed.

You snort and half heartedly apologize, “Sorry, I’m sore.”

His hand comes up to rub at his eyes, and when he does so, he sees the state in which you’ve come back so he frowns and tells you to, “Stop right there.” He sounds so serious, an amused smirk shows on your face because you have no idea what he’s about to say. An accusing finger waves in the air in your direction and he calls you out, “Why are you wearing a robe?”

“Shut up.” You say instantly when hearing that’s what is making him frown, your eyes rolling playfully at him.

“Get that off now.” He instructs but you take another step towards the bed with no intention of taking it off and he grumbles, “Y/N/N…” with a more stern tone that makes you too flustered for this time of day.

“You’re annoying.” You complain with a roll of your eyes, still listening to him and slowly undoing the knot that kept your robe closed, making it a little show as you open it up and let it fall off your body and pool at your feet on the floor.

Of course, George smirks at the sight and he has no shame in looking you up and down with hunger now shining on his sleepy eyes, his cock twitches just by seeing you naked in front of him again. Fuck, you’re stunning.

“Come here gorgeous.” The drummer invites you back into his arms and you don't have to be told twice for you to go back to bed and be the little spoon for him. You’d had such good sleep being completely enveloped in him, heavy limbs acting like a weighted blanket on you and it was utter bliss.

But after seeing you naked again, skin littered with love bites he had left all over your, hair messy and tits perky and bouncing as you walked, George feels the need to show you a bit more of the appreciation he had shown you the day before.

His hand brushes your hair to the side so he can have access to the skin on the back of your neck. Goosebumps breaking on the skin there when he starts pressing open mouthed kisses on it, fingers ghostly running down your back and stopping right on your lower back that had your back arching into him. Your ass grazed his cock every time, making it twitch and start to harden.

In search of friction, he pushes his hips forward and you reciprocate by pressing your ass against him. He keeps his actions going and sets a pace that the two of you keep up, mewling out loud when his hardening cock comes in contact with your cunt, “Hmm, George.”

“Yes, baby?” His lips brush against your skin, a shiver running down your spine and making you shudder, “You’re so fucking beautiful, please let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah…” You nod quickly, it’s a no-brainer. Your breath gets caught in your throat when he pushes his hips forwards again at the same time as you do and the tip of his cock presses on your clit.

“Yes?” He moans in your ear, hand coming around your front to play with your tits, “Can I make you cum again, sweetheart?”

You eagerly nod, swallowing a moan as he pinches your nipple and when he cup your whole tit with one hand, kneading it harshly, your “Please.” came out in the form of a whine.

“Good girl. M’gonna make you feel so good baby, I promise.” His hand continues playing with your tits as you keep grinding on each other. When his cock is hard enough, you feel it come up to rest heavily between his lower stomach and your lower back, and it’s then that he lets his fingers trail down until they hover over your mound and he breathlessly asks, “D’you trust me?”

“Yeah, George…” You’re basically pleading with him to continue, hand coming to clutch his and guide his fingers down to your soaked cunt and when he feels just how wet you are, he groans and pulls away.

“Wait.” George instructs you, leaving you alone on the bed to get a condom. You hear the wrapper rip and him moaning as he puts the condom on, stroking himself up and down a few times before he tugs the sheets off you and turns you from your side to your front so you’re face down and he can hover over you from behind.

His knees are on either side of your hips, forearms pressed on the mattress next to your shoulders and he kisses and sucks all over your back as he praises you for how gorgeous you are over and over.

He keeps bruising you up until you push your ass up and beg him to do something, the ache in your cunt too unbearable.

So George lets go of the patch of skin he’s bruising and does as you ask for, spreading your legs open as he kneels in between them and rubs his tip up and down your slit.

“Don’t tease, please.” You cry into the mattress, your cunt fluttering around nothing and it’s painful knowing just how good he felt inside you but he isn’t allowing you to feel it yet.

But then he just let himself slowly slip inside you and his jaw falls at your tightness in that angle, “Oh Y/N/N… Fuck me.” He feels like he can barely fit in, but you’re dripping with slick so it makes it a bit easier for him to slowly bottom out.

“George–” You choke out, head turning to the side to catch a glimpse of him. Your fingers clawing at the sheets beside your head for dear life.

“I know. You’re so tight.” He whimpers in pleasure, barely able to move an inch out of you because you’re so snug it feels like you’re pushing him out.

“Move baby, please.” You beg again and he starts going then, a slow pace at first that grows in speed rather quickly and has your cursing out loud, “Fuckkkkk!”

He gasps into your ear with every thrust, and it’s soon that the sound of your skin slapping drowns the room along with your moans. “Gonna miss this tight little cunt so much.” He says into your neck, sucking a bruise on the back of it before asking, “Gonna miss me too?”

“Ye– Yes! Oh shit baby!” You gasp when he hooks his left arm under your leg, pulling it upwards slowly and allowing you to stretch a bit more so you feel him even deeper, “Gonna miss you so much!”

He chuckles smugly, “I know you will.”

“Oh fuck!” You curse as he hits your g-spot perfectly from that angle, his hips hitting your ass and reminding you of how sore the skin there is from the spanking he gave you the night before. “Yes, yes! Don’t stop, please!”

“If you could only see yourself right now!” He curses under his breath when he looks down to see himself disappear into your cunt, over and over. If he keeps looking at how he keeps sliding in and out of you so easily, he will burst right then so he looks back up to your face and praises you once more, “Taking me so well, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

“Harder, please.” You ask in a whine, and he stills for just a second to get a better standing on his knees before giving it to you like you were begging to, making you instantly get even louder when he hits that sweet spot with more intensity, “Oh my– Fuck! Right there, yes!”

“Just like that, yeah?” His smirk grows on his face, feeling how it keeps getting easier to slide inside you which means you’re fucking drenched and dripping all over him, your walls fluttering around him already making him see stars.

“Yes! Yes!” You chant like a broken record, the coil in your lower stomach tightening by the second and threatening to snap at any moment, “I’m so close!”

His left arm lifts your leg even higher and then leaves it there to be able to bring his fingers down to rub at your clit and send you over the edge, “C’mon baby, cum for me sweetheart!” He encourages you as he rubs fast circles on your throbbing clit, which earns him choked out moans that turn into a throat ripping moan of, “F-fuckkkk! George!”

George feels you squeeze him so tightly as you cum, making it so much harder for him to continue thrusting in and out without losing the rhythm he’s set, he can’t hold it any longer, his hips stuttering as he cums and stilling as he spills his seed in the condom, “Ah shit! Y/N!”

His thrusts become sloppy and messy as he tries to ride out your highs while you spasm around him, whimpering as the aftershocks of your orgasm have your legs trembling under him and your white knuckle grip on the sheets falters.

Letting his weight fall over you almost entirely, George sighs in complete bliss and he kisses the back of your head and your cheek multiple times to say, “Did so good for me, sweetheart.” He drops a kiss on your lips and praises you once more, “My good pretty girl.”

The way he speaks to you makes your stomach flutter, and he feels it when you clench around him. “You like that huh?” He teases with a smirk, his nose brushing up your neck until he comes up to your ear and bites your earlobe to which you mewl in response.

He pulls out, hearing you whine when you feel upsettingly empty again but he rubs circles on your hips soothingly and asks, “Shall we go take a shower? Do you want me to help you up?”

You barely manage to reply with a quiet, “Mhm…” when a loud ringing snaps the two of you out of your wonderful post orgasm bubble.

You don’t really recognize the ringing so you figure it’s George’s phone. Yet, the drummer doesn’t make an attempt to go and get it, as he flops beside you in bed for a second before pushing himself off the bed and sheds himself off the condom you just used.

He gets up to discard it in the bathroom and just as he crosses the threshold of the ensuite, he hears his phone start ringing again. He fully ignores it again, taking his time in the bathroom until he hears you call out for him to pick up the unrelenting calls.

A grunt leaves his lips when he comes back to the room and picks up the phone only to read his sister’s name on the screen so he answers with a meek, “Y’alright?” to let her know he isn’t in the mood for the constant ringing.

You hear pure silence surrounding you for a good half minute before George sighs out an annoyed, “Fucks sake.” Opening your eyes to see him, you move onto your side to watch him as he speaks. “Right now? Really?” He asks, entirely unamused. “Yeah, really busy actually.” He says sternly, looking at you naked in front of him with wide eyes. That makes you purse your lips not to laugh but what gets the giggles out of you is when he sighs loudly and mutters, “I hate you.” to whoever it is on the phone.

It’s barely another half minute that he listens to whoever is on the other side, before he ends the call with an impatient, “Yeah, yeah. Sure. See ya’.”

“What’s wrong?” You ask curiously, your fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

George rolls his eyes at the situation, “My sister needs me for something. She says it’s urgent but I doubt it.” He shrugs then, ignoring the importance of whatever it was his sister needed him for, he had only been half listening really. “I can stay though, it wouldn’t be the first time I ignore her.”

That has you snorting in laughter, “Go, you idiot.”

“But–” He tries to argue as he comes to hover over you, head dipping to steal a kiss out of you which you break after a few seconds by pushing his shoulders softly so you can reassure him it’s fine. After all, you had really enjoyed yourself so you’re genuinely considering another date with him.

“It’s okay. I had the best time with you, and that’s all I wanted.” Your hands come to the back of his head, fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck and scratching his scalp softly.

George clicks his tongue and he pouts to joke, “Knew you only wanted me for my body.”

You cackle at his antics and tell him to “Shut up.” only to do it yourself by pulling him into you so you can share one last kiss. It’s sweet but it isn’t soft, your lips moving together with intent as if to prove you need to do it again because it’s just too good.

But you have to stop it before it can turn into something more. You pull on his hair so your lips separate with a smack and, with the sweetest smile and looking at him with doe eyes, you say, “Thank you, George.”

“I had the best time Y/N/N.” He replies wholeheartedly then, agreeing with your previous point.

“Me too.” You nod softly to reiterate, your hands coming back down to cup his jaw, thumbs rubbing circles on his skin.

One last short kiss is all you get in that bed before you both stand up and get dressed. Well, George does, in the same getup as the day before, while you put your robe back on and tie it around yourself slowly as he finishes getting his shoes on.

“I’ll see you soon for a second date, yeah?” He says when you walk him to the door, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You definitely will.” You assure, knowing you’d be texting him very soon about a second date if he doesn’t text you first about it.

He winks right as he opens the door, stealing one last peck from your lips before walking away. Leaving you with a stupid smile on your face that only gets bigger when you close the door behind you and go back to your room, seeing the mess you had left the bed looking like.

Yes, you were definitely going on a second date with him.

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A/N: What did you think? Hope you lot enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, I'm so excited to see your reactions! xx

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @kennedy-brooke @drinkurkombucha @vinylandcoffeecollection @butyou-callmewhenyourebored

[suchusoid]

How other villains worked better as sympathetic where the league failed

I know I said I was going to make a post regarding my final oc villain, anonymous, but due to recents events, i just dont have the energy to do so. To clear my mind, I've decided to take a break from oc posts and talk about how certain character archetypes from this series are done betger by other shows, movies and books, starting with the league of villains.

For this comparision, I'll be comparing the LOV with a group of villains that actually inspired my oc (ghoulian my beloved) the sadler trio from the goosebumps book "ghost beach"

Is probably what you're thinking. The sadler trio are the ghosts of a trio of immigrant siblings from england who traveled to new england in hopes of a better life. Unfortunately, they ended up dying in cold and have roamed the beach as ghosts for 300 years. They long for companions in death and plan to take their distant cousins jerry and terri to the grave.

Louisa is the girl with the pigtails and velvet dress, sam is the boy with the white hair and black vest, and nat is the boy with the bowl cut and the striped t shirt, remember that now.

The first thing I want to talk about is the family dynamics

The leagues bonds are, for a lack of a better word, shaky. While we do see certain memebers like twice and toga showing genuinely nice moments of friendship, and magne being a well liked and respected member, earning her the title of "big sis mags", other members like shigaraki and dabi contradict the found family dynamic the story and fandom are selling. Shigaraki barely shows any care for his fellow members, when magne died, he was more concerned about staying on top while toga and twice actually wanted to avenge their fallen ally. Shigaraki also doesnt have any reaction to twices death either. Dabi is honestly worse as he refuses to pitch in at times, called spinner a derogetory slur, and then pulled a bruno marcotulli and said he shouldnt get upset about it. Spinners motives also dont align with shigarakis in the slightest, to the point where they straight up had to retcon his motives not once, but twice, just to make shigaraki seem like a good leader. Truth is their motives and personalities clash too hard for their dynamic not to feel forced.

The sadlers on the other hand actually do show genuine care and concern for each other, most notably when nat clings to louisa as a source of comfort when he gets scared and sam being the mediator and voice of reason, showing how they do care for eachother and work cohesively as a group, while the league is more dysfunctional than a 50's sitcom family.

Next is motives, the leagues motives at the end of the day, are to cause destruction and misery to whoever they please with no consequences, I really dont know how else to put it. Shigaraki wants to destroy everything, dabi wants to hurt his father and is willing to drag innocent people into the mix, toga gets off to killing, and the other three are just along for the ride with no qualms about their peers actions. This really doesnt help making them sympathetic when the story tries to shove a bunch of sad backstories in our face and say "please feel bad for them!"

Comparitively, the sadlers motives are far more understandable. At the end of the day, all they want is companionship. Its far more easy to get behind "we were robbed lf a decent life and have lived in solidarity on this beach for centuries with a guy whos been planning our downfall, we desperately want you to stay with us" as opposed to " we are societal outcasts who just want to lash out and makes things worse for everyone else without even trying to combat the societal issues that caused things in the first place."

On top of that, the sadlers actions, which include trying to kill harrison sadler( the ghost hunter) attempting to kill jerry and terri, and eating a dog (dogs can sense ghosts and would give them away.), while morally reprehensible , come from a place of desperation as opposed to malice. The sadler trio never take enjoyment out of their actions. Heck, when its revealed they're ghosts there practically on their hands and knees begging the twins to stay with them.

Thisis unlike the league, who take full pleasure in hurting others to achieve their goals *cough* toga *cough* shigaraki * cough* dabi * cough*.

Lastly is their fates, the sadlers are trpaped in magic cave the essentially sends ghosts to the afterlife and puts them to rest. Makes sense since their motives were from them being stuck in a proverbial limbo.

The leaghes fate is hori hyping up them being saved... and then all die or just get arrested, making their whole arcs feel like a waste of time.

Phew, now thats cleared up my min, I may get to doing anonymous' character sheet sometime soon, let me know what you guys think, and have a good evening!

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Halt & Catch Fire: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: You're done being a puppet in their plans. You're done letting them control you. You're finally going to take back your life by becoming something you didn't know was possible. your eyes are opened to something better and God forbid anyone who disrespects you.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Where is the damn thing? There are only so many places one can hide a remote. God, you could have sworn Dean had it here. You yank the mattress of the bed and haphazardly let it fall back onto the box spring. You open his dresser drawers and start flinging clothes out of it. I'm gonna fucking kill him. I'm going to fucking KILL HIM. Where is the damn thing?!

For the past month, you've made sure to be on your best behavior in hopes he would give up the remote for the thing on your neck. They're both still on edge with you being around but that's not your problem anymore. Your hands are itching to break something so you grab the first thing you can reach which just so happens to be a picture of you and Dean on your wedding day.

You pause to look at the picture and allow the memories to come flooding back.

"Do you, Dean Winchester, take Y/N Singer to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," he said.

He took your engagement ring and slid it onto your left ring finger, and you admired how it shined brightly as if it were meant to be there.

"Do you, Y/N Singer, take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," you sniffled.

You took out John Winchester's wedding ring and slid it onto Dean's left ring finger.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Dean pulled you in by your waist, and you met him halfway. Your lips molded together, fitting perfectly together. There are no two people better suited for each other than you and Dean. Your minds, bodies, and souls melded together so that you're one. There was no one else you wanted to spend the rest of your life with than Dean.

Now you can't think of anything worse than being his wife. You toss the picture onto the bed just as the bedroom door opens.

"What the hell did you do to my room?"

"I've been nothing but good this entire month. Get this damn thing off my neck."

"Not until your soul is back."

You take two deep breaths to calm yourself otherwise you'll strangle him.

"Baby, I'm fine. I'm okay now. I'll be good."

You slither up to his side and grab the sides of his face gently. You pull him down and kiss him to prove to him you'll do what you say you're gonna do. Dean knows this is a ploy but he can't help but kiss you back. Damn, he misses kissing you. You feel so good against him and he momentarily forgets what you're asking of him.

As your lips move against him, your hands roam his body. You make it seem like you just want to touch him when you're really looking for the damn remote. Something snaps in Dean's brain and he pulls away from you slightly.

"It's not on me."

You huff out in anger, push him away from you, and storm out of his bedroom. Dean starts cleaning his room when he spots the picture of you two at your wedding. Seeing that causes a headache to form. The headache gets so bad that he sinks to the ground with his head in his hands.

"Hello?! Dean!" you yell. "Anyone??"

The room you're in is pitch black but there is a white hue of it that isn't quite breaking into the room. You can barely see one foot in front of you so you have to walk around with your hands out in front of you. You hit the wall and feel around for a door or a window. Maybe a light switch if you're lucky.

All four corners and nothing. You're trapped inside of this box with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Blue magic swirls around your hands with the hope of lighting your way. There is nothing in this room. Nothing to do. No one to talk to. No Dean. No Sam. You're completely alone.

"Please let me out, someone," you cry. You slide down the wall in tears. "I just want to go home."

A single tear leaves Dean's eye and he snaps out of this trance he's in. He shakes his head and wipes his tear in confusion. He gets off the floor and continues to clean his room. Once done, he leaves his room and finds Sam in the library.

"Hey, where's Y/N?"

"Kitchen. Cas got back to me. Good news and bad news. The bad news is that he discovered riverboat gambling. The good news is he thinks he's closing in on Cain."

"He thinks?"

"Yeah, just east of the Mississippi River in Illinois."

"So, what do you suppose we do when we find Cain?"

"We get him to tell us how to get rid of the Mark."

"Don't you think that if Cain knew how to remove the mark, he would have done it like centuries ago?"

"We won't know until we try."

"You're right. I think Y/N is getting worse. We need to figure out a way soon."

"We will," Sam nods. "On another note, I found us a case in Iowa. A teen claims possessed pickup truck killed the driver."

You cry out in pain from the kitchen and the brothers immediately head in there to see what you're doing. You have a knife to your neck to try and dig the device out. Sam snatches the knife away from you at the same time Dean grabs you so you don't go anywhere.

"Come on!"

"Not gonna happen. Come on. We have a case."

"Like I care about saving some stupid people."

"I don't care. You're going."

Ah, college. To be that young again. All of these students don't think anything bad can happen to them. Dean keeps his eyes to himself but Sam checks out a few of the girls who seem older than the rest. You don't hide how much you're checking out some of the young men walking around. Dean sees two girls walking outside with bookbags slung over their shoulders and approaches them.

"Which one of you is Janet Novoselic?"

"I am," the brunette says.

"Agents Grohl, Cobain, and Channing."

The blonde girl Janet is with says goodbye and leaves so Janet can be alone.

"I already talked to the police like nine times," Janet sighs.

"Yeah, this is just a follow-up."

"I have finals tomorrow."

"Then we'll make it fast. I promise," Sam smiles.

Janet takes you three to the library so you can talk in semi-private. You're browsing the books because you have no interest in hearing what she has to say while the brothers sit with Janet at a table nearby. Maybe one of these books will have something to do with getting this damn thing off your neck. One can hope, right?

"It's like I told the detective. I was drunk but I wasn't hallucinating. The truck had a mind of its own."

"How so?"

Dean looks at you in thought. You take a book off the shelf and flip through the pages. When you're not satisfied with it, you slam the book back on the shelf angrily. You scratch at the device on your neck and continue looking. What is he going to do with you? Sooner or later, you're going to fight back. He doesn't want to be on the receiving end because you'll fight to kill.

"Like the air went full blast even though it wasn't on, and Trini and the radio went crazy"

"Who is Trini?" Dean asks.

"You'll have to excuse my partner," Sam chuckles. "When it comes to technology, he's a little behind. He just learned how to poke on Facebook. "

"Okay. Trini is the navigation app we were using. It's this talking map. Look, I don't expect you to believe me, but I swear that truck was hell-bent on killing Billy."

"Did Billy have any enemies? Anybody who might have had a beef with him?"

"Maybe his brother Joey. They fought all the time. It's so sad. They never got to set it right."

"Because Billy died?"

"No, Joey did in Afghanistan."

"Do you know where he's buried?"

"He's not. Poor guy never came home. IED."

"Did Billy happen to have anything of his brother's on him when he died? Dog tags, a hat, something?" Dean asks.

"Just his pickup. The truck belonged to Joey. Billy got it when he died."

Dean looks back at you and locks eyes with you. Something sparks between you two and he's suddenly watching a movie of your entire life together.

You open the door and see the broken young boy by the bathtub. Upon seeing you, he tried to get himself to stop crying even though his tears wouldn't stop flowing. His eyes have a broken look in them that leads to a broken soul. You get tears yourself because you hate seeing him like this.

You close the door and join him on the floor.

"Why are you crying?" He shakes his head but keeps eye contact with you. "Come on, Dean, you can tell me. I'm good at keeping secrets. I even brought Legos with me so we could play with them."

"It's my mommy," he whispers. 

At the mention of his mom, he sobs. You overheard John talk about how his wife died recently to your mother. You don't know how she died but you know how much Dean loves her. You reach out to Dean with a tiny hand and place it on his even tinier shoulder.

"Don't cry."

"I just miss her so much."

You're not sure how to help so you do the only thing you can think of. You pull him into you and place his head on your chest. Even at five years old, you know how to comfort someone when they're sad.

"It's okay, Dean. I can share my mommy. She's great. She makes my lunch and reads me bedtime stories and sings with me. She can come over here and she can help you. I promise I won't be sad. I don't want you to be sad so I'll share my mommy with you."

Dean sniffles and looks at you with the tiniest of smiles on his face. He nods after a moment and wipes his tears.

"You can come over again and you can even sleep there. We can share my bed! It's very comfy and I'll even let you hold my blankie. I can share my toys and you can have half my sandwich."

Dean gives you a real smile, feeling much better now that you are with him.

"You said you brought Legos with you?"

You put the bag of Legos in front of him. If he wants to play in the bathroom, then that's what you'll do. You like seeing him smile.

You walk into the freezing cold bedroom knowing that is a sign the spirit is occupying the room. Before Dean can follow you in, the door slams shut, locking you in. You scream and jump back from the door with your gun out in front of you.

"Y/N! Stay calm! I'm going to get you out!"

The room is silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing. God, it's so cold in here. Suddenly, the closet door creaks open and you turn with wide eyes and a pounding heart. You make the stupid decision and walk into the closet. It slams shut causing you to turn around and face the spirit you're haunting.

The spirit throws you against the wall and your gun goes flying out of your hands. You aren't fast enough to grab it and the spirit grabs you by your throat. He slashes your ribs with his sharp claws and you scream out in pain. Well, the scream is strangled due to the ghost holding you up by your throat.

"DEAN!" you manage to scream.

The closet door busts open and the spirit drops you to the ground to face the other hunter. Dean shoots the spirit and rushes over to you. He lifts your shirt to see the damage the spirit did. Three long and deep gashes run across your abdomen that are oozing blood. He sheds his jacket and places it over your wounds to stop the bleeding.

"I don't want to die," you cry.

"You're not going to die. I will protect you. I will take care of you."

The spirit appears behind Dean with an evil look. Before you have a chance to say something, the spirit goes up in flames. John must have burned the thing it's attached to. You need to get this wound sewn up quickly. As much as you love Dean, you don't trust him with a needle yet. 

"I won't let anything happen to you. You're going to be okay." Dean says, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

John and Dean help you out to the car but instead of sitting in the front like he always does, Dean joins you in the back. You lean against Dean's chest as he holds you, and you look down at his ruined jacket.

"Sorry about your jacket," you grunt.

"Forget the jacket. You're more important," he says and kisses the side of your head.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[anodetoswag]

Pelagic

Act II

Summary: Caution! Underestimating a hobo lead may lead to potential death. Note: Canon divergent; Unlike normal, Quirks appear only in 80 percent of the population and can appear anytime until the age of ten. These select few individuals are considered important in a hierarchy.

The market is your terrain. Hustling, bustling with stray dogs and stray hawkers that bark at said stray dogs like an irony of nature. Crowds, you think, are wonderful. The best stories seem to have one; regardless of how said stories end.

But to you, they're wonderful because of their utility. You slip in easily, with a practiced sort of grace. While your size makes it easy to not be spared a second glance, it makes it a little problematic to look over the crowd. You've gotten used to making it work by now.

The ideal prey is one that looks foreign but sailors and merchants are best avoided. They're cunning and watch their pockets with vigilance. Tourists are the optimum targets.

You'd already caught sight of one. A bogus sort of hairstyle, if one would be generous enough to call it that. Flamboyant clothes and talking loud enough for him to stand out despite the ambience not exactly being quiet. Nearing the food stall, your eyes sweep the perimeter in search of any potential witnesses to what you're hoping to pull off. Some may not consider it necessary since the chances are next to none but overconfidence is a habit of fools.

You breeze past the stranger easily and blend back into the crowd. The pouch isn't particularly heavy which is good news. He's less likely to notice before it's too late.

Victory lays just up ahead at the archway that serves as one of the exits to the market. A few steps more and you'll have this in your pocket. Unfortunately, luck seemed to have run out as the hand of justice clamps down around your elbow.

"I think you took something that you weren't supposed to." You're met with glowing red eyes and the man who they seemingly belonged to seemed worse off than you. That's saying something when coming from someone who has only ever recalls sleeping under bridges and drinking from the sewage more often than not. "I think you have the wrong person," the words are said with practiced conviction. He stares into your eyes, hair seemingly defying gravity. One of those people, Quirk Users.

"Where are your parents?" Your lips twitch down momentarily, confirming his suspicions. Upon your silence, he seems to give up and straighten back to full height. Eyes turning pitch black and hair falling back down shoddily over his shoulders.

Your saving grace comes in the form of an almost ear piercing from the same lovely boisterous gentleman you had nicked. Bless his soul, "Shouta!" Just as who you assume said person turns, you're turning on your heel and rushing to get through the crowd of bodies to get out of the market.

They're hot on your tail, it's been over five minutes of sprinting without rest and yet your pursuers are relentless. Twists, turns, down the streets and alleyways until you're in a questionable area of town anyone without a death wish would avoid. But you know this place, it gives you home turf advantage.

Rounding a corner, your bare feet skid against the dirt. A distinct feeling of something not being right settles in your chest. Your heart is roaring in your ears but you know your hearing is reliable enough to know that instead of two, there's only one pair of footsteps chasing after you. Hoping to confirm if one of them gave up halfway, you sneak a glance over your shoulder, only to run into something solid. Your fears are confirmed when you realize it's the hobo; you're cornered.

Of all things the universe could have heard you complain about and try to redeem itself, 'This is such a humdrum day to be alive' has got to be pretty far down the list of things and yet here we are.

[ddejavvu]

Knowing a lot of bad shelters believe in the whole get a hybrid fur Christmas thing, but unfortunately the ones who aren’t taken in are usually thrown on the street, or given a more permanent solution.... And at your local one there’s overcrowding. Especially because, as you overhear from the street, two are bonded together, so it’s easier to get rid of the pair, in whatever’s the quickest way...

Needless to say you’re literally lifting puppy Eddie and Steve up on both your hips as you walk them back to your car, head rushingly thinking over everything you’ve gotta do now, as they both happily lick at your face and thank you for not separating them!

This is a couple of weeks before Christmas, and these two are so desperate to work together and get you something. The best gift ever! Unfortunately, they really can’t think of how they’d acquire something that good, and it stresses the poor men out. You’ve already bought them clothes including brand new shoes! Food, food they actually like! Blankets, toothbrushes, everything, and all that before Christmas!! They’re so needy to think of something for you, together

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

--

NO BC I WAS THINKING ABOUT THIS!!! ugh my head was just full of hybrid!steddie christmas thoughts and i was like oh shelters probably push hybrids for christmas like people buy pets for christmas and then i was thinking about browsing a shelter to try and help someone out for the holiday season n you see them and you just have to take them home :(( and yes it's even worse bc they're bonded!! anytime anyone tries to separate them they pitch a fit, kicking, screaming, crying, and they'll even get aggressive if people persist, which only makes their chances of adoption worse :(

maybe you were only looking for one hybrid, maybe you weren't looking for any at all!! maybe you'd just passed the shelter and gone in on a whim, just browsing when you see them get condemned :( you panic and it's the only solution you can think of, so now they're yours!! you're filling out all the paperwork and they're just standing there stunned and ecstatic because they have a home now!!! both of them, together, have a home!!! i think if we're going with shelters raising them and training them to be more animal than human in this world, and it's your job to fix that, they definitely have some hyperactivity that they're not bothering to control!! they're big, too, it's not like they're actual dogs and they're somewhat containable, they're grown men who are so overwhelmingly happy that they're trying to jump you at the counter before you can even sign off on the adoption forms 😭

eddie's snuffling into your neck while you're dragging him through the parking lot towards your car and steve's more concerned with trying to crawl under the hem of your sweater!! you're barely able to wrangle them to the car, let alone in the car, and you definitely have to hang out in the backseat with them a bit, let them get their fix of love and pets and scratches and cuddles and kisses before you get on the road 🥹 and when you get home?? instant freakout, they're racing around touching everything and diving headfirst into your bed and flipping through photo albums - they're so happy!!! if you think they'll sleep in their own beds at night.. you are dead wrong. they're curled up happily on either side of you, tails going crazy against the bedsheets so you can barely sleep, but you're not angry 'cause you know they've never felt safe or happy like this before :')

aw no :(( omg!! you're right, they're wracking their brains trying to figure out what to put under the tree for you 'cause you've showed them their own wrapped presents a bunch!! every time you add new ones you go eddie this one's for youuuu or here's one for steve!! and the more the pile grows the guiltier they feel for not having anything nailed down for you yet :(( if you've introduced them to any friends of yours or your parents or something they reach out and ask for help!! they know what they want to get you, they just don't have money to do it :( you're confused when eddie starts mowing your mom's lawn and steve cleans her bathrooms but on christmas morning it all makes sense when they give you their gift :(( it's so sweet and heartfelt you probably cry a bit!! they're worried at first that they made you sad but you assure them they're happy tears and make sure to love on them all morning as a thank you :')

[silvfyre-writings]

I'll keep you safe while you sleep (BSD Fanfic)

I break out of my hibernation long enough to drop this fic. Enjoy~

It was dark.

So very dark.

For as long as he could remember, Ranpo didn’t like the dark. The dark was like ice; cold and slippery against his bare skin as he walked through it, leaving him shivering and feeling damp even though there wasn’t actually any ice there to be felt in the first place. It was also incredibly lonely, the pitch black surrounding him, giving him the illusion that there were people there, compressing him, preventing him from breathing properly when in fact it was the opposite and that no one was actually there. It was suffocating in the sense that while he could breathe, it felt forced, like it was a conscious effort instead of unconscious, almost as if the air was heavy with something unbreathable.

So yes, Ranpo hated the dark.

And yet it had been his closest companion for so long.

It was there in the early years of his life when his parents would turn out the lights and leave him in a pitch black room—because they’d lived in such a small village that the only light was that of the moon and when the moon was gone, it was dark—at least until they’d figured out he wasn’t sleeping, and bought little light that kept the room light enough. It was there when his parents had died and he’d left everything he’d ever known behind to seek the help of someone his father had trusted, only to have that trust thrown into his face, and be tossed onto the streets where the darkness there held all sorts of people. It was there when the assassin he’d run into by chance, had seen something in him that none of the other adults had, and although that encounter shed a little bit of light on his life, the darkness still hung around because that assassin wasn’t his parents, and never would be.

And that was okay, because Fukuzawa understood that he wasn’t a replacement, and never tried to be, only stepping into Ranpo’s life to lend him a guiding hand.

But this darkness that he was currently trapped within was nothing like the darkness he knew; it was foreign and wrong, and he just—

—he didn’t know.

Ranpo froze, eyes wide and staring into nothing at the realisation that he didn’t know what this darkness was, or what was causing it, because that wasn’t right. Something was wrong. He was supposed to know everything, that was who he was, what he was good at, his sole reason for existing in this world. Not knowing just wasn’t in his vocabulary. Not knowing made him useless to those associated with him, to those that required his skills. Not knowing made him feel cold and—and alone… and he couldn’t be alone.

Without a second thought, Ranpo took off, his bare feet slapping against the ground as he ran, a wind streaming past him, which was strange because the air was still and thick. His chest heaved, although he did not breathe, and he was still cold, even though running should’ve warmed him. Something was wrong, and he was aware of that, but there was nothing that he could do. It was like the darkness had taken him over, herding him deeper into its clutches; an impossible feat really, because the darkness wasn’t alive, it wasn’t living, it was simply a thing, an absence of light that both scared people and brought them comfort.

And right now, it was terrifying.

He continued to run and run, never veering from his path, never looking behind him, yet still, the darkness did not end. And he feared it never would. His heart began to pound so loud that he could hear it in his ears; it was the only noise in this dark and hellish place. It was then that he saw it, a light, in the distance, and as cliché as it was, he went towards it, desperate to escape the dark. It didn’t matter if what awaited him on the other side was worse, if it wasn’t dark, he could handle it. The light drew closer, and Ranpo reached towards it. He could feel it—the warmth that the light would bring, dancing at his fingertips as he wished for it to envelop him and chase away the darkness.

But then the light disappeared, plunging him back into darkness.

No, no, no, no, come back, ple—

With a jerk, Ranpo’s eyes flew open, and he found himself blinded by the sun coming in through the windows of the Agency’s building. For just a moment, he continued to lay there with his face pressed against his desk as he sorted through his muddled thoughts. A dream, that was all that crushing darkness had been, and whilst dreams had never affected Ranpo before, this one left him with a racing heart and trembling hands, and he wasn’t a fan.

When Ranpo finally did lift his head, he took note of everyone in the office, or well, distinct lack of people in the office. The only other people here beside him were Tanizaki and Kunikida, neither of which gave Ranpo a passing glance and continued to quietly work away at their desks, focused. Good, that’s good. It meant that he hadn’t made enough of a disturbance to gain the attention he very much did not want, if only because they would show their concern and Ranpo had had enough of that to last a lifetime.

He pushed away from his desk and stood, intending to go down to the café on the first floor and get himself something warm to drink to chase off the fear that still lingered. A hot chocolate would do, or even a mocha, so that he wouldn’t fall asleep at his desk again. He couldn’t even remember when he’d fallen asleep; one minute he’d been playing on his handheld, and the next, he was dreaming, something that had been happening a lot lately now that he thought about it, but regardless, it couldn’t have been too long, since the sun was still high in the sky, and still rising.

Well, if the drink didn’t help him, then he’d nag Kunikida for a case that would distract him further.

His plans for foiled when he walked past the couches and caught a glimpse of a familiar set of boots, and he paused, following the boots up the lanky form that was attached to them until his eyes met the sleeping face of a certain vampiric gift user. Ever since he’d regained his body after the whole, vampire outbreak situation, Bram had taken to hanging around the Agency, often utilising the couches for a midday nap like he currently was. No one seemed to know why he hung around, yet no one was complaining about it either. And right now, Bram’s face was peaceful, relaxed in the sleep he was caught in, with no sign of a bad dream plaguing him, and that was all it took for Ranpo to change course.

He'd always slept better with someone else after all, and he and Bram were… something at this point, so who would begrudge him for seeking the company of someone important? His co-workers had so far ignored the way he and Bram had gotten close so fast, powering right through friendship into whatever they were—only Kunikida had expressed his concern, because that was just what he did, but otherwise leaving Ranpo be, and telling him he was happy for as long as Ranpo continued to be.

Dazai, of course, couldn’t resist making the joke that Ranpo was building his own army of goths, which Ranpo had gone to dispute, only to realize that the only other person he trusted the same way he now trusted Bram, was in fact, a goth. Although, since Bram had chosen to wear a yellow hoodie that day—never mind his jacket that had caused him to be called a goth in the first place was draped over the back of the couch—one could argue that he wasn’t so much a goth as he was… edgy.

Bram’s eyes flew open the moment that Ranpo threw himself on top of the other man, and his mouth opened to say something before it slammed shut; Bram simply stared at him for a moment, studying Ranpo carefully and observing the tension in his body, before he dragged himself to sit up a bit, shifting the pillow behind him so that he could remain comfortable whilst Ranpo got situated. Only once Ranpo stopped moving, now half-laying on him, and half-fallen in the gap between him and the back of the couch, did he move, winding his arms around the detective’s waist, and pulling his coat from the back of the couch to let Ranpo use as a blanket. Bram’s eyes slipped closed again. “Your friends will not get mad that you are shirking work to slumber with me?”

“I’ll just get you to bite them if they do.” Ranpo mumbled into Bram’s shirt, already tired and drifting towards sleep again.

“No thank you, bite them yourself if you must.” One of Bram’s hands found its way into Ranpo’s hair, long fingers dragging through the black tresses in a way that had Ranpo sighing contentedly as he snuggled closer. “You are bothered by something.”

“Unwanted dreams.”

“What kind?”

Ranpo shivered at the question, and if it had been anyone else asking, they wouldn’t have received an answer. But ever since he had met Bram, the other always seemed to know how to get Ranpo to answer him honestly, whether Ranpo wanted to or not. It was a little annoying at times, but just this once, it was okay. “Darkness. I don’t like the dark.”

“You have come to the right person then.” Bram murmured, holding Ranpo just that little bit closer to him to help soothe him. “As the Lord of Darkness, the dark listens, and bends to my will, therefore, it will leave you alone should you wish to slumber some more.”

In lieu of saying anything, Ranpo wound his arms around Bram, and held him tight, letting his head come to rest against the other’s chest, his heart beating steadily beneath his ear. He allowed that heartbeat to soothe him, the hand that was still in his hair to relax him until eventually, his eyes closed and his grip loosened. It was as he was drifting off again, that Bram shifted underneath him, and he felt what could only be lips, brushing against his forehead before quiet words were whispered for his ears and his alone. “Sleep well, little detective. Allow me to protect you when you are at your most vulnerable.”

[daintyduck99]

Never have I ever: Omegaverse, lol. #sorrynotsorry

I’ve never written anything for omegaverse, but if I did: 

The boys still come back as ghosts. Alex still takes it the hardest—as a beta, he had never had to worry about any of the crazy secondary gender stuff. He could always rely on his body to obey his mind (and when his mind’s a chattering mess he just drowns it out with the drums). 

Now he’s non-corporeal—it’s a big fucking change. 

However, there are other changes too. Secondary genders have evolved some since the boys died. Scents are stronger, and everyone smells like weirdly specific things now (Alex doesn’t want to believe this because every scent Luke and Reggie are describing sound like candle names, only when Julie starts agreeing does he even vaguely buy it). And like. Why. How is this making people mate more, was none of the crazy newish baby-making biology enough. 

Actually, Alex kind of wants to go back to the dark room. What the fuck. 

Medicine has also evolved. They make blockers and suppressants that don’t slowly kill you now, and a lot of people—those that can afford them, at least—are on them. Luke and Reggie initially assume that Julie’s a beta because of this, and she doesn’t bother to correct them. 

Alex has another layer of connection in his interactions with Willie, as Willie also relates to everything being so crazy different since he died. It helps to see how Willie takes it in stride despite having been dead longer (and how much worse things were for omegas when he died). 

Things are also more progressive in terms of like, non-traditional A/B/O dynamics, so that’s nice. Alex’s parents could barely withstand him being gay—they sort of had to, what with the church’s relatively new yet solid stance on it in light of secondary genders emerging a few decades before—they probably would’ve kicked him out if he ever brought home anybody who wasn’t also a beta. Anybody like Willie, who’s sort of the best thing that’s ever happened to Alex. 

You know Caleb would also find a way to take advantage of the whole thing. Like, maybe it’s part of his pitch to beta lifers: come hang out with some ghosts who are just like you otherwise (some, like Willie, are actually recent enough to have secondary genders besides beta but Caleb has them on blockers—if he can make food work, why not those—just in case any of the lifers who do come aren’t betas). 

Reggie catches Julie stress-nesting at some point—originally he was looking for his flannel. She’s a little embarrassed at having been caught (especially since the shirt is in there—never mind that she also has stuff from Luke and Alex and Carlos and Ray) but he’s so happy that she can’t be embarrassed for too long. Like, he literally lifts her off of the floor and all he can say is oh my god you’re like me! and your nest is so good, please teach me your ways. 

Luke and Alex catch them napping in there later. Alex totally makes fun of Luke for being all stereotypical alpha heart eyes about them but Luke says he has no room to talk because he’s also infatuated with an omega, which, fair. 

That’s all I have really, it’s basically what if canon also had all of this A/B/O worldbuilding lol

[jimmymiller99]

My personalized Jeff The Killer origin story, part one. Now before I begin, I'd like to start by saying your JTK may be entirely different than mine, so expect to see some either minor or major changes to the origin story, so please, don't harass me just because of somethings are different than yours. Okay? Okay, let's begin!

The Sad Smile, part one.

[It was just a morning like any other. The sun was shining and the sky was beautiful, the clouds had set in just perfectly, and it was perfect. Only problem was that it would be the last morning the Pattinson family would ever see as they prepared to move to California. Jeff's stepfather, Bobby had finished loading up his car with the last of the Pattinson household things and slammed the trunk close.]

Bobby: Alright everyone, it's time to go.

[The rest of the Pattinson family walked out of their house, it was a beautiful little suburban house that was admittedly starting to fall apart. But hey, it was home to Jeff. Jeff dragged himself outside to his stepdad's car, but not before taking one last look at the house. He then sighed and got into the car. Jeff's mother, Elizabeth got into the passenger seat and finally, Liu got into the back with Jeff. Bobby then backed up and drove away from the house, leaving it behind. Jeff sighed and laid back, embarking on a day-and-a-half journey from Brooklyn to California. Liu got onto his phone, connected to his Bluetooth, and began listening to some poppy K-pop music, it made Jeff groan, which in turn, made Jeff plug in his earbuds and played some heavy thrash metal. The two of them were very different people, one was angry that had some hate building up within him, while the other was more cheerful and perhaps optimistic values within him. As the journey to the city of Angels continued, Jeff slowly fell asleep while on the car ride, laying his head up against the window. That's when things would slowly turn to the worse, as they drove under a tunnel, his music turned into static, aggressive static rang from his earbuds, then eventually, a voice came out on the other end. The voice was growling, low, deep, mysterious.]

The Voice: Wake up, Jeffery. Wake up and listen to my voice. Awaken and listen to my call. The need for violence shall call upon you, death shall wonder and find you.

[Jeff slowly woke up, but he wasn't in his stepdad's car anymore, he was in a forest with a shit ton of fog surrounding the area, it felt like it could go on forever, but there would be no end.]

The Voice: Hey tough guy, wake up! Wake up, you piece of shit, wake up and hear my fucking voice. You know who you are, I have selected you to be a part of this wonderland, my wonderland. Now, WAKE THE FUCK UP!

[Jeff fell to his back and crawled away as he saw darkness approaching him, he then turned and ran away from said darkness, it didn't make sense to him. Was this all a dream? Was he pulled into an alternative dimension? Or was he losing his sanity? Jeff ran for what felt like forever, and what felt like his end, he was suddenly awakened by an awful high-pitched tone. Which woke up Jeff out of the nightmare, but back into the nightmare of real life, and to his brother's awful singing.]

Liu: Uh oh! I don't know about you! But I feel this way!

[Jeff groaned and rubbed his eyes, he barely woke up and was feeling all sorts of blah. Luckily, the car was coming to a stop next to a motel. It wasn't the greatest motel of all time, but hey, a motel would have to do. Jeff got out of Bobby's car and stretched his back.]

Bobby: Ah, I see you're up, champ. Well, we're gonna stay in a motel for the night, we'll keep going at the ass crack of dawn, but we all need some sleep.

Elizabeth: C'mon honey, let's get you to bed.

[Elizabeth always talked to Jeff as if he was five years old, even though he was 18. He groaned and collected his bags and walked into the motel, staying close to his family and entering the room they bought for the night. They sat around the TV and ate some microwaved tuna casserole that Elizabeth made before embarking on this journey. Elizabeth cleaned up the plastic Tupperware containers and stuffed them back into her bag. Everyone got into their PJs, making sure the car was locked and that the room was locked and everyone got into bed. Luckily, there were three separate beds, so Jeff and Liu didn't have to share a bed. Jeff got into his bed, and his parents were fast asleep, and his brother barely drifted off to sleep, it was just him. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking back to the little nightmare he had in the car. It felt so real that he swore he'd grown goosebumps from it, he lay in bed and quietly prepped talked himself.]

Jeff: Hopefully this will be better then last time...

[With that said, Jeff drifted off to sleep as he laid back and entered into the unconscious feeling of death, known as sleep.]

The End of Part One.

[castlebyersafterdark]

do you think mike or will might get physically maimed in s5? if so, what kind of injury do you think they might get - will it be symbolic as well? like half blindness, losing a hand, etc. some theorists think will will lose a hand because of the dnd associations and also that s1 promo pic of him where his hand is hidden in a sleeve. i would quite enjoy a good scar or something which doesnt make them too outcast in society but which also shows the stakes were high and means people will treat them with reverence, sort of like vet war soldiers. it would also be yet another obstacle for them to deal with, a way to show they still love each other, injuries/appearance be damned etc. i always imagined mike with a ruined leg, but now it looks like dustin is the one with a limp. i dont know whether to be scared or relieved for byler... will it be worse or less severe than max's blindness and dustin's limp?

I've seen some really interesting theories that explain how all the actual DnD references integrate into the potential plot and what they can mean, far better than I can explain since I don't really know the game rules or lore beyond what we see in the show. But I am... afraid for Will! I feel that something major may happen to him. Feels like there was an early rumor that Noah was being called on set earlier than most for prosthetics test fittings? As with all filming rumor, could be conjecture or assumptions as many are. And that was before the writer strike and barely any info was out. But it could make sense. That boy is going back to the upside down. Half of the theories I enjoy feature Will actually having some sort of power. Imagine he actually does cast fireball some way, and in unleashing this great power in the climactic battle, he loses a hand a la Luke Skywalker, who he's somewhat paralleled to (though he and El both share traits w both sides of the Skywalker twins. Not everything needs to be a 1:1 parallel though.) But! I feel like the DB alluded to s4 ending like Empire and that would make s5 ROTJ w the confirmed twin theory (maybe by circumstance even if not truly by blood) and that whole storyline.

Anyway! Injuries! I kinda like the idea of Mike getting a facial scar. Full circle from the original show pitch with Mike's birthmark. He had an injury s3 at the mall fight, but it doesn't last. Maybe he has the eye injury from that, Will has the arm/hand thing (makes me sad though, our artist facing hardship if it's his dominant hand lost, can't remember which side the theories think it'll be). All in all - I think we're in for some carnage and battle scars 😬😬😬 I don't think it's going to be a bloodbath of character deaths (there will be a select few tho) but I don't think they're getting away unscathed.

[each-uisge]

hzbn htl is out now, and....it's really bad???

like, way worse than I ever would have assumed it would be. the pilot was so much better, and that was super rough so I'd expected the show to have to be better.

i mean, hllv bss is really good imho??? fun colors, nice animation, consistent animation, a new story per episode while also providing an overarching plotline and emotional payoffs that feel deserved.

but hzbn is just...wow. the secondhand embarrassment watching that was so bad damn. i wouldn't release that.

plus hearing about how somehow they got picked up for DISTRIBUTION and not funding and are funding it themselves, like...yea i can see why no studio wanted to fund it if that's what was being pitched.

first of all, why does chrlie have zero respect from any of the other demons in hell???? it makes zero sense that she shouldn't have overlords like vlntno defer respect to her. it's shown in hllv bss that people move the fuck out of the way for stls, who's royalty, who has status far above the overlords.

even if no one likes her, she should basically be able to ask for anything she wants and people will give it to her. there could definitely be schemes behind her back, but it throws worldbuilding out the door to have people able to tell her no.

secondly, why is the official release of the show contingent entirely on the viewer already having seen the pilot episode and additionally contingent on the viewer knowing things from livestreams and twitter? the pilot is not episode one. the pilot has to do everything season one would, to show people who have money the bare bones summary of what the show will be in order to secure funding, and then episode one will redo the intro better and more streamlined and with less info dumping. hllv bss does this PERFECTLY.

also, why why whyyyyyy are a billion characters introduced at once and then given big musical solos right after we met them? it's like editing les miserables to introduce fantine in the first two minutes and then have i dreamed a dream be the third song in the musical. you can't do that. it doesn't feel earned. it's supposed to be a show that anyone can pick up and enjoy, not a series of character-centric amv's made entirely for people know everything about these characters from art livestreams and twitter.

and...hsk.....his design was bad in the pilot and it's still bad in the show. i would have expected an overhaul. i would have expected someone who agreed to pick up the show and to force v to change it. it's horrible. fluffy, overpatterned stuffed animal straight out of 2006 deviantart does not fit the character at all and i cannot take him seriously. god forbid they put him and dust together 💀

and dust!!!!!! a character with a great engaging story and arc!!!! but it was laid on so thick and so quickly is was just sort of...meh. poisn was fun but it laid it on so thick it felt more like an erotic montage than a song about self destruction.

which brings me to another point: most of the major character arcs echo hllv bss. dust echoes fizz, but his character arc was split between two episodes with previous flashbacks in others, and was way better handled and had a bigger emotional reward. i love fizz. i love his musical numbers, i love his character arc, and dust could have had something similar but i guess not.

and why is everyone always just...sitting around in the hotel? the pacing is so bad. it feels like someone animated a fanfic where nothing really happens and for some reason every single character is there all the time.

i mean, the good part is the music was great, the songs were fun and well performed, the lighting and color changes particularly in loser were fantastic. i LOVED styd gne. but damn. i wouldn't release that. i wouldn't put that on amazon prime. i'd put hllv bss but NOT hzbn as it is now.

[vindalyn]

Panacea

A/N: Finally got the courage to post this. Currently planning on keeping this a oneshot, but that's still up for debate. Constructive feedback is welcome! Writing is also something I'm rather new to and not something I do often, so expect sentences that flow weirdly.

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

I awoke.

The sound of the soft pitty-patter that stemmed from the tiny water droplets pouring down onto the lone window in my room greeted me. Groggily opening my eyes, the usual sight of the somewhat dirty, yet still obviously white-colored ceiling greeted me. As I slowly stretched my arms up above my head, I stepped out onto the cold, wooden floor of my small room. I didn't mind the cold - it just helped wake me up faster. Finishing up my stretch with a soft yawn escaping my lips, I lifted my right hand to my eyes, gingerly rubbing the crust that formed overnight out of them. So, I was awake now - why? It was pitch-black outside, but my alarm hadn't rung as it usually would - I'd have noticed it in a heartbeat, as used to it as I was. The sudden blaring of the police siren - a sound that was basically second nature to me by now - entered my ears. Were the villains acting out again? Things weren't the same after the lone hero, who held the city together by a thread, died. I still remember when I got hold of the news. He'd been our idol - our savior, and ever since he perished, things changed, sadly for the worse. No one was there to save us anymore. There was no stopping 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. The police tried their best, but they couldn't stop Masquerade from murdering thousands of people - innocent people - on that one fateful day. My parents were also one of the victims. The image of their beaten, bloodied bodies can't escape my mind, and it most likely never will. It'd been supposed to be a simple shopping trip - one, where I could finally try to mend the broken relationship my parents and I had, but… Masquerade happened. I'd been away from my parents for just a bit - just to go to the bathroom. Then the Bloodmare Hunt happened - one of Masquerade's little games. Hiding inside the bathroom saved me, but… my parents didn't make it out in one piece. The second I figured that it was safe - that Masquerade was done - I went out of my hiding place, and searched for my parents without rest. I just wanted them to be okay.

There'd been bodies everywhere - all bloody and beaten. The blood on my hands wasn't something that I noticed after a while of rummaging through body after body, staring at cold, lifeless face after face. Until I finally found my parents on the floor of the second story of the shopping mall we'd been in. Their bodies… were just like the others I had seen. I'd tried anything to "fix" them at the time - to mend them - tried applying pressure to their wounds, tried stitching the wounds back in any way I could, through scavenging the necessary supplies from the nearby stores, but… I'd been too late. They were barely alive even before I'd come out of my hiding spot. When I started to realise that my mom and dad were beyond saving… I froze. I didn't know what to do, and so I sat there on my knees, staring at them - not thinking, not doing anything. And when it finally got through to me that they were dead? I had broken down crying.

But I gained something after: a power. The power to heal. It felt as if a switch had been flipped inside of my brain, and information regarding the nature of my power filled my mind. Ironic, that I get that which would have saved them, only after I failed. I'd been jarring at first - the power to heal. Focus and physical contact was all it took to heal a person from almost dead to fully-healthy. I could heal any type of injury in a time-frame ranging from seconds to minutes.

I let out a soft sigh, staring down at the wooden flooring numbly. I'm trying to be a superhero. Not one like Sovereign - I could never be him. He'd been gentle to any and every person that needed his help, and he'd always been ready to lend a helping hand with his super strength and whatnot. I can't be him. He'd been better than I could ever hope to be, but… I can still strive to do my best.

The people call me "Panacea". I wander around the city, visiting various hotspots of injured people to rid them of their ailments day after day, week after week. But at the end of the day? I am just a short, average-looking sixteen year old girl trying to do her best. I wonder how long I can continue doing this for? The villains will catch me one day - of course they will. Giving the people hope is something they hate - something they can't stand seeing. And what better way to punish that, than to torture the peoples' only ray of hope? These thoughts - these nightmares - have been plaguing me for longer than I'd like to admit.

But I know I have a job to do. I went down to my knees facing my bed, and took out the small, wooden box containing my costume - a white hoodie, and put it on as fast as I could, in addition to the small, white domino mask that made out my outfit. There; Now I can head out.

And as I step out of my small recluse, a feeling of determination can't help but overwhelm me. I will make a difference, and I will be the hope the city needs - I'll make sure of that.

[apoorva-ranjit]

A Day in the Life of a College Student

Hello friends, today I am going to be sharing with you everything that normally occurs in my day to today life. This is gonna be a little different from the content you’re familiar with, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless ;).

Like any other college student with morning classes, my day begins bright and early. I lied. My mornings are usually super dark. At 4, I first open my eyes. It takes me another 15 minutes to truly get up. The worst part about morning classes is not the fact that it starts really early, nor is it the fact that it’s really cold. It’s the part where you try to convince yourself that this is worth it, and that at least the day classes have it worse.

I get dressed, breakfast is usually optional, but the days that I get really, really hungry, I scarf down whatever leftovers we have from the day before + some eggs. Then I brush my teeth, which may seem kinda counterintuitive but it helps with keeping me fresh-breathed.

  The only reason I dread going anywhere outside my house, lies right outside my house. Imagine. It’s dark. You can barely see what’s in front of you. You forget your glasses. You turn to fetch it back, then you think if vision is really worth travelling ALL that distance AGAIN.

My friends, what I am referring to is the kilometer and a half of just WALKING on a graveled upwards slope in the pitch black of night. The number of times I’ve stubbed my toe on an unusually large rock placed smack dab in the middle of the road is astounding. I thought I was getting smarter by remembering the rock locations so I could avoid them. THE ROCKS CHANGE THEIR LOCATION TOO, as if to mock me for even trying.

After those excruciatingly long 8 minutes, I get to ride the bus. Now, anybody who knows me, knows the fact that Nepal’s public transport system (NPTS) and I get along about as well and mixing oil and water. Out of the 12 times I’ve been late for classes, 10 of those can be attributed to NTPS.

They either forget to hand me back my change, or blatantly overcharge. They wait 15 mins per stop, for 5 stops. At some point, even the driver must be praying to his God, asking to be forgiven for his sins. One time, I caught my Ratnapark bus at 5:50 AM. School starts at 6:30. It’s a 7km drive. There is no way I’m gonna be late today, right? WRONG!

The first move my bus driver pulled was a 15 minute wait two stops after I got on. The bus wasn’t even empty. A short person was jabbing their elbows in my gut. They were blasting their wedding songs for the whole neighborhood to listen. I was directly in front of the speakers. After what seemed like eons, the bus left. I couldn’t check the time because we were so tightly squished, but I was sure today was a late day.

What followed next were simply the bus doing their bus duties, going to stops, waiting for people to come out. For one person to get off, 15 others had to go first. Every time I thought “things couldn’t get any worse”, it did. We hit a bike. The traffic set up a checking stand in Jawalakhel, so we had to reroute. Seemingly, everybody on the bus HAD to get off at some point in the new route. A 10-minute detour took 18.

I am sat there, weighing out the pros and cons of missing classes today. I suffered through all that, just to get scolded for being late. When I make mistakes, it is right I get reprimanded. But when things are out of your hands, very bit of criticism hurts a tad bit more.

I was going to continue but this post has run for too long. Tune in next week for Part 2 of A Day in the Life of a College Student.

[ladyfogg]

Who Wants to be Lonely - 4/10

Who Wants to be Lonely – 4/10

Fic Summary: After the ground splits and sends you hurtling into the Upside Down, you come face-to-face with the notorious, and injured, Eddie Munson. Lost and hunted by otherworldly creatures, the two of you have no choice but to stick together if you’re going to find your way home. Masterpost.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Language, Violence, Angst, Blood/Slight Gore, Season Finale Spoilers

Fic Song: Who Wants to be Lonely by Kiss. Full fic playlist on Spotify.

A/N: Just wanted to give a little warning that the reader deals with some anxiety in this chapter. Nothing huge but I know it can be a trigger for some. Happy reading!

Eddie sleeps for longer than he means to.

He comes to consciousness slowly, too groggy and out of it to really fully wake. Several times he dozes off again, only to come to moments later. Even though he can’t tell what time it is, he knows hours have passed. His entire body is cramped from lying on the floor and the pain is dulled, though not by much. He’s no longer lying on your lap. Instead, your empty bag is under his head like a pillow. When he strains to listen, however, he can’t hear anything. Not the sound of you moving around or your breathing.

It's that thought that makes him open his eyes.

The first thing he sees is that the barricade has been fortified with more shelves, all of which are now directly up against the door. A little worrisome but at least a good sign because it means you’re somewhere in the small building.

Eddie lifts his head to look around. Items that had been scattered about have been picked up and organized into neat piles, in very careful rows like they would have been if they were still on the shelves. Near the little area where Eddie is laying, you’ve brought over things he assumes you’re planning to take with you when the two of you leave. He spots bottled water, first aid supplies, and food among the items. But there are also tools you were able to scrounge up, like a hammer, nails, screwdriver, etc. Everything gives the impression you’ve been hard at work while he’s been sleeping. He has no idea how you’ve had the energy to do any of this. He should probably get up and let you rest for a bit. No doubt you’re running on fumes.

When Eddie tries to move, his body won’t listen. Between his injuries and the strain of running around the Upside Down, he’s stuck lying on the floor, curled onto his side. Fearful and incredibly concerned, he calls your name.

You pop out from one of the back rooms. “Right here. Everything okay?” You’ve changed out of the tank top and into an awful t-shirt with the Hawkins High logo and Go Tigers! written across it in big letters. He prefers the bloody tank top. The wounds on your arms look clean and he spots several bandages over the worse ones.

“I can’t move.”

“Shit. One second.” You duck through the horizontal doorway and are by his side almost instantly. Kneeling in front of him, a look of concern crosses your face. “What’s going on? Can you not move a specific body party or just in general?”

“General.”

“Alright. I’ll roll you onto your back then. Ready?”

“No.”

You do it anyway and every muscle in his body screams in protest. He yells out, letting loose a smattering of swears in a high-pitched angry voice. “Sorry!” you say, forcing his legs out of the fetal position. “Sorry, sorry! My bad! Figured it was best to just do it fast!”

“I’m in pain so I’m going to let that go and not make a dirty joke. Just know I was thinking it.” Now that he’s lying flat on his back and his legs are stretched out, he feels a little bit better. But still can barely move without something pulling or protesting. “Fuck, this isn’t good.”

“I’m no doctor but, pretty sure you’re not going anywhere until your body’s had time to heal.”

“We’re stuck in another dimension with a homicidal madman who is bent on world domination and can astral project into people’s minds. I don’t have time to heal.”

“Yeah, well, you also don’t have a choice, Munson. Neither one of us does.”

Eddie sighs heavily. “I guess I can’t argue since I can’t even fucking stand, which poses a whole new set of problems.”

“Like what?”

“I have to take a piss.”

“Yeah, I was afraid of that. I had the same problem earlier so I had to make some changes to the bathroom. I’ll help you up.” You lean forward, ready to take his hand when you pause and add, “But I’m not helping you pee. That you’ll have to do on your own.”

“Terrible customer service. I’m complaining to your manager.”

“Oh, shut up.”

It takes a couple of tries and a lot of pain to get Eddie off the floor and to his feet. His steps are slow and stunted, like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. His joints and muscles are screaming at him to lay back down. But his bladder is calling the shots and he really doesn’t feel like wetting his pants in front of the hot chick who saved his life. Slowly, and using the wall for added support, he lets you lead him to the small bathroom in the back.

When you said you made some changes, he thought you meant that you dug a hole or something. You did dig a hole, but you also ripped the toilet off the ceiling and stuck it right over the crack in the cheap plaster on what is now the floor. Once on the left wall, now the sink is on the ceiling, thankfully still secured in place.

“The sink sort of works. It at least drips some water when you turn the nozzles. Also, we have another weapon,” you tell him, holding up a piece of piping, no doubt what you used to bust through the wall.  

“Maybe the sink doesn’t work because you broke off a fucking pipe.”

“Nah, this one went to the toilet. I think. Oh well, it was loose anyway and we can’t keep sharing the one spear.”

“Alright, Wonder Woman. I think you need to go take a break.”

“I’m fine.”

Bullshit. Absolute, bullshit. Eddie may not know much, but he knows exhaustion when he sees it. His uncle works non-stop and gets burnt out pretty quickly. He can recognize the signs well by this point. You’re exhausted to the point of hysteria. Your hands are shaking and if you weren’t in the Upside Down, he would think you were on something. Hell, you actually could be on something but he doubts it.

“You yanked a toilet off the ceiling and are waving a pipe around,” Eddie says. “We’re going to talk more about how not fine you are right after I finish in here.”

“I should probably give you some privacy then.”

“Yeah, probably.”

You duck out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed on your way out. Eddie desperately needs to lay back down so he uses the bathroom fast. He checks out the ceiling-sink and when he turns the nozzle, a small trickle of water comes out like you said it would. Realizing how utterly gross he feels, Eddie decides to take advantage of the opportunity. He carefully takes off his jacket and slings it over the toilet tank. Trying to avoid soaking his bandages, which isn’t difficult given the little bit of water he’s actually getting, he does his best to wash the grime and blood from himself.  

It's a slow process but once he’s done, he feels better and uses paper towels to dry himself off. He’s not in any rush to put his jacket back on, intent on checking and changing his bandages once he’s sitting back down. Eddie slings his jacket over his arm.

Using the walls for support, he carefully makes his way out of the bathroom. He expects you to be right there, but you’re not. You’re on the other side of the room where he was laying, spreading clothing on the floor. Now that he can properly take in the store, he realizes just how much you’ve done. He would be impressed if he wasn’t incredibly worried about your mental health.

“What are you doing now?” he asks, inching his way back towards you, resting most of his weight on the wall.

“Laying down some clothes for some cushion. It’s not much, only a few shirts I found in the back. Speaking of which, I have a shirt for you.” You hold up a shirt that matches the one you’re wearing.

“Yeah, I’m not wearing that.”

“Why not?”

“Not my style.”

You roll your eyes but toss the shirt onto the pile. “You really should cover your bandages. But let’s check them first. I found some antibacterial ointment that should help.

“I can handle that. You really should take a nap.” Once again you wave him off and keep putting together the makeshift bed. Eddie’s not letting it slide though. When he finally makes it to you, he reaches out to put his hands on your shoulders. “Stop, just…stop for a second.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, you really need to lay down and I want to make sure you’re not on the dirty floor.”

“It doesn’t matter. Seriously, just chill for a second.”

“NO, Eddie, I can’t!” your voice is sharp and tinged with anger. Your hands are shaking as you keep trying to fiddle with the makeshift bed. You’re not even looking at him as you speak. “I have to do something. I can’t…we’re stuck here and you’re hurt and so I have to be useful. I have to take care of things.”

With great difficulty, Eddie crouches down to your level, turning you around to face him. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says. “Weren’t you just trying to tell me the same thing? If I can’t sacrifice myself to take care of you then you can’t sacrifice yourself to take care of me.”

“But—”

Eddie shushes you, using the same voice he uses on his Hellfire clubmates. “Shhh! No! Stop it. Don’t argue. Just, fucking sit and stay still for a second.”

With no other choice, you sigh and nod. The two of you sit down together. His body relaxes the moment he’s no longer crouching. Eddie leans his back against the wall and pulls you along with him so that you’re tucked into his side.

“See, this isn’t so bad,” he says, sliding his arm around your shoulders and giving you a reassuring smile.

“No, I guess not.”

“Good. I’m glad. Now, do you want to tell me why you doubled our barricade then proceeded to clean like a crazy person?”

You don’t answer right away and Eddie begins to wonder if you ever will when you say in a small voice, “There was something outside.”

Eddie’s smile immediately fades. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a clear visual. I was too scared to move. But I could hear it. It wandered around the building and came up to the doors. I thought…” Your voice cracks.

Oh. That explains it.

Eddie pulls you into a hug. Whether it’s the gentle touch or the realization of what you experienced, he’s not sure but as soon as he does, you start to cry. You don’t have to finish your sentence. He gets it. He understands. You were thrust into a world you didn’t know existed and immediately had to fight for your life. Seriously, if anyone understood it was Eddie. He thinks back to his days on the run, hiding out at Reefer Rick’s cabin, not knowing if Jason and his goons were going to find him, all the while picturing Chrissy on the ceiling. He lost count of the number of times he cried.

“It’s alright, you’re okay,” he says, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “I know what you’re feeling. Trust me. I get it.”

“Yeah, I suppose you do.”

You wrap your arm around his waist and hug him back, your cheek pressed to his chest. The skin-on-skin contact makes Eddie suck in a breath. It’s been a while since he’s had that kind of human contact and it takes him by surprise how much his body responds to it. His arms circle you tighter and he presses his face to the top of your head, closing his eyes and savoring the moment.

“I keep picturing those bats diving at me,” you say between sobs.

His mind flashes back to the swarm taking him down as he tried to save Dustin. “Me too.”

“I almost woke you when the thing showed up, but it moved on.”

Eddie has the mental image of you, scared in the dark, shaking like you are now and he hates it. Hates that you were terrified while he slept. “Next time, wake me up, no matter what. Okay?”

“Okay.”

There’s a stretch of silence, time where you both are taking in what’s happened. Fuck, a week ago the only thing Eddie needed to think about was passing Ms. O’Donnell’s final and now he’s locked in a convenience store, trying to keep literal monsters at bay. You’ve had your world literally turned upside down in the span of one day. It’s a wonder you two aren’t fully insane already. He looks around, taking in what you’ve done to the place.

“The store looks good.”

You give a weak chuckle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “Thanks. It started when I was looking for more bandages and then, the next thing I knew, I was organizing everything.”

“Don’t forget, you also ripped a toilet off the fucking wall. Well, ceiling I guess. That’s pretty badass and very Incredible Hulk of you.”

“It was half-off anyway. I just ripped it the rest of the way.”

“And then ripped the pipe out.”

“We needed another weapon!”

Eddie smiles and affectionately shakes his head. “You’re an interesting woman, sweetheart.”

“Is that good or bad?”

He hopes you don’t hear the way his heart skips a beat. Clearing his throat, he says, “It’s good.”

You don’t say anything in response. Your body is trembling and he can feel the warm tears against his chest. After a while, the tears stop and when he listens closely, he can hear you breathing steadily. Carefully he draws back a little to glance down at you, only to find that you’re fast asleep. Oh noooo. Guess he has to just sit there and hold you while you sleep.

Eddie could use a few more hours himself, but since you mentioned there was something skulking around outside, he decides that sleeping in shifts is probably a better idea, at least for right now. Not that he can do much if something does happen. Unfortunately, after sitting that way for some time, his body starts to cramp up again and he realizes he needs to stretch out.

And probably grab some painkillers from your neat stack of medical supplies.

What comes next is Eddie spending an obscenely long time trying to move without disturbing you too much. Which is incredibly difficult not just because you’re resting against him, but because he can hardly move in the first place. Also, your arms are securely fastened around his waist and in any other situation, he would stay there until the end of time.

Gently, and going as slow as possible, Eddie regrettably pries your arms off. Next, he takes one of the shirts you laid out and slips it under your head. You move a little and mumble something, making him freeze. But then you’re still again and he keeps going. Biting his tongue in concentration, Eddie very carefully shuffles out from under you, while also supporting your head. It takes way longer than it probably would have if he wasn’t injured, but eventually, he’s able to lay you down on the floor without waking you up.

Of course, now he’s chilly without the warmth of your skin touching his.

Don’t think about that. Not the time, Eddie, he tells himself.

Picking up his leather jacket, he lays it over you like a blanket. Begrudgingly, he puts on the Hawkins High shirt to combat the cold. Thank god no one is around to see it.

He takes a few painkillers and chugs some more water before changing his bandages. Thankfully, you did a fairly decent job of sewing him up and there aren’t too many cuts leaking through. At least he’s not actively bleeding anymore. That’s a plus. Even though he needs to lay down, he has a smoke and pokes around looking for something to eat. Smiling to himself, he sees that you organized all the food into meals: a sandwich, some chips, a can of fruit, and a bottle of water. You even set one aside for him with double the chips, which he knows because you labeled it with a post-it note saying: for Eddie.

Damn it. You need to stop being cute or he’s not going to make it out of this without becoming your willing slave.

He does think it’s a bit much that you transferred the chips into plastic baggies. Until he accidentally steps on one of the discarded bags it makes a loud crinkling sound. Fuck, you’re smart. He wouldn’t have thought of that. Of course, you wouldn’t want to take the chip bags with you. Imagine being killed in the Upside Down because you opened a loud bag of chips for a snack.

Quietly, he sits and props himself against the wall again, eating and smoking while he watches the front door. He’s not sure what you saw but El’s mention of demogorgons keeps replaying in his mind. Those fuckers are terrifying in a fantasy game. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he sees one in real life. Or when, because he’s not naive enough to think the bats are the only thing stalking the area.

On more than one occasion, his eyes slide over to watch you sleep.

Eddie has had his fair share of dalliances. Nothing serious, nothing beyond the occasional fling with a guy or girl he met at a party or backstage after a show. He’s shared his bed, not as many times as he’d like people to believe, but he hasn’t slept next to someone. At least, not on purpose and not someone who he didn’t have to rush and sneak out the door the next morning while his uncle slept.

Once he’s done eating and stubs out his cigarette, Eddie stretches out next to you on the floor and his muscles finally weep with joy. The moment he gets as comfortable as he can, he knows he won’t be able to get up for a while. You haven’t moved an inch, a testament to how fucking exhausted you must be. It breaks his heart thinking of you in a cleaning frenzy, trying to keep your body going so your thoughts don’t consume you. While the cleaning part doesn’t resonate, the other part does.

Eddie forces himself to turn on his side to face you, tucking his hands under his cheek.

He studies the lines of your face, admires the calm expression, and frowns when your forehead wrinkles and you make a noise. Eleven protected his mind from nightmares but he doesn’t know if that’s a one-time thing. And clearly, your mind isn’t being protected the same way. If he gets a chance to talk to her again, he’ll tell her to focus on you instead of him. He can handle the nightmares, he’s done it before. Reaching out, he lays his hand over yours and the moment he makes physical contact, you relax again.

Oh yeah, he is in so much trouble.

He barely knows anything about you, including whether or not you’re even available. Plus, there’s the whole “fighting for your lives” thing.

Yeah, this tracks.

Since when has Eddie Munson’s love life not been a total messy disaster?

Eddie lays there for a long time, occasionally looking over at the door but mostly he watches you sleep. Eventually, his eyelids grow heavy and he knows he’s not going to be able to hold off dozing for much longer. At the same time, he loathes the thought of waking you. You haven’t gotten nearly as much rest as he did.

He holds on for another hour before reaching over to gently pat your cheek. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up.”

You groan with disappointment. “Noooo.” You grab the edge of his jacket and snuggle down into it.

Eddie is about two seconds away from asking you to marry him. “Well, you can go back to sleep but I’m not gonna be able to stay awake for much longer,” he says. “Unless you don’t mind neither of us keeping watch.” He hopes you'll stay asleep. Maybe he can even slip his arm around you if you're up for it.

With a sigh, you open your eyes, barely reacting to the fact that he’s lying so close to you. “It’s fine, I’m awake. I’m awake. Anything going on?”

Eddie shakes his head. “All is quiet.” He sees the way your body tenses and then relaxes when he tells you everything is clear. “Thanks for the meal.”

“Don’t mention it. I should probably eat something too.”

“After, will you make sure you just sit for a bit? Like, read a magazine or something.”

“We’re in an alternate dimension and you expect me to read Just Seventeen?”

“No, of course not. There’s also Playboy.”

You roll your eyes and playfully shove his head away. “Get some rest, Munson.” You sit up with a groan, his jacket still loosely around your shoulders, a sound and visual that he totally doesn’t think about for way too long. The jacket slips when you stretch your arms above your head. “Thanks for the coat.”

Eddie averts his gaze when your shirt rides up just a little, just enough to show a flash of skin. “You’re welcome. I will rest but only if you promise not to go on another cleaning spree,” he says, taking the jacket as you hand it back to him.

“Nope, can’t make that promise.”

Eddie sighs and starts to force himself to sit up. “Alright, well, guess I’m not going to sleep then.”

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” you say, trying to stop him from moving. “You need to lay down.”

“If you’re not going to rest then neither am I.”

“You can’t be serious…”

Eddie raises his eyebrow. “Try me,” he challenges.

There’s a beat of silence, a moment of contemplation where you study him through narrowed eyes, trying to see if he’s messing with you or if he is really willing to hurt himself just to get you to take it easy. When he makes another move to get up, you finally break. “Okay, okay, fine. I won’t clean,” you say. “Just, lay down and don’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh thank god,” Eddie says, laying down with a dramatic huff. “I was totally bluffing.”

“You ass.”

“Seriously, though. Will you rest?”

“Yes, Eddie. God, I will take it easy.” You draw an X over your chest. “Cross my heart.”

“If I wake up and this place is cleaner, you’re in big trouble.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, Munson? Spank me?”

Eddie swears his heart nearly leaps out of his chest and the mental image of you bent over with his hand leaving an outline on your ass makes him take a second too long to answer. And when he does, he can’t stop himself from saying, “Well, I mean, if you’re into that, sure. But I don’t do any kinky shit without a safe word.”

You laugh. Not the quiet laugh he’s heard before, but a loud one that has you covering your mouth. “Oh my god, you’re the worst. Go to sleep.”

You get up, shaking your head and still chuckling to yourself. Eddie can’t help grinning, making himself as comfortable as he can on a bed made of thin t-shirts and a leather jacket for a blanket. “That wasn’t a no!” he says over his shoulder.

You laugh again, muttering to yourself, “My God, this man, I swear…”

Still grinning from ear to ear, Eddie closes his eyes, preparing for sleep. It takes him a while to quiet his mind as he listens to you grab something to eat and then set yourself up against the wall again. However, even when he starts to drift off, the smile is still in place because he is one-hundred percent right: that wasn’t a no.

Taglist

@thirddeadlysin @imagine-all-the-imagines @ladymunson @daddychicka @nerdboylover @witchymoonbabe @fangirling-4-ever @sadbitchfangirl​ @endurexxsurvive​ @justtryingtobecreative @toobsessedsstuff @sweetpeapod @perlaluna​ @kaiscumsock @alanangels @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual​ @eddieswifu​ @kokokabana-blog @ruinedbythehobbit @persephone13

[husbandohunter]

A Small Predicament [Baby Genshin x Reader]

Characters: Scaramouche, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Xiao, Zhongli, Albedo

Synopsis: Cursed for a week, the boys either have to live with it or find a cure as soon as possible. You on the otherhand hoped otherwise.

(A/n): It only takes ONE glance for me to start having ideas. It was twelve in the morning yall, enjoy~

Oh here's part 2

--------

Scaramouche

• "Oh you shrank? I couldn't tell-"

• Threatens that he will murder you to pieces and burn your remains but his voice was so squeaky and high pitched (voice crack) that you couldn't help but burst into a tearful laughter. 

• Its payback time  Bully him, take his hat and hover it above his head. Truthfully, without his hat Scaramouche looks like a little schoolboy. Overall less intimidating.

• Tries glaring. Cute. He's really bratty as a kid, sitting on a high chair (which you had to help him get on) and demanding his servants to do his bidding. In reality, his personality never changed. You realized that even as a grown up he still acts like this (bratty kid in a grown man body).

• The curse made his week a living hell. Signora had the audacity to pull his ear when he misbehaves. Childe constantly messes with his hair while giving head pats and the WORST of all, pinching his cheeks. Scaramouche never wanted to commit arson so bad in his life.

• Eventually finds a cure so he doesn't have to deal with it anymore and orders everyone to never speak of it again. Though, he's plotting how he'll get revenge on everyone who made fun of him using the very same curse (You better run).

~~x~~

Diluc

• "Oh…Oh my! Diluc you're just so cute!" 

• Diluc grimaces as you glomp him in this state. How can you help it? With his head so small it makes his hair all the more fluffier! His coat no longer fits him to the point the sleeves had made past his fingertips. He tried wielding his claymore again, only to lose balance and fall flat onto his bum

• (insert kid voice "Retribution!") Did I mention the babyface?

• Diluc tries to act as if everything was normal, acting like the Darknight hero and Mondstadt's Tycoon but fun-sized. He couldn't. There was no way people would take him seriously in business meetings. Same with fighting abyss mages, his smaller form was too much of a disadvantage. Thus you ended up doing most of his paperwork.

• One time you caught him sitting on the floor couldn't reach his office desk  while reading away the various books for a cure. It was three in the morning. You told him it was way past his bedtime and he argues saying when did he ever have a curfew schedule. In the end you managed to convince him and he begrudgingly obliges.

• The type to NOT ask for help even when it's obvious that he really needs it. Before he was the one who helped you reach things from the top shelves, oh how the tables have turned. He avoids Kaeya like a plague unless he was in it for another round of funny remarks. When he wanted to go out and get some fresh air, you insisted on accompanying him. Worst mistake in his life. A travelling merchant bumps into you and commented that you had a very cute son. Diluc was mortified.

• The day ended up with him sulking in his room. Although it was tempting, you resisted from cooing over his adorable form after days of treating him like a child. It wasn't because you were teasing him, Diluc just works so hard that you wanted to spoil him a bit. At least he could still play a game of chess with you.

• When things went back to normal, Diluc ensures that you will NOT see him as your son.

~~x~~

Kaeya

• "Well look who it is, my little Prince Kaeya~"

• Tries really hard not be bothered by it at all. Kaeya still maintains his suave facade, throwing in a couple of flirting lines here and there (and forcing his voice to go a few octaves too low in which puberty has yet to occur HA). Though no matter what approach, he couldn't ignore the sparkling mischievious glint in your eye. You were obviously not taking him seriously.

• Things couldn't get any worse. He lost his masculine physique and boob window, he wasn't able to go to certain places without supervision. But the worst thing of all was that he was underaged. Kaeya hated the fact he couldn't drink anymore, he even insisted you to sneak him a few bottles (which you refused) and had to settle with plain beverages such as fruit juice (what an insult). He was never really grounded since his childhood days but he certainly felt like he was grounded now. 

• Kaeya still kisses you on the lips whether you like it or not. If you ask him to sit on your lap, he will find a way to turn the position into his favour such as resting his face between your breasts. You're not gonna treat him like a kid, nuh-uh, he actively avoids it.

• Since his personality still remains, Kaeya is a naughty child. He will use his innocent appearance to sway people (even you) to get what he wants. That was how he was able to take a sip of the wine he stole somewhere (he wouldn't tell you). Diluc scolded him heavily and threatened to ban him from drinking from his Tavern for a week (they ended up arguing, Kaeya being the passive aggressive little shit he is).

• He was extremely relieved to return back to his normal form again. He has so much to catch up (specifically his bedtime activities with you *wink wonk*)

~~x~~

Child(e)

• "Hmmm to be honest, this actually suits you very much."

• Unlike the other boys, Childe was completely okay with it. Turns out that YOU were the one who was not going to be okay. If you thought taking care of Teucer was energy-draining then expect Childe to take that tenfold and beyond.

• You've officially became his full-time babysitter who is in desperate need of a raise (and rest). You can't take your eyes off of him and archons forbid that he will ever meet Klee. One point he'll be running ahead by your side and the next you'll find him getting himself in a 1vs7 situation with some shady looking treasure hoarders. Childe genuinely thinks he could take them on but the curse downgraded his abilities. You carried him and barely made out of it alive. (This made you ponder whether the best solution would be to strap him against a chair for the time being…)

• Childe being a child will eat all the candies and ice cream he pleases. You wonder if the curse also turned him a few years back or was it that he acts like this simply because he wanted to (it was the latter). He loves being spoiled, spoiled by you! Childe demands your full attention, spoon-feeding his meals, back rubs and head pats. Yep, he's definitely doing this on purpose.

• Did he just call you 'mommy'? (Childe has mommy kink confirmed).  He has so much energy that it was exhausting, you literally had to drag him away from what ever he was doing in order to get him to bed. "No Childe, your sleeping time is 9p.m stop whining." He bargained that he'll sleep if you sleep beside him (you didn't get any sleep. You knew what he was planning. In the end, you tried to make sure he didn't sneak out behind your back.)

• Finally you were able to get out of that hell-hole. Childe promised to make it up to you, you deserve it after all~

~~x~~

Small (aka Xiao)

• "Did you know in the Liyuean language, Xiao translates to small?" You didn't say that out loud. Not when he's this angry (this angy)

• He just stands there, crossing his arms and grumbling. You were hesitant to touch him in case he might hiss at you. Xiao has always been short, maybe an inch taller than you, but seeing him like this made you think 'my almighty yaksha can't be this cute♡'

• He gets mad when you no longer call his name for help. How could you? He's just so precious~ Xiao makes it clear that no matter what form he takes, it doesn't make him weak ("Adepti and you mortals are nothing alike." Or so he says but you could tell he wasn't running as fast as he used to because…small legs). You may not comment on it aloud but he can tell just by the look on your face and it irritates him.

• Also the type to not ask for help but worse. Xiao is an agressive little kid, he seems as if he'll be willing to bite someone's finger off if they try to pet him (He gives strong cat vibes, so thats understandable). His spear was too big for him to wield so he often has to put it away or else he might knock someone over with it. Xiao hates being short so you'll be hearing him complain alot.

• Since he was an adepti, he didn't need to sleep however, the curse must have brought down his power by a significant amount to the point you DID catch him napping. You almost swooned out loud just by taking a glance upon his face. For once he didn't wear his signature grumpy look. Xiao appears like a normal child, one full of innocence. His snoring was soft and breathly but that just meant he was deep asleep. (You wished to take a picture). 

• Of course, everything had to come to an end (much to your disappointment), he still complains about the incident to this day.

~~x~~

Zhongli

• How is it possible for a baby to still look so handsome? (Must be his godly abilities)

• Zhongli is unfazed by this 'curse' since his past lives have already taken many forms. Though for some reason whenever he walks down the streets of Liyue, young girls, mothers, ladies all come him was and start complimenting him and gushing over him (he was suffocating). They'd squeeze him tight or squish his cheeks, it only takes once glance before the little girls start blushing and hiding behind their moms.

• Needless to say, despite what form he is in, Zhongli is still able to get free stuff. He got some free candies and some free kites to play with. You had to help him carry his items. Zhongli ends up tripping too much because his tailcoat reached his feet (he decided to just take it off. You had to hold that too). Seems like he can have anyone do things for him in the end HA.

• He still got that drippy voice and you're just like ???? "What on Teyvat Zhongli, you're a kid." This is why you can't see him as one, its nearly impossible.

• Actively avoids Hu Tao and Childe. Once Hu Tao caught sight of him and chased him for hours, he couldn't stay in one spot knowing that she might just pop out of no where. Childe still spoils him, however Zhongli feels irritated by the fact the only things Childe buys him toys (its different when other people do it.)

• Everytime you guys go back strolling through Liyue, you had to hold his hand in case more women come swarming hin again. You swear that at this rate he might get kidnapped because hes just such a beautiful baby.

• Zhongli learned an important lesson after his curse was lifted: no matter how many years he lives throughout  never take a form of a child.

~~x~~

Albedo

• You find him buried beneath a pile of books and had to dig him out before he suffocates.

• Albedo has the cutest eyes, they're big and round full of curiosity and they sparkle too (he has the prettiest eyes out of everyone tbh). He is the only person who is fascinated by this outcome and immediately goes in the wild to test out his new physique. 

• He was always curious why Klee T-poses when she runs so he decided to try it out himself. She was thrilled to find out that she now has a little brother to play with. In the end, Albedo indulges in the games she always wanted to play but couldn't because he was too old: princess dress up tea parties.

• You felt many things when you saw Albedo wearing a frilly gown and a plastic tiara tucked on his head. Deep down you knew regardless of what gender Albedo was still pretty. Klee even had the guts to redo his hair and hardly anyone was able to recognize it was him at all. He has pigtails, PIGTAILS! You made sure to burn that image into the very depths of your mind forever.

• The only advantage was the he was ablw to fit through small spaces, other than that, being small was way too inconvenient. He knocked down a few of his potion bottles which damaged the floor (thankfully not him) because they were lethal (he wonders how Klee was able to not injure herself when using bombs). You carried him and lifted him to alot of places such as trudging through the snow because Albedo would surely fall on his face due to his small form.

• Enough was enough, he only lasted a day with this and decided to just make a potion and put an end to the curse once and for all. 

[dreamingofaizawa]

Good Kitty

Shouta Aizawa x Chubby! Kitty Hybrid! Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

If you are under the age of 18, leave. Thank you.

Warnings: Kitty hybrid reader, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink (?), reader has insecurities, Shouta is soft and lowkey feral?, chubby kink (sorta), reader has a heat for the first time, barely implied virginity loss, a touch of dacryphilia

Word Count: 2.4 k

Author’s Note: This is inspired by @cupcake-rogue ’s fic Not Allowed on the Bed. I got permission to use it as inspo so here we are! Tbh the orignal had me feeling all sorts of feelings because, as a very subby sub that loves to please, I definitely have a praise kink and I WILL CRY if I’m called a bad girl. HOWEVER, Katsuki being the rough-around-the-edges guy he is wanting reader regardless of size made me very happy and warm and fuzzy. 

The premise with this is pretty much the same, except I made reader a kitty hybrid...and of course I wrote for Shouta, love of my life he is. I’m such a fucking simp. I’m not the biggest fan of the ending, but this has been sitting in my WIPs for too damn long and it’s decent enough for me to feel ok posting it.

Also, for reference, reader has black fur regardless of hair color. Reader could be blonde, but still have black ears and tail. That’s just the way I’ve chosen to write this for some reason, don’t ask me why, I’m weird like that. 

I think this is the first time I’ve written for a hybrid, so cut me a little slack.

Anywho, enjoy~

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*

You can’t remember life outside the shelter. You’d grown up here, the caretakers said they’d found you on the street as a nearly newborn kitten and immediately scooped you up and brought you back here. That was a long time ago. Now you sit, waiting, your hopes for getting adopted diminishing with every passing day.

It’s unfortunate, but you still haven’t been adopted. It’s not that you’re bad, you always behave, you make sure you do. But you’ve overheard time and time again the people that gazed down at you and whispered about how you were too chunky, too big and too squishy for a kitty hybrid. And some even called you bad luck. The pitch black fur on your ears and tail warded off many.

Today was just the same as any other day. Wake up, get fed, wait in your room while potential owners pick and choose not you. Adults and children alike would take chunks out of their time to play with you, but they all left the shelter with another smaller cat. It was nearing bed time now, dinner just finished and the caretakers were about to start closing when the little bell on the front door jingled. Someone had just come in. You ignored it all the same.

Two pairs of footsteps began making their way past rooms, whoever it was that had entered smelled good, like coffee and tree bark. A smooth hum accompanied the caretaker’s voice, it made your ears twitch and tail sway gently. Still, you decided to just curl up in bed and try to sleep. The chance of him adopting you was slim, if it existed at all.

As you lay there your ears pick up their footsteps, the lazy set that dragged familiar, the nearly silent set less so. You listened as they came closer, never stopping as the man strode past each room and peered in the windows. You waited for them to pass right by your room, as they had been, but suddenly the footsteps halted. The caretaker spoke first.

“Y/n? You awake?” You let your eyes flutter open and sat up, tucking your legs under you and sitting up straight. They asked the man if he wanted to go in and see you, and he gave a simple nod. When he entered you finally looked up at him. The first thing you noticed were his eyes, tired and bloodshot with dark circles beneath them, a deep scar curved under his right eye. His long black hair fell around his shoulders, swaying lightly with every measured step he took toward you.

He stopped right in front of you, a large hand stretching out and you give it a small sniff before nudging your head into it, letting him pet your hair and scratch at the base of your ears. It felt nice to be getting attention like this. A small purr sounded in your chest, your tail gently swishing behind you.

“How long have you been here?” His voice is deep and calm, tired even, but it sounds so welcoming. It’s so soothing to your sensitive ears, like a warm blanket. You give a small hum before answering.

“A long time. I don’t remember anything outside this place.” At that he raised an eyebrow, turning to the caretaker with a questioning look.

“Most people look for...specific traits in the cat hybrids. Y/n here is well behaved, a perfect house kitty really,” you purred a bit at the praise, “But she’s a little larger than most. And her black fur wards off the more superstitious.” The man gives a curious hum before looking back down at you.

“Do you want to come home with me, kitty?” The question caught you a little off guard. Nobody really asked the hybrids if they wanted to go with them. You looked over to the caretaker, who nodded their head with a gentle smile, encouraging you to answer. All you could do was give a small nod, and soon you were in the car, on the way to your new home.

He’d told you to call him Shouta. He was nice, always quiet and never got mad. He never smiled, but you supposed that’s just the way he is. He gave you your own room, and always let you rub up on him when you wanted to, taking the opportunity to pet you. Occasionally you got the odd kiss on the forehead when you nuzzled into his neck. Those always made you purr. He never came seeking you out, which was good since there were times you really didn’t want to be touched. 

The longer you’re with him the closer you get, and you find yourself doing things you’d never thought to do before. Sometimes you found the floor more comfortable than the couch, and would kneel down and rub up on his leg, your tail wrapping around his ankle. There were times you’d see his fingers idly drumming on his lap, and you’d lay down and nibble on one with your little fang-like canines. He didn’t seem to mind that little oral fixation, and he always let you do whatever you wanted. All in all, life with Shouta is great.

But today you feel weird. You’d been cooped up in your room for the first hour or so of the weekend morning, not quite wanting to go out and make it known something was off. But it’s gotten abnormally hot, your face and chest especially warm, and between your legs as well. Your panties are beginning to feel damp, your thighs starting to feel humid and sticky. It’s a little uncomfortable. And your tummy is starting to boil, neediness beginning to cloud your mind. This never happened at the shelter.

Reluctantly, you step out of bed onto slightly wobbly legs and peek your head out of your door to see him sitting on the couch, a book in hand and a mug of coffee on the table. His hair is loose, his strong lean body relaxed as he read. The sight of him and his scent made the feeling worse, made your panties and thighs wetter, your chest beginning to heave with your panted breaths. 

“Sh-shouta…” Your voice came out shakier and quieter than you wanted it to, but he’d heard you regardless. He closed the book and peered over at your shaking form in the doorway.

“What is it kitty?” You nearly mewled at his voice, his heavenly smooth baritone sending a shiver down your spine through to the tip of your tail.

“Something’s wrong...I feel weird…” As you tell him about everything that’s happening to your body, he’s dragging his eyes over you, taking in every detail. Soon he’s on the phone with the doctor, you can’t quite comprehend his words, only catching snippets. ‘Help’ and ‘how long’, followed by agreeing hums. It was all jumbled after that, your mind refusing to focus as you leaned heavily on the doorframe, your quivering legs barely able to hold your body.

Shouta’s large hand came up and cupped your cheek, letting you nuzzle into his palm. When had he hung up the phone? He ordered you to sit on the bed, and you obliged, watching as he swept up his hair into a loose bun and strode over, tilting your chin to look up at him through half-lidded eyes. He’s so close, his scent overwhelming and making your brain fuzzy.

“You’re in heat, kitty.” Heat...where had you heard that before? Back at the shelter, maybe? It was all a distant, unfocused memory right now. Shouta leaned down and kissed you sweetly, lips melding with yours as you purred and mewled, your tail thrashing behind you. His hands tugged at your clothes until you were bare before him, every inch of you on display. 

“You’re such a pretty kitty, you know that? So beautiful. Lay down for me.” The praise made you purr, made a chill crawl up your spine and your tail flick wildly. You obeyed the command, laying flat in the middle of the bed and he slotted himself between your legs, plunging two fingers into your tight hole. He let out a groan, pumping and scicssoring his fingers to stretch you out. You were already a sloppy mess, loud squelches ringing through the room in between your loud, whiny mewls and panting. 

It felt so good, the heat in your belly burning and tightening until Shouta’s fingers curled up into a spot that made stars dance in your vision. The pressure in your belly snapped hard, your legs trembling as he kept fingering you through it. His fingers slowed when you whined about it being too much, too sensitive. But you still felt hot all over, now it was worse, you wanted something so bad but you didn’t know what.

He got up and undressed himself and you licked your lips at his naked body, scarred skin pulled taut over thick muscle. What stood between his legs had heat spreading like fire through your body. You’d never seen a naked man before. He was quick to return to you, slotting his hips between your thighs and guiding the thick head of his cock along your soaked folds. 

“Relax kitty. I’m gonna make you feel good.” You gave a small nod and then he was pushing his thick cock inside you, groaning at the way your pussy clamped down on him. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth as he slowly pushed and pumped his hips, cock dragging along your wet warm walls perfectly. Mewls slipped past your lips, high pitched whines and pants like music in Shouta’s ears. 

His hands wandered over your body, squishing and pulling at every piece of you he could get his calloused fingers on. It made you squirm beneath him, your own hands trying to push his away, but he wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed both your wrists and pinned them above your head in one strong hand, then went right back to groping your body with his free one.

“I can’t have you stopping me from touching you, kitty.” That’s all he said before focusing back on your body. He tugged at your belly, your sides, every place that was fatty and squishy. He’d never admit out loud how much he loved how soft you are. You’re perfect, plump and meaty, just more for him to touch, to look at, more to squeeze and pinch and pull.

He groaned out as you whined beneath him, tears beginning to clump in your lashes because he just kept squeezing, and he isn’t fucking you hard enough. Your orgasm built slowly with his languid pace, not nearly enough to get you to that peak and you were frustrated because you wanted relief but it wouldn’t come. Shouta picks up on your hips jerking and rolling, trying to get him to fucking move faster. He pulled his hips back and slammed back in, setting a brutal pace and making you whine high and long. 

Tears begin to fall from the sheer ecstasy of it, and he’s realizing how much he loves to see you cry from the pleasure he can give you. With a groan, he’s releasing your hands and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face into your breasts and biting and sucking at your skin as he pounds you into the mattress. He isn’t normally an impulsive man, wouldn’t let himself let go like this. But for you. For you he’d give in to his lust and ravage you like you need him to.

Your orgasm slams over your body like a tsunami, your muscles locking up and a loud yip ringing from your throat, pleasure making your whole body shake. Shouta let out a hiss, your nails digging into the muscles in his back furiously, but he wouldn’t stop for that. He never stuttered in his pace, just kept ramming his hips into yours, heavy balls slapping against your ass and lewd squelches coming from where your bodies are connected. 

You’re overstimulated, throat feeling raw and tears still falling down your heated cheeks as you thrash from another orgasm, this one just as powerful as the last and making your vision spot black. This time Shouta leans back, wrapping a hand around your throat and licking the salty trails away.

“Such a good little kitty for me, so good.” With a few more thrusts he’s spilling inside you, and you can feel the warmth spread in your belly as you lay there, boneless. He lays down on top of you, both of you sweaty and tired and he starts whispering sweet words into your twitching ears.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, kitten.” 

“Such a good girl for me.”

“You’re all mine, kitty. So good, all for me.” Tears begin to spill from your eyes for a different reason. Up until now you’d lived your life believing nobody wanted you because there was something wrong with you. You never felt ugly, never really felt like there was something truly wrong with you, but you always felt...unwanted. Unloved. Unlovable. 

But Shouta makes you feel wanted, and loved, and pretty and all the things you always assumed you didn’t deserve. You’re his kitty now, and you’re such a good kitty for him too. He’s showering you with affection that you’d never known before and you’re shaking from all the overwhelming emotions. He can feel your body quivering, leans back to look at you and cups your face in his warm palm.

“What’s wrong, kitten? Why are you crying?” Your nose twitches as you sniffle, which he mildly notes is fucking adorable.

“Do you mean it? Am I a good kitty?” His eyebrows furrow and he rolls the both of you over so you’re on top of him. He’s peering into your big sad eyes as if reading your soul through them, trying to read the emotions you’re feeling, but it isn’t hard for him to figure out what’s racing through your mind. You nuzzle your nose into his neck and breathe in his scent, his hand coming up to pet your hair and ears.

“Of course, kitten. You’re such a good kitty.” The small reassurance makes you feel warm and happy, your tail flicking softly before curling around both your leg and Shouta’s, the end brushing his skin gently. You can’t help but want to stay with Shouta forever.