#Bill isn't getting over THAT anytime soon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hxltic · 7 months

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Hello! I have a request!

Could you do something where Kenma isn't really giving the female reader any attention because he's busy streaming so the reader sneaks under his desk where the viewer's can't see her and she pleasures him until he eventually cums down her throat?

:) I un-ironically love writing bjs

The shared house was silent anytime after 5 o’clock. Kuroo had just left— his afternoon business management classes calling him in, and Bokuto’s practice overcrowded his schedule to the point where he went twice a day with some gym sessions in between. That leaves you alone with Kenma in your 4 bedroom home off campus that was supposedly his father’s apology gift.

The bills are mainly kept satisfied with Kenma’s profit as his streaming allows you all to live as you do. Of course, there was a sense of independency by your own jobs regardless. There has probably been twice where everyone was in the living room at once, but it’s like there’s a tacit agreement each of you have your own goals.

You can’t be mad at the man for being busy when his job supports his friends and himself.

Kenma has been your friend, now boyfriend, for the longest out of all of them, next in line being Kuroo. Kenma took computer engineering and coding related classes, despite having already perfected building PC’s just out of pure experience. The work is hard. You’ve seen it.

You’ve witnessed him stress first hand about a single error in a strenuous, long line of codes—and you ask him why he doesn’t stop doing it if it bothers him to the extent it does. His determination has grown for activities he enjoys over the years; 12 year old him would have quit.

Kenma’s way to deal with stress is isolation. The entire day he’s been crammed in his room, and with being the only other person in the house majority of the time, you bring it upon yourself to feed him. He gets focused and forgets to eat.

The reminder has you clicking your Ipad off from whatever distraction show you had playing. It was so boring most of the days, Netflix couldn’t even fulfill you. You toss the covers off yourself, then bounce downstairs into the kitchen.

It was so quiet that your feet patting against the floor filled the air. To cure the ennui you felt, you’d take the time to have fun with this culinary experience.

By the time there was fluffy white flour messily coating the kitchen and dishes stacked like game cards in the sink, your dish was plated for two. Maybe you’d keep him some company?

Careful not to fall up the stairs, you prod at his door in attempt to knock with one hand. Somehow you turn the knob successfully.

The fan cuts through the air, every click of Kenma’s pen accompanied with a glance to the paper beside him. He won’t even look up at the waitress bearing goods.

“Hi Ken,” you grab his attention but his slim eyes only dart up at the smell of cuisine. “Have you eaten?”

You know the answer. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, so when he shakes his head the usual strands that follow aren’t there. You place the plate on his desk, next to the two cans of some energy drink and a diet Dr. Pepper.

“Thank you,” he speaks softly. There was a hint of edge to the sound, like he hadn’t used his voice all day.

“Mhmm.”

You turn on your heels to his bed, then sit criss cross as it squeaks and dips. “Do you mind if I just stay in here? It gets lonely in the house.”

To be honest, you forget he’s there sometimes.

“I’m kinda busy,” he replies. He loves you, and your presence, but he just knows he won’t be able to focus. “I’ll be done soon.”

The pout you flaunt deepens, “You’ve been stuck in here for almost a week now! Come out; I miss you Ken.”

He refrains himself from turning to look at you because he knows when he weighs his options, you’ll always come out on top. The chances of you getting picked multiply with your pout.

“Soon, I just need to finish this.”

“Please?”

He doesn’t even have a valid response for that, so he forces the spoon into his mouth. You’re actually a great cook, but since you all eat so much takeout, nobody’s at the dinner table at the same time to enjoy it.

You huff and negotiate to just sit in silence, as long as you’re in his presence. As long as you know he’s there.

This only lasts about fifteen minutes before you’re whining for him again. You completely understand the heavy load of schoolwork, and that it has to get done, but he genuinely has been at it for so long it cannot be healthy.

“I’m done,” he announces coincidentally, his soft fingers coming up to brush a tendril of hair back as he gathers his things on the desk into a neat pile.

Your head perks up like a puppy at attention. He arises from his chair after closing the laptop, pulling his rubber band from the hair connected at his nape as he steps towards you laying on his bed. You giggle in expectancy when he smiles gingerly at you, reaches his arms forward around your feet to plant his hands on the duvet, then crawls up your body. The hair tie wraps around his wrist to join all the other colorful bracelets and bands.

He makes you swoon by just giving you attention.

His hands grew into proportion as he aged, so now they were relatively large. Large enough to connect at your hips as he kisses his way up.

Stomach, chest, then an abundance on your chin and around your face, just for his thumb and index finger to hold your cheeks in position for his softer, slower kiss right on your lips.

You wrap your arms around him like he’d just disintegrate any second. You can feel his body slump, leaving you with most of his weight to carry and his head withdrawing from the kiss to between your breasts. With one hand massaging the round muscle, Kenma was in his element.

Black with barely-there blonde crowds your vision. His soft skin felt warm as you two lay intertwined in the still house, and if you were to fall asleep it would greatly help that Kenma never keeps the big light on. He moans in satisfactory below you.

You lift your hand to rest over his face, the bigger part of your thumb gliding gently over his cheek.

“I love you,” he mutters.

“I love you too Ken.”

After a while of Kenma following your heartbeat and breathing, you would’ve guessed he was asleep. He clarifies he isn’t when he groans lowly.

“I have to get up.”

The words rest tensely in the air, and maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him, he’ll lay there and forget about it.

He attempts to raise himself from you, politely grabbing your hand and locking your fingers when he comes to a hover above. His pink lips come to the corner of yours as you blink open your eyes.

Truthfully, he wants nothing more than to be with you, here, resting—but he hasn’t streamed in a solid week because of school. You were completely his priority though, so he would make sure to give you equal attention as his stream.

He finds the little willpower to come off you and the bed. He was genuinely hoping you’d stay there and sleep peacefully, that way he’ll come back to join you and it will feel like he never left.

He flips a blanket over your body before he strolls to his setup usually beaming with bright lights. He takes a seat, making sure to turn the brightness down of everything, refraining from playing music, and ultimately deciding not to turn on any light not connected to his PC anyway.

As much as you hate that he’s not cuddled up next to you right now, you love the fact that he’s a steamer overall because he looks so damn hot doing it. Especially the way his muscles on his forearm flex as he quickly types or plays. His hair that’s usually up is down, because he isn’t wearing his mic.

Or like the way every now and then he’ll pop a piece of gum in his mouth and manspread in his gaming chair to shoot a quick message or check his feed. Or like the way he’s so attent, making call-outs, or whenever he gets angry his brows furrow the slightest bit and his face displays whatever he’s actually thinking. You find it hilarious when his eyes roll.

At some point, he hears you come up behind him into view, and his head relaxes into your two hands sliding up his neck to his jaw. You crouch into the screen and the chat immediately multiples. It’s too quick to read them all. Knowing his viewers, Kenma takes the responsibility of closing it with the click of a button, so fast that it seems he never even did it.

“Cracked, 130,” he calls.

You stood there for a moment to watch him play. He and his team beat the level, game, you don’t know, but he releases his focus from the screen and mindlessly cracks his knuckles.

A donation comes in that’s read aloud. Kenma tenses, but you’re excited to hear it.

“jump1nnit donates $70. ‘girl to girl, is it big?’”

Kenma’s head drops back in your hands, eyes closing in annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. Where were his mods?

All you were thinking about was how much Kenma was actually earning. 70 dollars in a single donation? How many of these does he get a day? How much more do people pay that’s over 70 when you aren’t here?

You shake these questions away. You knew he was famous. This was not new information; his fans see you sometimes in the background, and they adore you. It’s why your instagram has so many followers and people saying outrageous things in your comments. Ken begs you not to check them.

You find it amusing honestly. God knows what he’s being sent despite his DM’s or what they’re saying in his chats. You know there’s girls all over the world after him, but he doesn’t entertain them, so you don’t either. You trust him completely.

Brought back to reality, you look down at Kenma.

He starts, “Are you-“

To rile up the scene, you nod at the monitor with a mischievous smirk on your face. You bend and kiss his forehead.

“Can I sit right here?” You ask quickly, already pulling up his desk stool because he has no reason to say no. He takes your momentary absence to mute the computer.

“Yeah. yeah, Definitely.”

The blonde’s tone is a little off, but you chalk it up to what just happened. He was just surprised you’d actually respond. He ignores them so he doesn’t get demonetized.

So you sit next to him on your phone playing games, or watching him, or laying on his shoulder. It made it a little difficult for him to play with the last one, but he doesn’t mind. He places a kiss to your forehead, matching earlier actions, and the way you two looked at each other after will definitely reel in some fan edits.

You return to gaming on your phone until you drop it. It tumbles down and under the PC, into the jungle of wires below.

At least with everything included in the setup, that’s what you expect to see, but they’re all neatly accounted for. The seat moves back against the carpet to accommodate for your body, the space you’ve created to retrieve the device. The problem is, you and Kenma occupy this space. You won’t fit.

Kenma heard your phone drop, so he had an idea why you’re down there. He even chuckled a little. Once you pick up the phone, you use his thigh as leverage to turn yourself around, causing him to flinch, and immediately an idea pops into your head.

You could stay down here.

You press the heart of your palm into him once more, the same reaction procreating ideas like a lightbulb.

His voice from above makes another callout.

The lightness of your fingertips glide across his thigh and up to his waist, slipping past the barrier of the thin shirt he’s wearing. Kenma is not ticklish, but his abdomen turns concave to your touch.

By now he has concluded what is happening, or going to happen, and just the thought has him hardening in front of you. Of course it’s something he’s thought about. He hasn’t asked because it feels unnatural—like you would only do it because he suggested it.

His poker face remains stone cold, but the rest gives him away. With every touch you only got closer. You trail your whole hand up the shirt, running this one along the dips of his pale skin, while the other goes back and forth along his thigh. Inwards, then back out. Your phone was long forgotten.

You run the length of your fingers over his center sneakily before meeting both hands in the middle and fiddling with his waistband. He shivers, but continues to play.

He hadn’t been purposely edging himself, and he definitely knows that you would help him whenever he asked, but with all the schoolwork piled on top of him, it never crossed his mind. It was now though, and sensitivity was at its highest.

“No, why would you do that; that’s stupid,” Kenma replies to what you assume is a donation. The technological voice isn’t there anymore for you to hear.

The tips of your nails dive past every ounce of clothing settled at his hips.

He shifts in his seat, whether to allow you to pull the band down just enough or to calm his nerves, you don’t know, but the opportunity was right in front of your face. Literally.

You don’t even do anything but hold his length before you start the up and down motions. It’s enough to turn him on more, having him grow in your hand. You can’t imagine the faces he’s making while his viewers’ minds were already polluted.

“Keep going, push,” he exclaims. Voice still soft, but with some sense of urgency.

He was not speaking to you, but you listen anyway, and do as he says. Maybe you could play a game: see how long it takes before he realizes you’re taking orders.

With this, you stroke him a little faster, then run your fleshy thumb over his tip. It began dripping, a single bud threatening to fall. After swiping it away, you disperse what little you could, then wrap your plush lips around his head.

He wasn’t expecting it right after your slow pace.

“Ugh, fuck- third party.”

The groan he emitted was covered quickly by a call, as if that’s what “frustrated” him.

You pop off as quickly as you came, spread your saliva, and now slide your enclosed hand down his cock steadily. Silky smooth, it took no energy to glide along him. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his thigh through the cotton.

“Down, he’s under and one shot.”

You jerk him off as his breathing barely picks up, occasionally coming down to wet him some more, but you see a significant difference when your hand consistently twists just the tip. You’d swirl your tongue around the reddening, most sensitive part of him before dropping even farther to take his balls in your mouth.

You tug and pull harmlessly.

“Hmm...”

Despite what was going on, the streamer was clever with how he hid it.

He asks, “Hey, what do y’all want to hear?”

The viewers were astonished they were being asked; Kenma has previously told them he likes his music and would play whatever he felt like hearing. He did a stream for song recommendations and half of it was him hating on their music and the other half was his viewers attempting to find songs he would like.

Regardless, he unmuted the sound on his computer and turned on the playlist, only slightly louder than usual.

You took this opportunity to actually wrap your lips around his cock, not having to worry about the sounds. You start on the slower side but it didn’t take long to get comfortable. Whatever you couldn’t fit, you jerked off.

His abdomen showcased whatever his face wouldn’t, stuttering every now and then with his hips correcting their position. You brought the wet hand to his balls once more, and attempted to fit all of him down your throat. There was a deep sigh above you.

You closed your eyes and went again, trying to go deeper. You didn’t gag, but your throat made sounds that was enough implication of what was going on. That’s okay though. Some random band one of his mods recommended was playing.

Once more, you tried to go deeper, actually sputtering this time, but once you got past the uncomfortableness of it all, you could go the same depth over and over. You did, breathing through your nose. He could hear your throat, but chat couldn’t. If they could, they would be saying something.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s on me,” he huffs, “I’m gonna twist around to cover.”

You remove yourself, partially to breathe, and take two hands to twist on top of each other in opposite directions. His belly button caves in with some more muscles, pure evidence of his pleasure.

This was the second he knew what you were doing. What game you were playing.

If you wanted to play, he could too.

“Where is she?” he reads chat calmly. “I think she’s downstairs eating.”

Was it calm enough—you’re not sure, because he was fidgeting excessively in the leaning chair.

The double entendre has you giggling silently. With a deep breath, you’re back down on him again. It’s not long until you sputter.

“Do you want me to tell her to come back up?” You hear him spit out quickly.

You do as he says, but not without the price of your fingers doubling speed at his head.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. Hold on.”

With quickness, he mutes and turns his camera off.

He was sweating and physically overwhelmed. Pushing back on his heels, his chair rolls from under the table with you following, finally in his sight. He could already imagine how you looked.

Red lips. Glowing face. Glossy eyes, smiling and happy. You were ethereal. Your hands are working him, but now with his cock down your throat too? Oh my god.

He held a soft touch at your cheek and caressed your face with his thumb. Picking up speed, you smile.

The other hand of his would do the same, brushing a loose stand of hair behind your ear. Faster.

“Just like that,” he breathes.

“Mhmm?” you deepthroat him.

His head drops back involuntarily. His mouth does the same. The heavy breaths that he was holding from the stream let loose.

One last look at your flushed features and-

He groans heavily, adam’s apple bobbing and cock tightening. Skin usually pale but red with desire, he stills.

You close your eyes. It was so fulfilling with your throat stretched and his hands on either side of your plush face.

Warmth seeps past your tongue and down the cavern. It causes you to choke but Kenma definitely doesn’t mind. His sounds flow into your ears, plus some faint praise as he soon begins to release from his high.

You couldn’t taste anything as you slowly raise yourself from him, leaving his cock glistening with saliva and pink, but the taste just barely started to form once it caught your tongue on the way down. You swallow anyway—it wasn’t bad.

You use the back of your hand to wipe your eyes and breathe freely. You lay your cheek on the driest part of his pants, even though you’ll have to get up. You just aren’t ready to see the red wilts on your knees.

“You are amazing,” Kenma catches his breath. He looks back down with his eyes glossed over and tired, but he still runs his finger over your wet lip. You softly kiss it.

. .

“Are you getting back on?” You climb into his fluffy bed, throwing the covers back.

Kenma shakes his head and follows after you in a fresh new set. He grabs the covers and returns them over you both, pushing his hair back and holding you close.

©️ hxltic

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 1 year

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Imagine an enemies to lovers with tom

Where the oc is the lead singer of a another band.

Bill and the oc are really good friends because theyre both the singers and they compose songs together, and tom doesnt understand how he can be friends with theyre rivals.

(yo! This isn't really enemies to lovers but this is short and it sucks but I'm tryna write before every single bit of motivation leaves me! Hopefully these get better but enjoy!)

Not That Bad

Tom didn't get it.

Tom didn't get how Bill, his twin brother, could be friends with someone who rivaled their own band.

Weren't they supposed to be competing?

So why was Bill always speaking of (Name), the lead singer to the band, so highly?

Bill would spend time with them for hours on hours, coming back to Tom, Gustav and Georg with songs they had composed together.

Sure, they're both singers and write songs, but they were competing against one another. How do you find time to be friends during that?

"They're not that bad, Tom." Bill laughed at his brother's eye roll when he mentioned a song he and (Name) had come up with.

"Why do you hang out with them so much? You act like you're in their band." Tom asked, confused as his brother shrugged him off.

Tom had seen you perform before, sometimes he even enjoyed a song or two, not that he would admit.

But you didn't have the same music taste, your style was different, your bands were polar opposites.

And from what he had seen from tabloids and interviews, he and you would not be friends anytime soon.

You were portrayed as an arrogant and rude teen on TV, but Bill tried to debunk that from the time he spent with you.

So how could Bill be so happy spending time with someone like you?

He didn't get it, but Bill was adamant that he was wrong.

"(Name)!" Bill called out over the crowd of people, catching your attention along with your band.

"Bill, hey!" You laughed, jogging over and hugging Bill as he hugged you back. "I didn't know you guys would be here." You smiled, pulling away to examine Bill and his band.

"We weren't supposed to be, we slipped away." Bill explained before turning back to his friends.

"This is Gustav, Georg and Tom." Bill introduced his band mates before your friends occupied his attention, having not seen him themselves a bit.

"Hi, I'm (Name)." You introduced yourself, smiling to Gustav and Georg as they returned it.

"You guys did a good set. Did Bill and you work on some of those songs together? They sound familiar." Gustav asked, being polite as he first met you.

"Yeah, he helped out a bunch." You smiled, nodding in confidence, happy to give your friend credit.

"You guys did great too," you said, turning to Tom who hadn't said anything, opting to stare at you.

"You're Tom, right?" You asked. "Yeah, (Name), right? Bill goes on forever." Tom said, trying to at least be polite.

"Yeah, you did great, you sounded amazing on stage." You smiled, Tom returning it finally, accepting the compliment.

"I tried to play once but I sucked at it." You offered, trying to make conversation before a playful smirk came on Tom's face.

"Maybe I can show you sometime?" Tom offered, following as you began to walk in the crowd, slipping his arm around your waist to stay in step.

"That'd be great, it'd be nice to get to know you since Bill says so much." You agreed graciously with a smile, looking down at his arm around your waist with your own secret smirk.

From what Bill told you, you basically already knew Tom inside and out, so you knew your way to having fun.

"No problem, you'll do great." Tom stated, his own smile on his face as he led you off towards the exit.

Maybe Bill actually was right, you weren't that bad.

Especially when you kept coming around, maybe for Bill, maybe for Tom.

#tokio hotel imagine #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #tom kualitz x reader #bill kaulitz imagines #bill kaulitz

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beanibon · 11 months

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Can I request for Wolfwood with an AFAB bimbo reader or maybe an air-headed reader smut? It's okay if you feel uncomfortable or don't want to write it.

Of course that's okay! Honestly this sounds like so much fun to write!

TW: rough sex, angry sex, praise and degradation (mostly Wolfwood pouting on how reader was oblivious to his advances, nothing overly degrading),

Nicholas was furious, it'd been weeks and you still hadn't taken notice of his advances. He was growing impatient, no amount of sympathetic encouragement from Vash or Meryl could get him to calm down. He was getting antsy.

Here you were dragging Nicholas into a store that caught your attention, arms wrapped around one of his. You drove him insane, constantly wrapping yourself against him, yet couldn't get it through your head when he'd flirt back.

You took everything as a compliment, strangers catcalling you was a personal pet peeve of Wolfwood's, the way you'd wave at them, thank them. He wanted to strangle you at times, maybe even fuck some sense into you. Honestly what was it going to take to get it through your thick skull that he liked you?

A honey laced laugh dragged him from his unholy thoughts, dark eyes locked onto you as the store clerk obviously flirted with you. But yet again, you took no notice, just sweetly telling the old fuck how kind he was.

Nicholas had, had enough.

Stalking towards you like prey to a predator, an enraged expression that caused the shop attendant to cower before the Undertaker, he grabbed what you had in your hands, slamming a couple of double dollar bills on the counter. You blinked, before turning and smiling up at Nicholas, his ears red at your expression.

"Thank you Wolfwood! You honestly didn't have to pay for that, I have my own money." Nicholas was about to pop a vein.

He offered you grin, teeth grinding together at the way you sweetly waved to the old man behind the counter, bidding the pervert farewell. With the Punisher slung over his shoulder, Nicholas snaked an arm around your waist, leading you into a quiet alleyway. You were clearly oblivious to his intentions, admiring the necklace he had impatiently bought you.

Driving the cross into the ground, Nicholas bent over your small form, looking at the silver chained pendant with boredom. His hips pressed firmly into your ass, causing you to turn around and look at him.

"Wolfwood?" He hummed in response, awaiting for you to catch on to what he was doing. "If you wanted a closer look, you could've asked, it's beautiful isn't it!" You proudly showed his the necklace, and Nicholas was about to snap, eye twitching as he looked at the cheap jewellery.

"Yeah, it's real pretty sweetheart, but I think I different kind of jewellery would look beautiful around that neck of yours." Wolfwood flashed you his signature smirk, except this time it was laced with insatiable lust.

Tilting your head up at the man, your brows furrowed so adorably as you thought, Nicholas getting his hopes up at your clear calculations. Only for several bricks to drop their weight upon him, crushing him under how innocently stupid you were.

"I don't think there's anything else that goes around people's necks, chokers maybe, but they're a form of necklace though." You look at Nicholas, confusion etched in your features as he was leaning against a wall, hands rubbing at his face. Oh how he wanted to bang his head against that damned wall over and over again.

Straightening up, inhaling as he turned, he walked towards you. Leaning in close, so that you could smell the tobacco on his breath. "I like you sweetheart."

Your eyes lit up, smiling as you jumped up and down on the spot. "I like you too Wolfwood!" Nicholas raised a brow, hesitant to express excitement. "You're the greatest friend anyone could ask for!" There it was.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Nicholas groaned, dragging the hand down his face as stared at your sunshine smile. If you weren't going to get it anytime soon, he might as well speak a language you'd be sure to understand.

Before you could process what was happening, Wolfwood slammed your body against the wall, pinning you beneath his form. Dark eyes glared you down, drinking in the way your body didn't shy away from his.

"Wolfwood? What's wrong?" Your voice was meek, worry etched on your face for him, despite the predicament you were in.

A smirk tugged at his lips, chuckling darkly at your annoying innocence. "You don't seem to understand what I'm saying y/n, so I'll fuck it into you. Yeah, that way you'll understand exactly what's wrong with me, and how you drive me mad at how utterly stupid you are."

"Huh? I don't unde- Wolfwood!?"

Rough hands grabbed your hips, spreading them as his knee dug into your sex. His actions weren't soft, dragging your hips against his upper leg in a rushed attempt to get you soaked for him. Only it worked, you could already feel yourself leaking juices at the harsh stimulation, hands placed on his chest.

"Like I said sweetheart, gonna fuck some sense into you." Nicholas smirked, removing his knee to rip your underwear off, unzipping his fly to ease the tension of his hardening cock. "Now be a good girl, will ya?"

Aligning his dick with you entrance, you shuddered as it entered your plush folds, sucking him in as you clamped around his cock. Your legs were quickly wrapped around his waist, thrusting into you before you could adjust. Your moans urging him faster as he slammed you over and over again against the wall behind you, slamming your hips down to meet his.

"Wo-Wolfwo-"

"Nicholas."

"Ni-Nico~"

Nicholas growled, the nickname fell so prettily from your lips, driving him wild as his lips smashed against yours. His thrusts became harder, faster desperate to make you come. And it wasn't long before you did, whining against his lips as your legs quivered, coming all over his cock. A satisfied chuckle sounded from the gruff man, pulling out as he roughly fisted his cock, releasing his seed over your thighs.

Your blissful, fucked out face was what made Nicholas's face grow a smug smile, stuffing his fingers roughly into your dripping cunt. You cried out, shaking squeezed against his intruding digits.

"Good, you already want more of me. Don't worry gorgeous, soon your body will be nothing but familiar with my cock, I'm sure that's something you won't forget any time soon." He sneered, curling them cruelly until your toes curled, back arched into him.

Nicholas leaned in close, teeth grazed your skin as he chuckled against you. He'd make sure you were nothing but sure of what he was to you, and if that meant fucking you until the sun rose the next day, then so be it

"Why don't we go somewhere more private? That way, I can fuck you however I damn well please." You nodded, leaning against his shoulder.

You were in for a long, cruel night.

I tried Anon! I hope you enjoy it, Sorry it was short!

#trigun stampede #trigun #trigun smut #trigun wolfwood #nicholas d wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x you #wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #nicolas d wolfwood #wolfwood x reader #wolfwood smut

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deadlymagicbeans · 1 year

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May I please request fluffy domestic headcanons for Sparda boys? Just quiet home life with their SO, they deserve it so much :'-)

**Hey Anon! it'd be my pleasure! these boys deserve a long nap and some cuddles as their lives are so chaotic haha. Thanks for requesting this! - Bean**

Devil May Cry: Dante, Vergil, Nero Domestic Headcanons with their S/O

*Gender neutral pronouns for S/O*

Dante:

Considering he's out for jobs a lot to pay the bills, when on his off days he's very laidback and not wanting to do anything at all. Most of the time he's begging his S/O to come lay with him when they're up and about, He's a cuddle monster and will not let his partner go once he has his grip on them.

Loves the quiet moments he gets. whether him and his S/O be cooking (aka forcing him to save money instead of spending it on pizza much to Dante's whining), laying in bed watching old reruns of corny romance movies with them or just spending the day away doing nothing at all, he cherishes them. He's a very busy man and has seen the horrors from literally hell and back, so for him to spend a day doing nothing and to be around the person he loves the most it gives him a glimpse of a life of normality he craves oh so much.

Wants to wake his S/O up with breakfast in bed, as you know it's what a normal domestic couple would do right? but every time this man sleeps in way past 1pm to the point he gets briefly upset if he finds out his S/O was up before him which spoils his plans. (he's catching up on like 20+ years of sleep, he's knocked out cold.)

Loves to take bubble baths, it's a luxury he didn't have until he had his shop (and when his water bill is paid), but only saves them for times when he can share them with his S/O and cause you know water ain't cheap?

Overall he loves the quiet home life him and his S/O have when life isn't constantly trying to throw deadly demonic curveballs at him but he wouldn't change it for the world.

Vergil:

Relaxing? Vergil? no chance, this man is always up and ready to pounce whenever the next threat or fool tries to challenge him. But with a S/O he will calm down just a tiny bit but still always on high guard.

When he's truly comfortable, he seeks to be alone. but the only exception he'll accept is with his S/O, Most of the time it's him sat reading a book with his S/O fast asleep hugging him.

He has a stash like Dante. but this time it's books, piles and piles of Books. You won't find him reading any romance novels anytime soon though as he finds them in his own words "Distasteful".

He isn't the best at a normal domestic life as he's pretty much never had one up until now. The concept of a "day off" is absurd to him, there must be no time off in the seek for greater power... but that can wait for a few hours while he stuck to the bed by his S/O's demanding cuddles (get this man to sleep, he needs it).

He would never say it out loud but he secretly loves to spend time with his S/O alone in those peaceful moments, gives him a small life outside his normal life (if you could call it normal). Heck even over time he might open up to his partner more and more with his physical touch and life. (only alone that is, if anyone else comes in *Cough* Dante *Cough*, Vergil immediately is back to his normal standoffish self)

Nero:

Nero is the only Sparda family member with the most normal balance of hunting and home life than the other two, so overall Nero spends the most amount of time in his off time with his S/O. but it still isn't that much.

Wouldn't confess it it publicly but he loves the closeness of domestic life, too others it may seem mundane but to Nero? it's the closest he'll ever get to a normal life and he'd be damn sure nobody will interrupt it.

Loves doing stuff for his S/O, like cooking (also i see Nero being the only one not to burn down a building by just turning a oven on), chores etc. his outward appearance may him him grumble but this man will want any chance to be around his S/O more.

Nero loves to cuddle or do anything that involves the chance too, sleeping? yes, watching a new series together? also a yes. but ever try to bring it up in front of anyone else and he'll deny any of that happened (Everyone knows he's lying).

Doesn't have a "stash" like the other two but loves video games, he has a small collection of games he personally enjoys but unlike the others Nero is willing to let his S/O play a game or two while he watches them. He thinks it's cute to watch them rage at a boss fight, just don't get him to do it because if he finds it hard then he might have to buy a new remote.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc5 #dmc nero #nero #vergil #dmc vergil #dante #dmc dante #fanfiction requests #fanfiction #headcanon #domestic life #fluff #open requests #nero x reader #dante x reader #vergil x reader

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denim-mixtapes · 2 years

Text

Ain't No Hope in Hell | Nothing's Gonna Bring Us Down (Eddie Munson/Reader Smut)

Rating: E - Explicit Word Count: 4,702 Pairing: Eddie Munson/F!Reader Description:

When you walk in on your boyfriend cheating on you, confirming your suspicious, you only have one thing in mind.

Go out, have some fun, get some sweet revenge.

But being impulsive was never your strong suit, so you pay a visit to the worst influence you know, your childhood friend Eddie Munson, hoping he can sell you some courage.....and maybe help out with that revenge fuck too.

Originally posted to my AO3 on 7/3/22, this isn't copied, my friends just finally convinced me to make a tumblr.

The rapping at the trailer’s storm door grows louder and more demanding by the second, your knuckles burning, but you refuse to back down. Exasperated, you switch it up and give the door a harsh kick with the toe of your sneaker, groaning loudly.

“Munson I swear to god, I’ll knock this damn door down myself if you don’t wake your ass up!” Another frustrated groan escapes your lungs as you take in your surroundings. His van is in the driveway, as is the half disassembled Harley he hasn’t been able to drive since his first senior year. Jumping off the set of stairs and walking around back to what should be his bedroom window, you can hear Motörhead’s Bomber on the other side of the wall, confirming your assumption that he must be home.

“HEY!” You shout again pounding your fist on the glass once, then again with his name, “Munson!”

A startled, “Jesus Christ,” comes in response, followed by a squawk and a commotion that can only be a startled body falling to the floor. Soon enough, though, you’re met with the wild, sleep-mussed hair and displeased scowl of Eddie Munson on the other side of the glass. His expression softens ever so slightly when he sees who it is knocking on his window at almost midnight, but he’s still sporting a tight-lipped frown as he throws the window open. “Well if it isn’t the girl next door…” His gaze flicks down to the ruffled denim skirt hitting the tops of your knees and then back to your face, “What the hell are you doing here?”

You scoff, “Please, I haven’t lived next door to you in years, that nickname hardly fits the bill anymore.”

He chuckles this time, rolling his eyes and leaning his elbows heavily on the windowsill, once again assessing your outfit and styled hair. It’s a far cry from the punky little tomboy he once knew, and he definitely doesn’t plan on letting you live it down anytime soon. “Well maybe not in the technical sense, but if the, uh,” another peek down to your sneakers, “Sperrys fit…”

“Whatever, move, I’m coming in.”

There’s no time for protest from him before you push his elbows from the ledge and pull yourself up and into the room. The remnants of cigarette smoke and pot hit your nostrils as soon as you cross the threshold. Worn clothes and pizza boxes break your fall when you tumble inside. Eddie is crossing the room to turn down the music, and if he’s bothered by your sudden intrusion, he doesn’t seem to show it.

While you stand and right yourself, dusting figurative (and probably literal) filth off of your skirt, Eddie makes his way back to his bed and throws himself onto it unceremoniously. “So,” he retrieves a half smoked blunt from the ashtray on the nightstand, lights it up, and takes a slow drag, breathing his following question out with the billow of smoke. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Rocking back and forth from foot to foot, your fists ball up at your sides.

This is stupid. This is so stupid.

You aren’t friends. Not anymore. You haven’t spoken more than a word in passing in the hallway to this kid in over 9 years, not since your family came into a little bit of money and moved out of the trailer park in your 4th grade year. So what made you think he would hear you out? Listen to your sob story and take pity on you and make you some sort of deal?

A choked out sigh escapes your lungs when he raises his eyebrows at your silence.

“I need-” tears spring to your eyes and you will them to go away, to little success. “Fuck- I just…I need weed, dude. Or beer, or some company? I don’t even know?”

In seconds, his cool, aloof demeanor dissolves and Eddie “The Freak” Munson is gone. In his place are the soft eyes and warm heart of that curly haired kid you used to skip rocks with in the river. “Shit, well here,” He leaps to his feet, crossing the room to you with the joint outstretched toward you. “I mean I’ll get you whatever you need to take home too but you look like you need this more than I do.”

The tears finally spill out when you reply with a watery, “that bad, huh?” Instead of taking the joint, you brush past him and fall heavily onto the edge of his bed. You swear again. “I was supposed to be angry! I was supposed to fly over here in a blind rage and do this drug deal and, I dunno – go out and fuck somebody! I was supposed to be selfish and do shit to enjoy myself and be reckless! Not…this,” Eddie stares in concern as you wipe more tears from your cheeks. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey-” He follows, sitting on the edge of the bed with you and bumping his knee into yours, “Slow down, take a breath. I think I’m missing a chapter here. Why are we angry?”

The use of we makes you chuckle through your tears. You stare at your hands, fingers twisting together subconsciously, and rest your head on his shoulder.

When you speak, it’s to the floor. “Walked in on my bastard boyfriend cheating on me.” Eddie tenses beneath you, but lets you continue. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. The signs were all there. I pretty much knew , but seeing it really sucked. So I thought, okay, no worries, just go out and do something crazy. Get revenge immediately , so you don’t have time to be sad about it, but being reckless was never really my thing, so I figured I would need something to take the edge off first-”

“And who better to get you that something than Eddie the freak, huh?”

It’s your turn to soften your expression at his words.

“Well, no, not in so many words. I just happened to hear on the grapevine that you could help with that sort of thing. I mean, it's no real secret what you do in those woods behind the school…and I knew where to find you.”

Both of you laugh at that. He was always a little dramatic and quick to take offense, but you suppose that’s easily done when the whole town uses him for target practice. Another few moments of quiet pass, until he lets out another light chuckle and rests his head atop yours. “Have you ever even been high before?”

Your “yes!” is a little too quick and incredibly telling.

“So no, then?” He asks, a tease behind his words.

Your head falls into your hands, embarrassed, “yeah, no.”

“So what did you think was going to happen when I sold to you?” Another laugh, “what were you gonna do, go to the library at midnight and look up ‘drug use’ in the encyclopedia?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

Eddie doesn't know what it is that makes him want to help. The sale was dangling right in front of him the whole time, he could just make the sale and send you on your way, after all it shouldn’t matter to him what’s done with the weed once the money is in his hands. But it does. He can sense your frustration and Hell knows he’s been there himself, so he finds himself giving a sigh of his own and reaching under the bed for his little black tackle box.

“Alright, c'mon!” He exclaims, scooting up the bed and turning to face you, cross legged. He pats the spot on the mattress opposite him and flicks open the box. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We are gonna get you high, get you feelin’ good, and then - if you so choose - I can send you on your merry way for your little revenge fuck.”

That makes you bark out a laugh, but his eyes are twinkling wish mischief, and it’s exactly the push you need to stop whining and do something about your foul mood. You turn to him and tuck your feet under you, watching as he pulls items from the box between you.

He rolls a fresh joint, packing it and explaining himself as he goes, should you want to do this for yourself next time. You listen intently, ever the good student, and nod along with his explanation, up until he brings the joint to his mouth to seal it. Maybe it’s just the amusement in his expression, or the proud smirk, knowing he’s at least somewhat responsible for your foray into rebellion (even if it is as minor as illicit drug use), but when his tongue darts out to wet the paper, you’re transfixed.

“Got it?”

His question startles you from your focus on his mouth, and you can feel your cheeks heating, hoping to God he didn’t notice. Giving a little nod, you say, “yeah, think so.”

“Rock on,” he grins wide, lighting it before quickly passing it your way. “Ladies first.”

You pluck the joint from between his fingers, and hesitate as you bring it to your lips. Unsure of what to expect, but not wanting to turn back now, you decide to just go for it and inhale with a little too much false confidence and enthusiasm. The smoke burns as it fills your lungs, clawing at your throat on the way down and sending you into a fit of coughs.

“Ah, shit,” he rasps, lumbering over you and off the foot of the bed, leaving you confused and still coughing alone in his room. He returns quickly and presses a plastic cup of water into your palm, rubbing between your shoulder blades soothingly. “I should have known that was going to happen, Christ. My bad.”

It takes another few moments for you to calm down from fits of coughs to small hiccups, sipping on the water gently with even more redness in your cheeks. When it finally stops, you giggle and pinch the bridge of your nose, “so that was wrong, right?”

“Not….wrong,” he laughs, “just not ideal. I have an idea, here…” He knocks the lid closed on the box and sets it to the floor, then comes back to a kneel in front of you. “Have you ever heard of shotgunning?”

“Beer, yes,” you furrow your brow, “and I’m no expert but I'm almost positive that it doesn’t work the same here.”

Wrinkles sprout in the corners of Eddie’s eyes when he smiles at your comment. He’s holding back a laugh, you can tell. “You would be correct.”

“Alright, enlighten me.”

“Gladly.” He takes the joint back from your grasp and sits back on his heels. “This will help take a little bit of that sting away, and it might actually help you start slowly, since this is your first time. It’s always a little weaker on the receiving end.”

Raising an eyebrow, you repeat, “receiving?”

The mischief is back in his expression, brighter than before, and he nods. “So I’m gonna take a hit, right? And then - here’s the uncomfortable part - we’ll have to get real close, and as I exhale, you’ll inhale. Kind of like an asthma inhaler, except unprescribed and way more fun.” He grins wider when you giggle at his joke. “Sound okay?”

“I think, I guess just lead the way and we’ll see,” you answer with a shrug and shift up onto your own knees to get on his level.

You can feel your heart in your throat as you watch him bring the joint to his lips and take a deep pull. With his free hand he reaches out for you, palm resting on the side of your neck and pulling you toward him. You’re acutely aware of his nails scratching absently at the nape of your neck, and the cool bite of his rings against your jawline. He stops just centimeters from your lips and lets the smoke billow towards you. Your breath hitches as you remember what you’re meant to be doing, and you inhale much slower this time. It’s dizzying, but you’re not sure if it's the buzz or Eddie’s proximity. When he’s finished his breath, he stays put for just a beat longer, looking down at you with lidded eyes and a lazy smirk.

“Better?” He asks, dropping his hand and pulling away before things get weird. But you’re rooted in place, still sitting up on your knees and your eyes still closed.

Biting your lip, you can’t help but smile at the pleasant buzz that fills your head without the distraction of choking this time. “Much.”

“Cool.” The tape clicks in the player as it comes to an end, and he points toward it, wordlessly signaling that he’s going to go change it. As he flips through a messy pile of tapes, trying to decide which one best fits the mood, you move up to the head of the bed to lean against the wall. Motörhead is replaced with what you think is Metallica, but it must be their newest album because you can’t quite place it, and before you know it he’s joining you on the bed again. “Wanna go again?”

You nod with an eager smile, and he mirrors it.

That’s how things go for quite some time, passing time between hits with music and comfortable quiet. At one point Eddie asks if you wanna give it a go on your own again, but your only response is to wrinkle your nose at him. If he’s bothered by your need for his help, he doesn’t ever show it, only smiles wider and wider as he leans in to fill your lungs with smoke. You never quite get used to the way he holds your face or neck as he passes the smoke from his lips to yours. He didn’t really have to guide you after the first time, but there’s something about his grip on your face that pools warm in your stomach, so you keep letting it happen.

By the time the joint has burnt down to nearly nothing, you’re comfortably loose. Your limbs feel heavy but your mind is clear, if anything maybe a little impulsive. Exactly what you had set out to do.

On the last drag, Eddie’s thumb strokes your cheekbone, not yet pulling away after you take in the last of the smoke.

“So how are ya feeling?” He asks, his voice gravelly and the hint of a laugh behind it. “Still sad? Pissed? Ready to go out and fuck someone?”

The last question is a joke, you can tell from his tone, but he’s even closer now, and as he teases you, his lips just barely brush yours. You definitely didn’t mean for that whimper to come out audibly. His fingers flex against your skin, his other hand tentatively reaching out to rest on your waist.

“Maybe I don’t have to go out looking for someone?” You ask, looking at him from under your lashes. It’s not the most clever line you’ve come up with, but it does the trick. He swallows thickly and gives a tight nod before the hand on your cheek moves to tangle posessively in your hair as he closes the gap between you. His lips devour yours hungrily, and your arms wind around his neck, desperately trying to pull yourself as close to him as possible. His tongue darts out, seeking permission at the seam of your lips, and you gladly open up to him, letting out a soft moan as his tongue explores your mouth.

Your skin is flushed and hot, the air around you sticky. He smells like leather and tastes like smoke and you can’t get enough, reaching up to fist your hands in his hair. When you tug on it, he breaks the kiss with a needy groan and rests his forehead on your own, both of you breathing raggedly.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Not that I’m not happy to oblige…” the hand on your waist travels downward to palm at your ass and pull you against this growing arousal, and he smirks, “I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

Tipping his chin up with your forefinger, you shake your head, “I won’t regret shit.” Then, sitting back on your heels, you unbutton your sweater, shrug it off, and toss it aside. You lay against his pillows in just your skirt and baby pink lace bra, and his stare heats you from the inside out.

Eddie lets out a long breath as he takes in the expanse of your stomach and exposed collarbone, biting back a lopsided smile and muttering, “you minx.” He reaches back to pull his Hellfire tee over his head, revealing a smattering of patchwork tattoos across his torso. Mesmerized, you reach out to caress the ink across his sternum and down his stomach, his muscles twitching beneath your touch. He doesn’t let that go on for too long, however. He’s itching to get his hands on you, and swiftly grips your wrists in one hand and holds them high above your head. “Not so fast, sweetheart,” he warns playfully, caging your hips in with his knees and leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “keep ‘em up.”

You shudder at the command, but keep your hands in place as he lets go and starts to make his way down your body, leaving a trail of kisses and nips in his wake. Every inch of skin he sees, he works over with his mouth. He licks a deliberate stripe up the column of your throat, inhaling your scent in the crook of your neck. His teeth catch on your collarbone, soothing over the nip with his tongue.Your skin pinks wherever he goes, flushing at the attention. When he makes it to your bra, he smiles coyly up at you, twirling his finger in the ribbons of the little bow where the cups meet. “How cute,” he chuckles, trailing his finger up along one cup, before hooking into each one and yanking them down, exposing your breasts to the cool night air.

Your nipples pebble at the chill, but it isn’t long before his mouth is on you, sucking a dark purple mark into the swell of your breast, dragging his tongue across the sensitive bud, and moving to give attention to the other side. Every swipe of his tongue and nick of his teeth is sending waves of pleasure straight to your core. You press your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache, but it does no good.

Eddie moves lower still, laving kisses down your sternum, across your stomach, dipping his tongue into your navel, and drinking up every last whine and desperate sound you make.

When he reaches your skirt, he pauses, waiting for a nod from you before unbuttoning and dragging it down your thighs. You kick it the rest of the way off, and flush even deeper under his intense stare.

He’s leaned back on his heels again, hands gently moving up and down your thighs with featherlight touches. “You’re incredible,” he muses, shaking out his hair with a dreamy smile, and bends so that he’s face to face with the wet spot on your panties. He whispers again, “fucking beautiful,” before mouthing at your mound through the slick fabric.

You let out a wild moan involuntarily, before realizing what he’s doing, and cut yourself off. Running your fingers through his hair you mumble, “wait, no, you don’t have to…do that.”

He looks at you quizzically, concern and confusion in his eyes, but he retreats nonetheless. “Do you not like it?”

“Well, no, I don’t know…” you mumble again, “but isn’t it…gross?”

A new emotion, anger flares in Eddie's eyes as it dawns on him what you’re implying. “Are you telling me that asshole never went down on you? Because he finds it gross ?” The scoff that follows is borderline offended.

You cover your face, burning red under his scrutiny. “He said everyone felt that way. Made me feel ashamed for being curious about it. I don't know, its stupid. You don’t have to do it.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” his eyes darken as his gaze falls to your panties once again. He toys with the waistband absently and smiles, “all the more reason for me to do it.” He places a kiss at the inside of your thigh, just above the knee. “What if I told you…” Another one, higher now. “...I don’t just like eating pussy…” And another, just below your hip, he bites down harder on the sensitive flesh and soothes it with a swipe of his tongue. “...but I fucking love it?” He doesn’t move to go any further, but awaits your response and looks at you eagerly from his spot between your legs. “Would you let me do it then?”

With a shaky breath, you take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod, completely unsure of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Now that he has your permission, he’s wasting no time dragging the ruined fabric down your legs and returning to his spot between them. He stares at your core with hunger in his eyes and a look of pride. Reaching out to spread your lips, he bites his lip with glee. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, “you’re so wet.” You’re unsure how to respond, or if you even should, but luckily he leaves you no time to. No faster than the words left his mouth, he leans in and licks a long, flat stripe up your cunt, circling when he reaches your clit and making you cry out.

This sensation is all new, and you jolt when he repeats the action, savoring every reaction he can pull from you. You gasp as his tongue dips into you, and the bastard actually laughs, puffing warm air against your wet folds before moving back up to tongue at your clit.

He drags two fingers up and down through your juices teasingly, and only when you let out a desperate whine does he thrust them both into you, pumping them in and out and stroking your walls with a come-hither motion. He licks and sucks and draws patterns with his tongue around his fingers like a man starved. Thick, heavy rings bump your lips as he pumps his fingers, and the cold metal is an intoxicating contrast to his hot mouth.

“ Eddie! ” You cry his name, forgetting your previous orders and reaching down to tangle your hands in his hair in an attempt to bring him even closer. He doesn’t argue, only groans into your core, the vibrations from the sound spurring your further on.

It doesn’t take long before it all becomes too much, there are too many sensations, your orgasm building too fast. You barely utter out a weak, “ Eddie, I'm gonna- ,” in warning before your thighs are tensing around him and you’re crying out your release with a firm grip on his locks.

He works you through your orgasm, letting up but not fully stopping until your thighs stop shaking and your breathing returns to normal. Even then, he places a final, soft kiss directly on your clit that has you clenching around nothing as he withdraws his fingers.

Crawling back up your body with a shit eating grin and licking your release from his fingers, Eddie fucking Munson has the audacity to ask, “So what do you think now?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumble with a breathy laugh and pull him down for another hungry kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and his chin is still wet with your release, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. As he licks into your mouth, he grinds his hips down into yours, and you moan at the contact, his cock hard and wanting behind the barrier of his sweatpants. “ I think, ” you gasp into his neck, “I think I need you inside me, Munson.”

“That can be arranged,” he growls, nipping at your lower lip before reaching out to search the bedside table.

In a move that’s so incredibly Eddie Munson, he kicks off his sweatpants and briefs clumsily, making you giggle at his struggle, but silences you quickly with a stern look.

You take a moment to collect yourself, breathing deeply and looking up at the ceiling as he tears into the condom packet with his teeth. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but his lips on yours are a delightful surprise, as is the head of his cock notching perfectly at your entrance, making you gasp. He tugs on your lip again, breathing out, “you ready, sweetheart?”

“Fuck,” you mumble, and nod vigorously, groaning out a soft, “ yes .”

He fills you slowly, letting you adjust to his size until he’s fully sheathed inside you. You both let out a simultaneous moan when he bottoms out, his far more restrained than yours, and his forehead falls to rest on yours. His hands bring yours above your head once again, and he pulls out just as slowly, only to thrust back into you so hard you scream. Shifting his grip on your wrists to one hand, he reaches down to caress your cheek as he fucks into you relentlessly. He’s at the perfect angle for the head of his cock to stroke your g-spot on every pass, and it has you breathless. Your pleasure pools in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment.

Eddie’s thumb strokes at your bottom lip, tugging. You wrap your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue around the tip, and he groans, looking up to the ceiling, his hips stuttering.

You let out a soft, “ please, ” as he reaches for your clit, thumbing at the bundle of nerves, working in tandem with his cock.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers, engulfing your mouth with his own and moaning into the kiss as your walls flutter around him. “Let go for me,” he urges, his movements becoming more erratic by the second. He won’t be far behind you.

Your second orgasm shatters through you, and you whine his name. Your hands fist in the sheets above you, unable to move anywhere else in Eddie’s grasp, and you gasp, your vision blurring out of focus as he fucks you through your high. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, shuddering as he thrusts once, twice, three more times and stills inside you, biting your neck with his release.

Letting go of your hands, he giggles as he grips your chin and pulls you into a surprisingly chaste kiss, he actually giggles, and you can’t help but dissolve into a fit of laughter with him.

You whine at the feeling of emptiness when he pulls out, but your cheeks are warm and he kisses your forehead, telling you to wait here before he ducks out of the room again and returns with a warm wet washcloth.

With a teasing tone, you toe at his thigh as he gently cleans you up. “You know, I didn’t take you for the – mmh,” you pause for a needy moan as he strokes your overstimunlated cunt with the cloth, “the gentlemanly type.”

Throwing the towel toward the closet, he chuckles, “yeah, well. I’m full of surprises.” He crawls under the covers, lifting an edge for you to crawl into, and asks, “you wanna stay? Or…?” The vulnerability in his voice squeezes at your heart, and you do take his offer, curling into his chest and tracing the ink on his skin absently with the tip of your finger.

“ And I get to stay the night?” You giggle, “you do this after all your drug deals, Munson?”

There’s a long pause, and a content sigh that you can feel deep in his chest. He kisses the crown of your head and runs his fingers through your hair, then laughs out his response. “Only the ones I really like.”

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #smut #fluff #hurt/comfort #stranger things reader insert #x reader

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aliypop · 5 months

Text

That's Alright for Such a Night

(Rewrite Chapter 2)

Word Count: 2.666

Writers Note: A rewrite to the original, I realized I had wanted to expand on the story again

Warning: mostly fluff / Historic Language and Values

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: During the Louisiana Hayride two breakout stars meet in a rush only to learn they've dealt their cards in the hands of fate.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Lousiana, 1954

"Say you wanna join my bandmates and me. We're going to a diner just up the street,"

"I... Don't know-"

"CECELIA!" her mother shouted,

"On second thought, I change my mind."

"So you'll come with us," Elvis asked, a grin on his face as Cecelia nodded. Cecelia, Elvis, and The Blue Moon boys had made their escape. They were walking down the brisk streets of Louisiana. Cecelia shivered a bit, forgetting her cardigan sweater in her mother's car. Elvis had taken off his pink suit jacket and wrapped it over her shoulders,

"You didn't have to do that,"

"Eh, wouldn't want you gettin sick here." he winked at her as Cecelia playfully rolled her eyes at him.

"Well, thank you kindly, Mr. Presley. But I can take care of myself..."

"Anytime, Ms. Valmos. And I wasn't sayin you can't." He responded back to her, the two walking closer toward one another.

"CECELIA!!! CECELIA!!! IS THAT YOU!!!" Everyone, including Cecelia, had turned around when they heard the yelling from behind getting closer to them,

"Sounds like you got fans."Scotty smiled,

"Rosa Calhoun!!!!" Cecelia ran towards her. Rosa had been best friends since Cecelia and her mother moved to Georgia when she was sixteen. The one smiling face she could always find in a crowd.

"What're you doing in Louisiana," Cecelia questioned,

"Well, I was in town shooting a movie, heard you were performing, and- Are you okay?" Rosa whispered, taking notice of the guys around her, "They ain't following you, are they..."

"I'm fine, Rosa. Actually, this is my friend, Elvis Presley, and his group, the Bluemoon Boys." Cecelia smiled, introducing her to them all.

"Cece... the curl is drivin' me insane..." Rosa blushed, staring at Elvis' cowlick. Elvis winked as Rosa pretended to swoon, or at least Cecelia hoped she was.

"Mind your P's and Q's, will ya." Cecelia nudged her shoulder.

"Say you should join us..." Scotty winked as Rosa clutched her chest. After all, she did have a thing for men who were a bit older than she was.

"Where you fella's going?"

"To the first Lunch Car, we see..." Bill Black responded.

"But it's dinner time, isn't it," Rosa questioned,

"That's just its name, Rosa." Cecelia winked,

Arriving at the diner, they had taken their seats in a booth. Cecelia sat next to Elvis, and Rosa sat between Scotty and Bill while Sam pulled a chair to the table.

"This may be the first integrated place I've been in," Cecelia mumbled as Elvis nodded,

"I'd have to agree on that. Well, no, there's this one place in Beale Street an-"

"California is pretty spiffy on it," Rosa shrugged, "But uh, what're we orderin'?" she asked as Cecelia laughed along with her.

"A celebration feast!" Scotty and the boys shouted,

"Why not! On me, my treat." Elvis smiled,

"Are you sure? " Cecelia asked as Elvis looked into her brown doe eyes. She really was being sincere, "You don't have to spend your 18 bucks, I-"

"Cecelia..." his blue eyes looking deep into her soul, "Allow me to treat the soon legendary rock n roller to a meal." Cecelia nodded as he put his arm around her.

"Alright, but don't spend it all in one place, Pres." she ruffled up his hair as he brushed it back.

"Alright, so everyone knows what they're orderin?" the waitress asked,

"6 of everything," Elvis winked as Rosa and Cecelia laughed. Sometimes, he swore he was so charming.

"Alright, make it 6 of everythang..." the waitress said,

The food had come, and they had all eaten everything. Rosa and Scotty had taken it upon themselves to share a Milkshake. Bill and Sam were by the phone, and then Elvis and Cecelia were by the Jukebox. He was mesmerized by her, and she felt the same way as him.

Earth angel, Earth angel, will you be mine?

"You wanna dance?" He asked,

"I'd like that..." Elvis led her to the dance floor. His hand was on her lower back, as hers was on his shoulder.

Earth angel, Earth angel, the one I adore

Love you forever. And evermore.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

The two swayed to the lyrics as she looked up at him. He was tall and handsome, but she wasn't his, and he couldn't be hers, and it pained her heart already that she knew this.

"Practicing for a dance, huh?" Cecelia said, her head on his chest,

"Oh, uh yeah ... yeah." he had damn near forgotten about being Dixie's prom date,

"And you, you must get a slew of guys just uh waitin to ask you out to any dance, really."

"Actually, I don't,"

"Why's that..." The two kept dancing,

"Picky with love, I guess," she glanced at his lips. Those beautiful pillowy pouty lips that she just wanted to place hers on top to feel and taste what it would be like to know what pure bliss would feel like.

"You deserve to be picky,"

"Whys that Pres."

"Well, Valmos, You're pretty, an you got talent. I'm sure you got a great brain in that head of yours and..." he was lost in her eyes again. And the light reflecting on her tawny brown skin, enamored by her very features that he wanted to kiss so much, not to mention her body in her wiggler dress, but damn, he had a girl back home who he promised to be true to.

"And what else..."

"Nothin', I forgot."

Oh, oh, oh, Earth angel, Earth angel, please be mine.

My darling dear, love you for all time.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

"There you are!" Midge and Cheryl burst through the door. She was still in his arms as Midge groaned, "Denise is going to murder me..."

"Midge... Cheryl. Hi, have you met Elvis..." she introduced him as he waved, not dropping her from the dip he had her in

"Your mothers looking for you, and she's pleased and pissed at you,"

"Oh great..." Cecelia sighed as Elvis brought her back up from the dance floor.

"Does this mean I..." Midge and Cheryl nodded as she sighed, but she was having so much fun. For once, Cecelia felt,

"Time to go and say goodbye to uh.."

"Elvis, Ms. Guess, I'll See you around, Cecelia."

"If I'm not dead, Pres." she winked. Elvis walked back to the booth, a bit broken-hearted. What if he never saw her again?

Midge took her back to her mother's car as if it were a walk of shame, "Your mother will have your entire ass for fraternizing with a group of White boys, you know." Cecelia only rolled her eyes as she kept walking,

"Don't see how, when she literally sings with Sinatra..."

"He's Italian."

"Well... I had a swingin good time, okay." Cecelia sighed. She could feel the glare coming from her mother through her Mercedes car window.

"Where were you..." Denise asked as Cecelia mumbled something under her breath.

"I went to go eat with some friends I made..."

" Cecelia, something could've happened to you."

"Rosa was there!"

"Hiya, Mrs. D," she giggled as she made a phone motion towards Scotty.

"Once again, something could have happened to you both..." she sighed, "Do you not know what they're doing in the deep south to girls like you." Denise groaned,

"Hey, Rosa..." Denise glared at her daughter again, "I thought I told you to stay away from her... She's fast..."

"Sorry, Mam-" Denise glanced at Cecelia, "Mother... It won't happen again."

"It's better not. Now, you two get in. I have news."

Rosa sat in the back as Cecelia sat in the passenger seat.

"Lousiana Hayride wants you to perform every Saturday Night starting next year." Cecelia smiled,

"But they were going to pay you less, so...I pulled a few strings..."

"Like what..." Rosa said,

"Well, remember how I said we're moving to Nashville,"

"Yeah, you did..." Cecelia looked confused.

"Well, if cut you a country blues hit or a rock one before the Hayride and its sales, you'll get the same pay."

"Well, how soon can you operate that studio of ours?"

"Now you're making sense.

Nashville Tennessee, 1955

"That's all of it." Denise sighed, "Here we are back in the country..." she groaned as Cecelia grinned, sitting on a tree branch in their spacious yard. Denise could take the girl out of the country, but never the country out of the girl. Cecelia and Denise had now moved into Valmos Manor, owned by Cecelia's great-grandmother Calpernia.

"Hey, Cece!"

"Rosa!"

"Oh, Jesus..." Denise laughed,

"Seems we're neighbors!"

"Seems so!"

"You going to the concert tonight!" Rosa nearly shouted as Cecelia looked at her mother. While she was now hanging upside down from the same branch.

"You have a record to cut..."

"For research..." Cecelia cheesed as her mother shook her head.

"Oh, alright, but I'm coming with you girls."

Cecelia silently groaned. She wanted one show to herself and a friend at least once.

"Who's the headliner?" Cecelia asked. Rosa then shouted back from her fence.

"I don't know, it's like a bunch, but Scotty is gonna be there and Elvis Presley is goin-"

"Elvis..." Cecelia gasped, "I'll get dressed right now!" Cecelia ran past Midge like she was Jay Garrick

"Where's she going..." Midge asked, "Is she testing her lipstick again?"

"Again?!" Denise questioned what she meant by again.

Dresses, slacks, blouses, and jeans were all scattered around in her room as she tried to pick the perfect outfit. Cecelia hadn't seen her friend Elvis in a year since 1954, which was like an eternity.

Sure, they wrote to each other, but now he was near where she lived! And she could see him tonight if she could find something to wear. Picking out a vibrant pink pencil skirt dress and her pink scarf around her neck to match, she finally felt ready. That was once she'd put on her iconic red lipstick and her hair in a poodle updo.

But before she left, she had one more thing to do. She kissed her Elvis poster and her Dean Martin Poster next to it. Running down the stairs, Cecelia saw her mother, who gave her a smile as she glanced at Rosa.

"I can see all of your imagination in that dress ..." Denise shook her head at Rosa,

"Perfect!" she giggled. Rosa walked in with her black and white Polka dot dress, waiting for Denise to go upstairs to show Cecelia it had shorts underneath,

"It's cute, why the shorts?"

"In case Scotty wants to pick up where we left off,"

"Wouldn't you do a dress then... Woah, wait, are you and Scotty boiling the cabbage."

"Yeah,"

"Lucky..."

"You could boil yours too, kid. If you put down the comic books once in a while and saw the babes in front of you."

"I'm savin myself for someone special." Cecelia smiled. She was proud of that. And she meant what she said.

"Like who Elvis Aaron Presley~" Rosa teased, "You wanna pull his cowlick? Don'tcha? Play a little house..."

"I wanna do more than just that, I wanna-"

"Want to what..." Denise glanced,

"Uh, go to the concert." Cecelia smiled, clearing her throat as Denise pulled the top of her dress up,

"That's what I thought."

Overton Park Shell Memphis Tennessee

"Oh, he looks furious..." Rosa mumbled, watching Elvis Perform.

"The guitar isn't his, and it's missing two strings... " she sighed. She knew how that felt. She lost her Falcon once during a performance. And it threw her off.

Elvis had tried his hardest to focus on the slightly crappy night he was having until his eyes saw, "Cecelia," he mouthed as she waved. Scotty shook his head playfully as Rosa waved,

"People can see you two..." she hit her playfully as Rosa laughed.

"That's the point."

"Your mother can see you too..."

"Shit..." Cecelia groaned.

"I'd uh, I-I like to invite a friend up, if that's okay..." Elvis said as Cecelia playfully frowned, "Don't know if I can find her, she's, uh, in pink and... Oh, found her!"

Helping her up on the stage, Cecelia took his hand. Silence filled the crowd, a few cheers, mostly deathly glares, but Cecelia was used to it. After all, she'd been this color her entire life. Might as well be comfortable in it, she figured. Denise and Midge were worried, and so was Rosa,

"Don't worry about them..."

"Pres..."

"Do you trust me," Elvis whispered,

"I don't know if I should," Cecelia whispered back

"Good enough for me, doll."

"I don't have a guitar." Cecelia began to look around,

"Use mine." another man said, giving him her guitar.

"Thanks?"

"Ready when you are." Elvis smiled,

"Lovesick blues boys." she said as the song started, "I'm gonna sing you, lovely folks, a song about heartache, it's got pain and misery written all in it. So pitch an ear an listen," she said as the band played.

"By the way, I'm Cecelia Valmos." she saluted as Scotty, Billy, and Elvis followed her lead.

I got a feeling called the blues, oh Lord

Since my baby said goodbye

Lord, I don't know what I'll do

All I do is sit and sigh, "Oh Lord."

Cecelia grinned as she danced a little, Elvis following her steps. The crowd was wild. As Cecelia looked back at Elvis, she had asked him to join her in the last part of the song. It was the start of something legendary, and Denise, although regretting it, could certainly taste it.

"Lord, I love to hear her when she calls me sweet daddy." Elvis turned to her as Cecelia nearly laughed at his attempt to yodel.

"Such a beautiful dream. " Elvis leaned into the microphone as Cecelia watched him sing to her, beckoning her to come closer to him, which she did.

"I hate to think it's all over; I've lost my heart, it seems." Cecelia leaned into the microphone, the two playing their guitars. Rosa and Midge were impressed, but the papers wouldn't be.

"And I'm lonesome. I got the lovesick blues".

When the song was over, they went backstage, laughing and giggling, picking up where they both left off.

"Elvis, that was brilliant!" Cecelia chuckled as she held onto his shoulder.

"Didn't take you for a Hank Williams girl."

"My daddy was a Blues and Folk singer, so... it runs through me like a bad meal." she joked as he laughed. Denise was in the corner with Hank Snow, talking business. At least it was what Cecelia supposed was going on,

"Oh, uh, sir, your guitar." Cecelia tapped him on the shoulder,

"Call me Johnny Cash." he winked at her,

"You can call me any time..." Rosa mumbled as Scotty looked at Rosa, who was making a call me gesture to him.

"Don't mind her. You were amazing out there." Cecelia smiled,

"Me, no, you and him, that was amazing. I would've thought you made it up the way you came up there. You two fooled us." Johnny then walked off.

"You gonna tell him,"

"Nah," Cecelia laughed, "So you're touring in Memphis?"

"I Could ask you the same thing," Elvis smirked,

"I live in Nashville now." Cecelia smiled,

"You moved here!" he grinned as she smiled at him,

"Yeah, we settled in today!"

"So we could go out?" he mumbled,

"I wouldn't mind. It gets lonely, and I'm usually just makin records under my mama's label. I haven't even any friends but Rosa..."

"Scotty darlin! I'm just messin with you!"

"Are you really."

"I wouldn't leave you for that glass of country singin water."

"Promise?"

As the two began to walk off, Hank and Denise both walked down towards the two,

"That don't look good..."

"Ms. Valmos, How'd you like to headline For Elvis Presley in Texas?" Hank asked.

"Sounds fine. Why do you ask?"Cecelia questioned,

"Cause you're going on tour,"

Taglist: If you wanna be tagged let me know!

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

MORE TO COME IN CHAPTER 3!

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #romance #elvis presley #new series #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis the pelvis #50s elvis #poc x elvis #50s #fanfic rewrite #cecelia valmos #Spotify

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dukedhillan · 3 months

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LIKE ACETONE IN MY YOUR VEINES;

** CURIOSITY KILLS THE CAT ** ⟨ rahul kohli, he/him, 38 ⟩ We just saw ⟨ duke "payback" dhillan ⟩ entering ⟨ the red rose casino ⟩. I heard through the grapevine that their loyalties lie with ⟨ jabberwocks/law enforcement ⟩, and that they also go by ⟨ payback ⟩. Be careful, they work as a ⟨ lawyer/undercover detective ⟩ and are known to be ⟨ impulsive ⟩, ⟨ impatient ⟩, or ⟨ resentful ⟩. However they’re also known to be ⟨ innovative ⟩, ⟨ high-minded ⟩, and ⟨ quite suave ⟩. – ⟨ taylan, they/them, cet, no triggers ⟩

WHAT'S THE ALIBI?; WHAT'S THE TRUTH?;

burned out lawyer. gifted child torn down by a system of foster care. burdened with a mass of medical bills and college debt. divorced, not over it. leather jacket and black hoodie admirer. knows how to handle his guns. son of an imprisoned jabberwocks money launderer and an imprisoned jabberwocks business associate. forced to step into his parents footsteps, but always wanted to. loyal to the jabberwocks. avoids the jolly rogers at all costs.

THE ROAD TO SUCCESS IS;

tw; terminal illness (cancer), loss of a child (child death), grief, emetophobia

"How's your son?" The nurses' eyes dart around in confusion before they finally settle on Duke, and he looks just as confused. His confusion isn't rooted in this mix-up, though. -- It's quite obvious he's not hers. Visible in his soft, brown eyes, is a kind of hurt women like her could never cause, anchored deep in his core, meant to be covered by helpless smiles, because that's all he has now. Duke is not young enough to be completely unaware - ten, to be exact - but also not old enough to fully grasp what's happening with his life. Where are my parents. Where's my Mommy. (Jailed up. Not getting out of prison anytime soon.) The foster system isn't kind to Duke, but it's also not at it's worst. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself as he gets put into new foster homes from time to time, just to never stick anywhere. There is no home. There is no family. His family is gone, and what he remembers of them is brief -- which also means there's nothing holding him back when he graduates and gets accepted into Oxford Law. It's not a dream. It's a threatening, constant voice in his ears that calls gethemback getthemout. He doesn't get them out, and he also doesn't get them back. His parents are just gone, dark shadows on his shoulders, one on the left and one on the right, just waiting for him to break, to fail, to be weak. He never is. Until. "How's your son?", asks his wife a family friend on their wedding day. He's 25 - a fresh Law School graduate, with honors that make his shoulders heavy. (Because what else is there, except studying? Meddling in your own thoughts? Depression?) Duke has become a working animal -- it's when he cuts himself on a shard during a party, just for a nursing major to come and fix him up, when he is weak. (Or rather, vulnerable. But where even is the difference?) Her family is massive. Loving. Sweet. She is everything his isn't (because if a family isn't there, it cannot be anything at all). That's not what gets him, though. She's just there, and she's perfect -- the proposal happens after four years, the wedding after five, and finally, there is something. Someone that's not just an idea. "How's your son?", asks his colleague a few days after he's born, and the grin on Duke's lips barely seems to leave until four years later, when his wife calls him from her workplace (which she's only ever did once, when her mother got into the accident that put her into a wheelchair). By now, he's a trained agent, and the things he's seen are bad. But they've never left him the way this one phone call did - the realization sinks in when he's crying in the bathroom, gagging cause there's nothing left to throw up anymore. Leukemia. Chemo sessions are hard. Harry's too young to understand how sick he is, and Maeve is done with Duke by the time he is undercover for two years, and drowns himself in his work, avoiding drowning himself in his feelings. The divorce papers are on their kitchen table when he gets home late one night, and he signs them two weeks later, right after Harry turns six. We don't tell him, is the promise. And they never do. "How's your son?" Empty. There's nothing left to give, and nothing left to say. The words don't leave his lips, not yet - four years of fighting and disaster and desperate prayers, just for his ex-wife to wake up with him dead in her arms. Duke gives a gentle shake of his head. He will tear down the Jabberwocks in a merciless payback, he will see their king dead.

I WAS MEANT TO TRY, TRY, TRY;

BAD AT LOVE (0/1) -- Ever since his divorce, it's been easier to keep things simple. It's been one night stands, brief flings, brief flings ending in ghosting. This one stuck around, though. TWIN FLAME? (0/1) -- Someone he met in foster care. Either at a foster home, or in an orphanage. Not siblings by blood, but siblings by choice. EX-WIFE (0/1) -- Has been called Maeve (down for changes), around his age. Nurse/Former Nurse. Met at a college party. Had a shared son named Harry, who got diagnosed with Leukemia at four, passed away at eight. Would be nine/ten now (as of 2024). They divorced when their son was six. SOMEONE CALL A DOCTOR (0/?) -- Medical people he met either during his son's treatments, or through his ex-wife. OH, SO YOU DO HATE ME? (0/1) -- Your relationship has been weirdly tension-filled from the start. It's the good, the bad and the ugly, but mostly the ugly; attempts of tearing each other down in a way that even you can't quite comprehend. There's no rules. Or is there?

#⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐔𝐄; muse.

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dragon-chica · 1 year

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Wood Pile - Marvel Preference

I've been hauling wood for 3 hours. This isn't a 'Thanksgiving' preference, but everyone is over and I believe Sam would make good pies.

You ask your guests and friends for help bringing in wood, a question to the general crowd,

Steve Rogers: A polite guest and happy to help, will chop and stack, he likes the workout and enjoys feeling helpful.

Tony Stark: Agrees to go help right after Steve says yes and is clearly doing so because he sees it as a competition, which Steve does not know about. Quickly gives up on that and goes back inside, the soldiers can deal with this.

Peter Quill: Laughs. He is not going out there, no siree, he's going to stay inside. kicks his feet up on the table leaning back.

Natasha Romanoff: Tells Quill he will go outside and assist if he knows what's good for him. Backs up the threat with a glare when he says he's not scared of her.

Peter Quill (part 2): Goes outside complaining the whole time and carries up two, maybe 3 very small armfuls of wood before saying 'fuck it' and hiding somewhere outside.

Sam Wilson: Will go out to help and to banter with Steve but not for too long because he said he'd make pie and therefore a very valid excuse to come inside. Stays in to play cards.

Peter Parker: Happy to help, not allowed near the chopping block, works up a good sweat, keeps going until someone tells him to go inside. Collapses on the couch exhausted and says "Anytime" with a weak smile when you thank him.

Thor: Happy to help! May also take a lighthearted competition with Steve who will put up a good fight. Mead for everyone afterwards, a good days work.

Vision: Tries talking you into a source of heating that is less strenuous for you. It would be nice.

Stephen Strange: No.

Wanda Maximoff: Makes delicious warm hot chocolate for everyone and curls up in front of the cozy woodstove.

Bucky Barnes: Enjoys it, takes zero exhaustion and enjoys the simple and repetitive task, minds his busniess and zones out a little, gets the most actual work done.

Clint Barton: Would definitely help and bring in a good amount of wood but there's more than enough other people out there with superhuman stamina, does this all the time at the farm, he's staying in to play cards.

Wade Wilson: Cheers on the men with their bulging muscles and scores them during competition. Accidentally chops his hand off, joins you inside for cards sticks his hand in Sam's pie.

By the end of the day you have so much wood stacked in your house, in your garage, and Tony obviously footed the bill to pay to feed everyone. It was a cozy chaos and a task you appreciate not having to worry about anytime soon.

#marvel x reader #Marvel imagine #Steve Rogers #Tony Stark #Wade Wilson #Deadpool #Clint Barton #Bucky Barnes #Wanda Maximoff #Vision #Thor Odinson #Peter Parker #Peter Quill #Natasha Romanoff #Sam Wilson #my stuff

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herbrokenmelodies · 6 months

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a more aesthetic header coming soon.

it's only business

💰use me and abuse my powers for a price | everything about this is cold. it is a simple transaction, again and again, your character needs a job done and the Siren Song can do it. There are no thank yous, just meets, instruct, enchant, pay and your character is on their way. the little that is shared, the little that anyone else can know.

💰barkeep lend me your ear | rough day? why not have a drink at the abyss? Himiko knows your drink and lends you an ear when needed or tells you a joke to make you laugh. With all the chaos in the world sometimes a drink can help out.

💰dj please don't stop the music. | [coming soon] [reserved]

💰let's talk business... | [coming soon ]

besties, brotps and important to me

✨ i'm only one call away | it's 3am and you need a friend. Himiko is more than likely awake. Even if she can't talk. She'll listen. Anytime that you need a friend. ✨ won't let go of you for nothing|childhood friends | it's been a while. sure you don't as much as you use to, doesn't mean that the friendship just disappears. always there for each other no matter what.

✨ money, money, money | you are a friend, money isn't an issue for himiko. you are besties after all. let her spoil you. but is that really friendship? is it using her and just tolerating her? or could this actually be a real friendship

✨ shots, shots, shots, | drinking buddies? even if your character just chugs down water.

✨ MORE COMING SOON! GIVING ME BESTIE VIBES

lovers, exes and messes

❤️‍🩹 but i bought you flowers; and you let them die | character wanted something serious, from a girl who was never serious to settle down. it can only end in heartache and lonely paths.

❤️‍🩹 i want you as a dream: not the reality | friends with benefits | between the sheets is the only language they speak. there is no longer, just lust and longing. the moment one of them tries to be tender, it out of the sheets and moments of silence until needed again.

❤️‍🩹 ooh there is a stranger in my bed | one night stand?

❤️‍🩹 | MORE TO COME

bad blood and no love

⚠️ banned from the club | for some mission or reason, you messed up Abyss, and your character is not footing the bill for the prissy Himiko. Each time you talk it is always bought up, bitterness and sarcasm.

⚠️ more to come!

mundane, mishaps and misadventures

⚡️ crying in the club hey, hey, hey | queue crying in the club, maybe in toilets, outside smoking, one character emotionally over baring, something serious, something mundane, sharing with a drunk stranger. just met at a low and had the deepest conversation with a stranger and maybe something more grows here.

⚡️ And that is how me and Wongers became besties | basically this scenes from she-hulk [x] just Himiko and character who are chilling and vibing away from the madness . an unlikely pairing but just get each other.

⚡️ Madam....this is a wendies... | Himiko is a bit of party girl and sometimes it gets a little out of hand and she wakes up places that she shouldn't. Queue how they met, was it annoying? Was it something instagramable? Was it a worry? A new friendship? You tell me!

#wanted connections #just dm on here or discord #honestly for all dynamics

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tswwwit · 7 months

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Med student dipper finding bill on the verge of dying and panics, I mean sure he's an ass but he doesn't deserve to die

Sure, here's a thing!

The body lying before him is a mess. And that's putting it politely.

Dipper's clenching his jaw tight, and the expression he's wearing can't be reassuring. He schools it back to a neutral state, trying to take in -

There's a lot to take in.

All his training, the tests. The patient practice and medical diagrams. Nothing prepared him for a body like this. All this blood, not in vials or on the cool white sheets of a hospital bed, but bare and leaking on the ground. Nothing between him and the reality that life is fragile, and can end so, so soon.

Training fails. So does tact.

Dipper takes a shaky breath, and says, "You're dying." "Pfft, hardly." The demon waves an idle hand - the one not holding his chest, failing to keep that weird, viscous blood inside. How he manages to smirk despite everything is a mystery. "I've had way worse!"

Bullshit, he's - A demon, sure, but anatomical facts are facts. With a hole that big, Bill Cipher shouldn't be moving, much less able to talk.

"This? Is basically nothing! Not even a patch on the times I've had a limb come off, or been impaled." Bill Cipher lies on the grass, waggling his hand in a so-so gesture. Despite the half-circle of chest missing, bitten right out of the torso. "Or even the time someone blew up this body's entire skull!" A low whistle, a shake of said very intact head - then a grin. "Though that one worked out pretty well, if I do say so myself."

Bill buffs the nails of his free hand against his ruined shirt, examining them with a bit of pride. How is he still moving.

Dipper stares at the concave gap in his torso. The slow leaking of the thick blood hasn't spread far, but it's just. Part of Bill is missing, Dipper finds it tough to look at. His stomach churns.

If it hadn't been Bill, it would have been him.

A dragon is. Well. A dragon. Who the hell knows why Dipper got snatched up and flown back to the den in the first place, but once he was there he wasn't getting out anytime soon. Or in one piece.

Dipper's talents aren't meant for combat, only trickery, and his chosen profession. Five minutes and three bites later, he'd have been a fairly forgettable snack. A random demon wandering in was the best stroke of luck Dipper's ever had, or could ever have, in a million years.

Hell, there's a lot of people who would take this entire situation as a win. One fire-breathing lizard gone, one fire-wielding demon about to follow. Two monsters, taking each other out with one stupid, pissy, ego-powered destructive battle.

Dipper, though, is perfectly fine. Aside from some burns and acid spit marks on his jeans, he's in great shape. He could just turn, walk away, and leave this monster to die next to the other, slaughtered one.

With this amount of damage, Bill Cipher isn't going anywhere. Eventually, he'll bleed out, pass out, pass away-

And Dipper would never forgive himself for letting it just... happen.

He takes a deep, calming breath. Lets it out, slow.

Okay. Back to basics.

He drops to his knees next to his patient. The scene is safe, the dragon's - Dipper glances over his shoulder - very, very dead. Bill himself is in no position to do much but be mildly annoying, by continuing to talk about more grievous wounds he's seen and experienced.

No airway trouble, since he's talking. It's amazing he's breathing at all. Even with a good portion of the lower chest gone, Bill hasn't passed out. And has enough air to talk, so. Probably fine? Yeah.

Dipper takes Bill's free arm in both hands. As a neat side effect, it stops the dramatic gesturing.

Pulse is.... slow, at first. But it picks up as Dipper takes it at the wrist, then a bit quicker at the neck. If this were a regular human he'd consider it bradycardia. By demonic standards, it's... probably fine? He thinks?

He checks Bill's face - grinning, and wiggling his fingers at Dipper - so, no signs of distress. He's not certain how to evaluate disorientation in a demon, either. Skip that for now.

So far, Dipper's working with the idea that this isn't immediately fatal. The next step is inspecting the wound, and see whether or not he can do anything about it.

"Okay." Dipper moves to check the damage, and finds it covered with ash, and shreds of cloth, and that acidic dragon drool - with this much in the way, it's hard to evaluate. "Bill, I'm going to have to cut your shirt off."

"Sure! Need a knife?" Bill produces one from seemingly nowhere. Dipper leans away, startled. That's. More enthusiasm than he expected. Bill notes his response, eyebrow rising. "What, you squeamish or something?"

"Uh." Dipper hesitates just a moment, but that's long enough for Bill to do the job himself, splitting his shirt open bare from chest to groin, which is. A lot. With a flourish of the knife, he lies back, tucking his arm behind his head.

And. What is there to say to that. "Thanks?"

Bill just gives him a slow, slow smile, and tucks his arms behind his head. Whatever look he's going for, it's too oozy to be effective.

Despite Bill's best attempts to be an ass about it, Dipper clears the wound area, as best he can. Not fully making eye contact, it's going to be bad. It's going to be a mess. Odds are he's going to have to tell a demon he's dying, even, and it's -

Dipper glances down.

It's.

The first, insane comparison that comes to mind, is 'like a cake'.

Bill's human enough. On the outside. Layers of skin, and muscle, and bone, and a considerable amount of 'blood' from the - Dipper feels it deserves the quote marks, now - 'body'.

But where there should be organs, and interstitial fluid, and a broken, leaking, seeping mess, a tangle of bitten flesh, there's. Not.

Organ-like shapes, certainly. They work unimpeded by any holes, pulsing, and alien. Apparently alive. Not spilling anywhere, either, since they're threaded through a pitch-black, non-leaky substance. This demon's body is like... layers of human fondant, over a weird jelly filling.

Dipper grimaces. Shakes his head, hand hovering. Not certain where to touch. Or if that would even be a good idea.

The human part is leaking everywhere, though. And when Dipper tentatively presses against it to slow the bleeding, one finger on the other bit - a couple drops of bright yellow ichor ooze slowly out, landing with a sizzle on the ground. He flinches back -

And Bill starts giggling. Like that freakin' tickled.

Dipper sits back up, shutting his eyes tight. He raises his hands as if in surrender. Which he's not doing, he just. Needs a second.

Overall, his professional evaluation is that the patient isn't dying. Not having a great time by any means, but outside of immediate danger. Theoretically, something could be done to help the... damage -

But. Bill Cipher's way, way outside of any of Dipper's experience. And that includes the several courses he's taken on nonhuman beings. Even the ones about demons, and otherwordly creatures, and spirits. Hell, the seminar he attended about elementals didn't mention this.

Bill is - or rather, Bill's wearing? Bill exists in? Some type of bizarre, semi-organic, mostly-magical hodgepodge of kinda-human kinda-demonic.... molded material? Specially created container? Oddly organized organic goop?

Whatever it is, Dipper's got no idea how it works. Or what would work on it.

"I don't-" Know what to do, Dipper almost says. Despite himself, his mind is racing. "I don't think I can fix you?"

The upturned inflection betrays him. Bill's grin brightens by several degrees.

"Now there's my curious guy! Part of you does know you can fix me! Don't overthink it, kid." He slaps the wound with a wet sound, making Dipper cringe back in sympathy. "You've got the mojo, so let's get things moving."

"I have life magic, yeah," Dipper adds. He fails to disguise the irritation in his voice. Shit, he has to learn to control that. Even if the patient's being a condescending dick. "I just. Don't think that works on demons."

"And typically, you'd be right!" Bill raises a finger, wagging it at Dipper. He almost looks proud that Dipper knew some random demon fact, like a weirdo. "Lucky for both of us, I'm in an... interesting body situation. Your stuff'll work just fine."

"No matter how much 'stuff' I have, there's nothing to reattach." Dipper gestures vaguely at the still-steaming corpse, smelling of iron and salt. There's a portion of Bill's torso in its stomach, and though the dragon's dead, he's not going digging around in there. He'd lose a limb in the attempt. "You can't regrow-"

"Stop thinking 'human', then. I'm nothing of the sort!" Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. Dipper pushes his arm back down, but it pops up again to snag him by the shirt. "All I need is some tailoring done on the flesh-suit. Super-duper easy for a guy like you!"

Dipper starts to protest. Then shuts his mouth, and ducks his head.

Maybe - just maybe - Bill has a point. Whatever this is, it's miles away from normal, what with how Bill's still alive and talking, to boot.

The sheer absurdity of Bill's body situation did make him hesitate. Wondering what he could do, with something this clearly, purely magical.

What Bill's proposing is still insane, of course. Dipper doesn't know why he entertained it in the first place.

Despite not having graduated yet, Dipper's used to helping save lives. He's done a few rounds, and shadowed several doctors. Bill's injury is the worst he's ever seen. He's the worst, most deadly being Dipper's met. Leaking and immobile as he is, he's still a demon. They're absolutely the worst.

But in terms of patients? Bill doesn't even rank in the top ten.

"Hello!" Bill's glaring. He clears his throat, and snaps his fingers twice. "Tired of waiting, kid. Do I gotta ring a bell for service here or what?"

Maybe in the top nine, or eight, though.

Dipper takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "Look. This is way beyond what I'm qualified to do." He squeezes Bill's hand, held in his own, and feels a deep sense of relief. "I can help stabilize you. Though you're, uh, pretty stable, and I can call an ambulance - " He glances around the woods. "Or. Get us at least closer to where I could call one. I might have healing magic but I can't just. Do it."

The entire idea is insane. Recklessly use medical magic on an unknown being? On a strange, unfamiliar semi-organic whatever the fuck body? Without knowing how, and where, and what type to use, any part of it could go wrong in so, so many ways.

Bill's asking so casually. Like it'd be easy. Maybe he thinks it is.

Sure, his 'body' might be fine. But it really deserves the quotation marks. Assuming that it's a type of magical construct, trying to 'fill in' his missing parts might work. Demons could, in theory, be able to synthesize a... something or other, out of Dipper's efforts.

But even if it is a construct - Dipper doesn't have the blueprints.

Bill's 'body' is very, very real, not some gossamer-thin creation. Both solid, and living enough to bleed. Without a plan to follow, while he poured regeneration into an organic form? One this complicated? He'd totally screw it up. The sheer amount of magic it takes to sustain it alone is absolutely insane.

"Fine. Then back the fuck off, if you're squeamish." Bill interrupts his train of thought, voice sharp. His teeth bare as he sneers, and Dipper makes another note on the 'not human' chart. "Or hey! Find a neat stick or something." He pats at the gap on his side like it's more of an annoyance than a grievous, leaking wound. "Gotta get something to prop me up so I'm not tilting forty degrees just trying to get around."

"Cut that out." Dipper uses his stern, professional tone, to zero effect. "You need to keep that clean." Probably. Does Bill even have an immune system, or-?

His train of thought gets interrupted as Bill pats around, finding a chunk of a blasted-apart log- then compares it to his wound, with a contemplative look. Like he's judging whether it's sturdy enough to replace the flesh and bone missing from his friggin' torso. Like he only needs to plug it up as a structural issue.

"Oh my god," Dipper says, and swats the stupid splintery thing out of this idiot demon's hand. "Do you want an infection?"

Bill opens his mouth. Presumably, he was about to make some quote-unquote 'witty' response, but Dipper's already covered his mouth. Running his over hand over his face.

"If I try to patch you up," Dipper starts, slowly. Already knowing he's doing something dumb, just so someone else won't do something dumber. "Will you please not shove anything into it. After."

"It's a deal, sapling." Bill gives him a smug grin, and an irritating thumbs up. "Go for it! And tell you what." The wink is totally unnecessary. "I'll even back you up on the magic front."

"Sure," Dipper says, very dry. Because transferring magic being-to-being is that easy. Everyone just. Hands it over, on a whim. Bill has lost a lot of blood, though. Maybe it's made him loopy. "Go for it."

That, at least, shuts Bill up. He hums a little tune, lying back and waiting for....

Dipper to do the dumb thing.

With a sigh, He sets his hands on Bill. His skin is bare, so there's a the brief relief that Dipper won't have to channel through it; a total lack of modesty does have minor benefits.

Another breath. Dipper shuts his eyes. focusing on his magic. Drawing it down, through his own source of life, through is arms, to his fingers, pressed into Bill's soft skin like he's testing the ripeness of a peach.

Welp. Here goes nothing.

Literally nothing, mind. Demons are powerful, and weird. Mortal magic doesn't mingle well, or easily, with the kind that demons throw around, and the form Bill's wearing looks hand-crafted. Whatever made it is going to be way beyond Dipper's ability to fix. Possibly beyond his ability to comprehend.

If he's lucky, though, he might be able to slow the bleeding. For some reason that hasn't really stopped, but it'll make transporting him less messy if he can manage to stem it. but the best case scenario is that he doesn't murder Bill outright in the attempt.

The first trickles of magic bleed into Bill's flesh, spreading through that layer of fondant, down into the jelly-donut center. His magic feels bone and blood. He feels the little tangling twine of veins, and the strings of muscle.

Following his training, Dipper pushes magic in. Carefully. Slowly.

A moment later, his eyes shoot open.

He stares at the wound. Then he stares Bill.

All he gets in return a is a big grin, and a nonchalant wave.

Dipper blinks back down a the gap in this demon, and how it slowly, slowly closes up without even being guided.

Fixing up a person would be a multi-step, long, lingering process. Like repairing the circuitry on a delicate electronic, or gently guiding the weave of a tapestry.

With Bill, Dipper's just. Pouring wax into a mold. As long as he keeps putting magic into it, it reforms back into shape. No blueprints needed.

Holy shit, this is easy.

What the fuck.

Whatever form Bill's wearing is truly bizarre. This is - he doesn't know - technically organic, but absolutely a constructed thing. How the hell was this made? Who did it? And what the hell, why is it growing back so fast?

Dipper nearly pulls back out of sheer surprise, intending to stop - before quickly realizing he can't.

He slams his palms back on Bill's torso, shivering as the small plumes of flame fade. Bill doesn't seem to mind; which both is and isn't a surprise. No blisters form, either, which proves Dipper's startled assumption about what the fuck just happened.

Swearing again, Dipper shuts his eyes, shoving harder against Bill's skin. No backing out now. He has to keep focus, and see this through.

Bill wasn't kidding about how easy this would be.

He also wasn't kidding about backing Dipper up with his magic.

Even though this is easy, Dipper wouldn't have enough on his own, not to heal a huge chunk like this. Too much missing material, even in a magical construct. Too complicated, and strange.

But Bill's here. A guy who's very invested in getting up and around again, and - shit, demons can hand over power to humans, it's kinda their thing. God, why didn't Dipper think of that before.

Though he started with a trickle, just to see what would happen, Dipper amped it up as things seemed to be working. A little increase to the stream of magic, admiring the effects.

Somewhere along that line, it turned into a torrent.

It figures. Bill's power must be behind this, and he's a demon, and an asshole. While Dipper wasn't paying attention, Bill opened up some kind demonic valve, without Dipper ever noticing.

There's a whole river of demonic magic coursing through Dipper's veins now. Arguably still controlled by him, but fed by a pushy demonic asshole. The magic doesn't feel bad at all, but it's big. Vast, and seemingly endless.

Demonic power courses through Dipper, hot and thick in his arms, lighter in his chest, swirling around his own heart, both his and not-his -

And all of it has to go somewhere.

Underneath his hands, the flesh.... flows.

Dipper watches the arch of the ribs, gently connecting back together, and the sheets of muscle blossom back. Skin spreads over what was empty air. Something is made from nothing, as full and complete as that power inside him.

Bill pulls Dipper's hand away from his chest, and takes a long, deep breath. His eye shuts.

And Dipper blinks as if coming out of a daze, jerking himself upright. He doesn't know when he started leaning over Bill like that, but now it feels super weird.

As Bill mutters something under his breath, wiping a hand down his face. Dipper backs up, then sits down heavily on the ground.

He didn't know he could - but he did that. Or Bill did that, through him. It's. A lot. To think about, and to have handled.

Either way, the result's slightly dizzying. As is the sheer amount of leftover magic.

For a moment, Dipper stares at his hands. He flexes his fingers, then rubs at them.

There's still a heady, warm sense of having way, way more to work with than usual, which is. Weird. But what's left no longer feels like it's being rudely shoved forward, and that makes it more manageable.

So. Kind of a controllable, reasonable level of absolutely absurd power. Without Bill powering him ,it should fade over time, and Dipper won't let himself miss it.

"Oof," Bill says, sitting up and stretching. "What a huge pain in the side that was!" He rises to his feet, brushing off dirt and debris. "Do you have any idea how many muscles a human shape needs to ambulate right? And there aren't any backups? Shitty engineering, if you ask me."

Dipper only vaguely pays attention to the rambling. Bill's up and about, and the patch of ground where he was lying is bare. Stained, but empty, and it's all -

Bill clears his throat, and reaches down. Dipper blinks at the intrusion of a sudden hand, but takes it and lets Bill haul him upright.

"That worked." Dipper says. He saw it with his own eyes and yet. "I can't believe that worked. How..?"

Bill says nothing, only smiles. Enigmatic, and dickish of him.

Dipper frowns as he runs a hand over the place where there was nothing only five minutes before. The temperature matches all the rest of the skin, and the stomach jumps a little under his touch. It's complete and solid, hot to the touch. Bill looks perfectly healthy, he guesses. But. "Are you doing okay?" Dipper asks, reaching up to take a pulse again at the neck. Much faster this time; maybe a sign that he's improved. "You look alright, but I don't know your vital signs." There's only one pupil, and it looks slightly dilated. Nothing to compare it to, sadly - Dipper frowns. "How are you feeling?" "Good question, sapling!" Bill takes Dipper by the wrist, lowering it to his shoulder. And winks, leaning in with what could only be called a leer. "How do I feel?"

"Uh." Dipper darts a glance down at his hands - resting on Bill's bare chest, the other on his shoulder.

This isn't - He was checking - Okay, fine, the assessment is over. Time to stop touching him.

Dipper takes a step back, clearing his throat. Bill follows, leer annoying wider.

Not that that's. Unnerving or anything. Dipper's just sweating because of the magic he used. That was pretty intense.

"Well, you're fine." He stammers, then grimaces at Bill's raised eyebrow. "I mean, you're okay-fine, not-" He manages to get one hand off the chest, but Bill's not letting go of the other. He lets out a nervous laugh. "So. You're all better, and I should, uh. Get going now."

Bill hums a little in thought. Clearly an affectation. Dipper doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know Bill's already made up his.

Pulling away doesn't work; Bill's grip is surprisingly strong. One might even say, inhumanly. So. Dipper offers a smile, weak as it is. "Yeah, I should really leave now."

"Nah, I don't think so." Bill shrugs, then grins again. "I didn't fight a friggin' dragon just for the prize to run off at the end."

Yep, Dipper figured.

Out of the dragon's den, and into the demon's.

He should have left Bill there to die and rot and be a dick somewhere in a demon realm. He should have known that stupid turn of luck was way too good to be true.

"Now you and I are gonna-" Bill's stomach jumps again, and he grimaces. Tapping a fist against his chest, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Ugh, life magic." He ducks his head, breathing slowly. "One sec, kid."

Dipper seizes the opportunity, wrenching his arm away and clutching it to his chest. He backpedals until he stumbles. In front of him, Bill growls - then rests his hands on his knees, and makes a small choking noise.

Oh thank fuck, Bill's not perfectly fine. Healed, sure - But something's gone wrong because he almost looks.... sick?

Dipper turns towards the woods - then pauses. He fixed him, sure, but - "Uh. Are you-?"

"Fine! Fine. 's just a side effect." A hiccup, and a dismissive wave. Bill stops, holding back a dry heave, then groans ."Won't last long, so don't try anything funny." He glares at Dipper, pointing at him like a command. "The second this is over, I'm-"

Before he can finish the sentence, Dipper's halfway across the clearing and rounding the dragon corpse. It blocks Bill's line of sight, and from there, it's a straight running contest. The nausea should by him some time to truly get the hell out of dodge.

Good thing it's still daylight out; he might be able to find his way back to civilization, or, like. Follow a river or something. With the extra power in him, he might be able to throw up a few illusions too. That should help keep the literal goddamn demon off his back.

What a goddamn mess today has been.

Dragons, demons. Magic and monsters and crazy assholes who have who-the-fuck knows what intentions after someone just helped their jerk ass.

This was supposed to be relaxing. A break before Dipper finally went into residency -

And much like other parts of his life, it's turned into a complete and absolute shitshow.

The pine trees whip past as Dipper keeps up a breakneck pace. God, he should slow down lest he sprain an ankle or something -

But behind him he hears Bill cursing, and there's a growing blue glow that's as terrifying as it is ominous. He picks up speed out of sheer terror, and makes a promise to himself.

Next time Dipper gets vacation, he's going absolutely anywhere that isn't Gravity freakin' Falls.

#answers #Warning for mild/moderately described gore but the person's fine cause it's Bill and he's a weirdo #Here is me attempting to break through the writer's block #Have some very silly bullshit #Written entirely in tumblr's draft thingy so apologies for any errors and the quality overall #I might have fun tag facts but I'll add them later when I think of it

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