#I LOVE CLOIS SO FUCKING MUCH

[shinynewwriting]

If you ever find yourself doubting the power of art to convey an idea, I invite you to look at these exquisite panels from Action Comics #1064 and become Lois Lane for a moment:

LOOK AT HIM.

I want to bully him relentlessly. I want to protect him from all harm forever. I want to climb him like Mt. Dork and plant my flag.

[pheoflame]

The most beautiful scene from the finale.

[bitten-fruit]

Simon forgets how strong he is

18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words

just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!

Simon forgets how to be gentle.

When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.

But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.

The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.

And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.

You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"

The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.

His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.

Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.

So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.

His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.

With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."

His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.

"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.

Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.

You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.

"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"

Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."

Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.

"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."

"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."

You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.

His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.

You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."

[diejager]

Cougar monster reader in heat with the boys

~🧋

Cw: implied smut, heat/mating cycle, musk/scent kink, teasing, tell me if I missed any.

It had snuck up on them, like a feline in prowl, stalking from the shadows and only making itself known when it pounced, striking with ferocity and danger. The signs were subtle, sneaking under their nose when they were around you. They were easily forgotten, something that went past their heads without so much as an ounce of concern because it could easily be mistaken for another thing. 

The slight change of scent on your skin, sweeter than usual, but unsurprising when your arrival was so turbulent, changing scents crashing over them like waves, switching between sweet and sour, bitter or salty. The perspiration that clung to your skin, smelling of sea salt and musk, was easily mistaken for exhaustion, sweat that collected from your hours spent at the gym, lifting, pressing and sparring. And your fidgeting wasn’t as abnormal as it was, you were a solitary animal and being introduced to a crowded Task Force made you anxious.

It went without any trouble - much trouble, since you were often struggling with how touchy and open they were - for another week before those subtle signs grew, blaring a bright red in their faces. It hit them in the face with a hard slap, shocking them like a bucket of freezing water would, and your change had them struggling and worried.

Your scent was cloying, overly sweet in your frustration, hauntingly seductive and taunting, calling to them with every small sniff of your musk. The perspiration they once chalked up to sweat from exercise was now connected to the heat that brewed in your guts, a boiling fire that caused your temper to flare. Then your fidgeting had grown to affection and noise, you yowled lowly, purrs rumbling out of your throat, small feline sounds that confused most that weren’t familiar with one; and you were touchy, running your hands over their arms, clinging to them with flickering ears and a swaying tail, fluttering your lashes with wide and dilated pupil. 

“You’re in heat, Hunter,” Horangi bemoaned, his nose scrunched up under his mask, willing - and failing - his body to stop reacting to you. He had formed a bond with you, and succumbing to your teasing and obvious signs of courtships would probably break away all the effort he put in to know you, find a way into your heart as much as you did with his mind, body and soul. 

“Need you, ” you mewled, nuzzling the crook of his jaw, nose running down his glands and nipping at him, your wet lips trailing kisses up and down his throat, “It’s too hot. Frustrating.”

Your persistence was cracking his wall. Your small, kitten licks, the gentle nicks of your sharp canines and the rumbling of your purrs where weakening his resolve, coupled with wandering hands and the curl of your tail around his, wrapping himself around you like a snake, he was a prisoner of his own body and needs. He was so close to throwing all his self-restrain out the window, to pin you against the floor and growl in your face, forcing you to bend and fold to his whims in the middle of the TF’s rec room. Horangi wanted to fuck you, his mind running circles with crazed thought of breeding you here and then, filling you up until he leaked out of you and was sure he’d knocked you up.

“Horangi,” you pawed at him, your hot breath hitting his bobbing Adam’s apple, feeling his patience thinning and thinning. 

You would be the death of his restraint and patience. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[itachiiwrites]

❝𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐠𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫!❞

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Plot: An argument over a remote control surely couldn't turn into hot sex right?

Minors and Ageless blogs DNI.

Content and Warnings : 18+, MDNI, female reader smut, fluff, crack?, make up sex, cockwarming, mating press, creampie, clit play, satoru and reader are not married but he is a bit delulu, satoru is annoying (but so loveable), big dick satoru, passionate satoru. English is not my first language pls be nice

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network 💗

Satoru will never miss an opportunity to be the egotistical prince he is, and he'll take that gaping chance to tease you so pompously, that you wouldn't mind slapping his stupidly handsome face with his stupidly handsome dimpled grin if it weren't for him fucking you so rauchily after a heated argument. He'll make sure to purposely thrust into you painstakingly slow, it was almost like not moving at all. It didn't help that he was still as a lake inside you from the past few hours.

"Impatient enough?" He knew he was easy on the eyes and how hard it made for you to resist and remain with your ego after a fight, especially when he worshipped you even with his mocking words.

"Satoru..fucking move already—" You arch your back, moving yourself on his still cock, desperate and needy, feeling his each vein ridging against your warm, cloy, walls.

"Aw..too much for you? Mh..? Your sweet pussy just clenches harder when I do this.." He cockily speaks, hovering over you, his big strong arms propped onto the mattress, getting a good view of your pussy stuffed full of his lengthy cock and your tits—, his tits spilled out for him.

The rapid flicking of your swollen clit with his index and middle finger makes you reach out your hand to slap his away, the metalic taste of blood hit your taste buds, the bite on your lower lip stopped you to almost push aside your pride and say that you wanted it harder. But you didn't, your body did, feeling the ecstatic pinch of a building orgasm.

He lets out a throaty, enraptured laugh when you raise your hand to slap his away, the desperateness and your duclet sighs not amiss by him. What were you two fighting about again? Satoru would prefer being a dead man if he had to pick between leaving you to sulk after an argument and dying.

He hummed deeply, immediately grasping your wrists to pin them down to the either sides of your head, his sheer strength holding you down. He leaned in, grazing his lips against yours but not quite kissing you, depriving you of that doting intimacy because he wanted you to suffer a bit more. How dare you try to break up with him? Again a hyperbole in Satoru's mind. It was something very measly in reality and you weren't gonna break up with him.

"Just say it baby..just say you want me to fuck you harder..make love to you, tell me how much you love me..come on sweets.."

"Shut up.. you're so annoying.." You spat but your body was a pure antithesis to that statement when you grinded yourself onto his cock.

"Really..? You beg all annoying people to fuck you baby..? I'm jealous" He pushed further, smirking, the mirth in his voice so clear.

"You-"

"Okay fine! I'll do my job! Don't be so difficult.." He tuted, now the one sulking like a child, though pretentiously as if he himself didn't want to give you a mauling fuck. He didn't care if he had to desperately apologise, you were just so cute to him when you were annoyed.

The next words died down in your throat and that acid in your tone was soon cut off and replaced with coarse, sweet moans, your pupils blown wide when he suddenly bucked up and moved his hips to hit is tip to the hilt with an anchoring grip on your waist. The hit was nothing but brute force, while his face was calm but hazed with lust, a sickening, consuming lust for you, his wife. Although you weren't married yet, in his head you already became Mrs. Gojo the moment he first laid with you.

"You know what? No. You shut up, I've had enough of your bullshit...you're not mad at me anymore..yeah..? You got that..?" He cooes to you not concerned about the gaslighting, in complete contrast to the way his cock was ruthlessly splitting your cunt apart, the sticky, stringy webby mess of your arousal and his pearly cum only made it easier for him fuck you like a fleshlight. The fused sounds of your synchronised moans filled the room with the creaking of the bed underneath.

"Oh.. yeah, just like that Toru..yeah..harder..I love you..m' so close.." You cling onto him, his words proving right as you could do nothing but dwindle down into the pleasurable mess he turned you into, you simply couldn't be mad at him for long. "See? Was that so difficult..? thaaat's it, fucking make a mess on your husband's cock..cum." The soft parting of your lips and the vice grip of your cunt made him almost roll his eyes back at your release.

Husband.

Your nails clawed the beefy mass of his arm, eyes in an outerwordly daze that made him fall for you even more if that was possible at all. Fuck. You were so beautiful to him, he'd make you angry and pound you like this like this all over again if it meant he got to see this visual again. He would never get used to it.

"Toru- mh..yeah.."

"Fuuuck..ha..I love you..M'sorry baby.." He slurred completely enamoured by you and heavenly cunt. Satoru felt his dick just twitch inside you when you told him you loved him, a spark buzzed through his head as if your declaration of love was the only salvation he needed, his confident voice now pleading and needy. He grunted, scooping up your legs from the calves to press your thighs to your chest, plunging into you in a mating press.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..fuuck! Fuck..!" He whimpered loudly, shamelessly while spelling out how he loved you, out so hopelessly. His hips gave in few sharp rams, burying himself deep with a single strong thrust, caulking you with his thick seed, his moans deep and guttural.

He didn't even bother pulling out, letting his weight be on top of yours snugly. He kissed you, with all tongue and teeth in languidity. The palpable tension in the room from earlier now replaced with the scent of sex, sweat, the gentle click sounds of lingering kisses. Satoru let out a deep huff, shifting his body next to yours with a plop on the bed before burying his face into your chest again, pressing damp kisses onto the swell of your breasts, exactly onto the spots where he marked you as his with pretty purple abrasions. His slender digits snaked down to spread apart your labia to watch his cum drop out of you. He always loved that debauched slight.

"If you being mad means I get to fuck you like this.. I'm getting you mad everyday.." He chuckled, blowing an air bubble on your skin. Idiot.

"Oh my god. I'm not fighting over the stupid remote again and stop calling yourself my husband—"

"Sorry for acting like that, it will happen again~" Ofcourse he had no remorse.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

m.list! ₊˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

[threepandas]

Bad End, Hidden Heir: Part 2

Prev <-

A pounding headache and cave air, that's what I woke up too. The air was being choked, though, by familiar scents. All trying desperately to make the cold, wet, and softly echoing quiet, hospitable. It was nauseating in my current state. Weak and... drugged? Had I been drugged? I certainly hadn't been drunk.

So why did my head hurt so much?

Why did every motion, make my stomach want to rebel?

My limbs felt so WEAK. Heavy and useless. Barely budging when I try to lift them. To rub my head? Adjust the blanket? Sit up? I can't tell. Thinking... thinking is so hard past... the pounding in my head. The fog. I struggle to concentrate. God, that SMELL.

Like a perfume store combined with... with... ugh. Everything!

I could pick out individual scents I knew I liked, on their own, added to the nauseating chaos. My favorite potpourri was there. But so was the one I like for winter? Fall? That one I liked as a kid until I found Mrs. Tianna's blend...

And perfumes! Colognes! The clean products and scents I preferred the maids used. God it... it blended together like a trash heap. As though someone drove a carriage through a perfume shop at speed. Cloying and musk and spice and fruity and-!

I sucked air through my teeth, trying not to smell it, hoping to god I wouldn't TASTE it.

Finally I managed to pry my eyes open. Either hunger or thirst giving my the strength to push past the nauseating pain. I NEEDED to move. Find out what was happening. Survive.

My gaze... met the most elaborate embroidery I had ever seen. Tapestries had less art. Almost to the point of gaudiness. Possibly past it. It was...

It was everything I had ever said I liked.

Too anyone.

Puppies and flowers, history and art, books scenes and more. It kept GOING! Hideous and magnificent. Chaos. Unhinged. Flowing down from above me, along the rest of the curtains, for the canopy bed upon which I rest. So I would be surrounded by it all. Even the blanket... it was a sea of my favorite flowers, made eternal through string.

This wasn't something people just DID. Could just FIND. I could feel my panic under the muting pain and exhaustion. This was the work of YEARS. Obsessive, continuous, YEARS. Some of these threads cost more then certain house hold make in WEEKS! And for what? A secret canopy bed?!

I struggled, body barely able to obey me but trying desperately to assist. The blankets were heavy. The curtain around the bed equally so, thanks to all the embroidery. I.. I manage to roll. Squirm. Wriggle my way, undignified, to the edge. Flop over it and out from under the blanket. Too freedom.

The air is cold.

The scents WORSE out here. Now, I can see why.

It is a museum to all that I am. Every like carefully gathered in one place, every preference. Stacked and shoved together, with no regard for if they fit. Hoarded like a collection.

I can not even tell... if I am sitting, flopped down, on my favorite winter bedside carpet or just an exact copy. My entire life is shoved together and suddenly... suddenly I do not like any of these things at all. They feel dirty. Dangerous. Like they have betrayed me. I want to cry.

But I am nauseous. Hurting. Tired and thirsty. So very hungry dispite it all. I just... I just need to know what's going ON! This isn't... this isn't how the Game goes! Not for Protag-chan. Not for me! I know I changed my "character's" behavior... but...

I... I don't understand...

Try not to cry. It's... it's really hard.

I was right. I'm pretty sure this is the Caves of Spring in the northwest of the Duchy. The offical Heir has an estate near them. The stone looks like the cliffs I'd seen in passing.

Crawling is hard. My legs keep getting tangled in my fucking nightgown. My... my f.. favorite.. nightgown! I'm not gonna cry. Damn it. I'm NOT GONNA CRY. How dare he? How DARE he ruin even that? What did he DO to me!? When I was... was...

No, don't think about it!

Move.

A decanter. Needlessly pretty. I probably loved it as a girl, fresh into this world. Everything was so FANCY and I wasn't used to having money yet. Hadn't developed any real class or taste. It looks so fucking gaudy to me now. But God, it has water. Please... PLEASE let that be water!

I drag myself up on badly shaking limbs. Nothing wants to hold. Wrists buckling, knees giving, legs shaking like a new born lamb. My arms are so weak. But thirst... oh thirst is a powerful motivator.

I force myself to move.

The water is not enough. It is everything. Cold and perfect, I force myself to go slow. To not spill a single drop, as I collapse against the dresser it was placed upon. Letting my eyes explore my cage in the way my poor abused body can not.

There are thick bars buried deep into the bedrock, separating the "room" I'm in from the hall that leads away from it. And it IS a "room". Made in cruel mockery to resemble the luxury of the dukes estate. Perhaps even more aggressively decadent in certain aspects, though that isn't a good thing. It makes it border on a storage room, for how crowded with luxury it has become.

It is the reflection of an unwell mind.

And staring up at the portraits of myself I KNOW I never sat for? The countless sketches pinned up beyond the bars? I am in trouble. I... I should have run. Not sent Creep away. I should have been the one to run. Before it was too late.

I think... I think it might be too late.

Footsteps.

I want to escape. But where can I run? I am caged. I feel close and far away. My head hurts. My body hurts. Everything stinks and I am cold. Why? Why did you do this? The foot steps are calm and commanding. Even. They do not break stride.

I do not bother to watch my hunter approach me. The monster I can not escape.

I close my eyes to spare myself the pounding in my head. Drink more water.

He makes a softly dismayed sound, as though he was not the one to drug me, to leave me here. The door to my cage opens. Closes. Ah... such a heavy lock. Should I be flattered?

Crisp steps, the rustle of fabric.

"My lady, the floor is so dirty! You shouldn't be out of bed yet. I was just about to make you tea."

The AUDACITY.

Tea? TEA! Ha ha! After DRUGGING my tea? He actually expects me to accept a cup from him again?! He truely IS insane, isn't he?

I am scooped up without my consent, unable to so much a truely struggle. Placed gently on a plush chair, a tea table moved in front of me. A familiar cup. My favorite blend. Pretty little snacks laid out deftly on lovely little plates. I grit my teeth. Slowly tip my head up to glare.

He pauses when our eye meet... then shudders, some terrible look of pleasure dancing across his face.

"That's right... look at me~" he whispers, leaning entirely too close. "I'm all that you have now. So you'll HAVE too now! No more others. No more distractions. No more sending me away! People trying to get between us. Trying to take you away. I'm all that you need, My Lady. All you'll EVER need."

"Just look at ME, your loyal dog. And I'll take such good care of you. I promise~♡"

[ladykailitha]

If I were to do a A/B/O story with Steddie this is how I would do it (I've never done omega-verse for any of my fandoms, but damn there is something about Steddie that just screams it, you know?)

Steve was sold to a place that uses infertile omegas as sex toys. Rut servicing, gang bangs, orgies, or even just pretty arm candy for special events. The point is that the Harringtons sold him when they found out he couldn't be sold to the wealthiest, most influential alphas as a broodmare.

They are pretty much indentured and have to pay off the debt of how much the company paid for them. Steve pays off his debt and stays. Most omegas leave, but he loves what he does. He really loves rut servicing. It's his favorite because he has all the control during the three to four days the alpha is sex crazed. He also loves that he can take care of them without them thinking he's in for the bond bite.

Steve's at some gala or event or whatever on the arm of an older alpha, probably a senator or someone important like that when he meets Eddie Munson, frontman for Corroded Coffin.

They're introduced and they hit off, until Steve mentions offhand that he's infertile. Because that angers Eddie for some reason.

Eddie sets up Steve to be his rut servicer and demands that Steve be placed on some kind of birth control. It's a strange request, but it's granted.

When Steve arrives, Eddie tells him under no uncertain terms that either of them are going to be barebacking. Condoms are required.

This pisses Steve off. He's infertile and these demands are just ridiculous. He can't get pregnant.

Eddie scoffs. If he was infertile it would reflect in his scent. It would be sickly sweet, like overripe fruit. Cloying almost. But Steve doesn't smell like that. He smells darker, woodier, more like spices then fruity.

Steve frowns, he hadn't heard that about omegas, but it made sense, his other co-workers did have that sweet smell, but never really thought about it being different than his own.

But before they could talk it out, Eddie goes into his rut hard. Harder then it's ever been and Steve is pretty much scrambling to keep up with the sex.

At the end of the five days, Steve is worn out and ready to pass out for the next week, but he needs to know what Eddie was talking about.

Eddie tells him that he's not infertile, he's an ultra-fertile omega. So rare that they present in only 1% of the human population as a whole. Red-heads are more common they are.

Basically they are only fertile during their heats, but instead of having only a 1 in 5 chance of getting pregnant like omegas do in heat (1 in 8 out of heat), they can get pregnant 4 in 5 chance of getting pregnant. In fact, they are so revered that they can have their pick of the best alphas in their country. Some of them even go so far as casting their net over the whole fucking world.

Steve isn't sure he believes him, but his parents never tested for it because it was too rare. So it's possible that he could be, it's not like he can test it now. The test needs to be done at the time he presented. The only way to know for sure is if he shared a heat with an alpha (he's not allowed to as service omega to spend it with anything but toys) and he doesn't know of any alpha willing to take the chance that he might be some golden omega.

Only Eddie is totally willing. Willing to even bond Steve, with or without the ultra-fertility.

Steve is shocked. He's even more shocked when he goes into heat just from being so close to Eddie. Because he's on blockers, that's not supposed to happen.

While Steve is still cognizant he consents to Eddie helping him through the heat, suddenly grateful for the condom and birth control stipulation is suddenly very welcome.

It's only a light one that lasts a couple of days, but it's the best he's ever had. The first he's ever shared with an alpha. And he loved it.

He found out that in order to share Steve's heat, Eddie had to pay a lot of money for the privilege so he just bought Steve's contract as a whole. The one he made because he brought in so much money to the company.

They talk about bonding and sharing Steve real heat. The reason Eddie was so insistent on the contraception measures is that his scent had been known to break blockers in the past.

Which makes sense, some alphas just have that strong a scent. It's not a thing like an ultra-omega, but just something that could happen. The company tended to screen those types of alphas and made sure that the omega would be safely whisked away. It just never happened to Steve before.

Eddie courts Steve properly and they bond. And sure enough Eddie was right Steve gets pregnant, and suddenly Steve's parents are banging on the door demanding they be compensated for the fact that he's an ultra-omega and could have been sold for lots, lots more money then the company gave them.

But Steve tells them to fuck off and slams the door in their faces. And Steve and Eddie live happily ever after with their growing family.

First chapter of the full story here.

[therenlover]

Always For A Second (Usually At The Start) - A Helmut Zemo x Reader fic

"And when I imagine life when it's mine / I can try to picture faceless folk to love a thousand times / But always for a second, and usually at the start / You're in the image posing with a cradled beating heart" - Katie Gregson MacLeod, i'm worried it will always be you

Synopsis: Leaving Helmut for good had been the biggest, most final choice you'd ever had to make. Two years later, he's in your living room again. This time, though, things are different.

Tags: Explicit Smut (+18), Exes, Getting Back Together, Enemies to Lovers to Exes to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Switch!Zemo, Oral (Fem Receiving), Service Top!Zemo, Aftercare, Bucky is Mentioned Too Much

Rating: E (+18) Minors DNI

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 8,600~

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

“I didn’t expect you to come crawling back so soon, schatz,”

The restaurant was crowded enough that nobody heard Helmut’s words, curt and cloying and so fucking familiar. Still, my face heated. It always would for him, no matter how much my common sense protested by body’s reactions. How dare he be so damn effective at getting under my skin? 

Some over-expensive brown liquor sloshed against the rim of the glass in my hand as I lifted it less than gracefully from the table, dribbling down the edge of my mouth as I guided it to my lips and drank deeply. “For one, two years isn’t soon,” I started, swallowing. “Two, you’re the asshole who showed up in my apartment like a robber, which makes you the one who came crawling back. I was just nice enough to let you take me for a free meal to get you the hell out. Three,” I set the glass down sharply, “don’t call me that. We’re not friends. We’re not anything. I still haven’t forgiven you,” 

“Apologies,” 

He didn’t mean it. 

“Still, it’s too soon to expect any sort of kindness from you,” he continued, “If I recall correctly, you said you’d rather die than suffer through another night with me for the rest of eternity. I believe an eternity has yet to pass… and yet, here we are,”

His matter of fact tone left little up for debate, unless I wanted to reach for my fork and maim his smug face. Instead, I bit my tongue and swallowed another mouthful of whatever I was drinking.

For once I was glad to be surrounded by the kind of noisy, faceless jumble of humanity that usually made my skin crawl. F. Scott Fitzgerald was on to something with his theories on large crowds and intimacy; there was no better place for two war criminals to meet than the corner booth of a hazy restaurant, lounging and drinking, covered by the blanket of sweet anonymity. Anyone who glanced our way would see two normal human beings sharing a meal in peaceable silence, sharing sparse conversation between bites of this and that. 

They would see lovers.

The thought left a lump in my throat. 

Maybe I looked uncomfortable enough that they would presume, correctly, that we were ex-lovers. I wasn’t hopeful about it, though. 

Helmut noticed, of course, but I knew he would. He had always had an almost supernatural sense for these things, like he could tune into my emotional radio on a frequency I didn’t even fully know myself. Enemy or ally or… otherwise, it was a constant to be seen through and picked apart like carrion. An appetizer for the fights to come. Thankfully, though, he chose to have mercy on me this time in a rare show of respect. Instead of wrapping his lips around another snide comment- even though I could tell it was burning a bitter hole into the tip of his tongue behind his clenched teeth- he chose to pick up a ring of calamari from the plate between us. He held it up to examine the crust in the dim lamplight before placing it delicately against his lips, pulling it from the fork in one bite. Still, he couldn’t be too gracious. Helmut held eye contact as he went.

I could only managed a disgusted sigh but found myself mirrored as his teeth sunk into the squid and his brow furrowed. 

“Bad?” I asked.

He chewed for a good while before managing to swallow the offending clump down, gagging all the way. “Despite my recent diet, that might be the worst thing I’ve eaten in a long while,”

A laugh escaped me before I even knew it was there. “You managed to pick a restaurant where our appetizer is worse than prison food? Serves you right for ordering seafood in the midwest,” 

“I suppose it does.” He nudged the plate towards me with a growing smirk, “See for yourself. I’d hate to see it wasted, and as you said, it is ours. I can’t be expected to finish it alone,” 

As if under the spell of his charisma all over again, I followed his instructions without a second thought. It was just as bad as I anticipated. 

Things were off to a bad start from the moment the tines of my fork hit the batter. The breading seemed to squelch under the pressure, sagging and giving way into meat that was somehow both rubbery and gelatinous, if that was even possible, and if the texture seemed bad outside of my mouth it was even worse inside. Somewhere between its fishy tang and the overly salted batter, there was a bitter, almost sour note that seemed to permeate further with every chew. I spit the macerated glob into my napkin before even attempting to swallow down the remaining spit. 

Across the table, Zemo grinned at my misfortune. “Let’s hope our entrees are less offensive to our palettes,” 

“Fuck off,” I muttered, lips turning up at the edges. 

“You can curse all you want at my poor choice of venue, but I can tell you’re glad you’re the one who ordered the pasta instead of the steak,” 

I went for my glass again, letting the liquor with a name I couldn’t pronounce burn all the way down my throat and into my chest. “I hate that you’re always right, Helmut. Can’t you be wrong, just once? Leave some correctness for the rest of us,” 

Maybe it was the lighting, soft and amber against the dark wood of the table to mask the bloody steaks that would sit below, or maybe it was the music, something old and swinging that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but knew from the radio in my grandmother’s car as a child, or maybe, just maybe, it was the crows feet that popped up around Helmut’s eyes when he smiled that hadn’t been quite so prominent the last time I’d seen him, but no matter the cause, the solid iron wall I had put up around my heart when I walked out of the Baron’s life those two year sago seemed to soften. Weakened, somehow. It was like someone took a blowtorch right to the center of my defenses. Something in me screamed that they had never been all that strong to begin with. 

I only noticed I’d been staring when he looked away, clearing his throat and wiping his thin mouth with the napkin from his lap. 

There went my hand. Helmut, 1. Me, 0… Well, 1, if leaving him those years ago counted for anything, and I refused to believe that it hadn’t. That the blow to his ego hadn’t given me at least a slight upper hand compared to the naive girl I had been in comparison when I first met him. There had been so much good in the world then. 

The silence dragged on as if the structural flaws of my guarded heart could patch themselves up with the defenses created from just a few silent moments between us. That’s all it would take for me to remember all the reasons this would never work: all the pain, the sleepless nights, the snide comments that turned into biting replies that grew into massive, earth-shattering fights that exploded into days or weeks or months living alone in a house with him. One by one, the memories flooded back, reminding me exactly why it had taken me almost two years to find enough peace within myself that I wouldn’t decide to shoot the man in front of me on sight. My heart hardened by the second.

“I saw your concert,” 

I was simultaneously thawed and frozen all over again. “How did you-“ 

“James mentioned it,” 

“You still talk to Bucky?” 

“Here and there,” 

The conversation lapsed into silence. 

He had… been there? I didn’t even bother to think about the talk I’d have to have with Bucky about my privacy, too focused on the more important matter at hand. 

The venue was grungy, a basement bar with a small stage serving the communities aspiring comedians and desperate punk-rock garage dwellers just waiting for their big break. I had barely had the guts to pay the booking fee, though. It was just me, a piano, and my guitar for an hour and a half set of mostly cover songs that had gone better than I’d expected, but hadn’t been anything crazy. The crowd was appreciative and respectful. Several people had left tips, even more giving me a congratulatory clap on the back as I left the building that night, promising to “stream my EP” whenever I released it, despite the fact that I had no plans to do any such thing. Still, I couldn’t imagine that I hadn’t seen his face in the crowd. I couldn’t name what I was feeling as I imagined it; visualized his face on the other side of the smoky room, leaned against the bar with his dark eyes catching hold of mine…

“You came and you didn’t say anything? Not even a hello?” 

Helmut laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “And risk my life over a free concert? No.” He paused, “Despite my tendency to sometimes be… less than kind, I knew it would rattle you to see me. I didn’t want to throw you off before your performance.” 

I didn’t have much of anything to say in response. Instead, I picked at the paper straw wrapper in my lap and tried to look anywhere but in his direction, shoving down whatever was welling up in my chest. He wouldn’t let things go, though. He never could. That was half of why we’d never work. Every time I tried to drop an uncomfortable subject he’d be there to pick it up with a snide comment or two. It was an easy rhythm. Too easy. I had never wanted to fall back into it and yet, here I was, almost excited to snipe his next words down. 

“Cain misses you,” He continued. 

I folded the straw wrapper in my hands, pulling at the crease as I thought about the doberman puppy I had left behind. He would be so big now, as big as the one I’d taken with me was now. My heart ached at the thought. 

“I doubt he remembers me after all this time,” 

“Of course he does,” Helmut’s voice was low. It was almost hypnotic, the way he carried himself. He could fool anyone. I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that couldn’t have been the calamari, he could still fool me. “He’s quite the troublemaker. More times than I can count he’s evaded me in the house, only to be found asleep in your old closet. I think he remembers your scent,” 

“Thats…” I sat quiet for a moment, pursing through choices of words in my mind, mulling over the sharp accented way he pronounced the t in scent, “Sad. Really sad. Makes me wish I could’ve taken them both,” 

“And what of Brutus?”

“He’s good,” A smile crossed my face. “Big, as you saw tonight. I remember when we got them, they told us they’d be 60 pounds at most, but I swear Brutus must’ve snuck in with the rest of those puppies, because he’s massive. Headbutts me every time I walk through the door wondering where I was. He’s a good boy, though. Keeps watch while I sleep, just in case.”

“Just in case I decided to let myself in through the window one night?”

I let myself laugh without judgement this time, reaching for my water. “Looks like it was all for nothing, then. Who knew he’d just let intruders come waltzing in off of the fire escape?” 

“Am I truly considered an intruder in your home?” He asked it as if the answer wasn’t obvious. As if there were any other answer I could possibly give. As if I could’ve wanted him there. His earnestness almost hurt as much as his taunting did, maybe more, because even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself, there was a soft ring of truth to his words. 

I took the cowards way out. “I don’t know, what do you think?” 

It was a vulnerability to not give a straight answer, the kind of weak spot that Helmut would catch wind of in an instant before using it to unravel someone piece by piece. Not a no, but certainly not a yes, and the fact that it hadn’t been a resounding yes was enough to glean that maybe, deep down, I wasn’t hating this dinner. He would see through me. Rip me to shreds for the subtle admittance that I hadn’t hated seeing him waiting for me on the couch when I walked through my door, even if I hadn’t expected or wanted him there in the first place. 

I found it was better to lie by omission than to fully lie and let him see through me to the more important truth; For as much as I despised everything about him, I had missed Helmut Zemo. I had missed his stupid expensive taste and the tilt of his stupid head and his stupid shiny white smile. I had missed seeing his coat hung up beside the door and knowing what waited for me inside. It was sick how I had loved him. How I had loved every minute of him picking me apart by the seams and putting me back together. Who could possibly crave their own destruction? Who could live knowing that to be loved was to be deconstructed down to the bone and laid bare as something lesser, something so small compared to the great destroyer I devoted myself to. 

How could he let me live like that if he truly saw through me? 

And that was why I had to leave. 

Loving Helmut Zemo was no way to live. I knew that. I had known that the day I picked up my dog and walked out of our home with nothing but my wallet, car keys, phone, and a polaroid picture of his silhouette. Somehow, I knew that he knew that too. Why else would I move on so suddenly, so sharply, removing every piece of the life we’d built to start myself fresh? A new me, I had said. A new chapter. Yet here I was across from him, shredded bits of paper littering my lap as he puppeteered my heart right back into his arms. 

No. I couldn’t let it happen. 

Not again. 

“Listen, baron,” I didn’t let him answer my rhetorical question. It wouldn’t be wise to let him gain the upper hand again. It wouldn’t be smart to let myself stay weak. “I appreciate dinner. It’s been surprisingly lovely to catch up with you. I’m glad to know you’re not dead, and its great to know Cain is doing well, but I know you weren’t here to tell me that over a plate of mediocre pasta,” 

Helmut smiled, his head in its signature tilt, and swished his own glass a bit. The ice was all but melted giving the liquor an almost clear quality as it diluted. Not a sip had been taken. “Ask the question, schatz,” 

“Why are you here? Why did you stalk me here and break into my apartment when I made it clear that you weren’t welcome in my life?” My words came out so matter of fact even I almost recoiled at them. Not unemotional but detached. 

“Um, who had the chicken alfredo?”

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I looked up at the poor waiter, hot plates in hand, as he took in our table at just the wrong time. Five minutes earlier he would have walked in on polite conversation about the dogs or the shitty appetizers. Now, though, he stood between a man who was known to kill for the things he wanted and me, the one thing he could never have again. 

Surprisingly, though, Helmut waved a hand towards me as I froze. There were none of the usual dramatics, just polite chatter with the waiter as he set my plate in front of me and left Helmut with his, taking the offending calamari plate away with him as he scurried away, surely to tell his coworkers about the crazy exes at the corner table. Helmut didn't even carry on with his answer. He just started tucking in to his steak and potatoes, not sparing me a single glance. If I didn’t know better, if I hadn’t memorized the way his eyes looked in the low light of a restaurant across from me, I would think he’d been replaced by a skrull.

Where was the tearing? The shredding? The utter evisceration of my waiting throat as he drank deeply of my darkest, most shameful thoughts only to spit them out for the world to see. Where was that shame? In the before times, in the times that the two of us had been a we, he never would have paused to mind a waiter. The world would have revolved around him as he laid me bare, no matter who watched or waited in the wings. What changed? 

How had I not noticed his docility until now?

The pasta was decent. It was better than anything I would’ve made at home, at least. I barely thought about it, though, letting my body go through the motions of eating mechanically while my mind went over a million things I could say. What could I say? There was nothing left to. We had gone over every possibility before I had left, at least I thought we had. Whatever we were was dead. That was certain. But what we could be…

I swallowed hard before I could choke on a relatively large piece of broccoli I neglected to chew in my trance. 

Helmut seemed to be in a painfully similar situation. One look at his plate showed a steak cut into tiny pieces. Almost none of it looked eaten, just diced into a pile and shuffled around a bit on the plate to mix with the potatoes, smashed down from their neat ice cream scoop globe and spread with the back of a fork. 

With a sigh, I set down my fork, pasta already forgotten. 

“Lost your appetite?” 

He paused his fiddling with his fork and knife, mirroring me and letting the utensils rest on the table beside his plate. It was odd to see him rattled. Strange to watch his eyes roll up to the ceiling and pause there, as if he was searching for the right words to say. He always knew just what to say to cut the deepest. Maybe it was foreign for him to not want to cut; To find a soft word, instead of a sharpened one. His mouth opened one… two…three times. Open and shut, open and shut. I couldn’t help but hurt for him. The man of many words was finally struck dumb. 

Finally, it came. 

“I’m sorry,” 

I had anticipated a selfish reply, a demand for me to come back and put the past two years behind us, but time had changed him. It had changed us both. He was no longer the man he had been when he was first freed from behind bars, vengeful and biting and so deeply afraid of being alone again, but I was no longer the lost girl I had been either. I did not need to be destroyed to breathe. I could feel tears pricking up in my eyes as he reached a hand across the table to search for my own. It was such a familiar sight in a time of uncertainty. I kept my hands firmly in my lap, though. I would not give him the satisfaction. 

More, I would not give him hope.

“Come home, schatz,”  

There it was. 

I couldn’t hold in the bitter, wet laugh that bubbled up through me, more at my own foolishness than at anything else. He had changed, yes, but some things never would. 

“Helmut,” The word hurt to say. It was altogether both familiar and unfamiliar, covered in a thick layer of dust from time, but nothing could erase the fact that it had once been used over and over, like a prayer, as easy as breathing or saying my own name. “You know I can’t,” 

He let his hand slink back to his side. “I had to try, you know,”

“I know,” The words were a whisper. 

So this was closure? 

The table was quiet. There was no desperation from Helmut’s side, no attempts to sway me or sudden outbursts of resentment. It was almost peaceful. His voice was sad but there was no manipulation in it. We laid our cards of the table as the game we’d played for years finally came to an end. 

“You were right about us, when you left,” he laughed, “I was, as you so aptly put it, a massive ass. I was still so deeply disillusioned about this world and the horrors of it. It was as if everyone around me was just another cog in it all, even you. I thought if I could puppet it all, make things go my way, everything could just be quiet. The horrors would finally stop. The memories would finally stop. I took it too far, though. I took it out on you. For that, I will never be sorry enough,” 

I put up a hand. “Helmut, you don’t have to do this-“

“I want to,”

His voice was delicate but didn’t waver. For the first time I wondered if this was more about what he needed to say than about what I needed to hear. I nodded him on. Without me even thinking about what I was doing, my hand caught his across the table.

“I wanted to run after you the same day you left. I nearly did, too, before I thought better of it. Then I really thought of what you said. What I did. It was then that I decided I had to change for the better, not for you but for myself. Only then would I allow myself to try again. So I did. I spent my time deconstructing the things I had seen and done and finally facing my own demons. I’m not perfect- believe me -but there are many things I have… worked on, for lack of a better word. James was surprisingly helpful throughout it all,” 

“Is that why you’ve been talking?” My thumb stroked over his knuckles, pausing on a scar. 

“More or less. I needed advice on how to overcome my atrocities, and I owed him an apology either way. He told me about your concert because he thought I would be ready to make amends, and yet I found myself unable to speak to you because I knew that if I did, I would have to beg you for forgiveness, and that is not something I will allow myself to do from anyone. Not now, nor ever,”

I let myself pull away. This was not a movie. There was no happy ending for the two of us at the end of this conversation. It was a chance to clear the air and let go of our grievances before going our separate ways. Treating it any other way would only hurt us both. “Why break in, then, and drag this all out over dinner? Why not just knock on my door, apologize, and leave?”

“I couldn’t have you slamming the door in my face and leaving me to apologize to the wall, now could I?” 

We shared a sad smile, a knowing one. “I guess that’s true.” 

“I needed to know you would hear what I had to say until the end,” he paused, “And one last confession. I must admit, I could not walk away without sharing dinner with you one last time. It’s selfish, as I am selfish, but I could not see you again without truly seeing you, more than just as you shouted at me and threw me to the curb,” 

“You think so little of me?” I asked. There was no bite in it. 

“No, I think so little of myself,” he finally took a sip from his glass, “Any anger on your part is warranted,” 

We did not speak again for a long while. Helmut methodically went through the bite-sized pieces of steak on his plate as I finished the alfredo, which had grown cold in the time it took to sort things out. There was no quiet conversation, no jokes or shared stories in the glow of the lamps overhead. Instead we sat in peaceable silence and breathed in the finality of it all. I was almost grateful for it. I never would have imagined sharing a meal like this with him in all of the years I had known him and loved him. If it was to be the last, and it was, we would savor every moment of each others company. Every moment not spent on my meal was devoted to memorizing the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes as he did the same for me. 

By the time the waiter came to ask about dessert, I could have written sonnets about his face alone, and by the time he returned with the check, paid discreetly with a 40% tip for his troubles on Helmut’s card, I had committed the sound of his breathing to my mind. I could only hope the memory would last this time.

Realistically, I knew it wouldn’t. 

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as we approached the front of the restaurant together, pausing awkwardly outside the door as we exited out onto the street. 

“So, this is it,” My hands found the pockets of my coat as I rocked onto the balls of my feet. 

Helmut smiled softly in the lamplight. “Let me walk you home,” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” 

“Says who? I have to follow you either way, my car is parked down the block,” He offered me his arm. 

I took it far quicker than I should have, relishing in the scent of his cologne. Even after all these years he had never switched to another brand, and I refused to admit to anyone else but myself that I was grateful for it. Instead I leaned into his warmth. “Well, it’s only a few blocks anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt,” and with that, we were off. 

The night was cool. Summer had given in to the pull of a lush fall, the temperatures dropping to a comfortable but windy chill when the sun fell below the horizon. The leaves were not yet falling but they’d begun their slow transformation from green into a mosaic of reds and yellows and greens, forming a rustling canopy above the sidewalk that allowed a flash of stars and moon through the foliage every few steps. 

We were not the only pair walking through the streets that night, but if you had asked me about it later I would have said we were the only two people in the whole city, matching each other step for step under the flickering streetlights. Helmut’s crows feet were in full force as he laughed at my terrible jokes, and I couldn’t help but feel warmth rush through my neck and cheeks as he recounted the moment we first met. 

It had been fall then, too. A brief, chance encounter in the streets of Paris was all it was, a night spend with a stranger, until I had seen him again in Sibera, and again in Germany, and again on the Raft, and again, and again, and again, and again…

He had been younger then, much younger, and still raw with grief, but I had loved him even then.

I was so lost in my own memories that I almost missed the stairs up to my apartment, but Helmut paused there, keeping me rooted with him even though the look in his eyes told me he almost kept walking past, hoping to gain one more turn around the block before he had to let me go. He didn't, though. This was the end of the line. 

My arm slipped easily from its place against his own, hand catching briefly on the crook of his elbow. “Walk me to my door?”

His laugh felt almost nervous, a paid mockery of my own earlier reticence. “I don’t think that’s wise,” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman, baron?” 

“I have never claimed that,” For a moment, when he paused, I thought that would be that. I would turn my back, ascend the stairs, and turn around to find he’d shifted back into the shadows from whence he came, but then the moonlight caught on his soft, wet eyes. “But for you, schatz, I try to be,” 

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say as we walked up the front steps and into the building. 

It had been so angry last time. I had vomited up every hateful, raging, repressed thought that I had shoved down into my chest over the course of our turbulent time together all at once and left without a second glance. This time, though, it felt wrong to end things without giving him credit for all of the other things, the things I had forgotten in the midst of all the chaos that surrounded us. How could I thank him? How could I tell him every wonderful thing about himself only to close the door in his face a moment later? I spent the whole trip up to my apartment trying to find a way to express even an ounce of what I felt, and then it was far too late. 

We stood there on my novelty doormat, boots settled over the dirty cartoon chickens, hands in our pockets, and breathed in the stale hallway air. 

“Thank you for dinner,” I said. If I shut off my heart and my mind and every other little betraying ache in my bones it was like it had been all those years ago. We were just meeting. This was the end of our very first date. There was a future instead of a past in the time that lay beyond us. 

Helmut averted his eyes from mine. I could tell he was pretending too. “Of course,” 

“I’ll see you again,” I lied, “I mean, it’s inevitable. We’ll end up at Bucky’s place at the same time,” 

“Or run into each other at a busy cafe,” he offered. 

“Exactly! Or our cells will end up next to each other in maximum security prison,” I laughed, but it caught, pathetic, in the back of my throat.  

He took a step back, boots leaving my doorstep. “I look forward to it, whenever it may be,” 

My shaking hands found my keys, an autopilot motion I had done a million times, and the door to my apartment swung open. I could hear Brutus in his kennel, beginning to whine the moment he heard me come home, but I paused there for a moment, one foot in and one foot out. 

“Goodbye, Helmut,” 

“Sleep well, schatz,” 

I stepped inside and locked the door without turning around for a last look. 

My tears came quicker than expected as I took in the room around me. It was the antithesis of my home with Helmut, all whites and beiges and grays from the sparse walls to the lonely couch against the wall. There was one great shock of black, though; a solid footprint on the windowsill. One last souvenir to remember him by. 

I had done the right thing. 

I had to have done the right thing. 

Life with Helmut was hell. It was exciting and lush and romantic and alluring but it was destructive and painful too. It would mean being seen and unseen for the rest of my life, living with the ghosts of those lost in Novi Grad. He would never stop being the man his grief had created. He was just too broken… wasn’t he? 

All at once I knew I had to see him again. This wasn’t going to be the end. There were still so many chances to make it right. 

Before I knew my own feelings, I was undoing the latch and throwing my door open, only to find him there, feet planted solidly on that stupid welcome mat and fist raised to lift the knocker. Our eyes locked. 

We didn’t need words then. 

No, all I needed was his lips on mine and my hands in his hair. It was a need easily rectified. 

He didn’t pull away as I grabbed the edges of his ridiculous fur coat and dragged him in for a kiss, letting the remains of that day’s lipstick smear against his chapped lips as the parted and made way for me. It was like a piece of my puzzle fell back into place, like the thing that had been lying dormant in my empty chest for the past two years had jumped to life and jumped into my throat. The tears weren’t coming anymore, though Helmut’s cheeks felt wet when I guided one of my hands to rest against it, dragging him closer. I needed him urgently. I needed all of it. Every moment I had missed. 

At least one time in my entire tiny, useless life I needed to know him as he had always known me. I had to see him through eyes that would know every atom of him by heart. 

It could have lasted second or hours. I was lost in it; lost in every heartbeat and the messy clack of teeth on teeth as we remembered exactly how our mouths locked into each other. There was no need to breathe. I would happily drown in him if he would let me. Through the passion I distinctly remembered this fervor, the endless need for him. It wasn’t frightening anymore, though. I knew how to walk away. We both did. 

This time I didn’t want to. 

Helmut was the first to pull away. His mouth was wet and red as he panted there, just a breath away from diving in for more, but he pulled away when I advanced again, instead choosing to speak between placing kisses on my cheeks and down my jaw. “I couldn’t let you walk away from me. Not again,” his voice shook as he kissed me, “Does that make me a bad man? Does that mean you can’t love me?” 

I could only breathe a laugh as I pressed my chest to him. No measure of closeness was enough. I needed him to cover every inch of me. “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried, and I’ve tried,” 

“Please, stop trying,”

With that, he caught me in another kiss. 

“We should probably go inside,” I panted, gesturing towards the apartment with my head and Helmut nodded, maneuvering us over the threshold and into the barren entryway of the home  I’d made without him. It didn’t matter, though. That wasn’t what I was focused on. Instead, my hands were more focused on pulling his coat from his shoulders and discarding it loosely in the direction of the coat rack between fevered kisses. 

The old Helmut would’ve pulled away and make some snarky remark about keeping the place clean. This Helmut, though- my Helmut, as I had selfishly started to refer to him mentally in the past few moments -just dragged me in closer after his arms were freed, letting his hand drift to the small of my back but not even an inch lower.

Suddenly, though, things seemed to cool. The kisses grew shorter, softer. His arms still held me but seemed to loosen their grip. 

“Tell me you want this,” He whispered softly against the shell of my ear, “That you want me,” 

Ah. So that’s what this is. 

“Helmut, of course I do-“ 

“That’s not enough,” his voice was laced with a rare seriousness as he pulled away to look at me properly. His brown eyes glowed a million honeyed colors under the shitty, flickering overhead lighting I should have replaced months ago. They flitted from my swollen mouth to my cheeks to my watery eyes as his hand came up to cup my cheeks again. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake or a bad decision you’ll regret the second we finish,” 

The rest went unsaid. 

(Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me this means something to you, even if it doesn’t mean as much as it does to me. Tell me I won’t wake up alone tomorrow morning. Tell me anything and everything except the cruel reality that neither of us really knows what the future looks like once this is over)

I simply nodded my head, coming in for one closed mouth kiss. “I want this. I want you. Whatever I choose to do next, you’ll be a part of the decision. No more running away,” 

Like a shot, we were off to the races again. 

It was hard to detach our bodies long enough to give Brutus a treat to quiet him down, harder still to lead him to the bedroom and drop his hand long enough to turn on a nearby lamp, but somehow I managed. For all of the small things I’d forgotten about Helmut in the two years we’d spent apart, his bitten nails and the silhouette of his nose and the sound of his labored breathing as he took in my body with something akin to animalistic hunger, it was easy to fall back into the rhythm we’d always found ourselves in intimately. 

His shirt came off first, exposing the soft curve of his stomach. I kissed down from his neck to his chest, letting myself pause on each and every pinkish scar that graced his flesh. I made a mental note to ask him about a few new ones, including a wicked one across his collarbone that still puckered into an inch long divot in his flesh. My fingers followed my mouth, mapping every inch of his flesh. They caught on every soft yielding place he offered, a worship on the altar of his body, dragging his flesh ever so slightly but never enough to leave a scratch or bruise. 

I would not mark him any more than the world already had. It was not my purpose to remold him into my image. Instead I would venerate what he was, what he had become. 

Helmut had put so much effort into changing himself, rebreaking the things that had never healed correctly and setting them right again. I refused to let him break down to splinters again. Not on my watch. 

He shuddered at my attentions. 

“Let me see you?” It was a question, not a demand, and how could I deny him when he asked so nicely? 

I stood up again, relishing in the feeling of his fingers against the hem of my t-shirt, the gentle scratch of nails on skin as he lifted it over my head. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking at the most precious thing in the world. Usually he was so hungry for it that there was never a pause once my shirt was discarded. My bra would be thrown off with it, then my pants, then my underwear, all in such quick succession that I barely distinguished one article from the next in the order of things. This time, though, he paused, hands just inches from my bare flesh. 

“My sweet girl,” he whispered to me like a prayer, a confession, “I don’t think I can hold back much longer,” 

Slowly, deliberately, I stepped forward and pressed my body into his awaiting hands. He squeezed my hips once, gentle, and twice. Then they were roaming up to the clasp on my bra with that usual hunger again, freeing my breasts for his attentions. I don’t exactly recall how he manhandled me on to the bed, I was too busy feeling the hard press of his bulge through his crisp dress slacks. The first thing I was fully cognizant of was his hot breath on my sternum as he hovered over me, still standing but bent at the waist, boxing me in with his knees. 

“So fucking sweet,” he whispered before taking one of my nipples between his lips and laving his tongue over the hardening tip. 

I felt like a live wire. Heat was building everywhere. Dazzling electricity shot through my head and fingers and toes and cunt and gods especially my breasts. They were always my weak spot, and how he knew it, how he knew me. I wanted to thrash against him, to buck and gain his attention where I really needed it, but his body above mine held me fast, keeping me right where he wanted me, vulnerable to him and his specific brand of torture. With a particularly sharp pinch and a well timed suck he had me keening against him, curling into his every move. 

How had I lived without him? It was hard to imagine a night not spend here with Helmut, wherever here was, not that that mattered. I was embarrassingly wet. The slickness had gathered enough that I could feel it on my thighs despite my jeans. When I tried to relieve myself, though, the baron caught my hand, tutting softly. 

I expected to have to ask permission. Soft begs escaped my mouth. I needed him. I had no patience for games. Instead, though, he lifted up off of my chest and smiled, pulling my hand to his lips. “Let me help you, love,” 

There are no words in the human language that could adequately represent the sound that escaped my mouth. I could not even begin to try. It continued even as I lifted my hips to shimmy free from my jeans and underwear in one fluid motion, only ceasing when Helmut was on his knees with his face buried in my cunt. I was making different noises then. Loud. Guttural. If I had any mind left at all I would worry what my neighbors thought, to see me out on my doorstep desperately pawing at a man only to hear the noises we were making in tandem now. Thankfully, any sensible thought I had left seemed to fly out the window with Helmut’s first lick to my cunt. 

It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten me, and if he had, the muscle memory was coming back quick. His tongue was deft as it worked its way over my aching nub in a pseudo-figure eight; circling once, twice, and three times before dipping back through my folds. I held him in place this time, though, rocking into his mouth. At some point my hands found their way into his hair. It was so soft between my fingers, so pliable as I pulled against him, desperate for more of him, anything he would good. 

Every time he relented to me. Each sharp jolt was rewarded with a kiss against my thigh or a muttered curse in Sokovian, hot breath teasing my glistening mound. 

He was so giving, so attentive to my every need. He had always been a generous lover, never leaving me wanting for anything, but this felt… different. The way he sucked bruises into my thighs, relenting to each and every sobbing please that escaped my soft lips, was a new and devastating experience. There were no power games left to play, no lording his sexual prowess over me as he brought me slowly closer and closer to the ever distant goalpost, just his mouth on me over and over and over again as he wrung the first orgasm of the night out of me, then the second in short measure, barely ceasing from one to the next.

By the time he decided I’d had my fill, my legs were a trembling mess against his shoulders and my cunt was a sopping mess. 

He grinned a crooked grin at his masterpiece.

“How was that, my love,” 

I could barely catch my breath enough to speak. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, thrumming a frantic drumbeat even as the room quieted. “So good- really really good, Helmut,” 

Slowly, he rose up from his knees, undoing his belt. “Please say my name again, schatz,” 

“Helmut,” My voice was hushed. Reverent. 

He undid the button at his fly, pulling at the band of his boxers. “Again,” 

It fell from my lips like a prayer. “Helmut,”

His cock bounced free, bobbing as he took a sharp, steadying breath. He placed his hand at the base and squeezed slightly. 

“Again,” 

“Helmut,” 

“Fuck, that’s good,” The trance broke momentarily as I gazed up at him, watching the sweat roll down his forehead in shining rivulets despite the chill in the air. He wiped at them with the back of his free hand and smiled sheepishly. “Scoot back and get comfortable, please. I don’t think I’ll last long,” 

I did as he asked, settling against my pillows on the still-made sheets. “Neither will I,” 

“Where are your condoms?” 

“Bedside drawer, way in the back. I’m on the pill too, so no worries,” 

He moved quickly, grabbing a foil package from the small pile I’d accrued, just in case. 

It felt odd to have him be the one using them. 

There had been a few other men who had been invited here, fewer still that made it to the point that Helmut and I were at now. Every time, though, I hadn’t been able to go through with it, because every time they had finally settled themselves above me, I would close my eyes and, just for a moment, see Helmut in their place. It was unsettling the first time, enough so that I sent the guy home right away. The next time, though, it was more thought provoking than anything. I chalked it up to him being my longest lasting sexual partner and left it at that, but now, watching him roll the condom onto his length and crawl into his position over me, I knew. 

I would never get over him, even if I tried for years. My heart had a space carved out in the shape of his own. No matter how long I stayed away, I would never find something quite like what we had. He was it. This was what people dreamed about. And to think, I had almost let it slip away…

He slid one hand into mine, lacing our fingers together in the gentle lamplight. “Are you ready for me?” 

“More than ready,” My thighs spread as I canted my hips up.

Physically and mentally and every other possible way I needed him. I was prepared. 

So Helmut pumped himself once with his free hand before guiding himself into my wet heat. 

It was impossible to last long once we were finally complete. 

Feeling him inside me was like knowing the truth of the universe. It was comfortable, and thrilling, and so deliciously enough. He filled me well, finding his rhythm as he swore and released my hand to prop himself up more comfortably. We were linked together like the final pieces of a puzzle. I closed my eyes at let myself relish in it. 

There was nothing left to worry over while Helmut was inside of me. All thoughts that weren’t of him were banished. It was something to be cherished, every thrust paired with a whispered confession of love from one of us, a fleeting kiss, a curse, a plea… We laid ourselves bare. I let my legs wrap around his warm, soft hips as he rutted into me, bringing a hand between us to circle my clit once more. Even after everything he refused to leave me behind while he chased his own pleasure. It didn’t take much to send me tumbling over the edge into oblivion. 

As always, Helmut followed me down. 

His thrusts quickened, then stilled as he came to rest upon me, panting and heaving and begging for breath. I didn’t care much. He smelled of cologne and sweat as I buried my face in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could feel him soften inside of me but I was far too spent to urge him to move.

We only shifted apart when he slipped free of me.

Helmut quickly kissed my forehead and gathered himself up, shuffling to the trash can to discard the used condom and grab a tissue to wipe himself up. I didn’t let myself move an inch. If I moved, would the bliss run away? Would I realize what I’d done? I let myself lay instead, eyes closed, panting in the autumn chill as my lover approached and wiped up our beautiful mess as gently as he could manage. With one last kiss to my thigh, he discarded the rag, opened the window, and crawled back into bed with me. 

The process was indelicate, a lot of awkward shuffling of sticky limbs, but we were settled beneath the blankets soon enough. Helmut stroked his fingers down my arm languidly while kissing the back of my neck. 

I broke the peace between us. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what this means for us,” 

He sighed gently. His breath was soothing and familiar against my shoulder. “That’s not something we have to decide at this very moment,” 

“But I just don’t want you to think this means something… or at least something more than it does? If that makes sense? I don’t know,”

“Schatz, please,” 

“I want to keep my own place, at least for now. I don’t know what that means for when I’ll see you or if we’ll keep doing this,” I gestured vaguely to my nude body beneath the sheets, “or if we’re even a thing anymore, bu-“ 

Helmut reached his arm around us, placing a quieting finger over my lips and another soft kiss against my shoulder. 

“I swear, your mind sounds even louder than mine,” 

“Sorry,” 

“No reason to be,” His hand left my lips, running down to my stomach and pulling me back towards the softness of his chest. “As for your questions, I shall respect your wishes about distance and housing and labels, whatever they may be. That being said, as long as you’re still up for… this, as you put it, I will never deny you, no matter the distance. I would cross oceans for you,” 

A cum-drunk, half-asleep giggle escaped me as he nuzzled in, kissing my ear. 

“Thank you,” 

“No, thank you,” he matched my laughter with his own, “I believe this is what James would call post nut clarity,” 

“Now you ruined it!” I huffed. The faux anger only lasted a moment, though, before I was rolling to face him, cheek pressed to the soft, downy hair of his chest. “I love you, Helmut.” 

“I love you too, sweet girl. Now sleep. I’ll get up and deal with the dog once you’re resting,” 

For the first time in two years, I breathed in the scent of Helmut’s cologne before lapsing into a peaceful sleep.

---------

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first foray into smut in literal years, and it was literally all written within a 12 hour period, so I hope any mistakes weren't enough to take away from your enjoyment. Comments are always appreciated, but never expected. See you on the next authors note!

[ms0milk]

dog tired and destined to drown

shinsou hitoshi x (fem)reader

cw MDNI, established fwb, thoroughly whipped shinsou, reader is exhausted and in need of some assistance. pent up tears, not quite dacryphilia, fingering + oral (reader receiving), soft dom!shinsou, praise + reassurance, "my girl," and "pretty girl" used throughout. not sure how to tag -> "reader bursts into tears and gives shinsou a heart attack." two dopes lie to themselves about having casual feelings. 3.7k

He doesn’t stumble so much as melt into the dorms, after wrapping up a midnight patrol that’s made him contemplate eating his hero license. It’s fucking finals season.

Shinsou drags himself through the second round of glass safety doors and into the common room, empty, save for you. Hunched over a splay of books and colored pens on the round center table. Your head perks up at his entrance. His fingers tighten around the strap of his bag.

You’re sitting sleepy and so goddamned pretty in your favorite sweater and the ridiculous headband you never remember to take off after washing your face, a pretzel in your chair. One knee up (a round red imprint of it on your cheek) and both arms laden with paperwork too complicated for a sidekick. Shinsou imagines dropping his equipment on the common room floor and filling his hands with you. Kissing your forehead and stumbling stupidly off to bed hand in hand.

He doesn’t do any of that but does smile the way you both know is always only for you and rumbles with a quirk-worn voice, “Why are you awake?”

Nonchalance is attempted but as always it comes out cloying.

When Shinsou approaches your sticky note-highlighter-spiral bound workbench, you still haven’t answered the question and he notes that your dark circles might be competing with his.

“Hitoshi,” you sag– and the exhaustion is so unlike you it's worrying– and crawl out of your seat, abandoning both slippers, to meet him. Before you can thud against his chest, Shinsou catches you with a palm to the forehead and drops his bag to the floor. 

“Hey– Y/n?”

If you weren’t dead on your feet you might’ve clicked both heels at the sound of your first name tumbling, finally so comfortably, from Shinsou’s lips. It took you getting knocked unconscious on a mission two months ago for him to even dare speak the word and while today was significantly less life threatening, it didn’t feel much better. As it stands, an IV drip might even do you some good.

“Bad day?”

Instead of answering, you slip your face from the worried hero’s hold and bury it into the shoulder of his sweatshirt.

You agreed, you both agreed to keep your arrangement a secret from your friends. You both agreed it was just casual, a way to let out stress in the unrelenting chaos of third-year sidekick work. Nothing special, zero stakes. Although casual certainly does not mean crumbling into your fuckbuddy’s chest after a horrible day and you feel ridiculous before any words even manage to leave your mouth.

Shinsou practices saying your name, testing it over tongue and tooth under his breath, everyday, all day long. He considers inflection and emphasis, your foreign accent, and the way his own accent might fuck up the beautiful shapes. He’s a civilian in love, he doesn’t think you’re ridiculous.

“Are you hurt?” He rumbles, uninterested in who might walk into the common room and catch you both like this. You shake your head, the last shake landing your face against the warm skin of his neck to nuzzle the pulse there, irregular, and take in the smell of his post-patrol shower. He holds back chills when you exhale against him.

He tries again, “Then what’s wrong?” and pushes your thick headband back far enough to pull it from your hair. He smooths down the frizz he caused with two big hands along the sides of your head, keeping up the slow and heavy strokes long after he’s tamed your flyaways. “Y/n?”

“Civilian got hurt on patrol today.”

You don’t need to explain. Hero work doesn’t always feel triumphant.

“And I bombed my practice exam, and, and I just can’t fucking focus.”

Shinsou, worn-out in his own ways, wilts as he realizes how much deeper your exhaustion is than a failed test or injured civilian. It's been weeks for both of you, of mismatched patrol schedules and shitty sidekick busywork. Agencies across town, overnight shifts, and class in the morning. Worse than all that, your shoulders start to tremble from where he’s tucked you inside of him.

“Are they safe? The civilian.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, mostly muffled by his own collar, “just a short hospital stay.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Itsuka made dinner.”

“Is that a yes?”

You clutch at the sides of his jacket and nod again, punctuated by more chills and he simultaneously can’t watch and (more importantly) cannot stand just letting you cry silently against his shoulder. Shinsou brings his hands from your hair to your cheeks and pulls your face up to look at him from where you’ve hidden it.

No tears drip from your lashes. You just stare through him, more exhausted than anyone he’s ever seen save for Aizawa or a trip to any mirror. The usually aggressive twinkle in your eyes has dulled and suffice it to stay, Shinsou’s heart breaks a little bit more. You’re so pretty so close to him even under unflattering dorm lighting and the gutwrenching bite of your lip, holding back everything he’s sure overwhelms you inside.

He brushes both thumbs under your eyes and hopes that the very not-casual and actually quite unrelenting love that threatens to spill from him like honey, doesn’t seep into your skin from his touch and give him away.

“I’ll help you with work in the morning, think you should call it a night.”

For a second you continue to look at, through, and over him and then you lean forward for a kiss.

It’s warm and minty and Shinsou’s endlessly embarrassed by how easy it would be for your lips to kill him, but you’re needier than you should be considering the burden of your dark circles. He struggles to lean away and succumbs to the hungry tilt of your chin and the cloy of your tongue three more times before managing a staccato, “I don’t think–”

“I can’t sleep,” you breathe. You’ve dipped back far enough to speak and Shinsou knows he shouldn’t, but he cups your jaw– cradles your neck in either hand and sinks forward to press your lips together again. He’s so, so tired, and his head bobs lazily, but you cling to his sleeve and tuck your nose under his to follow where his mouth guides you.

In just a few seconds the pair of you are lost, Shinsou with his forehead pressed to yours and you with the unshakable urge to strip off his stupid jacket. Any classmate studying late or in need of a midnight snack might not have the strength to do anything but crawl back up the staircase at the sight of you.

You lean away earnestly this time and press your thumb into his swollen lip. It slides easily over saliva your tongue left behind and the hero watches every flicker of your eyes so sincerely it makes your ears hot.

“m sorry your day was so terrible.”

“Honestly, I’m so tired I can’t even cry. Toshi I’m–”  This close, your eyes can’t focus well enough to see each other clearly but you still get butterflies under his gaze, “Can you help me fall asleep tonight?”

He slips his palms back up to your cheeks and tilts your head slowly, side to side to study you. In a bustling school morning or family dinner with class 3-B, Shinsou treats you as he would any other teammate. No touching save for a spar, no gifts or surprises, and certainly no sweet words. He does watch you though, from his desk beside yours. And says yes too quickly when you ask for help. He smiles every time he sees you, just slightly, and no one, none of your classmates and least of all you, has the heart to point it out in case he stops self-consciously.

Privacy is what makes Shinsou so touchy and if you could have seen the glaze over his eyes from this close, you would know there isn’t a thought in his head except for you.

He takes his time quietly tracing your jaw with his fingers and tucking your hair behind your ears. You know he’s worried about you, and you can feel in the lightness of his touch the way he’s sorting out how to tell you that you’re just gonna have to go to bed. For your health and safety and all those sappy things.

But Shinsou just watches you quietly for a few more seconds. He drinks in the sight of you after so many days apart and whispers, “Yes. Yeah, okay.” Processing your request in real time. He blinks back down to you, “My room?”

Practiced hands remember every cleft of your body even in dim lamplight. Shinsou’s chest is bare, warm– hot even and soft when you steady yourself against it. He’s real, there’s give in his skin when you squeeze him and a heartbeat in every vein under your fingers. You’re on your knees straddling his lap in an equally warm bed and trying your hardest not to make a single sound.

“Can I take this off?” He murmurs through hair in his spot behind your ear. Shinsou bites kisses up your shoulder while one hand flits at the clasp of your bra. Patient, steady. The other presses up each dip of your spine in the chill left behind by your long abandoned sweater. You nod. A flick, then two and your own chest is finally bare against his, nipples pert and pressed from how close Shinsou holds you.

It’s agonizing how gentle he is.

“You’re warm,” he whispers as you pull away to cup his face and roll your clothed hips over his own.

“Use me hero, I'm yours tonight just–”

He silences you in dim light with a kiss, more of a touch of lips, and leans his forehead against yours, “Slow down.” 

He can’t trick you though, your words always send him to the brink. The tent of his briefs is a bulge between your legs now, easy to slide against and hot enough to warm you through your underwear. Faces pressed close Shinsou kisses you again, resting one hand on your ass and drawing the other up your back so lightly it sends chills feathering out in every direction.

“Not treating you rough when you’re so tired,” he breathes, “‘s not safe.”

You consider headbutting him and decide against it, opting instead to pull his lips back to you with your teeth. You’re allowed a few rough kisses before Shinsou presses one of his hands flat to your stomach with fingertips so cold that your gasp breaks the seal between you.

He hums as your body trembles, cursing and shivering all while the sleepy hero takes his time warming himself up against you, in the dips of your cleavage and thighs. Shinsou, as always, wants to eat you alive.

“You work so hard Y/n, it’s my turn. My turn to make you feel good, yeah?” He drags a knuckle down your stomach, further and further until he grazes a spot too sensitive for you to keep still. Cute, he agonizes when you buck against his fingers and he smiles into your cheek when he finds the pooled wet waiting for him through your underwear.

Nodding wildly, you catch his lips again and grind your hips deeper into his, only relenting when Shinsou slips his hand under your waistband and truly gives you what you want. You gasp with his feathertouch at that sensitive bud, just the circle of two fingers before he presses deeper into your folds.

As your body pours into his too gentle touches Shinsou keeps you close, “C’mon, tell me.” A heavy hand slides up your spine, one notch at a time until his palm cradles the back of your neck. He’s wrapped around you, he’s supporting you at every angle and it’s allconsuming.

Shinsou doesn’t ask, he instructs; he doesn’t want to hurt you. The days he uses his quirk on you are rare and no matter how hot you’re convinced it is or how much effort you put into begging, he still makes you explain to him, with every detail you can imagine, what you want. You’re in love with him. You hope he can’t tell.

“Tell me.”

“You Toshi– inside of me, please, can’t wait–”

You must be blind if you can’t see how quickly he gives you everything you ask for.

With you straddling his lap, Shinsou presses two fingers at your quivering entrance and sinks, knuckles deep, finally inside of you. 

It’s the deepest, hungriest ache. The hero’s digits drag wet with the slightest hint of a curve. Smooth and steady, Shinsou begins to pump his wrist, keeping those fingers you know so well hooked against the spot that fills your head with static.

You think you’ve said something– made some kind of sound in your haze because Shinsou’s chest rumbles with laughter as you melt so pretty for him. Finally unable to form a single exhausted thought.

“My sweet girl.”

Wet drips from his wrist and pools in his palm as he holds you steady over his thighs, rolling and suckling and pulling the fear and the fight from your body with his thick fingers. It’s all a dream. Spreading you open and kissing you better– his dream. He draws you tight against him with a hand at the back of your neck as he fucks you gentle, pressing your cheek to his shoulder and smiling when your fingers shake and tremble at his biceps, failing to clutch any part of him. There’s nothing but the sound of your gasping breaths, a hiccup and shaking whimper, but still he knows you’re sensitive tonight.

“Still with me?” He cooes with a voice rasped from patrol work, and when you whine, press a palm flat to his chest for some semblance of response he leans forward to tip you over his knees and flat onto the bed.

You gasp and he thinks you’re going to ask him why, but he can only look at you like this– laid out bare, warm exhaustion and half lidded eyes begging up at him– before pressing forward to kiss you. As you reach up to run fingers through his hair, he rocks his messy fingers against the ache inside of you he knows so well, huge flat palm hooking you there and grinding circles over your clit.

It’s too much and not enough, Shinsou Hitoshi. Don’t get closer, don’t read my mind.

God, tongues folding, teeth clicking, Shinsou always falls apart when you kiss him. Dies a little in fact. He wants to taste more of you before he goes, before you kill him.

“Toshi, don’t–” you choke when the hero pulls away but as he slips farther between your legs, you have to bite your own hand to keep from making any sound someone might hear. Shinsou, with a cheek at your thigh, licks a fat wet strip from the dripping hole his fingers never stop pumping, all the way to a tiny aching bundle of livewires.

“Don’t what?” He breathes into you, freezing every movement. But you can only manage, – don’t stop– from between your fingers before he melts and starts back up again.

It’s a gentle lap first, kitten kisses meant to taste the wettest parts of you, before he hooks his free hand around your thigh and presses heavy under your stomach. The happy dull warmth of his working fingers becomes lighting again as he fucks into the pressure and your hands fly to his hair.

It’s not even a noise you make so much as a broken song. Ragged shallow breaths to stay quiet. Even with your thighs quivering tight against his ears, Shinsou hears your lopsided gasps and knows he should remind you to breathe– but when his fingers pull gently back on the hood of your pulsing bud he can’t do anything but cling to you. Jaw rolling, tongue lapping like a starving man.

You can’t help it. Shinsou hums with joy and tears flood your eyes immediately. Pleasure and exhaustion are going to tip you over the edge too quickly– embarrassingly, flatteringly, fast. Your heart is a comet filled with too many things. It’s impossible to stay still. You press the balls of your feet to his wide shoulders and try not to buck so hard, grinding your hips into the hero that won’t let you go.

Wet rolls down your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose when you tilt your head to muffle the cries that come with a shudder. He can taste how close you are; he’s almost drowning in it. He won’t change a thing. Shinso’s bicep flexes with every curl of his fingers inside of you and he moans with his mouth full, growling subconsciously, at the friction between his clothed cock and the lip of the mattress where he’s sunk inside of you hundreds of times.

“H-Hitoshi–”

Your chest shudders and heaves and there’s no stopping it. You want to hear him say your name, praise you, pretty girl, but if his tongue stopped now you might burst into tears. You’re halfway there already.

One more hum from him and your weary composure snaps. Heat burst from your chest and melts fuzzy into your fingers, broken vowels off your lips try to form the shapes of his name as you tumble from consciousness and into panting lilting whimpers. He lets you. Usually he’ll kiss you quiet or cover your mouth with his too-big hands and smile as your fucked-out saliva drips between his fingers. Today he only holds you tighter.

Hero work, homework, hospital stays, fear and isolation, love– blurr together in your tears as Shinsou works you down from your high. His grip gives way to something softer like a cradle, and he slowly rises to all fours so he can kiss a sticky path up your stomach.

It’s unspoken but expected, the few minutes you get when one of you is too sensitive, where you’re allowed to pretend you’re in love. This is the best part. Stroking his jaw, kissing his cheeks, twirling his curls with your finger. Laughing about the state of the bed, falling deadly silent and giggling into each other's eyes when footsteps creak past the door. Stopping just short of I love yous. Not today.

Today you don’t want him to look at you.

“Y/n,” He whispers into your breast when he kisses the valley there, half distracted by his own exhaustion and the fluttering of your pulse under his fingers, “Y/n?”

You’ve brought both arms up to cover your face but no one would be stupid enough to mistake your shudders for pleasure.

Shinsou’s heart plummets, “What’s wrong?” You’re laid out beneath him still catching your breath but the tremble of your lips isn’t fooling him. No more questions, he demands it now just to be safe, “Let me see.”

You’re in no mood to fight, You’re in no state to work, or think, or be in love with him, and when you lower your arms, fat tears roll wellwetted tracks down your cheeks. Shinsou pounces. He’s quick to sit you up but slower to touch you. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Why wouldn’t you say anything? “Y/n–”

“Felt so good Toshi,” you stutter and after a night of trying to be so quiet you finally let a sob take you. Blood returns to Shinsou’s body and the adrenaline melts into his sheets. He reaches forward to cup your teary cheek with wet fingers as you blubber and whimper and try to curl back in on yourself, not paying much mind to the cum still sticky in his palm.

“Pretty girl,” he smiles wry.

Shinsou tugs your waist gently to guide you into his arms and it doesn’t take much strength. You melt into him.

“so tired, Toshi–”

“I know baby”

“– hands felt so good– I’m– I–” you can’t quite finish the thought as another bout of tears takes over and both you and your hero smile against each other. You, albeit fitfully. You love him. He loves you more. There’s too much to be filled with at all times, and sometimes when you start to cry you just keep finding reasons not to stop.

You want to keep him forever. Only yours, not a national hero, not a symbol of peace, not even the fucking class president. Graduation is coming too quickly– the day you have to wish him luck as a hero and not a sidekick makes you sick. The thought of him getting hurt–

“You’re thinking too hard, ‘can feel it,” he rumbles, “Thought you were tired?” He wants you to know and hopes you can’t tell, that he can only hear his smile when he talks to you, “Or d'you need me to make you cum again?”

For some reason this makes you moan with heartbreak and Shinsou’s hands shoot up– his eyes go wide with worry, before you groan, “..there’s cum on my face,” and the sobbing starts earnestly again.

The hero’s head falls back in laughter, no longer afraid of disturbing the dorms as you let yourself go against him. Let them find you, let them find him perfectly happy. His sticky fingers draw adoring circles up and down your back.

“m sorry pretty girl,”

“should be,” you cry and whimper and laugh along with him.

How long were you holding it in? How much longer can he?

Shinsou leans back on his hips a bit to rock you gently through your trembling. He knows how much you like his hand on the back of your neck and so he uses his other to pull the blankets up over your shoulders. Warm and rhythmic and perfectly dark in your little piece of the world tonight.

At the edge of tearful sleep his voice rumbles through his chest where your cheek is pressed so soundly, “Can I clean you up?”

You nod, breath coming a bit easier now.

[anantaru]

icanf stop thinking abt dainsleif and choking T_T his pretty hands around your throat while he fucks u… rough actions but words filled with praise and as sweet as honey!!! telling u he loves you and how pretty you look like thattt 💕

cw. rough, choking, fem! reader

a/n. currently very busy travelling to different countries due to my work, so enjoy this little drabble i wrote on my notes app while flying 🩷

dainsleif loves how you feel under his roughened palm— how he can recognize your hard gulps and swallows while he‘s pressing his digits into your neck just a little bit more, not too much but also not too faint, so he could notice and experience each flex and hiccup you’d do— in a certain manner, you could state that it‘s the perfect amount of pressure as he saw it.

"fuck— i love you." he pants and fully jerks himself into you, hips spent but determined to push you towards a curling climax— until you feel all bubbly and warm while blissfully crowded with his erect cock. it's almost shameful, how the pearly drops of pebbles threatened to slip from under your sticky lashes at the stimulating stir on your lower region, "you’re so- so pretty." he whimpers above your lips, exhaling the swelling air from his lungs when he feels you more.

"so pretty like this."

dainsleif angles his head towards your direction, winding over your jaw and lips to muffle your like saccharine tasting sobs as the nauseating air surrounding you was beginning to pitch heavier and thicker— cloying, the lack of breathing control teleported you towards bottomless bliss and spirals as your nostrils nose over the penetrating smell of filth and sex, mind overcasted with clouded pleasure.

his hips were relentlessly brushing past the tight ring of your hole and limitless of stamina— slapping erratically into your softness over and over while leaving it to your pretty perfect cunt to gnaw and clench down on his girth to keep him in, languidly stroking him with your spongy insides.

"i love— love you too." you somehow manage to choke out, by how drunk on his cock you appeared to be it was a clear miracle that you were able to squeeze something out at all. your eyes were turning glassy at the stern grip on your neck as his fingers still served as your most dearest necklace— you flutter your lashes open to peevishly admire your lover; how his biceps were wholly tensed and his wet lips widened, his brows eagerly scrunched together as his hips worked in keeping with your own small needy ruts up into his length.

while this alone was almost too much for dainsleif to properly function anymore— he's so terribly addicted and in love with you, it's comical, almost. how you cannot stop drifting your eyes off him, petulantly blinking and pouting at him from under your splashed lashes, all pseudo shy and stimulated, pleased by him and him alone.

even for a man with his level of self restraint, he needed to cum now, all over you— and mark you from the inside out, until you‘re gushing and guzzling up all he gives you, until his heavy cum webs further into your skin and fills your womb with nothing but his whites.

your cunt helplessly pulses around his girth and he nudges his cock closer to you, most prominently deeper until ghosting on to the deepest pleasuring spots in your puffy pussy, settling all the sloppy mess of his seed and your liquids inside of you while the overflow coated him up entirely, leaving nothing untouched.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[coffeeghoulie]

“Fucking doesn’t involve this much talking usually”

Swiss/aether

Ghockey au if you’re so inclined

ohhhhh hell yeah, I was thinking about how I hadn't done any Swiss/Aether in the hockey au yet

please ignore the way there's literally one line that puts this in the hockey au lmao

Contains lazy sex and Aether's praise kink he refuses to admit he has

prompt from this list, and divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

It's always a treat to have Swiss like this, Aether admits. The view is... fuck. The view sure is something. Aether can't find the words for it on a good day, never mind right now. He props himself up on his elbows to get a better angle.

Big, brown eyes stare back up at him. Swiss's smile is just as bright as he leans his face against his thigh, knelt at the end of the bed between Aether's legs. He can hear the way his stubble scrapes against the denim of his jeans. Aether reaches down to card through his dark curls.

"Oh, come on, Aeth, lemme?" Swiss says, teasing and warm. A big hand skates up the front of his stomach, slipping underneath his shirt to card through the thick trail of hair disappearing under his waistband. His cock throbs, filling out in interest as Swiss's breath fans hot against it even through two layers of fabric.

Aether rolls his eyes. "Like it's even a question," he says. "'M not gonna say no to you."

Deft fingers immediately attack the zipper and button of his pants. He's considerate enough to lift his hips so Swiss can pull down his pants and underwear in one fell swoop. His cock, thickening and filling out faster than he'd care to admit, smacks against the swell of his stomach.

Swiss tucks the elastic of his boxers under his balls. He never once takes his eyes off of Aether's face, even as he leans in and rubs his cheek against the coarse fuzz there.

Aether groans, eyes rolling back. He hisses through his teeth at the feeling of Swiss's stubble against sensitive skin.

"Oh, big guy liked that, didn't he?" Swiss coos, wrapping long, calloused fingers around his cock. He presses a kiss, wet, sloppy, against the base. Clever tongue trailing up the vein running up the shaft until it teases at his foreskin.

Aether's fist curls into the sheets, the other hand rucking up his shirt further. His cock throbs hard as he sees the glint in Swiss's eyes.

"Such a nice dick, Aeth, feels so good in my hand," Swiss says, letting his eyelashes flutter as he kisses the head. It's getting ruddier with every passing second, even with the minimal stimulation. His cheeks are flushing the same color. "You always make me and Dewey feel so good with it, figured it's time to return the favor."

He braces himself for the wet heat of Swiss's mouth, of teeth tucked behind lips and mind-numbing suction, but the next thing Aether feels is the nip of teeth against his hip, moving up the exposed skin of his belly.

"God, love feeling you like this," Swiss whispers reverently before sucking a mark above his hip. He rubs his stubble against the sensitized flesh as blood pools under the surface already. "All of that strength, sure, I get to watch it when we work, but there's nothing better than this."

Aether does not whine, thank you very much, but it's a close thing. His dick throbs and he throws an arm over his eyes. Suddenly the sight of Swiss between his thighs is too much, even though the only skin visible is a bit of sternum where he's unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.

"Aw, too much?" Swiss says, almost cloying. His hand moves on Aether's cock, the wet stripe where he licked enough to smooth the way. "Don't worry, I'll be so good to you, Aeth. You deserve to be taken care of good and proper, the way you watch out for us."

Aether tries to ignore the way Swiss's silver tongue makes his chest ache. He instead tries to focus on his hand on his dick, but he's not moving. "Swiss," he says, not quite a warning. This isn't a thing, just something spontaneous after a lazy afternoon spent laying together on the couch, no obligations except for Dew herding Lady into her carrier to go to her vet appointment for shots an hour or two ago.

"What?" Swiss laughs, tonguing through his slit. "You mean to tell me you don't deserve it?"

Aether groans, hand reaching to Swiss's curls again. He doesn't pull or push. Just something to hold onto. "Oh, don't start with this again," he begs. "Please, just- Fucking doesn't involve this much talking, usually."

"You're one to talk, Mr. 'I'll Sing Everyone's Praises But My Own,'" Swiss laughs, but he actually tightens his grip and starts stroking Aether's cock with purpose. "Besides, we're not fucking. I'm making you feel good."

"Then make me feel good," Aether snips, but there's no heat. Besides, he's still carding through Swiss's hair, petting him softly.

"Ask nice for what you want, Aeth, and I'll do it," Swiss promises, and Aether's known him long enough to know he's a man of his word. "Anything."

Aether smiles, expression breaking with a groan as Swiss mouths along his thick shaft. There's the barest, tiniest hint of the flats of his teeth. "Fucking-" He cuts himself off, taking a long, shuddering breath. "I want your mouth on me, Swiss, please give it to me."

Another flash of that grin makes Aether's brain go offline. "As my good boy wishes."

The groan Aether lets out is immediately cut off as Swiss swallows him whole.

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.”

The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

THIRTY-ONE EXCERPT:

As the leaves slipped from their branches, fluttering lightly in the cool breeze of November, Harry met Tom’s gaze and, for a moment, it felt as if the world around them went out of focus. The murmur of the other boys muffled in Harry’s ears; the world became a blur of colors.

Locked, caged—captivated, Harry couldn’t look away.

The edge of Tom’s lips lifted; his eyebrow quirked upwards in a mild question. Harry did the only mature thing he could think of: he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

Harry was gifted with a flash of shock. Tom let out a laugh; he slammed a hand over his mouth, eyes widening in surprised mirth as his shoulders shook. Harry grinned.

I caught him off guard. I actually got him to laugh—

“Tom?” asked Quintus, glancing back at them. “Something wrong?”

Tom shook his head. “Fine,” he choked out, mouth still hidden.

The other boys looked at him curiously. Tom kept his face hidden and when he finally met Harry’s eyes, Harry gave him another grin.

Heh, not everyday I manage to—

—Harry’s breath disappeared.

In return, the barest of genuine smiles lightened Tom’s fine features; its rare appearance churned something warm inside Harry’s entire body.

Harry quickly dropped his gaze, heat filling his cheeks and protecting him from the chill. He pushed the green and silver scarf to his mouth. His heart raced in his chest, thumping with the roar of his blood through every corner of his body.

He stole a glance once more.

The wind gusted lightly; the dark brown curls on Tom’s head fluttered in the breeze. Tom brushed his fringe out of his eyes as he looked around at the scenery with a contented expression.

Harry’s stomach swooped. His face burned with renewed strength, as if his cheeks had caught on fire. He buried his face further inside the scarf; the heat within was an inferno.

Calm down. Calm down.

Merlin, he’d never felt like this before. Not like this. The stirring in his chest, this warmth that filled every corner of his body, it weaved through every particle of his entire soul. Fucking hell. What is this? I feel like I’m gonna combust. He’d felt the chill moments ago, but now he had the overwhelming urge to pull off his scarf and strip out of his sweater.

Hang on.

Hang on just a minute…

From the beginning, Harry had known he was attracted to Tom, but it hadn’t bothered him too much. It’d been there under the surface, simmering with a gentle, mild flame. It’d been weak, manageable even. But this? This boiling heat in his chest and face threatened to consume him, to turn his body into ash—it was too intense. What in Merlin’s name was this… It reminded Harry of his fifth and sixth year… Oh. Oh, no.

Shit.

Harry had a bit of a crush on Tom, now didn’t he?

Oh, hell, no. No, no—and, no!

NO!

All the other Slytherins were blissfully unaware of one Harry Potter’s internal screams and screeches of denial.

For fuck’s sake, get it together! The bastard’s barely been pleasant for a day—a single fucking day! How am I falling for him so soon? Fuck. Shit. No. I’m not a swooning maiden—dammit, no, don’t even think about it!

His mind streamed an endless conga line of expletives.

Harry wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow him whole at that very moment. How utterly mortifying. He’d sunk to a new low now, bottom of the ocean low to its soul crushing depths. They’d barely tried to kill each other three weeks ago. Tom had been weird, snappy, and distant for two of those weeks because of nightmares and little sleep. As for this week, it wasn’t like Harry was around Tom as much as he’d been around Ron and Hermione.

Hell, Harry was pretty damn sure, if given the choice, Tom would still kill him for immortality.

Merlin, I’m fucked.

It might’ve been a bit insane to be having a crush on a guy who’d murder a friend for immortality.

Just a bit.

[gleefullypolin]

My top 10 ships

I haven't done this in forever, and I was bored and didn't feel like working so.....felt like an appropriate thing to do instead.

My top 10 ships!

#1 Polin - Bridgerton

Did you really anticipate anyone else being at my top spot? Friends to lovers....Swoon! They have my heart, soul, and life. I literally love a girl who knows what she wants and a man who loves the fuck out of her like no other so this is like porn and comfort. Give me everything tonight and more!

#2 Captain Swan - OUAT

If you aren't going to give me friends to lovers, I'll move over to Enemies and find my kind because holy hot out of hell, there is nothing better than Captain Hook and his smolder winning over Emma Swan. Fuck that man can burn! Years after that show ended and I can still sit in them and ruminate and catch myself on fire.

#3 Clois - Smallville

There have been a lot of different Lois and Clark's out there, but none have been Erica Durance and Tom Welling. I've never been so happy and angry with a show in all my life. I used to wish so much against Lana Lang that I am embarrassed my own behavior. But I truly loved the banter and way these two brought these characters to live. It was marvelous.

#4 Reylo - Star Wars

Being a Reylo shipper was like being sentenced to death and hell all at the same time for many years. We were bullied, tortured, shat on, and then given everything we wanted in 30 seconds only for them to fucking KILL HIM after a sacrifice. I have never both smiled, cried, and then curled into a ball in a theater so quickly that I wanted to die before. Even my family ridiculed me. It was torture but I still live there. I still ship it and you cannot make me stop!!

#5 Fitzsimmons - Agents of Shield

The brilliant science couple put through so much that even they thought they were cursed. Pushed to find each other across time and space, kidnapped into a matrix, forced to fight one another, half the couple killed, duplicate versions of themselves, but champions of the hug, star crossed and so full of love. Friends to lovers, he fell first, she fell harder and GOD I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR!

#6 Starpollo - Battlestar Galactica

A couple who knew how to tear out my heart, throw it to the ground, and then trample it with their feet to ashes. While Lee and Kara were not destined to end up together, they damn sure made it hard not to want them to find a way. They truly loved each other more than anyone they were with in the show, but guilt always found a way to fuck that up for them. God it hurt to love you two.

#7 Romanogers - Marvel Universe

Let's talk crack ships because oh how they break your heart. But it is glorious. This one is mine. I will forever love Nat and Steve and I will live in the space and time that they were on the road together living their lives without a banner. Because you can't tell me what they got up to! I refuse to believe you! But let's not talk about how it all ended because my heart still hurts and I don't like to talk about it!

#8 Finchel - Glee

Since I'm already ripping my heart out, let's go all the way with it. Finchel has always been that ship that tears my heart to shreds. I was all in from the characters to the actors and I'll never honestly get over it. I'll probably always bleed Finn and Rachel, Cory and Lea. And I'll never be able to talk about it to normal people. It was something I lived, breathed, and honestly part of me died with. So I think that's enough of that.

#9 Caryl - The Walking Dead

You can call this whatever it is, some say crack ship, I say...otherwise. It's my ship of ships for TWD. It's my coming home ship. Because that's what they are to each other. They are love. No one tell me otherwise, I live there, I love there. So do they. Deal with it.

#10 Roschel - Friends

Look, say what you want, but I stayed home on Thursday nights just to watch whether they would or wouldn't. Nothing grabbed me like these two. They were lobsters, they were on a break, I didn't give a fuck what it was, only that they had me in a chokehold and that's what I realized what shipping was. Because dammit, I wanted whatever feeling it was. And thus the 9 people above because the passion I sought. So bless it, they needed to be here.

And there you have it, my top 10 ships! Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to add your own :)

[revenantghost]

Man. Wolfwood's arc is satisfying, so unbelievably good. It's a goddamned masterstroke of character storytelling. I can't even say I would change it if I had the power to, because it's just so beautiful.

However.

I hate that it took until now for Wolfwood to grasp how loved he is in the world. That he never lost that love. That he may have fucked up, but he only gained more of that love. He made a friend. A sworn friend.

Wolfwood lived a life of abuse and neglect on every single goddamn level. He's a man smothered in a cloying layer of trauma that he can't shake. And yet, he still tries to fight for goodness in the world. Despite life trying to beat it out of him in every way possible, despite life teaching him that there was nothing worth fighting for left--he never fully gave up in his own way. And he never had a chance to heal. He never had a chance to feel that love. Wolfwood is a victim who never had that moment to reclaim himself. Even coming into this fight, he was living by his trauma responses--that he couldn't ask for help, that he had to do this alone. He's learned so much. He came so far. But he barely stumbled out onto the other side before that future before him was gone.

He deserved all of those tomorrows with Vash.

[miheartsedthings]

Idea - Billy spending his time with someone else while the reader is crushing on him from afar, sees their relationship unfold into something the reader wishes they had with Billy, but Billy's just doing it to distract himself from his elevating feelings for her while she's trying not to feel crushed by this massive crush.. happy ending :>

Thank you so much for being patient while I worked on this! Hope you like it! 😘

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.” ― Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma

SFW, Angst, Fluff, Hidden Desire

Backing away, trembling, eyes filling with tears as his mouth babbles softly ‘No, it’s not real. This can’t…it can’t be happening…please…’ but it is happening. It has happened. Billy Hargrove has fallen in love, and much to his despair.

He wakes every morning from a nightmare of this all-consuming feeling. It’s terrible the way your face lives in his mind. You’ve replaced so many darker images and for that, he’s so grateful, but now there’s the cloying need for you. The Flayer’s voice used to echo in his skull. In the years since leaving Hawkins, it’s quieted down and now only one message remains, tacked to the back of his mind in perpetuity. No one will love you it says No one will stay. 

This is the strongest because it’s the one he already believed. The ‘truth’ he already knew about himself. His being unloveable. He thought he’d made his peace with it. He thought he was satisfied enough to have survived the Flayer and made it back to California. For a time he found a kind of happiness. A hollow, sugary calm that left his days empty. There was booze again, and a slow reentry to weightlifting. His appetite for women was slowly returning. He’d made a couple of friends and attended a couple of parties. He was creating a new normal and it was okay that it didn’t feel exactly right. 

He could live with the waves of loneliness that came over him at night. He could handle those dark memories and the nameless sense of loss. He would’ve been fine with it, if not for you. He saw you in class one morning. The dawn of another semester, another summer left behind. His skin was still warm from days on the beach, his head ringing with a hangover. Then you spoke and it was like you’d called his name with just the sound of it. He looked at you and listened to you, and every next thing you said spelled out his ruin. Every day the feeling sank further and further until he was bashful of looking your way. 

As if that wasn’t enough, you kept showing up all over campus. You were in the student center whenever he went, and at parties he attended looking so fucking good in everything you wore. You passed by each other on your morning walk to separate classes and you always waved. Always with that lovely smile of yours. It got to the point where the thought of moving around campus made him anxious about running into you. He thought of you when he picked out his clothes, for fuck’s sake. Things couldn’t continue this way. He had to find peace from you. So, when Lauren asked him out one day after the class you shared, he said yes. 

You’re trying to ignore the twist in your gut when you see Billy and Lauren walk in together. They’d always sat together in lecture, so you suppose it makes sense they’d start dating. But that doesn’t make it easier. You’d noticed Billy on your first day in class. He sat near the back, classically handsome and easily the most interesting person in class. When he talked, everyone listened, not just because of the way he looks. The way he speaks is filled with intention, right down to the gestures he chooses to accentuate his words. Whatever he feels he means it and he never shies away from that.

At the same time, you get the sense that what he says isn’t useless fluff, but based on something. Whatever he’s been through has changed him. You find yourself wanting to go up to him after class and ask him where he gets his confidence. You’d listen to his whole life story if he cared to tell you. But every time you thought you’d worked up the nerve to speak to him, those pretty blue eyes turned your nerve into vapor. 

You’d always been a little shy, but with Billy, it was a new kind of nervousness. Even boys you’d had crushes on in school hadn’t made you feel the heart-stopping terror of his full attention. Maybe it was for the best that Lauren had taken him off the market. Now, there was no need to be nervous because there was no chance anything could happen. So why doesn’t that make it easier? Why, instead of relief when you see the pair together, do you only feel a queasy swell of envy? 

“Count off when I point to you. Evens will be one team, odds will be another.” 

You think nothing of it when the professor presents the group project. Then, you realize that you’re number three and Billy is number seven, and you’re flooded with fear. 

“Oh nooo,” Lauren whines, hugging Billy’s arm to her chest. Billy says something softly to her. He’s always gentle with her, paying attention to every little thing she says. If only he’d look at you with the same care. He wears a lot of denim and smokes so much you smell the leftover cigarettes on him when he walks by. He’s always lost in thought when you see him. Something dark and cloudy behind his eyes you find yourself curious about. The distance is what kills you.

It feels unnatural that you can’t just go up and ask him what he’s thinking about. But you can’t. You watch the gentle way he pulls away from Lauren, telling her she doesn’t need to miss him since she’ll see him after class. You can’t blame her for being clingy, if he was yours you’d regret every moment apart. 

His eyes lift and there you are, making his heart race. You look down to your notebook. Your two other group members have already arrived at the two seats beside and diagonal to you, leaving the spot across from you for Billy. He plops down, his face the perfect mask of indifference. He doesn’t even look at you. Your stomach hurts.

The professor explains the assignment and you turn in your seat to watch and listen, but the words are going over your head. Billy gives off a blazing heat and you can’t ignore it to save your life. After class the four of you agree to go right to the library and talk about the assignment.

In the library, only you and Billy show up. Of course, Lauren is there, too. 

“Y/n, how do you get your hair to do that? It’s so cute!” Lauren smiles at you, twirling a lock of her auburn curls around her finger. You try to be lighthearted, but your face is burning. 

“Just practice. And Youtube.” You chuckle. Billy sits there looking down at his phone. He’s still yet to speak since the three of you arrived in the library. Instead, Lauren has been acting as his mouthpiece. 

“Very cute,” she says again, then nudges Billy. “Isn't her hair so cute, BB?” 

Finally, his gaze lifts and he looks at you. You awkwardly smile and look down at your paper. 

“Sure,” he says. 

Lauren chastizes him, saying he’s supposed to agree with her and always compliment a lady on her appearance. 

“It looks like the others aren’t coming,” You say, breaking into the conversation, sufficiently embarrassed and ready to escape. “We should try again later this week.” 

In your hurry to get away, you snatch Billy’s pen from the table, shoving it into your bag with everything else. You don’t notice until you get home and quietly curse yourself. The next day, you see him in the student center when you go there to study. You smile and wave like you usually do, but then, wave him over. He hesitates a moment, his usual cool demeanor chipping a bit as he saunters over. Damn, even the way he walks is hot. 

“I took this on accident yesterday,” you say, producing the pen. He smirks, flashing the sharp tips of his canines. 

“Shit, you could’a kept it. I didn’t even notice.” 

Right, he didn’t notice. Your neck goes warm. 

“Sure, of course, I just thought…it’s yours, so…” 

“Right.” He says. 

“Right…”’ 

An oppressive quiet falls over the two of you, while you’re still holding the pen out to him and he’s still yet to take it and sweat is prickling the back of your neck because you’re not sure what to say or do. You’re certain the wrong move would ruin everything. Finally, a flicker of awareness snaps you out of it and you pull back your hand, unfortunately, it’s at the exact same moment he decides to reach for the pen. 

“Oh,” you say, and extend it again and at the same moment he pulls back his hand. Both of you produce an awkward chuckle and he shifts onto his other leg. 

“Keep it,” he says with a handsome little grin. 

“Alright.” you clear your throat. “Did you ever hear from our group members?”

“Shit, no,” the two of you share a laugh, more comfortable this time. “It’s probably gonna be all on us.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” You’re chewing your lip, considering a bit of honesty you’d never had the nerve for until now. “Ya know, if I’m being honest, I don’t even remember what the assignment was.” 

He cocks an eyebrow.

“You don’t know the assignment? Little miss answers every question?”

“Oh come on, I only answer half. You get the other half.” 

He rolls his eyes, a playful chiding. 

“Alright,” he slides into the seat opposite you. “I’ll explain it once so you better pay attention.” 

“Swear.” You say, smiling brightly. 

The assignment is abstract. As Billy explained it, you both found yourselves chuckling at your professor’s philosophical nature. It was a communications class, yet the assignment required in-depth study of your group mates in service of a short, but thorough introduction. You were to present your classmates as if they were receiving something like a Lifetime Achievement Award. Your speeches were to be “thoughtful, informative, and intimate”.

Billy explained all this and you enjoyed the uninterrupted view of him so up close. You were getting used to the way your stomach fell flat against your pelvis when he laughed, and soon enough you were joking right back. You asked him a few things you’d always wondered. Where had he been before Cali? Did he live in the dorms or off campus? 

You talk about things you’ve overheard through dorm walls and about small towns. You tell him about friends back home and he tells you (In such vague terms that it only makes you even more curious) about his streak of trouble that almost killed him. He talks about the town he came from like it’s a dark blip on the map of his life. 

“Should make Christmas fun, right?” You ask, joking. 

“Fuck that,” he says. “I’m not going back.” 

The mood turns somber and your smile fades. You take up the pen he gave you and take note. 

“‘Hates Hawkins more than he loves Christmas’. Got it.” 

He smiles. 

“Nice. Very accurate.” 

“Thanks,” you say “And if it makes you feel any better, I won’t be going home for break, either.” 

For a moment the two of you are quiet, taken off guard by how natural it feels to be in the other’s company. You both let your eyes wander as you never had before. A small indulgence. Then his phone rings and you’re both reminded of the reality of things. It’s Lauren, asking where he is. 

The next day, your group members still don’t show up to the library. Lauren’s meeting up with her own group, leaving you and Billy alone. 

“What do you think she means by ‘intimate’?”

Billy looks up from his draft of your introduction. He looks extraordinarily handsome today and you've been having trouble holding eye contact. You try, of course, locking eyes and waiting for the rush of nerves to pass. His lids are tapered, and now that you think of it, every eyes you've ever admired have been tapered, just like his. His expression is thoughtful. 

“Shit, I don't know. More than personal. Yeah, more than superficial. Something that lets em feel like they've known you for years.” 

What would it be like to know him for years? You start to imagine the depth of understanding you'd come to have about this person and your heart starts to race. You're beginning to really appreciate this assignment. 

“And the trick is doing it in two weeks.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “Well, I'll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours.”

He chuckles. 

“So you can go blab about them in class? No thanks.”

“I wouldn't blab,” you say through a laugh, “I just wanna get a feel-” your nerves catch up to you right then. At the worst time. He cocks an eyebrow, making you cringe. 

“You wanna feel.” He teases. 

“No, no, not like that.” 

“Uh huh.”

“I'm curious about you, that's all. You're interesting.” 

“Hm.�� 

“Nevermind, forget I said anything.” 

He's smirking, and writing something in his notebook. 

“This is good,” he says “you're givin me plenty to work with.”

You groan, now fully embarrassed and he laughs again. Your eyes drop to your paper and you read over what you have so far. 

“So,” he says, “Ask me something. If you're curious.” 

You consider this invitation for a moment and decide it's now or never. You lean forward, folding your arms over each other. 

“Well, in class you're always saying you don't like non-verbal communication. It's cheap and sneaky-” 

“Lazy,” he corrects you. “It's the shit people rely on so they don't have to open their mouths.” 

“Well…I just wonder if you might be oversimplifying things, and maybe if you don't like non-verbal communication from people because you don't know how to read it.” 

His brows raise in a look of mock surprise. 

“Yeah? What, you think I can't pick up on shit?” 

“It's just a theory,” you say, laughing “But there's something to it. Non-verbals are valuable.” 

“Depends on what they are,” he says. 

“True. They're not all equal, but why hate them? I mean I know what you've said in class, they avoid the point, people use it as a crutch, but why do you think that?” 

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes finding the ceiling behind your head. He sits there looking into the middle distance, pacing through thoughts. Making sense of something. 

“You can't go through life...making people read your mind about shit.” He says, hesitating over a few of his words. You can tell this is harder for him to say. More honest. “People need to hear things…if they don't, they assume. And if you're stuck up your own ass trying to hold shit in, you never set it straight. What they think about you stays…” 

You're watching him as he speaks, gesturing in order to help bring the words out. He brushes a curly lock of gold out of his eyes and as his voice peters out your gaze lingers on his parted lips.

“You are very non-verbal.” His eyes shoot up to yours, snapping you out of your spell. “Not in a bad way,” you add. 

“In what way?” 

You shrug. 

“I don't know.” He doesn't look away, his eyes are fixed on you in a serious look of curiosity. “You talk with your hands. And to me that speaks to how genuinely you feel about things. Which is nice. You have an easy smile, it shows up as soon as you're amused and disappears the moment you're not. So, there's honesty in that, I think. You're very present.” He's watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes you warm. “And Lauren.” The mention of her name changes something in him. He looks away. “You uh…you keep your arm around her chair. It's protective.” 

A moment passes where neither of you speaks, and you feel a quiet sadness settling over you. 

“Anyway,” you continue, looking at your paper now, “Why hate it so much when it says so much about you?” 

The longer you sit there in silence the more agitated Billy seems to get. He says he has to go and starts gathering his stuff. You assume it's because you've crossed a boundary by bringing up Lauren and you part ways with a gnawing guilt making your eyes water. 

The next time you see Billy, you're at a party in the apartments near campus. People are crammed into the tight space, but the atmosphere is lively and warm. You and your friend stand in the kitchen, leaning against the island, cups in hand, already buzzed. 

“Didn’t she say where he’d been?” Your friend asks. Her eyes are covered in sparkly purple eyeshadow and dark liner. Her signature look. 

“You know my mom. She’s cryptic. All she said was my dad’s back and I need to come home over break.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Lame.”

“Lame is one word for it.” 

You drain your cup of its contents and then refill it, not enjoying the thought of being around your parents for the holidays. It’s not like they’re bad people, they just expect a lot which can be hard to stomach when your dad disappears whenever he wants to. Your mom doesn’t make it any easier by demanding you be the perfect child to him whenever he decides to be home. 

Your cup is mostly vodka with just enough cranberry juice to change the color. You slam it in less than a minute, making your friend laugh. 

“Fuck,” she giggles. “That’s better. Let’s talk about that fine-ass classmate of yours.”

“Let’s not,” you answer, but your face is already warming thinking about Billy. 

“Is he still with what’s her face?”

“Very much.”

“I don’t get that.”

“What’s not to get? She’s a nice enough girl and he’s about the most scrumptious guy I’ve ever seen.” 

She shakes her head. 

“Something’s off about it. Remember the episode of Catfish when it was really the dude’s cousin?”

You laugh.

“She was mad because he called her a fat-ass Kelly Price?”

“Yes! I knew, remember? I knew it was her all along! And when I think about you and this boy I get the same feeling, like the call is coming from inside the house.” 

The two of you are laughing about this when you glance over into the living room and spot him. You can’t help gasping and your friend quickly follows your gaze. He and Lauren are just arriving, looking around, Lauren spots a group of girls she knows and goes shrieking over to them with her arms outstretched. You turn before Billy can catch you looking. 

“Shit,” you mumble, taking another drink. 

“No, this is good,” your friend says, “You have to get to the bottom of this.”

“There is no bottom of it,” you say, the reality of the situation hitting you again. “He has a girlfriend, there’s nothing left to do.” You glance over your shoulder and see you’ve lost track of him. “In fact. I’m avoiding him.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I’ll be back and then we can leave.” 

You don’t listen to your friend’s pleas to stay, you move away in search of the bathroom. It’s at the end of a short hall, but as you’re on your way there, you see a bedroom door cracked open and movement catches your eye. Curiosity gets the better of you so you peek into the room, noticing a little black cat licking itself on the edge of the bed.

If you hadn’t been drunk, you would’ve kept moving, but you were drunk, more than you’d realized a second ago, and you couldn’t resist. You pushed into the quiet bedroom, gently closing the door behind you. The cat gave a curious, curling meow and watched you as you sat down beside it. 

“Hey kitty,” you called, softly.

It rose, curling its back into a stretch and then bumping its little head into your palm. It meows again, eagerly arching its body against you. 

“So sweet,” you coo, “Such a little sweetie baby, huh?” 

The cat meows and cranes up to sniff as you scratch under its chin. In your fuzzy vodka brain, it makes perfect sense to lay back and let the cat curl up on your belly, which it promptly does. It’s lying there purring when the door opens and you bolt upright, suddenly terrified that the person whose room this is has caught you. Instead, you’re terrified to see Billy.

You sit there with the cat in your lap, your body filling with warmth. As good as he looks at school, there’s something entirely different about him in this kind of setting. Something loosened. A sly smile spreads across his lips. 

“I knew it,” he says. 

“Knew what?”

“You’re the type to be at a party and go snooping around for the pet.” 

You laugh at yourself. 

“Well, this actually happened by accident.” 

“Sure.” 

There it is again: that comfortable stillness you keep feeling between the two of you. How can he just stand there not saying a thing and make you feel at home? You remember Lauren and look down at the cat. Its fur is so smooth and ink-black. Its eyes are an uncanny emerald color. 

“So, turns out I am going home for Christmas break.” 

“Couldn’t resist.” 

You smile at his sarcasm. 

“It’s really a favor to my mom. My dad’s home so it’s…I don’t know, it’s stupid. But I’ll be there ‘cause it’s family.”

You don’t look at him, but if you had you’d see such conflict in his eyes. 

“Figured out another thing I hate about non-verbal shit.” 

You look up then, as he crosses the space to sit beside you. The cat is immediately curious, stepping across your lap to carefully sniff and then headbut Billy’s thigh. 

“What's that?” 

“It leaves it all up to the other person. You make em’ watch you and read into everything. They end up feeling like a stalker. Then if they get it wrong, it’s like, this whole fantasy they had is just empty bullshit.” 

He’s tan, bringing his faint freckles into contrast. He smells like shampoo and cologne, and he’s warm. You can tell that when his hand brushes your thigh when he offers his palm to the cat.

“Funny,” you say, your voice has fallen soft and airy, but you don’t notice. You’re focused on his eyes “My introduction to you is all about how no-bullshit you are.” 

He smirks, but it’s without the usual mischief. 

“Better change that,” he says “I’m so full of shit I can’t stand it.”  

You stare at him for a moment, and he comes into focus then, in a new way. You understand something new about him and just as you expected, it feels incredible. 

“I get it now,” You say “The real reason you hate non-verbals.” 

A little glint of apprehension passes through his eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

“You hate them ‘cause you-” 

The door opens, and Lauren is there. Her smile falters into a lopsided grin. 

“There you are,” she chirps. “Not in the bathroom.” 

The two of them leave quickly, Billy tossing plastic parting words over his shoulder as he rushes away. You’re left in a stillness that doesn’t end when you get up to leave. It stays with you, burning and hollow. 

You’re having trouble focusing in class on Monday. Your professor is more than a little surprised to see you being so quiet, and when she asks if you have anything to add to the discussion you quietly explain that you’re not feeling well. She asks if you’d like to leave early and you take her up on the offer. Anything to get away from Billy and Lauren.

She’s been all over him, even more than usual and it’s hard to stomach. You keep thinking back to the party and your encounter with Billy. What had it meant? You felt like it was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t make anything crystalize into shape. Your head was drowned. 

Later, in the student center, you stare down at your paragraph. Nothing about it seemed right anymore and you kept re-structuring it. The paper was clogged with scribbles and strikethroughs. Your head was down, your hands framing your eyes as you stared down at the page and you didn’t look up when he sat down.

“Finish what you were saying the other night,” he says. 

“I don’t remember.”

“Of course you do.”

“I was drunk, Billy. Forget it. Please?” 

You hear him sigh and adjust in his chair. 

“It’s over with Lauren.” 

You look up and find his eyes are stone-cold and focused. His brows pinched.

 “Did you…?”

“I’m done with the bullshit, Y/n. Fuck bein’ scared. Fuck the non-verbal shit.”  

A jolt of energy zips up your spine, pulling you straighter in your seat. Your heart is pressed against your lungs as you watch his eyes, full of a new determination. 

“What does that mean?” you venture. 

His eyes take in your features, slowly, savoring the look of you. 

“I don’t have a fuckin letter of this speech written down because I’m such dogshit at explaining who you are. Maybe if I had a year I could get started but it’s impossible right now. So I’m failing this project. Which is fine. But I want that year, if I’m not getting the grade.” 

You’re stunned for a moment, until a ripple of laughter breaks the quiet. You share the joy, his smile evidence of an understanding. 

“Just a year?” You ask.

“Enough to get started,” he says “That’s maybe half a sentence.” 

“How much time would it take?”

“How much do you have?”

You laugh again, a palm over your heated face. 

“I can’t believe this,” you say, then look at him, astonished. “I was right. You’re total shit at saying how you feel.”

He smiles and shrugs. 

“Told you.” 

“Yeah," you say, "that you tell me.”

Dividers from saradika-graphics

Photos from Pinterest

[steddiehasmywholeheart]

Happily Ever After

(TW/CW for typical sexist thinking)

When Beauty and the Beast comes out in 1991, despite the fact that El is almost 20, she decides she wants to go and see it with her and her family. She adored The Little Mermaid, and after the Family Video days, going to the movies is still something her and the party like to do together. And Steve loves it, because he gets to watch cheesy romance storylines without taking shit for it.

But at the tender age of 24, not in a long-term relationship, and still haunted by his days in school, Beauty and the Beast hits Steve a little close to home. He sees himself in the Beast, wonders if he'll ever find love, if he'll ever stop being 'too much' for people (because sure, he doesn't have the Beast's temper, but he is too clingy, his exes - yes, all of them - made sure to tell him, and that's without all the other stuff).

And it's not like he's hopped into bed with every viable option in the years since they finally killed Vecna, either. He's really only had 3 relationships in that time, carefully vetted and deliberated upon before even starting the relationship, because he'd known then what it was like to have his heartbroken, and he was not in a rush to repeat that. Besides, his kids came first, and there was a lot of rebuilding to do. But despite everything, none of his girlfriends had lasted, not between the secrets of the Upside Down, the head trauma, the nightmares, and his 'cloying' nature.

He leaves the theatre with an ache in his chest, but tries to keep a smile on his face as they all pile into the nearest burger joint and talk about the movie and life in general. Only Eddie notices something's off, quirking an eyebrow at him. Steve, of course, waves him off with a poor excuse for a smile.

When it's time for them to all disperse, Steve drives straight to his current girlfriend's house as previously planned, not noticing the worried look Eddie shoots his way. Steve tries to hide his mood from his girlfriend, tries not to hug her for too long when she greets him at the door, knowing from much previous experience that girls don't like it when you're not the strong one, but he just can't shake the feeling that he's being torn apart from the inside out. He just can't help but think about how Belle was willing to change for the Beast; adjust her expectations, adapt her behaviour, be patient with him, and communicate instead of sending him weird, incomprehensible messages then get pissed when he doesn't understand. Why can't he have that? Is he even worthy of that? Why the fuck is it easier to justify redemption for a fictional beast than himself?

But his girlfriend sighs, unfooled, and won't leave him alone until he's honest about it because it's putting a damper on her night. And Steve, unprepared and entirely lost, just stammers out: 'I just... I want Disney love, you know?'

His girlfriend snorts at him, tells him Disney love doesn't exist, and that he just needs to be a man and get on with it.

Normally, Steve would force a laugh, tell her she's right, bury his feelings and try to do just that. But tonight? Tonight it breaks him. Before he knows what he's doing, he's up and muttering 'I don't think this is working' and gets straight back in his car, barely hearing her calling his name, confused and angry and exasperated. He doesn't notice where he's driving until he's already pulled up outside Eddie and Wayne's house, bought with the hush-money from the government.

He shuts off the engine and just sits there, debating what to do. The truth is, Eddie is just as much his best friend as Robin - even more so, sometimes, just in a different way Steve can't explain. Eddie always knows when he's upset, and knows exactly how to hug him - which he does, regularly. Eddie know when to steer him outside if it's too loud and going to trigger a migraine, and seems to know when he needs to eat, even though Eddie himself can barely keep himself fed. And Steve knows just when Eddie's going to get overstimulated and needs to be given something to focus on to calm him down, or when Eddie's had a bad night with nightmares, and needs someone to fall asleep with on the phone, just to know someone's there with him. He knows just when Eddie needs someone he can talk to about his new campaign, because everyone in work would complain so much if Eddie rambled on there. And Steve enjoys listening to him, so why wouldn't he encourage Eddie to speak to him?

They're best friends. And right now, he needs one of Eddie's hugs. It's just he's not normally so pathetically desperate when he turns up.

The decision is made for him when the front door opens and Eddie leans against the frame, a knowing smile on his face, practically screaming 'well, are you gonna come in or what?'. And even though he fights it, Steve can't stop the tears from welling as he gets out of the car and throws himself straight into Eddie's open arms.

"Whoa whoa, hey big boy, it's okay," Eddie soothes, bringing his arms around him and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure as sobs bubble up in Steve's throat.

"That's it, let it out," Eddie adds, and fuck does it make Steve melt.

Somehow - Steve really doesn't know how - Eddie gets the door closed and brings him to the sofa, manoeuvring him until Steve is curled up on his chest, face pressed into his neck, just safe and warm and whole in his arms, despite feeling so broken. And eventually, when Steve's calmed down enough to sniffle his way through an explanation, Eddie's warm hand in the centre of his back pulling too-honest word after too-honest word out of him, instead of laughing it off or being cagey as he normally would, Eddie's there, blowing out a breath, saying 'That sucks man,' and calling his girlfriend a bitch. Well, ex-girlfriend.

"She's not. Not really." Steve mumbles. "She's probably right, anyway. Disney love doesn't exist. I just- I just want someone that wants all of me, you know? Why show us that on screen if it doesn't exist in real life?"

"It does exist, man," Eddie says, but his tone is off. It's... sad, somehow. Like he's in pain. Steve blinks at him, and within seconds, a blush is covering Eddie's cheeks.

"Er, I just mean that it is out there, and you'll definitely find it," he says, tone now too bright and too enthusiastic.

".... But." Steve prompts.

"No, no buts. You can have it, and I'm sure you will!"

Steve tilts his head to the side. "Okay... so why did you sound.. like that?"

Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair - Steve never understood how his rings didn't catch in his curls.

"I, well, it's just that sometimes... the people who could love us like that have wanted to for a long time, and we've never noticed..."

Eddie's biting his lip, his voice trailing off into nothing, and legs practically vibrating with how fast he's tapping them. And Steve can't breathe.

"Eds?" he croaks.

"It just sucks that you're straight," Eddie forces out a laugh. "Because, assuming you'd be happy with a freak like me? I'd... gods Stevie, I'd give you everything."

Steve stares at him, at the bright pink of his cheeks, the deeper red of his lips (that are going to get darker if he keeps biting them like that), at the hair he's always been just a little bit obsessed with, and feels warmth and hope bloom where air should be.

"Eds... who says I'm straight?"

It's absolutely not what he expects to come out of his mouth. He'd never questioned his sexuality, even when Will and Mike finally got together. But now, how can he know he's anything but? It's like all the stars have magically aligned and suddenly, a new path has been made clear to him. The one he should have been on years ago.

Eddie's eyes snap to his, and Steve still cannot breathe, drowning in the hope, the fear, the devotion there. He wants to whimper. Almost does.

"Wh- what?"

Steve swallows. "For you, Eds? I'd be anything."

And it's different this time. Saying those words. He's used to them being a promise to become something he's not, to put everyone and their needs ahead of himself. But with Eddie, he knows he's never be taken advantage of like that. That Eddie would do exactly the same for him.

Eddie's hand cups his cheek, the callouses from his guitar sending tingles down Steve's spine, and Steve wants to cry all over again as Eddie whispers, hesitant and hopeful, "Be mine?"

Licking his lips, Steve swallows past his thumping heart.

"For forever, and happily ever after."