#but with the costume the way it is? and how high up they draw the wide thigh? it gives him childbearing hips. which i think is fantastic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

colleendoran · 1 year

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How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

#snow glass apples #chivalry #neil gaiman #drawing

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monrageo · 9 months

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Saw a lot of Spider-Steve art so I had to jump in. Most art modernised him but I want my 80s, mallrat, neon lights Spider-Man + I wrote his origin story. *POSES FOUND ON PINTEREST*

Also Steve looks great in the classic red and blue but I wanted him to have his own costume so yellow he shall be. Now onto my headcanons.

In a world where Hawkins is a megapolis a teen boy gets bitten by a radioactive spider in 83’ while visiting Hawkins Lab (Think less abandoned more Oscorp/Alchemax) and so it begins. He starts doing small good things around the city, experimenting with his powers.

But he isn’t thinking about being a superhero or anything close to that (I imagine the drawing with the sweats and goggles is his first “costume”). Then he gets with this amazing girl-Nancy Wheeler.

Life is looking up for Steve he’s got these weird powers that get him to be the basketball and swim team captain. He’s popular, he’s got this amazing girl that inspires him to be better and better.

He looses his popular crowd friends, he wants to be better. He starts thinking about the superhero thing and actually goes through with it. He isn’t shouting it from the rooftops but news is getting around that a guy in spandex is busting criminals- Spider-man/King Spider.

Steve gets cocky, thinks he’s on top of the world, untouchable. Then Will Byers goes missing-that’s a whole separate story. Nancy and John start their investigation. Steve gets jealous etc.

In the end a battle breaks out and Steve is unable to save one person-Barbara Holland. His girlfriend’s best friend. That of course destroys Nancy. She doesn’t know Steve is Spider-man, she seeks comfort in him but things are not the same.

There’s this whole thing with Jonathan, the obvious attraction, the compatibility. But also Steve’s guilt, his self hatred. He realises he was too blindsided by his cockiness. Barb’s death is on his hands. He breaks up with Nancy and solely focuses on being the best Spider-man he can be.

That of course costs him friends etc. but when you’ve been through what he has high school drama just seems pointless… and so King Steve falls from the throne.

I imagine the Nancy story line parallels the Gwen Stacy one in the original comics (without the death and clones), maybe Nancy even blames and hates Spider-man the way Gwen did… that also contributes to the Stancy break-up.

Perhaps Nancy becomes hyper focused on catching this Spider-man so he can be held accountable for Barb’s death.

Anyways now Steddie, I think Eddie would love Spider-man / King Spider he’s some guy with spider powers and bright spandex that helps people, super camp, Eddie would love him.

I think Steve starts noticing Eddie in a new light when his lunch table tirades now also include how awesome spider-man is. This unapologetic support makes the now loser Steve feel like it is all worth it-the stress, the pain, the loneliness-

Tough he of course knows Eddie isn’t talking about him, he’s talking about Spider-man, the hero. Not the former popular guy Steve Harrington.

I have many ideas regarding a Stranger things!Spider-verse and which characters could be what. Maybe Barb’s death was something Lizard-like, but upside down version. Like something from the lap infected her? I like the idea of Steve’s father being involved in the labs, perhaps as a Norman Osborn parallel, without becoming the Goblin though.

The goblin/Norman/Harry Osborn storyline could be reimagined with Tommy perhaps??? Then Venom with Eddie (so perfect) or Billy (a tragic end)??

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #spiderman #spidersona #digital art #monrageo art

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junipernight · 2 months

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I redesigned Yangchen's outfit!

... I actually designed a lot of outfits for her, because I am Extremely Normal about these books, and also I like costume design and learning about historical clothing.

Short disclaimer: These fantasy clothes aren't culturally or historically accurate, just historically and culturally influenced. I don't have any expertise in East or Central Asian culture or clothing, I've just been clicking around on the internet a lot the last two weeks learning things because that's my idea of fun lol. If you wanted to talk to people who actually know things you should check out @atlaculture or like @ziseviolet, both of whom's blogs I referenced while drawing.

I only designed two alternates for the outer robes. The first is based loosely off the robes Buddhist monks wear (loosely, because drawing draped fabric is hard ^^') especially the Tibetan zhen robe. This garment is just a long wide rectangle of cloth which can be draped across the body in lots of ways (versatility ftw!).

The other garment I drew is a Chuba, a traditional garment from Tibet and the Himalayas. It's a robe, but it highkey reminds me of kilts and hoodies, in that it a) can be worn over one or both shoulders or just as a skirt and b) it makes a giant pocket over the stomach. The long sleeves can be folded up or tied back btw.

I spent the most time on the middle layer, because I was thinking it has to be something she could comfortably fight in while also being suitable for diplomatic meetings, meditating, espionage, and possibly sleeping.

And like. You can fight and hike and whatnot in loose skirts, but it's annoying how twisted up they can get while sleeping. ALSO, YC does a lot of flying and leaping, so my girl needs pants. My faves are definitely the Xiaolin monk pants and the yellow wrap pants Aang wears. I tried dhoti (Indian wrap pants) because that kind of looks like what the giant statue of Yangchen meditating might be wearing, but I think it looks odd paired with a highwaisted shirt instead of a long tunic. Maybe I'll do some more drawings with her in a tunic and dhoti or a monk's dhonka and shemdap later, idk.

As any good historical fashion nerd knows, foundational garments are everything (◡‿◡✿).

But also, there's a scene where Yangchen and Kavik pretend to be lovers, and are "discovered" by a maid sleeping in the same room, with Yangchen in a state of partial undress (gasp!)

I am living for this fake drama; I need to know how scandalized the maid was lmao.

When the maid walks in, Yangchen immediately wraps herself in a bedsheet before ushering the maid back out the door. Maybe all she did was take off her outer robe... but why would she need to wrap herself in a sheet if she was wearing a long-sleeved high-necked gown? I got the sense from both the book and cursory research about buddhist monks that walking around without your outer robes was socially acceptable, at least in casual settings. I think it more likely she was in her underclothes, which historically (in the west anyway) would also double as sleeping clothes.

"The Aang" is censored because this is Tumblr-dot-com. Its mostly a joke, but also, I know other countries are less uptight about bººbies, so like, maybe it's a valid option ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The ~Water Tribe~ look is based off Sokka's swimwear and not Katara's, mostly because chest binding seems antithetical to airbending.

All the other undergarment designs are based on hanfu neiyi, because that's what I could find reference photos and romanized names for.

I'm tired of typing now. Lemme know if you have questions about something, or want me to post a larger version of a specific outfit. I am open to feedback and tentatively open to requests.

#costume design #character redesign #Yangchen #avatar #airbenders #air nomads #avatar novels #chronicles of the avatar #atla #I realize now there are typos in the jpeg rip #too late to change it now

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neopuppy · 6 months

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warnings. n*ncon, f*ngering/o*ral, Jeno/Jisung/female reader

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“Is Jisung coming too?”

Jeno scoffs, side-eyeing you. “Why are you asking?”

“Because he follows you literally everywhere like some creep?” You snap to reply, glaring at him. “Would be nice to have a night to ourselves without your weird little friend around.”

“I think you like him.”

“What?!”

“Oh!” Jeno turns, shoving his butt out toward you with a deep arch, finger pressed to his bottom lip. “Is Jisungie coming?”

“That is not how I asked!”

He laughs, turning back to face you while pushing his flat chest together, palms forming ‘C’ shapes beneath his pecs. “Right right,” he leans in, batting his dark eyelashes. “Is Sungie coming?” Jeno says in a whiney tone.

“I don’t like your stupid friend.” You sneer, crossing your arms annoyed. “Hate how much he stares at me.”

Jeno grumbles, crawling up his bed to where you’re lying, pushing your knees apart to make space for himself. “Maybe it’s cause he wants to fuck you.”

You’d believe him if not for the tiny smirk playing at his lips, head tilted waiting for a dramatic reaction.

“Whatever.” You murmur, shoving at his chest to scoot out from under him.

Jeno snickers, turning to lay on his back and stretch. “I still think you should go as Sidney Prescott.”

“I already told you!” Sighing, you move to gather your belongings, needing to head home and get ready. “I’m a mouse! Duh!”

Jeno smiles, suspiciously pleased as he shuts his eyes. “I’ll meet you there, dad’s not letting me borrow the car tonight. Says too many cops are out on Halloween trying to bust people for driving under the influence.”

“I’ll send you a picture before I head out.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find you. I know how to catch a mouse.”

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“Jeno? Is that you?” You gasp, jumping at the first touch of large palms covering your hips. “God, lazy ass.”

Rolling your eyes you push him away to take a look at his recycled costume, clicking your tongue in a displeased manner. “You could have put some effort into something cool this year. It’s not as if you haven’t been Ghostface for the last 5 years.”

Jeno tilts his head, not too far from eye level even with your heels on. “You wearing stilts or something?”

He keeps up with the creepy ominous mannerisms, hands returning to grip your hips to immediately loop his digits beneath the lacey material of your bottoms.

“Oh, you like it?” You say with a cheek grin, spinning around to shove your butt out and wiggle the little tail connected to your panties. “See, I told you to dress like cheese so I could be the mouse that caught the cheese!”

Jeno’s mask-covered gaze traces down your exposed back, dragging a finger along your spine to the tail, tapping it side to side with a pleased grunt.

“I thought you were going to catch me?” You say snarkily, stepping away from him toward the stairs with a sleek glance over your shoulder. “What type of killer can’t catch a measly mouse?”

Jeno’s slow to follow after you, keeping his pace 5 feet behind. “Very Michael Meyers of you,” you laugh sarcastically, opening up a door enough to peek inside. “I like it when you do this..”

Keeping your back toward him, you make way to an empty bed in the middle of the room, slowly climbing up on all fours to wag the little mouse tail hung above your ass. “You wanna hurt me?”

Jeno nods, stalking forward as he reaches under the black hooded long garment for a knife from his back pocket. It gleams in the dimly lit room, cold to the touch as he drags the blunt end of the blade down the exposed fleshy skin wedging your underwear up between your ass.

Strong hands gather the material of your panties roughly, drawing them high enough to squeeze the fabric between your center, the friction against your clit causing you to hiss. “So mean mister ghost face..”

The knife cuts through the thin straps holding your panties up, fast to pull the destroyed material aside as he drags the tip of the knife down the back of your thigh. “You asshole! Those weren’t cheap!”

Jeno’s hand slides from your ass to lower back, not before kneading your buttcheek firmly while deeply groaning. He pushes hard onto the middle of your back, forcing your chest to press to the bed and push your ass out further. A click and hiss follows, blind to what’s happening behind you until you see the camera flash. “Jeno!”

A rough slap barrels down onto your cunt, the wicked collision fills your head with shame. An evident sound of wet splash echoes loudly, further humiliating you as another hit lands and stings down to your clit. “Ah, fuck, come on Jeno..”

“What do you want?” He says, tone deeper than usual, really committed to the costume.

“I’m so wet for you baby..” you say, dipping even lower to pronounce your ass further. “You know what I want.”

Jeno hums, a light thud hitting the bed before spreading your cheeks apart, carefully tracing two digits down past your rim to your wet entrance. The tips of his fingers play there for a minute, swiping circles around the excited hole to collect and smear your arousal.

“Fuck.” He mutters quietly, teasing down to your clit to glide between two wet digits, stimulating each nerve along the way.

Jeno’s softer than usual, light fingers barely pressing, only heightening each sensation further and driving you crazy.

“Don’t tease me.. more..” you whine, pushing your hips back for more pleasure.

Jeno groans, retreating his touch only to land another wet slap between your thighs. Two fingers trail to your entrance, shoving them down to the first knuckle with renewed speed. The sudden intrusion has your arching back in surprise, fast to be put back in your place as he leans over and rests his upper-half up over your waist.

“Don’t move.” He whispers, tone remaining deep and menacing. Wetness trickles out past his pumping fingers, easily falling into a consistent pace by leveraging his weight onto your back. The gushing sound emitting from your core has your eyes rolling up, clawing at the bedding for something to grasp.

It’s so loud, hot, wet, emptying your head of thought other than Jeno’s large frame crushed against you, abusing your cunt as he adds a third finger to stretch you around.

“Oh fuck!” You shout, neck retching up. “Ahh—“

Air empties your lungs, finding Jeno stood before you with a cocky smirk. “Enjoying yourself?”

The ghost face mask in his hand catches your attention next, falling to your stomach with a crazed moan as lips attach to your entrance and slurp up with wads of wetness pouring down around the three fingers reaching deep inside of you.

Jeno squats down, fisting the back of your hair to twist your neck roughly right as Jisung’s face comes into sight, lips and chin drenched with your wetness. A heated gaze finding yours with the mask pushed up above his forehead.

Jeno clicks his tongue, planting his lips to your sweaty cheek as Jisung lowers to your clit and puts his tongue to work while his long digits hit the perfect spot deep inside of you.

“Looks like the mouse got trapped.”

#nct hard hours #nct dream hard hours #nct dream smut #jeno hard hours #jisung hard hours

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

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Love You to Death

vampire!eddie munson x f!reader. 18+ only, because it’s 3.5k words and 95% smut. little bit of praise; blood; mutual blood drinking; blood kink. basically vampire eddie has sex with you in the bathroom at the harrington’s house on halloween - that’s it, that’s the plot. thank you @myosotisa for the beta read and your lovely, delicious suggestions, and @blue-mossbird and @fracturedarkness for the brainstorm sessions to tap into those sultry/ sexy vampire feels.

He’d been visibly hungry all night. Veins like little lightning bolts crawled down onto his cheekbones, shadows striking against pale skin. Those dark eyes of his scanned around the room, focused on the throb of the vein in a human’s neck he knew he could draw from to satisfy that animalistic craving…and yet he never would.

That was reserved for you—only you.

You, however, had a certain craving for something else. The two of you already showed up late after he wrecked you earlier that night before the party, fingers pumping hot and dirty into your center as he held your back flush against his chest, your shared bedroom filled with the sounds of your slick and the slow drag of your blood from your neck.

It wasn’t enough. The heady high of your blood letting had barely started to settle in, your neck only punctured just enough for your costume, a mere sampling of what he’d wanted to savor later. He’d promised as much; promised that once you got home he’d take his time with positively wrecking you. Images of your bodies twining conjured in your mind, thoughts of his teeth sinking into your flesh and your thoughts and minds becoming one. Intimate in a way you’d never be with anyone else but him.

But you were growing impatient with him.

And maybe you’d purposefully stared at him from across the room all night, your mind faraway even as the other guests at the party commented on how realistic Eddie’s and your costumes were, both of you dressed as creatures of the night. Him, wearing your blood on his lips and chin and you with his teeth marks in your flesh, dried droplets of blood clinging to skin. Him in his leather jacket and leather pants, chains flush against a dark tee shirt, those sharp fangs of his a mirror to the fake ones you’d worn in your own mouth, and you in your black shirt tucked within a bloodied plaid skirt, tights sliding against your thighs, hidden beneath the leather of your boots.

Maybe you’d pouted when he’d given Steve and Robin the attention you’d been craving from him for the duration of the party. Maybe you leaned into him near the snack table and, hidden from the eyes of your friends, slid a palm along the flesh of his abdomen, looking up at him with a delighted smirk on your lips that showed your false fangs when he jolted at your touch.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted exactly the same as you did.

You confirmed as much when his eyes had met yours as you passed that darkened hallway in the Harrington home, finger raising and curling in your direction. A ‘come hither’ you could only obey, body nearly melting into his as you tossed your fake teeth across the room and sunk into the shadows.

“Fuck. Couldn’t wait till we got home, could you, huh?” He lets out a delighted chuckle at your scowl. “You look so fuckin’ hot, baby.”

His voice is rough and gravelly, eyes impossibly wicked as they clash with yours in the dimly lit bathroom. The door slams behind you. Eddie’s barely able to lock the door before you’re on him once more, clutching at the leather of his jacket, lips claiming his own. It’s a wet slide of lips, teeth and skin. His broad arms come to wind around your hips as he walks you backward, hips bumping against the corner of the countertop.

“So fuckin’ pretty walking around with my bite marks on your neck,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you softly. A peck against skin as those dark eyes meet yours. “Knowing I put them there. Thinkin’ about how sweet you taste.”

Shaky fingers move to grip at his belt, the sound of tinkling metal greeting your ears. You fumble in your rush of desire, frustration building in the spaces between you as he hastily replaces your fingers with his own. It’s a swift shuffle of leather down his hips, material pooling messily at his ankles. He’s grabbing at the soft of your hips once again a moment later, and whirling you around to face the mirror behind you.

Your hands slap against the cool countertop, gasp breaking off into a moan as Eddie’s hips press flush against your ass, the heat of his need for you burning into warm flesh. You can feel the thick, hard outline of him through his boxers, shuddering breath breaking off into a pitiful mewl as he rocks into you and chuckles darkly.

His face curls over your shoulder to rest near your ear, voice practically a purr as he whispers, “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Want you to fuck me, Eddie. Been wanting you all night.”

And it’s true.

With his heightened senses he’s more attuned to you. At first, when he’d told you of his vampirism, it had understandably nerved you. But now there’s only the thrill in knowing he’s always eager to satisfy when your carnal hunger arises. Even now, even in the confines of this bathroom, he wastes no time in doing so.

Those dexterous hands you’ve seen strum away at countless Corroded Coffin concerts now clutch at your plaid skirt covered in fake blood, hiking it high up over your back. Your torso hinges forward when a warm hand comes to slide along the trail of your spine, and then lower still to cup the curve of your backside lovingly.

That hand drags downward, the bite of his ringed fingers warm as they grip tight around the flesh of your thigh, tugging you closer to him before tearing straight through the crotch of your tights. The whine you let out is pitiful, a softly broken thing, as his other hand comes to push aside your underwear to slide against the slick pooling between your thighs. You instinctively arch against him, head bowing low when a finger slides in to up the knuckle, drawing a slow circle into your center.

“So wet already, baby,” he murmurs, his other hand cupping your thigh tighter where it presently rests. “So needy for me all night. I could smell it on you. Wanted to get my mouth on you.”

“Don’t be—cruel.” Your words catch in your throat at the stretch of his second finger, heart hammering within your chest as you involuntarily clench around him. “You started this.”

“I guess I did.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice as those fingers slide free from you. “Gonna have to be quiet for me. Don’t want Harrington to come knocking on the door. Think you can do that?”

You nod your head frantically. “Ed, please.”

He’s grinning to himself over your shoulder in the reflective surface of the mirror, a little smug, fingers reaching up to tie his hair into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “Always so noisy for me, but you’ll be a good girl, won’t you?” The light catches on the dangling earrings in his ears, little skulls bobbing as he shifts closer to your form. Your thighs clench tighter, your head nodding rapidly, knowing his sole intent is now on making sure your toes crawl within your boots until you’re spent and the both of you sated.

You watch in the reflection as Eddie reaches down to free himself from his boxers, cock slapping up against his stomach. The fullness of your bottom lip pinches between your teeth, your chest heaving as his form shadows your own and he lines himself with your entrance, kissing your spine once, twice, wasting no time sliding in.

You both swear out on your joint exhale, the stretch of him even after all this time delicious. Those first few pumps of his hips against yours always snatch your breath free from your lungs, thighs quivering beneath the weight of the intensity of him inside you, full to the brim like it’s where he’s always meant to be.

Your head drops forward, mouth pressing against the sleeve of your sweater to muffle your sounds as he obliges your soft pleas of ‘faster, Eddie’ and roughly plunges into you from behind, the sound of your wetness soaking his cock and the lewd sounds of skin hitting skin filling the room. The booming bass downstairs does little to quiet those little moans that spill from your lips, plucked from you with each hard snap of his hips.

It’s almost cruel, really, when he stills suddenly. His mouth brushes your earlobe, his cock still pulsing inside of you, your impatience driving your ass back against him to seek that delicious drag of him within your inner walls. He tuts and curls his arm around your hips, freezing you in place, robbing you of the friction you so desperately crave. “Shh. Someone’s coming down the hall.”

His arm releases from around you, fingers trailing up along your abdomen, higher still across your breast, giving your flesh a soft squeeze, before those calloused fingers settle over your mouth. Your breath fans out, hot and frantic against his palm.

There’s suddenly a knock on the other side of the door, body rigid within the cage of Eddie’s arms as Nancy’s frustrated huff calls out, “Is anyone in there?”

Your cunt flutters around him, drawing a stuttered breath from the man behind you. Nervousness and a darker thrill of excitement pools in your belly at the prospect of being caught in such a compromising position, knowing exactly what they’d see if the door hadn’t already been locked. You, eyes blown out, cheeks flushed, skirt up indecently about your hips, and Eddie buried to the hilt within you, flush against your form.

Suddenly, and so very unexpectedly, Eddie’s hips start to move again, a slow roll up into you—into that elusive spot he’s become a master at finding, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your skull. He finally shouts, “Gonna need a bit, Nancy Drew. Harrington’s shitty food. You know the deal.”

“Eddie! I didn’t want to know!” She slaps her palm against the door. Your eyes pinch shut as Eddie’s free hand slides between your thighs, fingers rubbing slow circles into the sensitive bead of your clit. “Have you seen Y/n, by the way? Robin wanted her as a partner for beer pong. She asked me to ask you.”

The slow, torturous pace of his cock impossibly deep within you, paired with the brushing of his fingers against your clit has you biting into his hand hard—hard enough to puncture flesh. A dark, satisfied growl builds in his throat, palm pulling back enough to take you in, eyes blown out, his blood like rubies glistening on your lips. That growl only deepens as your eyes meet, hot and heavy, his eyes nearly black now. Your tongue slides hesitant across your bottom lip, mixing his blood with your spit; rich, viscous and earthy. Unusual, unfamiliar—and yet the forbiddenness of it, the utter sinfulness of him filling your mouth has heat traveling to your core, not unnoticed by your boyfriend. The corner of his lip curls into a devastating smirk at the sight, a flash of white teeth catching your gaze as he lowers his face toward yours, lips merely centimeters apart. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss that never comes. Instead, that often skillful tongue of his swipes a long line across your mouth, head tipping back to take in his work. Satisfied, he drags his thumb along the remnants of his blood on your bottom lip in a crude line down your chin.

Wild. You both look utterly wild, but it only heightens your arousal, drives your need for him to burn hotter.

There’s another knock at the door just as your hand reaches behind you to curl in his hair and tugs at his ponytail until his nose nudges at the corner of your ear. You can practically feel his grin unfurling against your skin, eyes pricking as his lips skirt lower, closer to your pulse point. He laves his tongue over your throat, knowing exactly what you want—what you need from him…what you’ve been aiming for from the moment you left your apartment earlier that evening.

He manages out, “Nance, a minute please?” against that place in your neck that pounds frantically against the surface, straining so violently you’re certain it might burst. He waits a moment before those elongated canines graze against your warmth.

“Fine! But if you see her, let her know she’s needed.” She’s silent for a moment, huffing out, “I thought you said you didn’t eat eat anymore!” He doesn’t, not always because it tastes like ash on his tongue, but he needs the excuse now.

You vaguely recognize the sound of footsteps trailing back from where she came down the hall. Once she’s gone, Eddie’s practically humming with need. A low sound builds in the back of his throat, a sinful purr that has your back arching against his chest, heart pounding as his pace shifts into something frantic. Nearly animalistic. Hips harsh and unyielding against your own, the fingers once circling your clit now moving to grapple your hip with an uncharacteristic disregard that you’re certain he’ll leave bruises for you to discover in the morning. The other palm moves back over your mouth, muffling your cries as he bullies your cunt.

“You liked that. My messy girl,” he murmurs, nudging one thigh to open you further to him, rutting mercilessly against that part of you that has you already seeing flashes of white behind your eyes. “Liked tasting my blood.”

It’s not a question. You did. You really did.

“Liked the thought of being caught by Nancy. I could feel you. Could practically taste it. Wanting our friends to know what we got up to—wanting them to know I fucked you over this counter while they’re only feet away from us.”

“I do,” you gasp out, desperately chasing that peak, wanting more, always more. “I do, Ed.”

“Wanted me to mark you right there while she was on the other side of the door.” His mouth trails lower down the side of your throat, nosing along the curve of your heated skin, your head moving to the side just enough to bare yourself to him fully. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

It’s no more than a breathy gasp that falls from you.

“Please, mark me.”

You whimper at the delightful drag of needle-point teeth dancing along flesh.

“Make me yours.”

It’s all you can muster as his teeth sink down, mouth closing over your pulse, and your head tips back against his chest.

Bloodletting, which had started as a way for him to feed while he was on tour and blood bags were limited, turned into something you both relished. The combination of his mind and essence lashing against your own, mingling in the spaces between each of your heartbeats was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before.

Even now, the groan he lets out on that first pull of your blood hits his tongue has your head spinning, his hand around your hip gripping you tighter if only to keep you tethered to the earth. Like this, with his mouth pulling your essence into him, and the sounds he makes deep within his chest as he drinks from you, your mind empties. There’s only you and him and the delicious warmth that oozes like honey into your blood system as you spill against his open mouth, your heart pounding in every inch of your body. It drives him to fuck into you harder; frenetic, fleshy smacks of his skin against yours, the feral rumbling from somewhere deep within him vibrating against your back, your pussy stuffed full of him, your wetness soaking his cock, those moist swallows of your liquid life fueling him.

It’s too much. Always too much, and still somehow never enough.

“Oh shit, Ed I’m—” You manage to gasp out, his hips moving in tandem with the slow tugs of your blood into his mouth, heat coiling in your belly, burning bright behind your eyes. “So close—fuckfuckfuck—”

His mouth pops free from your neck with an amused chuckle, teeth and chin stained dark red and full of you. His hand slides from your mouth and curls around your chin, dragging his nose down the line of yours, eyes locked on your own, lips nearly brushing yours and staining them red as he whispers, “Let go for me, sweetheart. Wanna watch you fall apart around my cock.”

You cum harder than you ever have with a loud cry that he fails to muffle. Stinging tears flood your eyes. Electricity dances to life along every nerve ending. And he’s falling out of rhythm as his own release races up to slam into him, mouth biting down at the juncture of your shoulder, canines piercing your skin, groans of ecstasy hot and heavy against your skin as he spills into you.

Your legs quiver from blood loss and remnants of your orgasm, body humming as he leans down to brush his lips softly against your shoulder, chest heaving hard against your back. He slides out of you gently, letting your skirt drop back down around your thighs, those solid arms of his turning you in a slow circle to help you settle down on the edge of the shower. He quickly tucks himself back into his boxers and tugs on his pants, his form dropping down in front of you once his belt is buckled. You smile softly at the palm that moves to slide up and along your thigh. This part, the drop that comes after, has you resting your forehead against his, smiling up at him through your hazy, unfocused gaze.

“There’s my girl,” he coos, thumb brushing at the corner of your lips. He parts from you briefly to grab a cup from the medicine cabinet, pouring tap water into the plastic container, before dropping down in front of you. Your fingers reach out to grasp, lips curling over the edge and sipping slowly. “Deep breaths. I didn’t take too much, did I?”

You shouldn’t want it. You know you shouldn’t. Shouldn’t want to know what you taste like against his lips. Shouldn’t want the messy, dirty slide of your blood mixing with his. Yet your hand curls around his neck all the same, dragging his mouth roughly against yours, tongues swirling together in a filthy tangle. While Eddie is rich and earthy, smokey and utterly decadent, you’re bitter and acrid, metallic and human. Yet he licks it up, licks into you like he could never get enough, well past when you both should be pushing your way out of the bathroom.

“I love you,” he purrs against your lips, giving them one last brush just as another knock sounds from the wooden door.

“Eddie, my dude, are you almost done? Gotta pee something fierce.” It’s Argyle this time.

Eddie helps you up onto wobbly feet. “Yeah, man. Be right out,” he says, unlocking the door. It swings open to reveal your newest friend in the group, his eyes widening at the sight of the two of you. “She came to check on me. Harrington’s food, am I right?”

Argyle’s hand raises to the general area of his face, palm circling around in front of him. “That blood looks real real, my dudes.”

You smirk, and Eddie catches it, that rumble in his chest vibrating against your shoulder where it brushes his. Eddie grins. “We wanted to make sure it looked as realistic as possible.” He pauses, looping an arm around your shoulders. “The porcelain throne is all yours, buddy.”

Argyle chuckles nervously and shifts past the two of you, your feet carrying you down into the main room where the party is still raging on. Steve and Robin catch your gaze as you appear at the bottom of the stairs, Steve commenting on your enhanced costumes as Robin sadly pouts when Eddie pats his stomach and says he wants to get home as soon as possible.

“Didn’t know you could… get sick,” Robin mutters under her breath, hugging him goodbye before coming to loop her arms around your neck and wish you well.

You bid the rest of your friends goodnight, passing curious onlookers trying to catch sight of the two oddly realistic vampire costumes as you make your way to the front door and into the fall air. Once buckled up inside Eddie’s van, his mouth dips back down to yours over the center console, fingers coming to curl around your thigh. “Can’t wait to get you home.”

You hum pleasantly, thumb dragging along his chin, along the dark, wine-colored droplets that are starting to dry against his skin. “And why might that be?”

“Because as soon as we walk in that door I want to make you fall apart against my mouth. Want to devour you.”

And oh does he. You didn’t think he could get more desperate to taste you, but something about having your blood mixed with your slick turns him into something else entirely. A something you’re all too happy to goad further—until you’re both panting, bloody, and utterly spent.

(my line of defense against readmore)

#eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagines #vampire!eddie munson x you #vampire!eddie munson x reader #vampire!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff

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rayroseu · 9 months

Text

💚Mallevan/Levanoa Headcanons (2/?)

PART 01 PART 02⬇️

you guys dont know how often i brainrot about these couple who never even talked in game yet KDJAKSK

Am glad to see that Levan's receiving the "Yuusona treatment" because of the various ways that twst artists draws him lolol

• • • Headcanon 2.

Malenoa is the strongest of the trio. Because she is a royalty, she is much more knowledgeable about magic— particularly if its related to dragons. Naturally, she became kind of like a magical tutor to both Levan and Lilia when they were children.

i really like the thought of eastern dragons in TWST🥰 its a nice foreshadow that Levan is a Long bcs thats Malleus' Halloween costume✨

(if its really like that,,,, im going to cry bcs that means Malleus dressed up like his papa who he never knew 💔😭)

(also I'm praying with all my heart he's not some plot twist jerk in game like King Stefan from Maleficent 1 😭)

I think dragons are rare on TWST not only because they're really particular on their mates but also because raising one is extremely high maintainance.

Its 1: life threatening to the caretaker, 2: needs constant attention and love, 3: once it grows up, you even need to withstand its tantrums and emotions (who are btw magically powered) 😭💥

That's why I think ??? there's limited knowledge about mediating their power (so they just get stuck in this cycle of being the strongest but that very strength can bring disaster bcs its uncontrollable)

Thus, I thought of Malenoa being Levan's friend who teaches him about controlling his draconic powers because Levan doesn't really want to accidentally harm others because of his uncontrollable strength--✨✨✨

I like to think its because of Levan's pacifist nature that Land of Briar chose to have war treatiest first instead of just crushing the Silver Owls through Malenoa's military strength. He's aware that killing off humans would just make them more hostile to faes in general, and I don't think both Malenoa and Levan wants Malleus to grow up in war once he hatches-

—

Levan's fire is purple because I remember getting surprised when Overblot Malleus used that on his attack despite Land of Briar/Malenoa (?) being "mainly green colored" all this time...

So, I think that's one magic he got from his father??? because most of his features already derives from Malenoa (horns, tail, magic (i think his green fire is from Malenoa), straight hair, etc)

The purple fire might've originate from Malleus' mastery of void magic (I hc their dorm spells' element are their forte magic and Dorm Malleus is double void card) but we've never seen void magic used like a fire... its usually like an energy beam right? I think it was so exciting when he attacked like that💜👆‼️✨ (I literally squealed lol its so pretty?? but I know I'll die from that lol)

I love the thought that Lilia is the "mom friend"/"sensible friend" of this trio... 😂 because he says hes the one constantly working for these couple... mostly to deal with their antics lol

plus Lilia is literally the sole person working for Levan and Malenoa to meet together right now---

since Levan's missing and Malenoa can’t really leave the castle since she’s guarding unhatched Malleus--- and its just a bad move to send the best queen on the frontlines when they can just send Lilia yk 😆

i hope we get more dragon egg lore and also specifically egg malleus reveal🙌🙌 like how do THEY take care of a dragon egg anyway.... do they put it on cradles as well like human babies??? or their parents will hold them since they require vast amount of love-

i'd used to think malleus backstory would be his child self being lonely (which in the future might??? but for now?? his backstory is literally just him being an egg and all of us are crying over an egg JDHJWJD 😭😭😭

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holylulusworld · 7 months

Text

Very tight places - Kinktober 3

Summary: You're stuck with a soulless Sam again.

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x fem!Reader

Square 8 filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Amnesia

Square 6 filled for @samwinchesterbingo: Dirty Talk

Warnings: soulless!Sam being his asshole self, cheating (kinda), smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mentions of anal sex, creampie, claustrophilia, blasphemie

Rating: Explicit

Kink: Claustrophilia

Words:

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Catch up here: Cramped (1) & Tight places (2)

Six months later you are still hunting with Dean and Sam. You didn’t want to leave the elder Winchester alone with his soulless brother.

Who are you trying to kid? The ugly and embarrassing truth is, that you can’t stay away from Sam for too long.

He’s intoxicating. You’re high on him, and the way he fucks you. If you had an ounce of dignity left, you’d tell the bastard to fuck off. But you are too far gone to care.

Most nights, you let him do unspeakable things to you. Dean stumbled in on you and his brother, calling you sick more than once. He wrinkles his nose anytime Sam gropes you in front of his brother.

Sam has no filter. In any way. When it comes to sex, he doesn’t care if you are in the middle of a case, at a hospital, or buying groceries. Sam wants you, and he gets you.

Anytime. Anywhere.

“Sam, what are we doing here, dressed in the cheapest costumes we could find,” you grumble as Sam decides you must play nun and priest to solve your latest case.

Dean is out and about to find Death. Not to die this time, but to convince Death himself to help him get Sam’s soul back.

Sam is not amused. He wants to stay like this. New and improved. Deadly, focused, and with a sexual appetite making even Dean blush.

“I look ridiculous. They will not believe I’m a nun.” Glancing around the almost empty church you sigh. At least there are not many people around to witness your poor performance.

“Why?” Sam resists the urge to grope your ass. Seeing you in your nun costume got him rock-hard. If not for the case he wants to solve, he’d have you bent over the altar already. “We look just the same as the priest I knocked out to get his clothes.”

“You did what?” you stop in your tracks to gape at Sam. “Please tell me you didn’t knock a priest out, Samuel Winchester. I don’t want to go to hell only because you have no impulse control.”

Sam smirks darkly. “You are so cute when mad,” he dips his head to whisper, “not so cute while you writhe on my fat cock. You’re a whore, not a saint. I know how you like it. Dirty and rough.”

“Sam, can you for once not think about your dick?” You growl. “We still need to find the monster killing the people at the church. Sadly, the only witness still suffers from amnesia.”

“That’s where you come in,” Sam purrs. “I didn’t want you to wear this iconic tunic only for fun. You are the one taking Sister Margaret’s place. You’ll fit in just fine.”

“I don’t want to play the next victim for the monster. Which by the way, you still didn’t identify, Sam. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent the last night at the bar with that blonde,” you snap at the hunter. You don’t give a shit if your blow your cover. Sam won’t get away with treating you like a random bitch he can fuck and leave afterward.

“Y/N, be honest with me,” he chuckles at your angry expression, “are you jealous because you are in love with me?“

“You wish,” you walk away, too angry to be around Sam today. Are you jealous? Of course, you are. Sam and you spent the last months together. Most of the time in the sheets. But last night, he told you to leave and didn’t return until early in the morning.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Sam mocks you. “I know you love me. You draw hearts and imagine walking down the aisle while I wait for you to give you the ring.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you turn back around to snap at Sam. “I can’t wait for Dean to get your soul back. The moment you have it back, I’m gone. Don’t believe I stuck around for you and your limp dick. I did it for Dean because he’s a good man. Always was.”

“You want my brother?” His features darken, and you can see the change in Sam’s eyes. You take a step back. You know the look in his eyes. It’s the same one you see when he’s about to attack a monster. “Well, too bad. He can’t have you.”

“He can have me if he wants me.” It’s your turn to pay Sam back for all the times you asked yourself if he’s with some other girl. “Just like you had that pretty little thing last night.”

Sam snorts. “She was boring and wanted to go on a date first.” He casually says. As if this excuses his behavior, and how he treated you last night. “Come. I show you something nice.”

“Sam, I’m not in the mood for one of your games. Let’s just solve this case and we can go our separate ways. I stuck around far longer than I intended to.” You huff as Sam once again, ignores your protests. He grabs you by your arm and drags you toward the confession booth.

“Sam! What are you doing?”

“Shush now, I saw someone,” he pushes you inside the booth and closes the door behind him. You gulp. You’re stuck in a tight place with Sam again. “Do you have your gun?”

“What kind of question is that Winchester? I’m not an idiot!”

“Good. Stay in here and wait for me,” he turns around to look at you. Something flashes in his eyes before he turns around to leave the booth. Not without telling you to lock it, though…

You’re gnawing at your nails. Sam left you at the confession booth half an hour ago, and now you don’t know if you left the booth to help him or not.

You press your ear to the door, listening to your breathing. There is not a sound, and you wonder if Sam messed with you and just left the church.

“Open the door,” Sam knocks at the door, “now.”

“Fuck, Winchester,” you curse, but unlock the door to drag Sam inside. He closes it behind him once again and releases an annoyed huff as you check him for injuries.

“You can't wait to put your hands on me again, huh?” Sam turns around to look you up and down. “You know,” he licks his lips. His large hands shoot toward your face to cradle it for a moment, “I think you should confess your sins to me, my dear.”

“I said I’m not in the mood for one of your games,” you pout and cross your arms over your chest. “Why did you leave me in here, all alone? Did you find the monster?”

“I fucked the nuns and gave them a good spanking,” Sam deadpans. “What do you think I did? I kept you safe. The monster wasn’t here. We will find them, though.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“And you are still my whore. My brother can’t have you,” he moves his hand to your throat. “Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish I would,” he chuckles as you claw at the hand holding your throat in a tight grip. “OR maybe I should remind you of your worth. Turn around, lift your tunic, sister. I want to see your cunt.”

“No.”

“Do it or I swear I’ll drag you out of here and fuck you on the altar like I wanted to,” he warns. You know Sam is not joking. If you don’t do as he says, he’ll drag you out and have his way with you on the altar.

He drops his hand from your throat, smirking as you slowly turn around. You shove the black tunic up your body to reveal your ass to him.

“I hate you so much.”

“No panties,” Sam moves his hand between your legs to find you dripping for him. “you’re such a whore for me. I can’t believe I found someone like you.”

You should knee his balls and just leave him there. Instead, you press your hands against the wooden wall and brace yourself for Sam’s massive cock. He’s not a fan of foreplay when he’s like that.

“My whore.” He runs his large hand over your back, down to your ass. “Look at you, ready to have my cock. I think I’ll go for your ass today.”

You suck in a breath. It’s always a struggle to take him up your ass. Especially when he’s impatient.

“Here?”

“Aw, my little cockslut loves having me up her ass, huh?” His pants drop to the ground before you can even choke out a moan. Sam is on you in a blink. One hand moves between your legs to slap your pussy. “Answer me!”

“YES!”

“Louder!”

“I love your cock up my ass,” he slaps your pussylips again, and again until your tender flesh throbs and you soak his hand. “I want to feel it all the time.”

“Beg me,” he slings his arm around your throat. “Y/N, I’m not asking,” Sam growls in your ear. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please give me your cock, Father Winchester,” he bends your body to his will and rams himself inside of your leaking cunt.

“Fuck,” Sam is not gentle. All he gives you is his free hand between your legs to toy with your clit. He snaps his hips into your ass, making you cry out with every deep thrust. “I love it when cry a little.”

“Ass-hole,” you press your hands hard against the wooden wall. “I hate you so much.”

Sam doesn’t care about your words, or that you soak his cock only a few thrusts later. He batters your cunt, hoping to force another orgasm out of you to make you see that only he can fulfill your desires.

“You make the sweetest noises when I fuck you,” he nips at your earlobe, teeth sinking in your flesh to tug at it. You moan and push back onto him. Sam knows exactly which buttons he must push to get what he wants. “I’m going to fill this cunt up again.”

You hiss his name when your body sizes up. You tremble in his arms and close your eyes as your orgasm washes over you. When he fucks you like this, from behind you can pretend it’s the real Sam, not the broken version of the hunter.

“You’re such a good slut for me, Y/N. I’ll never let you go,” his words a more threat than a promise. His hips begin to stutter. “Open that pussy for me, take my cum…”

You don’t know how you made it out of the church without getting caught. Sam’s cum ran down your thighs as he dragged you out of the place you stained with your sins.

Back at the motel, you try to make him talk to you. Sam sits across you, just staring at you.

“Sam, we still need to find the monster.” You sigh as he ignores you. “SAM! The monster.”

“It was a hoax,” he shrugs and drops his eyes to your legs. “I wanted to fuck you at a church in a confession booth.”

“There is no monster?” Your jaw drops. “You drove to the middle of nowhere, and forced me to wear a nun costume only for sex.”

“Roleplay, kitten. It’s essential to keep my dick hard.” He watches you squirm on the bed. “Be good and spread your legs. Let me see your tainted cunt.”

“Sam…can you just not be so crass all the time?”

“I said,” he gets up from his seat to stand in front of your bed, “spread your legs and show me your well-fucked and cum stained cunt.”

“Fine,” you fall back onto the bed and spread your legs. “Satisfied.”

“Hmm…I don’t know,” he unbuckles his belt with one hand and shoves his pants down his legs. “I think you need more cum in your pussy…”

“Please tell me you got him out,” Dean looks at Death.

“I got his soul, and we should hurry but,” Death looks Dean straight in the eyes, “I must warn you. This soul got ripped apart, and there is not much left of the brother you knew…

#sam winchester #anyfandomgoesbingo #samwinchesterbingo #soulless sam #sam winchester smut #soulless!sam #smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #kinktober vs flufftober 2023

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noxturnalpascal · 3 months

Text

I Said I Wouldn’t Hook-up With Him, Then I Did Again

Dieter Bravo x F!Actor!Reader (WC: 1636)

A/N: Write a story based on the moodboard made by @iamasaddie ‘s random pinterest pics.

Summary: If you hook up with your ex (and co-actor), Dieter Bravo, you have to put $5 in the jar. Well shit...... we might have to tell the driver to stop at an ATM.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ only please, Sex (Unprotected PiV), Mention of: previous sex (PiV and Oral F!rec), previous biting (and breaking of skin causing a scar), previous illegal drug use, previous sex with another woman (not described), getting high, sex toys.

🫙

“I’m not gonna fuck him.”

That’s what you’d said. Ten hours ago when Lily, your stylist, had plopped down the jar on the counter in front of the mirror. You’d said you weren’t gonna fuck him. Definitely not, you’d tacked on. You vaguely remember she might have rolled her eyes at that. She brought out the jar every time either of you were in close proximity with one of your big-bad-exes, to avoid the temptation of entanglement.

You know the ones, the exes you were desperate to hear from but determined to avoid. Bad news time and time again, never meeting your (very) low expectations and somehow always finding new ways to disappoint you. You started the jar to hold each other accountable, making sure $5 went into the jar any time that either of you texted, called, or fell into bed with the ex.

Although, ex was a loose term, as you don’t think yours was ever more than a casual hookup played on repeat. Grabbing hands, scraping stubble, a huff of breath that smells like cigarettes and cinnamon gum. Your co-star, Dieter Bravo. Sometimes drunk, sometimes high, sometimes both. Never sober. Always on-set, still half in costume and makeup. Always teetering on the edge of getting caught, of ruining your reputation, of solidifying his.

It was disgusting. You were disgusted with yourself every time it happened. You’re disgusted with yourself right now, as you sit on his lap in the back of your towncar home. He drags his hand under your shirt and up your ribcage, cold rings against your skin sending goosebumps across your chest, hardening your nipples. You feel his lips on your throat, teeth scraping but not leaving marks, suddenly extremely aware of your own arousal collecting in your underwear. Your own body is betraying you. Rude.

“Goddamnit,” you huff, defeated.

He pushes his other hand up your thigh, lifting your skirt up to your waist. He knows he’s won. He always does. Without a word you untie the drawstring on his pants, of course he’d be wearing pajama pants, Dieter fucking Bravo… probably doesn’t even own jeans. You reach inside and wrap your hand around him, rock hard and velvety smooth. No underwear, obviously… you already knew he doesn’t own any of those.

“Easy access,” he says, as if reading your mind.

But then you look down and realize he’s talking about you. Fuck. You wore a skirt to work today. Now why would you have done that? You’re sure it’s not because one time, on the hood of a stunt car in a mostly-abandoned backlot in Burbank, he told you that your legs drove him fucking crazy right before he pushed them apart and dove face-first into your wet, waiting pussy. No, that couldn’t have been it.

He runs a finger along the inside of your thigh and sticks it in the side of the gusset of your panties. He moves his hand down so the back of his knuckle drags along your slit, giving away how wet you already are for him. You hear him hum, mmmmmm, and then giggle. Fucking giggle? He must be high already. He curls his finger, drawing the fabric in the crook of it and pulling it to the side.

“You gonna keep teasing me, or you gonna put it in?”

“Teasing you? Who is teasing you?” You shift yourself up on your knees, knocking against the headliner in the cramped backseat.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby. With your blonde hair and those pouty lips.”

“The hair was a wig Dee, you know that.” You line him up slowly at your entrance.

“It still looked good. And your lips? Those are new.”

“They’re not new lips, I just got some filler, it’s not a big deal.” You slowly start to sink down on his thick length.

“Well if you want people to imagine those full lips around their cocks, you’ve done a good job.”

Jesus Christ, you mutter simultaneously, for different reasons. You’re rocking your hips up and down, coating him with your wetness to ease the stretch of him pushing into you. You hear whispers about his dick in nearly every ladies’ room you go into in this town. His length is average, satisfying but not newsworthy, but his girth is massive. And even though you’ve taken it plenty of times before, you struggle every single time.

His large hands find your hips, fingers spreading back to cover your bare ass. Obviously you wore the thong so you wouldn’t have panty lines in your clingy cotton dress. It has nothing to do with the fact that once, while shooting in Wales, he went so insane with lust that he bit your ass and broke skin, leaving a tiny tooth-shaped scar that he likes to run his tongue over every time you hook up. Nope, it has nothing to do with that at all.

You finally get all of him inside of you, the sting of the stretch pushed to the back of your mind by the overwhelming fullness of him. God he’s so fucking big and you think you must say it outloud because you hear him groaning yeahhh into your neck. He squeezes you where his hands are gripping, encouraging you to move on him and then helps guide you back and forth on his lap.

You look down at his face, and realize he’s still wearing the sunglasses from set, his hair still gelled in the style of his character, with a little curl looped down onto his forehead. Come here, he says and you obey, bringing your mouth to his, tangling tongues and sharing spit. He passes you his gum and you try to give it back but then he pulls off your mouth to moan fuck yeahhh.

He moves one hand to the front of your top, yanking it down to expose your nipples. Okay if you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t think of a good reason why you didn’t wear a bra today. You know you had one in your hands at one point but then there was a memory that flashed through your mind. A memory of Dieter snorting a line off a table - a mixture of cocaine and viagra, literally ripping your brand new French-made underwear set to pieces, and fucking you on every surface of your trailer during a 3-hour weather delay in British Columbia.

You guess ‘not wanting it to be destroyed’ was a good reason not to wear a bra, right? But you definitely weren’t going to fuck him, so why would it matter? He’s dragging his tongue all around one nipple and when he switches to the other side you feel the remnants of his spicy gum as a light burning sensation heating your pebbled nub. You don’t have much time to think about if it’s good or too much because suddenly he’s biting the other nipple, hard, causing you to cry out.

“Sorry baby, sorry,” he stammers. “I just got excited.”

His hands on your hips help you find your rhythm once again, slamming his cock into your fucked-out pussy over and over. You lean back and brace your hands on his knees and he uses the opportunity to bring a hand forward and run his thumb along his length, soaking wet where it repeatedly disappears into you. He strokes upward until he’s rubbing his thumb along you instead, at the apex of where he splits you, right over your hooded clit.

“Missed this,” he whispers so softly, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself.

“I think you got plenty of this on your last job,” you manage to sound both snarky and uninterested, despite the increasing pressure of him petting at your sensitive, swollen bundle.

“Oh you think?”

“That’s what I heard. You and that Swedish girl, the new one, Ingrid whats-her-name?”

“Nooooo,” he moves his thumb faster. “She’s Norwegian.”

“Whatever,” you struggle to focus, “I don’t even-”

“Don’t be jealous baby," he purrs. "No one takes my cock like you do."

Fuck. Why is that working? Why does it feel so good?

It always feels so fucking good.

“I think I’m gonna-” you start.

“Come,” he finishes.

And when you do, your orgasm rips through you, making your vision go out, shaking your legs, and stuttering your hips. His hands go back to your side, helping to bounce you for a few more thrusts before he yanks you off of him, finishing all over his own flannel pants and the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt. He wraps his cardigan around himself, covering up the mess on his front and pops another stick of red gum into his mouth, looking at you across the bench seat.

“Wanna come in? We can order a pizza, get high, and then fuck again later. I got this new toy th-”

“What are you talking about Dieter, this is my house?” He gives you a look, and you open the dark-tinted window to see that instead of being in your own driveway, you’re parked in front of an unfamiliar home. “The fuck… I thought this car was supposed to be taking me home.”

“Well it was, but then I slipped the driver two hundred bucks so he’d bring us here instead. And also so he wouldn’t take any pictures of your ass.”

“You wouldn’t have had to pay him not to take pictures of my ass if you wouldn’t have snuck into my car as I was leaving work.”

“Yeah but it was fun, right?” He peers at you over his sunglasses. “C’mon,” he holds out his hand.

---

The next morning you get to work and, avoiding Lily’s gaze, you take a handful of $5 bills out of your pocket and silently drop them into the jar.

💵

🫙

#iamasaddie prompt #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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whatitshouldvebeen · 5 months

Text

Scream Three Times

[Part 1/2] [Part 2/2 (smut)]

Synopsis: You didn't think you had a chance at Billy or Stu's affection, but one night at Stu's Halloween party proves otherwise.

Pairing: MMF Ghostface (Billy Loomis & Stu Macher) x reader

Word count: 2,852

Warnings: None so far

Thanks to the surge of murders in your hometown of Woodsboro and the newly enforced curfew, your mom spared you from your usual duty of accompanying your younger sibling for trick-or-treating around the neighborhood.

Your best friend, Jenna, invited you at the last minute to Stu Macher's Halloween party instead. However, her excitement waned when you stumbled upon an old Ghostface mask in the closet and answered the door wearing it.

"It's in really poor taste," Jenna said, crossing her arms over her nearly exposed chest. She was wearing a skimpy cheerleader outfit, likely to appease her new boyfriend, Anders.

"Well, it isn't like Ghostface wears skirts, fishnet tights, and knee-high boots. I think she's safe from being mistaken for the killer," Anders commented, his dark eyes appraising you. Your response was a scrunched nose and a disdainful glare he couldn't see past your mask.

Anders—the latest object of your best friend's affection—attempted to pull off the dark-haired, leather jacket bad boy look. But you easily saw through it. He was nothing more than a tool.

However, Jenna made you promise to be nice, so you refrained from telling him off for ogling you. You wrapped your dark robe around your cut-off black top sporting cute little glow-in-the-dark ghosts before following Jenna to her boyfriend's truck and climbing into the back seat.

The gathering was taking place at Stu's big farmhouse, and plenty of people were coming, so it did seem like the safest place to be. When you arrived, you hopped out and followed Jenna and Anders up the front porch.

"Well, hey there." Stu's delighted grin greeted you at the door as he held it open. "Great costume."

"Thanks, Stu," you replied, grateful that the mask concealed your flustered expression. He was wearing a velvety red robe over a beige sweater, but it was always his smile that he wore best.

Though you were aware of Stu's relationship with Tatum, you couldn't deny the magnetic draw of his outgoing personality. Still, you weren't the type to go after other girls' men.

Because if you were the type to tread that path, Billy Loomis's bed might have been your destination. Poor Sidney had to have some idea how much of a player her boyfriend was, but she was unaware of the fact Billy had come onto you on more than one occasion. Resolute in avoiding the same bad-boy trap your best friend fell into, you steered clear.

Squeezing past Stu, whose blue eyes shamelessly traced your every move, you navigated into the party. While Jenna and Anders settled on the couch for the scary movie marathon, you made your way to the kitchen to get some beers.

With your back to the room, you heard your name and spun around, coming face to face with Stu.

"I knew that was you under that costume. Damn, you look really cute," he said, his eyes lighting up as he bit his lip.

Ducking your head slightly, a nervous giggle escaped as you thanked him.

"Whassamatter?" Stu leaned in so close that your black mesh-shrouded vision was consumed by him. "You gettin' flustered, girly?"

Shoving him back with a hand still clutching a beer, you playfully muttered, "Quit it, Stu. You have a girlfriend."

"Yeah? And what if I told you I'm planning on leaving her for you?" he said in a low tone, capturing your hand on his chest. His head dipped, and piercing eyes seemingly locked onto yours through the mask.

"Uh-" Your mouth went dry, and your thoughts scattered into the far corners of your mind.

Fuck. A little flirting and you could already feel your body heating up. Stu would leave his girlfriend for you? You hated the fact your thoughts were already consumed with the idea of stealing another girl's man.

But was it really stealing when he suggested it? Attempting to maintain the façade of a good, mostly innocent girl, you grappled with the growing heat in your core.

"There you are!" Tatum's voice cut through your brain fog.

"Thanks," Stu said, taking the beer from your hand and winking before turning to face his girlfriend, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and leading her back toward the living room. He glanced over his shoulder before disappearing from view, blowing a kiss.

You grabbed the last beer in the fridge and reentered the living room, passing two bottles to your best friend on the packed couch and opening one for yourself before settling on the armchair in the only available seat, beside Tatum. There were at least twenty people sitting around the TV, which was playing the movie 'Halloween,' but the moment you felt the back of the chair settle, the only thing you could focus on was the warmth of Stu's body radiating from behind you.

His girlfriend was beside you, but she knew how Stu was. She didn't think anything of it when he set his arm—still holding the beer—around your shoulder. Your breath caught. Your best friend shot you a look, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. The tension between you and Stu was building, and you weren't sure how much more you could take.

"You're lucky Sidney couldn't make it," Tatum said from beside you, gesturing to your mask. "You and the others would have scared her shitless. Honestly, it's pretty rude."

You were about to respond when Stu interjected.

"Don't be a bitch, Tatum," he chided. "It's my party, and I'm not gonna enforce a dress code because Sydney is paranoid."

The doorbell rang, and Stu yelled, "I'll get it!" before unceremoniously falling off the back of the chair and popping his head up over the back. "Yo, babe, mind getting us some more beer?" He handed her his empty bottle with a charming smile.

She huffed. "What am I, a beer wench?" Despite her complaint, as Stu headed for the door, she stood up and left for the garage, leaving you alone on the armchair.

Stu returned shortly, Gail Weathers and Deputy Dewey in tow. You glanced down at your almost empty beer worriedly before Dewey waved it off. "Nah, I'm not gonna bust you guys for having fun."

Gail stood suspiciously by the TV before going back to Dewey, her best reporter smile plastered on her face. Stu approached the armchair and plopped down beside you, grinning. You wanted to reprimand him for the way he cuddled up next to you when his girlfriend could be back any minute, but Stu was known for being touchy-feely, and no one said anything when he wrapped his arm around you with an exaggerated sigh of contentment.

You immersed yourself in the remainder of the movie, nestled against Stu's side, momentarily forgetting Tatum as you tried to quell the racing beat of your heart. As the credits rolled, another knock echoed through the door. Stu gently brushed your hair with his hand before standing and answering it.

"Has anyone seen Tatum?" You heard Dewey ask. You shrugged, still collecting your things.

Jenna approached you, looking suspicious. "Did you only agree to come cause you think Stu's hot?"

"What?" You acted like you had no idea what she was talking about, but she saw right through you.

"You two were so cuddled up I thought you'd climb onto his lap and start making out any second," she said. "He's taken, you know."

"Not for much longer," you said.

She shoved your arm. "No way?" She whisper-yelled, her eyes growing wide.

You shrugged. "He said he was going to leave his girlfriend for me. They're over with."

"Shit," she muttered, rubbing her arm. "Then… Well, congrats, I guess. I can't judge. Anders left his girlfriend for me."

"Girlfriends, you mean?" You said, your lip curling. Anders had been dating two girls and Jenna before he finally "settled" on her, but not before sleeping with all the girls to 'see if they were compatible'. This fucker was playing games with your best friend, and you never trusted him for a second.

"Speaking of Anders, where is he?" You asked, trying to change the subject before she could start defending him.

Jenna looked over her shoulder. "I dunno. I'll go find him. Wait for me?" She said, to which you nodded. You kept your mask in hand and approached the front door, spotting Stu talking to Billy.

"Is Sydney here?" Billy asked Stu, who shook his head. "Fuck. Well, at least she wasn't here to kill the party. She's such a drag nowadays."

You figured Billy was not the type to dress up for Halloween, and you were correct; he was wearing a plain white shirt with a blue plaid dress shirt.

Billy's eyes slid to you as the rest of the partygoers filtered out around him. "You didn't tell me she was coming," he said to Stu, shoving his chest and stepping through the doorway.

"Ow! Jesus! I didn't know she was coming, I thought she had to babysit!" Stu griped, holding his chest with an affronted expression. Billy ignored him, coming to a stop in front of you.

His dark eyes glinted behind strands of black hair as he looked over your costume, grinning when he spotted the mask gripped on your hand. "Not worried that the killer is gonna get ya for stealing his look?" He teased.

"The killer could be a girl," you countered.

"You think so? Is it you?" He inquired, his smile growing as he leaned closer, enjoying the way you flustered under his gaze.

You shook your head. "No way. I'd pick different targets if I were to kill people."

"Yeah? Like who?" Stu asked, peeking over Billy's shoulder.

You thought for a moment. "I dunno, maybe someone like… Gail Weathers?" You said. "I can't think of someone I'd be happier to see gone than her."

Stu giggled, and Billy nodded thoughtfully. "That's a good one."

"She was here with Dewey earlier," Stu said offhandedly.

"Dewey was here?" Billy said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yup. Guess they're amping up security." Stu makes an exaggerated shocked face from behind Billy, causing you to laugh.

"What the fuck!" You heard Jenna yell from the back yard. Billy, Stu, and yourself all whipped to attention, and headed for the back door. Not wanting to reveal yourselves yet, you peeked around the corner, with Billy over your shoulder, and Stu leaning over him.

What you saw was Jenna with her hands on her hips, looking out onto the porch at her boyfriend with a very drunk girl still hanging off his arm despite his efforts to loose her from his bicep.

"It's not what you think!" Anders said, finally shoving the girl away. "She came onto me!"

"And you had your hand down her pants to what? Help her find her keys?" Jenna scoffed, then threw the rest of her drink at him. A sopping wet Anders continued to appeal to Jenna, but she wasn't having it. "Just get out of here," she spat, pushing Anders's soaked chest until he gave up and retreated around the side of the house, the drunk girl following him.

"What's going on here?" Dewey asked from behind you and the boys, making you all jump.

"Jenna found Anders knuckle-deep in another girl," Billy said with a wry grin.

"Shit," Dewey said under his breath, leaving the group and heading to Jenna. You broke off from the boys and followed him.

"You okay, Jenna?" Dewey asked, snapping her attention to him.

"I'm fine," she growled, clearly not. Her eyes flicked to you. "There you are," Jenna said, grabbing your arm. "I don't want to be here another second. Let's go home," she said.

"Wait, before you go, has anyone seen Tatum?" Dewey asked.

"She was a lil upset when I broke up with her," Stu said, shrugging. "I think she left."

Dewey gave Stu a confused look. "What? You broke up?"

Stu shrugged. "Yeah. I realized I have feelings for someone else. It wasn't her fault, I just didn't want to break her heart," he said, his eyes drifting to you.

You heard a truck start up and peel off the asphalt.

"Fuck," Jenna groaned. "I don't have a way home, we came here with Anders."

"That's alright. I can take you home," Dewey offered. "You need a ride too?" He asked, turning to you.

"I can take her home, officer," Stu offered.

"Uh…" You bit your lip and looked at your best friend, at Stu, then Billy. You didn't want to leave Jenna if she needed you, but Stu had been working you up all night, and now that you knew he was single, you didn't really want to go.

Mercifully, Jenna caught on. "It's fine. Stu, you take good care of her okay?" She said, to which Stu gave a thumbs up, nodding enthusiastically.

"Alright, I'll drive you home. You'll call me if Tatum turns up, right?" Dewey asked, still sounding worried.

"Scouts honor," Stu said, his hand over his heart.

Dewey and Jenna went to the front, and Billy closed the door behind them before turning to face you. The partygoers were all gone by now, leaving you alone in the house with Billy and Stu.

"So. Stu, huh?" Billy said, stepping closer to you.

You nodded a little, unable to meet his eyes.

"What makes him better than me?" Billy asked, pouting.

"Everything," Stu interjected, wrapping an arm around your waist with a smug look.

You laughed. "Well, for one, he broke up with his girlfriend."

"Is that all it takes?" Billy tilted your chin up and captured your gaze. "Consider it done," Billy said, a dark intensity in his eyes.

"What?" You loosed a nervous laugh, unsure if he was fucking with you. Your eyes flicked to Stu, who's nostrils flared.

"Hey! You knew I wanted to date her for months, now you're gonna try to swoop in and take her from me? Not gonna happen, bro." Stu pulled you possessively against his side.

Billy looked back at you. "Why don't we let her decide? After all, you haven't officially asked her out yet anyway, right?"

Stu rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Well, no, but I was gonna-"

"Then she's free to pick between us," Billy said, crossing his arms and waiting expectantly. Stu kept his hold on your waist, but watched you with anticipation.

You felt a wave of uncertainty wash over you. You'd been drawn to both of them at different points in your life, but you never expected that you'd get a chance with either of them. You chewed on your bottom lip anxiously.

"Poor baby," Billy said with a pout. "We're putting too much pressure on you, huh? You need help making your decision?"

He stepped closer while Stu watched him with curiosity, still holding onto you. You shrunk under Billy's scrutiny, warmth pooling in your core.

"I know," Billy said, taking a step back and clapping his hands. "Whichever of us fucks you better gets to keep you."

"Ooh," Stu said gleefully, squeezing your side.

Your heart skipped a beat. "W-what?"

Billy chuckled. "Don't act innocent. I can tell you want it."

You blinked rapidly, your eyes flicking to your feet. You did want it, but you were not prepared to be in this situation whatsoever.

"Don't worry, I've got a way better dick," Stu said proudly. "You'll definitely be mine by the end of the night."

"Longer doesn't equate better," Billy scoffed. "I'll prove it."

Your face was on fire, and your hands were trembling as you wrung them. You couldn't believe the situation you'd gotten yourself into.

"Aww, she's nervous," Stu said, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly. "It's alright babe, if you don't want to you don't have to."

Billy shrugged. "Don't worry about it, I just thought it'd be fun."

You took a deep breath, finally mustering the courage to speak, though your voice trembled. "It would be fun," you admitted. "But… won't you both think I'm a slut?"

Stu snorted. "If you plan to date either of us, and we both are cool with it, then you're no more of a slut than anyone who participates in a threesome."

"Besides," Billy said, "sluts can be hot, especially when they're trustworthy." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "We can trust you, can't we?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded.

Stu beamed. "Fuck yeah," he said, pulling Billy in with his other arm. "You wanna go to my room, or my parents? My parents bed is bigger, but my room has a better vibe-"

"Your room smells like weed," Billy griped.

"Duh," Stu said, giving Billy an incredulous look. "That's part of the vibe."

"Your parents room, maybe?" You offered, still feeling some trepidation.

"Cool, let's go!" Stu said, letting go of you both and turning toward the stairs, tripping up them in his rush to lead the way. Billy sighed and held out his arm, gesturing for you to go before him. When you reached the top of the stairs, Stu had opened the door, and bowed exaggeratingly low. "Ladies first."

#ghostface #ghostface x reader #stu macher #billy loomis #ghostface x y/n #ghostface x you #scream #slasher x reader #halloween

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thefreakandthehair · 6 months

Text

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 30th: Costumes | Children of the Grave - Black Sabbath | Loyal [1.9k, rated T] read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

“No, no, no, no—” Gareth protests, ducking the Donkey costume mask that Eddie tosses his way backstage. “Not again! Dude, that thing smells like having a condom over your face and it’s impossible to drum in. I’m not doing it this year. No way. Someone else is taking one for the team this time.”

Eddie cackles, trying not to cry with laughter and smudge his green face paint. “Decide amongst yourselves then, but someone is wearing it. We’ve gotta commit.”

Jeff snorts and shakes his head. “No chance, why can’t someone be like, Fiona or something?”

“We need Donkey! He’s crucial to the story!” Eddie rolls his eyes and walks over to grab the mask. “Okay, circle up. We’re gonna Rock, Paper, Scissors this. On my count.”

The rest of the band huddles around and Eddie counts to three. Gareth throws rock and celebrates as Frank and Jeff both throw scissors.

“Redemption!” He celebrates as Eddie counts Frank and Jeff in for three.

In the end, Frank gets stuck with the Donkey costume, Jeff reprises his Pinocchio costume, and Gareth steals Farquaad out from under Frank in the Rock, Paper, Scissors coup. No one is particularly happy, but Eddie doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care because Shrek Night is his favorite show of the year. Since its inception a few years earlier, entirely by accident when Eddie was forced to perform as Shrek as a dare, it’s become something of a cult classic among Corroded Coffin fans. The last show they play before Halloween is a costume night, and the fans have taken to the theme like, well, like an ogre to mud.

There’s something incredibly special about screaming the lyrics to their latest hit while a sea of Shreks and Gingys and Fionas scream along with him.

And tonight is no different.

—

“Shreddie! Shreddie! Shreddie!”

The crowd roars to life as the group takes the stage, waddling in costumes and maybe a little itchy from body paint and latex masks.

“Give it up for Donkey on the bass!” Eddie shouts, pointing to Frank. He gives his best, saddest wave.

“Give it up for Pinocchio on the guitar!” He yells again as Jeff hammers a riff in response and grins in his fedora and suspenders.

“And last but certainly not least, give it up for Lord Farquaad on the drums!” Gareth drums a little rimshot as the hat pokes out over the top of his high hat. How he plans on drumming the whole night crouched on his knees is beyond Eddie, but ultimately not up to him.

The crowd goes insane, as usual, and Eddie takes a second to soak it all in, to glance over the various costumes before everyone melds into one collective unit of chaos. Fairy Godmothers, and Donkeys, and Fionas as far as the eye can see. He even spots a Puss in Boots in the front of the pit, standing next to a very attractive Gingy.

He doesn’t have time to assess the life choices that lead him to have that particular thought though, because Gareth starts counting them in.

—

Their originals are hits, of course, as are the covers. After all, it wouldn’t be a true Shrek Night without at least a couple of songs from the famed movies.

“And then I saw her face!” He shrieks, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “Now I’m a believer!”

He runs around the stage, careful not to lose the microphone (again) as Jeff, Gareth, and Frank pound away at the melody. As the song comes to a close, Eddie slides on his knees, hardly protected by the cheap beige pants from Walmart, to the edge of the stage.

“Not a trace! Of doubt in my mind! I’m a believer!” He sings, drawing out the final note.

Chants and applause follow him up and he falls to his back, guitar over his chest, pounding his feet and fists on the stage as he catches his breath. Green paint melts from his forehead and when he brushes his hair back, he pulls his fingers away to see shades of ogre paint that’s surely made its way into his hairline.

Before he can stand, Gareth shouts into his microphone, presumably to give Eddie another second or two. It’s no secret that I’m A Believer is high octane.

“Do you know…” Gareth pauses for effect before shouting. “The muffin man?”

Before the crowd yells out together, jumbled and out of sync, a faux high-pitched voice rings out surprisingly close to Eddie’s feet.

“The muffin man!”

He sits up and spots him: the hot Gingy he’d noticed earlier, laughing with a scrunched up nose, leaning on his friend’s shoulder.

Oh, fuck me, Eddie thinks. He’s adorable.

It’s usually the other way around: Eddie being ogled by a fan in the front row, staring up at him like he’s something to eat, like he’s prey. Ignoring them is easy enough, typically appeased with just a smile or a wink to carry with them forever, but this guy? The one with the fuzzy brown onesie with purple button and white, pretend icing lining the legs and waist? Well, Eddie’s never actually wanted a fan in the front row to look at him until now.

So he scoots to the end of the stage, legs dangling over the edge, and steals Gareth’s line. Grinning down at the guy pressed to the railing, he screeches. “The muffin man!”

Gingy’s friend, known only to him at this point as Puss in Boots, elbows him hard in the ribs and he looks up to see Eddie staring right at him, crooked grin, and in hindsight, probably a bit more unhinged than planned.

His friend looks back and forth between them, disbelief in the shape of her mouth and furrowed forehead, but it seems to work because Gingy returns the smile and has the audacity to wink at him.

Eddie raises his green brows towards his hairline and nods appreciatively. The barricade isn’t far from the edge of the stage, close enough for Eddie to leave the microphone to the side and ask Gingy and his friend to hang back after the show.

—

After one crowdsurfing escapade from Jeff, one quip into the microphone from Gareth about how he now understands why Farquaad is always so cranky, and few more of the originals peppered with All Star and Bad Reputation covers, Corroded Coffin takes an awkward but well-deserved bow. The crowd cheers for more, even after their encore, but eventually filter out through the venue’s exit doors, flooding the parking lots and nearby streets with Shrek characters.

Eddie’s sure the local bars are having a blast.

The only fans left are Gingy and Puss in Boots, who Eddie desperately needs the real names of before his thoughts turn into a troubling Shrek fanfiction. With a quick word to their manager, Chrissy, he makes sure they won’t leave before he comes back with a plan— a very weird, very niche plan that he hopes works on the presumably dorky, albeit confident, man in the fuzzy onesie.

Her wings bump him in the shoulder and remind him that she truly is his Fairy Godmother.

“Eddie,” Jeff deadpans as he plops his prop fedora on the backstage table and unfastens the buttons of his suspenders. “Are you really about to go hit on a fan? Dressed as Shrek? With an onion?”

“Do you have a better idea?” He whirls on him, a lone onion from a backstage fridge somewhere in one hand and a sponge trying to at least clean up his face paint in the other. He’s sure he looks insane. And he may as well be at this point.

“Uh, don’t? That’s the better idea?” Frank offers in the corner, his face red and sweaty from the suffocating Donkey mask.

“Not an option, so Operation Onion is on. I’ll be back. Or not. Hopefully not, actually.” Eddie shakes his head and sets down the makeup sponge, places the onion in his prop burlap bag. “Wish me luck!”

Gareth sighs with ice packs on his knees. “Nope.”

—

Eddie approaches the open backstage area, the spare lounge where Chrissy’s talking with Gingy and Puss in Boots. Maybe talking a little more intently to Puss in Boots, but he can’t begrudge her. After all, Eddie’s doing the same thing, isn’t he?

He catches a bit of the conversation before opening the door, overhearing Chrissy refer to them as Steve and Robin.

Thank God, he thinks to himself. Better than the placeholders.

By no means does Eddie consider himself a rockstar— not yet, anyways. He enjoys the mid-level shows he gets to do with his friends, especially on nights like this, but he’s yet to harness that rockstar swagger. At his core, he’s still the marginally insecure, frantic kid from Bumfuck Nowhere, Indiana who paints D&D miniatures and speaks Elvish. And dresses up as Shrek, apparently.

All of that to say, his heart pounds in his chest and his tongue feels twisted around itself when he knocks on the door.

“Oh, hey, Eddie! Come on in! Great show tonight!” Chrissy smiles, wide and bright, as she introduces Steve and Robin. “This is Steve, and this is Robin. Steve, Robin, you all know Eddie. Or, should I say, Shreddie?”

All three groan and shake their heads in good nature.

“To be fair, man, you are still in the get-up. I thought you were going backstage to change or something.” Steve teases, eyes full of mirth and challenge.

Exactly Eddie’s type.

“And leave the three of you dressed up and feel out of place? Not a fucking chance.” Eddie takes a breath and goes for it, channeling his years of drama and general theatrics.

He goes to take his seat on the sofa and pretends to trip, his burlap bag tipping over in time for his onion to fall to the floor at Steve’s feet.

“Shit, sorry, that’s my onion,” Eddie shrugs. “Happens sometimes. Ogre and all, y’know? By the way, you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh my God,” Chrissy mutters under her breath and ducks her head, leaning an elbow on Robin’s shoulder and covering her eyes.

Steve’s mouth falls open into a little O and sits quietly for a few beats, nothing but the girls chuckling off to the side and an onion between them. Eddie’s about to swallow his tongue and see himself out when Steve leans forward and picks it up, tossing it up in the air above his head and catching it like a baseball.

“Looks like you dropped this. And uh, thanks. I could say the same to you.”

Robin wheezes and doubles over. “Jesus Christ, Steve. I know I’m a lesbian and all but this? This is what works on you?”

Eddie likes her already, and a quick glance to Chrissy tells him Chrissy does, too.

“Is this Ogre discrimination? Do I have to explain that we have—”

“Layers!” Steve finishes for him, nudging her in the ribs. “Ogres have layers, Rob. Don’t be so close-minded, God. Besides, he’s half melted and just ransacked backstage for an onion. Don’t judge our mating rituals.”

Mating rituals? Eddie grins with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. “Yeah, what he said.”

Robin just shakes her head and gestures with one hand at the air between the two men, speechless.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go see if this sweaty, half-melted, babbling Onion Man wants to make out or something.” Steve slaps his hands on his thighs, still covered in fuzzy material, and stands. “What do you say?”

When he shows up backstage to introduce Steve to the rest of Corroded Coffin, both of their faces are now smeared with green paint and Steve sports painted handprints in some telling places.

Eddie gives them a bright smile and jazz hands, his friends’ expressions are as impressed as they are confused.

Shrek Night really is his favorite show of the year.

tagging people who expressed interest <3: @cuips-not-cute @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @useless-nb-bisexual @kkpwnall@cuoredimuschio @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly@ohmagicalunicornlord @hellion-child @bxnsheeslxdia @pomegranatebb @vampeddie @horsegirleddiemunson @stobinesque @sidekick-hero @medusapelagia @slipperygiraff @epiclazershark @bayouteche thank you to @nostalgicbones for beta-reading and inspiring this!

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie month #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #corroded coffin #myblurbs #eddie month prompts #buckingham if you squint #please consider reblogging if you enjoy <333 #(pls don't let this one flop i had so much fun writing it)

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corrodedcorpses · 2 years

Text

This is so wrong.

Pairing: Steve x Eddie x reader

Summary: Steve Harrington has a massive crush on his two best friends, Eddie Munson and you (Eddie’s girlfriend). He’s looking forward to and dreading another movie night with you both, so he finds a way to pass the time and relieve some tension before you both get to his house. What he doesn’t realise is you and Eddie get to his house a little too early.

Warnings: Smut (18+), jerking off, voyeurism, language, perv!Steve, panty stealing, ring/hand kink, perv!Eddie, kind of perv!reader (but we can blame Eddie for that). I feel like there’s more so lmk if I’ve missed anything!

Word count: 2k

a/n: This is my first ever fic! Steddie brain rot has been real and I just needed to get these thoughts out of my head somehow. Feedback would be greatly appreciated and as I mention, this is my first fic, so I apologise if it’s not the best!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Steve knows this is wrong. God, this is so wrong. He’s spent the morning cleaning up and getting everything ready for movie night tonight with his two best friends. His two best friends who were dating. His two best friends who he finds unbelievably attractive. His two best friends who he has massive crushes on.

He had finished cleaning hours before you were supposed to get to his. And as much as he was excited to spend the night with you two, he was not excited to pretend how much it didn’t bother him being next to you two on his couch all night. You all usually sat with Eddie in the middle, which meant that Eddie though his body shielded you more than it actually did. And Eddie usually gets fidgety during a movie. So, Steve finds himself having to pretend not to notice when eddies hands start to wander all over you during the movie and pretending not to notice the little gasps you’d make when he “accidentally” grazed a little too high over you inner thighs or near your chest… and pretending he didn’t pop a boner on and off all night from his spot next to you two. God just the memory of those little barely a whisper sounds that you make that he has to focus on to be able to hear over the tv have him half hard in his pants. And the image of Eddie’s hands and those fucking rings sliding over your thighs…. He knew he had to relieve some tension before you both got here, anything to help him try and get through another night alone with you both.

So here he was, sprawled out on his bed with his hard leaking cock in his hand, jerking off to the thought of his best friends. He felt so wrong, so dirty for thinking about you two but how could he not? You were both the hottest people he had ever met. Jerking off into his hand was enough and he found himself thinking more about how wrong it was instead of how good it felt. He knew he needed some extra help. He quickly paused and rummaged through his bottom draw until he found them: three big silver rings he’d gotten from some costume store while shopping with Robin (he’d pretended they were for a surprise costume for Halloween and was hoping she’d forget about them and wouldn’t ask why his actual costume had no rings) and a black lacy pair of your panties you’d accidentally left here after changing to hop in the pool one day. He’d found them under his bed after you’d changed in his room. He’d thought about giving them back to you, but that would mean having to hand you a used pair of your panties and he couldn’t think of anything more awkward. He’d also thought about chucking them but before he could even register what he was doing he’d bought them up to his face and almost creamed his pants just from the smell of you. Safe to say Steve came many times that night with your panties wrapped tightly around his cock. He quickly slipped the rings on his right hand and gripped his throbbing cock. He hissed at the feeling of the cool metal against his hot skin, a blob of precum dripping out of him at the feeling. With his left hand he brought your panties up to his face, groaning and throwing his head back as he inhaled you. He started jerking himself off faster, moaning at the thought of you two. “Yeah Eddie, just like that, fuck, jerk me off with your fuck- ah rings. Shiiiiiit”. Fuck the cool metal of the rings felt so good, he knew it’d feel even betting if it was actually Eddie jerking him off, but he’d settle for the thought. “Ugh fuck pretty girl you smell so fucking good” he moaned, burying his face in your panties. “So fucking sweeeet. Ahh- need you to sit on my face, yeah, hop up here. Oh god, you taste so fucking good, you like it when I fuck you with my tongue?” He rambled to himself. Shit Steve was so turned on, with the thoughts of you two sending him closer and closer to the edge…

*****

You and Eddie pulled up to Steve’s place. “Are you sure he’s not gonna care if we’re a couple hours early? I can’t believe I got my shift hours wrong” you ask Eddie. Annoyed that you had to call your boyfriend to come get you two hours earlier because you looked at next week’s shift instead of today’s shift. You were relieved that you got to spend longer with your boyfriend and best friend though.

“I’m sure Stevie’s not gonna mind sweetheart” Eddie assured you, “besides, I’m sure he’d love to have extra time to gawk at you” he teased whist hopping out of his van.

“Shut up, he does not gawk at me” you say back, also hopping out of the van.

Eddie gives you a look that says “really?”

You go to protest but can’t help but think of all the times you’ve caught Steve’s lingering stares while you all hang out, how he glances down at your lips sometimes as you speak, how he seems to always end up sitting or being next to or close to both you and Eddie no matter where you are, who you’re with or what you’re all doing… or how he readjusts himself on the couch often during your movie nights with just the three of you, especially after every gasp you give out when Eddie’s hands stars to wonder during the movie. Every time you had accidentally made a sound you would look over at him in hopes he’s missed it and every time his eyes are glued to the screen, but you can’t help but notice how he squirms in his seat…. Or that time when you’re sure you could see a tent forming in his pants and his eyes flicked over to Eddie’s hand resting “innocently” on your inner thigh and how his gaze lingered a little too long on the rings….

“Yeah, well let’s not pretend like I’m the only one he gawks at”, you tease Eddie. He just smirks at this, no doubt inflating his ego even more, and goes to open the door. It’s unlocked like it usually is when Steve knows you two are coming over.

You two put your bags of snacks down on the kitchen, surprised to not find Steve anywhere. You both decide to check upstairs but as you’re about halfway up you hear it. Moans coming from Steve’s bedroom. You both freeze, looking at each other.

“Shit!” you whisper to Eddie “do you think he has someone over?”

“Nah, I can only hear one lot of moaning… I think our little Stevie is reliving some Tension” he replies, emphasizing the last word and wiggling his eyebrows at you. A shit eating grin on his face.

“Okay well let’s give him some privacy and pretend like we just arrived when he comes down and that we didn’t hear anything.” You say, starting to quietly tip toe down the stairs. Eddie starts to follow when you both hear Steve moan out a slightly louder “Fuck Eddieeeee”. You both glance at each other, Eddie has a shocked but mischievous look on his face, his grin is starting to grow. Shit. Before you can grab him and he’s bounding up the stairs, but still as quietly as possible.

“Shit, Eddie, get back here. Now!” you whisper/yell at him. Running after him to drag him back downstairs. Trying to give poor Steve a tiny bit of privacy, as you doubt he wanted Eddie to walk in on him moaning his name. Eddie’s standing outside Steve’s door that’s open just a crack, just enough for Eddie to see him pleasuring himself on his bed. You reach Eddie but before you can drag him downstairs he’s grabbing you, positioning you in front of the crack so you can see Steve too. You back is against Eddie’s chest with one of his arms around you waist, the other coving your mouth to keep you quiet and to be able to position your head. “Look”, he whispers in your ear, and you can hear the lust in Eddie’s voice, not that you can blame him. There he was, your best friend, Steve fricken Harrington, sprawled out on his bed. His massive (Massive), hard, red, leaking cock in his hand, his ring covered hand, and a pair of panties, your panties pressed to his face. You’d realised you’d lost those panties a while ago, having been one of you favourites, but had just assumed Eddie had stolen them like he often does. Your attention is drawn back to Steve as he’s moaning the prettiest, filthiest sounds mixed with yours and Eddie’s names and the filthy things he wants to do to both of you. “Shit”, you barely hear Eddie whisper in you ear as his hips start to involuntarily grind against your ass. And you can’t ignore how much your panties have soaked at the scene in front of you. You know it’s wrong and that you both should give him some privacy but after hearing a particularly high pitched “y/n, fuck baby, you feel so fucking goooood” you don’t think your legs would work anymore if you tried. Now thankful for Eddies arm around your waist keeping you up.

*****

Steve is getting so close, he can feel it. His breaths have turned into pants, and he can’t stop his hips bucking up so fast into his own fist. God he’s so mortified at himself for getting off to the thought of you two. He knows that you two would probably hate him forever if you ever found out. Found out he almost solely gets off to jerking himself off with the B grade version of Eddie’s rings and the tiny lingering scent left of you on your panties. He hates that it does, but the shame almost turns him on. He almost wants you two to know, to scold him for it. To call him all sorts of dirty and disgusting names that he’d replay in his head as he got off to them later. God this is so wrong. The head of his cock is leaking steady amounts of precum now and he feels so unbelievably hard in his hand. He feels his whole body seize up and he starts to chant and plead and whine out yours and Eddies names over and over again…

*****

Eddie and you watch in awe as Steve exploded all over his hand and chest and even on the pillow next to him. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you at the sight, thankful for Eddie’s hand still around your mouth. You could’ve sworn you even heard Eddie moan quietly in your ear but couldn’t be sure with the loud, sinful moans and gasps coming from Steve as he fucked into his hand, riding out his high. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Steve relaxed into the mattress, panting and covered in his own cum, hand still around his dick that you noticed was still so hard. You were about to start to leave, afraid that Steve would catch you both when he eventually opened his eyes and started to clean up his mess. But before you could even start to move and before you could register what Eddie was doing, he opened the door to Steve’s room. Letting you go and walking past you inside, announcing his presence with a cocky

“whatcha doing in here Harrington?”

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galamalion · 6 months

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୨୧. 𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍'

summary. you and sanji go on a date to pick out some perfect pumpkins for the season.

⤷ contents. vinsmoke sanji x gn!reader, fluff + romance, sanji being a sweetheart

⤷ notes. hello! i'm going to try and write a lot until the end of october in order to get out all my halloween ideas, so this'll be the first! enjoy this little pumpkin date <3

autumn was your favorite season for a very long list of reasons.

first of all, its beauty had no comparison. watching the leaves change colors from emerald to cherry red all over the course of a couple weeks was a sight you could never tire of, in awe of nature’s power over its creations.

secondly, the anticipation for halloween was impossible to ignore, and you already had both your costume picked out and a list of activities to take part in the moment the calendar turned october first.

and lastly, the flavors that arose during the chilly season were absolutely exquisite. a hot apple cider for those cold afternoons, or a slice of pumpkin pie made by your one and only personal chef.

“ah, mon chou~! how about this one?” he called out, holding a pumpkin high above his head for you to see.

sanji really was a dream come true, acting as your prince during your weekly fall outings, participating alongside your autumnal activities. he would find you the most brilliantly red leaf among a raked up pile, helped to sew your matching costumes, and he would make your favorite fall treats for you! he was attentive, elegant, and the greatest boyfriend you would ever get.

“a little bigger, sweetie! i wanna do some pumpkin carving with it!” you shouted back, scouring the field for your dream pumpkin,

“oui!” he exclaimed, gently setting the pumpkin back onto the ground.

you grabbed a nearby small pumpkin, “how about this one, sanji?” you asked, spinning it around for him to see.

“less blemishes, sweetheart! i’m looking for firm and plump!” you didn’t miss the way he wiggled his eyebrows at you, drawing an eye roll from you in response.

an hour of pumpkin judging passed between you two, and a few contenders had risen to your high standards. you carried around five tiny pumpkins in your tote bag, though sanji was aiming for ten due to luffy’s voracious appetite. sanji was hauling two perfectly symmetrical pumpkins, one for each of you to use.

the sun hadn’t quite set yet, a glow still rested on the field for you and sanji to continue picking, but the sky was slowly beginning to fill with oranges and pinks which cast a pastel shimmer of color across your face. sanji stared at your appearance from across the field, taking in the way the soft light struck your visage and framed you beautifully, like a divinity choosing to grace him with your presence.

“you think ten will really be enough for luffy?” you shouted, picking up a pumpkin to examine it.

sanji snapped back to attention, blinking rapidly as he formulated his thoughts, “i- well i suppose no, when taking his prior portion sizes into account…and if we invite sabo and ace there as well…”

“at least sabo has manners!” you yelled, chucking any spoiled pumpkins over your shoulder. “i once saw ace use someone else’s pants as a napkin! not even his own! can you believe that, sanji?”

sanji’s focus once again faltered, watching as your lips moved wildly in your frustrated-amused rant. god, how he wanted to kiss you right now. i mean, you both deserve a break right now, right? you’ve been working so hard these past few hours…a little break never hurt anybody, right?

you continued raving and skipped across the fields, unaware of sanji’s devious musings, searching for some more perfect pumpkins for your perfect boyfriend. your deep and intense focus on your little pumpkin hunt led to you missing your perfect boyfriend disappearing from his row of pumpkins, silently creeping up behind you.

“oh mon ange,” he whistled, “i believe just found the prettiest pumpkin in the pumpkin patch!” his slender, long fingers wrapped around your waist, lifting you high above and eliciting a shriek.

“put me down, you sneak!” you teased, jokingly kicking your legs in an attempt to get loose of his hold.

“but then my pumpkin might run away!” he lamented, twirling you around in circles, sidestepping any precarious pumpkins in the way of his feet.

“as if i’d run away from you,” you replied, trying to ruffle his blonde locks up in the air.

sanji contemplated your words, throwing you down into a bridal carry while he pondered your response. after a minute of totally-real reflection, he flashed you a big ol’ pout.

“you pinky promise?” he whined, kneeling to the ground with you still in his arms, slipping his arm out from under your knees to offer a pinky.

“i pinky promise, my love.” you kissed him on the forehead, causing a heavy flush to don his cheeks and he rolled around the dirt-covered fields in bliss.

you approached his squirming body and gently touched him with the tip of your foot. “get up, mr. prince, i still need someone to carry our pumpkins!” you sung, slinging your bag across your shoulders and attempting to heave sanji to his feet, “unless you’d like me to leave you here…”

immediately sanji arose in dramatic fashion, sprinting back to grab the pumpkins he had abandoned. with ease he lifted them, returning back to your side as if he wasn't carrying two extremely heavy gourds.

“your prince is here! now what are your next commands, my liege?” he announced, dropping to one knee and kissing your hand.

“hmmm…” you brought your hand to your chin, tapping it in 'deep' thought, “you have to help me find more of your pie-pumpkins, and then we can go home and make cider!” you cheered, grasping his hand and running towards the baby pumpkins.

“anything for you, mon amour,” he swooned, watching the sun cast a luminous amber glow across your skin, “anything for you.”

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sharkiesbest · 7 months

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☆LUMITY HEADCANONS☆

-when they started dating amity was way to nervous to speak to luz in the classes she had with her so she wrote notes until she got comfortable

-luz sometimes stares at amity and her lips and as an argument with herself to just do it and kiss amity but was nervous amity wasn't ready for it until s2 !

-amity still keep luzs cat Hoodie from when they were 14 she even made another one for luz now that they were 18. Luz hung it up in her room labeled "made by my beautiful girlfriend"

-amity and luz wanted to start their own abomination and glif store and even drew pictures of it.. until they got older realizing how much money it would all cost but luz still has her heart on it

-amity did luzs tattoos

-amity once had matching hair colors with luz and even haircuts

-they send corny pick up lines to each other

-amity kept luzs old orange beanie and wears it in the winter time and luz thinks it's adorable and she even sometimes teases amity

-they kept their Halloween costumes from when they were 14 and 16

-amity draws on luzs hand and luz will sometimes be careful to not ruin it

-luz "proposed" to amity with a paper ring she made

-amity used to be that one girl who drooled over their high-school crush and still does

-when ever luz is sick amity puts caution tape on her door

-luz tries to make amity for favorite meals

-just like luz amity tries to bake luzs favorite treats

-amity cuts luzs hair

-luz gives amity pretend runway shows when she gets or makes herself new clothes

They're adorable♡

#the owl house #lumity #toh luz #luz noceda #amity blight #toh amity #toh headcanon #toh

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rainedragon · 9 months

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Mini Lolita Fashion History Lesson: MILK

Today, MILK is generally known as an 'otome' or 'girly' brand, and many of their modern items don't look like what modern lolita think of as lolita.

A recent MILK collection However, in the late 80s and early 90s, MILK was considered to be one of the quintessential Lolita brands.

1990s lolita wearing MILK In a 1994 zipper interview about the history of lolita fashion the brand representative for MILK states "I think what is now called lolita fashion is the fashion that milk has been making for a long time."

MILK was founded in 1970 by Hitomi Okawa (大川ひとみ). When Hitomi Okawa started as a designer there were not many DC brands yet and ready to wear fashion was really just starting to become more widespread in Japan. Okawa attended an art university in Kyoto because of a love of drawing that started in elementary school. She used to draw illustrations of girls and make things like paper dolls. At the age of 11, she drew many pictures of the same clothes and changed the patterns (polka dots, checks, flowers). She grew up the daughter of a doctor, in an affluent home where her mother would read magazines like Harper's Bazaar with 1950s and 1960s American fashion. She also looked at American fashion catalogs as a child, and cites this study of clothing in magazines and catalogs as her earliest sort of "studying" of fashion.

50s/60s Harper's Bazaar In addition to drawing inspiration from the 50s & 60s Harper's Bazaar & American clothing catalogs, she also drew inspiration from military uniforms and how they have custom buttons and custom fabric and details like that, as well as current trends in London and Tokyo as the brand continued to develop. When she started however, she says that she was the only one making this sort of cute girly clothing in Japan and she felt like she had to make it because no one else was making what she wanted to wear.

50s/60s Harper's Bazaar

After graduating from Seian College of Art and Design, Department of Design, she started MILK in Harajuku. She wanted to start in the coolest place possible, so she decided on Central Apartment.

MILK Shop Front in the 70s, Central Apartment

She had come to Harajuku when she was either in High School or her first year of University and had stood in the middle of the pedestrian bridge right off Harajuku station, and she looked down at Omotesando and thought "Here is the coolest place, I want to be here!", and that's why she chose that location. The Bridge doesn't exist any more, it was torn down in 2011. She wasn't aware at the time that Central Apartment was a popular place for creators, she just thought that street was nice and that Central Apartment was modern and cool. In a 2021 interview she confessed that she sometimes still goes up to the pedestrian bridge on the Yoyogi Park side and looks at Omotesando, and when she does, she feels the same way she did when she was 20 years old.

Central Apartment (原宿セントラルアパート) was initially an apartment complex built in Harajuku in 1958 at the intersection of Meiji-dori. It was initially built for special international travelers like US military personnel. In the mid 1960s/early 1970s, the lower floors were converted into stores with offices in the upper apartment floors.

The Coffee shop Leon on the first floor was a popular spot with creative people. There were also shops like Mademoiselle Nonnon launched by designer Taro Aramaki which sold French style clothing and lots of horizontal stripes. Mademoiselle Nonnon is considered to be the source of the border (horizontal stripe) trend in Japan.

Initially, "MILK", was expensive and unrealistic for everyday wear, so it was mainly used as a stage costume for idols, however, people started wearing Milk as everyday clothing as time went on.

MILK also experimented with a Bridal line in the 70s as well.

While their runway looks were generally a bit more loud than the way the pieces would have been worn in real life, you can see some prairie revival influence their early 70s items as well as some silhouettes in the '76 collection that are starting to look more lolita-esque.

Here are a few runway examples from the 1980s, note the border print of a carousel in the 1988 collection and the knee length ruffled skirt in the 1982 one.

By the early 1990s, MILK was heavily featured in coordinates worn by young women who considered themselves lolita in magazines like Cutie and Zipper, and was also advertising in those magazines.

1990-1992 Cutie advertisements for MILK

Early 1990s looks from MILK were fairly consistent with what was on offer from similar shops like PRETTY and Shirley Temple.

MILK Coordinates from Nene magazine, 1995

Speaking of Shirley Temple, the founder of Shirley Temple, Rei Yanagawa (柳川れい), worked as a designer for MILK before starting the Shirley Temple children's brand in 1974.

As time went on, lolita fashion started to diverge from the MILK style, while MILK followed their own design concept and look more at current trends in girly fashion. Today, some iconic MILK items like their heart purse are still frequently used in lolita fashion, however, it would be difficult to walk into MILK today and put together a coordinate that would read the same as one made from items at Angelic Pretty.

While goth and punk brands typically have no issue relating themselves to goth or punk fashion, brands popular with lolita have sometimes resisted self-describing themselves as lolita, most likely in an attempt to not alienate non lolita customers, due to lolita fashion having a mixed reputation. MILK, like many other Japanese brands, especially DC brands, maintains that they make MILK style, even though their influence on what we call lolita fashion today, is unmistakable.

Past Posts: Olive Girls

#MILK #Old School Lolita #Lolita Fashion History #Shirley Temple #90s Jfashion #80s Jfashion #70s Jfashion #Lolita History #Central Apartment #Hitomi Okawa #Mini Lolita History Lesson

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