#Steve diary

[siddmunson55]

Scars.

To my Eddie,

Do you still love me even though I'm scarred? Would you still love me, knowing that I put those ugly scars on my flesh?

I love you, and will always love your scars.

Would you do the same for me?

Yours,

Stevie.

[colmiilllo]

When y/n does something that a would never do to pookie

[2jihiir0]

Steve secretly keeps this (stolen) picture in his diary while Robin judges his questionable taste in men ..

[bratphilia]

endmdjdjkdk perv uncle william finds out reader sleeps wearimg only her oversized shirt and no underwear……

cw ; incest, somno, humping

WILLIAM AFTON who is sent up to your room to check on you. you've been up there quite a while; your parents were concerned. your door is open a crack and when he opens it wider, he finds you asleep on your bed. the glow of lights hitting your sleeping form almost makes you look angelic, which is when he notices you in a certain position. you're on your stomach, hugging a pillow to your head, oversized shirt that would normally reach just below your upper thighs had rode up to reveal your ass. william swallows, trying to wet his dry throat. like a man possessed, he finds himself stepping forward to sit on the bed. you don't even shift, you must be a heavy sleeper. lucky for him. he licks his lips and gets a brilliant, nasty idea.

he slowly slides down the zipper of his slacks down, careful not to wake you from the noise it makes. he climbs around to hover over you on his knees, cock in hand. he releases it to let it slap softly against your ass, making the flesh jiggle and you stir. it makes him harder than he already is. taking his dick back in his hand, he presses it against your pussy. it sticks out between your legs perfectly, presenting yourself to him. he debates putting it in but decides to save that for another time. he wants you to be awake for that. you'd moan so prettily, soprano voice, mouth in the shape of an 'o' as you grip his shoulders. maybe he'd be your first, the first to stretch you out and teach you every dirty thing.

he rubs his dick against your slit. from the angle your laying in, he can't quite hit your clit, but your hole is just enough for him to prod at. he smothers the tip against it, feeling himself lubricating it. it takes everything within him not to just stick his cock inside you. good things come to those who wait, he reminds himself.

"uncle will," you murmur. his attention is taken away from your ass, your pretty fucking pussy, and meets your doe eyes, squinted from sleep and adjusting to the light that bleeds through your room. "what are you doing?"

"shh," he whispers. "go back to sleep, darling. uncle will's just takin' care of his beautiful girl."

"okay..." you rest your head back down on the pillow. william's pushing against your pussy becomes more relentless as he feels himself get closer. your raspy voice, your something-of-a willingness really gets him going.

"'s wrong," you murmur, but your hips are grinding upwards almost desperately.

he looks at you, close to spilling over. he's breathless by now, voice a little louder. "mm, then why are you moving your hips, huh? you want this, honey. it's okay that you're tired, you don't know what you're saying."

"okay, uncle will," you say again, closing your eyes this time. with that, he cums. leaking cock making a mess of your pussy, your legs, and your sheets.

[ghostlyfleur]

okay but

imagine getting matching silver permanent bracelets with boyfriend!steve harrington and him being so excited, treating it as a sort of promise ring. he never lets his clothing hide it, not even his coats, always folding the end of his sleeve so everyone can see it. you often scold him during cold days, but he doesn’t care.

he just smiles and gives you a kiss.

[snake-queen04]

[loveinhawkins]

Thinking about Steve having a camcorder that he completely forgot he owned. Dustin’s the one to find it and get it set up, all behind Steve’s back, and the first moment ever captured is Dustin’s face comically close to the camera, saying, “Hellooooo Steeeeve,” all drawn out like he’s an alien or something. Most of the clips are really short, things like the kids coming in from school and giving the camera (which they address as Steve) some sort of quip about their day, flopping on the couch until there are indents showing where each of them prefers to sit.

When Steve gets wise to what’s going on, finds the camcorder set out on the kitchen counter, one of his favourite moments is recorded completely by chance. The camera has been left running accidentally, and it captures an entire evening where, while Steve is on a closing shift, Eddie and Robin “scandalously break in” (Eddie’s words), also known as “using the spare key.”

They’re completely oblivious to being filmed, and act so ridiculously that it’s impossible for Steve to watch the clip back without smiling.

They’re baking in preparation for Steve’s birthday—“We’re using most of his shit to make this, I don’t know if that counts as a gift,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, but he has the good shit, Eddie,” Robin returns, like he’s being particularly dense.

Steve snorts when Eddie inadvertently presses a button on the microwave, making it beep angrily at him. “Shit,” he yelps, “feel like I’m on a fucking spaceship.”

After they’ve measured out ingredients, and Eddie has had a fraught battle with the electric whisk (“I don’t trust it, Buckley!”), they settle into a rhythm, taking turns at mixing and washing up. They lapse into comfortable silences every so often, but most of the time is spent with them doing a playful volley of insults.

Steve can’t make it out at first because they’re talking very quickly; then he realises that they’re doing a parody of old black-and-white movies, all in clipped transatlantic accents, with Robin as the shady, philandering husband and Eddie as the spurned wife. They don’t even miss a beat in between putting the cake batter in the oven, and Steve laughs so hard he thinks he might crack a rib when Robin asks Eddie to find the oven mitts, and he haughtily returns, “Give a gal a chance!”

And Steve finds himself getting surprisingly choked up at how comfortable they are in the kitchen—he knows that this house is not forever, that he has never quite felt settled within it. But they make it more of a home, just by existing. They all do.

He makes a note of how long to wind the footage to get to that clip, labels it for bad days.

[signedwill]

steve-o looks like he writes in a pink diary about his days…. sighs

[harringroveera]

He thinks it’s real fancy Steve

[libraryofgage]

The Prince and the Metalhead (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two (you're here!)

I know I just posted part one but I've got Thoughts for this AU that include: Steve's first birthday in Genovia and then his 16th, his conversation with his grandmother about attending public school in America for his senior year, and then we get into him attending Hawkins High and meeting Eddie!

So, yeah, plans lmao

Anyway, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

"You'll have a rotating course schedule. Mondays and Wednesdays will focus on math and social studies. Tuesdays and Thursdays will be science and literature. Friday will be Royalty lessons and the history of Genovia. We can also include an elective, if you'd like."

Steve blinks, staring at Sue for a moment before glancing at Jonathan and Robin. Jonathan is looking through a book of photography and Robin is idly scratching behind Dart’s ears. "Will we all have the same elective?" Steve asks.

"Not unless Jonathan and Robin want to join you," Sue says, looking at Steve expectantly. She's got a pen at the ready to write down what he says, and it suddenly feels like a lot of pressure.

Is there a wrong answer here? Is there an answer that gets him sent back to his parents? He looks down, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. Before he can lose himself in his thoughts, a cold and wet nose presses against his hand. Steve blinks, smiling at Dart and picking her up to hold close. "What kind of electives are there?" he asks.

Sue hums softly, flipping to another page on her clipboard. "Possible electives include art, music, theatrical performance, physical education, equestrian studies, botany, and foreign languages, to name a few."

"I'll be taking photography lessons," Jonathan says, looking up at Steve and gesturing to his book.

Robin nods and leans back on her palms. "I'll be doing the physical stuff. Like learning how to fight and practicing ballet to improve my balance," she says, leveling a look at Steve that dares him to say anything about the ballet.

Steve wouldn't, though. He doesn't want to make Robin angry enough to ditch him. He looks down at Dart, thinking for a moment before asking, "Can I take more than one?"

"Of course, but you're limited to three for now," Sue says.

What would be the most helpful? Foreign languages, probably, since he'll definitely have to speak with ambassadors from other countries at some point. He should also learn something that can be shown off, a skill that he could pull out at functions to make his grandmother proud or distract guests.

"What language should I learn?" he asks.

Sue thinks for a moment, tapping her pen against her chin. "Mandarin. It's a business language, and we have close relations with a few representatives from China and Hong Kong. If you'd like to learn a Romantic language first, though, Spanish is good."

"I'll learn Mandarin," Steve decides, nodding once to himself. "And music. I want to learn to play...hmm...the piano."

With a nod, Sue writes his electives down. "Let me know if you'd like to add an elective later, Your Highness. In my opinion, though, your current courses will keep you properly challenged for now."

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

Sue wasn't kidding about his academics being challenging. Steve struggles in math, muddles his way through science, drags himself through literature, and is ready to drop when he hits social studies. He'd ask the tutors to spend more time on topics, but Robin and Jonathan seem to have no problem keeping up, and Steve can't bring himself to disrupt their pace.

His Mandarin lessons are going just slightly better if only because the tutor seems to recognize that slower is better for him. After almost a month, he's starting to understand intonation and vocal variation better, and he can recognize a few characters on sight.

Piano lessons are also going well. His tutor there doesn't burden him with theory; she introduces the keys, shows him how to read sheet music, and then lets him choose songs to learn. Steve feels the most at ease when he's squinting at sheet music and slowly pressing piano keys into something recognizable.

The lessons he really looks forward to, however, are the ones for his Royalty Education. He gets to see his grandmother then, and she spends the whole day with him. Even better, something about this stuff just clicks. He's good at fixing his posture and memorizing silverware placement. He bows just right on his first try and his grandmother compliments his wave.

By the end of the lesson, she'll be smiling, her pride obvious, and take him for a walk in the gardens or to eat cookies in the kitchen.

"Royalty requires maintenance," Clarisse says, standing in front of Steve with relaxed shoulders. "You maintain your demeanor, your image, your knowledge of foreign dignitaries, your understanding of the people’s needs, and your humility. But you must also maintain your pride and your boundaries."

"That sounds like a lot," Steve says, idly tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"It can be overwhelming, but it becomes second nature in time," Clarisse explains, smiling reassuringly. "When you're royalty, you are constantly watched. Many eyes are kind or curious, but others are malicious, and you want to do everything you can to disappoint the malicious ones."

"How?"

"By acting like the Crown Prince you are."

"What kind of prince am I?" Steve asks, finally voicing the question that's been lingering since these lessons started. What kind of prince does his grandmother want? What kind of prince would best serve the people? What kind of prince will be so loved by all that nobody could even think of thinking about getting rid of him?

Clarisse hums, thinking for a moment. "I suppose a good one," she says, her slight smile telling Steve that she's only lightly teasing. "My hope is that you'll be kind and competent. You will make Genovia prosperous without compromising tradition. You won't allow politics to stand in the way of doing what's right by the people of Genovia. But this is a tiring job, so I hope you'll learn how to balance your duties with relaxation."

It's a lot, but Steve can do it. He can be that kind of prince, especially for the country and grandmother that's offered everything he's ever wanted and more. He nods once. "Okay," he says, "What do I need to learn, then?"

Clarisse smiles fondly at him. "Let's start by reviewing Genovian history. Only by knowing the past can you face the future."

With that, she places a book on Steve's desk and doesn't wait for him to open it before telling him about Genovia's founding.

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

Steve has weekends off from classes, which leaves him with more free time than he knows what to do with when he doesn't have to clean a house or make his own meals. So, he's bored, and telling Robin that he was bored was a huge mistake after she suggested riding bikes around the garden only to learn Steve didn't know how.

She'd insisted that he should learn, insisted that Clarisse be the one who teaches him, and insisted on hearing no objections.

And now he's here, standing in front of Clarisse's desk and staring down at his feet as she finishes writing something on the paper in front of her. Joe is standing just to her right, hands behind his back.

"Okay," Clarisse says, gently placing her pen on the desk before looking at Steve with an encouraging smile. "What did you want to ask me, Steve?"

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, takes a deep breath, and looks up. "Well, um, Robin wants to ride bikes, but I don't know how," he says.

"Well, that's easily fixed," Clarisse says, reaching for a phone at the corner of her desk. "I'm sure a member of staff is free to teach you."

Before she can pick up the phone, Steve finds himself blurting out, "Well, I...I was hoping...you could teach me."

Clarisse freezes, blinking twice with confusion before looking at Steve. "You want me to teach you?" she asks. When Steve nods once, she sighs softly. "A queen does not ride bikes. Besides, I have too much work to complete. Perhaps I could accompany you for a walk this evening to make up for it."

Despite himself, despite bracing for rejection, it still hurts. In the three months he's been in Genovia, Clarisse has agreed to just about every request he's made. Every held breath as he waits for cruel words has been released with unprecedented relief when none came. Even when he broke something---a priceless vase, according to Jonathan---his grandmother had simply surveyed the damage, thanked him for being honest, and asked him to avoid kicking soccer balls in the presence of priceless vases in the future.

Perhaps Steve has gotten too comfortable. He shouldn't be pushing like this. If he wants his grandmother's affection, he should know when to hold himself back.

So, despite the unfamiliar urge to ask again in case Clarisse might change her mind, Steve nods once. "I look forward to walking with you, Grandmother," he says, his voice quiet. He glances up, waiting long enough to see Clarisse's smile before turning on his heel and leaving the office as quickly as he can.

Clarisse watches him go, her head slightly tilted as the door closes silently behind Steve. She nods once, glad that Steve is sensible enough to understand things like work and propriety, and picks up her pen once more.

"If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?" Joe asks.

"At this point, Joe, you may as well assume the answer is yes."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, and please pardon my French, my experience has been that assuming makes an ass out of you and me."

It takes a moment for Clarisse to understand the joke. When she does, she can't help her amused smile. "Fair enough," she says, "Go ahead, Joe."

"Do you remember what I said about being Steve's grandmother?"

"Yes, of course."

"Perhaps now is one of those moments where being a grandmother is more important than being a queen. His Highness does not ask for much, and he is not the kind to ask more than once, even if he really wants something. I imagine it took a significant amount of courage to ask you to teach him in the first place."

"Are you suggesting that I...I risk making a fool of myself for all to see?" Clarisse asks.

"I am suggesting you spend time with your grandson, who asks very little of you because he does not believe he can ask for anything."

Clarisse is silent a moment, letting Joe's words process and settle in her brain. Finally, she sighs and gestures to the papers on her desk. "I have work to complete," she says.

"Your Majesty, editing these proposals was on your schedule two weeks from now. You are ahead of your work. A break would not be unreasonable or unwarranted."

Well, when he puts it like that.

Clarisse sighs, leans back in her chair, and looks up at Joe. He's still staring at the door, giving no indication that he feels her eyes on him, but she knows he does. "Have a groundskeeper retrieve bikes and safety gear and meet us in the garden," she says, standing from her chair and bracing herself to look like an utter fool.

Her apprehension fades away fifteen minutes later. It can't hold last when she sees Steve's surprised and delighted expression at her presence. As she helps him put on knee and elbow pads, shows him how to pull the helmet's strap tight, and holds the bike steady as he sits on it, Clarisse decides a little foolishness is perfectly fine (necessary, even) if it will keep the smile on Steve's face.

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

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added to future parts!)

@y4r3luv, @potato-of-the-lord,

[punksdoll]

~~~𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙1~~~

𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 CLOSED 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚜

𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝐢𝐟… 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐥, 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐜, 𝐩𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

🌧️angst ☀️fluff 🌦️angst&fluff

𝖂ᥕᥱ

𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗥𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗻𝘀

Welcome Back ☀️

🪬

𝗥𝗵𝗲𝗮 𝗥𝗶𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘆

Shortcake ☀️

Always loved 1 Always loved 2 Always Loved 3 🌦️

I’m here☀️

🪬

𝗟𝗔 𝗞𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗖𝗺 𝗣𝘂𝗻𝗸

And your new ☀️

Surprise doll ☀️

🪬

𝗗𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀𝘁

Buenas Días ☀️

Feels for you ☀️

Proud of you ☀️

Got your back ☀️ Cashing feelings ☀️

Giddiness ☀️

You’re my prize ☀️

En Tus Brazos☀️

Pinche Priest🌧️

🪬

𝗖𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗥𝗵𝗼𝗱𝗲𝘀

My Woman 🌧️☀️

Christmas Love☀️

🪬

𝗝𝗲𝘆 𝗨𝘀𝗼

Jealousy got the better☀️

I’m okay☀️

Savior☀️

Pendeja ☀️

Mío☀️

🪬

𝗦𝗵𝗮𝘆𝗻𝗮 𝗕𝗮𝘀𝘇𝗹𝗲𝗿

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗥𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘆 𝗢𝗿𝘁𝗼𝗻

Worried ☀️

🪬

𝗦𝗮𝗺𝗶 𝗭𝗮𝘆𝗻

I’m okay☀️

Forgive me🌦️

Savior☀️

Pendeja ☀️

🪬

𝗞𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗻 𝗢𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘀

Forgive me🌦️

Savior☀️

Pendeja ☀️

Listen to me☀️

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖁𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝕯𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗻 𝗦𝗮𝗹𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗲

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗗𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗦𝗮𝗹𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗲

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗡𝗶𝗸𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗸𝗮𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗼𝗻

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗘𝗹𝗶𝗷𝗮𝗵 𝗠𝗶𝗸𝗮𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗼𝗻

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖊𝖑

𝗕𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗕𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝕬𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖗 1&2

𝗝𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗦𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗡𝗲𝘁𝗲𝘆𝗮𝗺 𝗦𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗟𝗼’𝗮𝗸 𝗦𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗧𝘀𝘂'𝘁𝗲𝘆

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝕬𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖊

𝗦𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗸𝗮

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗩𝗶

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗝𝗶𝗻𝘅

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

🪬

𝗩𝗶𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗿

𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

[incorrectquotesmcu]

Tony: I wanted to apologize.

Steve: Good.

Tony: Let me finish. I wanted to, but then I realized, I’m not sorry.

[bratphilia]

── ★ ˙ strawberry charm ̟ !!

note ✧.*‎  hello hello hello welcome to scream meets fnaf. randomly got this idea after rewatching scream, like, why don't i combine one both franchises in the only way i know how? william afton as ghostface coming into your house and fucking the shit out of you!! and here we are. i spent a lot more time on this than i usually do writing fics so i seriously hope ppl enjoy it. i'm also on break starting today so i'll be pumping out more content from now on going into the new year!

pairing ✧.*‎‎ steve raglan / william afton x reader

cw ✧.*‎‎ college au and scream au, reader is college aged, william is her robotics professor, ghostface!william afton, reader is girly, vibrators, multiple orgasms, perversion, mentions of stalking, descriptions of gore, choking, consensual non consent, break-in, approximately one lick to the pussy, rough sex, dumbification, glove kink, slapping, slight daddy kink, cockwarming

taglist ✧.*‎‎ @dilfity @kissingrhi @iikyutee @ghoulsgraveyard @cemeteryry @gh0stsp1d3r

synopsis ✧.*‎ a man calls you up wondering what your favorite scary movie is.

you hold back a deep sigh at the low-quality horror movie being showed on the big screen in front of you. no, it's not the most important thing in the world, to see something "cinematically excellent" every time you go to the theater, but shit, wouldn't that be nice? anyways, that's not what you're here for. you're here for a date with this guy in your robotics class, specifically. 

he's handsy, but so are you. one arm is slung around your shoulder, you're cuddled against his chest, knees drawn upwards, and his other hand coming around to rub circles on your thigh. yes, it's your first date together, after weeks of study "dates." yes, you were cuddling, very heavy emphasis on pda. what about it? it made up for this movie being fucking terrible, so why not. 

you have to laugh. nico, your date, had promised chills and shivers up your spine and hoped for your head pushed into his shoulder at the scary parts of the movie. rotten luck for him. you want to laugh at that. and you accidentally snicker, causing him to look towards you. "what?"

"oh, nothing," you say, nodding back towards the movie. 

he says nothing, thank god. 

finally, there's a good part of the movie. the main character, a ditzy blonde with big tits is tied to a tree while the film's slasher rips her boyfriend's head from his body with a chainsaw. your muscles clench, not in fear, but in delight. you've always been a sucker for gore. and fuck, it gets something else clenching too. you seriously wonder if nico can feel you throbbing when he rests his hand under your chin, gently forcing you to look at him. he leans in for a kiss. no tongue, just lips to lips. it's nice. you notice he put on chapstick and you can taste the buttery popcorn on his mouth. 

however, you're interrupted by the creaking of a chair behind you. the sound of someone getting up and leaving. you didn't pull away in time to catch their face, but the noise frankly startled you than any other part of the movie. 

the film ended shortly after that. no, the person who left never did end up returning to their seat behind you, but that had long since left your mind anyways. nico drove you home in his silver convertible, the top down creating a nice breeze through your hair. the car ride was silent but content. date successful, in your opinion, shitty movie aside. 

"well, goodnight," he says when your door is barely cracked open and you're halfway inside. you silently leaned up on your tippy toes and pecking his lips once more. you ignore the crackle of twigs in the foliage surrounding your house, blaming it on the wind. 

the door shut behinds you. you live in a campus house, but your roommates just so happen to be out of the house for the weekend. this has meant nothing but trouble for you — meaning you snuck your friend lacey's vibrator out of its drawer and had yourself some fun. over and over and over. pastel pink with a pretty bow on the hot glued on the end for decoration (the two of you might have done that together). but don't worry about how you know where her vibrator is, that's none of your business! 

while you're washing off the facial cleanser from your face in the shower as conditioner sits patiently in your hair, you think about nico. specifically whether or not you're actually interested in him. sure, he's a nice guy, romantic. bad taste in movies but clearly cares about what you like since he picked out a horror film to take you on a date to. and yet, that nagging thing in the back of your head, the one that told you not to commit to a relationship for fear of being stuck in one, had you snap back to the reality of relationships. you'll never be free to just date who you want, whenever you want. it made you frown. 

you get out of the shower eventually, still undecided about the future of your dating life, and you decide to put the topic to rest and relax with a classic: nightmare on elm street. or maybe something else? suspiria,  the thing, or evil dead? you browse your collection, and stop at freddy vs. jason. speaking of shitty horror movies and sticking to the freddy theme, you think with a smirk. 

you slip the cd into the player. super retro, i know right? 

you're popcorn'd out, to say the least, so you skip on making a bowl. your movie is interrupted shortly by the buzzing of your phone. the caller id just lists a phone number in your area. usually, you wouldn't pick these up, but you do it anyways. stupidly. 

"hello?" you call out into your phone. 

"hello." comes a man's deep voice.

you scratch your head, careful not to chip your manicure. "who is this?"

"who is this?" he mimics you, emphasis on this.

you scoff, already annoyed. probably a prank call. "i asked you first."

"look," he mediates, probably sensing your forming annoyance, "all i have is a question to ask."

"alright..." you say. nothing wrong with that. "shoot."

"what's your favorite scary movie?"

you pretend to contemplate. "hereditary," you say finally. of course it's your favorite. it's had your heart since you first saw it in theaters. anyone who knows you knows not to bring it up if they don't want to hear you go on a tangent about it. "it's the right amount of atmosphere with the right amount of gore." 

"isn't that the one where the little girl gets decapitated after slamming into a telephone from sticking her head out of a car window?" the man on the phone drawls, testing you.

"yes!" you practically exclaim. you hope you found another fan. not many other people shared your enthusiasm for the movie as you did.

he hums. "that's an interesting choice. i don't hear it enough. a little depressing, though."

"you mean you call other girls asking them what their favorite horror movie is? that's a new level of game i've never seen before," you tease, abandoning the movie to get up mindlessly and head to the bathroom to put your hair up.

"not just any girl," he says with a chuckle.

"oh?" you say, "so i'm special?"

"you could say that."

you smile, staring back at your reflection. you get it now. "you know, you could've just come inside earlier, nico. no need to put on the act."

"i'm not nico," he corrects you sternly. 

you scoff and roll your eyes, putting your device down and switching it to speaker phone so you can multitask. "right," you say, unconvinced.

you sort through your collection of hair clips, picking out the right one — "the one with the strawberry charm, huh? that one's my favorite. 's sweet like you."

you nearly drop the accessory. how the fuck? a shiver shoots up through your spine. your head snaps towards the direction of the bathroom window. searching desperately for an answer, anyone that could've just been watching. but no one's there, of course!

"that's not funny, nico," you snap. you're pretty sure you've worn this hair clip to a study date over at his apartment, right? and he might've even complimented you on it. yeah, you try to convince yourself, he's seen it before.

but that doesn't explain how he knew —

"i told you already," the man on the phone's voice is agitated, "i'm not nico."

"then who the fuck are you?!" you ask in a shrill voice, ready to hang up on this motherfucker. you steadily twist your hair upwards and secure the claw around it, letting your remaining hair fall in a ponytail.

"i'll prove it to you," he tells you as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "check the backyard."

you shockingly decide not to hang up for your sake. you would rather keep a close eye on the situation rather than just let something happen to you. you creep towards the sliding glass doors, gulp, then switch on the light, only to be met with monstrosity. 

nico's on his knees; you can hear him whimpering from inside, scrambling for his amputated arm that lies in between him and the sliding door. you open your mouth but you can't scream; the only thing you can feel is a shudder that shakes you to your very core. you feel almost weak in the knees, desperate to keep yourself standing on your two feet. there's blood, so much blood. all the backyard porch, your roommates will be so mad and concerned about what happened? how can you even begin to explain this? 

you try to do the only sane thing you can think of: hang up and call the police. the thought of this being one big prank pulled on you crossed your mind, but you were too scared not to act. a beat passes after you pressed that little red button on your phone, and the door bursts open. this time you scream. 

in a dark blur, you're pressed roughly against a mirror that frames the wall behind the dining table. a gloved hand wraps around your throat. "you stupid bitch, hanging up on me."

you meet the mask of your captor: the damn mask from that slasher movie stab. you were never particularly fond of the franchise. "lame movie reference," you manage to choke out, and you instantly eat your words. he slaps you across the face and loosens his grip at the same time, watching you fall to your side on the hard ground. 

you can barely gather your thoughts — your head is fucking swimming — before he's dragging you by your ankle with a strong grip in the direction of your bedroom. you hate how you slide so easily across the smooth floor. you try your best to break free, to run, wriggling your leg violently to shake him away to no avail. when he's dragged you successfully inside the bedroom he closes it behind you, bends down and manhandles onto lacey's bed. 

tears spill down your cheeks. this is it. you're going to die. but he doesn't take out a knife, or any weapon, actually, to fatally harm you with. instead, he's rummaging through the drawers in front of the bed. and then it dawns on you and you sit up. that's the drawer where lacey's —

"ah, found it," the man says triumphantly, turning back towards you, pastel pink vibrator in hand, toying with the ribbon. "what a cute little thing. do you know how many times i've watched you get off to this little device? what a fucking sight you make."

your eyes narrow. "who are you?"

he chuckles, then uses a hand to remove his mask, revealing the face of your robotics professor. him? how is it possible you've managed to capture his attention? when throughout the entire course he's done nothing but ignore you, treating you like you didn't exist. always ignoring your questions. shit, he's the reason why you started going to nico in the first place for help in his class: because nico was like his golden-star-student. 

"i don't get it," you say, lip trembling as tears well in your eyes. "why me? what did i do—"

"to captivate me?" he finishes your sentence, turning on the vibrator. you gulp like it's your impending doom. professor raglan kneels onto the bed and you wish you could back up but you only hit the headboard behind you. "well, for starters: you were always so eager for my attention. and it hurt me not to give it to you. couldn't blow my cover, sweetheart."

you still didn't understand, but you didn't have anymore time to contemplate or question him. he was spreading your legs, splitting open a space under your short, pink skirt for him to gain access to the area between your legs. you fumble with the sheets, holding them in a death grip. you definitely ruined your manicure. once your skirt bunches up around your hips, it reveals your panty-less mound. of course. you didn't think to wear anything after your shower because it wasn't like you were going out. 

your professor whistles lowly, pupils dilating in desire. it's perverted, the way he puts down the vibe, and grabs your hips upwards so he can get a closer look at your pussy. you throb subconsciously, making him look back up at you with a quirked brow. he leans forward to blow air on you, eyes still steady to gage your reaction. you whimper and wriggle in his grasp, face heating up in embarrassment. "you just have the cutest little cunt," he comments when he pulls away, then sticks his tongue out to lick a stripe up your pussy. "mmm, even sweeter, too. sweeter than the little strawberry in your hair."

"ohh," you coo. you hate to admit how good it feels, but here you were, arching your back in his touch and moaning.

"yeah?" he asks, taking his mouth off of you for a moment. "my baby like it when i eat her dripping pussy?"

you sniffle, not answering. you can't find it within you to be able to. "no? maybe i'll stop and move on then." you want to cry, fuck. a feeling of relief settles back in when he takes the vibrator back in his hand. the low hum grabs your attention — not like you could zone out at a time like this anyways.

when the device meets your needly clit you groan, flex your fingers at the sheets. "oh, fuck," you whisper. his eyes never leave your face, and every time you regrettably look at him, he's breathing heavily, open mouthed, like he just can't get enough of you. so you avoid looking at him, going through stages of keeping your eyes closed or looking up at the ceiling, praying for sweet release to whatever cruel deity is looking upon you getting fucked by this old man.

the vibrations against your clit are a little too good to be true. you can't help but feel like there's a price, one you'll specifically have to pay with his dick inside you. you wonder if it'll be lame like the other guys you've had, but honestly? you could get off to the thought of this situation, and you'll definitely remember this for future masterbation-sake. you're a freak like that.

raglan presses down on your stomach, iliciting a hiss from you through your teeth. "want you to come all over my arms," he tells you, "coat my gloves, you'll make me so happy."

fuck, then you get an idea. the gloves inside of you. you throb once more at the thought. "i-inside," you murmur, hoping he'd get the message.

"huh? what's that, baby?" he asks mockingly, but you know damn well he heard you. please don't make me said it, you think.

you reach down to touch his free hand, guiding it towards your entrance. "want my fingers inside you, hmm? baby needs something inside her to feel satisfied?"

"mhm," you hum with a nod of your head. he slowly slips a gloved finger inside you, the fabric deliciously creating friction that makes you grind on his hand. he looks up at you with a dirty smile, then reaches forward to kiss you as he pumps his fingers in and out of you ever so slowly. it's perfect. the stimulation of the vibrator combined with the feeling of his clothed hand is enough to make you burst.

and you do gracefully. so much that he pecks your cheek, tells you how much of a good girl you are for him, as lewd 'ah's tumble from your lips uncontrollably. you buck against his hand until he pulls is out of you, whining at his removal.

"i know, sweetheart, i know," he sympathizes after you, "daddy's cock's gonna be inside you soon, though. then you'll have something else to play with."

you're already exhausted from your first orgasm, somewhat unsure of how you're going to take the next, but you can hardly think about that now. you're drunk off the atmosphere between you two, nico's amputation is far forgotten. you can't even remember what you were doing before this. your hair is tussled in a way that has your hair clip drooping down the side of your shoulder loosely, but you don't have any energy to fix it. all you can think about is daddy's — wait, when did he become daddy? — cock inside you, and that's all that matters.

raglan begins to grind his bare cock against your entrance, having discarded his black slacks moments ago. he rubs the tip against you, purposefully bumping against your click, drawing out a symphony of noises — babbles along the lines of "please, just put it in, i can't take it anymore" — as your face contorts in a sob and tears fall down your cheeks again.

"my girl is such a crybaby," he chuckles, then slowly guides your hips to slide down on his cock. he fills you up by the inch, making you feel every ridge and vein. the stinging sensation of not being adjusted to his length washes over you in a surprisingly pleasurable wave. "so fucking tight," he gasps. he lets out his respective groans once he's fully sheathed inside of you.

then he starts moving; then things start to get good. you're not fully adjusted to his length, but the way you're leaking around him makes for perfect lube. what's a little pleasure without pain? it could be worse, you could be on the floor writhing in pain with multiple stab wounds, but instead you were being stabbed by his dick inside of you, so you weren't in a position to complain.

raglan leans down so his body is on top of yours, keeps himself steady by planting one hand to the side of your head as he aggressively snaps his hips into yours. you realize, in this moment, just how desperate he's probably been for this. not like you could do much thinking, but the way he was pistoning inside you said enough about how he felt. and god you felt good, clenching and unclenching around him, making the prettiest noises he's ever heard.

one particularly hard thrust has your head swimming, like it did when he slapped you. you want him to slap you again, so you initiate it in the only way you know how; reaching forward to land a weak hit across his face. he stops moving for a second, shocked. then with a swift whack across the face, he's back to thrusting inside of you, even harder this time around. "wanted me to hit you so bad, you could've just asked you dumb little slut," he growls into your ear.

"''m sorry," you have the audacity to giggle, "couldn't tell you."

"yeah? am i fucking you that stupid?" he asks, "'course, i don't expect you to able to answer that."

he flips you over suddenly so you land on your stomach, putting himself back in, fucking you with reckless abandon. the way his cock is hitting your g-spot right now has you plummeting over the edge. you wriggle your hips backwards to help him get off too, which he does right inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

he doesn't pull out. he's waited too damn long for this to do so. he's gonna enjoy a nice, long time inside of you, whether you like it or not. he collapses on his side, pulling you close to him so that he's spooning you. the most important thing to him in that moment, is your half-awake form rising and falling with each breath against him with his cock buried deep inside of you, strawberry charmed hair clip discarded somewhere by the pillows.

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Life update as of 5/14/24:

I graduated nursing school!!! 🎉🎉🥳🥳

With no more school to worry about I want to write more! Don’t know how much because ya know mom duties 🥹 but we’ll see!

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

i don’t need wings to help me fly, pt. 1

Steve still vividly remembers the day his grandmother had flown in to Indianapolis when he’d turned sixteen years old. He’d never met her before but his constantly-traveling parents weren’t around, so he’d been tasked with airport duty and delivering his grandmother to the best hotel in the city.

His grandmother had turned up her nose and sniffed the minute she’d walked off the plane in head-to-toe pink Chanel.

“Your parents let you live here?” She’d asked in a posh British accent, not a single hair out of place even after an 11 hour flight from Europe.

“Oh, we don’t live in the city,” Steve had told her, smiling and taking her bags from her diamond-encrusted hands. “We live an hour away from here.”

His grandmother had done a double-take at that. “You don’t even live in the city?” She’d sounded so appalled as Steve led her through the airport, her eyes widening as they’d passed the food court and she saw the McDonalds and the Dunkin Donuts. “Is this what you eat here?” She peered at someone’s tray as they’d passed with their Big Mac.

All Steve could do was laugh and accept his grandmother’s invitation to eat dinner with her in her penthouse suite at the hotel, where she’d hired a private chef for her week-long stay in the city. It was actually more of a command than an invitation, anyway.

That night, Steve had laughed as his grandmother had told him he was the Crown Prince of Genovia.

“Shut up,” Steve had laughed, dropping his fork with a clatter on the fancy porcelain of his plate.

“Shut up?” His grandmother had repeated, sounding aghast.

Steve shook his head. “No, I mean, like. Stop pulling my leg. That’s very funny, grandma.”

“I’m not joking, Steven. You are Steven Pierre Harrington Renaldi, Prince of Genovia.”

“Grandma,” Steve had said, still smiling. “I couldn’t even tell you where Genovia is on a map.”

And the rest had, as they say, been history. There had been a few bumps in the road and he’d almost abdicated his throne once or twice, but after spending every summer in Genovia for the past five years, he’d come to love his country and its people. Now, with his twenty-first birthday just one week away, he’s finally moving to Genovia’s Royal Palace full time.

When he’s brought into the palace from the private royal airport, he’s told that his grandmother is in a meeting with representatives from Genovia’s parliament. Since Steve hasn’t been crowned king yet, he’s technically not allowed to sit in on those types of meetings, but when he’d been exploring the palace when he was 17, he’d found a passage that ran directly behind his grandmother’s public state rooms where she met with foreign dignitaries and domestic politicians. After being delivered to his room by palace staff, Steve quickly changed from his airplane clothes and made his way to the passage. As he unlocked the tiny gate that would allow him to see and hear what was happening in the room, he hears his grandmother’s raised voice.

“You cannot possibly be serious!” She says loudly and it’s the first time Steve has ever heard his grandmother come close to yelling. “That piece of legislation is absolutely archaic!”

“Archaic though it may be, it still exists,” the man across from where his grandmother sits says smugly. Steve does not like the condescending way the man looks at his grandmother.

“We’ve never enforced the law before,” his grandmother insists.

“We’ve never needed to,” Prime Minister Motaz concedes reluctantly from Steve’s grandmother’s side. Steve watches as she turns to him in shock.

“And we don’t need to now!” Steve thinks his grandmother might be coming close to slamming her fist down on the table.

“Steven is young. He has no experience,” another voice comes from someplace in the room that Steve can’t see. “It’s not a bad idea to give him as much support as he can possibly have.”

Steve goes hot all over, flushing with indignation. His throat burns. He wants to defend himself, but he’s technically not even supposed to know who’s in this meeting right now.

“And forcing him to marry would be our way of giving him support?” His grandmother sounds incredulous. Steve’s mouth goes dry. Marry? Him? He’d only just graduated college

“No one’s forcing anything,” the smug man across the table from his grandmother says gleefully. “He’s allowed to pick whoever he wants. As it happens, I have the perfect candidate in mind.”

“If you’re talking about your deadbeat, drop out of a son, then this meeting is officially over,” Steve can practically hear the way his grandmother rolls her eyes at the man. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he hears her.

“I’ll have you know that Eddie has returned to school and is currently at the top of his class in the comparative literature program,” the man says haughtily.

“Oh, perfect, his ability to analyze Chaucer will be the perfect addition in running the country to Steve’s expertise in international relations and political science from his accelerated dual masters program,” Steve’s grandmother replies sarcastically.

Steve practically fist pumps in his hiding spot. His grandma is so badass.

“Your Majesty,” the prime minister cuts in reluctantly. “Now that Viscount Mabrey has brought the marriage clause to our attention we have no choice but to bring this to a parliamentary vote. The entire body is meeting tomorrow morning; we’ll cover it then. You are, of course, welcome to attend, but you mustn’t interfere with the vote.” He glances across the table at the smug man who is apparently Viscount Mabrey. “Either of you.”

Steve can tell that the meeting is clearly wrapping up and it’s only a matter of time before his grandmother comes looking for him, so he quickly latches the little window and hurriedly leaves his hiding spot behind. As he’s glancing down at his clothes, brushing dirt and cobwebs from the fabric, he bumps into someone as he rounds the corner of the main hall. The stranger grasps Steve’s elbows, keeping him upright. Steve raises his gaze and meets a set of intense, deeply brown eyes. Pretty, Steve thinks.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the stranger smiles and Steve registers the rest of his face. He takes in the dimples and the long curling dark hair falling around his shoulders. Pretty, Steve thinks again. “Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No, uh—no worries, my fault,” Steve stammers out, before clearing his throat. “I’m Steve.”

The stranger tilts his head. “Yeah, man, I know.” His smile widens. “I’ll see you around, Prince Steven.” And then, without another word, he continues his way down the hall, in the direction Steve had just come from.

~*~

“I don’t get it,” Steve says to his grandmother, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I spent all this time studying and reading and interning and now they’re telling me I can’t be king unless I’m married? What kind of old-fashioned, ancient law is this?”

“Honestly,” his grandmother replies, “the law, sadly, is not even that old. It was ratified only 75 years ago. I’m not sure why, as it’s never been enforced until now. We’ll have to keep a keen eye on Viscount Mabrey and his no good son, though. They’ve got to be up to something.”

“Who’s his son?” Steve asks.

“Oh, I don’t remember his name. He’s completing a degree at Oxford—though between you and me, he’s dropped out twice already, so who knows about all that,” his grandmother waves a dismissive hand through the air.

“Grandma,” Steve says reproachfully, but even he can’t help but laugh a little. These people are trying to steal his crown, after all.

“Oh, Steven, I wanted your birthday week to be perfect for you,” his grandmother turns to him and grasps both his hands in hers, her eyes glassy. “I know this isn’t what you expected to come home to, but there’s nothing we can do until Parliament casts its vote in the morning. So let’s just focus on your birthday ball tonight, shall we?” She squeezes his hands in hers and then let’s them drop. “I’ve flown Paulo in to help you dress for the night.”

Steve groans. The last time he’d seen Paulo, the stylist had leaked his identity as the long lost prince of Genovia to the press. But he’s so good at what he does, his grandmother had apparently found it in herself to forgive him. And honestly, the leak had been somewhat of a blessing in disguise, one that allowed Steve to embrace both sides of himself: the small-town Indiana boy-next-door and the European royal with the world at his fingertips.

“Time to get ready for your ball, Steven,” his grandmother tells him happily.

~*~

Steve always feels strange when he has to dress up for a big event. He doesn’t hate it, exactly—he actually kind of likes it—but he still feels a little like he’s wearing a costume and he knows occasions like this are going to be even more frequent after his coronation in a month and a half.

Steve makes his way into the ballroom and let’s himself be announced to his guests. The ball has already started and he crosses the dance floor to greet his grandmother.

“Ah, Steven,” she greets him, kissing him on each of his cheeks. “You look beautiful, my darling.”

“Thank you, grandma,” Steve responds, glancing down at his tux. “You look gorgeous as ever, of course.” And she does. Her dark hair is curled and piled on top of her head, artfully arranged around her shining diamond and pearl tiara. Her deep violet gown flares out at the waist and brings out the emerald green of her eyes. She’s stunning and regal, all the things a queen should be. Steve’s going to have a hard time filling her shoes when he’s crowned king.

“Happy birthday, my love,” his grandmother says, hugging him to her. “Go have fun. Dance. Eat cake.” She gently pushes him toward the dance floor and Steve can’t help but laugh.

He wanders over toward the buffet table full of cupcakes and cookies, his giant green and gold birthday cake in the center. His mouth waters slightly just looking at the flowers of spun sugar decorating the top. He knows it’s chocolate with vanilla frosting, his favorite. He’s so intent on getting himself a piece of his birthday cake that he misses the person crossing his path.

Steve bumps directly into a hard body for the second time in one day. He’s usually not this clumsy. A large, ringed hand flies out to grasp his bicep, keeping him upright.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” a familiar deep voice says, laughter lacing the words. Steve stares up into now-familiar deep brown eyes.

“Oh, you—sorry,” Steve replies, smoothing his palms down the front of his tuxedo jacket. The stranger from earlier stands in front of him, wearing black on black on black, polished and pressed and just as beautiful as before. His curly hair is tied in a neat low ponytail and his mouth is curved into a smile, once again showing off the dimples Steve hasn’t stopped thinking about since this afternoon. His eyes are sparkling.

“Not at all,” the stranger shakes his head. “My fault entirely, Prince Steven.”

Steve clears his throat. “You don’t have to keep calling me that. You can call me Steve.” He’s glad he doesn’t stutter this time, his voice coming out smooth and clear, regaining some of his Indiana charm.

“Steve, then,” the stranger’s smile widens.

“And you are?” Steve prompts.

“And I… was just about to ask you to dance,”the stranger says, holding out his hand.

Steve is… completely charmed. Sure, he doesn’t know this man’s name, but he’s beautiful and charismatic and Steve only has a few friends his age here in Genovia, so he takes the stranger’s hand and let’s himself be led out on to the dance floor. The stranger must be in the high ranks of Genovian society to have even scored an invite to tonight’s ball and Steve racks his brain to remember if there were any sons of Parliament members he hadn’t met yet. He doesn’t think so.

Once they’re on the dance floor, Steve’s breath catches as a strong hand circles his waist, another entwining their fingers together. Steve feels himself being twirled around the dance floor and it’s dizzying for more reasons than one. The stranger is captivating, his gaze magnetic.

“Okay,” Steve says after a few minutes of dancing. “You have to tell me your name, man.”

The stranger smiles again. “You can call me Eddie.” The song they’ve been dancing to comes to an end. Eddie raises Steve’s hand to his lips, brushing his mouth across Steve’s knuckles. “I hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, Steve.” And then he turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving Steve dizzy and blushing on the dance floor.

[navybrat817]

Dad Diaries Question.

Would Bucky trust Steve and Sam to babysit?

Look at them, nonnie! How can you not trust them?

But imagine Bucky taking you out for your first date night since having Jamie and trying to relax and have a good time since you deserve the night out. And Steve and Sam knowing their friend send a photo to let Bucky know that his son is doing just fine. Nothing to worry about with the best and coolest uncles around.

They also know Bucky would hunt them down if anything happened to his son.

Love and thanks! ❤️