#SO MANY TAGS goddamnit

[banannabethchase]

Adam has a run in with someone from his past, and forgets something very important.

~

Warnings for: underage drinking, Hangst (Hangman Angst tm tm tm), and a lot of misery on the parts of all our boys.

Mini Playlist: Passion for Publication - Anarbor My Own Medicine - The Summer Set Push - Marianas Trench Heart to Break - Kim Petras

~

Matt Jackson is staring daggers.

“Um,” Adam says, trying to force the bile back down his throat. “That’s my locker.”

“I know it’s your locker,” Matt practically spits. “That’s why I’m here.”

Adam feels himself shrink away from the gaze.

“I want to know what you’re doing,” Matt says. “If you’ve got some plan here or something.”

“Plan – what do you even mean?” Adam sighs. “Look, can I just get my stuff? I don’t want any problems here, Matt. Just let me live.”

Matt steps to the side, but he doesn’t leave. He just keeps looking at Adam, for some god forsaken reason. As Adam grabs his Chemistry book, Matt makes a weird, frustrated noise. “Why are you hanging out with Moxley?” Matt asks. It’s harsh, but there’s something in it. It makes Adam look up at him. Those big, brown eyes look hurt.

“He’s – we’re – he’s my boyfriend,” Adam says. He shuts his locker, a little too hard, and turns. He wants to make his stare make Matt feel just as awful as Matt’s makes him feel. “Why do you even care?”

“Because you’re killing Kenny and it’s wrong!” Matt yells.

Adam glances around, but the hallway is moving along like his world isn’t screeching to a halt. “Why the hell does Kenny care?”

Matt comes at him, too close for Adam to be able to breathe right. “Because he still loves you.”

Adam stumbles backward. “He what?”

“You knew that,” Matt says, sounding almost more like he’s trying to convince himself. “He’s miserable, Adam, and you’re just showing off your new toy like it’s nothing.”

“He broke up with me!” Adam yells. “Why the hell does he get to be upset?”

Matt blinks. “What?”

Adam searches his face for some sort of answer. “Kenny dumped me,” Adam continues. “Told me he didn’t associate with losers, and said we were done.”

“No,” Matt says, shaking his head. “He. He told me…” He trails off, meeting Adam’s eyes. “I gotta go.”

“You – really?” Adam asks, but Matt’s already darting off, running in the opposite direction. Adam steps to his locker to find himself shaking as he tries to pull his phone out of his pocket. He wants to text Mox, maybe Anna. Somebody who can get his head on straight.

“That seemed messy,” comes a voice.

Adam looks up, and there’s Sammy…Guevara? He isn’t sure. He’s never associated much with people on the football team. “I really don’t want to do this right now.”

“Nah, man, it’s cool.” Sammy claps him on the shoulder. “Those soccer kids are dicks, aren’t they. You glad to be away from them?”

Adam can’t help himself from glancing over to the doorway Matt disappeared into. “Uh. Yeah. I guess.”

Sammy eyes him. “You good?”

“No, actually,” Adam says, trying to do his breathing. Four, seven, eight. Four, seven, eight.

Adam doesn’t like the way Sammy studies him, sizes him up, stares into him. “You need something to take the edge off?” he asks.

“Not at school, I don’t,” Adam scoffs, wishing he were at home with a couple cans of beer and his cozy bed.

“You doing anything tonight?” Sammy asks.

Adam shakes his head. “Uh. No.” Mox and Eddie have a match, and he still hasn’t gathered the courage to go watch, doesn’t know what he’d do with himself. He doesn’t even realize he’s about to fall deeper into a habit when he says, “No, I’m not.”

~

He reflects on that conversation hours later, while he’s in the former football captain’s frat house, surrounded by varying levels of debauchery and chaos. He won’t even consider going into the kitchen, where the older college students are doing various unspeakable things to themselves and each other. He realizes, draining his glass of jungle juice, that it’s not the kind of debauchery and chaos he’d come to love from Mox and Eddie.

“Page, you made it!” Sammy says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You having a good time?” He clacks his plastic cup against Adam’s and the alcoholic sludge splashes all over both of them. “Oops.”

“Uh, yeah,” Adam says, nodding a little absently.

“Wanna chug with me?” Sammy asks. He’s really close to Adam. It makes him feel a little queasy. “Come on, the first glass always sucks. Chris says it gets better the more you drink.”

With a shrug, Adam throws back the concoction and does his best not to gag, swallowing it with only a bit of a fight from his stomach. “That is so gross.”

“That’s how you know it works,” Sammy says with a wink. “Come on. Let me introduce you to people.”

Sammy introduces Adam as “The Big Bitch” from the soccer team to everybody, and Adam hates it enough that he drinks another cup of sludge about it. He loses track of names and faces, getting shuffled around to more people than he’s even met in his life, let alone in one night.

“Yeah, you should’a seen it!” Chris Jericho says, clapping Adam on the back so hard he stumbles. “This guy here runs so fast for a tall guy. Slide tackles like a motherfucker.”

“I didn’t slide tackle!” Adam says, horrified. “That’s against the rules.”

“So’s drinking underage, but you don’t see me judging you for it.” Chris is smiling when he says it, but it makes Adam want to throw up. He throws back his drink again, and things go blurry.

Adam finds himself, cup in hand, sitting at a table with his head spinning. He sits up, a little confused, and looks around.

“He’s awake!” Chris says. “Hey, you know Moxley, right?”

Mox. His Mox. “Yeah! Is he coming?”

“Why don’t you invite him?” There’s something strange in Chris’ voice. It doesn’t – he doesn’t sound very nice right now. Adam can’t quite understand it. “We used to hang with him, ‘til he got all boring.” His smile bites Adam, somehow. “You gonna make him fun again, Big Guy?”

Adam doesn’t want to do anything Chris recommends, but he does want Mox. Mox might help him understand what’s going on here. “’m gonna call him,” Adam says. His mouth feels like it’s full of dust. “I miss him.”

Chris laughs like needles into skin, throwing his head back. “Have fun with that.”

Adam pulls his phone out and pulls up Mox’s phone number, calling.

“Hey, Cowboy – whoa, where are you? I can barely hear you.”

“Mox!” Adam says. He already feels better. “Hi, Mox!”

“Where are you?” Mox’s voice asks.

“I’m at a frat house,” Adam says. “At a party.” He frowns, knowing Mox can’t see him. “It’s a party, but I’m not having fun.”

There’s a pause on the end of the line. “A frat house?”

Adam nods, then realizes there’s no way Mox can see it. “Yeah and I miss you.” He grins. “You could come to the party, too! We can hang out!”

“Give me the address.” Mox’s voice sounds different than Adam is used to hearing. Gruff. He has the strangest feeling he’s forgetting something.

Adam texts Mox the address. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” Mox says, and his voice sounds even stranger now. Maybe it’s just the phone. “I’ll be there soon.”

Adam loses track of time and tries to have fun, but he can’t. He just wants to be close to Mox again, and he feels like time is making fun of him for how long it takes.

When he hears that voice, his Mox’s voice, he feels something inside him light up. He stands, and the room wobbles a little.

“Cowboy!” he hears Mox call across the house. He struggles to stand, but stumbles back onto the chair. “Where are ya? I ain’t waiting all night?”

“Here!” Adam says, and he stumbles again, falling back into the chair in a clump. “Uh. In the living room.”

Mox comes over, and is face is wrong. Adam thinks he sees a frown. “Adam?”

“Hi, babe, glad you made it!” He holds up his glass. “Cheers!”

Mox blinks. “Um. What is that?”

Adam shrugs. “Think it’s – think it’s vodka? I dunno. I think Sammy gave it to me. Or maybe Chris. He’s throwing this party.”

“I know,” Mox says, and he’s not touching Adam. Why’s he not touching Adam? “Are you, like…are you good?” He frowns. “I thought you – I thought maybe you needed help or something.”

“I’m totally good,” Adam says, but the word is interrupted with a hiccup.

Mox’s eyes dart around the room. Good. He’ll see that Adam definitely isn’t the drunkest one here. He’ll know this is normal. “Why’re you even here, Adam?”

“It’s a party!” Adam replies, throwing his hands in the air. The drink only splashes on him a little bit, on his sleeve. “See?” He points. “Those guys were on the football team, couple years ago.” Adam points to Chris. “It’s Chris Jericho, you know that?”

“Oh, I know him,” Mox says. He looks angry. “Wish I didn’t.”

Adam nods. “Yeah! And, like, they invited me at school, today. I figured, hey, why not?” He leans in and begins to whisper conspiratorially. “They always said they liked me better than Kenny and Matt and – and Nick.”

“Do you want them to like you?” Mox asks in disbelief. He gestures to the room.

Sammy and Tay are on the couch, making out, which Adam doesn’t think is so bad until he realizes they’re squishing up against two girls who clearly don’t want to be there. Chris is chugging from a funnel in a shirt that says, “Fuck Everybody,” and the funnel’s held by Jake, who Adam, legitimately, has never heard say a word about anything other than Chris Jericho or his hat. Two other guys, who Adam knows vaguely from school but isn’t aware of their names, are shouting at a couple of people about how much they love their son. He’s not positive, but he thinks they’re making some sort of joke.

“It’s a college party,” Adam says, trying to feel worldly, like he understands what’s going on. “Come on, Mox. It’s fun.”

Chris looks over at them. Adam’s about to wave him over, when something strange happens. Chris points to Mox and Adam, then throws his head back, laughing. Adam feels something twist in his chest, something sour like shame.

“You remember I don’t drink, right?” Mox says. He sounds strained. It’s weird. “Why’d you even – why did you want me to come here?”

“To see you!” Adam says. “I always wanna see you. You’re,” he hiccups again, “you’re my favorite, of everybody.”

Mox looks confused and uncomfortable and. And wrong. Something’s wrong. “Adam,” a voice that’s not quite Mox’s says, “I can’t do this. I can’t…I can’t be here.”

“Why not?” Adam asks, standing up and walking toward Mox. He trips over his feet, half stumbles into him.

“Sit down,” Mox says. “Adam, you realize Daniel is over there doing lines off of Chris’ stomach, right?”

Adam looks over. “Yeah! You like cocaine! You like to go to the library and take a cocaine and read!”

“I used to do that,” Mox hisses. “I stopped doing it because it was fucking me up.” He points to the room. “All of this was fucking me up!”

Adam frowns. “I didn’t know they were part of it. Did you do parties like these?” He runs the words through his mind again. Nothing’s coming out right. “Did you have party time – like here?”

“Yes!” Mox says. “With these people. I don’t drink because of shit like this!” He runs his hands over his head, begins pacing. “We talked about this, Adam, I – I promised Eddie I was done with all of this.” He rubs his hand against his jaw. “I don’t want to have to walk away,” His voice is small, his face broken. He looks nothing more than his seventeen years, young for the first time Adam’s been able to see him.

Adam does his best to steady, himself, but he sways when he stands. “I’m fine,” he slurs, and he’s doing what he can, he is, but he’s never had this much vodka at once and it’s making his head feel like slime. “You don’t gotta walk away.”

Mox starts walking backwards away from him, and it fills Adam with a cold dread. This is wrong. Something is so wrong. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I don’t want to be here,” Mox says, and he’s shaking his head. He looks wrong.

“But I – I thought you want to be with me,” Adam says. He can’t move. “I thought you wanted me.”

Mox wipes at his cheek. His eyes are shiny. “I want everything about you,” he says, and it’s so quiet that Adam can barely hear it over the music. “But I don’t want any of this.”

Adam doesn’t know how long it is before Mox – his Jon – leaves, and he’s confused. He’s so confused.

“Hey, saw that Killjoy left,” somebody says, clapping Adam’s shoulder. “Whoa, dude, are you crying?” Daniel Garcia pokes at his face. “Want to do a line of blow? That always makes me feel better when me and my boyfriend are fighting.”

Adam blinks, and Daniel is right, his face is wet. “I don’t – I wanna go home.”

“Party pooper,” Daniel says, and it’s weird to Adam that a freshman is so cool with all of this.

It’s weird, he realizes, that he would be cool with this.

Adam grabs his jacket, checks for his phone and wallet in his pockets, and stumbles out the front door. Nearly sobbing with relief, he fumbles his way down the porch steps without saying goodbye. He wants to find Jon. He wants to find his Mox. He also wants to stop crying.

“My Moxie,” he mumbles, tripping over uneven concrete, vision blurry, “Eddie’s gotta share the name.”

He follows the ice-damaged road until he hits the turn, and he sees somebody at the end on a bike, walking it over the stretch of potholes Adam remembers his truck bouncing on. Adam doesn’t call out to him. He doesn’t say anything. It’s not fair to ask this of Mox.

And then he’s the one who catches on a pothole, and goes down with a yell so loud he’s pretty sure it echoed.

The person on the bike stops, looks behind them, then makes their way toward him, calling, “Are you okay?”

Adam doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to make Mox cry again. He’ll be okay. He wants Mox to get home safe.

“Adam?” Mox asks, dropping his bike and rushing to him. Adam dimly notes that Mox doesn’t trip on any of the potholes, and he’s a little bit envious. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I had to leave,” Adam mumbles, and he feels a little like he’s choking. He touches his face – the crying is probably doing that. “You weren’t happy I was there. I was doing – I wasn’t being who I need to be. Not for you. Had to go.”

“By yourself?!” Mox grabs him by the armpits and hauls him up, and Adam is mildly proud of himself for being able to stand. “Adam, you could have gotten hurt!” He looks down. “Fuck. You did get hurt.”

“M okay,” Adam says.

“No,” Mox says, “you’ve got blood all on your pants.”

Adam looks down and, yeah, Mox is right. His favorite jeans have a massive tear and a bloodstain. “Oh.”

“We’ll walk to the end of the road,” Mox says. He grabs Adam’s hand. It feels like a lifeline. “When we get to a normal, paved road again, you’ll get on my handlebars, if you can stay there.”

“Going home?” Adam asks, blinking slowly.

Mox nods, one hand on Adam and the other on the bike. “We’re going back your house. Get you settled in.”

“Parents are gone,” Adam mumbles. “Did so good last time they gone they took a weekend trip.”

Mox grumbles something like, “Can’t leave your dumb ass alone.”

Adam manages to stay balanced all the way home, doesn’t fall over back onto Mox more than once, and they reach Adam’s house. Adam doesn’t even almost throw up. Though he does want to, at one point. He pulls his key out from the necklace under his shirt. “Key.”

“Give me that,” Mox says, and he grabs it from Adam and shoves it in the lock. “Come on, Cowboy, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Mox does a fantastic job, even helping Adam gently work his jeans down so it’s easier to take care of the bloody mess that used to be his knee. Adam barely feels anything but shame as Mox meticulously cleans the scrape. He watches with a detached interest as the hydrogen peroxide bubbles and fizzes.

Mox looks up at him, big blue eyes kind but tired. “You scared the shit out of me tonight.”

Adam nods, but the motion makes his stomach do something funny. Mox leans to the side. “You gotta throw up?”

Adam shakes his head. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t –“ He stops himself. “Baby, you are so far from okay.”

Adam shrugs. He could have told Moxley that. They’re silent for a while, Mox checking Adam’s leg for any further injury.  

“You fix up Eddie’s scratches after matches?” Adam asks.

“Yeah,” Mox says. “All of us wrestlers, we gotta take care of ourselves, you know?” He looks up at Adam again. “Are you okay if I stay over?”

Adam blinks. “Why do you want to?”

Mox’s face crumples, but he’s still, somehow, smiling. Adam’s pretty sure he’s still too drunk to understand what’s happening. “God, you beautiful idiot,” he sighs. “Because I think I love you, and you left the party for me, and I’m worried you’ll bleed out or choke on your vomit if you stay here alone, okay?”

Adam loses his grip on the side of the bathtub and almost slides in. “You love me?”

“Kinda wish I didn’t, right now,” Mox says, sitting next to Adam, “but, yeah. You reckless dumbass. I love you. It’s why I had to walk away earlier.” He turns to Adam, those blue eyes honest and kind and…and all Mox.

“I’m sorry,” Adam says, voice as small as he feels. “I forgot – I forgot that part.” He kicks at the trash can.

“Water under the bridge,” Mox says, resting his hand on top of Adam’s leg. “You left. That means something.”

“You mean something,” Adam says, and he stops. That’s not what he meant. “I mean, to me. And I did a bad job of showing you that today.” He grabs at Mox’s face and turns it to his own. “Mox. I love you, too.” He tries to remember how eye contact works. “I’m so bad at it and I want you to know I am going to try better – do better. I want you to know I love you right.”

Mox laughs. “I know,” he says, and leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to Adam’s lips. “I want you to take a shower.”

Adam wiggles his eyebrows. “Try’na get me outta my pants?”

“You’re already out of your pants, dumbass,” Mox says. “But, no. It’ll help you sober up. You don’t want to go to bed hammered.”

“Done it before,” Adam says, shrugging. “But beer’s different?”

Mox studies him. “You – you’ve been drunk before?”

Adam nods, and a voice in the back of his head tells him to stop. He ignores it. “Drink some beers in the shower sometimes. ‘sno big deal.”

“Hey,” Mox says, “we’re gonna talk about this in the morning. You don’t need to talk about it now, okay? We’re gonna get you cleaned up a little more and then go to bed.”

Adam nods, and, later, when he feels clean and soft and warm, he curls against Mox in the bed, and wishes this could last forever.

~

“Rise and shine, fuckhead.”

Adam wants to die. Just a little bit. “Why?”

“Gotta make sure you feel the hangover,” Mox says, and he sounds way too happy about it. “Vodka’s a bitch, baby.”

“So are you,” Adam grumbles, rolling over. “Let me sleep.”

“Later,” Mox says. “Drink the Gatorade.”

Adam blindly reaches out for it, and wraps his hand around a glass. “Thanks.” He sips slowly, and, to be fair, it does make his mouth feel better. “You mad at me?”

“A little,” Mox says, and Adam appreciates the honest. “You were pretty fucked up last night.”

Adam feels his face burn red. “Yeah. I – yeah. I really am sorry.” He forces himself to look at Mox. “You were amazing last night. I didn’t deserve it.” He fidgets with the Gatorade label. “You shouldn’t have wasted your time on me.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Mox says. “I chose to help you, because you’re cute and funny and, most of the time, you take care of me the way I need it.” He smiles, but it quickly fades. “But last night you were kind of scary and I almost was ready to end it. So we need to talk about this.”

Adam forces himself not to squirm. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “Okay,” he says, against every instinct in his body.

“I told you last night, I love you,” Mox says, putting a hand on Adam’s where it rests on top of the blanket, “but I’m not willing to self-destruct for anybody else. I’ve tried that before.”

“Me too,” Adam says, with a sigh. “So – are you…” He swallows, taking a deep breath. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Mox startles. “What? No. I mean, not unless you aren’t willing to work on this.” He laces his fingers with Adam’s. “I said I’m not willing to self-destruct. That means I’m not going to be around somebody who’s going to party and drink all the time,” he stares Adam straight in the eye, “even if I love them. So I need you to – and I hate the way I have to say this – decide. Do you want to keep partying, or do you want to keep this up?” He won’t look at Adam now, his eyes down at their intertwined fingers. “I’m not going to beg you either way. I want you to decide for yourself.”

“You,” Adam says, immediately. “I – you, obviously. Come on.”

Mox raises an eyebrow. “That was fast.”

Adam shrugs. “If I’m being honest, I don’t exactly like the parties or anything.”

“What about those shower beers you mentioned last night?”

Adam gets hot all over, throws off the comforter, leans his back up against the wall. It makes his head pound, but he needs some space right now, from the world and from Mox. “I forgot I told you about that.”

“But ya did,” Mox says, patting his thigh. “And that’s part of it. You know that’s, like, a terrible coping mechanism, right? It’s called a maladaptive behavior.”

Adam raises an eyebrow. “Not to be a dick, but is that something you learned on one of your cocaine fueled library escapades?”

“No,” Mox says, “that was afterwards, when I was in Psychology class last year. But, seriously, if you’re having issues, talk to your parents. Or to me. Or, hell, your guidance counselor.”

“Not my guidance counselor,” Adam insists, “I have Ms. Green.”

Mox wrinkles his nose. “Okay, not Green. But Mr. Pham or somebody.”

Adam considers it, and nods, almost automatically. “I know.”

Mox stares him down. “And if you do it again, and I find out, I’m telling your parents.”

“What?!”

“Jennifer loves me, what can I say?”

Adam falls back against the pillows, ignoring the headache. “Please don’t call my mom by her first name.”

“Oh, can I call Paul by his?”

“No!”

~

Head screaming, Adam grabs his dad’s old bike from the garage and he and Mox ride to pick up his car from Chris’ house. They manage to get in and out without consequence – it seems like the entire place is asleep.

“How early is it?” Adam grumbles. He pulls his phone from his pocket and glances down. “Oh. You woke me up at, like, seven on a Saturday morning.”

Mox shrugs. “I told you. I needed to make sure you felt the hangover.”

“I could leave you here to bike home,” Adam says, threat empty. “I could take off.”

Mox throws his bike up into the bed of the truck, then Adam’s. Like it’s nothing. Adam gets a little hot about it. Mox looks up at him grinning. “I really don’t think you could.”

[hyperfixationtimego]

I love you fucked up tv shows I love you gorey movies I love you traumatized characters who perpetuate the cyclical nature of abuse while still managing to remain sympathetic I love you intentionally morally ambiguous media that exists specifically to pose questions about psychology, ethics, and human nature I love you unflinching examinations of what it means to dance the line between acceptable and unacceptable behaviors I love you I love you I love you

[calciferstims]

“you don’t know the first thing about piracy. it’s not about glory, it’s about belonging to something.”

– our flag means death (2022 - ?)

sources: 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 | ☠️🏴‍☠️☠️ | 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

[grabowskibeepboop]

This was supposed to be part of my last post but I got way too carried away and wanted to make whole new post dedicated to the ship

Imma go full headcanon mode here, but I feel like Hobie's been going batshit over Miles even before they met, he'd ofc heard of him, shit maybe even spied on him, who knows, but he for sure knew him about as well as Gwen because she totally told him about him, and he was probably making the wrist band/watch (I did not watch it in english so I'm sorry if I get the name of something wrong) for a while, and I doupt he was making it for himself because he has one already, he could have been making it out of curiosity but he seems way too forward to do that (to me at least for some reason, idunno if that makes sense to anyone else), and I think he's totally the type to cause utter chaos for no reason, or at least reason that might just be his own headcanon, because I totally believe that he believes that Miles can fix everything that hole man over here ruined, because it was not Miles' fault at all, he didn't ask to be an anomaly, and yes, I'm totally wordvomiting rn, just ranting my brains out, but it has to come out of my system, and I hope there's at least one person out there who understands me, because I might just go crazy hahaha

Also if you see me use the word batshit too much, it's because I'm obsessed with it, it's a phase

[landfilloftrash]

If I told you there was a series of games created before I was born, developed by Capcom, and that I was obsessed with a pairing of middle aged men within; The pairing being comprised of a someone around a decade or so older than the younger, lighter colored hair, stern and serious with a very deadpan sense of humor, along with “this is my job. I shall do it perfectly” demeanor about his work— very cat-coded in general, if you can think it, it will most probably apply— and the younger being very a determined brunette with firm morals who goes toe to toe with the older man and is frequently one of the only ones who can do so with their hell-bent insistence to do good and defend those who cannot, no matter the cost, who is quite dog-coded in reverse. They spend a few years in each other’s company, learning about each other (even if it’s at a distance and professionally) and then. Something happens. The older one of the pair betrays the brunette — his strings being pulled by a higher power, but it does not excuse him— and in the process reveals a cowardly and vengeful side after the event, causing the entirety of the franchise we play to happen. And then only a bit later in the storyline, one murdered the other, in cold but passioned blood, because destiny deemed it this way and they only heed the call of it. And whether or not it was intentional, leaving said murdered man’s child an orphan completely alone in the world as a side effect. For years after the event, they are satisfied with what happened, if burdened by guilt. But they were right to do so, weren’t they? They proceed to be metaphorically haunted by the man they killed for the rest of their life, however. And that will come to a head for them.

Now… am I talking about Chrisker (Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker), or Shingou (Mitsurugi Shin/Karuma Gou) ?

[halloweenneko]

I'm back in my BSD phase so my page is now full of Bungou Stray Dogs contents reblogs, mostly analysis. But randomly you see a post of another fandom on it. XD

It's kinda funny like you scroll down and see multiple analysis on BSD characters and dark theme but then there's a cute fanart of MLB in the middle of it. My interest is all over the place.

[anakinh]

shout out to star wars: brotherhood for single-handedly getting me back into star wars. also fuck you, eat shit, how dare you

[bakerolivias-archived]

[clenches fist] is2g if spencer and olivia are brother and sister i

[instantartific]

WIP of the soldier but with flesh, now.

[luriluth]

reading gk manga rn since im too impatient to finish s4, i was hoping to get more vasily scenes since i rlly liked him when he first appeared but i find out he’s very underused rn and it makes me :(

[charmedreincarnation]

Hi Maya I was one of your first anons back in March and I manifested my dream life. i just wanted to share some things that helped me, and hope we can all pass some knowledge so we all get our desires life. I did, you did, and everyone reading this can and will so let’s all try to help out by sharing a little of our journey. I’ll never create a blog because tumblr is a mess, so I’ll just share them here bc I trust you as a creator and I hope you agree with what I’m saying. Even if you don’t these are my assumptions and my truth

il get into my methods in one second but users of tumblr there are only 4 THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE LAW (Inspired heavily by you bc I used your blog religiously) I will say you’re kind of too nice and I wish I had someone to yell at me like this, and tell me to stop being a victim!!! So if it sounds aggressive it’s because it is in the best loving way possible.OKAY SO.

★you need to understand that you want to fulfill yourself in imagination because you don’t care about the desires only how you feel about it. Bare with me it sounds stupid I know. But I don’t care about men or how they feel about me. I just want to feel worshiped and love, and I could fulfill that in my imagination. I don’t care about money??? It’s fucking paper !!! I just want to feel secure and financially free and want the feeling of buying my favorite clothes without looking at the tag. I GOT THE SAME FEELING FROM PINTREST EVEN WHEN I WAS POOR GODDAMNIT. I didn’t care about getting all As in school when I’ve always believed school is not a representation of intelligence. I wanted to feel recognized adored and respected which I had to feel for myself in my mind before it projected. I don’t care about looking skinny, I just wanted to feel snatched, I wanted to be envied, and feel pretty. And in my mind everyone wanted to be me even when I was ugly and fat. BUT I DIDNT FEEL FAT. Even with no change in the 3D I had my desires. This applies to all your desires, and you really need to understand that.

★you can affirm,visualize, understand states, understand non dualism, use the Bible or Torah m, wall twerk and say “I AM THAT BITXH,” use sats YADADAA . No one cares it doesn’t matter. you don’t have to feel anything or, even believe in wth you’re doing. As long as you think that having it in imagination means it’s yours that’s all that matter. I’ve read so many teachers, Neville, Abraham, Abdullah, Edward art, paid coaches, and they all do different things but say the same thing. FAITH IS KEY. That’s all that matters. Don’t let anyone you otherwise or tell you what you have to do. All teachers were once students, all success stories were once struggled failures, all masters were once lost okay. You are god so have some faith in yourself.

★YOU ARE GOD. You know what a god is, you know how a god works, you know god can do anything with a snap of a finger, kill anyone with a thought, look anyway it wants, have anything everything and create whatever. You are an omnipotent loving creator so create and give yourself everything.

★you can’t over consume, you can think from lack of whatever, and doubt can’t hinder you unless you think it does. Having a desire does not mean you’re lacking or else having the wanting for it would mean that too no? When creators say that I want to slam my head against the wall. Even now I have all my desires and I still think about them constantly. Thinking of new clothes to buy with MY WEALTH, I think of new food to eat that won’t even affect my SNATCHED BODY, i find new places to try and explore bc MY SOCIAL CIRCLE IS HUGE AND IM SO LOVED, I think of new makeup up to try to enhance my GORGEOUS PRINCESS FACE. I think of it in the same way from when I didn’t have my desired (I always had them in imagination but you know what I mean.) so there is no thinking from lack, or else you’re always lacking it lmfao the fuck. Anyways I doubted my abilities up until I manifested my dream life. I was okay with it in imagination and whether it reflected or not it was my escape I was content with. DID YOU SEE THAT. I had doubts up until the very end, and it doesn’t mean shit unless you think it does. Just affirm having doubts and obsessions only speed up your results. That’s really all it is.

Now to my story if anyone cares. I won’t make a blog for reason number 2 and 3 listed above. That’s all you need but if you want more info for curiosity go for it. I know I was curious and that didn’t stop me from getting my dream life. Anyways I have the same story as about everyone else here. My life sucked, I found the law, and it worked! HOORAY!!! But how did I do it???? Easy peasy, in a couple of steps.

☞ I tattooed my four rules above in my mind. When fear and doubt emerged I sunk that shit like the titanic and went with my laws that I created. It’s literally called the law of assumption like come on, stop fighting with yourself when you assume and create reality.

☞I ignored anything that I didn’t agree with. Sometimes I’d get so mad and be like WHAT NO WHY WOULD THAT BLOGGER OR COACH OR ANON or whoever say that?? But am I dumb ??? each of us have our own reality our own bubbles. The fact that it works for them and not for me started to only motivate me more. It doesn’t work bc I assume sooo… sooo why not just assume the opposite and focus on my rules like they did. The law is always in effect and working. Either it’s in your favor or it’s not. It’s up to you

☞I used affirmations bc repetition is the only thing that works for my logical brain. Anything can change with repetition. It’s basic science. So in the morning and night time I would affirm. ONCE. Repetition meant for me doing it everyday and not wanting. The rest of my day was lived in my imaginations. And the affirmation was to remind me in my vulnerable state that I already have my desires. That’s why my affirmation was “I have my desires no matter what, and everything I do brings them to me faster than the speed of light” it was kind of funny and made me chuckle but I accepted it as facts. Look guys…

☞I didn’t repress myself. If I cried or yelled or told myself “FUCK YOU” it wasn’t me tf. It was the devil or something. Be like those Christian fuckers who when their child comes out as gay…it’s the devil within them or whatever. I would talk to myself, yell when doubt emerged and when my thoughts weren’t the ones I wanted. It wasn’t fucking me so get the fuck out I have my desires so who tf are you ??? It will feel weird but you’ll get used to it trust me. If you’re uncomfortable it’s working. Getting rid of bad habits and your comfort in dwelling in bad thoughts is uncomfortable but it’s worth it.

I manifested my dream life back in March. I LITERALLY WOKE WITH MY DREAM LIFE. A complete 180. I won’t talk about my past life bc I completely revised it and I’m the only one who remembers so for the most part it feels like a long nightmare that has past. I’ll just talk about what I changed instead because that’s the stuff we all want to hear. Anyways I’ll just post some of my list here.

♥ my life feels like the song rich kids by freak ocean

♥I’m a pretty spoiled princess who gets everything I want but I’m still kind

♥I revised my entire family from looks to personality to zodiac to religion and etc. i rewrote my story which included my family

♥I have natural admired intelligent

♥my family has a net worth of 500 million dollars, and my entire family stems from old money. (Think aristocrats not slave or colonization money)

♥I can play many instruments and speak many languages

♥ I am 5’2, 100 pounds, I have natural stunning vixen beauty, and the most desires body in the world. I’m the beauty standard and people either want to be me or date me. I am naturally skinny and have no worries about my weight, I have clear skin that only gets clearer with my skincare routine, and I have my desired personality where I’m kind but also don’t put up with any shit from anyone because I know I’m that bitch. I also have great style and embody a princess !

♥my life is a combination of my favorite watpadd stories, Gilmore girls, gossip girl, and mean girls.

♥ too many people pursue me I have too many options

♥I have a perfect school life, social life, family life, friend life, and people always wonder what I did to be “so lucky it’s unfair”

♥my family has multiple mansions in America, monoco,Australia, france, and China.

♥I’m a daddies and mommies money girl

♥I put myself first (I HAD SUFFERED TOO LONG I NEEDED A SOFT LIFE)

♥everyone’s purpose it to make my life easier and make me happier

♥I’m spoiled and privileged in every aspect of my life

♥I’m a master shifter, and manifester

♥I revised my age to 14. I was 18 and graduating but I wanted to redo high school how I had envisioned it all my life

♥I have a “cool mom” people are always jealous how lucky I am

♥I have my main estate in Hollywood hills with my family that’s in a gated, gorgeous, gate kept neighborhood. It is 30,000 sq feet with my dreams decor, dream cars, dream pets, dream house help, dream room with all my stuff saved on Pinterest including decor, furniture, clothes, shoes, makeup and skincare.

♥everything good in my life I have manifested and it’s too much to list. THERES NOT REASON FEAR OR WAIT. Do what you want and assume it still works and it will.

You honestly said it better than I could have. Literally every single one of these points are so valid :)!! I’m glad you think I inspired you love but all I did was allow you recognize your own godly abilities. I’m very proud of you, and have fun girl 🥹❤️

Also. “All teachers were once students, all success stories were once struggled failures, all masters were once lost okay. You are god so have some faith in yourself.” This one million times !!!!! Invest your faith into yourself more than anyone else and you’ll see how fast your reality conforms. I also adore your point about the state of lacking bc I never believed in that. If wanting your desires insinuates it’s not yours, we would have no thoughts since that’s where it all originates from. In fact Edward explains it pretty well.

When Edward looks at lack, he sees it as being something that is only brought about by the individual. He believes that your own actions, thoughts, and attitudes will bring about an artificial scarcity of resources. Edward says that this artificial lack of resources is not actually real—it exists only in our minds, as we focus on the things that we don’t have rather than the things that are available to us.

He believes that true lack only exists when someone has no access to resources—whether those resources be financial, physical, mental, or emotional. When someone has access to resources but they squander them or don’t use them to their advantage, it isn’t a lack of resources that is at fault—it is the individual’s personal choices and attitudes that create the feeling of lack. Same way we see attractive people feel ugly though they have women or men chasing them, modeling opportunities, and experience many examples of pretty privilege lol. You’re a hot girl.. you’re just not using it to your advantage, same way you have everything in imagination and access to anything yet… nothing bc of your own perceptions. That’s not lack. Simply inappropriate usage of recourse. A waste for better use of words.

[caninespawn]

[the-kr8tor]

Sparring with Hobie

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Synopsis: They say opposites attract, but what happens when two people with similar attitudes attract each other? Will there be an explosion of identical energies or will they end up melding together in perfect harmony?

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller than her though), pre-relationship, Flirty and Confident! Reader, spider-woman! Reader. Lovestruck! Hobie. Suggestive content, FLUFF.

Navigation

My Masterlist

Hobie lumbers through the dim hallways of the society. The world outside is still slumbering, light snores coming from the many dorms of the building. His trainers squeak on the linoleum floors, a yawn escaping him. He's unable to fall asleep, the last mission brought back bad memories up to the surface. He blinks slowly, hands still aching from the fight.

His target is the training grounds, maybe some exercise and quick swinging will tire him out and distract him from his own thoughts. Finally reaching the double doors to the training area, instead of finding it devoid of human life, he finds you in your athletic clothes, bare arms in full display.

The bright lights from the holograms almost blind him, but your smile is more blinding than the blinking lights.

You stop stretching, grinning sweetly in his direction, eyes twinkling in the orange lights, skin glinting from sweat. Yet, He's never seen anyone look this good. He thinks he's unworthy of the sight.

“Hi, Hobie” your voice is smooth like velvet, he's suddenly conscious of the bags under his eyes. “What're you doing up, gorgeous?”

Gorgeous? Oh you're horrid. Hobie feels his heart beat faster and faster with every second that passes with your eyes staying on him. He turns into mush, he hopes you don't notice.

But of course he's not gonna let himself lose against you and your pretty eyes. Goddamnit, why does your eyes look like that? And why do you look like you're about to eat him up in one swift bite?

“What are you doin' up, lovie?” Hobie does his best at walking normally towards you, but how could he remember how to when you're smiling so sweetly at him? He leans against the console that he hopes looks extremely cool in your eyes.

You beam at him, hands tucked behind you like you're hiding a secret that you're just about to show him. “Touché, I couldn't sleep. You?”

He sighs, not from the late hour but from you staring deep into his eyes. Hobie knew he's met his match the moment you two met on one of the many dimensions, and one of the many variants of Morbius who tried to take a chunk out of you, who was met with a hefty amount of your foot on the villain’s face, fangs falling out of his mouth like dollar store dentures.

Hobie, after seeing you kick the would-be vampire, said something witty with hints of flirty undertones that he couldn't possibly remember because of your reply.

“You could bite me anytime, Spider-Man”

Hobie could only remember you, from your suave wink thrown at him to the way you're a shining beacon of hope against the backdrop of chaos committed by a villain who was clearly not a match for you.

You've left him speechless on that dirty rooftop, with only a quick ‘see you later!’ and a swing towards another villain. You were right, you did see him later, and then a few days later and then mere hours after that. For some reason after your fated meeting he finds it hard for him to miss your form amidst the crowd of spiderpeople.

He keeps seeing you around, sauntering the halls of the society like you own the place. With confidence of a woman that even Miguel would falter in your presence. The day he met you was months ago, yet you've still got him wrapped around your pinky. You two have grown accustomed to each other, a blooming friendship amidst the desire to be more than friends.

“Couldn't sleep either.” his voice almost cracks, he clears his throat to hide the almost mistake.

You hum in understanding, “Wanna spar then?”

“What do I get when I win?” He exudes the same amount of charm.

You chuckle, it's music to his ears. “If you win.” taking a step forward, your foot in between his feet, lashes fluttering, arms on his sides, trapping him in between the console and your body.

He stops breathing.

“Let's find out what your prize is then, shall we?” You press a button right near the small of his back, just when your finger is about to graze his shirt, you slide your hand away.

The holograms retract to the walls, leaving an empty space in the middle. The floor opens up, a circular mat emerges from the opening.

Leaning away, you continue to hold his gaze, walking to the mat in the middle of the floor.

Hobie can now breathe again.

“Come on, Spider-Man. Are you scared?” you step inside the circle, hands casually on your hips. Smirking at Hobie. “It's just me, Hobs. Nothing to be scared of”

“I once saw you dismantle Doc Ock's tentacles in one pull. But you're right, nothin’ to be scared of.” A twin smirk plays on his lips, walking towards the only one who causes his hands to shake.

You giggle, “It wasn't that impressive, it was just titanium is all.” Readying your stance, you make sure your feet are planted on the mat, hands raised to protect your face, never letting your gaze waver from the man who makes your heart flutter.

“You're the one who kicked earth-790’s vulture's ass within three minutes of him entering the dimension.” you compliment him, but your eyes are determined to show him what you've got.

“Nah, it was child's play” Hobie readies a more defensive stance, he knows how you fight after seeing you beat countless villains.

You're more on the defense, always protecting yourself first, biding your time for just the right opening to strike a hundred times harder than your opponent. So he'll do the same, if you can't beat them join them, right? He knows you're one of the best if not the best fighter in the society, Hobie knows he'll have a chance at defeating you, and possibly winning the bet, because he knows you.

He knows you well enough that you favor your right side when fighting, always leaning to the right, always throwing the first punch with your right knuckles. He knows what makes you laugh the hardest and what makes you tick. He knows your favourite day is Wednesday because that's when the cafeteria serves your favourite, and that's when he would always talk his way into the front line just so you could get it first.

He won't go easy on you because he knows you won't go easy on him.

“What do you say we do first blood or first one to yield?”

“First to yield, don't want to scrub your blood off the mats.” Hobie teases. You roll your eyes at his quip but you can't hide your smile.

“Let’s see how much you've improved from last time, handsome” you unknowingly throw him off his balance with the nickname.

“Whenever you're ready, love” he unintentionally does the same to you.

You stomp your foot once, signaling the training ai to start the sparring simulation. Bright red lights emerge from the circular line upwards, a barrier that bathes you both in its glow. A robotic voice counts down.

5

You furrow your brows in an attempt to stop yourself from ogling him.

4

Hobie swallows a lump in his throat, his mind lingering from the last time you trained together. The heat from the skin on skin contact.

3

With you above him breathing heavily, smiling triumphantly as you win for the third time.

2

He shakes his thoughts, concentrating on winning. Hobie wonders what he'll win when he finally gets the upper hand. Maybe another little adventure with you in your dimension perhaps?

1

No one moves after the buzzer.

You both observe each other, with every twitch of muscle, one would flick their eyes towards it, studying it whether or not the other would decide to be on the offensive. You take note of his better stance, a soft smile on your lips, knowing that you're the one who taught him that.

You start moving, circling him like a prey, eyes trained on Hobie. Your feet move precisely after the other, you're getting dangerously close to him. For his own safety (and sanity) he moves away, copying your movements, circling each other like some bird mating dance.

Smirking, you shake your head, quietly chuckling a taunt. “Well, one of us has to move eventually”

“Not gonna be me, sweets. Sorry”

“Let's see about that–” you fake a lunge towards him.

Hobie doesn't flinch, not even a blink. You commend him with a hearty laugh.

“Havin’ fun? Thought we were fighting” Hobie would savour your laugh but he has to keep his focus. Unfortunately it's hard to focus when it's you.

“We are–” you pounce, knuckles ready to strike.

Hobie felt the air rush around him when you lunged, he kept to his plan. Defending his face, thinking that's where you'll strike. He sees your face in between his arms, winking all the while, then for a millisecond, you're gone.

He forgets that you know him too.

Acquainted with his spidey senses, you drop to your knees before he could react. Right before he could jump away or do anything to prevent you from hitting him, you sweep both of his legs.

From the shock, he stumbles, tripping on your leg. Hobie lands on the mat, wind knocked right out of him.

He suddenly sees your face in all its glory. Your eyes twinkle with amusement. You straddle his torso, legs tight on his sides, your hands lock his shoulders in place.

“That's dirty” he heaves, not from the fall but from how close your smug face is to his rare flustered one.

“You gotta be ready for anything when it comes to fighting.” You're completely enamored by the goofy smile on his face, his head tilted to the side as if you didn't knock him off his ass within a second.

“What if I told you I just like the view from down here?”

“You should see it from up here then, it's much” you lean closer, breath fanning over his unfairly long eyelashes. “Much prettier up here in the winner's position”

Hobie resists the urge to lift his head up to meet your lips, He finds it hard not to, it's taking every single one of his willpower not to indulge.

And perhaps you're doing the same, neck aching from pulling yourself just a few inches away.

“Hobie, I–” you get flinged back, guessing you forgot to secure his legs too. Whoops.

He does the same to you with the use of his longer legs, taking advantage of your lack of spider sense. Hobie uses the lull as an opportunity to hook his leg to yours. In one precise movement (that he definitely didn't practice a hundred times alone at home) the position now changed.

You lay on the mat, eyes wide, pupils dilated and mouth agape at the sight in front of you. The red lights around his face makes your little nickname for him absolutely true to form. You're trapped under his gaze, limbs secured, unable to move a muscle.

Hobie leaves you speechless for the first time.

“You're right, the view is prettier up here” he says with a thumping heart. Your heart does the same, skipping a beat at his flirtatious comment.

There's a growing smile on your lips and you can't seem to find it in yourself to tear your eyes off him.

“Care to say uncle?” he taps your wrists that's still pinned above you, “because this doesn't look too comfortable for you”

You try to shrug but you're unable. You fake an exasperated sigh. “Quite the opposite actually, I find being under you comfortable”

“Bloody hell” Hobie clicks his tongue. Looking anywhere but your pretty face.

“Sorry, too much?” Are you being too flirty with him? Making him uncomfortable? “I'm sorry” your smile falters. “I'll toned it down, Hobie”

“No,” he swallows a lump in his throat. “You're never too much, not to me anyway” He watches as your smile softens.

The mat crinkles under your head as you nod. “Okay”

“Ready to say uncle now?” you chuckle, the atmosphere lighter than before.

“Unfortunately, yes. I yield”

He guffaws in triumph, releasing you from his hold that you already seem to miss.

“Got you didn't I?” Hobie’s knees creek as he stands up, offering his hand for you to take.

You hold his hand, warmth spreading through your palms. “So that's one for you and nineteen for me”

He doesn't let go of your hand, you rub the back of his hand with your thumb, your way of showing affection just for him.

“Way to rub it in, love” Hobie steps closer to you until the tips of your shoes meet his.

Giggling, “You did a good job, handsome. You're gonna surpass me one day.”

“‘m good where I am, love” you smile at the implication.

“Okay, what do you want? Claim your prize”

He thinks, maybe asking you out would be too presumptuous of him, you have that effect on him. After a minute or so, you roll your eyes, huffing.

“How about dinner instead?”

Hobie blinks in surprise, maybe you gave him a concussion?

“It doesn't have to be dinner though, we can just go out like the usual–”

After recovering from the shock, he answers back.

“Your dimension or mine?”

A/N: hehe thank you for reading! 🫶

[coolshadowtwins]

SVSSS System Reveal Fic round up!

If you know one that hasn’t been recc’ed, then please put it in the comments/tags! I’ll add it to the post!

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk into the Bamboo House by VeryCharismaticDragon

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate.

Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

What is Seen by CaveteDracones

…is not [always] the real truth.

Truth-compelling artifacts in the hands of an enemy to one side, SYSTEM-mandated silence on the other, and Shen Qingqiu caught between the two. Is it too late to go back to the Water Prison? (NOTE: This one was recommended three times, and I have personally reread it multiple times. It’s one of my favorites and I really do want to read more fics in a similar vein lol)

open my lungs to let you in by ghostybreads

Shen Qingqiu had a secret. So, naturally, it was only a matter of time before he was hit by a truth serum wife plot.

//

“How are you?”

“Horny. Kind of want Binghe to rail me, I guess. But it’s manageable.”

Liu Qingge’s hand on his forehead froze, and he was close enough that Shen Qingqiu could hear his breathing stop. He stared back expressionlessly, the mortification distantly crawling up the back of his neck. Honest One-Horned–

The frustrated scream that he usually vented in his head, came out straight from mouth.

“aaAAAAAHHHH GODDAMNIT AIRPLANE–”

Futility in Practice by TGP

When Luo Binghe is fourteen years old, his shizun suffers a terrible qi deviation and fever that completely changes who he is.

and judgment is just like a cup that we share by Kieron_ODuibhir

The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

First, do no harm by Terias

Shen Qingqiu has been acting especially erratic since awakening from his three day coma after a severe qi deviation.

Mu Qingfang investigates and discovers a great many things about his new shixiong. (NOTE: This one has Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu as the same soul, technically, but it still works I think!)

Show The Screenshots by A_Non_ymousWriter

When a rogue foreign System sends out a subtle virus, some outsiders are shown chat messages between a certain two transmigrators and their Systems.

AirplaneBro: nah dude shen jiu would never lay a hand on his female disciples like that, hes gay

Liu Qingge tripped on thin air while Mu Qingfang choked on his tea as Shang Qinghua (their god? creator??) casually shattered their view of their original Shen Qingiu. The fake Shen Qingqiu at least, was sharing their shock.

CucumberBro: EXCUSE ME WHAT??

CucumberBro: The fuck he is?!?! He literally GOES TO BROTHELS! LIU QINGGE FOUND HIM IN BED WITH A WOMAN THAT ONE TIME?

AirplaneBro: aight bro buckle the fuck up cuz imma take u on a joyride all about shen jiu >:)

—————-

Binghes#1Fan: I don't want to send Binghe into the Abyss...

System 2: User must comply, if User cannot do the task User will be punished and the account will be terminated.

Mobeis #1Fan: sorry bro unless ur okay w being ded af u gotta push binghe into the abyss

Ning Yingying's fists clenched. Okay, so trying to get Yuan-ge and A-Luo together would be harder than she thought.

[mins-fins]

brownies.

&&. two totally "just friends" and a cute singing duet.

pairing: song eunseok x m!reader

genre: fluff fluff, comedy(?), eighth!member reader

warnings: none!

word count: 1k

notes: guys i love eunseok 🙁 like.. i love eunseok so much 😞 but but hes not my riize bias!! #SHOTARO4LIFE yeah uh anyway, third(?) riize work ever and im going to be honest.. its kinda cute like i dont wanna give myself too much credit or anything but this is genuinely so cute and adorable and um.. i wrote this to feed my own delusions and help the dry riize male reader tag 👍

you are a different level of calm, your fans had just realized, and to prove it, here you are, watching your members go crazy as you peacefully eat your brownies.

"y/n! sing love, maybe by melomance!" shotaro suddenly yells out, glancing over at the still quiet you as you continue to chew on your brownies. you snicker at the words, a dumb smile coming to your face. "i don't know the lyrics" yeah, that's a lie, you sang it before for an evaluation, but that's a secret you prefer to hide.

"there's no way! didn't you perform it once for an evaluation when we were trainees—" you place your finger on jung sungchan's lips with a small grimace, hoping that none of the fans watching the live heard the words. "my voice isn't warmed up yet, chan. bear with me, hm?"

sending a knowing look to your fellow 01 liner, you calmly leave his personal space and make your way back to your plate of brownies, but your members seem to be adamant on the request, seeing how you haven't sang since the whole live started.

"c'mon n/n! seok will even duet with you if you like!"

"no thank you".

"please! i'll make you more brownies!"

"...how many more brownies?"

"five!"

"..fine, you have a deal".

the eldest of riize grins at his victory, nodding his head to seal the deal with you. "alright! so two songs for five more brownies?" you stare at your older member, contemplating whether to accept the offer.

"fine, what's the other song though?"

"spring breeze?"

"and sing it with eunseok hyung!" anton cheers, chuckling in excitement as he watches you sigh in defeat. "why do you guys want me to sing so bad?" you mumble, clearing your throat as you allow seunghan to pull you to your feet. you feel shotaro drag you to the center, and you swear your soul left your body in that very moment.

"goddamnit.."

"it's just two songs y/n" says wonbin, who seems to come out of nowhere. he laughs upon seeing your defeated sigh, and leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

you groan in faux annoyance at the kiss you received from your friend. "ugh, stop kissing my cheeks, i swear wonbin" the 02 liner chuckles lightly, pressing another one to spite you more. you yelp, wriggling your way out of the younger's embrace, hurrying your way over to the eldest of riize.

"let's just get this over with".

eunseok quickly took wonbin's place instead, his hands instinctively coming up to wrap around your waist. rubbing off the kiss marks wonbin had left with his thumb, the song raises an eyebrow in mild confusion. "where did you..?"

"park wonbin".

the second eldest chuckles in wry amusement, shaking his head as he continues to gently rub the kiss marks off. it was proven to be unsuccessful, so eunseok does what any sane person would do.

he huffs and replaces the kiss marks with his own.

you grimace, leaning your head away from eunseok, but the song just tightens his embrace. in the end, you just gave up, accepting the fact that you can't stop his onslaught of kisses.

"let's go!" shotaro's sudden english outburst snaps you out of your daze, he hands you a microphone, raising an eyebrow at the display.

"yeah.."

you are not looking forward to this.

you in fact did not like the outcome of your deal with the devil. (do note the sarcasm, shotaro is anything but the devil.) but at least eunseok was there to back you up, quite literally, because the song was seemingly attached to you, but you didn't mind; busy being fed the brownies the eldest had baked for you.

"hmph— hurmp!"

"eunseok, i think he's trying to say he wants you to stop temporarily" shotaro was kind enough to speak up, noticing your struggle, and you thank the lords. the song hums in mild amusement as he finally lets go of you, stopping with his continuous onslaught of brownie feeding.

you swallow the rest of the brownie in your mouth before speaking, "god, eunseok. that messed up my esophagus.."

you cough and reach out for some water, to which anton handed to you right away. "i thought you were hungry?" it was quite clear eunseok was enjoying constantly teasing you, and you frown.

you're tempted to flip off your 'friend'. "if you don't stop i'll literally—" just then, sohee came bounding in with a bright smile. "spring breeze!!" you had no choice but to pat his head before taking the microphone.

you knowingly send a look to the older, who gets the message instantly, you bring the mic up to your lips as the song starts. "is it you, the spring wind that blows in half a year, my heart is warm, will you come today. when the sun rises, it just seems to have disappeared".

you laugh to yourself, a small smile making it's way to your lips as you make eye contact with the camera—over dramatizing your performance. "somewhere, somehow, let's meet someday, i'm loneliness, still short, you can grow a little, 'cause i'm better at waiting than loving someone you come to me like the spring breeze".

you feel a familiar arm rest on your shoulder before a certain someone closes the gap between your bodies. "your face, your tone, everything, i miss you so i always wait".

you let eunseok do his thing, hand subconsciously coming up to rest around the older's waist. "somewhere, somehow, let's meet someday, i'm loneliness, still short, you can grow a little, 'cause i'm better at waiting than loving someone you come to me like the spring breeze" eunseok places his chin on your shoulder, not even making direct eye contact with you.

"so that my winter can end— we really love each other, you come to me like the spring breeze".

eunseok buries his face in your shoulder to hide the smile that was currently growing on his face before speaking, voice a little muffled. "can't believe your singing this" you chuckle as you lower the microphone. "and with you, huh?"

song eunseok makes sure to smack the shit out of your arm.

[dizzy-after-dark]

Cauterized | Steve Rogers

BOOM MIC DROP: SMUT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR! Y'all didn't think I would not post once this year, did you. Well, here it is. I TRIED! Mwah; see you in 2024!

Tags: Angst (not really but yeah), SMUT, fluff

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Notes: UHHHHH 18+ BUCKOS; this is a continuation of Ignorant, which is the first part and angsty as FUCK but a personal fave of mine if I do say so myself; been really thinking about finishing my requests from over a year ago for Dinner At Dizzy's on my other account, @dizzydancingdreamer (masterlist linked if you're feeling peckish)

Warnings (what to expect, ig): oral (f recieving), fingering, sex (???), uhhhm lack of descriptive writing from a rusty author, sappiness, swearing, bad metaphors, shower sex, alcohol consumption (BARELY), size kink, over-use of the word "Stevie"

Word Count: 4.6k

She pushes the door closed, turning the shower on lazily. Her muscles ache as she twists the knob all the way to the left. Somewhere, sometime she was told about cauterization. You can seal wounds closed with fire— forcibly fuse the skin back together. She has no cuts. Nothing to fuse. And only hot water. However, maybe stepping into the scalding stream might fix the part of her brain that keeps replaying it all, over and over. 

Baby I— 

If anything, it might numb her. She would take that too right now. Hence the bottle on the counter, partially drunk and already open. She takes the first swig, the liquid like fuel to the inferno raging in her stomach, burning the rest of her in the process. The taste is acrid— she’s never been much of a drinker. She just wants to forget it all. Setting it down with a clunk, she strips out of grimey shirt, letting it puddle at her feet. 

Looking at the material, which at one point was a stark white but will now forever be a dingy gray, she laughs. Not really but, yeah, kind of— one of those half amused huffs, anyway. A pity laugh, for the state of her life. That shirt is practically trash. Even if she had the time, energy, or resources to wash it, there’s no way it’ll ever be the same. 

She should just throw it out. 

Is she even talking about the shirt anymore?

She kicks it into the corner, hands falling to the button of her jeans, swollen knuckles screaming as she fails a few times to push the little metal circle through the loop.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, and to the ghosts, and the spider she saw in the corner when she came in but didn’t have the heart to make the latter as well. 

She’s already made too many ghosts. 

“I, uh, I can help?”

None of those ghosts have ever answered before, though. 

Whirling around, fists balling in front of her face, she readies herself in less than a breaths time to send said ghost straight back to the grave—

“Woah, easy there, baby—”

Only to find Steve, his baby blues wide and a tad panicked but his hand nevertheless peeking through the crack of the door, reaching for her. Mind glazing over with confusion and, well, a fair bit of something russian and label-less, she blinks up at him and the damn door. She closed that— she remembers closing it… right? 

Her eyes flick down and the fire in her belly kindles a little more. 

“Are you kidding me?” She groans, the exhaustion an unwelcome guest in the cavern of her chest.  

His boot, right there in the doorway, holding the measly wooden traitor open. She never heard the damn click. Didn’t even bother to listen for it. Rookie mistake, honestly. She can’t even be mad, really. 

“Please just let me help.” Steve pushes past the door, both arms now extended towards her, but he doesn’t touch her yet. 

He’s waiting. She stays silent. Partly because she has no idea what to say— or what she wants— and partly because he hates it. He absolutely, agonizingly hates when she gives him the silent treatment. She watches his jaw tick, lips pressing together until they go white, and there’s a sick part of her that relishes in the cool satisfaction rushing down her spine. 

You made me like this.

But there’s also a part of her that mourns with him when he clears his throat, crystal eyes flooding over, liquid and glassy, and lowers his arms slightly. Not all the way. He’s hopeful, maybe. America’s sweetheart is always hopeful, that’s one of the things she fell in love with him for. 

That’s still Steve— her Steve. 

“I know—” Steve swallows, “I messed up. I just— you’re hurt, baby. Lemme’ help.”  

She huffs— why is it so fucking complicated? Why can’t they just be normal?

She is hurt. Nothing needs cauterizing but there’s no denying her mottled skin, blue-ish under the crappy motel bathroom lights. Her hands throb, joints screaming at her— when she turns to the mirror, she almost gags at the slight bald patch behind her right ear— fuck, that one had really stung. Absolutely ridiculous the way some people fight these days. 

Her silence is deafening. 

She wants to sob. It’s right there, in the hollow of her throat— she wants to scream. Maybe not at him but in general. She used to live in a penthouse, with all her friends, and the love of her life. Now what? She used to get hurt like this back then too but now it feels purposeless— what are they even doing this for if they have nothing. Have no one. It made sense when she still had him. 

Meeting his gaze in the mirror— disappearing a bit into fogged up glass but there regardless— she still has him. Kind of. But she still doesn’t say anything when she turns back to face him. The frown carved into her face feels vile— deep and disgusting and entirely real— but she can’t make it go away. She can’t stop the sniffle, either. Why can’t she just tell him she misses him?

“Fuck.” 

It’s mumbled under his breath. The Captain America, standing in some rundown wreck of a place off some lonely highway, is swearing. Because of her. Is this hell? It feels like hell. 

But, no, it can’t be, because his hands are so, so gentle as they cup her cheeks, thumbs softly dancing over the bruises, half assessing, half trying. Trying to do what, she doesn’t know. Wipe them away? Commit them to memory? She leans into his touch regardless, conceding ever so slightly. She won’t say it, but he can help. There isn’t a universe in which she would truly deny him. 

The first tear that falls isn’t hers, but his, landing on her forehead right before he buries his face in her hair, wrapping those supersoldier arms around her, trying and, well, failing not to crush her in the process. The tenderness in her broken body is worth it, though, because he smells like home, even if tinged with gunpowder and war. 

“I am so sorry—” he whispers, heartbeat erratic under her ear, chest heaving for breath— “I am so sorry I brought this on you. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”  

Complicated. She fists his t-shirt as hard as she can— fists in until her hands go numb. It’s not fair how complicated it has to be for them. 

Steve didn’t throw her into the fight, didn’t slam his fist into her eye, or rip her hair out by the handful. Steve didn’t even make her come with him when he left; that was entirely her choice. But he did lose his mind a little bit. Power tripped a little too hard. Focused so much on keeping them all safe that he missed the part where he was just supposed to hug her— and that’s what sucked most— but he is now, right?

That has to count for something? 

He pulls back and her fingers tighten, steeling, tensing. He can’t go, even if she isn’t sure what they are anymore. 

The agony in his eyes when he draws the line from her balled fists holding on for dear fucking life to her own, misty gaze is indescribable. “Baby I don’t know how to fix this. I want to, I—” he clears his throat again and her frown carves even further into her skin, eyebrows drawing together— “I want to so fucking bad.”

He plants his forehead against hers and it aches, the warmth of his skin. “I don’t want to make it worse. I need you to tell me how to help.” 

There’s a stinging in her throat where the words simply don’t manifest. What the fuck is she supposed to say? Nothing, at all, really, because she doesn’t even know how to fix her and she’s not mad so there’s nothing to fix… but isn’t there? Isn’t there something between them that desperately needs mending? Isn’t she mad? 

Is it anger? 

Or is it something much more primal. 

No, there are no words she can tell him. She could show him, though. Maybe that will work.

Letting his shirt go, she watches the breath catch in his chest, stuck and frantic. She knows that feeling well— that icy desperation to keep holding on no matter what. But she’s only grabbing his hands, not leaving him, and he’ll see that soon so she continues to drag him towards the stupid, little button that her useless fingers couldn’t seem to undo. In hindsight, maybe they were just waiting for him. 

Realizing, his forehead is off hers quickly, eyes seeking hers. “What? I don’t—” She flattens his palms against her stomach, engulfing the button, and he breathes the last word out— “understand.” 

Her brows raise, cheeks still on fire but now also burning— yes you do. 

“Are you sure?” He asks but there’s a little click— the same one she hadn’t heard earlier— as his boot clad foot kicks the door properly shut, and she’s pretty sure he knows just how sure she is.

All it takes is her thumbs on his, prodding them towards her arch nemesis— damn you, Levi jeans— and the soldier is moving, not rough in his quick actions, but determined. The button is no match for Steve Rogers on a regular day, but today? Now that he has a goal? A starting place? The button may as well have disintegrated under his fingers. 

Her own hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him as he tugs the blasted jeans off her legs, trying the best she can not to topple over with the sheer force of him. Material pooling at her feet, his palms smooth so slowly back up her now bare legs, rising goosebumps in their wake. She hasn’t been touched in ages— she feels kind of like an animal waking up from hibernation, disorientated and hungry. 

Grabbing at her hips suddenly, her ass is on the cool countertop before she even has the chance to get dizzy. Spreading her thighs with his own, he works on her bra next— this faded, hole ridden thing that if she wasn’t so engulfed in searing, licking desire, she’d probably be embarrassed about. But it’s gone so soon that she doesn’t have a chance and replaced instead with two, bulky hands that entirely engulf her breasts. 

They squeeze her skillfully— with purpose. Thumbs swiping delicious circles around her nipples, flicking this way and that, exactly how he knows she likes it— exactly the way that should have her as a mewling heap in his hold. But she’s not— she’s contained, even as her very skin thrums alive with anticipation. Is this revenge or is it just fucking complicated?

She can’t decide so instead she bites the moan clawing at her throat into small enough pieces to swallow, all the while tuning into something dark that sparks in his ever watchful gaze. 

She’s caught— he gets it now. 

“Really, baby?” He muses, palming her, squeezing just hard enough to give the touch a slight bite. His tone has her feeling like a deer in his headlights— like a freight train is barrelling directly at her and there’s nowhere to go— and she squeezes her thighs around him, welcoming the collision. “You think I won’t work for it?” 

She only blinks at him. Once… twice… 

Her panties are dropped somewhere into the abyss, long forgotten with the rest of her clothes, and his knees thud heavily against the tiled floor. Replacing his body, his head now hovers right in front of a different button, golden hair tickling her sensitive skin as he pulls her legs over his thick shoulders. His skin is warm but not as much as his balmy breath which hits her clit, teasing her into a mess, hands curling around the edge of the counter. 

Come on, Steve. 

But, no, he doesn’t give in to her just yet. First, he turns to her inner thigh, sucking her skin into his mouth with bruising pressure before letting it go with a pop. He peers up— nothing. Moving to the other one, he whispers quick kisses over her sex but never lingers, only biting into her flesh once more once across her mound, teeth almost teasing a whimper from her this time but no, she’s not budging. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t driving her crazy. Inside, she screams— she craves. C’mon baby just give it to me. Outwardly, her hands drunkenly find his hair, tugging at his soft locks. Now, now, now she chants furiously.

He unseals his lips from her thigh, peering up, less dangerous and back to being her ever hopeful boyfriend— is her her boyf— He kisses her folds, spongy lips lingering a moment, rendering her blank and feverish. Angelic— he’s angelic. From under his long lashes he all but begs her, his dark eyes starving and wanting, but his hands are so soft on her hips, massaging deep into her. It’s this mixture of puppy dog pleading and a knowing of sorts— he knows she’s going to cave eventually.

How does he do that? 

“Words? Please?”

She only pouts and, again, the switch flips. “Fine.”

The word is punctuated with the warm, wet stripe he licks up her center, flicking his tongue languidly over her clit. For as rushed as he’d started this mission, he’s truly never been one to speed through his meals, preferring instead to devour her slowly— expertly— tasting her thoroughly like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile her body pulses, teetering dangerously already on the knife-sharp edge of too much and too little as he masterfully carves her out. 

Her hands, which had moments ago tried to pull him closer, now use his hair as handles to keep herself from toppling off the counter when he slides her closer to him, burying his face fully into her heat. Heels digging into his back, she watches the spot where his shirt rides up intently, consumed not only by the harsh sucking on her clit but also the tanned, muscled skin peeking out and then disappearing below his own jeans, taunting her. Why hadn’t she taken it off him first? 

She doesn’t have time to think much more about it though because he’s ravenous and she may as well be ice cream, sweet and sticky, melting all over him, dripping down the sides of his face and fingers as they begin prodding against her. They tease, pushing into her but not quite far enough— hard enough.  

His gaze on her is overpowering— it’s deliberate. 

“Y’know,” he speaks against her, the vibrations making her tense, “you can just tell me what you want ‘and I'll do it.”

Her mouth is like sandpaper— her brain, uncooperative. This push and pull is becoming lethal, the next few pokes of his tongue honey slow and spine jolting. Please— she wants to beg. She’s so empty. So, so, achingly empty. Would his fingers even be enough? At this point, it’s as though he would need to crawl into her very chest to fill her up the way she needs to be. How could her words even convey something so needy? 

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.” 

They can’t, so they don’t, but for the sounds she refuses to make, he doubles in his own, moaning his frustrations right against her. If he can’t make her say anything, he damn sure is going to make her do something. That’s probably why he finally caves, pushing his fingers in to the hilt, and she was stupid to think they couldn’t fill her, the slight burn of them not at all foreign but definitely intense. 

As they bury themselves in her over and over and over again, she bucks against his hand, chasing the start of a little ball of electricity growing in the pit of her stomach, getting higher and higher with every twist of his fingers. Combined with the incessant flick of his tongue— she’s a goner. Stifling the moan, her teeth find home in her lip, biting so hard her mouth gains a slight tang that excites her even more. What’s she even doing? 

Wouldn’t it be more fun if she just let loose? Isn’t that what’s been missing the whole time? The fun? 

When she sees the glint in his piercing stare— impish despite everything they’ve been through— she gets it. It’s hopeless— she is and they are but they’re together and the fun isn’t gone— she’s done. He earned it.

“Stevie—”  she finally cries, animalistic; it doesn’t sound like his name but he must know it is because, even with the intense throbbing consuming her entire body, she can feel his shoulders soften under her thighs— “please don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“That’s it baby,” he coos against her clit, voice raw, compliant as he continues to pump his fingers in time to her squirming, “that’s my girl. I missed that pretty voice of yours.” 

At what point the first orgasm turns into a second, she isn’t sure. It’s all one big blur of her whiny moans, wanton and liquid body, and his hushed prayers against her flushed skin, tongue lapping relentlessly against her. More baby; I know you can give me more. She doesn’t so much hear them as she does become them, absorbing them into her skin. That’s it angel— so good, so good for me.

She can feel him drinking in her mumbled, jagged noises, some words but others mere syllables, coaxed out of her by tongue and fingers all the same. Steve— honey— mmph, fuck, right there— oh my— the words pour out now, dam broken beyond repair, and for some reason, or maybe a lack thereof, it spurs her on even more, a freed woman if ever there was one— 

“Oh my god, Stevie!”

It’s maddening— he’s maddening. 

He’s relentless. 

It isn’t until she yanks his still-eager mouth away from her, stomach iron-tense from way too much overstimulation, does he slowly draw his hand reluctantly back from her shuddering body. His other arm unwinds from where it’s been snaked around her knee, anchoring her to him throughout the duration of his worship. Now pushing him upright, holding him just near enough to where she can hear his labored breaths but not feel them, she shivers, cold as ice without his heat. 

He stares down at her, unmoving, and her heart jumps in her chest. She doesn’t understand— he’s just standing there while she shudders, breathless. His shirt is stretched, no doubt from her pulling at it, and in noticing the damage she remembers how she’s completely naked and he’s completely not. Exposed doesn’t even begin to touch how she feels. 

She wraps her arms around her chest, knees drawing up to tuck under her chin. “Steve?” 

She’d forgotten what it felt like to constantly have him next to her— to have his furnace like warmth melting into her skin almost every minute. Now that she’s had her first real taste of him again, she’s de-acclimated to being alone. She needs him.

“C’mere,” she begs, shaking and a bit confused, why isn’t he touching her still, “please, Stevie, come back.” 

When her fingers finally swipe against his shirt, barely snagging it, he flinches, coming back to her. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean—” 

She flings herself at him, heart off kilter and erratic in her chest as her lips press against his, swallowing his apologies and hoping beyond anything else that he just catches her, like he always does. He does, kissing her back fervently— reverently. His tongue, tinted with her essence, scoops into her mouth the same way he had been between her thighs. She welcomes the way he takes charge, knowing he holds her against him with every ounce of strength he has.

“—’m sorry,” he pants into her mouth, clearly not satisfied with the success of her attack, “so, so sorry baby.” 

He repeats the words deliriously. Presses them into her hair and against her temple, on her chin and both her cheeks. He especially feeds them to her, word for word, against her lips, soft at first and then rough, frenzied. He’s not talking about right now. He’s still back in that apartment; the fallen angel amongst the rubble, wings too broken to just leave it. 

It’s not complicated. And it’s not revenge, because she could never make him feel worse than he already does, nor would she want to. So, in between kisses and apologies, she answers.

“I know, Stevie.”   

“It’s ok— we’re ok, Stevie.” 

“Steve, stop— I love you!”

He stops. He sets her down, bare feet planting unsteady against the ground. He steps back. What?

“Stevie?” She questions, already moving forward, but his arms, sweeping over his head, towing his shirt up and off, halt her in her tracks. 

Oh.  

 Oh. 

This time, when she says his name it's only a breathy moan, fingers searching for his belt loops and hooking him towards her. In the time it takes for her hands to find the button— this one, thankfully, popping open immediately— there must be a god somewhere who didn’t abandon them in the rubble— he’s back on her, one hand carefully threading through her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, while the other pushes the rest of his clothes to the ground.

“I love you, I love— ah, fuck,” he hisses as her hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over his velvety tip.

For the first time, she smiles against his mouth, calm. “Language, Rogers.”

He pulls back, one neat eyebrow flicked up, but there’s humor in his eyes— no more tension. No more worry. Just fun. He leans down, nuzzling his chin down the side of her face, breath fanning her ear. Her hand stutters as it tugs on him, dragging up and down. He’s so hard— it’s been so damn long. 

“Thought I was Stevie, baby?” It’s an absent minded tease, blush lips parted even after the fact, glued to the way she touches him. 

In turn she watches his face, crowned in a mussed up halo of gold, some of which sticks to his forehead but most falling at every which angle, a product of her thighs sealing themselves around him. She can’t say that she’s never seen him this disheveled but she’ll never get used to it. He’s perfect— she makes him so messy. 

Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one enjoying herself, though, if the heaviness of him between her fingers, rutting into her palm is anything to go by. She squeezes harder, testing something, and he groans something almost inhuman against her neck. Guttural. He’s so close already. It fuels her like nothing else, tickling the part of her that just wants to please. She’s making reparations, too. Speeding up, she works him faster. Come on, honey.  

“Stevie—” she echoes and the next thing she knows, he’s pulling her off him, pushing her towards the steam which billows out from behind the curtain. 

From the moment her feet touch the warm, wet surface of the shower floor, everything is a blur. The water sprays over her harshly, but only for a moment, before he overpowers it with his own, massive body, just as searing against her skin. She registers the slick splat of her back against the wall, a grunt— missed this, baby, and her own feral howl as he slams into her. There’s no waiting, no tiptoeing, only his cock sealing them together furiously once more. 

One of her legs is hiked up impossibly far, hinging near his hip where his hand crushes her to him. The other leg holds her up— barely— heel raised, toes splaying for grip as she reaches higher. He’s just so big— so tall and so thick. So impossible to adequately open herself to without him fully lifting her but she wants to try so she does her best to meet his brutal pace, clinging around his neck desperately. 

If his fingers had filled her entirely, his cock is almost unbearable. She relishes it, though, the way she can almost feel him in her damn throat with each and every drag. It’s mesmerizing, the way there’s no need for adjustment— for remembering. He knows her body like it’s his own and it makes her drool with pleasure.   

The slapping of their skin together proves to be louder than the rush of the water, but not more so than Steve whose mouth is working over time, ladeling praises directly into her ear, soaked, stubbly chin grating deliciously against her temple.

“You look so pretty baby,” he hums, staring mesmerized at their bodies to where he slips in and out of her, “ look at you taking me so well.”  

And she does. 

It’s a lewd notion, the way she can see exactly where he is inside her by the way her belly ripples with his plunges, but one that makes her gasp nonetheless, spasming around him which is also visible to both of them. Loosening one of her hands from its vice grip on his shoulder, he places it on the exact spot, urging her to feel just how big he is. With every sloppy push and pull, she does feel it, and it sends her reeling.

“See that?” He rasps, and she can only nod, mouth agape enough for some of the water falling off his hair to drip into it. 

She swallows it, tongue somehow so, so dry despite everything. Her nerves are on fire, everything so much slower than it should be. 

The agonizing pull of his hand on hers, dragging her own fingers under his to toy with her clit. 

The little circles that take hours to complete but nurture the current running through her veins regardless. 

The fucking torturous in and out of his cock— taunting her, languidly pounding her for what feels like an eternity— she can’t think. She’s in the water but she feels under it, too, foggy and pent up. She just wants to cum—

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—” 

“—Stevie!” 

She breaks through the sluggish pleasure into electric and all consuming waves, head falling against the wall as his hips stutter against hers, pumping once, then twice, before falling still. Each time, she clenches harder, babbling something gritty and foul and incomprehensible. Something along the lines of holy fucking shit baby but its blurred with searing, pulsing pleasure.

There’s stars behind her eyes and steam in her nose as he falls against her chest, sopping hair tickling her hypersensitive skin. Him pulling feels like what two exposed wires touching must— all sparky and hot. It’s too much. 

“Mmm, careful baby,” she mumbles and he chuckles. 

“Of course.” 

The rest is truly a lull. Steve doesn’t bother gathering their clothes, only her, carrying her limp body to the bed and carefully setting her under the covers, dripping and all, before joining her. If she weren’t so sleepy, she would have scolded him. But she is and her eyes are refusing to stay open, let alone give him that look. It’s all she can do = to seek his warm skin once more, slithering against his body and rooting herself there. 

Cauterized, or something like it.