#back in to help. his inability to stop himself from caring.

[iceunhie]

[ 3 + 1 ].

premise. in which entails your daily life being in a relationship with the one and only eccentric wanderer. (alternatively: wanderer's love for you comes in many forms. you welcome them all the same.)

warnings: established relationship, hurt-comfort, slice of life, wanderer is called kuni. jealousy (wanderer), angst. FLUFF fluff fluff. wanhida family goals

a/n: ITS SCARAMOUCHE WANDERER SEASON his event broke me btw [in tears]

BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX !

# observation one: unconventionally clingy

early on in your relationship, this side of the wanderer remains quite privy to himself alone. this is because he has a very, very uncanny similarity to an aggressive and guarded cat that hisses when given an ounce of affection.

this does not mean he doesn't like your outlandish and grand displays of affection, though; its actually the opposite. (LOL)

the true crux of the matter lies in his inability to let down his guarded pride to admit that he thinks your affection is his lifeblood. (basically, “ew, affection... do it again”)

he's a menace (affectionate), and if you were one for critiquing that aspect of his character, you wouldn't have been in a relationship with him by now, anyway.

however—there is always a however when it comes to him—this does not mean that wanderer doesn't come across points of anxiousness over the fact that his less than affable personality may be something you will grow sick of one day.

he knows he isn't the best choice of a romantic partner; seriously, what were you even thinking... but when he establishes that you are indeed now an irreplaceable part of his life (which will take a long time, good luck), he clings to you with a fierce desperation underneath all that thorn and bristle.

this is part of his visceral fear of abandonment—you are the one thing that he adores, cares for with his entire being (nahida as a close second), and to watch you slip away from him due to his own misgivings will spell out a death sentence for him.

(so please, treat him gently; cradle his cracked palms and broken psyche, and slowly, emphasis on slowly, but surely, he will learn to return in kind.)

this ‘clinginess’ comes forth in his proximity to you. once he has felt comfortable with your relationship, wanderer is quite unafraid to show how touchy he is in his own way.

whether that is to get groceries in your shared home, following after you like a second shadow when you go to the grand bazaar, or even shooing away people that harass you (tba), the wanderer's gaze and all his efforts are always directed to your will.

(you dubbed this as ‘scary cat boyfriend privilege’—and are rewarded with a painful flick to the forehead. ouch.)

—☆★☆—

“where are you going?” the slender hand that stops you from leaving your comfy bed does little to help your need to fall back into the blissful arms of sleep.

“just going to go get some water, kuni.”

waking up to the sight of the wanderer in all his divine glory certainly isn't one of the things you expected in your life, but you welcome it all the same. leaving a simple kiss to his forehead, you pry your hand away with a gentleness you reserve only for him.

he flushes, a lovely red adorning cheeks, to the span of his neck. oh, how you love seeing him melt.

“you won't take too long?”

he doesn't need to breathe, but he sucks in a breath anyway, face twisting to a deep set frown—your telltale sign that your kunikuzushi had a nightmare.

an unanswered question. you won't leave?

your hand caresses the silky soft strands of his purple hair, that in which wanderer nuzzles into. he doesn't seem keen on telling you, and you respect that. you'd wait for him as long as he'd like.

“of course i will. not going anywhere, silly.”

why would i? you convey in that same gesture. i love you.

the tightness of his face relaxes, his grip on your hand loosening. right—you weren't. (you were not going to abandon him.)

“hurry up and come back, then. it's far too early.” his voice is still thick with sleep, though that doesn't temper his signature sass at all.

i love you too. goes unsaid.

your grin sharpens, teasing. “aww, don't miss me too much, okay?”

anddd there's the signature scowl. “...never mind, don't come back.”

“hey!”

shuffling to hide his face from you, wanderer sports a genuine smile, hidden from your sight.

because in your presence, the wanderer stills, and all thoughts of a doomed eternity fall short of how he commits himself to you—wanderer loves and loves, loves you, for you nestle in the space his heart was meant to be, holding onto the mere wisps of your identity and weaving it into the mosaic of his soul.

it's silent save for when you plop yourself back to the bed, bearhugging wanderer and complaining about waking up early again because you stayed up all night playing tcg with him. (he's at 10 wins and 5 losses and he was not going to be caught lacking).

“you do realize that's entirely your fault, right?” he gloats. “it's not my fault my card bested that lawachurl of yours.”

“what?! no way, mister! my all geo team is still superior, mind you-”

once, wanderer wondered about the concept of infinity.

everlasting devotion. of unabashed care and trust. as he listens to your ramblings as the night falls to day, he figures that what you currently share fits that concept just fine.

# observation two: (very) jealous tendencies

it isn't in wanderer's intention to be jealous. well, so he says.

really, he isn't! after all, what was there to be jealous of? absurd! looks, intellect, an extensive range of vocabulary not limited to insults and creative verbal attacks; wanderer boasts quite the sizable number of pros that get most people falling at his feet. (his outward personality leaves much to be desired, however, but his snark does have a certain charm. probably).

and of all the bashful akademiya seniors and well-intentioned young women (and men), you managed to get into a relationship with this black cat of a derisive puppet. this is an achievement worthy of celebration, for not just anyone can take the wanderer and burrow into his many, many guarded walls and claim the title of being his lover.

yet, wanderer is the more jealous one in the relationship.

he knows that you won't cheat on him, and trusts that you won't look at others in such a way. but still, your boyfriend can't help but doubt. be patient when working out his jealousy, for it is a double edged sword—on one hand, wanderer was so adorable when he was jealous; sulky, clingy, hot you name it! and it was very flattering, knowing that he loved you enough to want to keep you all to himself.

but, the other side was quite... a piece of work. should you attempt to tease him about such a thing, it ends in three ways. one, him flying off to god knows where and leaving you alone (😐), two, restricting you from hugging and giving him affection (😭), and worse, giving you the silent treatment (😨). choose your ammunition wisely.

and from this, be prepared for the wanderer to monopolize your attention all to himself— with said admirers mysteriously off the grid or too afraid to approach you for fear of his wrath. i'll say it once: a jealous wanderer is a force to be reckoned with. (and we love him for it)

(he was chided endlessly by nahida for this; “you're scaring all the researchers that want to do a thesis review with [name]!” she says.

a sly smirk was his only reply).

—☆★☆—

“what, and here i thought he had more bark left in him.” wanderer huffs haughtily, with the researcher dashing away as if his life depended on it.

“you'll get scolded by nahida again, you know. i don't think the dendro archon's trusted aide should boast a terrifying reputation.”

he snorts. “lesser lord kusanali has better things to do than chide me for harassment.”

“but you don't have better things to do than scaring away poor kimiya?”

that gets you an eye roll that could reach massive highs of ‘what about it?’ from your boyfriend. “you're overthinking.” (translation: you're right).

“uh huh, sure i am.”

“whatever. who you talk to and interact with is none of my concern. it's not like i care about such things anyway.” he retorts. “i'm not possessive.”

so he says. “by the way, his pickup line was pathetic—‘are you anemo because your beauty blows me away’? atrocious.”

your eyebrow raises in return. really, who was speaking about “not caring” and then judging right after? well, it's fine because he was kinda right.... cyno would definitely get along with that guy.

“it was sincere! i think he has to be commended for his efforts, no?”

“you call that effort?” his face scrunches to a dissatisfied frown.

kinoya, kimiya—he doesn't even remember his name anymore. wanderer doesn't care for those that waste his time, and more especially to those that attempt to get close to you in particular. honestly, what a cheap trick.

and you! you were seriously humoring that moony researcher earlier. you even smiled at him! wanderer seethes, crossing his arms. “its quite irritating, knowing that they flock to you under the guise of—what was it he said? right, ‘shared academic pursuits.’ it was too obvious.”

“first of all: that's rude, second, he really needed help! anyone would feel sorry for him.” you tut, pinching the smooth of wanderer's palm. you wisely decide not to comment on how he immediately interlocks hands with you.

you snicker. “and he was only asking for advice on his research topic, silly.”

“hah! how nice — you're defending him now.” it's incredible how wanderer has the uncanny ability to be just like an annoyed cat that dunked itself into a bucket of cold water; and the way he frowns at you only makes you let out an even worse fit of laughter.

wanderer drinks in the sound, resonating it with the beat of his soul, your laugh the heartbeat echoing deep within his veins. he is reduced to nothing with you—with you, his face relaxes; wanderer may be indifferent to humans, but with you, your mere existence is enough for him to falter like a human, weaken like a human.

and weakly, perhaps in an attempt to save face, he speaks, “you didn't deny it.”

“deny what?”

“...defending him.” (if he were a cat, his ears would definitely fall flat right now).

you let out another light laugh, but sparing your lover the torment, you cling to the side of his arm instead.

“i never had such intentions.” stating it quite firmly, “i'm only saying that there's no competition to be made, darling.”

he gives you a skeptical look in return. “was there even any?”

“none at all.” you lean closer to him, and the wanderer leans into the touch of your hand on his cheek. “since you're winning.”

the flustered blush you receive and the subconscious squeeze of his hand in yours conveys all you need to say.

that did the trick. wanderer's smile is satisfied—smug. “clearly, you managed to make the right call for once.”

“well, i could hardly resist you.”

afterwards, you note that the wanderer's pace doesn't seem as fast as usual anymore. no matter the jaw dropped stares of others at the two of you cozying up together, he never let go of your hand once.

(the next day, kimiya comes to you with a sheepish smile saying that he'd like to focus on his own without your help.

“was it your doing?” you look at the wanderer by your bedside table fastening his vision in pace, voice deadpanning.

“hah? why would i waste my time over some insignificant mortal?” he replies, but as he's putting on his hat, you see him smile to himself.

that little...)

# observation three: secretly? protective/considerate (green flag!!)

if you ask anyone who knows the wanderer on a personal note, you'd find out that he is, indeed, quite considerate—hidden underneath alllll that snark and aloofness and haughtiness, the wanderer cares for those who have helped him in some way, and with you as his partner (romantic), that care is multiplied tenfold hundredfold.

this quality of his, despite being endearing on paper and practice, is reminiscent of that of an aggressive mother hen; if you count wanderer as a hen that pecks someone incessently to show his care.

he chides you like an exasperated young maiden, but the soft way he handles your bruised arm littered with injuries from your recent run in with some strange fontainian seahorse contradicts his harsh scoldings.

(“bested by a fish? are you serious?”

“excuse you, i needed to get it's horns for materials, okay?!”

“...remind me why i'm stuck with an idiot for a companion.”

“uh, because i have a great personality, and you love me?”

“a decision i've made that's quite hard to defend, honestly.”

you stick your tongue out at him. yes, his habits also become yours.)

or how he tells you you're hopeless at cooking, but always manages to excuse himself to cook for you the moment he notices even the slightest decline in your health. one concern though; he throws the bento towards your head—so minus points for domesticity. (...he has cut heart shapes into the vegetables before and has never been the same since.)

if there's anything you can count wanderer for, he will do it. you could ask him to attempt to pluck the very fabric of reality for you, string together the stars and leave them at your feet, and he will do so, huffing all the while (he never means it). he's just smitten like that; not that he would ever verbalize it—yet. his hushed and vulnerable whispers of asking you to let him stay by your side are your closest road to his admittance.

he will not serenade you with ‘shallow declarations of love,’ as he tells you, but you know that he will always be there for you, for better or for worse.

—☆★☆—

fury is an emotion wanderer was once very accustomed to—it reminds him of electric violet, of three betrayals and of yearning for a constitution he was never fated to reach.

and fury tugs at the strings of his being the moment he sees the droplets of tears fall from your eyes, blurring your vision.

“who did it?” something bitter and violent manifests in his countenance, his vision pulsing angrily with gales threatening to harm. (it does not harm you, though. it never does.) “who did this to you?”

his grip on your shoulders tightens the more you refuse to answer, both from anger and fear. you're never this silent; and his panic increases when you opt to bury yourself in his neck. wanderer sighs.

“hey. i'm asking who made you cry like this, idiot.”

“...”

“fine, i won't call you an idiot, then.” but impatient way he speaks the syllables that make your name betrays his worry. “just talk to me.”

“...can we just stay here like this?”

“....”

“sorry, that was a little-” you say, voice strained, pulling away; but the wanderer tugs you close, allowing you to hide from the world that seems so out to get you. (he knows that feeling well, after all.)

it's he who entangles himself with you, listening to the steady rise of your heartbeat, wiping away your tears.

“i didn't say you couldn't hug me, stupid. it's fine. do as you like.”

if it were a person that did this to you, that would've been better murder was never really out of the table with him, but when faced with something he is unable to solve for you; whether it be a bad day, bad luck, or even something he cannot control, wanderer finds himself at a loss.

because the concept of love, with you, is foreign—terrifying, even. betrayal and scorn were his guiding compass, and to be rid of it and to be seen by you, held by you, and to know that you were not going to follow in the footsteps of those he once clung to was far too good to believe. (yet he tries. for you.)

returning your embrace only passively, he tries to scramble for words of comfort—and when he fails to find the nerve to do so, he does the only thing he can allow himself to do.

with the kindness and gentleness he fostered (still fosters, thanks to you) from his memories as the kabukimono, the wanderer holds you, if only to remind himself of his place by your side, unchanging and adamant—as you remind him of his place beside yours.

he leads you to calm yourself down, albeit roughly as he tells you to stop fussing over trying to help him get you something wipe your tears with—and for all his flushed visage, he lets you cling to him, seeking his comfort.

i'm here, it goes unsaid. wanderer knows you'd pick up on it anyway. please talk to me.

(“if i die from this, i'll come haunt you as a ghost.” you shake like a leaf in his arms, clutched tight and staring at anywhere but the ground. who comforts someone by putting them almost 80 feet up in the air? heights are so not your thing.

“like i'd let you.” wanderer says, rolling his eyes. “and you're shaking too much. just keep your eyes on me, will you?”

“...was that flirting?”

“i will drop you.”

“wait, i'm kidding!” a particular breeze leaves you in goosebumps, with wanderer tightening his grip on you. “don't let me fall, please?”

“are you stupid?” he snaps, but urges you to look at the sight of the sunset on the horizon. his hold is more gentle this time, too. “why would i let you fall? now stop shaking and hold on to me.”

you think you fell just a little harder for him that day.)

—and if you decide to press a kiss to the back of his nape as a way of thanks, you're rewarded with a playful gale and a little zap to deter you in response.

“watch it, [name].” he says, but the shifty eyed way he doesn't meet your eyes isn't fooling anyone here; neither is the red on his cheeks. “you're too close.”

“hehe, sorry, sorry, couldn't resist.”

nonetheless. he supposes the growing smile on your face in place of your tears are sufficient payment for wanderer's efforts. hmph.

he'll let it slide for today.

(he does a lot of that when it comes to you.)

# deciding conclusion: totally in love with you (real not clickbait)

saying it outright: being with the wanderer is not a smooth road. it is full of hardships, hurt, and learning. there will be many times when his built in self destruction (read: abandonment issues) will kick in, hurting you in the process.

getting him to say ‘i love you’ will seem impossible at first, and there will be times when his doubt pierces your heart and renders it tattered to pieces. he's doing his best chat, pls help him

he will not be able to utter sweet words of adoration like you do, or return your embrace as easily as you would with him—and there will be many moments when he will feel as if he's not enough.

but nourish your affections, stay consistently by his side, show him that he is worth loving, worth staying for, and like the foundations of a steadily built tower, his trust and love for you too will grow.

(it will sometimes feel tiring, it will feel hopeless, and it's more than what you've bargained for, but it will all be worth it in the end.)

because you know he cares; it's in the way his expression morphs into helplessness when he sees your face fall in an argument, how he doesn't push you away when you kiss him and shower him with hugs, and when his hands lock tightly in yours in a sea of people, with you only in his sights. how his eyes betray him to look at you with fondness and warmth.

(it's wordless whenever wanderer decides to hold you tight at night, hugging you like his last lifeline. especially after a disagreement, with only the quietude of the night to observe.

he said some hurtful words today. that much he knows.

“are you asleep?” his voice is muffled against your shirt, and he may not need to breathe, but he inhales your scent anyway, memorizing the sight of you in his arms like a promise. “...you probably are.”

silence. “i'm sorry.”

“.....”

his lip trembles, his grasp on your arms bruising if not for your non-awareness. there's a wetness growing against your shirt, and small sniffles.

“i'm sorry.” and gently, so gently, wanderer presses his forehead against your shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of your body. “i shouldn't have snapped at you and told you those sorts of things.”

i'm sorry i hurt you.

please stay.

please don't let go of me.

i need you.

i love you.

when morning comes, you wake up to the sight of the wanderer in your bed, face nuzzled in your chest.

there are tearstains on his face.)

getting him to be open and vulnerable is akin to keeping a rusty, torn boat afloat; it will not be easy, no, but you know that he tries, (so very hard) to make it work. that he fights desperately against his own clumsily strung tethers and rebuilds himself anew, if only to understand and perceive you—to love you as you deserve.

and when that time comes, wanderer will cling to you, desperately, completely, and make sure your efforts will never ever make you regret giving him the chance to open up and be with you.

—☆★☆—

“what would happen if we ever broke up?”

dropping such a bombshell in the middle of having the wanderer on your lap was not how he thought things would go to, granted how pleasant the atmosphere was—he'd agreed to going on a much needed date (your words) with you after lesser lord kusanali had just graded him on one of his essay papers. (he got an a, obviously)

you don't think you've ever seen such a distraught look cross wanderer's face—aside from the time you finally beat him at tcg (5 out of 4); and you've never seen him look so angry either.

rather, he looked scared.

“what brought this idea on?” he tries to lodge out the words, trying to act coherent. but underneath, a storm brews—his hands are shaking. wanderer feels like he's swallowed a bag full of needles.

am i not doing enough? was i too harsh on them when i scolded them for fighting that damn mechanical desert robot? he's scared. or... do they really....

the mere idea of you being tired of him—sick of him, and ready to leave him behind leaves an ugly, disgusting feeling. like acid on his skin.

perhaps, you don't love him anymore? wanderer panics, senses going overdrive. was it that argument months ago when he hurt your feelings? he knows you know he apologized, and he's doing everything in his power to make sure he wasn't repeating that mistake anymore—but why would you say this out of nowhere?

or maybe it's because he didn't notice you feeling uncomfortable in your relationship? no, you would have definitely told him if so. then what is it? you don't just say things like this out of nowhere so seriously-

“i mean... at this point, i think i wouldn't ever want to break up with you.”

“...what?” wanderer blinks.

“you heard me.” cupping the sides of his face with your hands, you restate your words with more vigor. eyes determined. “i don't think i've ever loved someone so much as i love you. heck, not even close! kuni, if we break up, i might actually never recover.”

and the wanderer falls. how could you even say such a thing?

“that's... you're shameless.” he states it like an insult, but his hands go up to hide his eyes, hiding his embarrassment from your romantic words. “why would you even say something so out of pocket like that? you utter fool. you almost made me think i-”

- would lose you. even thinking it made him feel nauseous.

“why are we still dating then? but really, i mean it. i love you too much.” you coo, and that, in return, leads the wanderer to release an exasperated, weary sigh. if he were human, he's sure his blood pressure would never be normal because of you.

but contrary to his attitude, he relaxes his face and allows you to hold him. lightens up, even. you continue, rambling on, “be honest, you know you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

and that brings out such a bright and dazzling smile on your face that the puppets sarcastic smile is replaced by a real one when you huff and smack at his head. (all is well.)

“you're so unromantic.”

indeed, being with this strange, eccentric puppet was certainly a challenge in more ways than one. nonetheless, you know he cherishes you—because with you, the wanderer is different. he's bristly, infuriating, and honestly a pain (lovingly), but he cares for you.

he tells you to stop ogling at his pretty face and do the dishes, yet he never minds the attention at all. he tells you that you were a fool for accidentally getting yourself injured by eremites because you wanted to save some fungi, but follows you anyway and makes sure no one messes with you.

he says he probably wouldn't miss you while you're gone, but is always the first person you see when you return to sumeru city. it's these little things that make you love him, and you know the feeling is mutual—even if he'll act indifferent about it in the meantime.

“hey, kuni?”

wanderer's eyes are closed, serene. once he knew that you were not, in fact, going to break up with him, he relishes the feeling of his head resting on your lap. it was safe, warm, and everything to him; but he'd rather let the world burn before he tells you. “what?”

“thank you for letting me love you.”

....

“...idiot.” is all he says. you can feel him shift to the side so you won't see his face. “you don't have to thank me for that. that's so sappy...”

(and if you ever saw the slight sheen of glossiness in his eyes, you keep it to yourself.)

i should be thanking you. he thinks instead. i'm glad you love me.

so many things pop up in his head for this, so many unspoken words—and he may not be able to convey such things to you; he might never be able to, but you know that he loves, loves, and adores you.

because you accepted his past, his sins and his imperfections and treated him with tenderness and care. and you know that no matter how many sides of the wanderer you have yet to explore, you will love each one.

and that is enough for him to never let go.

a/n: IM CRYING I FINISHED THIS RIGHT ON TIME AFTER HIS EVENT and his growth has come so far,,, so proud of him 🥹

[luvyeni]

DEMURE GIRL ,, 이희승

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ acquaintances!heeseung x shy!reader wc. 4k

genre. smut

🦢◞  includes ... first kiss, oral sex ( fem. receiving ), unprotected sex

「 authors note 𖹭 」 i had to use this word at least once im sorry.

❪ masterlist! ❫

you liked to live a simple life; you liked routine; going to class, then back to your dorm to study or catch up on reading your favorite books; this was your everyday life , except when you were running around a frat party trying to make sure your roommate doesn't take her shirt off— for the third time that semester.

“i told you yn i’m not drunk , im completely sober.” her words slurring, and inability to walk straight told another story. “okay , i believe you, just drink this.” you handed her some water, she took a sip, some of the water dripping down her chin, you wiped it. “you're so kind yn , i love you so much.” she drunkenly held you. “oh there's jake! hey jake!” she yelled over the music. “let's go yn there's jake.”

she dragged you over to the group of boys you often found yourself hanging with because of your friend's obsession with one of the frat members, jake sim, you sat her down on the couch next to the equally drunk boy. “she dragged you out to another party?” sunghoon asked, you nodded. “please she loves these parties, it's the only fun she has in her life.” your friend slurred. “well besides those books she reads.”

“what books?” you froze up hearing the voice; the voice that made your little heart jump. “heeseung man you made it.” jake got up, giving the boy a handshake. “yeah decided to stop by.” he sat down , right down next to you. “glad i did too.”

the sad thing about your crush on heeseung; is that everyone knew about it, it wasn't a secret , even heeseung knew it — it's just that you could stay in the same vicinity of the man before you started breaking out in a cold sweat , so you never gave him the time. “hey yn.” the boy smiled next to you. “h-hi."

when heeseung found out about your crush on him; he didn't think anything about it, he was popular around campus , he was used to having pretty girls having crushes on him; but your crush on him — he never had someone so shy and modest and closed off to themselves have feelings for him, so he started to watch you, the way you would sneak off by yourself; he followed you once; not in a creepy way, he followed you into the university library, you were studying or reading a book, he couldn't remember, he was too busy watching you.

the way you'd absentmindedly pick at your skirt, or you'd smile at something in the book— before he could realize, he'd been sitting down for 30 minutes watching you , and you were getting up walking out the building, he tried to follow behind you , just so he can say hi , but you were already gone.

he would've given up chasing you; but he soon found himself crushing on you, even though you only gave him a shy hello or a meek goodbye in passing; but to heeseung, that was all he needed from you in order to be utterly obsessed with you— that's the reason why he was even here, he heard you were here with your friend, and he just had to be here. “her books are all she cares about, books and her school work.” your friend slurred. “it's been like that our whole lives, you know she never even had her first kiss.”

your eyes widened, you'd strangle your best friend if she wasn't drunk and there weren't any witnesses. “you've never had your first kiss?” the question floated around the air, your ears heated up in embarrassment. “well…”

“i can help you with that.” heeseung spoke up, everyone turned to him. “unless you're waiting?” your friend; whom you definitely were gonna strangle with a pillow once she was sober in the morning spoke up. “no she isn't , she just doesn't leave the house enough to realize how many guys are fighting to even be in her presence.” that made heeseung jealous, he didn't even want to think about another man touching you. “yn?”

you shrugged, maybe this was just a really good dream and you'd wake up with a red face. “su-sure.” heeseung stood up. “where are you going?” jay asked. “well i'm not about to kiss her in front of you guys, come on yn.” he held his hand out for you to take , a waiting smile.

once you grabbed his hand, he helped you up, guiding you away from the group. “hey , don't worry i won't do anything you don't want me to do.” he said as he guided you up the steps. “besides it's just a kiss right?” he said, holding the door open to a room. “i-i guess.”

you sat down on the bed; he closed the door, the sounds from the party muffled, but you could hear your heartbeat as he got closer to you, sitting down next to you. “now before i kiss you, i want you to tell me this is what you want.” he said. “i won't pressure you into doing something just to please your friend.” he held the side of your face , making you look at him. “yn?”

“i-i do.” you said, “you can kiss me.” he smiled. “that's the most you've ever said to me.” he said, holding the side of your face. “im not gonna bite , don't worry okay?” he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to yours, almost touching. “you're safe with me.” he closed the gap between you; his pillowy lips on yours , it felt like fireworks were going off inside your stomach, you closed your eyes, he softly caressed your cheek— he was fighting every demon inside to not stick his tongue into your mouth.

unfortunately you both needed oxygen; so he slowly pulled away, he chuckled as your lips chased after his. “hey, hey calm down.” his kissed the tip of your nose. “you want another?” he whispered, you nodded. “you can speak can't you darling?” his other hand come to your knees cap, rubbing gently. “all i need you to say is yes.” he waited patiently until you softly muttered a yes, and his lips were back on yours.

your hands shaking, picking at your skirt; he grabbed your wrist , pulling away. “you can touch me it's alright.” he guided your hand to his face, his skin soft. “good girl.” he said, smirking. “your lips are all swollen now, you liked that?” you nodded, your cheeks hot. “you're so cute, i can see in your eyes you want more.” he said. “but you don't even know what you want do you?”

“i-i don't.” he tilted his head to the side. “you want my help?” you wanted something from the boy, but losing your virginity wasn't something on the top of your list so you never thought about it; what if that was something that made him uncomfortable. “i see the gears turning in your head, if i didn't want this, i would've gotten up after kissing you the first time.” his hands were now easing up your skirt. “i can make you feel good.” he whispered, kissing your ear, blowing on it. “just give me the okay.”

he was holding back for you; he didn't want to scare you, but he couldn't deny the heat burning in his stomach, or the tightening below his belt buckle. “angel i don't mean to rush you, but fuck you're killing me with this silence.” he dry laughed. “i kinda need an answer.”

“o-okay.” he got off the bed, ridding himself of his shirt, unbuckling his pants. “can you take your shirt off for me?” his eyes lowered as you slowly lifted your shirt up; his cock twitching in his pants , it felt like his was a dream he had once or twice. “good girl.”

he gently laid you back on the bed, sunghoon was gonna kill him, but in the end he didn't care, he wasn't waiting any longer to have you. “i got you.” he was in between your legs, looking down at you all laid out for him, you looked like an angel , skirt above your waist — he almost felt bad for the things he was about to do to you. “let me do all the work.”

his hands came to your shoulders, lowering your bra straps, his hand was under you, undoing the back of your bra, sliding it off your body, revealing your perfect tits. “fuck, i dreamt of this for a long time baby.” both his hands were up your skirt, pulling down your panties. “gonna keep these.” he smirked, you whined. “keep making those pretty noises.”

kissing both of your breasts, making his way down your stomach, holding your legs wide open for him. “pretty little pussy.” he kissed in between your thighs. “bet you she tastes real good.” then you felt the sensation of his tongue on your heat. “o-oh.” you gasped. “you like that?” he licked another stripe , your hand came up to his hair, you balled your fist up. “pull it , i like that baby.”

he didn't say anything else before diving straight in, your cunt dripping on his tongue, like candy , so sweet he wanted nothing more than to drown in you. “h-heeseung.” you moaned out , he smirked against your heat , exactly what he wanted to hear , he couldn't help but grind against the bed, his tongue prodding against your hole , he groaned at the feeling of you tugging at his hair as he pushed his muscle inside you.

heeseung knew the inside and out of a girl, he could tell you were about to cum , you tore your eyes from the ceiling , below making eye contact with heeseung as he brought his lips to your clit , sucking on it — before you could even announce anything , you felt the knot in your stomach snap , you let out a moan that you only heard on videos you've watched a couple of times , your legs shaking as heeseung buried his head deeper inside you, cleaning up everything that came out of you , you were so sensitive you had to pull his head away. “it hurts.”

“sorry baby, you just taste too good.” he kissed the inside of your thighs. “i got a little caught up.” his normally put together hair was all messy; his lips were red and he was heavily breathing. “did you like it?” you nodded. “i-i did.”

he was addicted, he needed more from you, he needed to feel more of you. “you wanna feel even better baby?” you nodded. “you've been so vocal this entire time love , you know what i need.” you whimpered. “pl-please , i want you inside me.” he closed his eyes to calm himself; you sounded so desperate. “you want me inside this tiny pussy?”

he quickly rid himself of his jeans, he was just as desperate as you; he felt like a virgin himself , ready to feel you; he's thought about it since the day he saw you in the library. “he-heeseung.” your soft voice , it did everything to him , he could get off to that alone. “yes baby?” you whimpered hearing him calling you that. “will it hurt?”

“for a little bit.” he was in between your legs again, pushing his waistband down , freeing his cock; it was intimidatingly big, red and leaking with pre-cum, bobbing against his abs. “but not for long baby.” you could feel his tip against your hole. “don't worry , i won't hurt you okay?” you felt his tip entering , you hissed at the burning sensation as he filled you. “fuck , fuck baby you're so tight.”

he was losing his mind with how slow he was going; ready to just plunge his cock inside you. “he-heseung.” he kissed your lips. “shh shh , -fuck- baby it's okay, it's okay it's almost over.” he slowly worked himself , until he was fully inside you. “you-you're so big.” he smirked. “yeah baby i know.”

“m'gonna pull out now okay?” you nodded, he slowly pulled out of you , his tip still stuffed inside you. “you ready?” you nodded, he pushed himself back inside you much faster than before. “fuck.” he cursed , moving his hips; your fingers digging into his forearm as he thrusted into you. “f-faster.”

“you -fuck- you sure?” you moaned out a plea, that's all he needed before he was speeding up , sweat beading down his forehead; your cunt squeezing him like a vice, he was in heaven. “you feel so good baby , this pussy is perfect.” he groaned. “only i can touch it , isn't that right baby.” his thumb came to your clit , rubbing harsh circles. “only man to touch you like this , see your pretty face all fucked up.”

he was losing himself fully , his pace picking up, thrust deeper , hitting your cervix. “tell me baby, tell me this pussy is all mine , no man can ever touch you.” you were a moaning mess , eyes closed. “baby look at me.” he said. “look at me baby.” he repeated , his cock slowly dragging inside of you.

you force your eyes open; he was smirking. “good girl, keep looking at me.” he gave your lips another kiss. “tell me who this pussy belongs to.” you whimpered. “yo-you.” he cursed. “exactly baby.” you could feel yourself about to cum. “you gonna cum?” you nodded. “good girl , cum all over my cock.” you moaned out your legs wrapping around his waist. “fuck baby , if you don't unwrap your legs , im gonna cum inside you.”

you moaned out. “you want that baby , want me to cum inside you?” he was about to blow his load. “fuck baby i need a answer , or you need to unwrap your legs.” he cursed holding himself back from cumming. “pl-please cum inside me.”

his eyes rolled to the back of his head, as he came, you can feel him empty inside of you. “shit, baby.” he twitched. “you okay?” you were a little sore , but you'll be fine. “sunghoon is gonna kill me.” you chuckled breathlessly. “i-i'm sorry.” he shook his head. “no don't worry about it baby, let's just worry about getting you home okay , getting you cleaned up , i'll make sure your friend gets back to your dorm safely after okay?” you nodded , he help you get dressed. “why are you being so nice to me? did you get what you want?”

“baby , if you took one look up from those books you're always smiling at , you would've noticed me looking at you.” he said. “i told you i wouldn't have brought you up here if i didn't want to.” you smiled shyly , he caressed your cheek. “okay.” you whispered , he held his hands out. “come.”

“lets get you home baby , i’ll stay with you.”

©LUVYENI

[sinsofsummers]

logan howlett | h.c.

anyways. here's my intro to writing logan. enjoy these unedited, rambling thoughts. i personally loveeeee me some rabid, animalistic logan like in x-men (2000), so expect lots of that for this. some of these could turn into more detailed fics, so tbh just...let me know if u want one.

logan is a tits man. he loves to ruin yours.

it's like he's drawn to your chest at all times; he needs his hands on them so often that you've just stopped wearing bras.

he'll touch you absentmindedly, without taking his eyes off what he's doing. but like a moth to a flame, his calloused fingertips find your nipples anyway.

he also likes to use his claws on your chest—just enough to leave a thin red line after he's done with you. (once, he drew blood, and he's still not willing to admit the heat that it ignited in him. he doesn't think you're ready for that yet.)

you know he wouldn't hurt you—right? but logan's not exactly the reassuring type. so you just hold still and shiver as the sharp edges run over the swells of your chest.

he loves the smell of your arousal. good thing you're one nibble on your neck away from soaking your panties. at all times.

logan gets you to sit in his lap, hold your cigar for him, and then he'll lean into your chest to suck and bite on your tits.

he likes to see a combo of his claw scratches and beard burn on them.

he likes to bite you. obviously he won't leave you in terrible pain, but it's the marking of territory that he likes.

and logan can be mean. seriously. he'll take what he wants.

he doesn't necessarily mean to be unforgiving, but...he's quite the animal. bring back feral, unhinged, rabid wolverine.

he likes pet play (it's a dominance thing). being at either end of it. collar and leash vibes. calls you pup.

logan's always scowling. you tease him about the wrinkles he'll have when he's older, but it only makes them deeper as he frowns at you.

constantly growling. grunting. he rarely whines, because he rarely lets you take charge. when he does, you'd better strap in.

his claws come out when he's close, and he doesn't tease. none of this, "tell me what you want, princess," and "touch you where? use your words" bullshit. logan fucks. full stop.

he'll do you the courtesy of making sure you're ready for him, but with his heightened sense of smell and his inability to control himself when it comes to that smirk on your face when you know he's in a rut...

yeah. he gets right to it. he'll fuck you into a quick orgasm. and another. and another.

but occasionally, he loves orgasm denial.

"logan, i'm gonna—"

"don't care. hold it."

brat tamer!logan. he knows you can take it, so he doesn't hold back when you need to be put in your place.

free use!logan. he's a man of few words. sometimes he just needs you. and you're always willing to help.

he's not vocal during sex unless you ask for it. which you make sure to.

he likes to be very nonchalant, which can come off as inattentive. but it's just the fact that he knows you so well that he doesn't have to look at you to realize what you need.

you could go up to him while he's on the couch, cigar in his mouth, and just stand there. without more than lifting his eyes to you, he'll pretend to roll his eyes and guide you to his lap with a hand behind your thigh.

he'll hold his cigar to your mouth and wait for you to take a drag before you place it back between his lips wordlessly.

is this an exhibition kink vibe

he'll also just hand things to you in public, doing very casual, domestic things that he won't really acknowledge.

he'll hand you his drink to share, even if you don't like it. he'll offer you a bite of food off his fork (or his fingers).

every once in awhile you'll see his eyes watching you and you'll know. he's quiet, but it's that quiet display of dominance that will have your core weeping in seconds.

andddddd i'm gonna go REPENT!

[runninriot]

written for today's @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up event ☀️

Heat of the Moment

prompt: summer | wc: 1000 | rated: T | no cw | tags: Eddie has a crush on Steve, pining, Steve's 'stupid tiny swim shorts' deserve their own tag, (implied) friends to lovers | also on ao3

Eddie wipes a hand over the back of his neck, regrets it instantly when his palm comes back wet.

    Gross.

His hair is sticking to his forehead and no matter how little he moves, his body betrays him, wants to drown him in sweat.

It’s too fucking hot.

And Steve isn’t helping. He’s the reason for a different kind of heat wave just by lying there in these stupid tiny swim shorts, no shirt. Unfairly fucking beautiful, even in this unbearable heat, just blissfully existing.

Eddie is going to melt into a puddle on the floor if he doesn’t stop staring at him. If he doesn’t stop following the droplets running down his neck. He’d lick them right off, if he could. Would follow their trail down to where they collect in Steve’s glorious chest hair. Would swipe his tongue through the little rivulet that has formed in the groove between his abs, wouldn’t stop there.

    God.

It’s really not fair. How can someone look so good in this heat?

Steve always looks good. That’s why Eddie loves him. Or it’s one of the reasons. He has a thing for pretty boys, sue him! He wished it was different, too, but oh well.

The real tragedy is that Steve doesn’t know because he wouldn’t care – or worse. And Eddie really should stop staring if he wants to keep his little secret.

Steve is side-eyeing him when he stands up from where he was lying on his deck chair, his bronze skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat, glistening in the golden afternoon sun.

   “You good, Munson?”

Eddie swallows thickly, nods.

   “Want a beer?”

Another nod because Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to let out an embarrassing whimper if he dares to open his mouth.

Those shorts should be illegal.

It takes everything for Eddie to hold Steve’s gaze, to give him a polite smile in thanks for his offer, when his eyes are begging to drop down to where clingy fabric does shit all to hide Steve’s... form.

Steve thankfully seems unfazed by Eddie’s sudden inability to talk, just shrugs and walks inside, which – to Eddie’s blessing and misery – offers a whole other view that would send Eddie over the edge if he hadn’t at least one tiny bit of dignity left in him.

That. Ass.

    Jesus.

How is Eddie even allowed to exist in the same sphere as this perfection of a man?

And how is he supposed to ever get over his goddamn crush if Steve keeps inviting him over to spend time together, just the two of them, alone in this big ass house with no one around to save Eddie from his own dangerous mind, no one to keep him in check?

Had anyone told him he’d be spending the summer hanging around in Steve’s backyard, being served beer by the man himself, who’s walking around in these godforsaken shorts – Eddie would’ve laughed.

But now that it’s reality, all he can do is gawk and wonder and try not to lose his mind when Steve walks back out, two beers in one hand, the other outstretched to where Eddie is sitting.

   “Let’s sit by the pool, cool down a bit. Your face is so red, I don’t want you to have a heat stroke.”

    Oh god.

Eddie hesitantly takes Steve’s hand, lets himself be pulled up, hopes Steve doesn’t mind how sweaty his palm is. Hopes he doesn’t notice his staggered breathing, his trembling knees.

Maybe he does have a heat stroke? Maybe that’s the reason why he’s feeling a little dizzy right now.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Steve still hasn’t let go of his hand as he leads him to the pool.

Maybe, the fact that Steve is smiling at him brighter than the sun herself, is what’s making it harder to breathe.

They sit down on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the refreshingly cool water. The bottle in his hand is cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of Steve’s hand he instantly misses, now that it’s gone.

   “Wanna go for a swim?”

The water is nice, perfect to cool down his overheated skin and mind.

Steve is just chilling there, both arms splayed out over the edge, his head tilted back, eyes closed; soaking his body in the water while enjoying the sun on his face. Just minding his own business, not even batting an eye at Eddie who’s awkwardly splashing around, watching the beautiful man from a safe distance.

A distance that’s keeping him from mindlessly swimming over to him, to cage him against the tiles with his arms on either side, one leg slotted between Steve’s, pressing his own wanting body up against the other man’s.

He wants to kiss him so bad.

It’s not the first time that thought hits him but it’s painful every time.

    Fucking hell.

Eddie closes his eyes, groans in frustration over his stupid heart’s stupid fluttering. What a waste of time and energy to pine after someone so far out of reach.

Eddie takes a deep breath before he dives down. Lets his body sink deeper into the pool until his toes reach the ground before he resurfaces with a loud gasp.

When he opens his eyes again, Steve is suddenly right there, right in front of him, smiling his pretty smile.

And then he reaches out, fingers playing with a rogue curl before tugging it back behind his ear.

Eddie feels like the water around him is boiling, feels too hot again now that Steve is so close.

So close, Eddie could easily reach out to pull him in and-

   “I want to kiss you.”

It is Steve who reveals Eddie’s secret back to him. It’s not a question; he’s stating a fact – unashamed and clear. No talking around it, no shy blush painting his cheeks.

Eddie feels brave, carried away by the heat of the moment.

   “Then what are you waiting for?”

[milswrites]

Stubborn Little Fox

~ Eris Vanserra X Reader

Summary: Eris struggles to look after his stubborn mate when you are sick.

Warnings: Poorly reader but it’s pretty much fluff. Maybe some suggestiveness.

Notes: Just a silly little fic to tide you over until I finish the angst I’m writing. Dedicated to @sarawritestories who wrote me this exact scenario in an attempt to get me to stop writing and go to bed 😌

Your bed was empty.

Again. 

The wrinkled covers pulled back to reveal the bare sheets of where you had once laid, where Eris was supposed find you soundly sleeping upon entering the room.

The Autumn Prince cursed lowly under his breath, knuckles turning white with frustration as he tightly gripped onto the tray of food he had prepared for you.

It was easier to control his hounds - Eris thought as he carefully placed the tray down on the edge of the bed, lest he toss its contents onto the floor in his anger.

Eris was used to completing impossible jobs, and yet nothing has been more difficult than trying to wrangle his sick mate and convince you to sleep away your illness. Your inability to sit still making caring for you harder than Eris had initially anticipated.

He needn’t try too hard to find you, a swift wander down the hall and to his office was all Eris needed to walk before he opened the door to find your sickly form hunched over his desk with a pen in hand. Scribbling away at whatever documents had been left for you once you had recovered.

It was impossible to stop the exasperated sigh which fell from his lips as he took in the paleness of your face and the worrying sheen of sweat which had coated it.

“And why, pray tell me, aren’t you in bed where you’re supposed to be Little Fox?” Eris snarled, all comfort forgotten as he once more found himself trying to coax you back towards your bed.

With shaking hands you reluctantly place your pen down, guilty eyes meeting the burning stare of your mates unforgiving glare. “I’ve got work to finish!” You defend, gesturing to the stack of paperwork which had only grown during your absence from your job.

At your excuse, the red-haired male inhaled deeply, a disbelieving hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. And it wasn’t until Eris exhaled his frustrations that he allowed himself to reply as softly as he could, “work can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“It can’t,” you reason, a disappointed sigh drawing from your sickly lips, “I’m far enough behind as it is. Another day without work and I’ll never be able to catch up. Besides, I’m fine. I feel much better now.”

Whilst Eris prided himself on holding back the roll of his eyes which threatened to occur, he failed to stop the raise of his brow as you proceeded to burst into a fit of coughs after your weak-willed reassurances.

“All better?” He mused, a small smirk finding its home on his lips as he watched you pitifully try to compose yourself. Innocent eyes meeting his own as your incessant coughing eventually came to a halt.

“I have to say Little Fox, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you like going against my orders” Eris chided, slowly walking towards you as he spoke. Each step forward drawing you deeper into his hypnotic trance. “Would I be correct in assuming you keep leaving your bed because you want me to scold you?” He asks teasingly, bringing his face down to meet yours, until his playful eyes were level with your own.

“I can’t say I’d hate it if you had to take care of me” you replied honestly, unable to help the way your gaze drifted towards your mates slightly parted lips.

“Is that not what I’ve been doing all this time?” Eris feigns hurt which fails to read through his wicked smile, “Taking care of my mate?”

“I can think of a few more ways I’d like to be taken care of” you answer, hoping to be seductive but ultimately failing as another round of coughs wrack your chest.

“Later” Eris chuckled, his strong arms coming to lift you from where you were sat, “for now you need sleep.”

You furrow your brows in protest, opening your mouth to argue with your mate before he beat you to it. Eris’s soothing voice acting to calm you, “Don’t worry, I’m going to have to cuddle you just to make sure you don’t run off anywhere else.”

Eris’s warm lips came to meet your aching forehead, his kiss already working to dissipate the uncomfortable pulsating of your sore temples. Your mates healing touch enough to already have you drifting off in his comforting embrace.

“My stubborn Little Fox,” he uttered as he began to move back towards the bedroom which you shared, cradling you close to his body in hope that the heat which he emitted would soothe your aching joints, “you better feel well again soon, I’ll be waiting to deliver your punishment for disobeying me.”

You hum happily in response, nuzzling your face into his warm chest to hide your smirk of anticipation, “I’m looking forward to it, My Prince.”

It was only once you woke, when your fever had broken and the ache in your muscles had quelled, that you noticed that Eris was no longer holding you. That it was his turn to escape the comfortable confines of your sheets which had now grown cold in his absence.

Stepping out from the warmth of your covers, you walked barefoot across the cold wooden floors. Seeking the ever-lasting warmth of your mate. You followed the call, moving through the hall until you found yourself outside his office, the strong scent of crackling wood and chestnuts enough to tell you the male was waiting inside.

Cracking open the door you peered inside, noting the way Eris was slumped over the freshly inked papers you had saved to work on when your health had improved.

Your mate - your selfless, loving mate - had completed them all. No doubt seeking to ease your worries and provide you with the extra hours of rest you would no doubt need once you had woken.

Quietly pulling the door to, you move to the kitchen to prepare your love a warming tea. Because as much as Eris longed to take care of those he loved so dearly, sometimes what he needed was for someone to take care of him in return.

[deartrent]

mum's emotions — taa

summary: pent-up emotions and frustrations as a first-time mom finally surface when you find yourself in the familiar arms of trent

pairing: trent alexander-arnold x fem!reader

notes: my first ever post on here. didn't really come out the way i intended, idrk if i like it, but let me know what you guys think!!

what you felt was wrong. you knew it was wrong on so many levels. you couldn't help but feel the way you did though. seeing trent take care of your baby so naturally, as if he'd experienced being a father before, sparked something inside of you that you didn't know you were capable of feeling. you couldn't tell if it was anger, disappointment or jealousy. all you could think of was how come i carried that baby for 9 months, just to be the worst mother of all time?

trent noticed your frustrations. he could tell when he'd come home from training and you'd greet him coldly or shoot daggers when he'd steal the baby from you, the cries stopping as soon as he held her in his arms, so gently. you were never the type to verbalise your feelings and trent knew not to push you to that point either, but he also knew you were slowly reaching your limit. he wished he could stay home more often to help you out, to take some of the workload off of you, but his schedule didn't allow him to.

"look she smiled," trent turned your daughter to face you, unaware that you had been observing them for the past two minutes. their smiles resembled so much, something you had prayed for way before getting pregnant.

it took everything in you to fake a smile, masking the emptiness you felt inside. trent could sense your mind was racing, your silence speaking louder than words. his heart ached seeing you in this state, reminiscing on the bubbly version of you prior to giving birth.

"she can sense your emotions you know," trent spoke after getting no reaction from you, walking over to where you stood, with your daughter against his chest, "when mum's stressed, she will be too, i read it somewhere." you felt vulnerable as trent towered over you, trying his best to read your facial expressions. you hadn't been too verbal lately, with trent having to rely on body language. he had no clue the reason you hadn't been verbal was the inability to hold in tears whenever trent would try and have a conversation about anything baby related. instead of confiding in him, you chose to distance yourself.

you didn't know how much longer you could hold everything in though, and without a single warning, you felt your eyes well up, a burning sensation confirming that your tear-filled eyes had turned bloodshot red by now. trent was caught off guard, not knowing what to do next. this was the first time you'd shown a different emotion than anger and annoyance since the baby had arrived.

trent's first instinct was to put the baby down on the playmat, before engulfing you into an embrace you didn't realise you needed until your face sunk into trent's chest, the all too familiar scent and sense of warmth, comfort and security washing over you. you sobbed into his shirt, his large hands caressing your back as he tried soothing you.

"please talk to me babe, tell me what's on your mind," trent begged and for the first time since bringing your daughter home, you thought of trent, instead of yourself. you thought about how he must've felt, being a first time parent himself and having to deal with taking care of the baby on one hand, but on the other hand having to deal with an angry, irritated girlfriend, not knowing what exactly is going on because you simply did not communicate with him. you could only imagine how scary and lonely it must have been for him.

"i just need a break," you sobbed, barely audible but you knew if anyone would understand you, it would be trent. "i don't know what i'm doing, i don't know if i'm feeding her correctly, i don't know if i'm dressing her warm enough, all she does is cry and i have no idea what she wants. i'm just a shit mother, i wasn't made for this." you took the opportunity to dump all of your frustrations.

"stop, don't say that," trent pried you off of him to create a little distance as he held your face with both hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs, "you're doing great, i promise. she's alive, she's healthy, that means you're doing a good job." trent tried reassuring you, your breath shaky from all the sobbing. "she's crying, because she senses your emotions," you melted into trent's hands, the eyes you were so in love with fixated on yours, making your surroundings disappear, "she just wants you to be happy, we both do." guilt was the next thing you felt.

you felt guilty because you'd left trent in the dark, taking your frustrations out on him, while all he wanted to do was help, "i'm so exhausted trent, i can't remember last time i slept a full night," you continued your rant, "i miss just cuddling with you and not be interrupted," you could see the corner of trent's lips turn upwards, igniting the same warm, fuzzy feeling you'd been feeling ever since the first day you'd met; the one thing that hadn't changed since the birth of your baby. trent placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, before placing your head on his chest once more, "you know, i have a day off tomorrow, i can ask my mum to babysit and we could just stay in bed all day," trent suggested, earning a chuckle from you.

you could feel trent's heart beat against your temple and as you further sunk into his arms, you realised just how blessed you really were. you couldn't imagine having a baby with anyone other than trent, the idea of building a family with him easing your mind. he was everything you wanted and from the moment you told him you were pregnant, you knew that you and your baby were in safe hands. and that was all that mattered.

"i would love that," you looked up, pressing your lips to his luscious ones in a kiss you didn't know you craved.

[tealvenetianmask]

Hell's royalty has a culture that enables Stella's abusive behavior.

Point 1: Keeping up appearances is valued above all else. And I specifically mean the appearance of things being the way they're supposed to be. Conformity basically.

Conformity in this culture seems to include a kind of stoic dignity ("you know excitement is unbecoming of a goetia"), an air of superiority ("don't bow to that one- he bows to us!"), and, of course, some good old fashioned toxic masculinity ("cease this bitch crying").

Individuals at the very top are not immune. Even though he gets past it, Asmodeus seems to spend a lot of time and effort on keeping his relationship with Fizz quiet in order to keep up the appearance of fulfilling his "lust" role.

Point 2: The members of the aristocracy who don't conform are seen as the problem, not the members who are being cruel.

Speaking of Ozzie, there's a chance he'll face real consequences for getting out of line . . . Mammon seems pretty confident about getting revenge. Also, if Ozzie had decided that his reputation was important enough to avoid stepping in to help his partner, well . . . I'm just saying. Cultures of conformity create bystanders who stand by and let abuse happen. So it's good that this guy has the courage (and a good heap of privilege and power) to enable him to step out. Yes, I realize that the crowd at Mammon's celebrated Ozzie and Fizz, but the crowd was distinctly NOT aristocratic.

Now look at Stella's party- this woman is not subtle about being cruel to her husband.

She calls the party a "Not Divorced" party. She openly talks negatively about Stolas in a blatant attempt to humiliate him. She's not trying to hide that she hates the man.

Because he's . . . an oddball. Gentle, not as polished as others in his social sphere, awkward and mostly friendless, probably autistic. And importantly, I think, not traditionally masculine.

So Stella has no need to hide that she treats him poorly. She's proud of it. And her social circle seems to support her in it, or at least, they don't push back. Because based on the aristocracy's unspoken (or if we look at Paimon, very much spoken) value system, Stolas's failure to fulfill all of his expected roles gracefully is worse than Stella's cruelty.

Point 3: Stolas's parenting, while much better than his own father's, still reflects this value system in some ways, and that's . . . complicated.

In some ways, Octavia is doing great. She has her own interests (music! gothy fashion!) that don't seem to be based on any role prescribed to her by others. She has a genuine bond with her dad that's based on care and not on molding her into some ideal princess.

But Stolas still puts on an facade in front of Via. We know that he pretended things were fine when they distinctly weren't for most of her childhood. We could argue endlessly about whether Stolas was right (as Georgia Dow explained in her video) or wrong to stop himself from explaining the situation with Stella to Via in Loo Loo Land, but honestly, the man could let his nearly grown up daughter know that abuse was happening without all out trauma dumping. It would enable her to make more informed decisions, and I think she would want to be able to do that.

Instead, Stolas keeps it to himself. Because he feels like Via SHOULD have this picture perfect childhood. Look at the pictures that are up in his palace. Look at his attempt to gloss over the fighting in the household by taking Via to an idealized childhood destination.

A part of him still thinks that good parenting is keeping up appearances, and that the ugly things are best kept hidden. Look at how hard he still tries to avoid crying in front of people. The values he was taught as a child are part of him.

And while it's not his fault (it's Stella's fault, obviously- these are HER actions), his inability to be open allows Stella and Andrealphus to scheme and (we'll see . . .) probably manipulate Via because of her lack of knowledge.

We're meant to see the moments where Stolas breaks expectations and behaves raw and even a little unhinged as triumphant. Sleeping with Blitz. That is the sound of a fucking divorce. Actually going through with the fucking divorce. Insisting on it. Appearances be damned.

And yeah, more of that please. Because if the people around Stella stop caring about aristocratic social trappings, all she'll have going for her is her shitty personality.

Thanks @akirathedramaqueen for inspiring this post with a conversation.

[lupinsweater]

part one

Teacher!James Potter x Single Mom!Reader 💌 1.3k words

thank you to @moonpascal and @amiableness for beta reading for me!

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

Things did not go the way you had imagined the next time you saw James.

You had already been running on empty for weeks before school started, but your newfound busier schedule added to your inability to sleep at night. Every morning, you woke up with a dull ache behind your eyes and a stuffy nose that usually cleared up by noon.

Between helping Charlie with his homework and trying to meet your deadlines at work, there was hardly any time to rest. You hoped that things would clear up on their own if you stayed hydrated, but you could only stave off your incoming illness for so long before you hit a breaking point.

The morning that you finally decided you were too sick to go into work came about a week after Charlie had started school.

You’d spent the last week thinking about your interaction at parent-teacher night. Every day, Charlie came home excitedly sharing stories from class, and it was clear he had a special fondness for James, which only made it more difficult for you to stop thinking about him. You had spent the previous night tossing and turning, unable to stop coughing for long enough to fall asleep. Eventually, you gave up on trying to get any sleep and turned on the television until the morning rolled around. When it came, you phoned your boss and called in sick, trying your best to sound professional despite the exhaustion in your voice. Just as you were finishing your call, Charlie wandered into your room, dressed for school and eating handfuls of cereal from the box.

“Yes, I think it’s just influenza,” you said, clearing your throat in an attempt to hold back a cough. “Okay, that sounds great. Thank you again. See you next week.” Relief washed over you when you hung up the phone, but it only lasted a moment.

“Mummy?” Charlie asked, brushing his hands off on his jeans and setting the box of cereal down on your bedroom floor, approaching your bed. “Mrs. Wood isn’t here yet. Am I going to be late for school?”

You blinked blearily at him before registering what he was saying, and you reached for your phone to check the time. When you turned your phone back on, a reminder popped up on the top of the screen - TAKE CHARLIE TO SCHOOL. Instantly, you were wide awake.

You had completely forgotten that your neighbor who usually took Charlie to school for you- a sweet older lady named Mrs. Wood- had an appointment with her doctor that morning. She had given you a heads up weeks ago. You scrambled out of bed, pulling on a pair of slippers and grabbing Charlie in your arms, hastily carrying him down the stairs and out the door.

You helped Charlie buckle his seatbelt and situate his booster seat before hurrying over to start the car. An old Britney Spears album played over the speakers, and you went to flip it off, but Charlie’s protests stopped you. Reluctantly, you left it on for the drive, lowering the volume only as you approached the drop-off spot.

As you approached the curb, you could see James standing outside, greeting the students and chatting with parents. You groaned, running a hand down your face with embarrassment. Charlie reached down and fumbled with his seatbelt before it unclasped, and he wrenched the car door open excitedly, his little fingers fumbling with his backpack as he rushed to put it on.

“Mr. James!” Charlie exclaimed, running over to him. James’ face lit up as he saw Charlie approaching, and he dropped to a squat so he was eye level with Charlie. He offered his fist out for a fist bump, and Charlie returned the gesture. James pretended to stumble backwards, his eyes wide. Charlie giggled as James made a show of pretending to rebalance himself.

“Careful there, buddy! You’re stronger than you think!” James exclaimed, ruffling Charlie’s hair with a smile as he stood up. Charlie beamed at him before saying excitedly, “Mr. James! Mummy brought me to school today because she’s sick, and Mrs. Wood had a doctor’s appointment.” James’ gaze snapped up towards your car, and you smiled sheepishly at him as he approached. Charlie followed a few steps behind, watching James curiously.

“Fancy seeing you here,” James said as you rolled down the window. He closed the door that Charlie left open casually, giving you that lopsided smile. You couldn’t tell if your face was flushed, or if it was just a fever. “A little bird tells me that you’re sick.”

“She has in-flu-en-za,” Charlie said carefully, pronouncing the word slowly. James looked down at Charlie, biting back a smile as he said, “Ah, I see. That’s a shame.” He caught your eye, and you fought to hide your own smile.

“It’s not too bad,” you said, grimacing slightly as you looked down at your worn Snoopy pajamas and raggedy slippers. “I’m planning on sleeping as much of it off as I can while Charlie’s at school, and then downing a few cups of coffee so I can make dinner.” James frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything. He studied you for a moment, his eyes trailing over you.

“You like Peanuts?” James said with a small smile. You stared at him blankly, your brain trying to process his question. His smile grew as he watched you struggle with the question. “You know, like Snoopy?” He tilted his head downwards, and you glanced down at your pajamas again. You were definitely blushing now.

“Oh! Yes. I love Peanuts,” you stuttered, trying your best to avoid James’ gaze, but getting more flustered as you noticed his patient, almost endeared smile. Charlie piped up again, “Mummy loves Snoopy! She has a Snoopy plushie she sleeps with every night.”

“Charlie!” You hissed, shooting him a warning look. James laughed, the sound warm and smooth, while Charlie just beamed at you, clearly pleased to have made James laugh.

“No, no, it’s okay,” James said with a chuckle. “I think it’s cute, actually.” He caught your eye again, and his smile softened. You swallowed nervously, which triggered a coughing fit. You doubled over, coughing into your elbow for a moment before straightening up, your eyes watering slightly. James looked at you sympathetically.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” James said when you finally stopped coughing. “You go get some rest. Charlie and I are going to have a great day of school, aren’t we?” James looked down at your son, and he nodded fervently in response.

“Yes! I want to go to class. I love you, Mummy!” Charlie said, placing a kiss on the palm of his hand and reaching his hand up to the window. You grabbed his hand with a smile, squeezing his small palm in yours.

“I love you too, Charlie. Be good today,” you replied. You snuck a glace up at James, who was watching the two of you with a soft, almost fond, smile. Charlie ran over to James again, and he guided him gently into the building, giving you a small wave as the two of them went inside.

That afternoon, Charlie came home with a small gift basket that contained a box of tea, a few cans of soup, and an envelope with your name scrawled across the front in slanted letters. There was a takeaway gift card stuffed at the front, and as you pulled it out you noticed the note behind it. It appeared to have been written on a small school notepad, and there were alphabet blocks that bordered the sheet of paper. On it, a few simple words were inscribed with the same handwriting.

“So you don’t have to cook tonight. -James.”

He had drawn a small cartoon of Snoopy next to his name.

[rocketbirdie]

YOU. You are correct about Cloud Strife. Everything you say about him is CORRECT

Hi I'm going to use your ask as an opportunity to go on an unhinged tangent about him below the cut.

I believe that EVERYTHING about Cloud Strife as a character makes total sense once you realize: it's autism.

Here's a character whose entire arc revolves around the erosion of his identity and his desperate attempts to adhere to an ideal image, at the expense of his own wellbeing; and how self acceptance is the thing that brings him back from the edge of despair.

Youtube theorycrafters waste hours of their lives trying to piece together Cloud's psyche, when the answer is just... autism. It really is that simple. I will die on this goddamn hill.

In Trace of Two Pasts, we learn that even as a toddler, Cloud really was just... like that. Unemotive and awkward. And the entire lifestream sequence in the OG shows us a young Cloud who behaves in baffling ways. Tifa and her friends invited Cloud into their group, but he rejected their friendship while simultaneously harboring a seething jealousy. How the heck does that work, huh?

Viewing this through the Autism Lens™️, his approach make way more sense. Fearing his own inability to read and reciprocate their intentions, he pushes them away, and the resulting loneliness crushes him. He mistakes that loneliness for anger. He turns that anger outwards and gets into fights. Because the other kids don't understand him, Cloud sees them as stupid and immature. It's the perfect recipe for disastrous distrust. The tragic result is that, when Tifa gets into her accident, Cloud is immediately blamed by kids AND adults. He's seen as inherently dangerous and unpredictable, even though he did nothing wrong. It's like they were already looking for the perfect excuse to hate him.

The worst part is, because he struggles to articulate his own thoughts and feelings, he starts to just... accept what other people say about him. He's a pain in the ass. He's a selfish brat. He could try being a bit nicer. Any attempt that he makes to argue, backfires and proves their points even more. He's being childish. He needs to get his shit together. Nothing's ever good enough for him. He stops fighting it and lets people drag him around and violate his boundaries, because no matter how loud he yells or how intelligently he argues, nothing he says ever reaches their ears. He trims away more and more of himself to try and appease others and nurse the constant emotional pain. (And that's not even addressing the entire traumatic *waves hands* everything that he's gone through by the time he reaches Midgar! That would have to be its own tangent lol.)

It's hard to watch as a player; the secondhand embarrassment of Cloud's social blunders is immense. Some people don't like Cloud as a video game protagonist, which is perfectly valid. But a lot of times, they justify their opinion by perpetuating the same damaging language. He's an asshole, he's a weirdo, he hates people. The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't so frustrating. I know Cloud is just a fictional character, he doesn't need to be defended from harsh criticisms. But I can't help but wonder what these players think about the "weird people-hating assholes" that they meet in real life.

It also makes me wonder if they were even paying attention. I think the games make it pretty damn obvious what's going on. He's an asshole because other characters treat him like one before they even get to know him. He hates people because he doesn't understand them, and they don't even try to understand him. He's a weirdo because he has a strange way of showing how deeply he loves and cares, and he's afraid that his love will be misinterpreted like every other emotion he's ever dared to show.

The autism is everywhere. It permeates his entire being. It's in his silly responses when he takes things too literally. It's in his painfully practical way with words. It's in the stiff expressionless look and the flat tone of voice. It's in him constantly adjusting his gloves, shifting his weight, looking down at his feet. It's in his questionable idea of what you're supposed to do with your body at a yoga session. It's in the half a dozen flustered high fives, it's in the motion sickness. It's in the contagious eagerness with his special interests in SOLDIER and materia and chocobos.

It's in the moments where the facade crumbles and we get to see the real Cloud, the one that Aerith knew was in there— the one that Tifa finds in the lifestream— the one that Zack gave his life for— the Cloud that cherishes the whole world. He's got so much of everything inside of his heart, and he doesn't know how to get it out. You'd be a weird asshole about it, too.

[capquinn]

Still The Same | Q. Hughes

summary: it’s the day after the canucks playoff elimination and quinn doesn’t want to think about it at all. based upon this quote from quinny's year-end interview :( pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes content: fluff, v mild smut but mainly hot and heavy kissing, sorta sad quinn word count: 987 note: this came to me at 2am last night so its scattered and a lil wordy and doesn't have v much dialogue but nonetheless here it is. godspeed! <3 ↪ masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s still the same sun shining through the kitchen window.

It’s still the same hazy sky.

Still the same city with the same bustling streets and his same apartment with the same smells and the same comforts.

The world hasn’t ended.

There is still the same familiar embrace that comes from behind when he stands over the coffee machine bleary eyed and trying to keep his mind from wondering. The same squeeze around his middle and the same kiss to his shoulder.

“You OK?” You whisper, following his lead as he shuffles around and brings you close to his chest. Strong arms circle around you and hands rest splayed against the small of your back.

Still the same person he always wants and needs staring back at him. Still the same eyes and pouting lips. The same hands rubbing his back in the same circular motions. The same smell of vanilla body soap and floral laundry detergent that always reminds him of home.

The world hasn’t ended, he reminds himself. The other team were better and his team was eliminated but things could be worse and life goes on. At least the world hasn’t ended.

Everything is still here.

Quinn shakes his head and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. “Don’t even wanna think about it.”

And the same as always, you take care of him.

After breakfast, you’re both curled up in the same spot on the sofa watching the same comfort movie that you always let him pick just so he didn’t catch a glimpse of the news.

“I won’t fall asleep this time,” he promises, laying his head down in your lap.

You roll your eyes and give him a knowing look, and just as he always did, he smiles sheepishly because, yeah, even he knows it’s a lie.

But there’s the same anxious bouncing of his leg and the same pursed lips as he bites the inside of his cheek that lets you know he’s less than okay.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I love you.”

The world hasn’t ended, he tells himself and relaxes into your body again.

There are still the same fingers carding through his hair lulling him into oblivion and the same slow breaths when he finally falls asleep.

He’s not thinking about hockey so you let him sleep for as long as he needs. 

After he wakes, you beg him to teach you the same card game you are never able to comprehend because you know he is unable to resist a challenge and it ends the same way it always does.

“Baby,” he groans. Same bewildered blue eyes fixing you in a stare.

Your inability to grasp the concept frustrates him beyond belief, and it doesn’t help matters when you’re laughing every time he sighs and mumbles when you get the rules wrong each and every round which makes it difficult for him to stay mad with you. After all, he’s still the same lovesick man.

“How aren’t you getting this? Can you be serious for a second? You need to create groups of three of a kind—,”

“I don’t even know what that means,” you cut him short.

“Well if you stop interrupting me you’ll find out,” he tells you, exasperated. It’s still the same bickering.

The world hasn’t ended, and he bites back a smile.

Fuelled by sheer determination, he reiterates the same rules and is even kind enough to demonstrate it all again but when you repeat the rules back wrong for the hundredth time and interrupt the game with the same bout of laughter…

“You’re lucky I love you,” he tells you as he packs away the deck of cards, finally admitting defeat. But he hadn’t thought about hockey so it wasn’t all bad.

And it’s still the same agonising existential dread that keeps him up at night. The same bouncing leg that wakes you. The same tossing and turning. The same sighs and deep breaths. If you didn’t know any better, you would have believed he was doing it on purpose.

You mould your body around his and everything falls back into place. The hurt starts to leave the room.

The world hasn't ended.

Quinn wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, hand nestling in your hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wish you would,” you tell him, desperate to be there for him in any way that he needs.

When he doesn’t respond, you’re angling your body enough so you can search his eyes for a truth. Quinn pushes the hair out of your face and cups your cheek in his hand. A thumb brushes over your pouting bottom lip. He’s unwilling to say anything at all and he hopes you don’t ask him to either.

But you’re still the same woman with the same ginormous heart that worries about him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet,” he mumbles, and cranes his neck to kiss you with the same passion as always. And so the same butterflies flutter around in his stomach and the same hammering of his heart in his chest returns.

He’s kissing you slowly, pillowy lips savouring every moment. Cold hands wander over too hot skin as Quinn drags you closer and now you’re straddling his waist, clawing at the hem of the cotton that covers his body, and when your hands meet his bare shoulders, he finally pulls his lips away from yours. You muffle a moan and paw at his back, trying to pull him closer against you again. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and pecks your cheek until his head dips to place spongy kisses against your neck, tongue swirling against milky skin.

Your fingers curl around the hair at the base of his neck. “God,” you moan. “I love you.”

Having almost succumbed to despair, he’s reminded that the world hasn’t ended.

[oreo-creampie]

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧’ 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 • You decide to take things further with Toji for the first time.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • non-curse au, daddy/princess/doll/sweetheart, heavy praise/teasing/encouragement, teaching/orruption/ virgin kink, mutual masturbation, you just soften him up a little babes he can't help it look at yourself, that being said he wants to rough you up virgin or no, age gap, collage student!f!insecure!early 20s-reader, mid-30!dilf!toji, hints of pussy eating, pussy sleeve toy, flavor lube, squirting, toji talking is filthy as always, massaging and fondling his cock and balls, he kisses your pussy once, light manhandling

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 • 2k

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐲: this has been in the drafts too long, I couldn't bring myself to delete it so I polished it up a tad bit and it is what it is

Breaking the kiss, you attempt to steal your nerves whilst catching your breath. "I...Iwantyourcock." You can't bring yourself to grab him. What if you did it wrong? And turned him off by hurting him, or by being unattractive?

Several insecurities steaming from your inexperience and presumed inability to measure up to those of Toji's past. "You look unsure. What's wrong sweet cheeks?" He could read you too well after five months of dating.

Toji squeezes your hip, cupping your cheek. You lean into his warm, rough palm. "Nothing's wrong just nervous." He peers deep into your eyes, searching for the truth.

"We can stop anytime you like but we can't take back what's been done." His sweet, passionate kiss is too short for your liking. "Whatever it is lemme take care of it for ya."

The hope of reassurance from the man you adore and trust makes it so much easier to crumble. "I'm gonna do something wrong." All the insecurities you've been holding at bay overlapping. Tears sting and blur your eyes.

"I'm not pretty, surprised you're still with me, and I won't be as good as-" Toji's cuts you off with a brief rough kiss. You tug on Toji dark hair, sliding your hand down his hard pecs. You fiddle with a button on Toji's black button-up shirt.

Toji wraps an arm around you, carrying you toward his bedroom. You cling to Toji, pressing your squishy body to his muscular one. Enjoying the contrast, and how secure it makes you feel to be carried by Toji.

"That's my beautiful girlfriend you're talking about." Toji drops you onto his bed, stepping back. "Don't care who you are, there are repercussions for anyone disrespecting my girl." Your gaze dips lower with each button Toji undoes. Showing his beautiful sculpted abs you found are sensitive to being kissed and bitten.

You sit up. "What are you gonna do?" Bitting into your bottom lip when Toji grabs his zipper. A cocky smirk etching into his face when he opts for fondling himself through his jeans.

"Nothing but you're gonna be a good girl for me. 'n you're gonna tell me what turns ya on while touchin' yourself." You stand up, turning around and bending over when you slide your panties down your legs. Kicking them back towards Toji.

You stand, your flowy skirt hiding your soaking wet cunt. "Wanna be your baby mama daddy." Reaching back, unzipping your dress with trembling hands. Expecting Toji to scoff at you.

Your cunt gets wetter from Toji's deep groan. "If keep calling me daddy, ya might be." You hear the clink of Toji's belt coming undone. "Turn around n’ look at your Daddy." You take in a shaky breath, your tongue too heavy in your mouth to speak.

He has your underwear in his hand, licking your slick off. Groaning at the taste, "Your beautiful virgin pussy tastes so good." He gives you an idea.

You slip your straps off your shoulders. Sliding your dress down as he does his pants. He wonders, "Does it turn you on thinking about settling down with me? Wanna be my wifey that badly?" When you nod he coo, "Aw ya warmin' up my cold heart doll." Slipping your finger past your lips, coating them.

Holding your fingers to his lips, "Want me to taste more of your soaking cunt? Ask nicely." There is a dark wet spot, his light gray underwear giving a mouthwatering outline. Cupping Toji, fondling him through his underwear.

He grabs your wrist but loosens his grasp as you massage his cock. You can't get the words out "If want to have your cunt filled with my warm cum, have it fucked deep into your guts you'll have't speak to me." Slipping your hand into his underwear. His warm, soft yet hard in your hands. His cock head is wet with smeared pre-cum.

You're wondering how it's easier to act than to plead. "Please Daddy taste my pussy" your voice drops, "fill me full of cum." Dragging his tongue up one of your fingers.

He demands, "Louder princess." He arches a brow and with more volume, you plead,,

"Please Daddy I want you to taste my pussy and fill me full of cum." He takes your fingers into his mouth. Eagerly cleaning your fingers. You slip your hand down, massaging his balls. He slips your fingers out with a pop.

"Your hand is so soft on my cock n' balls. But-" He pulls your hand out of his underwear, pushing you down onto the bed. Spreading your legs roughly, giving you a thrill of excitement.

He looks like on he's on the verge of ravaging your soaking cunt with the hungry almost feral way he looks at your pussy. You fight the urge to cover yourself up underneath Toji's studious gaze.

His scarred lips spread into a wide, cocky, hungry smirk. "Whose virgin pussy is this?" He covers your cunt with his large palm.

It's getting easier to whine, lust clouding your mind. Edging out your anxiety. "Yours Daddy. All yours. Use my virgin pussy to make you feel good." You can't hold your head up when he rubs his palm into your clit and lips. Between having someone else touch your pussy for the first time and the toe-curling pleasurable friction you can't think.

"Baby I just touched you and already you look like you loosen your mind. Such a beautiful, sensitive little virgin cunt pretty n' wet for me mama." He moves his hand to kiss your puffy clit.

Whining when he pulls away. You lift your head watching Toji walk to his dresser, where he pulls out a bullet-shaped toy. It springs to life vibrating, gently humming in his hand.

"Have you used one of these?" His cocky smirk makes it hard to think of little else other than the curve of his lips. The angular shape of his jawline and his narrow, dark brown eyes.

Toji groans, fondling his cock through his underwear. "The way you look at me doll, are you hungry for daddy's cock?" Closing the gap between, grabbing your chin, tilting your head back.

"Answer me mama. I'm being patient for your first punishment but eventually that will run out." He lets go of your chin, holding the vibrating toy out to you. Hesitantly taking it from him.

You huff, "First punishment?!" Furrowing your eyebrows, protesting, "But I did nothing!" He tilts his head to the side, confusion momentarily taking over his features.

Toji drops his underwear, pushing it to the side. "Did my darling forget you talked shit about yourself earlier?" His veiny, thick-hanging cock has you barely paying attention to anything else but his words.

Could he fit? Much less could you wrap your hand around him?

You want to grab him, kiss him, and bite his thigh. "When you throw a tantrum because you're moody or if you disrespect yourself, you'll get punished. Those are my first two rules." Toji grabs your chin, lifting your head. Tearing your gaze from his thick muscular thighs, fat cock, and large balls.

He grabs his cock, lifting it to your lips. "Princess the way you're lookin' at me is boosting my ego. I've been aching to fuck the shyness outta ya." Opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

Tempting Toji into touching you more, he glides his cock past your glossy lips. "Fuck I can't help myself. Suck in your cheeks, keep your teeth away, relax your throat." Sticking your tongue out, hallowing your cheeks. Looking up at him with watery eyes, gagging when he goes too deep.

The thought of him using your mouth to get off clouding over your nervousness. The second he stops moving you bob your head. Eliciting a loud groan of, "That's it, good girl, makin' me feel so nggg." His groans are getting rough raspy undertones making your cunt wetter.

"I wonder what crude things you're gonna say when I fuck the shyness outta ya." Tighten your grip on the pulsing toy, dipping it between your legs. You quickly jerk it away.

Toji croons, "Is my princess cute little cunt too sensitive for the toy?" Shoving your head down, forcing his fat, veiny cock into your throat. "That's too damn bad, hold it there." Touching the toy to clit. Whimpering around Toji's cock, curling your toes into the plush carpet sticking out from beneath the bed.

"Don't care how many times you cum if I see you take the vibrator off your clit one more time I'm slapping both your cheeks ten times with my belt." Lightly touching your clit, tensing up, jerking your hips back. It's a struggle to keep it on your clit.

The painful pleasure is beyond anything you felt cumming because of your fingers. Toji croons, "More pressure than that, don't fight the pleasure you can handle it princess. Ngg Such a shame I have to punish ya, when all I want to eat your pussy till she sloppy n' sensitive." He slips his cock out and crouches in front of you.

"But that will have't wait till you understand how beautiful you are." He groans "Never seen a pussy so beautiful to get me drunk on sight." His praise emboldens you to spread your lips apart for him.

"So fuckin' gorgeous, good girl, you already know what daddy wants to see. Mm fuck she's so beautiful clenching, looks like she's throbbing just aching for me to fill her up." He drags two fingers along your lips, gathering slick.

"Too bad I can't eat ya out mama. Such a pretty little virgin pussy, I should want to be gentler with ya. But it's makin' me feral, wanna ruin her, do things you've only read about and seen in porn." He grabs your thighs.

"Wanna be mean and feel your unstretched virgin pussy squeezin' my cock." His filthy words getting you off. "I'm strong enough to make my fat cock fit no matter how tight your little virgin cunt is. It would hurt you so much till I fuck her loose. You would look so beautiful cryin'." Your trembling, your tight cunt dripping cum before his eyes.

The thought of mean, angry Toji fucking you like he hates you is exciting and intimidating.

"It's getting so hard to think straight just lookin' at your pretty cunt. I'm going to make her cum even harder with my dick." He doesn't stop there his thought driving back to his sadistic fantasies.

"The thought of you tryin' to run away from my cock is drivin' me crazy. Wanna pin you down and fuck you into submission. More so I want to make you feel good, I never want to do anything you aren't comfortable with." He stands up, heading for the same drawer, pulling out a clear sleeve, big enough to fit his cock.

You're aching to pull the toy away from your clit. The pleasure is too much. "Daddy!" Willing yourself to withstand the intensity of the toy. If you couldn't take this, then how would you handle your massive boyfriend's oversized cock.

He has the type of cock you only see in videos. It's the type of cock that ruins a pussy for any other cock. And he is going to be your first.

You plead with Toji, "I'll be a good girl for you! I can handle your big cock daddy." He pulls out a bottle, pouring a clear liquid into the sleeve.

"Can you princess?" He sticks to fingers into it, and you've never been so jealous of an object before. "Yes! Daddy I can handle anything you give me. Wanna please you." Your whiny needy voice barely sounds familiar.

He slips his fingers out. "You're such a good little princess so eager to please. You'll be such an easy service sub for me to train." Bringing it over for you to look inside.

He smiles. "Aren't I lucky to get the chance to be your daddy dom." He holds the toy out for you to see. Recognizing the pussy sleeve from videos of muscular men similar to Toji jerking their cocks off with them. The outside of it is a replicate of fat, thick lips, and a puffy clit.

"You have't till I cum to convince me you know how beautiful you are. I want you to watch me fuck it while thinkin' 'bout how deep I'm gonna be in your guts." He spreads the fake lips apart, holding it closer to your lips.

"Put some flavored lube in it, go ahead n' taste." It smells sweet and fruity. Sticking your tongue into it, your nose touches the faux clit.

Toji croons, "Good girl, how does it taste? Hopefully good, 'cause you'll be drinking it with my cum." He pulls it away to line up with his cock. He glides it down his cock, tilting his head back, closing his eyes, and groaning.

"I wanna touch you." You want to be the one to draw pleasure reactions from him. To make him feel so good that his eyes roll back and his body shakes from overstimulation.

Toji insists with a taunting smirk "Shoulda thought of that 'fore shit talking n doubting yourself." Rolling his hips, turning the side showing his thick veiny cock gliding into the toy. "Nng going to stretch your sensitive soaking cunt with my fingers after you drink my cum."The clearness of it lets you see how deep he is reaching.

He's going to reach inside you, stretch your pussy out, and leave his warm cum deep inside you. "You've been blue-balling me for so long if I don't jerk off first I'm going to bust the moment I slip your sexy little super soaker." Your thoughts, his words, the sight in front of you, and the sensitivity of your pussy as you cumming again so quickly.

Your cunt spasming, thick clear cum squirting from your cunt onto the floor, and his bed. "Are you going to cum from watching my beautiful cunt make a mess?" He drops to his knees.

His voice is rough as he orders "Keep talking about your beautiful pussy sexy mama or I'm stopping." He grabs the toy and throws it onto the bed, burying his face into your pussy.

strawberry brat all works

[say-al0e]

Casual

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Steve Harrington has always been kind of an asshole and you've always been kind of in love with him. But a lifetime of friendship doesn't mean either of you are ready for something more than a casual fling because there's nothing scarier than vulnerability, even in Hawkins. [Set between seasons 2 and 3] Warnings: Car sex, requited unrequited love, unprotected PinV, mentions of cheating (parents, Carol; not Steve or Reader). Pairing: Steve Harrington x rich girl!Reader (briefly mentioned but important, off-screen Eddie Munson x rich girl!Reader) Word Count: 5.6k

Steve Harrington was kind of an asshole.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d been a bit of a dick. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, depending on who you asked, you’d known him your entire life. You grew up together, neighbors, with parents who, in their own way, were best friends - if either of your parents were capable of such a thing as friendship. And because of that, you saw a side of Steve that few others had ever witnessed.

There were moments where you saw the softness, the honeyed sweetness, that shimmered through the cracks in the facade he crafted for himself - beneath the hair and the smirk and the snarky quips. Moments where the real Steve, a tender-hearted, well-intentioned sweetheart who was always on the verge of getting it right but never quite managed to make it, lurked beneath the heavy crown he wore.

Just as there were moments when he saw beneath your own carefully crafted persona. He was the only only person who had ever seen the worry, the sadness, the deep-rooted yearning for something more that was buried beneath your walls of ice. He saw every impossibly strong, deeply felt emotion that lingered beneath your careful composure, your even stoicism. He saw the real you, not just the Ice Queen cloaked in department store dresses and expensive perfume.

Only, neither of you acknowledged those moments.

It was an unspoken pact, one you’ve honored since thirteen when you both realized that being popular meant more than being nice. You both pretended that you were still the same vapid rich kids you’d always been, unburdened by a world built to cater to you.

Even if that was no longer true. Even if it hadn’t been true in a very long time.

Either way, you didn’t mention his newfound soft spot for a strange, ragtag group of children and he didn’t mention the fact that he knew the hickey just beneath your jaw was from none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.

Just as you had nearly every weekend for the past six months, the pair of you sat in the backseat of his BMW after yet another party that neither of you particularly wanted to attend. It had long ago gotten old, pretending to enjoy the self-involved prattling of your former classmates - their bragging about taking on the family business or which colleges they’d be attending in the fall, snide remarks about Steve’s lack of direction while conveniently ignoring the fact that you were the only one with an Ivy acceptance - and you couldn’t help yourself as you huffed.

“Tommy and Carol are the worst. I swear, if I have to hear her bitch about his inability to make her come or him make another stupid fucking dick joke, I’m gonna scream.”

For as long as you could remember, you’d wanted to tell them both to fuck off, to disappear back into whatever hole they’d managed to claw their way out of, but Steve reveled in their following, once upon a time, anyway. Now, he looked almost resigned to their existence in your lives as he frowned.

“She told you that?”

“Won’t stop telling me that,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hand fell to your thigh, fingers idly tracing the bare skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. “I would tell her to break up with him but, honestly, they totally deserve each other. May they spend the rest of their lives making each other completely fucking miserable.”

It was only in these moments, hidden away in the thick of the trees near Lover’s Lake, that any glimpse of your real selves began to emerge. Your annoyed huffing, directed at the awful people you found yourself surrounded by, and Steve’s tender touch as he shifted closer and carefully brushed a lock of hair from your neck. Neither of you mentioned it, too lost in your own little world, but it never escaped either of your notice.

Still, Steve hummed dutifully. “Totally,” he agreed, “told him she cheated on him with Billy but he called me a liar.” He paused for a moment, shifted just a touch closer - his jean covered leg pressing into yours, body warm even in the cool air conditioning - before he changed the subject by asking, “New perfume?”

“Everyone knows about her and Billy. But, like, who hasn’t Billy fucked at this point.” Steve leaned in, nosed at the curve of your jaw, and you hummed. “Mom brought it back from that last conference they went to. Said I needed something more mature before I leave for school.” You left out the part of the conversation where she went on for nearly an hour about how much of a waste it was for you to even consider college in the first place when you were meant to marry someone of status - someone like Steve - and tilted your head to allow him more room.

“Smells good,” he complimented. “Like oranges or something.”

“Or something,” you mumbled agreeably, shifting against the seat to make yourself more comfortable as he began to press his mouth to the sensitive skin of your throat. “What’re you doin’, Stevie?”

“Giving you the attention you deserve,” he answered, never missing a beat and only pausing to nip at the pulse point. “Can’t have you unfucked in this skirt. That’d be criminal.”

As if he sought to make a point, Steve’s hand began to drift higher up your thigh, fingers traveling a well-worn path and ghosting over bruises left in his wake after last Saturday’s party at his own home. Again, he decidedly avoided the few extra spots that lined your thighs - the bite mark he would see when you parted your legs, in the shape of a certain metalhead’s teeth, and the hickey you’d been left with at the juncture of your thighs - as you laughed.

“Should call Hawkins’s finest,” you teased, grinning when Steve huffed a laugh.

“They’d send Callahan,” he mused as his fingers dug into the plush of your thigh and pulled you closer, encouraging you to climb onto his lap. “Would love to see him try to figure out what to do with you.”

“And you know what to do with me?”

Steve’s smirk was obvious, clear even as he nipped at your skin. “‘Course I do,” he assured you, settling back against the plush of the seat as you shifted in the small space and settled on his lap. “I know exactly what to do with you.”

“Prove it.”

The challenge hung in the air for a moment, thick even in the cool interior of his car, and gave you the briefest respite to study him. Soft brown eyes were blown black with lust, a darkness that you sometimes found yourself grateful for the chance to witness, and his hair had begun falling in his eyes. His cheeks were tinged pink and you knew that his lips would follow soon. 

Steve was beautiful, a work of art in the dim moonlight, and your heart beat just a touch too fast for something that was supposed to be casual as you waited for him to take the bait.

Before you could tease, attempt to bring some levity back into the moment that suddenly seemed too intense, Steve’s large hand found the back of your head. He pulled you in with a practiced ease, a touch that betrayed just how comfortable you were with one another, and pressed his mouth to yours.

Whereas Steve’s facade was all flash, easy confidence with nothing to prove, his kiss was almost desperate. There was the knowledge that he was good - he’d earned it, sought to learn exactly what you liked and adapted quickly - but beneath that, there was a desire to make the moment everything you could want. He kissed you with an urgency you could never quite understand, almost as if he wanted to savor the moment because he feared it may never happen again, but you knew that couldn’t be true.

As reticent as you both were to delve into your true selves - into your true feelings - you knew that this would happen time and again. It would happen until one of you inevitably broke the other’s heart, and maybe even after.

Still, Steve kissed your with more passion than you ever could’ve expected.

From your position on his lap, skirt bunched around your waist and hands falling into his hair, you could feel the growing bulge in his jeans. There was a slight rocking of his hips, something you might’ve dismissed as an attempt to get comfortable if you didn’t know him so well, and you still managed to find yourself surprised by just how much the little things turned him on.

“Girls like you,” he rasped, breaking the kiss before you could even think to, “just need to be fucked dumb. Be all pretty and cock drunk. Made into that pretty little trophy wife you swear you’d hate to be.”

The way he spoke was so casually condescending, a little mean in the way he’d discovered you liked, and you felt your cheeks heat as you squirmed on his lap. He knew - knew that your mother hated your ambition, swore you were purposely sabotaging her attempts to marry you off, including the few attempts she’d made with him - and smirked when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

“You can pout all you want, but that’s what you need, right?” His hands fell to your thighs, raking up the soft skin as your own tangled in his hair and tugged. “To be taken care of, to be fucked like you deserve.”

“Don’t think some hotshot husband would care enough to fuck me like that,” you countered, swallowing hard in an attempt to maintain your composure as his fingers trailed higher. “Would never come. He’d be too focused on fucking the secretary ‘cause she won’t be upset when he gets off and she doesn’t. But that’s why the trophy wives fuck the pool boys and tennis coaches, I guess.”

Steve hummed his understanding - had his own firsthand knowledge of both your father’s affairs, knew just what kind of men he was surrounded by now that he was old enough - before tipping his chin to glance up at you. “Guess you’ll have to look harder to find someone worth your time, then. ‘Cause this pussy’s too good to be wasted on some dickhead who won’t appreciate it.”

“Steve.” His name came out softer than you intended, a near breathless sort of whine that betrayed you - more than the growing patch of slick clearly visible against the light pink fabric of your panties - and he hummed.

“Don’t worry, babe. You know I’ll take care of you.” Though Steve could be an asshole when he wanted, he was nothing but a giver when he settled between your thighs. There were moments where you worried, secretly feared this might be the moment he decided to be selfish and leave you hanging, but more often than not, you were the one to tap out first. And any argument you could’ve formed died on your lips as he ordered, “Just shut up and sit pretty for me, yeah?”

Despite yourself - despite the part of your brain that wanted you to argue, to fight back and tell him to go fuck himself - you melted into his touch as his fingers ghosted over the fabric between your thighs. You heard him sigh, felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your mouth as he refused to put more space than necessary between you, as his gaze met yours.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in my bed,” he decided, gaze flicking back to where his fingers hooked into the soft material and dragged it to the side. “Can’t taste you the way I want in here.”

“Can’t keep saying shit like that,” you mumbled, nails biting into his skin as you gripped his shoulder to keep yourself upright. “Gonna make me think you actually like eating pussy.”

“I do,” he admitted, grinning when you rolled your eyes. “Like eating yours the best, though.”

With that, Steve’s fingers swiped through the slick gathered between your thighs. His thumb caught on the sensitive bundle of nerves and his mouth returned to yours, eagerly swallowing the soft noise of surprised pleasure you released.

Each swipe of his fingers was easy, almost lazy. There was a practiced ease there, a lover’s knowledge of your body - absent any of the almost nervous exploration of the first time - and you forced yourself not to think too hard about that fact as his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

The small space was cramped, not the easiest to maneuver, but it was familiar.

Though sometimes familiarity equated to boredom, routine, Steve’s touch was anything but. Every swipe of his fingers through your folds, every brush of his thumb over the aching bundle of nerves, was electrifying. He had you teetering on the verge of begging, eager for him in a way you’d never been for anyone else - almost anyone else - and you knew he could tell as he finally gave you something more.

Two thick fingers, skilled and steady, pressed into you. They stretched you - never quite enough to fully prepare you for the impressive length hidden beneath the denim you knew you were soaking through - in a way that had your breath catching in your throat and your heart hammering in your chest. Steve knew exactly where to press, fingers finding that one spot that made you see stars, and you could feel the twitch of his mouth as he refused to allow you to pull away from the kiss entirely.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, tone so smug it made you realize why so many were eager to brand him an asshole. “C’mon, babe, the sooner you let go, the sooner I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Despite your conflicting emotions - the desire to hit him, to call him an asshole and tell him to just get on with it; the desire to kiss him, to tell him that you only wanted this, him for the rest of your life - you settled for the middle ground and allowed yourself to sink into his touch.

Those murmurs of encouragement, almost reverent in a way that you hoped no one else had ever heard, had your mind blanking and your chest heaving as you focused solely on the press of his fingers. His pace was perfect, steady and even and never too much - always too much, always enough to make you wonder how you ever thought you could be fine with losing this someday - and you would’ve told him as much if you were capable of speaking without admitting that you were afraid you could love him for the rest of your life.

Instead, you settled for sinking your nails into his shoulder, for tugging at the soft strands of his hair, as he nipped at your skin. He sucked a mark just beneath the one you knew he’d seen, despite your attempt at concealing it, and that was enough to throw you over the edge.

Steve once admitted to loving the noises you made, promised they turned him on rather than weirded him out - something you only admitted when he asked why you were so quiet, refused to let you come until you explained yourself - and you knew you wouldn’t have been able to quiet yourself even if you’d tried as his fingers worked you through the first orgasm of the night.

Knowing him, Steve wouldn’t stop until he had you desperate - he liked to see your tears, watery eyes and mascara running as you finally let down the walls he’d only glimpsed behind - and that seemed to be the case as he resumed his pace the moment your breathing began to even.

“Steve,” you huffed, your best attempt at something resembling normal, though you could hear the whining edge to your tone. “Fuck me,” you demanded, or at least attempted to. “Fill me up. So big, always feel so full when you’re inside.”

It was a low blow, an attempt to appeal to his ego - exaggerated, though it was true; he was the biggest you’d ever had - and he rolled his eyes as he nipped at your bottom lip.

“So fucking impatient,” he huffed, though he gave in, just as he always did. “Such a spoiled brat.”

With a tap to your thigh, you shifted. You held yourself upright, knees digging into the soft cushions of the seat, long enough for him to unbutton his jeans and shift his hips. As you had every time you found yourself in this situation, which was more often than not lately, you watched with wide eyes and bated breath as he freed himself from the confines of too-tight denim.

For years, you wondered why so many girls flocked to Steve when they knew how things would end. You wondered why anyone gave him a chance, why anyone came back when he forgot to call or blew them off for someone else, but you understood now. The look of him, the weight and feel of his cock in your hand as you reached out and swiped at the pearl of precum beading at the tip, was almost answer enough. The effort he put in to make you feel as if you were the only person that mattered, as if your pleasure were more important than his, quelled the rest of your doubt.

When you lifted your hand to your mouth, lapped the bead from your thumb and hummed, Steve groaned.

“Fucking tease.” There was no bite, no venom, to the words, but you still bit back your grin as he reached for your hip with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He dragged you closer, settled you firmly on his lap and swiped the tip of his cock through your folds, as he tipped his chin in a silent request for you to return your mouth to his.

As you pressed your lips to his, he used the grip on your hip to drag your hips down. It was swift, faster than he’d ever gone and almost desperate in the way he pulled you in, but you reveled in the slight pinch as he stretched you open.

There was something so overwhelming about feeling Steve so close, about having him in the way you dreamt of when you first realized how you felt about him, but you did your best to swallow the sudden lump in your throat as your eyes fell shut and your lips parted.

The pace always varied with Steve. Some nights were hard and fast, usually when you were both wound up after a particularly rough night; others were soft and slow, when the emotion began to overwhelm you, when the desperate need to be close outweighed the potential damage a confession might bring. And others still were somewhere in between, teasing and playful; an alternation between soft and hard, slow and quick - a way for him to make you beg, to bring you out of your head and into the moment.

Tonight was no different.

Though you sat atop him, Steve did all the work. His hips snapped, cock pressing into you with every movement, as his hands dragged you down. He controlled the pace, controlled the moment, and you allowed yourself to be fully present.

There was no facade in these moments, no pretending to be anything other than you were, and you imagined that was why you both returned time and again. This was Steve - giving, eager, desperate to be good enough. And you were just as present, just as honest; soft, pliant, warm and overjoyed that he still wanted you despite the surface ice that froze most others out. 

Neither of you could pretend here, with nothing between you but a few pesky articles of clothing. Neither of you wanted to.

And you knew, as your mouth returned to his, that despite the rough snap of his hips and the bruising grip he held on your hip, that your kiss betrayed you. Each swipe of your tongue, each breathless gasp you allowed him to swallow, told him exactly what he needed to know.

When his hand fell between your thighs, thumb pressing to the aching bundle of nerves, your mind went blank and your thoughts revolved solely around the beautiful brunette beneath you.

The curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips; Steve, Steve, Steve, was all that existed in your mind. The drag of his cock, filling you so perfectly that it almost seemed as if he were a missing piece, designed especially for you, was all that existed. And just as he wanted, it left you pliant in his hands.

“There we go,” he groaned, voice softer than you imagined he intended, as a hand lifted to your cheek. “Look at that, givin’ you what you need, hm?” When you moaned your agreement, lips pursing in a silent request for him to kiss you, Steve smiled. “Look pretty like this. Soft and fucked out for me. I’m the only one that can make you feel like this, yeah?”

It was the first confirmation that he knew, that he cared more than you thought he might, about the other man in your life. And though you wanted to tease him, to poke and prod and be a bit of a bitch about it, you could only moan your agreement.

Eddie was good, was more than enough, but there was something about Steve.

“Prove it,” he demanded, voice only just beginning to show his exertion as his hips snapped a little harder. “Come for me, babe. Show me how good I make you feel.”

As was beginning to become a habit, you gave in to him without so much as an attempt otherwise. The press of his fingers to your aching clit, the rough snap of his hips, the warmth of his breath fanning over your sweat slick skin; all of it was too much, just enough, to send you barreling over the edge for a second time.

With a cry of his name, keening and louder than you intended, you came and Steve followed shortly after. You could feel the warmth of his spend, the twitch of his cock, as you settled for a long moment, and felt the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

Without so much as a second though, Steve lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks, careful not to press too hard, and swiped away the few that had fallen before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and shot you a teasing wink.

“Love it when you cry for me, babe,” he teased, though you wondered if he’d have the same reaction if he knew the tears were, at least in part, caused by the overwhelming flurry of emotion that had you questioning everything you knew. “Seeing the Ice Queen melt never gets old.”

“You’re such a dick, Stevie.” The huff was as playful as you could manage with your breath still coming in short pants and your stomach churning with emotion but he grinned just the same as he helped you off his lap.

“Think you mean, ‘you have such a great dick, Stevie’.” When you rolled your eyes, straightening out your clothes and attempting to smooth your hair, he laughed. “Oh, c’mon, not gonna say thank you for the incredible orgasms? Your parents raised you better than that, babe.”

“They raised me better than to fuck some rich asshole in the backseat of his car, but, here we are.” Steve followed your lead and began to straighten himself out, zipped his jeans and at least pretended not to stare as you settled your panties back into place, the fabric immediately darkening with his spend. “Speaking of, you should probably get me home, Romeo. It’s past curfew.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Steve simply tugged you back into his side, hand cradling your jaw as you both attempted to catch your breath.

The lie was obvious - your parents didn’t care very much how late you stayed out, even less when you were with Steve - and you knew that he knew who would be waiting for you to return home. However, you didn’t expect him to ask.

Steve’s touch was soft, though you could see the distaste in the set of his mouth as his fingers brushed the two marks beneath your jaw - one fresh and one fading. “What’re you doin’ with the freak, anyway?” He’d never asked, neither of you made it a habit to pry into the other’s personal life, but he seemed unable to help himself as he continued. “You know you could just buy weed, right? You don’t have to fuck him for it.”

“I don’t smoke,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into his touch. “Dunno,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as your hands worried with the hem of your skirt. “He’s exciting. Well, not really,” you amended because he wasn’t, “but he’s different. He’s just… Eddie. Doesn’t try to be something he’s not.” The slight was unintentional but you caught Steve’s slight wince, even as you barreled on. “And, I mean, it totally pisses off my dad every time he sees Eddie sneaking out because the guy’s a total fucking klutz and can’t leave without waking up half the neighborhood.” Steve scoffed, though you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it as he quickly covered the sound with a clearing of his throat before you added, as an afterthought, “And he listens to me. Not, like, pretends to.”

“I listen to you.”

While it wasn’t a lie - Steve listened, retained whatever you told him - neither of you were ever particularly honest with one another. Your conversations were never as serious as the ones you shared with Eddie, never as deep. For someone you considered your best friend, Steve barely knew anything about the real you. Though, that was as much your fault as it was his.

There was always a fear, deep and unfounded, that he might not like the real you. That if you were honest, that if you allowed him to see you for who you really were, that he might hate you. That he might leave. With Eddie, that didn’t matter very much. He was fun, a distraction, a taste of something forbidden and a glimpse into another life, but he was temporary. He could leave at any time, decide he didn’t like the real you and it might hurt for a moment but you would get over it quick. 

With Steve, it was your biggest fear.

Thinking that he might not like the real you, that he might suddenly change his mind and decide the real you wasn’t worth his time, was a fear that felt almost paralyzing. Steve’s opinion mattered, more than anyone else’s, so you held tight to the person you’d always been - the one he’d always at least tolerated - and never breathed so much as a word to the contrary.

Regardless, you humored him. “You do,” you agreed, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. “But you kinda have to. And you also moaned Nancy’s name the first time we fucked so, like, that sorta cancels out some of the good stuff.” Steve flustered, cheeks flashing neon pink as he recalled the moment - a drunken hookup soon after his breakup, the first of what would become a regular occurrence - but before he could defend himself, you asked, “How’s that going, by the way? You figure out how to get her back from the creep?”

Steve shook his head, then, and sighed as he admitted, “Don’t think I even want to, anymore. Think I was just… She was right, maybe. We were kind of bullshit.”

The resigned misery in his voice was obvious, still upset by the hurtful declaration of a girl you knew he’d loved - in his own way, anyway - and you sighed as you rested your head against the seat cushion. “All of this is bullshit,” you shrugged. “High school, Hawkins, Indiana; none of it means anything.”

“We don’t mean anything?” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Steve sounded almost heartbroken - devastated to hear yet another person who meant something to him declare that he meant nothing - and you sighed as you grabbed the hand that rested on your thigh.

“You know I hate sentimentality,” you mumbled, unable to look him in the eye, “but you’re the only thing worth anything in my whole life. You could never be bullshit. Annoying, totally, but not bullshit. Never bullshit.”

There was a brief pause, a moment in which you both felt the weight of you admission pressing on your chests - stealing what little air seemed to remain in the car, windows still fogged and radio still playing too softly to really hear - before Steve swallowed. “You know I…” He cut himself off, paused and seemed to think better of voicing the thought aloud, before he asked, “You know, right?”

‘I love you,’ went unspoken, as it always had. It lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to crack the ice and set it free. You knew, just as Steve did, that you were in something like love. Maybe not a love that would last forever, maybe not even a love that was ever meant to be, but it was there.

Warm, shiny and bright, and just waiting for you to stop pretending that things between you had ever been casual.

So, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you assured him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it gently. “I know. Me, too.”

Silence fell, then, thick and suffocating. It filled the interior of his car with a bitter chill and it struck you just how new that feeling was. It made you wonder what a future might be like, if you had one at all, and you found yourself mildly horrified at the idea that you could end up as either set of your parents. There was no world in which you could see a future without Steve at least somewhere in your life but there was no happiness in a world in which you both continued to pretend.

Either way, you were both stuck - caught up in a never-ending performance, an act for an audience that only existed in your minds.

What began as something effortless, something casual, had become so complicated that you no longer felt certain of much beyond the understanding that you loved Steve. How -  if you could love the real him, if you only loved the idea of him, if you loved the safety of him - was a question you had no answer to but before you could begin to even fathom it, the moment ended.

Steve pressed a final kiss to your mouth, bruising in a way that made your chest ache and your eyes sting with unshod tears, before he made his way to the driver’s seat.

And then, just as he had every night since he got his license, Steve drove you home. He pulled up to the door to let you out and didn’t mention the van he saw parked down the street. He squeezed your hand before you could step out into the night, three times in rapid succession, and lit a cigarette the moment you stepped out of the car. 

King Steve wasn’t one to fall in love easily, neither was the Ice Queen. But Steve Harrington wore his heart on his sleeve and that heart beat for you. Despite the distractions, the desperate attempts at finding something so disconnected from the cushioned prison of his gilded cage, he knew that it had been you all along. And just as neither of you mentioned the real people beneath the personas, neither of you mentioned just how real the love you shared had grown.

Loving one another, allowing yourselves to be vulnerable - to reveal the deepest, darkest secrets - was terrifying. Both of you feared what the other might think of the truth that lay beneath the crown so you agreed, silently, that to pretend was better than to face rejection.

So, Steve drove the few streets that separated your neighborhood from his and let himself into the empty house that meant nothing when his true home was likely sliding open a window to allow the only person he’d ever seen as true competition inside. And he wondered when the love of his life became a casual fling, when you both resigned yourselves to pretending that neither of you deserved something real - something true, something happy. He wondered why he carried on with it, knowing that in a few short weeks you would be in Boston, knee-deep in a life you hated, while he was stuck in Hawkins, wishing he’d had the courage to be himself and that he’d asked for something more than casual.

There was no satisfactory answer, not if he really thought about it, so he decided not to. 

The rest of the summer would be spent in the same way the last six months had. Steve would pretend to enjoy the parties and the attention of girls who only wanted him for his reputation. You would continue pretending that nothing fazed you, not even him. And things between you would remain casual. 

And he supposed that was just the way it was meant to be.

_________________________________________________

Author's Note: Did you know there's a chance black beans will catch on fire in the microwave? 'Cause I didn't. Anyway. This was my first time writing 'King Steve' and I had so much fun. This was loosely inspired by Chappell Roan's Casual. And my love of both Steve and Eddie. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[catmadeofsalad]

Lucifer: MC, are you feeling alright?

MC: *pale, sweaty, trembling* Yeah, I'm fine.

Lucifer:

No, you are not. Asking was a courtesy. Get in bed human, now.

A professional at making the perfect tea, exactly as you like it. Are you hungry as well? If the thought of eating is too much, he looks up what humans eat when sick and is surprised to find a diet, but he's pleased when you eat the toast he made you.

Your fever isn't breaking for a while, so he moved his office to your room so as to be able to replace the cool cloth on your forehead. The table was covered in his paperwork, but he refused to let one of his brothers have free reign of your room while you were sick.

Lucifer sneaks kisses on your forehead whenever he checks your temperature with the back of his hand.

Demons don't catch human illnesses, so expect him to help you into the shower if you're dizzy or too tired.

He also sleeps in your bed with you after you've already fallen asleep. This isn't something he'd usually do, but seeing you shiver despite your layers of blankets quickly changes his mind.

He brings you your school work and makes sure you stay up to date on your lessons, having previously informed Diavolo of your inability to attend classes.

Lucifer requests a hand from Barbatos in making you a soup from the human world, and with the royal butler's assistance, you're fed the perfect bowl of chicken noodle soup.

The week and half it took you to fully recover was baffling to the eldest demon brother, but nonetheless, he was glad once you were better.

"MC, what is this?" Is surprised at the "Thank You!" basket of poison apples and other treats that appear on his desk. Is he blushing? No, of course not. The lighting is just off.

Those forehead kisses? They become a permanent expression of endearment.

Mammon

His human is dying!? Not again! Not on his watch!

You cough? Here's more water- humans need to be hydrated when they're sick, right?

You're shivering! More blankets, a sweater- yeah, he's getting into bed with you, ya got a problem with it?

Mammon means well, he's trying his best. If his brothers got sick he never needed to worry because they were demons. He still took care of them in his own way, but his human wad sick now! What would he do if they didn't get better!?

You have to tell him that it's just a bad cold and you'll get better soon. He nods, hand on his chin as he thinks.

Mammon gets a list of items that would help you from Lucifer and Satan, and let's just say that you're all set one supplies if you ever get sick again. For over the next five years. Cold medicine? Yep. Ice packs? Lucifer told him he didn't need all 20 in the freezer but what does he know!? You've been sweating nonstop for days, ya need ta cool down.

If you were a plant you'd live the longest, but as a human, it'd take a while for you to become dehydrated again. Even with all the eness sweating.

If you thought Mammon was attentive before, watch out. He'd hugged you a lot through your sickness to keep you warm, so the slightest shiver even once you're better? Get ready for hugs!

He's surprised when you start hugging him more, too. Mammon is super tsundere at first, complaining about the affection, but he doesn't stop you. The Avatar of Greed stops complaining not long after, just happy with the affection.

Leviathan

You what? Ew, gross, no wait, don't leave - he'll take care of you!

Wait. How does he take care of a human?

It can't be that hard. He can do it!

Where did he get that lab coat- never mind, it doesn't matter. You're tightly wrapped in blankets, snacks and drinks supplied outside of the tub he calls a bed before he sardines into the porcelain bed with you.

Levi runs cold, something he forgets about until your fever spikes. He's about to ask what you need when his cold chest is perfect for your overheated face.

He sputters about how he can get you cool cloths or something and about how you shouldn't cuddle up with such a gross otaku like himself until you start to pull away.

As soon as you start to pull away, he pulls you back to himself and holds you tightly. You're not leaving his room until you're better!

Lucifer disagreed almost as much as Mammon, the former being more so upset that he hadn't been informed and almost uad to tell Diavolo that the human had gone missing.

While your sick Levi let's you join in his online classes, and keeps you up to date on them.

When you're sweaty and gross and actually cold, he runs you a warm bath. He gets some soothing bath bombs and scents from Asmodeus for your bath.

N-no, he's not joining you cause he's worried! He likes the smells too, and besides, you've been snuggled together, and your sweat was all over him!

Even though you were sick, he knew you saw through his excuses.

Once your health was back to normal, Leviathan indulged in cuddle sessions in his bed more often.

The biggest jump for the two of you? Cuddle sessions in the actual bath. Nothing inappropriate or suggestive, just sincere cuddle sessions in the warm water that you two held each other in.

Satan

Of course you're sick, he could tell based on how you were dozing off during movie night. Here's some tea and light soup, go lie down.

How he's one step ahead of your cold you'll never know, but when your fever spikes he has cool cloths already next to your bed.

Satan can tell how dizzy you are when trying to help you walk to the bathroom, and he swoops you up into his arms.

The blonde talks about his favorite recent book as he helps you bathe, helping you dry off and change into fresh, warm clothes before getting you back into bed.

One of his brothers wants to help you? Nope, he's got everything you need. Lucifer is only kept up to date on your well-being from Mammon or Beel, asking on behalf of the eldest.

When you start to feel better, he makes sure that you're active. Sore joints after being sick was miserable, and he didn't want you to feel worse.

As soon as you're better, cuddle reading sessions become a popular activity. You both have the same book, and you take turns reading chapters or pages while you sip on tea.

Asmodeus

Oh honey, he can see your clammy skin a mile away. Not to mention those dark circles and slight hand tremors.

A relaxing face .ask and a warm bath are going to help ear your lungs, and also make your skin feel better. Trust this demon, he knows his way around a rejuvenating bath!

You have a headache? Time for a scalp massage dear, close your eyes!

Seriously, Asmo is all about you getting better as fast as possible. He hates getting sick and knows some little tricks to help.

A rejuvenating bath bomb with coconut butter, oats, and a hint of lavender? Your skin is soft, and despite being sick, you feel so clean!

You're sick for about a week, but the fifth oldest is your personal nurse- eccentric nurse costume and all!

He has herbal teas, a lotion with massaging pearls to help with under eye soreness, and not to mention his full body massages for of you get achy while your sick.

He waits on his human hand and foot, but if you call on him too much he'll definitely complain or stop, "so don't abuse my perfect care and sexy nurses outfit, okay?"

Asmodeus takes you out to his favorite spa once you're better, and you surprise him with a new nail polish and face mask set as thanks for his help.

Those full body massages? Once you're completely better, those become a regular form of comfort, closeness, and lead ups to...well, I'm sure you know MC.

Beelzebub

Beel doesn't notice at first, he just thinks you've been studying too hard again.

When you don't eat as much or decline heavier foods, he gets concerned. Buffo milk tea is your favorite when you're overworked...

He doesn't want to make you upset by asking why you aren't eating as much. After all, Asmodeus scolded him once for asking when he was trying a new diet.

Beelzebub carefully asked if you weren't feeling well, and when you said you were sick everything changed.

Nurse Beel to the rescue!

Seriously. He made you soup, and you almost asked if Barbatos had made it but the orange haired demon mentioned how he scoured many cookbooks with Satan before finding the right one.

The light's bothering your eyes, and you have a migraine? They're all off quickly and the curtains are closed as well.

You're cold even though you have many blankets? Beelzebub is your personal heater.

He definitely gets concerned when you decline a new soup or meal because you're nautious, but he gets assistance from Lucifer on making you the right tea.

Beelzebub is extra gentle with you when you're sick, and he cuddles with you so carefully while he plays with your hair/massages your scalp. Not to mention, he has a great humming voice and helps you get to sleep relatively quickly.

Once you're all better, you buy him a variety party pack of his favorite chips and cookies.

Those soft cuddles and singing to sleep? Yeah, that becomes a near constant for you two when you're stressed or upset. You've sang him to sleep a couple of times, too, when he was having a rough day.

Belphegor

"I told you not to get out of bed, come lie back down MC."

Belphegor takes full advantage of you being sick to cuddle you constantly. Or at least, as much as he can. He won't cuddle you while you use the bathroom, but he'll carry you there.

He complains when you can't lie still due to shivers, but he does so as he pulls you tighter into his arms and wraps you up into the blanket tighter.

Belphie doesn't really know how to take care of a human when their sick- especially one so important to him. He relies on Satan for help in that department.

"How are you still cold?" He whines softly, holding you closer and pressing kisses to your face and neck softly. Belphegor tries to be your main heat source, but he does eventually get you more blankets, socks, or hoodies. It's his hoodie, though, so don't share your weird human germs.

Despite all the rest you got and Satan's help, it takes you a long time to get better, but once you do, you surprise him with a set of eye masks and slippers.

Those cuddley and kisses? Oh, they stay, and you two take turns kissing each other to sleep fairly often.

[nvuy]

just thinking about argenti who has so much love to give to the whole universe, who is on a neverending journey of spreading the beauty across the cosmos faithfully, unwaveringly; argenti, who is never capable of receiving that kind of love back. because he cannot stop. because he cannot stray from the path of the aeon that hasn't answered to his prayers even once in his lifetime. because if he dares devote himself to anyone other than idrila, that person is going to have to wait for him all alone, thousands of light years away. lol

warnings for dark themes, angst, argenti backstory references so he’s insane and weird, and argenti literally murdering you, i guess.

i have this in my inbox as well. i liked the link, so now you WILL hear my thoughts.

i had so many thoughts for this prompt initially, but i just couldn’t string it into anything that was actually coherent.

somebody actually came into my inbox and said the interpretation of argenti’s story is wrong and i’m wrong and he didn’t actually kill his friends and SHUT UP i do what i want, and it’s just that: an interpretation. i like putting tragedy into my characters. it’s like adding salt to a bland meal.

anyway.

the worst part about this prompt, and yours, is in his inability to stop his pursuit of finding idrila, he meets you, and he does fall in love despite his promise to venture the stars alone on his journey.

argenti finds falling in love is beautiful at first. you’re supportive, even if he leaves you for extended voyages. he always brings back trinkets, gifts, leaves you one thousand messages a day that read more like love letters than normal texts, and the love he showers you in is endless.

you don’t doubt him for a second.

and then, things change. you tell him it’s difficult to love a person that’s gone for so long.

argenti does truly feel sorry, and he pities you, but this is who he is.

and you’re hurt. his devotion to idrila aside, you tell him that he’s crossed galaxies to find an aeon that does not care for him, nor the other fellow knights of beauty. they are not emanators bestowed with idrila’s power, nor has idrila been sighted by anyone for eons.

to you, it feels like he’s pining for someone else. you are in love with his undying loyalty, and his unshakeable faith. but, it hurts to be away from him for so long while he chases after a being well above you.

argenti cannot stray from the path he wanders. he insists he will do better, but when you thank him, and apologise because you feel selfish, he can’t help but notice your nails have grown to the size of curled claws.

the relationship grows worse from there. he slowly sees less of you, and more of something else. an otherworldly creature that morphs to the shape of you to keep him trapped here and away from his endeavours.

he finds himself growing to learn that the person, you, whom he’s loved with all his heart, was never a person, but a monster wearing your skin.

you break the relationship off some time later.

he finds himself relieved. not because you’re leaving—his heart shatters, actually—but because he knows, somewhere deep down in his stomach, if you stay any longer, he’ll hurt you.

argenti apologises, but you find he cannot look you in the eyes. so, you part ways. maybe you go back home, maybe you set up somewhere else by yourself. it hurts because you felt he was everything you’d ever wanted, and he was, but you know it’s better this way.

in the ideas i was writing for this prompt, i imagined you set up in belobog and work in that floral shop—i cannot remember if it has a name.

it’s been months, and you grow okay with yourself again, and everything is fine. you make bouquets, trim the stems of flowers as will, tend to the pots outside the shop, and all is well.

maybe argenti comes to the shop. he doesn’t know you work here, and he’s only come in because he’s stopped on belobog for his ship needs a repair and the red roses growing outside the window catch his eye. they’re just barely blooming, and spring looms just around the corner.

he doesn’t even realise the shop is open because it looks dark through the glass.

curiously, he opens the door to the shop, and the bell above the door tolls. a cute little shop, and bright colours encircle the walls. daisies, frangipanis, dahlias, petunias, he knows them all from your incessant ramblings when you would walk through gardens together, and he would hold onto every word.

you bound from the back room after hearing the bell, and you both just freeze up. you’re in shock he’s here—but why wouldn’t he be here? he travels planet to planet in search of his aeon—and he only sees something grotesque, and ugly, and a mockery of you. this isn’t you. it’s a mimicry. blasphemy of righteousness, of pure beauty, of one of idrila’s very creations they pulled from their gentle heart and offered to him so graciously.

he knows deep down he’s wrong. he knows, he knows, he trusts himself he knows, but he can’t win over his twitching fingers.

you greet him softly, gently pushing the work in progress bouquet and the garden pliers to the side of the front desk. there’s a multitude of thorns on the bench, and the roses in the bouquet, not yet bloomed, are picked free of their thorns.

there’s only one in the bouquet, one red shimmering rose, that has fully opened its petals.

“haven’t seen you in a while,” you say to him. there’s a hint of that customer service-y tone; because he’s not your lover anymore. “how are you?”

argenti swallows. “just the same.” he turns to the flowers on the wall. “you have a beautiful shop.”

“thanks.” you glance down at the bouquet on the bench. “did the roses outside catch your eye?”

you hear him laugh merrily. “you know me too well.” his fingers graze along the petals of a large assortment of pink amaryllis hanging over a plantar pot. he cannot look at you. he cannot, he cannot, he cannot–

“hey.”

and there’s that tone that twists his stomach. he wants to look, he wants to see you, you, and not that hideous beast that resides beneath your skin.

he feels you stop just beside him. he dares to glance.

amidst your claws and the veiny lines of your once soft and delicate hands that he always would press his lips to the back of, was a single red rose that you twirled between your fingers.

you hand it to him gently. “this one’s special.” when argenti did not move to take it, you tuck it securely behind his ear, indulging in how soft his hair was along your skin. “it’s stayed alive for a lot longer than i thought. it’s been around for about two years now, give or take.” you step back. “it reminded of you.”

and it did. undying strength, and despite all odds of belobog’s weather being unfit for roses, as all of the others had wilted over time, this particular one had stayed.

“i know things didnt end well, but…” you glance out the window. “but, you’re always welcome back here.” and, you still love him. you omit that part. “i’m sorry for whatever happened, or if i wasn’t good enough, or if there was somebody else–”

even now, he laughs. it’s weak. “there was nobody else.”

you nod once. “well. still. i’m sorry.”

argenti knew it had been all his fault, but you, ever gracious and kind as you were, felt burden on your shoulders.

his hand draws back from the amaryllis to graze over the rose behind his ear. the petals were fresh, a light smell of dewdrops in the morning on this cold planet.

he wishes now, he never turned to look at you. he wished he had just spun on his heel and left the shop, and never returned to you. you didn’t deserve this; you had always been so kind, so careful, so gentle with him.

but he did turn, because he had fooled himself into thinking it was truly you standing there, and not some masked fool, or a hideous shapeshifter that was showing its true colours. he sees those claws again, and pulled aged skin that reminds him of trees as old as time, horrible teeth, twisted limbs that crack and bend—

to make matters worse, you notice his distress, and as you always did when you were together, you pull him gently towards you and wrap your arms around him.

argenti, mistakenly, returns the warm embrace, and unbeknownst to you, one of his hands brushes against the garden shears you’d left on the desk next to the bouquet.

he thinks against it for a moment when he hears you apologise for what he had done wrong, and bury your face in the plated shoulder of his silver armour.

despite how he holds the writhing creature in his arms, he knows it’s you. and it is you, but he doesn’t see you, nor does he see any semblance of you left when he turns his head to stare out of the window. he catches a reflection of the creature twitching.

he murmurs an apology as well.

and then, he drives the shears into a particular spot in your spine. you gasp, and you become dead weight in his arms as the feeling of your legs fall away.

cold snaps up your chest and you cry out in pain. it’s just pain, and pain, and pain as hot blood dribbles from your neck.

and then there’s nothing. there’s no feeling. you can’t even breathe. your arms and legs feel as though they’ve just disappeared, and just as he hoped, you don’t feel his spear drive directly through your chest.

he kills you then, as quickly as he can, because as the monster cries and screams, he still knows it’s you in his arms, and he wouldn’t live with himself if you suffered in your final moments.

he sees you, finally, when he lays you down gently on the floor. he tries his best to clean you of the tear stains, and the blood smears that had crept around the front of your neck. you’re still beautiful, even in death, but he finds it impossible to leave the rose you’d gifted him.

so, he takes it—and that rose probably becomes the rose he carries in all his little animations in game. he traverses with guilt, and it’s probably a little wink nudge nudge to you when he says he owes his next battle to ‘a solitary rose.’

[josephquinnswhore]

it ain’t weakness, baby - joel miller x female reader

Summary: Joel survived Abby’s brutal encounter, but has left him with major mental and physical disabilities.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: mentions of reader having ptsd, blood, amputation, scars, disabilities, murder. blowjob, Joel whining and begging????? cumming in mouth. female masterbation/orgasm. Joel praising reader. insecurity. Joel treating reader like shit. implied age gap.

Note: yeah.. I kinda ruined my own heart with this one.. anyway, enjoy!

Things weren’t the same. They’ll never be the same. That’s what Joel said, over and over. Saying anything he could in order to push you away, to try and build back the wall between you that you’d seamlessly picked away at.. brick by brick all them years ago.

His old age wasn’t his hinderance. His physical disability wasn’t his hindrance. Though, these were his painful claims, that he couldn’t bare to see your youth wasted on someone like him. A no good—worthless old cripple. That’s what he called himself..

“You’re wasting the best years of your life on me! There are plenty of healthy and capable men that could take care of you here! Just.. just go and find someone else!” He’d spat through gritted teeth, his insecurity gnawing at his insides after he saw a younger man offering your hand at the Christmas dance.

Joel Miller had sunken into the dark and ever falling abyss of self destruction and isolation, daring to say cruel things to you, to push you away.

He’ll never admit it’s the last thing he truly wanted, in fact he was terrified of the thought of you leaving.

One day he found out what you did.

“Tell me you’re not that stupid.” He insults, glaring at you from the recliner he’d come so attached to.

“I did. Tommy and Ellie and I, we fucking did it Joel. They’re dead, all of them, we made them suffer. I made her suffer before I buried her sorry ass for ever touching you!” The argument was bound to get heated, after all, they were talking about the girl that mutilated Joel and left him disabled.

“Do you realise what she could’ve done to you? Look at what she did to me!” He snarled. “Goddamn fools the lot of you!”

He didn’t want you to leave, to stop fighting for him. But he convinced himself he was worthless. He saw it; the looks people gave him, sympathy strewn on their faces. Sympathy he didn’t need. He was fine.

It was the irony of it all. He told himself he was fine, he didn’t need help, he could somehow maintain some semblance of control and independence. No matter the wheelchair, or the crutches. Yet, he would snarl and snap at you, unwilling to keep you close. He would angrily claim he was worthless, useless.

“I can do it!” He growls, shrugging off your hand from the metal crutches, his first time using them as a result of his amputated leg. Refusing any help, as he had done every single day for the past few months.

Perhaps at one point, you did grow tired of it. Of his inability to try. After months of trying and limited resources, you’d tried to teach Joel how to write again, how to play guitar, how to sculpt, how to fix.

“Baby come on, please! Just try again for me. Five more minutes then I promise we can stop.” You pleaded, and were met with a dismissive snarl.

“I ain’t no damn kid so stop treating me like one. I’m done with this!” The pen was sent flying, ink splattering all over his favourite journal, which you’d spent a few hours delicately cleaning to save the important book.

You were trying to get him to live. To have the independence he so desperately craved, but he was stubborn, always had been. He was his own worst enemy.

You were even kind enough to take the only spare time you had, to build him a wheelchair accessible ramp, it was weeks worth of labour, and trading a tonne of sentimental personal items to trade for the wood and nails. Yet, it remains unused, even now, as it rains and the snow coats the wood, they begin to rot and wither. All your hard work and dedication to your husband had gone completely unnoticed.

Yet, for some reason, you never quit on him.

“Stop scowlin at me like that and just try, would you?”

He grunted, his hand trembled, the majority of his soup fell off the spoon. With whatever strength he had, he tossed the spoon onto the floor, as it clattered along the wood, it sends soup flying all up the wall. The bowl soon clatters to the ground before you can catch it.

The bowl was heavy, and the sound of it on the hardwood floors sent your movements to a halt—frozen. Your ears ringing as if it were that forsaken shotgun again, tearing a hole through Joel’s leg, flesh and blood splattering against the carpet rug and the floor. Stumbling, you take a moment to yourself, rushing out of the living room and into the kitchen.

The noise over and over replaying in your mind, the golf club coming down on Joel’s head, sure you would witness the love of her life being brutally murdered in front of your eyes. What Joel didn’t know, as far as he assumed, that you had these triggers as a result of ptsd.

The ticking of the clock in the kitchen becomes unbearable and you find yourself back in the living room.

Waiting for you, is another mess of his you’d have to clean.

“It feels like you’re not even trying anymore Joel. It’s been months—why can’t you see I’m trying to help you!” You insist.

“I don’t need your help!” He growled bitterly.

“So you’re just going to sit in that stupid fucking chair till you die huh? Is that it?” Finally reaching the breaking point after your recent trigger, tears cascade down your red cheeks.

His scowl softened, into a look she hadn’t seen since the incident happened. He battles his ego and his stubbornness to finally reach a hand out to you, his shaking fingers just graze your own.

“Baby—you know I don’t mean it.” He murmurs hopelessly. “I’m—I’m sorry. I appreciate you tryin’.”

The atmosphere changes in the air, the winter suddenly doesn’t feel so harsh, and the breeze that slides through the crack in the window frame can’t be felt over the warmth of the heater that Joel nests by.

You kneels down onto the floor, taking his trembling hand. “I’m not giving up on you. When we took our marriage vows I fucking meant them. Just let me be here for you. It’s killing me that you’re trying to push us apart. Please.”

For some reason, your plea pierced his old heart with such reverence that he doesn’t argue, he relaxes his tense shoulders and murmurs, “okay.”

Finally, acceptance, peace. The white flag was being waved. Seventy two days of fighting was finally over.

“Shouldn’t be.. on your knees like that baby. You—you’ll get sick.” The worry in his voice had another kind of anxiety behind it.

One that you soon found the reasoning of.. his cock.. stiffer in his pants than you’d seen it in months. “Don’t tell me you’ve been suffering all this time.” You gasp in disbelief.

His aimless gaze and silence was enough to confirm the accusation. He’d been so sexually frustrated.. that he hadn’t been able to cum.

“This is why you’ve been so upset.” You murmurs. “Isn’t it?”

He answers with a simple and shameful nod, you press a kiss to his hand, ready to offer him a solution. “Can.. Can I help you?”

The question takes him off guard, his thick and greying eyebrows meet together in a low frown.

“Why would you want to touch me? I’m .. I’m a goddamn freak—“

“You shut up and let me decide what I see you as Joel Miller.” You scold. “I see someone strong, brave, handsome.”

He scoffs, but it doesn’t deter you. Instead it only motivates you more. Leaning up against the recliner, your chest on the left side meets the fabric, where his leg had to be amputated from the thigh downward, due to the inflicted shotgun wound.

“I see a man so incredibly capable, of living, thriving. Needing help doesn’t make you weak, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His trembling hands struggle to unclasp the stubborn button on his jeans. “Hey, just let me look after you baby. Relax.” You insist softly.

Making quick work of his button and zipper, your cool and small hands make his cock look enormous as it springs out of his jeans, rock hard. Has it always been this big? Perhaps the illusion of deprivation has her mind as desperate as her dripping cunt. Even your mouth begins to salivate, gulping as you come eye level with the small clear bead of precum.

Without warning, you lurch forward, pressing a small kiss to the red and aching tip, before swirling your tongue around the bulbous head.

“Ah, ah fuck baby,” he whines, sharply inhaling a breath, his good hand moves to grip the back of your head, begging for you to swallow him.

His desperate pleas only serve the purpose of rilling you up, with the gentle touch of his fingertips in your hair, desperately clutching at a fistful of your hair..

Opening your mouth wider to fit his enormous girth, halfway down and you’re already gagging. He whimpers, sounding the most vulnerable she’s heard since their last intimate encounter. Sneakily, you slide a hand down to your entrance, sliding your fingers inside to collect some of the slick before, sliding them upwards towards your enlarged and throbbing clit. whine is muffled by his cock.

You push on, feeling the mushroom tip sliding down your throat as you gag, covering his cock in your warm and sticky saliva. His untamed coarse public hairs tickle your nose.

The noises were absolutely despicable and lewd, the way you took the whole length of him, gagging at every descend, it was a sensation that had him trembling underneath you. His trembling hand attempts to clutch the arm of the recliner.

“Baby, baby stop.” He begged. “Not.. I’m not gonna last.” His breath quickens and as he tensed up, you take his length out of your mouth, but he quickly thrusts back into it, craving the warmth and the pleasure of the hole.

“Don’t stop, hmph please don’t stop.” He pleaded in a whine, Joel Miller, begging you.

You felt your stomach tightening, the pleasure of your fingers on your soaking clit, swirling at the perfect pace and Joel’s soft voice begging. You moan around his cock as your legs tremble underneath you.

Joel finally catches on and it’s the last straw for him before he throws his head back onto the recliner and grunts, the growl that leaves his lips is primal and comes from his throat. “Fuck—such a good girl.” He stutters and thrusts his hips upward, filling your mouth and throat with him, sending his ropes of warm cum straight down your throat, you drink, like it’s the last source of energy you’ll ever receive.

His hand unclenches from your hair as he feels himself shrinking inside of your mouth, encouraging you to look up at him, and you do. You’re met with Joel, looking at you with all the love and adoration and affection you deserve.

“Come here baby.” He murmurs, his thumb caresses your cheek as you look up at him. Climbing up onto his lap, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Could.. could you please pull the recliner back?” His voice escapes timidly. Here he was, asking for your help; finally.

With a swift movement, you pull on the latch on the side of the recliner and the bottom end swings upward, now you’re both laying, your hand reaches for a warm blanket on the nearby couch, and toss it over the two of you.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.” The world circle in her ears, and she runs her thumb over the large scar on his forehead that spans to his temple and eyebrow. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it.”

“I love you, Mrs Miller.” Is the last thing your happy heart hears before your eyes flutter, peace and pleasure lulling you into a dream.

[agoodroughandtumble]

None of Those Girls Are Me Part 2 - Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is completely oblivious to Zoro’s feelings Warnings: 18+, Language, might be smut or implied smut in further chapters 

You had remained next to him for the rest of the night – completely unaware as to how grateful he was that you had given up on your random flirtations. Unsurprisingly, the more you drank the more animated you became – increasingly excited about every topic of conversation, laughing without a care in the world and so, so oblivious to the way Zoro was looking at you. He was grateful for that too. He could let himself indulge, just a little, safe in the knowledge that any lingering looks that could give him away were far from your radar.

The bar lights reflected in your eyes, emphasising their own brightness lit up by your smile. Zoro couldn’t help but think that the stars themselves were dancing in those eyes, and only for him. This delusion was only exacerbated by the way your thighs were touching his and the ease at which you invaded his personal space, as if you already knew he had made room for you behind his walls months ago.

He was too busy allowing himself to relax against your hand on his forearm that your question threw him completely off guard.

“So what sort of girls do you like?” You were looking at him expectantly, as if he was supposed to respond with anything other than “You, obviously”.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I told you I’m not really into the one night stand thing.”

You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly. “I know. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking in general. Oh!” You wiggled your fingers, trying to think, “Who was that girl? Urgh,” fingers increased speed as you wracked your brain. “Toshiko? The marine, with the swords. You liked her.”

Zoro’s eyes studied your carefully. “Tashigi. She’s a pain in the arse.”

You smiled wryly at him. “Uh huh.”

He wasn’t quite sure where you were going with this, but was definitely sure he wasn’t going to like it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zoro watched as you chewed your lips, trying really, really hard not to think what those lips tasted like. Probably alcohol at this point, his probably did too. Which was more than find since he could blame said alcohol for his inability to stop staring.

“Well,” you shuffled almost impossibly closer, “Just in my experience if someone gets under your skin that much there’s a reason why.”

He let out an amused sigh and tried to force the upturned corner of his mouth back to neutrality. The irony of you saying that to him was surely the universe’s biggest “fuck you” yet.

You had noticed the change in his expression. “I knew it!”

Oh fuck. He prepared himself for the onslaught of questions, the feigned disbelief because obviously you had to be aware, and, lastly, he prepared himself for the “gentle” let down that while you liked him, it wasn’t in that way but you still wanted to be friends – for the sake of the crew, and all. He hadn’t prepared himself for the triumphant way you clapped your hands together, eyes lighting up almost too brightly.

“You do like her!”

The fuck.

He took a sip of his drink. A rather long sip. More of a downing if anything. Thankfully the bar was so busy that whenever one of you went to get a round you came back with multiples to save the constant queueing. So he kept drinking. It was almost as if his brain had short circuited. If he said he didn’t, you would just tease him about denying his feelings. But he couldn’t say he did because obviously that was a lie. You were clearly expecting some sort of reaction, and him just downing drinks wasn’t exactly giving off the impression that he Did Not Care. So, in a last act of desperation he did something completely out of character that he was surely going to regret, but he’d found himself digging such a hole the only way out was to blow the whole terrain up. He set his drink down and turned to face you, trying to show some semblance of indifference. “Say if I did like anyone, how do I…” he sighed. This was the worst idea but the only one that wasn’t screaming from the rooftops. “Do that.”

The smile on your face was almost maniacal. He would find it adorable if it didn’t instil him with fear. You were clearly not going to let this go. “Are you asking me for dating advice?” You laughed and his heart twinged. “The great Pirate Hunter Zoro is afraid of telling a girl he likes her?”

Obviously yes. But you didn’t have to spell it out. You could have afforded him that dignity at least. But his mouth spoke before his brain engaged and said the worst possible thing. “No, just tell me what girls like. What you would like.”

You smirked and picked up your drink offering a toast. “Oh, I’m going to get you so many girls.”