#but apparently not enough to do something worthy

[deadsetobsessions]

Okay I got some sleep- here’s pt. 2 of my nightmare:

——

They spoke to each other as they moved, the surroundings that had egregiously attacked the group of heroes earlier easily parted way for his sister.

‘How has everything been, habibi?’

They talked to each other in a language known only to them. The rest of the Justice League team, the members of this mission: Batman, Flash, Superman, and Zatanna did not understand the signs, a feat worthy of his sister.

‘Alright. They are not bad. I like it here.’ He told her, eyes not quite wary but fear of disappointing her running through his small frame apparent all the same. ‘I would… like to stay.’

She ruffled his hair once more, wistfulness growing in her heart. How her little brother had grown. It seemed like yesterday she held him as a babe, swaddled in even more opulent green and gold silks than her own clothing. Now, he stood in front of her, daring to express his own thoughts with a domino over his face and strength of free will in his eyes. ‘That is good. I am glad you are happy.’

Batman lurched forward to stop her from touching Damian, only to freeze as his son accepted the touch without a hint of resistance. Even Dick couldn’t get that reaction, not without some grumbling and scowling. Who was this…?

The rest of team agreed to wait and watch. Part of it was strategy. Most of it was the wonder of a such Bat-like Robin being so open with someone.

‘Have you been here before?’ Damian, relaxed as she all but gave him her blessing to stay with father, peered at the local fauna as it bowed away from her sister. She shrugged, his katana sheathed on her back. She was at ease with it as he was with her blade, the training they did to get there unwavering despite the time they spent apart.

‘Sometimes. The tower we’re headed to, I often go there to relieve stress by training with the monsters there. They like to… attack everything that moves.’

Something told Damian it was more of a one sided massacre on his sister’s part.

‘Why would the magician hide there?’

‘It would serve adequately as a natural barrier, should he have a safe space put there ahead of time.’ His sister tilted her head, masked face still in the way he knew meant that she was thinking. Her hands moved. ‘Perhaps it was Grorgiantue that attacked you. He often goes there to experiment with alchemy and demonic remains. He often wears a maroon headband.’

“That’s him.” Damian confirmed.

“Are you going to clue us into what you’re saying, you two?” The Flash zoomed around the pair, skidding to a stop in front of them. Damian’s sister simply stepped around him, slicing apart a thorn bush that attacked when it got startled by the Flash’s speed. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as Robin scowled at him and the unknown ally spared him one quick, neutral glance of displeasure.

“No. Do not ask again, you eavesdropper.” Damian curtly replied, surly Robin mask back up.

“Robin.” Father reprimanded. Damian acknowledged it, but did not offer an apology. His sister remained silent and watching.

She’s relying on him to navigate these allies, Damian realized. His shoulders went back at the show of trust. He does not acquiesce to Father’s silent command. Had it been Richard… perhaps.

“Ouch, but still, if your… friend knows what’s up ahead, it’s be good to let us know.”

“We do need to take care of this as fast as possible, Robin. And we’re not the best team against magic.” Superman hovered. He would have gone and scouted ahead, but magical planes always had nasty surprises that he found extremely hard to escape.

“Speak for yourself,” Zatanna joked. Regardless, she looked askance at Damian’s sister.

Damian scowled and opened his mouth. His sister placed a hand on his shoulder and Damian sighed, readying himself to act as a translator. He knew she could sign in practically every standard sign language there was, damn it. She’s lucky he loved her enough to be a translator when she’s unwilling to socialize.

——

“Your sword,” Damian tried to hand her sword back. Her little brother, for a genius, was an idiot. She huffed, pushing the sword back.

‘Keep it. How will you cut through a magical tower without a magical sword?’ She signed to him, emphasizing her amusement.

“What about you?”

‘I must report back. I am... a bit late. I’ll see you later, habibi.’ She tapped her hand four times. A reminder that she cared about him. Before she disappeared through a swirling portal of mist grey and acrid blue, she saw him repeat the sign.

Behind her mask, she smiled.

——

“Who was that, Robin?”

Robin stared up at Batman. Damian Wayne stared up at his father.

“She... protected me.”

Not quite an answer. But it was an olive branch, to tell him who she was to Damian himself, but not who she truly was in relations to Damian.

“That’s it?”

“That is all you’re getting.” He replied, hands tightening around the hilt of his sister’s sword. Her magic hummed beneath his fingertips, the feeling of indescribable violence softening to a sense of protectiveness the moment the sword felt his presence. Damian respected Father. He might even love him. But Damian loved his sister first, and he would not betray her trust.

A new file is added to the database. Nightwing gets an update. When a familiar masked face pops up, Dick Grayson sped out of Bludhaven to interrogate his littlest brother.

And so the wheels turned.

——

“Tell me, granddaughter, what it is you truly think of me.”

Despite the conversational tone, she knew it was an order. The scars on her back burned, a reminder of another rebellion and the cost of failure.

There were many, many ways she could answer. All of them unpleasant. Yet, she must be pleasant. He must hear how she’d been broken, or else he’d keep trying to break her.

She tilted her head down, so he would not glimpse the hatred brewing in her eyes.

“I respect you, grandfather.” Because she did respect his ability to bend her at his will, for all that she hated him. It took a special kind of scum to be so cruel to one own blood. “I wish to obey your every order.” Because if she didn’t, pain would follow. But that wish was a temporary one, only in effect until she managed to kill him and come out on top.

Ra’s laughed, a warm and rich sound. Hollow, because he loved none but himself and so only reserved warmth for his own flattery. It sounded like the sharpening of a blade and it felt like balancing on a precipice. On one side, an eternity of torture. On the other, the pain of those she loved. Damian... and maybe, just a little, Talia herself.

"Do you love me, granddaughter?" He crooned, mocking and cruel, in a way one might ask a jilted lover. The reincarnation held her breath and answered. She will not lie. She can not lie, not to him. He had gouged the order into her tongue with magic and brutality. And so, she will not lie.

"No, grandfather. But I do not dislike you." The reincarnation said, soft as velvet. It was true, because what she felt for Ra's al Ghul was the cold, pervasive hatred. "I respect you."

"I see I've managed to beat some of that foolish sentimentality out of you," he said, taking a sip of his wine. Oh, how she wished she could slip poison in his cup. How she wished to make him choke on his own words, his own blood. But she could not. Not. Yet. "Alas, I can not undo the magic. I suspect you'll be serving at my feet for... quite a long time more."

She snapped her mouth closed, phantom rage hovering between her teeth. The world swirled around her, greens and purples, and the revolting touch of his hands on her.

No, she will bide her time.

She knelt, the motion familiar, on plush carpet that she could not appreciate. Luxurious cloth rustled in front of her.

And when her time comes, she will revel in Ra's al Ghul's agonizing death.

——

"Damian, you have to tell me who that is!"

Damian could be stubborn at times, he knew that. He worked with him on it. Damian was as much, if not more, Dick's Robin as he was Bruce's Robin. So why...?

"And for what reason do you wish to know her identity, Richard?"

Dick paused. He couldn't. He couldn't tell him. No one knew, except for that masked person. It happened so long ago- not long enough- and Dick could not wash the taint, could not wash the trauma from his brain, his heart. Whispers that sounded like Catalina surrounded him when he thought of that rainy night, telling him how disgusted his family would be, if they knew. Those things went away, now that he's pulled up the file on the batcomputer. The whispers fade a bit as he looked upon the masked face of the person who saved him. Just in time.

"For your safety!"

Damian crossed his arms, a look that spoke of an unbending unwillingness present in his eyes. Dick knew then that Damian would not tell him. "I will never be in danger if it's her on the other side of the blade."

"Come on, Damian, I won't tell B. Promise. Don't you trust me?"

Damian's face softened, and for a second, Dick had thought that he'd managed it. "I do... trust you." Damian struggled to say. "That is hardly ever in question, you imbecile. But to tell you would mean betrayal. And I will not betray her trust. Especially not for your personal satisfaction."

Dick wondered what this masked woman did for Damian to be unhesitatingly confident in her. He wondered if his own desperation meant something he had yet been able to put into words.

"For what it's worth, Dick, I think we should trust Damian and not pry."

Dick and Damian turned to Tim in surprise. Damian, because it was an unexpected vote of confidence.

"Woah, I do not want to hear that from you, Mr. Tiny Tot Stalker McGee."

"It's called preparation!" Tim said hotly back. Then, he subsided. "She, uh, saved me once. Back then, before I was... associated with Bruce."

"What?" Dick and Damian demanded.

——

Innocuous. The worst and best things always happened on innocuous days.

The beginning of her slavery began on a regular, if painful, sunny day.

The beginning of her freedom began on a regular, if painful, cloudy one.

She'd have to thank the little photographer later, she decided. His work all but forced her grandfather to rely on a handful of backup Lazarus pools only he, mother, and herself knew about. She stared at the green pools as her grandfather stripped to his waist to step in.

"Guard me," he commanded her as he stepped towards the pool. The sting of the command settled familiarly around her neck. “Once I am done, you will depart to force Damian or the detective back to Nanda Parbat. By any means necessary.”

It was his first time ordering her to hurt her brothers, past physical pain disguised as training.

His first mistake today.

That's the thing with her grandfather, she mused as she silently unsheathed Damian's sword. He was so complacent, that he could fathom her betrayal.

His second mistake. His last mistake.

Then again, it was her who lulled him into it, with the shows of loyalty and seemingly willing obedience outside of her magical collar's commands.

After all, he had commanded her to guard him. From outside threats, surely, but he hadn't commanded her to guard him from herself.

"You-!" He coughed as her- Damian's- blade slid in between his ribs and straight towards the other side. It missed his heart by a hair's breadth, Ra's having moved the moment he felt the blade. Truly, it was hard to beat a near-immortal's experience.

"Kill yourself!" He barked at her, clutching at his chest, trying to stumble towards the pool.

To kill herself, she had to remove the blade lodged in his chest. The magic urged her to follow his commands immediately with searing pain. But she's had over two decades to endure and adjust to it, to grit her teeth and learn how to move with the torture of being alive. So she follows it just to dislodge the blade. The reincarnation then, with the magic trying to break her, cripples Ra’s with two blows.

He collapsed, screaming bloody murder and slurs at her. Before he could say another command, she stabbed down and to the side, cutting deep enough to cut his voice box and spill his life-blood, his unceasingly irritating throat, over the craggy rocks surrounding the pool.

Then, she slit her throat with a cut that was a touch too shallow to kill her right away.

"I do not dislike you," she said, the pain easing as she spoke to him. The red she's taken from others now spilled on the front of her shirt. She stared at his enraged glare, vicious glee at making him choke on his own actions. "No, I hate you."

She bent down, twisting and breaking his arms with little effort. She patted his cheeks and raked a trail of pain down his face with her metal tipped gloves. Her blood dripped onto him, blinding his eyes.

Fitting, she'd thought. "No one will come for you, grandfather. But... I do have to ask," She looked down, voice tilting in the cruel way that he'd unintentionally taught her. "Don't you love me, grandfather?"

She walked backwards until she reached the edge of the pool. She knelt once more, a mockery of every time she's knelt for him.

The reincarnation watched his blood spill, the light leave his eyes, and the way his body stilled and the way his rage was stifled like he'd smothered her voice so long ago. She memorized it, because hate was an active emotion. But she was tired, and she wanted to rest. So she watched him die and felt nothing but peace.

Then, as she felt the magic take hold and tear her soul from her body, she tipped backwards and plunged her corpse in the glowing pits that awaited her.

——

It felt like drowning.

(did y’all know cats lay on your chest?? bro i straight up couldn’t breath bc of that)

Breathless. Corrosive. Freeing.

The Pit felt like freedom.

And she’d long forgotten what that felt like.

It tasted like shit water though, and suddenly she felt bad for everyone whoever swallowed some of the water here. She’s going to need her stomach pumped out after this-

Her thoughts were washed away in a haze of green tinted fury.

——

“Habibi.”

Nightwing slid in front of Robin with a well practiced flip. Batman emerged from the shadows, followed Spoiler and Red Robin.

“Talia. What do you want?” Batman growled. Talia ignored him, an uncharacteristic action that had the vigilantes putting their guards up.

“I… you know I would not ask this of you- I would not ask you to return,” Talia said softly.

“Then don’t.” Red Robin cut in sharply, bo staff at the ready. Talia ignored him too.

“But she needs you, habibi. I can not… I can not help her.”

“Who?” Spoiler asked, curious but ready to rumble.

“What happened?” Robin stepped around Nightwing, who made an aborted movement to try to pull Robin back behind him.

“Something terrible.” Talia al Ghul closed her eyes, a sliver of vulnerability and regret showing on her face. Robin straightened, fear thudding through his heart. What happened to ukhti, he wanted to ask. But he could not, not without betraying the promise of silence he’d made to her. “I… I have failed her greatly. And she was paying the price for it, this entire time.”

“Wait, is this about the masked woman?” Nightwing asked.

“Alright,” Robin- no, Damian- stepped forward once more. His decision was made. Had been made, the moment his mother allowed the rare instance of vulnerability to come across her face. “I’ll be going back, once…”

“Of course. She would not let me keep you, habibi. She knows you are happier here.”

“Then, let’s go.”

“Robin!” His family tried to stop him but Damian slipped between and out of their reach. “Do not!”

“I’ll be back,” he declared, like he was daring his mother to say otherwise. “Try not to raze Gotham into the ground with your incompetence.”

“I’ll kill Ra’s if something happens to him.” Red Robin pointed the bo staff at Talia as she and Damian turned to leave. He stopped an alarmed Batman when he tried to lunge for Robin.

“No need,” she threw back. Damian whipped his head up at that. “He’s already dead.”

And they disappeared into a whirling purple cloud of magic.

——

Snippets of reality return to her bit, by bit. Her mother had cautiously entered the pit with her guards- worried, no doubt, by their absence- and stilled upon seeing her father’s dead body.

She laughed, and dug her hands into the bodies of the assassins she’d trained until her nails dripped with blood and pieces of organs. She felled them, one by one, until only mother was left.

She’d attacked, like a rabid dog, until the green slipped and her mother came into focus.

“I killed him,” she’d croaked out. And that was what broke her; the smooth way air wrapped her around her throat where only ripping pain had existed. Her voice came out unhindered and recklessly so, without the tinge of agony carefully picking her sentences.

“I killed him,” she repeated, and set Ra’s al Ghul’s body on fire. “I killed him.”

Her mother stared at her, hands dropping carefully to her side. “Why?”

She smiled, teeth bared and bloody- oh, she must have ripped into an assassin with her teeth, how messy- and endlessly joyful. “Because he dared to chain me- because he threatened Damian.”

She broke, and she told her mother everything. No, not everything. Just, enough. At the end, when her back is bowed with pain and heart empty, her mother knelt before her and quietly, tremblingly, apologized.

“I am sorry, habibi. I…”

The reincarnation’s made a small, wounded noise and lost herself to the green.

——

Damian trembled with rage. With grief.

With regret.

He followed mother into the caverns, mind turning and whirling with everything he’d learned in the hour that had passed since he’d left Gotham. His sister’s inclination towards magic was incredibly helpful, but Damian wished that she had never had the cause to go delving into magic like she did.

He thought it was passion.

His mother had informed him of what Grandfather had done to his ukht all these years. She told him of what his sister had sacrificed so that he remained free.

“Every time she spoke to us, to tell us that she loves us… father had made sure she paid for every word with unceasing agony.” His mother had muttered, eyes more lost than he’d ever seen it. “The magic at her neck ensured that she obeyed unquestioningly or she paid the price.”

“She is paying the price right now,” he’d snapped at her.

“Yes.”

Damian had thought ukhti’s collection of magical tomes were a sign of her interests. He thought it was passion for a subject. He had even envied how she did not have to hide her hobby like he had to with his art.

Now, he knew it wasn’t passion. No, it was desperation; a scrambling for freedom, a wish for dignity, and the fear of the same restrictions being placed on his ukht’s loved ones- him and mother.

When he entered the cave, lit up by swirling, sickly green, he saw his ukht, drenched in blood and sclera, tearing apart another group of assassins. There were ashes and the smell of burnt flesh around them.

Her eyes- green, glazed, furious- turned towards them.

His mother tensed. His ukht lunged, pitted sword aimed at his eyeball.

But if there was anything Damian knew, it was that ukhti would never hurt him.

So he stayed still.

And she stopped. Blade a centimeter from his eyes, his sister stopped.

“Damian?”

How his heart broke when she spoke, confusion in her voice that sounded as if she had been screaming for decades and nobody had heard.

As Damian’s hand wrapped around her wrist and she dropped the sword, he morbidly thought that she might have been doing that. It’s not like they heard her, after all, not until she’d freed herself with broken fingers and steel spine.

——

Bruce paced around in the cave. With the disappearance of their youngest, the entire family gathered in the cave, the night after. Except for Barbara, who had been scouring the cameras and had prior engagements, and Cass, who was on a plane back from Hong Kong, the family watched as Bruce slowly lost his mind.

“Relax, B. Look, even Dickface and Timbers aren’t worried, and you know how they get.” Jason said, kicking his feet up on the table.

“Ahem.”

Jason quickly put his feet down.

“We know nothing about this woman! She could be a danger- she could-!”

“B, if it really is about the masked woman, I think we should give Damian some trust.” Dick spoke up.

“And what if they keep Damian captive?”

“Then we go get him, Bruce. Simple.” Duke said, yawning.

Whatever Bruce would have said next was cut off by the opening of the cave’s underground entrance, with an approving beep of a recognized and authorized entrance.

Damian stalked in, hands wrapping around the hilt of his sword like he was going to cut through the next fool who tested him. His face was in a frown.

“Damian. Are you alright?” Bruce rushed towards his youngest, only to be dodged.

“I need to break something. Then, we shall talk.”

Damian headed towards the training dummies at let out his fury. He let out his heart break. Splinters of wood and cloth and ripped padding laid testament to his grief.

Then, the younger brother of the true heir to the Demon’s Head turned around to speak to his chosen family.

——

Clarity.

Her brother, her fool, dumb brother who had just stood there as she tried to gouge his eyes out, had been exactly what she needed.

She avoided his concerned eyes as she muttered calculations under her breath.

“Ukhti, what are you doing?”

“Freedom, habibi. I am… creating my freedom.”

At his confused look, she made the signs for Pit Rage. He nodded and guarded her back.

Damian was so adorable. And now, now that there’s not collar around her neck, she could say that without awaiting internal agony!

Her mouth spoke the words she’d found all those years ago, magic flaring bright white and blue as the circle she laid down on crumbling rocks shuddered.

The magic soothed her frayed mind and seeped the poison from her mind.

——

“I have a sister.” He’d told them. He turned to his father, who had a blank look on his face. “An older sister. She is yours.”

“You fucked Talia, twice?!”

A scowl. “Keep your trap shut, Todd.”

Bruce felt his world shudder to a stop.

——

Her fingers, her left hand as her right was busy scratching absently at Damian’s head, found purchase on her back and neck. The skin wasn’t so soft anymore, time and scars making for a rougher feel.

There were worse things than death. Bitter, painful things.

Loosing her freedom. Loosing her voice.

But… there were better things than life. Sweet, gentle things.

Regaining her freedom. Getting revenge. Securing her family’s safety and freedom from the grotesque thing that wore the skin of a grandfather.

Her brother, tucked safely against her side, and a mother that finally understood.

“Come to Gotham with me,” Damian had suggested. She hummed, delighting in the way the sound came out with out the ringing pain.

But one does not erase two plus decades worth of trauma in one night.

Her hands came up.

‘Not yet. Mother will think-”

“It is a good idea.”

Her gaze darted up. Her mother’s eyes… softened. Odd. No… her gaze was heavy with guilt.

“It would… do you good to be away from here, my daughter.”

Well.

It’s not like she was opposed to that, at all, but still…

‘Two weeks. I’ll tie up loose ends… and I’ll go to Gotham in two weeks, if that’s alright with you, Damian?’

“Of course.” He leaned against her, hand clutching at her shirt in a motion that she wasn’t sure was meant to comfort himself or her. “May I tell father about you?”

Ah. She hadn’t thought of that. The pit really scattered her mind. She nodded.

——

“Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

“She asked me not to.”

“And since when did you do things people ask of you, demon brat?”

Damian scowled. It did not make his next sentence any less genuine.

“Since it was ukhti that asked.”

Tim spun around on his wheel chair. “Holy shit. So the masked person was your sister. No wonder you were so….”

Protective, they all finished the rest of the sentence silently. They all sat back to contemplate that Bruce had one more kid… and that Tim had met her before Damian was even born.

“So, why were you so upset, baby bird?” Dick asked, an odd feeling of both gratefulness and mild jealousy towards Damian’s sister- his savior, because holy shit- gathering underneath his heart.

“Apparently, grandfather put her under an enslavement spell all these years.”

“Damian… say that again. I- I must have heard you wrong.”

Damian closed his eyes, hating how unsteady and fearful his father sounded. He obliged, because he knew what it felt like.

“Grandfather put her under an enslavement spell and used her to further the League’s reach.”

Damian had wondered why he had encountered his sister so often while passing by grandfather’s chambers and why she always looked tired when she goes past those ornate doors.

Now he knew.

“Does that- does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yes. She,” Damian’s hands gripped harshly on his forearms. He breathed in and out slowly. “She was… assaulted. Most likely regularly. To broker more favorable agreements. She could not refuse. The magic demanded complete obedience or risk the punishment of unbearable pain.”

Dick looked away. They had a lot in common. She saved him… but on her end, she was not saved. His hands itched to punch Ra’s al Ghul in the face.

“Fuck.” Stephanie cursed. Her eyes met Duke’s and Jason’s.

Tim’s hands stopped moving, eyes staring blankly at Damian. He should have tried harder to kill Ra’s al Ghul.

Bruce got up, trembling, and stalked over to the training dummy. They sat in silence.

“What else?” Bruce rasped. He hung his head.

“She was ordered not to speak a word.”

“But she… spoke to me.” Tim said. Damian felt an irrational flare of jealousy.

“Then it most likely caused her unimaginable pain as punishment.” Damian snapped.

“What do we have to do to free her?” Stephanie demanded.

“Nothing, Brown. She freed herself.”

“How?” Duke leaned in, expression serious. “Did Ra’s al Ghul free her before he died or something?”

“I… am not too sure of the details, but it involved killing him… and jumping into the pit.”

Jason stood up with a clatter. “She was in the pit?!

“Yes. I think… she might have died. I’m not… sure.”

Bruce closed his eyes, working on his breathing like Dinah had showed him.

“Is that why Talia came? Because you could stop her pit madness?”

“Yes. I- there-” Damian struggled to get the words out, the ball of upset sitting on his chest made it hard to breathe. “Ukhti would never hurt me. Unless it’s training, but even then, I am sure she fought against her orders to wound me.”

Dick nodded. Yeah. He would have too, if he were in her shoes.

“I… can ukhti come here to recover?”

“Of course. When?” It was at times like this when he appreciated his family’s sentimentality and ridiculously large hearts. Unhesitatingly kind, even when they should have been furious at him for keeping ukhti’s secrets.

“Two weeks.”

“Then we shall make adequate- no, better than adequate preparations. Master Damian, what were her preferences for food?”

——

She should probably prepare a gift. Multiple.

“Ukht.”

She tilted her head to show Damian she was listening.

“I am sorry.”

‘There’s nothing to be sorry for.’

“But-”

She squeezed his shoulder and forced the words to come out. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have noticed.”

‘I did not want you to notice. If I hid things from you, do you think you could find them so easily?’

“No, I suppose not.”

She smiled at him and tapped her hand four times. He tapped his own four times in response.

——

The dream ended there, well, no, there was actually some more nonsense about a corgi, a room full of strings and slenderman or whatever but I didn’t include that part. There’ll probably be a part three bc I kinda wanna know what happens when she comes to Gotham to recover from trauma.

The oc, relatively well adjusted: *dies*

The oc, reincarnated and got fucked over (figuratively and non consensually literally): “yes, I should go to Gotham (aka trauma central) to recover from my trauma. Sounds legit.”

[atlasnessie]

hii i saw ur requests were open and i decided to make one :3, how the bsd men would act when they are lovesick? Like not yandere and those twisted things, but they just feel like a teenager boy in highschool with their first love, nothing else than pure fluff =w=" i honestly dont care which characters you add, but id really like to see fyodor in there ;P.

Bonus points if the reader is just so gentle, kind and pure with everyone ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა!! You can ignore this request, take your time. I hope you have a good day and thanks for reading me :DD

GOD, IM SO LOVESICK. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME ?

osamu and chuuya slowly realizing that they’re in love with you.

an: FINALLY FINISHED THIS OMG anon im so sorry it took so long also i’m … still unsure of how to write fyodor ughh ikk embarrassing !! hope this is okay nonnie :((

OSAMU DAZAI never had the chance of falling in love. everything ended one sided, a side that would benefit him and him only. he’s lived long enough to know that he was not worthy of such a delicate feeling; everything he has and wishes to have will all disintegrate as soon as he has it. dazai was not willing to risk it. not now, not ever.

at least, that’s what he wants to believe.

dazai can’t shake off this feeling when being around with you. he stands by the roadside of the sidewalk when walking with you, voluntarily giving his coat when the weather gets chilly, and surprisingly have enough money to buy you some good coffee (and not put it on a tab). he doesn’t know why he’s doing this, it’s not like he’s into you, but his thoughts wander off to wanting to feel your hands on his, to know how his first name would sound from your lips instead of his surname. and once he realizes he’s in love, he’s gone.

lovesick isn’t something dazai had ever felt. romance and osamu dazai should never be in the same sentence, they don’t belong together.

“you’ve been avoiding my texts, my calls, and now ignoring my knocks on your door ?” you stand in front of the paint chipping door, a bento in one hand and a finger pointing at his chest with the other. dazai looked terrible, his eye bags more apparent and the stench of alcohol from inside could make a lightweight drunk at the smell.

“ah, whatever do you mean —”

“you know what i mean, dazai. i’ve gotten calls from kunikida telling me that you haven’t shown up to work for a week ! he can’t even enter your apartment and he calls you every morning to check that you’re okay.”

you pushed your way inside his apartment before he could speak. this wasn’t the first time you’ve been in here, and was definitely not your second. or third. or fourth, or fifth, or however amount of times you’ve been here. dazai can’t remember.

placing the bento down on the cheap wooden table, the color of the lunch box was the only bright thing in the whole house. dazai quickly closed the door, almost tripping on your shoes before speed walking behind you. if he’d known you’d come in, in which he probably did, he would’ve cleaned and tided up a little beforehand. your eyes darted around the room before unboxing the bento.

“sit down. i made you something to eat.” your voice was quiet, but a little higher than a whisper. the aroma of fresh, real food made dazai’s mouth water.

“at your command, then.” dazai responded back, pulling a creaky chair and sitting, his eyes shining dull as he heard the sound of wooden chopsticks break.

“here, you eat. i’ll clean.”

“awh, i was hoping you’d feed me.” chocolate brown eyes met with yours, faking tears to brim out of his eyes as he lazily held the chopsticks, holding it as if he had never seen them before. an excuse. this was an excuse. not for you to feed him, though, he’d most certainly love that, but for you to not clean up the mess he had made. the cluster of sake bottles and canned crab made his apartment look less pleasing to look at.

“eat. i’ll clean.” your voice was persistent as you pushed the bento closer to him. grumbling, dazai pick up an egg roll and inspected it. how stupid, he thought. a toothpick shaped as a cat stood idle in the middle of the roll, its dark void eyes staring at his. it looks a lot like you, naive and ever so …

shit. thoughts like this shouldn’t be running in his head. you’re just a co-worker, afterall. right ? though … dazai has to admit; the food that’s on the bento tastes better than anything ever, and the soft hum of your voice lulls his worries away.

to be loved is to be known, he thinks.

CHUUYA NAKAHARA has no time for feelings outside of the port mafia, but you’re an exception. the sun sets slowly on the horizon of yokohama, and the wind is just right for a nice breeze. the picnic cloth is laid on the ground as chuuya swirls his glass of wine, watching as you talk about your day. you weren’t anything special, hell, it was total coincidence that you two even met.

a civilian and an executive of the port mafia. what a story to tell. but you weren’t aware of chuuyas profession, no, why would he break the trust that built up and took so long to gain ? he wouldn’t dare, he couldn’t.

“and then, while i was walking home today, i bumped into some guy and he was all like, ‘double suicide’ this and ‘double suicide’ that. scared the hell out of me ..!” you laugh and take a sip of your own wine and out of the corner of your eyes, you can see chuuyas shoulders tense up.

“he didn’t … he didn’t have some weirdass bandages all over … did he ?” chuuya grumbled as he pressed the wine glass to his lips, hiding his irritation.

“oh, he did. it was really weird.”

fuck ..!! chuuya though, grinding his teeth together just at the thought of that disgusting man. his thoughts of killing dazai were interrupted as you point at the sky.

“look, isn’t it pretty ?” you sigh, placing your hands behind you and leaning back. the sky was painted a radiant orange, complemented by pink and yellow. chuuya blinks and stares into the horizon, the corner of his eyes shifting back to you subtly. his chest tightens and—

oh, how he’s smitten. maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the gentle rays of the sun, but his face feels hot and he leans closer to you, bringing up a hand and tucking in longer strands of hair behind your ear. you turn your head as chuuya stops midway, your hair falling out of his fingers. leaning back, chuuya coughs and plays it off, pouring himself another drink.

“sorry. looked like it was bothering you.” he mumbled, biting the rim of his glass before taking a sip, his gaze avoiding yours.

it’s the little things, but to him, he wants to do more than subtle hints of love. this is a start, at least.

[deluweil]

Here's the thing, I have nothing against Lou/Tommy, but the accessive enthusiasm of him returning and everyone already talking about him showing up for next season,

Which if any of you watched for the last 7 seasons, it is very possible because writers love to drag temps over to the next seasons because apparently breakups are for season beginners, mostly (except for taylor),

is very off-putting.

1. Because the dude literally just showed up and they haven't even had one worthy make out session to even call it a situationship.

2. Buck hurt Eddie physically to get into Tommy's mouth and pants, which ruined it for me from the start tbh and Tommy had nothing to do with it, he was just there.

3. Buck has made Maddie's day, his coming out party - that is a big NO in my book. Because one, dude you literally came out, what if you decide eventually that you don't want this or don't want this with this specific first-guy-ever anymore? And two SHE IS YOUR SISTER THE LEAST YOU CAN DO IS HAVE HER LEAVE ON HER HONEYMOON BEFORE YOU KILL YOUR PARENTS OF A HEART- ATTACK.

Even if they "seem accepting" to Buck’s face, this takes time to process, something better revealed in time and in private, once one is sure. Not thinking and talking about this the whole wedding!

And yes, I know, Buck is impulsive, but think for a second, would you want your baby brother to hijacke your wedding after so long of planning it? I know I would have killed him.

Would have told him in advance that if he's bringing his new boyfriend to my wedding, he better tell our parents first. Because this is my fucking day!

I love Buck, but his self-centered personality rubs me the wrong way this season.

Maybe because I wanted to see him growing the fuck up after 7 years and so many traumas and experiences and therapy that he went through, but nope, same old Buck, only instead of the dating the girl who gave him attention, he's seeing the guy who gave him attention.

It's annoying, it's off putting and frankly I am so mad at the writers and Tim for this because these characters deserved better.

And don't talk to me about representation because Shonda did the bi representation in Station 19 perfectly to the point that I was bummed that Travis and Eli didn't end up as endgame even though I loved Emmett with Travis.

Again somehow the 911 writers managed to taint for me what should have been and amazing experience, independent completely of buddie, but no they managed to not only mix Eddie and Buck with Tommy, the whole thing came at the expense of Eddie, physically and mentally, because not only did Buck not apologized to Eddie, Eddie also lost his new friend who now fawns over Buck.

So screw this storyline, I hate it and I hate how everyone is OK with everything that happened in the story, just because Buck is doing a dude(kissing really, there was no doing yet).

There's a lot of blocking in my future, most are just ppl who either came in now because of bi Buck or those who came from other disappointing fandoms and are just here for the rep not the actual story.

But some of us have been here since S1, we want the rep, but we want it to be complimenting, we want to fall in love with the character before it turns into a LI, we want the emotion, the connection, the obvious love building over several years.

Like Casey and Gabby and Severide and Stella, like Maya and Carina, like Travis and Emmett (even though I liked Eli better for him) like Sullivan and Natasha.

I want an emotional payout, give up the surprises, and the wrecked trucks and ships, just tell a good story!

And for the love of all that's holy, enough with the last-minute changes, those never turn out well in the long run. They literally started from scratch when they made the switch between Eddie and Buck.

Also in my opinion, Eddie had a LOT more chemistry with Lou/Tommy than Buck. It would have made so much more sense, in the catholic guilt and internal homophobia department, the nun and supposedly commitment issues was weak at best.

It could have been epic. 😩

And yes, Buck could have started the season single, no harm in that, maybe make him, I don't know, actually growing into something that he would like without someone else to pet his ego? Go back to therapy, work for the LT. exams, be interim captain, realize his worth and learn to love himself for him, not because someone else gave him attention and that made him preen, get him somewhere worthy. Even lessons with Tommy without involving Eddie in this would have been great.

Just something that shows character development, because up until now all I get is S2/S3 Buck and I've seen that movie before, I want my money back.

I realize this is harsh, and normally, I would stick to the light and fun and ignore the rest, but this had to be said out loud so I can go back to that.

That being said, as I said, I will watch Madney wedding purely for Madney. Anything else is just a bonus. I can't wait for that bachelor party and see wth happens to Chimney.

Happy Monday, my loves. ❤️

[gifti3]

Asmo seems like the kind of person who acts normal (as normal as an asmo can be) about mc having a breakout but dreads the idea of them seeing even a single blemish on his skin

This can be interrupted as haha goofy ahhh or i can turn this into a serious thing where asmo cant let ppl know hes less than perfect or he'll disintegrate

[aeide-thea]

the thing about 9/11 is that it got used post facto to justify all sorts of hideous jingoistic shit but also it was a genuine devastating human tragedy and i really pretty deeply resent people's deciding that the—absolutely gross, don't get me wrong—way it's been culturally positioned justifies their making jokes about the event itself.

[moon-trees]

I fucking hate landlords. Always have but now we are being forced to rent and god it makes me so fucking angry. Can't even find anywhere because they're all self entitled assholes. Tell me why we went to view a house and they tell us "oh yeah we're fine with pets it's no problem 🤪" make us wait like 4 days and then tell us that "actually NO we're gonna refuse you because you have dogs fuck you" AAAHHAHAHA I'M IN YOUR WALLS

[cosmictheo]

𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦

(gif credits to @peace--n--love)

— summary: ao'nung calls you the way neteyam usually calls you, which makes him feel jealous and insecure, but that finally pushes him to confess something he has been feeling for too long. — pairing: neteyam x female!na'vi!reader — word count: 2k —warnings: pure and comforting fluff, ao'nung being ao'nung (an idiot), love confessions, jealous!neteyam, neteyam being the purest and most beautiful angel.

* Neteyam is aged up, for obvious reasons, of course; he is 19 years old. * Sluyang means flower.

neteyam's playlist i made for inspo

writer's note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

You liked to observe the beauty that Eywa gave to Pandora, you were still surprised by how beautiful the forest and the places it could hide, even after having grown up there and having been all those years among its leafy trees, even so, the forest hid secret and beautiful places, worthy of being seen and found by only those chosen ones.

Your mother was sure that you had a special connection with Eywa, practically since the day you were born and opened your eyes for the first time, green as a pair of emeralds. She told you that you had come into the world for a purpose, that you were Eywa's chosen one, in fact, those were her last words to you before she passed away in your arms, haunted all her life by an illness from which she never got better. And since then, Jake and Neytiri had taken care of you, accepting you into their family as if you had always been one of them. You soon became close to their children, especially with Neteyam, as you were close in age.

And because of that special fascination you had for the forest and nature in general, Neteyam made a habit of always bringing you things from his many explorations and hunts, things that reminded him of you; flowers, leaves and even rocks, bright and beautiful, out of the ordinary, that stood out among everything else, just like you.

“You don't have to, 'Teyam.” You always said every time he came to you once again with a new gift. But he would simply shake his head, offering you a charming and gentle little smile, ever so kind, ears slightly bent and gaze so bright every time he met yours that it seemed to dazzle you, leaving you completely mesmerized.

With a coy smile you tried to avert your gaze from his, analyzing the object now in your hands. “Really, it's not necessary.”

“I like to do it.” He would simply reply, seeking your gaze with his big, captivating, coaxing eyes, as if it were something insignificant, something that didn't matter, something that wasn't like the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you. And you would do nothing but grin at him. You couldn't stop smiling, your cheeks felt almost numb, but you were happy, content, he made you happy. And you knew that this, in the long run, would bring serious consequences, not so good, you supposed.

And now, in the huge ocean, when you thought nothing would surprise you anymore, Eywa seemed to turn every assumption you had upside down. Jake had taken you with him and his family to the place where the Metkayina Clan lived, leaving the Omaticaya behind, leaving the shelter that the forest offered you, to now be surrounded by the ocean; salt water and sandy land.

They had been kind enough to accept you into their home and to show you their ways, noting the great difference from your own, but, apparently the younger members of the clan were not as friendly to strangers as the older ones.

Ao'nung had been rather harsh with you, especially Kiri, whom they had addressed as a freak, as they had nicknamed her, and from there, the problem grew larger, for you and Lo'ak had taken up against them in her defense.

“Look at her.” Ao'nung called out, following Kiri like prey, looking at her with big, disgusted eyes. “Is she a freak or something?”

“Don't call her that.” You stated in a not at all friendly tone, scowl and defiant eyes looking up at the chief's son, pointing at him with your index finger and thus causing him to move backwards. “You have no right to call her that, did you hear me? The Chief's son or not, I'll kick your ass.”

With a tilt of your head, you stated the threat, making him snort ungraciously, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“For such a pretty little girl, you sure have a big mouth.” His big eyes narrowed as he spoke, demonstrating a smug attitude as he heard a couple of snickers from his little friends at his words. “You are one of us, little flower. Why you waste your time hanging out with these aliens?”

“Hey!” Lo'ak exclaimed, appearing at your side, fists clenched and face angry. “Don't call her that, get away from her!”

“Please, leave us alone.” Kiri grumbled behind your back, hearing how now, you were the target of annoyance from the little group.

Your mouth hung open wide, totally offended now, feeling the fury shake your body from head to toe, your tail wagging angrily as you lunged at him at the same time you heard an 'oh uh' from Lo'ak.

But your movement was halted as you watched as a body larger than yours stepped between you and the bully, leaving you in view of nothing but a broad back you knew all too well and blocking Ao'nung's smug, sneering face from your view.

“That's enough.” Neteyam said in a stern tone, deep voice and tense body, always as diplomatic and calm as ever, braids moving under the command of the wind and his head, which rose slightly, giving him a more stern and much more menacing stance. “As long as we are here you will treat my family with respect and call no one by other than their names.”

His head moved so that he could look at the faces of the little group that had formed, friends of Ao'nung, as silly as he was, apparently, but who, in Neteyam's presence, seemed to have been brought back to reality and put back in their places. They were not so foolish after all, they knew that against him they would have no choice but to flee. Cowards.

“(Y/N) is just fine for you, got it?”

“Whatever.” Ao'nung replied, rolling his eyes and starting to walk, bumping his shoulder against Neteyam's as he walked past him, his eyes met yours for a couple of seconds and he offered you a smirk, making you grunt and by the time you could take a step towards him, a hand found itself on your forearm, stopping any act of violence you had planned to do.

“Cowards.” Kiri spat, rolling her eyes.

When you looked back, Neteyam was looking at you with eyes, dark, but now filled with concern, his fingers barely caressing your skin before he pulled away from your arm.

“Are you okay, syulang?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing heavily. “I'd be better if I'd beaten that skxawng—”

“Hey.” He interrupted you, noticing how your ears were still bent and your tail twitching behind your back and he laid both of his hands on your shoulders now, in an attempt to reassure you, giving you delicate petting strokes. “It's okay, it's all over now.” His gaze traveled to his siblings behind you, moving his head and face transforming to one of authority, chin up. His voice came through loud and clear, almost scolding. “Home, now. You've had a lot for today.”

Lo'ak lifted his hands, looking incredulous. “But they were bugging-”

Neteyam was quick to interrupt him. “Home. We will talk to father later.”

The younger boy let out a snarl and without further ado, began walking back to where his family was staying, followed closely by Kiri, who kept a glum face, arms crossed over her chest.

And now, all of Neteyam's attention landed on you, as it naturally did, as his body always seemed to do instinctively, even though he didn't even intend to, he always focused on you, as if you were the center of the universe, the sun of his world, the core of his heart, the magnet of his mind and the horizon of his eyes. He saw you. He had always seen you. And practically everyone in his family knew, perhaps everyone on the whole planet, except for you, of course.

Neteyam had expressly refused any offer or even, even idea from his parents to find him a Tsahik as his position as the future leader of the clan, it was his duty and it behoved him to follow to the letter the duty that rested on his shoulders as the future chief, but now, all that had been left behind with his leaving. Now all he cared about having was you. All that mattered was you.

With a beautiful sunset behind him, he began to speak to you once again, hands gently running over your shoulders and arms, becoming more attentive, affectionate, but still concerned. His brow furrowed slightly and you knew immediately that a scolding was coming now. “What were you thinking, hm? Fighting them all?”

He was always like that with you, especially when you were alone together. Neteyam never felt he was enough for his father, and he too never seemed to be satisfied of him, let alone see all that his son did for his family, for his siblings and for him, but with you, with you everything was different, he could be different, he could be himself and he knew that was enough for you, you made him feel enough, you made him feel special.

“If that's what I had to do for protecting Kiri, Lo'ak and their family's honor, of course.” You answered immediately and with your words, sounding so sure and affirmative, Neteyam felt his heart be flooded with a most familiar warmth, an emotion quite well-known to him whenever you were near him and said things such as those, always putting others before yourself, putting the welfare of his family before yourself.

A smile tugged at Neteyam's lips, admiring you with bright, big eyes, his hands trailing down your shoulders, sliding down your arms to your hands, taking them between his own tenderly, fingers toying with yours absentmindedly as he watched the clear size difference.

“He called you little flower.” Neteyam stated after a silence of a couple of seconds, twisting his head. His jaw was clenched and ears barely tilted back. “I call you that.”

You bit your lower lip, holding back the smile that threatened to curve your lips at his clear display of jealousy. He was upset about it and you had to reassure him. Your fingers caressed his wrist, tracing imaginary lines down his forearm. “I like it better when you do it.”

“I sure hope so.” He smiled again and tugged on your hand, inviting you to walk with him, both of your hands tangled between his arm, and he didn't waste a second in drawing you to him. “I want to show you something.”

. . .

Neteyam had found the spot walking along the local beach, it was a bit far from the place where his family was staying and it was far from the town in general, but that made it a perfect location. It was a small bay, surrounded by coastal vegetation, a couple of palm trees and soft silky sand, but what was really amazing, was the glows of bioluminescence under the clear ocean water, algae of all colors, small animals swimming, with the sunset light bathing exquisitely over the turquoise sea.

It was beautiful, of course. But your reaction at the sight of it was even better; mouth half-open, eyes huge and amazed, face in wonder.

“'Yam… it's beautiful.” You murmured in a soft, barely audible tone of voice, but he was right next to you, as close to you as possible, so he could hear you perfectly. His fingers were intertwined with yours and he pulled you with him across the sand to the perfect place to sit.

“Yes it is. I found it as I was passing by... I immediately thought of you.” His gaze lowered with a hint of embarrassment flashing across his pretty face. “I know how much you love nature, all the things our great mother has given us, so, I thought, you would like it.” He stated and then shrugged, attitude becoming quite braggy now. “I've seen more beautiful things, though.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing your shoulder against his in amusement as you wrapped your arms around your knees, admiring the scenery in front of you. “Don't lie now.”

“I'm serious.” He laughed, looking up at you, analyzing every expression on your pretty face. “I'm no liar, you know that.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning your head so you could look at him now. “Really, huh? So what have you seen? What possibly have you seen prettier than this?”

Neteyam smiled thinly, stirring his arm lightly, his hand passed down your back, resting on the sand, fingers fiddling with it. “Something prettier than this?”

“Hm.” You hummed, looking at him curiously.

His ears perked up, gaze dropping to his lap, steeling himself inside, trying his hardest to calm the nerves that were practically eating him alive. And then, he moved his eyes up your body, until he met yours. “I'm looking at it right now.”

Your breath hitched and your mouth parted, feeling your body freeze. Your arms fell to either side of your body, adjusting your position.

“Nete…” You whispered in a shaky voice.

“Yes, sluyang?” He tilted his head softly. “I'm being honest.” He swallowed saliva, his hand trailing up your arm, caressing your shoulder and tracing your jaw, down to rest on your cheek, fingers tracing every inch of skin he could, arranging your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “I've always seen you as the most beautiful thing…” His lips trembled, faltering for a few moments. “I see you, (Y/N).”

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his, nuzzling his nose against yours. “I see you too, Neteyam.”

He closed his eyes too, caressing your face with his. “When that idiot called you flower and treated you that way… like you were nothing.” His hands cradled your face now, and you rose up to face him, completely silent, breathing agitatedly. He was breathing in an agitated way too, looking frustrated, disturbed. “I was furious. They should respect you. Every one of them should know that you are mine and they should treat you as such, as my equal, as my mate.”

You opened your eyes to find his eyes already on you, your fingers stroking his arms subconsciously. Your lips brushed his as you opened your mouth to speak in an agitated voice. “I want to be yours, Neteyam.”

“I can't pretend anymore.” He declared between shaky breaths, gaze traveling between your eyes and mouth as he shook his head. “I don't care what anyone else says, I don't want anyone else. I have already chosen. I just want you, (Y/N)... I was made for you.”

“Then just take me.” You murmured against his lips before joining them with yours in a needy, agitated kiss that felt as if everything at last, made sense, as if life had been created just for this moment, as if you had been brought to life just this moment, for each other.

It felt as if all the constellations had aligned for you, as if you had all the stars just for you, and that was given just once, you knew. Everything made you feel as if Ewya had created you for each other. You were made for each other and perhaps the Great Mother had aligned the whole universe for it, for you.

“I am yours.” He promised. “I always have been.”

Your legs tangled between his as you landed on his lap, being drawn in by his arms chaining themselves around your body, massaging your waist, tattooing his touch on your skin.

“Forever.”

[glindyupland]

.

[steddietogo]

Eddie can’t sleep with all the snoring. He should’ve taken Steve’s guest room when he had the chance but Eddie apparently is an affectionate drunk. He didn’t protest when Steve and Robin lead him to Steve’s bedroom and the three had just collapsed onto the bed together.

Now Steve is snoring like a fucking chainsaw. How can he be expected to sleep in these conditions? Hey, at least Eddie’s found one thing he finds undesirable in Steve. It was beginning to be too much— the constant barrage of butterflies in his stomach whenever Steve did completely normal, swoon worthy things. But Steve snoring like a faulty boat motor? No butterflies. Problem solved.

But Eddie’s still mad that he can’t sleep. He flops around angrily to glare at Steve’s slumbering form and— the dude is on his back, wide awake and blinking up at the ceiling. Now Steve’s back to being stupid perfect and that just makes Eddie more mad.

“What the fuck,” he whisper-shouts in the dark. Steve, fucking glowing in the eerie blue-tinted light spilling in through the window, just turns to him and shrugs.

Eddie props himself up on his elbows and peers over him at Robin— who is twisted up in a blanket, dead to the world and making enough noise to scare away a wild demogorgan probably.

“Does this happen often?” He asks Steve.

“Only when she’s drunk, and you don’t need to whisper, no way you can wake her up now,”

“Oh,” Eddie flops back down on his stomach making a mournful noise. “Goodbye sleep, you will be missed,” Steve turns to Eddie, curling up onto his side until his face was so close to Eddie’s that their noses almost touch.

“I can think of other ways to pass time,” Steve practically purrs. Eddie barely hears him past the blood roaring in his ears.

“L-like what?” He tries and fails to keep his own voice steady. If Steve making eyes at him from a distance are dangerous then those eyes in this proximity are deadly. Eddie discreetly pinches himself to keep him from doing something stupid. Like closing the gap between their lips.

“Like—” Steve pulls himself up and, holyfuckingshit, plants a knee on either side of Eddie’s hips. Eddie doesn’t have an exact number for the times his dream had started exactly like this. Steve on his hands and knees, hovering over Eddie.

This is happening. Is this happening? With Robin right there beside them? Actually Eddie doesn’t care about that part but is it happening?

Then Steve moves again, gets off Eddie and slides off the bed like he didn’t nearly just send the man into cardiac arrest. “We could go watch a movie?” The fucker smirks at him like he knows exactly what he just did to Eddie. Get it together, Munson.

Eddie ends up following Steve downstairs like a love sick puppy anyways. Even lets him pick a cheesy musical to watch. When Eddie finally starts to drift off to slumberland, he feels a strong pair of arms pulling him into a warm chest. And the last thing Eddie thinks of before fully succumbing to sleep is that maybe he might have a chance with Steve after all.

[hedgehog-moss]

Various ways in which I have underestimated my chickens (callout post to myself):

cognitive abilities (memory): I dropped some pasta while making a salad earlier and Louise was nearby so I opened the door and invited her into the kitchen to come clean up. At first she just meandered round the room glaring suspiciously at furniture because she's unfamiliar with the inside of my house, then I helped her locate the pasta and she pounced, but before she could eat all of them Morille came zooming across the room with Pandolf zooming behind her, which freaked out the hen who noisily flew-ran out of the room. She stayed away long enough that when I called her inside again I expected her to have forgotten all about the pasta, and that I would have to show it to her again, but instead she went straight for it, resolutely, having clearly kept this important goal in a corner of her teeny tiny mind this whole time.

hunting abilities: before getting chickens I didn't realise they actually hunted? (sometimes.) I pictured their search for food as quiet foraging, busily scratching the dirt for worms, but a) hens are never quiet they're always chattering to each other so already that part was wrong; b) when they find a worthy prey they hunt it with the fierce determination of a mountain lion. I once saw Dru chasing a grasshopper across half the pasture, running at full chicken speed and sometimes boosting herself with her wings Mario kart-style while the grasshopper desperately hopped for its life, until eventually she pounced with her beak wide open and managed to catch it mid-jump. With an action movie soundtrack this scene would have been every bit as intense and gripping as a cheetah hunting a gazelle in a wildlife documentary.

social abilities (empathy): one time Cordélia had a little bit of grass stuck in her eye and she kept rubbing her head with her claw to try and dislodge it unsuccessfully, and then she seemingly asked Dru for help, placing her face very close to the other hen's face like "see that stupid twig?" and Dru removed it with her beak. Again that's not something I would have expected from a hen... they're very disloyal creatures, so it was fascinating to see. They would stab their grandma for a dusty rigatoni but leaving a friend with something stuck in her eye is apparently a level of antisocial even chickens won't cross.

social abilities pt.2 (romantic sensibility): sometimes when the night sky is clear and you can see the Milky Way, instead of tucking themselves in at sundown like they usually do, they'll fly to the roof of their coop and sit there for a little while to watch the stars together. Okay this one may be a tiny bit less scientific an observation than the others but I don't have an explanation for this behaviour; I've never noticed anything wrong with their coop on these particular nights, the door is open, they can go in—and the girls don't seem stressed at all, if anything they look like they're having a nice peaceful moment and I feel bad for bothering them.

[c-is-for-circinate]

It feels like there's this narrative that fandom keeps wanting to explore, with Steve Harrington, about this very specific type of martyrdom where self-sacrifice is an expression of a lack of self-worth. And, like, yes, write the narrative that's meaningful to you, and yes ok Steve does admittedly get beaten up a lot, but -- legitimately I do not think this narrative is actually Steve's story.

Like, without gendering things too much, there is something in the Steve fanon that I keep seeing that's so reflective of the specific kind of sacrifice and societal pressures exerted on girls, specifically -- this story of 'you make yourself worthy and worthwhile by carving pieces out of yourself', of believing that you must always give and never receive to justify the space you take up in the world. Yes, boys can experience this same pressure (and obviously trans and nb people of all genders run into it as well! sometimes a lot!), but especially in the mid-1980s cultural context where Stranger Things takes place, it's just...really not likely to be a dominant narrative for Steve to be operating under? It doesn't even really match the Steve we see on screen -- who is happy to make sacrifices for the sake of others, yeah, when needed, but who's not particularly kind or giving unless somebody asks first.

And Steve does get hurt a lot on other people's behalf! And this is a problem! It's just a completely different problem than the one fandom keeps writing.

Steve, and I'm going to say this forever, is a story about toxic masculinity, which the show may or may not even know it's writing. The archetypes influencing Steve's character as it shows up on the screen (and the stories and messages that Steve would actually be surrounded by in his actual life) are not deconstructions of suffering heroes who never should have had to fight in the first place and were destroyed by it. That's the Buffy the Vampire Slayer story. Steve's not Buffy. Steve's cultural context is Indiana Jones.

Steve is The Guy! And part of being The Guy is that you're expected to take the hits -- not because Steve is less important than the women-and-children he's supposed to protect, but because, the story says, he will get less hurt. Why should Steve get in between Billy and Lucas? Because Steve is an eighteen-year-old athlete and Lucas is in middle school, and of the two of them, Steve actually stands a chance. (And yes, Steve got badly hurt there, and Max had to save him -- but if Lucas, if Max had taken that beating they would not have been running through those tunnels later.) Was somebody else better-qualified to dive down to the uncertain bottom of a cold lake in the middle of the night? Steve doesn't list his credentials there as a way of justifying some ideal of martyrdom; he is literally the most likely person on the boat not to drown.

And make no mistake: when Steve's pulled into the Upside-Down, he survives the bats long enough for backup to get there. Realistic or not, he's apparently tough enough that he's physically capable of hiking barefoot through hell without much slowing down. Steve is the tank for the same reason as any tank: because he literally has been shown to have the most hit points in the group. You cannot honestly engage with Steve in this context without dealing with the fact that he's right.

AND THIS IS A PROBLEM! This is still a problem! But it's not the same problem that fandom seems to expect. It's not an expression of caretaking or the need for self-sacrifice; it's not an issue with Steve valuing himself less. It's an issue of toxic masculinity so ingrained that Steve doesn't even recognize he's suffering from it, because one of the tenets of toxic masculinity is that Big Strong Guys don't suffer. It's just a concussion, it's fine, he'll walk it off. It's not that Steve thinks he deserves to get hurt, or even that he's less deserving of safety than the others. It's that absolutely nothing in his cultural context allows him to admit that he can be hurt in a significant way.

There's still so much tension that can be gotten out of this situation, I swear. There's so much that can be explored in writing! Hell, the show itself is deconstructing some of this trope, believe it or not, by giving us a Steve who absolutely can take all the hits thrown his direction but still doesn't know what the fuck he's doing with his life. It turns out that doing his job as The Guy is only mildly helpful in horror movie situations (mostly by buying time for smarter, squishier people to do the damage from behind him), and somewhere a little worse than useless in everyday life.

But Steve does not go out of his way to self-sacrifice, he really doesn't. He just does his job. He's The Guy. Of course he's not going to let a kid or a girl or some scared skinny nerd who just learned about monsters yesterday take the hits. Of course Steve's got this.

[jeannineee]

Closure (Ⅲ)

Azriel x Reader

a/n: part three!! Comment if you’d like to be added to part four :) quickly proofread, sorry for any errors

Requests are open for headcanons/short blurbs

ALSO IM A BIT NERVOUS ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT THIS PART IS GOOD SO YALL LMK PLS

Part 1

Part 2

PART FOUR

warnings: angst, allusions to sex (18+ please)

“What are you and Azriel doing?”

Mor’s question drew your attention from the book in your hands. You sat up on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest.

“I don’t know.”

That was the truth. You had no idea. It had been a few days since that evening with Azriel in the Hewn City. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t spoken to you since.

Mor sighed, taking a seat on the couch beside you. “I thought you said you ended things with him.”

“I—I did. But…” you trailed off, fidgeting with the spine of your book. “…I can’t stay away from him.”

“Because he’s your mate.” Mor said. A statement, not a question.

Shock was written all over your face. “How did you know that?”

“Anyone with a brain can see it. Except for Azriel, apparently.”

You looked away, finding sudden interest in Feyre’s family painting on the wall. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why?” Mor’s voice was soft, understanding.

“Because he is only interested in Elain.”

Mor went silent for several moments. “I think Azriel feels he isn’t worthy of you.”

“That’s nonsense.”

Mor snorted, twirling her golden hair around her forefinger. “Trust me, I know. But as long as I’ve known him, Azriel has always thought himself to be a bastard-born nobody, undeserving of anything good.”

Something in your soul ached at that. You knew Azriel had issues with his self-esteem, but you didn’t realize just how much it affected him.

At your silence, Mor continued, “Despite his inferiority complex, his behavior is uncalled for. He shouldn’t be stringing you along while entertaining Elain.”

“I know.”

“And you need to grow a backbone.”

You glared. “I have a backbone.”

“Not with Azriel, you don’t.”

You couldn’t argue with that, as much as you hated to admit it. Perhaps it was the bond, that made you so weak to his advances. Perhaps it was your own naïveté.

“Do you…” You swallowed thickly, the question catching in your throat. “Do you think he knows about the bond?”

“I’m not sure.”

~~~~~~~~

Later in the day, you retired to your bedroom, after spending a few hours training with Nesta and Cassian. You loosed a sigh of relief and contentment as you settled into a warm bath, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus wafting through the air.

Normally, a bath would be enough to relax you, and calm your thoughts. But Azriel weighed heavily on your mind. As did your conversation with Mor.

Half an hour passed by, filled with overthinking. Scowling, you rose from the bathtub, wrapping a towel around your form, and headed into your bedroom.

Before you could enter your closet, a knock sounded on your door. You didn’t need to hear his voice to know who it was.

“Y/n.” Azriel called from the hall. “Can I come in?”

You replaced the towel with a silk robe, and sat on the edge of your bed. “Come in.”

Azriel silently entered your room, his shadows much more active than normal. The shadows only behaved that way when he spent time with Elain—they disappeared in her presence.

Yet the shadows reveled in yours.

If the shadows weren’t hint enough as to where Azriel had been earlier in the day, Elain’s flowery scent ensnared your senses. You swallowed down bile.

The Shadowsinger cleared his throat, leaning back against the dresser that stood against the wall, a few feet away from you.

“Did you need something?” You asked him.

Azriel chuckled. “Do I need an excuse to see you?”

You fidgeted with your hands. “I have things to do, so…”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Azriel replied, taking a step forward. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the tanned, muscular chest beneath, and the black, swirling tattoos that marked his skin. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“How kind.” You didn’t bother hiding the annoyance you felt.

“Did I do something wrong?”

You snorted. “Why are you so hot and cold with me? One moment, you’re trying to get me into your bed, and the next, you’re ignoring me for weeks at a time. Why?”

“I have other responsibilities to attend to outside of our friendship.”

You knew those ‘responsibilities’ likely included time spent with Elain. But you didn’t voice that.

Azriel continued, “You know, you can come to me, too. It doesn’t always have to be me who initiates conversation.”

“You’re never around. You don’t tell me where you are, what you’re doing.”

“As I said, I have responsibilities,” Azriel said, before sitting on the bed beside you.

“That’s a piss-poor excuse,” you muttered, not daring to look him in the eye, despite the bond urging you to do so.

Azriel scoffed. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

At that, you whipped your head towards him. “I want my friend back. I want…” You stopped yourself before the next words could leave you.

You wanted him. Wanted—needed more than friendship. You needed your mate. But instead, you repeated, “I want my friend back.”

“You have me,” Azriel said, reaching a hand to cup your face.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he swiped his thumb over your cheekbone. Damn him.

Part of you wanted to protest—to push him away. But each time he touched you, it felt as though every broken piece of you was being put back into place.

“You have me,” Azriel murmured again, brushing his lips against your forehead. He placed a soft kiss to each of your cheeks before his lips melded to your own.

Elain’s flowery scent filled your nose once again, yanking you back into reality. You abruptly broke away from the kiss, rising to your feet.

“Y-You should leave,” you sputtered out, furiously readjusting your hair, your robe.

“Do you not want to…?” Azriel let the question hang as he too, stood from your bed.

“Are you serious?” You spat the question. The casualness in his words, his actions sent you into a white-hot, blind rage. “Not when I can smell Elain all over you.”

Azriel stiffened, but didn’t respond.

You laughed, but the sound was devoid of any humor. “I don’t know what I was even thinking.”

The bond. It had to be the bond, making you forget yourself with him. He still smelled like Elain, for fuck’s sake. For that alone, you would’ve sent lesser males running.

“It always comes back to Elain,” Azriel said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Shouldn’t it? How can you—do you even understand what you’re doing to me?”

Azriel looked taken aback. He opened and closed his mouth, coming short of a reply.

You debated simply kicking Azriel out of your room, and leaving it at that. But all the emotions of the last several weeks came bubbling to the surface, threatening to spill over. So you let the words fly out, consequences he damned.

“You are hurting me, Azriel. You—each time you come to me, only to turn around and go to Elain? That fucking hurts. It’s confusing, and I don’t deserve it.”

You loosed a breath, continuing, “I don’t know what you do with her. I don’t know what you feel for her. I don’t care anymore. Just leave me out of it, because it’s hurting me.”

You braced yourself. Braced yourself for a screaming match; an argument. Part of you thought that maybe he’d even laugh at you.

Instead, Azriel merely walked out of your room in silence.

That was far worse.

~~~~~~~~

“What’s got Azriel so pissed off?” Cassian asked you from where he stood on the balcony, nursing a mug of coffee.

“Y/n put him in his place last night,” Nesta interjected, her voice lined with amusement. “Poor Illyrian baby couldn’t take it.”

Cassian grinned. “Rhysie will have a field day when he hears about this.”

You rolled your eyes, staring down at the glass of water in your hands. “Yes, laugh at my turmoil,” you muttered sarcastically.

Nesta and Cassian shared a laugh at that, before the former patted your back comfortingly. “Don’t worry. We’ll go to Rita’s tonight and make you forget all about it.”

~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, Nesta’s idea of “making you forget all about it” included her running off with Cassian into the bathroom after an entire thirty minutes at Rita’s, leaving you alone at your booth, stone-cold sober and mildly annoyed.

After another ten minutes of sitting alone like an outcast, you were prepared to call it quits.

That was, until Eris Vanserra slid into the seat across from you, two mixed drinks in hand.

“Y/n,” he greeted with a smirk, sliding you one of the drinks. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” you muttered as you took a large swig from your glass.

Eris chuckled, amusement lining his expression. “Always the charmer. How’ve you been?”

“I’m fine. What are you doing in Velaris?”

“Tsk. Not even going to ask how I’m doing?”

You stared.

Eris sighed dramatically, though you noticed his lips twitching up in a smile. “Alright. I’m here for a few days. Just visiting.”

“I highly doubt you’re ‘just visiting.’”

“Believe what you want.” Eris mused, leaning forward, resting his chin on his hands. He studied you for a moment, before adding, “You seemed a bit lonely. No males around to warm your bed?”

You took another gulp of your drink. “My bed is of no concern to you.”

Eris grinned, undeterred by your disinterest. “Come on. Loosen up. Play with me.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol kicking in a bit sooner than normal. Or perhaps it was your determination to get Azriel off of your mind. You didn’t particularly care to find out as you replied, “What do I get if I do?”

Eris’s grin became feline. “Whatever you want.”

~~~~~~~~

The first thing that greeted you when you awoke the next morning was a pounding headache. You were never drinking again.

Your grogginess quickly eddied into panic as you realized Eris was sleeping beside you. If you pulled away the blanket that covered the lower half of his form, you were almost certain he’d be—

“It’s not polite to stare,” Eris murmured tiredly, his abs rippling as he sat up in bed, the blanket that previously covered his form sliding away.

You quickly averted your gaze, and rose from the bed, throwing on the nearest piece of clothing.

“My shirt looks lovely on you,” Eris mused, still lounging on your bed as though he owned it.

Your cheeks flushed. You cleared you throat, attempting to find any amount of dignity within yourself as you said, “You should probably leave.”

Eris chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t overstay my welcome.” He stood from the bed, and dressed himself. You prepared to return his shirt, but he halted you. “It looks better on you. Keep it.”

You cursed yourself as your cheeks flushed an even deeper color.

“I have to return home this afternoon,” Eris explained as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if you ever want a repeat of last night…”

You gave him a pointed look. “Eris, as much as I enjoyed—“

“Oh, I know you enjoyed it. Multiple times. You were quite vocal in showing it.”

“As much as I enjoyed it,” you began again with slight annoyance, “I think it best that we don’t do this again.”

Eris shrugged, unfazed. “That’s fine. You were a lot of fun,” he replied as he prepared to leave your room. “For what it’s worth, though, you are…nice to be around.”

You supposed that was the closest you were getting to a compliment from him.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Eris left before you could.

~~~~~~~~

The coffee you drank was a welcome remedy for your headache. Tiredness still gnawed at you from where you sat at the dining table, allowing your thoughts to wander.

You didn’t particularly regret last night. Eris was…fun. A distraction, even. Perhaps you’d take him up on his offer, in the future.

“Next time you bring a male over, at least have the decency to sneak him out,” Azriel said from behind you, his face frozen with rage.

You laughed. Laughed, to your own surprise. “I dealt with centuries of you, Mor, and Cassian bringing people home. Cope.”

The finality in your tone seemed to piss Azriel off even more. “You even smell like him, for Cauldron’s sake.”

It was then that you realized you still wore Eris’s shirt. Again, you didn’t particularly care. “Good,” you spat out as you stood from your chair. “Maybe now you’ll know how I feel when you smell like Elain.”

“Did you fuck him?”

You weren’t sure why he asked. He already knew the answer.

“What does it matter?”

“Did you?”

“Did you fuck Elain?”

Azriel went silent.

“Allow me to make one thing clear, Azriel,” you started, taking a step closer to him. “I am not yours. You are not mine. What I do, with anyone, is none of your business. Just as what you do, is no concern of mine.”

You ignored the way the bond hammered against your chest in protest. The way you could feel his hurt surging through you like a tidal wave. Good. Let him feel what you’ve felt for months, now.

Azriel didn’t respond. Typical.

You started to leave, but Azriel’s next words had your breath catching short in your lungs.

“I know about the bond.”

You weren’t breathing. It felt as though the floor had been swept out from under you.

You turned back around, facing him. “What?”

“I’ve known for almost a year.”

A year. He’s known longer than you have.

You couldn’t bring yourself to form a proper response—you could hardly think over the roaring in your head.“Then why would you—Elain—what?”

Azriel took a step forward, to which you immediately stepped back.

Azriel began, “There is no excuse—“

“You’re right,” you sneered, “there is no excuse.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Save it.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed. He reached out a hand, as if to caress your face. “Y/n—“

“Do not presume to touch me. Ever again.”

You hurried out of the dining room before you could further register the anguish on Azriel’s face.

The bond made you feel it all, anyway.

~~~~~~~~

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[crystalflygeo]

Heat haze ft Morax + fem!bunny adeptus!reader

cw/tags: heat/mating cycles, marathon sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, sex toy, improper use of geo (lmao), Morax has a dragon penis, pet names, fucked stupid, reader calls Morax "My Lord" and Morax calls her "my child", power play??

notes: Pure self-indulgent filth <3 I love the concept of heats in general and though on applying that to adepti, then I remembered it's bunny year so why not... apparently there is a bunny in chinese mythology called the "Jade Rabbit" who serves the Moon Goddess soooo. Anyway. Breeding kink goes brrrrrr.

“M-my lord... I’m sorry I’m ah-” You gulp and try to breathe through your mouth, fingers clenching and unclenching trying to regain some semblance of stability. “I’m not feeling very… well”

Shameful. Lord Morax came to see you, probably talk about important matters regarding this year’s crops and yet-

“Is this your first heat alone?”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn, on instinct you look up panicked as your long ears stiffen in shock but just as quickly you avert your gaze, unable to look at him in the face at the revelation, and to avoid staring at his regal visage, fearful of your own reactions if you were to do so.

Oh he knows. He knows. Of course he knows. As much as you tried to suppress it your scent is probably dripping with want, especially when your thoughts were spiraling out of control mere minutes ago. Being an adeptus in heat is hard enough, but as a Jade Rabbit… it was especially hard on you.

You blink heavily, dumbly, your brain can’t keep up with all the emotions right now. You feel lightheaded but still manage to force out an answer. “N-No… no, I’m… used to it.”

Morax tilts his head and the light catches on his majestic antlers making them glow, and you find it impossible not to look “Of course.” He nods, still keeping immaculate composure. “But haven’t you found a mate yet?”

A mate. Your rabbit ears droop. Ever since you vowed to serve Lord Morax you never had time for such things, with the on-going war and protecting the humans, even as a non-combatant adeptus your duties were many. Agricultural care and development, medical support, logistics… you never had it in you to find a mate. You were devoted to your contract, and, to Lord Morax himself.

“I’m… I haven’t found the r-right one yet…” You mumble, hugging yourself and rubbing at your arm nervously in an attempt to mimic something.

“Oh my child, I’m sorry.” Morax approaches you and tentatively cups your cheek, fingers barely caressing your jaw, the touch is fleeting yet electric.

His hand is warm.

You unconsciously lean into the touch.

And he smells so good, so good.

“I could assist you, if you would allow it.”

You immediately flinch back at the words.

“W-what?!”

Morax simply blinks at you and crosses his arms, putting some distance between you two again. “I apologize if my advances are unwelcome.”

“No my lord it’s n-not that.” You can’t help but stare at his strong biceps, blackened skin accented by fine gold linings…

You try to control your breathing and think! Rationally!!

But still, you’re curious. What would it be like? To feel your God’s scent, your God’s touch, your God’s co-

You quickly shake your head. No, no! That’s indecent, scandalous! You’re not worthy, that’s…

“It’s okay, my child.”

The warm touch is back, hands placed at your shoulders, grounding you, stabilizing you. A shiver runs down your spine yet it doesn’t freeze you on the spot, rather it feels…

Tender.

You stare up at him and this time hold your gaze. He’s handsome and his eyes are the purest brightest molten gold you've ever seen, the bright diamond pupils mesmerizing.

You whine and rub your thighs together on instinct.

“My Lord… p-please…”

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

“Ha-aahh… f-faster, please my Lord please- Ah-! Faster!”

You’re reduced to a babbling, moaning, drooling mess as you lay on golden silk sheets. Head down ass up, your arms have long since given up supporting you and your thighs tremble as Morax rams into your dripping wet pussy over and over and over again.

He lets out a low chuckle “So tight…” He whispers, voice deep and raspy with sex haze, the scent of your heat spurring him on and causing his own illuminated beast features to manifest, such as his powerful tail undulating behind him. “You’re practically dripping all over the place, and yet you take me so well…” his breath stutters with another snap of his hips and all you can do is moan loudly, mind foggy with need.

“Oh…” You gasp. “Oh.”

Without pause, he’s slamming into you repeatedly, pulling you down on his perfect thick cock and fucking fast methodical thrusts into you wet hole, aiming for a certain spot that has you seeing stars once he finds it.

“Ah! Ah… Ah!” Your voice barely registers through your own lust-hazed mind. Tears prickling at the corner of your eyes from the rapid buildup in your lower abdomen. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve already came, your juices coating your inner thighs and soiling the precious silken sheets. Not that he seems to mind. “O-Oh… Ohhhh. My Lord… M-Morax…”

You’re pretty sure your God has ruined you for anyone else. No mortal or immortal would ever be able to compare to his divine cock, deliciously thick and filling, the dragon shaft lined with small ridges that rub just right against your insides and so utterly big you swear you can feel a slight bump on your navel every time he bottoms out.

You keen and whine when his strong clawed hands pull at your hips. Seems like your legs are also giving up on you so he holds you in place instead. And you love it. His musky scent. His smooth deep voice. His unfaltering stamina.

The Prime of the Adepti. A strong and virile dragon.

And he chose to mate you.

Suddenly you feel him drape over your back, his larger frame practically caging you, pressing against you until his chest meets your sweaty back and you feel his ragged breath against your neck, scenting you and your heat pheromones before sharp fangs graze your tender skin.

You moan and your pussy clamps down on him. You are so close….

“You feel amazing.” He growls. “So good... s-so good for me.”

You buck your hips up to him, clumsily meeting his thrusts as your small fluffy tail twitches. “Nnngh!”

You feel him bite at your shoulder and the sharp jolt of pain is enough to send you spiraling into another climax, moaning high-pitched and gripping him tighter inside you even as he fucked into your slick warmth. Despite the orgasm he shows no signs of slowing down, so neither do you, as the unbearable heat continues to burn inside you, an itch you can’t quite scratch. His hands reach out for your skin, caressing your soft breasts and marveling at how beautifully they fit into his hands. He rubs circles into one of your nipples before pinching it lightly and is rewarded with another high keen and a spasm around his cock.

“P-Please… please… I need it. Please-” You pant, voice laced with desperation, your nails digging into the bedsheets.

“What do you want?” Morax asks, nosing at your neck and lapping at the reddened bite mark he branded into your skin. “Tell me what you need, little one.”

“Breed me!” You choke out “F-Fill me up Lord Morax, I need you to… fuck m-me full, pleasepleaseplease-”

And how could he deny such a sweet plea? Morax redoubles his efforts, panting with exertion and pushing harder, faster, deeper. Shrill little gasps escaping you as your mind goes blank from the pleasure.

“Hah- I’ll breed you properly… mhh… fill you up.” He pants, his pace getting sloppier, his tail trashing wildly, you feel him twitch inside you. “You’re all mine. Mine to take… to fuck, to own, to breed-”

Morax’s breath hitches and he lets out a choked groan, spilling his load inside you in thick creamy spurts as you keen and squirm under him, too fucked stupid for words. You coo happily as the heat under your skin finally abates and you feel full, so full of his seed.

His grip loosens as his hips gradually slow down, head hung low as he catches his breath, his cock occasionally twitching inside you until it eventually softens. He gently pulls out admiring the way your pussy clenches on him, the way your legs shake, weakly trying to lock him there, keep him inside you. The drag and pull of his thick cockhead over your sensitive insides making you keen and whimper from its abuse until your pliant body falls onto the sheets, whining pitifully when you feel his slick seed dribble out of your swollen pussy. You try to close your legs and weakly paw at your core.

No, no, no… it’s supposed to stay inside. Lord Morax’s precious cum-

You squeak as you feel something smooth and solid press against your pussy lips.

“Shhh my dear, shhh.” He coos at you, deep voice soothing your frazzled nerves. “This is just a little something to keep it in, to keep you full.” He pushes gently, working what you now realize was a cor lapis plug into your body. You made another whimpering noise as your lips parted for the toy he’d created for you. Red, puffy pussy folds spread open as they did for his cock, taking the tip before he worked the rest until it finally sunk in, lewdly resting against your opening, a glittering orange gemstone keeping you full. “There, nice and snug, do you like it?”

Your only answer is a little chirp, your eyes half-lidded as your body relaxes.  

“Such a good little bunny. You were so good to me my child, so good.” You smile drowsily at the praise, cooing at him as his hand pets your hair and scratches your fuzzy ear. He kisses at your shoulder and starts softly massaging your aching limbs “You were beautiful. You did so well, you took me so perfectly…”

You lean into his touch, curling up to his body, both of you still damp with sweat and other fluids. Resting for now until another wave of neediness hits you.

You both knew your heat would last at least other 4 days…

You idly wonder if by the end of the week you would be honored with carrying his offspring.

[silversodas]

Interesting Alastor Insights

I think I may have figured out what was up Alastor’s ass in Dead Beat Dad. On one hand it may be a deeper issue that I am missing some context for, but I actually think it’s a little simpler then we think.

Even before Lucifer arrived, Alastor was clearly not happy about him coming over, and yes Alastor was 100% full of shit in the dad off song, BUT! Something note worthy is that he was not only being possessive of the Hotel (claiming to be its host and even greeting Lucifer as the master of the house does) but is also weirdly possessive of Charlie

And right down to the “fuck you” to Lucifer’s face it was projecting “get your feet off of my damn coffee table and get outta my house” energy. At first I was wondering what crawled up Alastor’s ass and died, and then Hell’s greatest Dad starts playing and..

“Who’s been faithful as a Nun? Who’s been here since day one?”

And it dawned on me and I was like “Alastor, why are you acting like your being replaced?” And Charlie is just as confused at Alastor’s behavior, like this came out of nowhere. Apparently Alastor was determined to show Lucifer who the Genie of this bottle is. But I didn’t believe it at first, I was like “nah it has to be something else” but then Mimzy gave some VARY interesting insight

When Mimzy first arrived, Alastor has a look that says (oh this is all I need right now) but he still seems happy to see her

Like holy shit, he happily reciprocates the hug, but that’s not to surprising if you know who Mimzy is if you have been fallowing Viv for a while

When she mentioned that he frequented the club (speakeasy)that she preformed in I was like “oh! They are drinking buddies!” Drinking Buddies are someone you generally only know the fun side of because you only hang out together at the bar, but Mimzy highlights a different side to their relationship

“Put on some Jazz, and pour a few fingers of Rye, and he becomes a kitten”

This gives me insight that while they were alive, she wasn’t just his drinking buddy and dance partner, she was his comfort zone. The way she phrased this sentence, made it sound like this was something she used to do for Alastor when they were alive, maybe she was a soothing presence as well as an entertaining one in Alastor’s life. But bar friends can sometimes be pretty high maintenance friends outside the bar, actually I think a lot of us have had something close to a friend like Mimzy in our lives. Apparently she is so bad that even Husk is concerned enough about Alastor to try and talk to him about her

“You and I both know Mimzy only shows up when she needs something. That bitch is trouble, and who knows what demon she fucked with to come running to you this time”

Alastor’s response threw me for a loop

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t worry Husker, who would cross me?”

So Alastor is not immune to having toxic friends? I always assumed he would just drop anyone who became to much trouble, this is an interesting surprise. And on top of that he’s…an enabler!? Huh…that is super interesting to know. Putting a pin in the rest of this interaction for another post because there is a lot to unpack with husk and alastor. Except for the being on a leash thing because it made me realize something.

What if the reason he felt upstaged by Lucifer was not because Lilith told him to keep him away (yeah I am subscribing to the Lilith theory, it’s to much to Be a coincidence) but because he is legitimately afraid of no longer being needed by Charlie? What if, if he isn’t needed by Charlie then he has to go back to wherever he was the last 7 years? Everyone assumes he is free because he acts as such, but is he? Like real question, what if he was a straight up gift to Charlie in a way? Even if it was a “look after my daughter” command I would still call that sending a gift.

And oh man, what if he was suppose to tell the whole truth to Charlie but gave the whole, “I am here for entertainment” speech instead.

And your probably thinking, Charlie wouldn’t tell him to leave. Yeah but does Alastor know that? And he probably thinks Lilith might call him back anyway if he is not needed but just hanging out. But as we have seen, he cant even except his own situation

I will unpack this whole encounter later, but for real I don’t even think he is that mad at husk, he was mad at the reminder that his soul doesn’t belong to him any more. Like look at his face, it’s the most upset we have ever seen him, and it’s so detailed. He looks enraged, but also hurt at the same time. He and Charlie are not friends, yet, but I think he does feel some what safe at the hotel and maybe that’s enough for now

I also think there is some stock in Alastor hating that Lucifer is a bad dad theory, because that contempt was so raw and he did calm the fuck down a little bit during the “more then anything” song

But those are my random insights of Alastor, there were more but this is already to long I just hope it’s coherent

[bloompompom]

✧Extra Benefits✧

In which you treat Eren to some of the other benefits of your arrangement, and he gladly returns the favor.

♡ content: eren jaeger x fem!reader. one shot. modern au, friends with benefits, casual sex, smut & fluff, massaging, oral sex (f!receiving) in the shower, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, you're both little sluts, hickeys, brief mentions of alcohol, explicit sexual content, explicit language. reader discretion advised. 18+ ♡ word count: ~5.3k ♡ a/n: i swoon the idea of lovin' on an intimacy-starved man

You busy? Work was ass. Up to showering together?

You only had to read the text once. It wasn’t that hard to decipher.

It was the polite way of asking, ‘You up for some shower sex?’ To which your answer was always the same, whether a shower was involved or not.

Yes.

It was Friday night. You had spent the majority of it locked away in your apartment, dedicating hours to wining and dining yourself while gorging on trashy television. The place was tidy, your belly full, and the flame to your favorite candle lit the room with just its flicker. It was perfect. Your own slice of heaven, you imagined.

Part of you wanted to keep the night as it was—quiet. But you couldn’t complain if this already indulgent evening ended with some casual, not to mention really good, sex. You should probably start to clean up dinner.

His name was Eren, by the way. The friend-with-benefits. The fuckbuddy. Whatever you wished to call him. 

You met him in one of those friend-of-a-friend situations a while back. Once at a dinner, and a second time at Sasha’s birthday party. You thought he was cute, but you weren’t obvious about it. At least, you tried not to be obvious about it, but then again, you ended up here, didn’t you?

Seriously, though. Eren was the type of guy that’s distractingly good-looking. Like, ‘Where in the world did you come from?’ sort of gorgeous, you know?

Anyway, you had apparently spoken enough for him to recognize you on the third go-around. This time, at a bar and without the buffer of mutual friends. You were out with your own circle, him with his, and he was still ballsy enough to approach you. He slid over to you in that come here often way and bought you a drink before you had the chance to turn him down (which, to be clear, wouldn’t have happened).

He was so quick about it, so smooth, and yet you couldn’t help but wonder what took him so damn long; he could have had you in his bed the first time you met, if you were honest.

Eren was nice. Nice enough that you stayed out together until the bars closed. But he was more than nice, he was charming, that was for sure. You liked how he kept you close and asked if you’d like another drink before yours could empty, as if there were someone bold enough to swoop in with Eren prowling around you. 

You didn’t know how seriously you should take him, partly because you were sure he wasn’t taking you very seriously either. But that was good. That was what you were looking for. Something unserious with someone who knew what they were doing. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Eren fit the bill, smiling at you, all big and bright, as if he wasn’t fully aware that it was panty-dropping worthy. You couldn’t stand it.

So, as one could easily predict, you went back to his apartment. And yes, you fucked. After, Eren asked for your number. You prided yourself on it, even if he did go about it cheekily, rattling off something along the lines of 'We should do that again sometime.' You couldn’t exactly remember. But you had to admit it: after the second time, you were the one to suggest it become a regular thing, no strings attached.

And it had been just like this for the last three months. 

Eren gave you enough time to put away dinner and get the dishes into the sink. You were even left with a few minutes to freshen up. Not too much since you’d be showering, but you brushed your teeth at least. You didn’t bother to change, opting to stay in your sleep shorts and tank. They’d soon be on the floor.

You checked the time when you heard Eren knock. 9:03 p.m. You only noted it because he was still dressed for work when you opened the door, though his tie was hung rather loosely around his neck.

You didn’t have a moment to question it—or to close the door—because his lips had already crashed onto yours, his hands cupping your cheeks in an instant. He took a few steps inside, walking you along with him, and pressed you up against the wall. 

You froze. All but your lips, of course. You were swept up in his presence. His rough hands on your face, lips moving against yours and ridden with greed. You could still smell his cologne, faint and mixed with him, but it was still there. It was a scent you could only describe as masculine. 

You decidedly broke the kiss, offering only a peck between your words as you chuckled, “Hello to you, too.”

Eren stared down at you, eyes heavy, his expression dull. “Sorry. Just needed you.” He caught himself. “Not like that.”

You didn’t tease him for it because you understood what he meant by it. That was the whole reason you were doing this, right? Life was fucking stressful enough as it was, so why did sex have to be, too?

You lightly pushed on his arm to reach past him and toward the front door. “Let’s not give my neighbors a show this time, okay?”

He smiled. You expected more, at least a short laugh through his nose, because there was a story there. One that you didn't have the time to get into now.

With the door shut and locked, you kissed him this time. He kissed back, but it was rigid, forced. Like he was there but wasn’t really there, if that made sense. You've had sex with him after a bad day before, on plenty of occasions, too. That was some of the best sex you'd ever had, the occasions when he fucked you without restraint, but this was different.

You scanned his face. The only meaningful thing you could conclude was, “You look exhausted.” You weren’t sure if you meant to say it aloud. 

It was true, though. His eyes were sullen. The vibrancy they normally sported had vanished. He didn’t address it, instead brushing off your comment. “I’m fine. Just a long week at work.”

You decided not to ask any questions. That wasn’t a part of the arrangement you had going on. You each were here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to get each other off. And that was why when Eren went to kiss you again, you reminded yourself there wasn’t any use in prying, and you let him. 

Eren kept you against the wall, your arms strewn around his neck to hold him there with you. His large hands smoothed down your sides. They curved over your hips with authority, rolling them against him, using you to get himself hard. It was working. You could feel his cock stiffen with every tilt of your hips. It stole a tiny moan from you, and Eren seized the opportunity to swipe his tongue against yours. 

You brought a hand to the back of his neck, toying with his hair—barely tied back and looking like it had gone untouched since this morning—then down the collar of his shirt. You blindly attempted to undo his tie, but as you trailed over the crook of his neck, just where it met his shoulder, you noticed how tense he felt. The muscle barely gave when you rubbed over it with your thumb. Even so, you heard the little groan at the bottom of Eren’s throat, his head lolling to the other side. 

The poor guy needed a break. From what, you didn’t know, but one was certainly called for. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to care, but you weren’t heartless either. And while your relationship relied more on the benefits than your friendship, that wasn’t to say you didn’t like him. 

For what it was worth, you got along with Eren quite well. It came with the territory, you supposed, as it was easy to learn a thing or two about a person after seeing them a shameful number of times a week (a number you wouldn’t disclose), even if it was just for sex.

Well, there was an occasional sleepover. Here or there, and reserved solely for those late-night booty calls. You mutually decided it didn’t break the rules so long as no cuddling was involved.

The first time Eren slept over, you remembered him deadpanning, "Do I look like someone that wants to cuddle?" after you said he had to stay on his side of the bed. To be honest, he did look like a cuddler, and you told him just that. You called him a big softie, to which he only rolled his eyes. You had since discovered that was a sassy habit of his.

Truthfully, you’d argue you learn even more about a person this way. Fucking—just fucking—was nothing like dating. There wasn’t any shame in it. You didn’t need to act coy and you could ask each other for exactly what you wanted. Pull my hair. Talk to me—dirtier. You know the drill. Plus, you learned Eren liked some interesting positions. 

All that was to say, it was comfortable. You and Eren were comfortable. So you didn’t think he’d find it strange when you pulled back from the kiss and told him, “I have an idea.” 

You led him back to your bedroom, not the bathroom, and asked him to strip. “Down to your underwear.”

Eren looked at you with cautious curiosity, then started to take off his tie. His shirt next. He had the first two buttons unfastened when a smile poked at the corner of his lips. He appeared more like himself again when he glanced over to you.

“You sure you want me to leave the boxers on?”

You shot him some daggers—albeit playful ones—and said, “Yes.” As you left, you added, “And lie on the bed. Face down.”

“Kinky.”

You ignored it; your turn to return his infamous eye roll, even if he didn’t get to see it.

You were only gone for a flash. When you returned, a bottle of lotion in hand, Eren had undressed, his nice slacks reduced to a pile on your rug, but he remained at the edge of your bed. 

“What happened to our shower?” he asked in somewhat of a pout. His eyes narrowed once he noticed the lotion. As boyishly as ever, he questioned, “Don’t you have lube?”

You pointed past him and over to the pillows. “Lie down.”

You should have assumed getting Eren to listen would be an uphill battle for you. But to your surprise, after one last scrutinizing look, he conceded. He was reluctant, but he turned to lie on his stomach, somehow making your bed look small.

Any other day, he would have put up more of a fight, you were sure. Eren needed to be in control like that. The domineering type, always scoffing at your pitiful attempts at pinning him down. Even if you were on top, it was only because he had put you there, holding you into place for him to fuck up into. 

It’d bother you if it didn’t suit him so goddamn well. He wore it like a fine accessory—something he could pair with his favorite fitted tee and get just about anyone to bend to his will. 

So seeing him like this, vulnerable in just his black boxer briefs—well, you couldn't help but chuckle.

Eren’s head poked up. “Don’t laugh.”

You didn’t hide it when you giggled again, walking up the length of the bed on your knees. And just as he was about to snark at you for laughing, seconds away from flipping over and tapping out, you straddled him with his lower back between your thighs. 

“Oh, hush,” you said, nudging him back into the pillows. 

You took some lotion into your hands. Lavender and vanilla. You expected a snide remark about the girly scent, but he stayed silent.

The lotion was cold, and you did your best to warm it between your hands before you brought them to Eren’s shoulders. He shuddered at the feeling—whether it was the chill or the foreignness, you didn’t know—but as you put your hands to work, he practically melted into the billows of your duvet. 

Eren’s voice sounded smushed against the pillows when he said, “You really don’t have to do this.” The sound that followed, the weight in his exhale, said otherwise, right as your thumb dug into the divot of his shoulder blade. 

It was nothing you wouldn’t do for a friend. You had done it for friends, in fact. Perhaps that was why you felt so comfortable with it, even if he did have a much nicer back than anyone else you’ve had in this position. 

You smiled to yourself. “Don’t worry about it. Figured you could use this more than a blowjob, anyway.”

“I mean—”

“Don’t push it.” 

Eren chuckled, but it faded as soon as your fingers traveled higher, pressing against his neck.

You massaged from there, taking your sweet time before continuing toward the middle of his back. When your hands strained, you'd bridge every break by grazing your nails up and down his tanned skin. It was funny almost, how you had seen so much of him, but you never had admired his back before. When would you have had the chance?

From here, you could study the grooves of every muscle and each angle of his bones. Beneath your palms, he was smooth and warm—why was it that men always ran so hot? Like your own personal space heater or something. 

While you were busy thinking about that, Eren wondered if he should try and stop you. If he wasn’t so tired, he would have. That was what he told himself.

Of course, this wasn’t what he came here for, but he couldn’t bring himself to end it—to roll you over, fuck you, and fulfill the underlying promise to this visit. At least, not right now. Your dainty fingers prodded at him with precision, keen knuckles hitting just the right spot. For what was maybe the first time ever, sex was the last thing on his mind.

Eren didn’t know how to feel about it, or even if he should feel anything toward it. He didn’t know what to do with it—with this—at all. He found an unfamiliar comfort in it. After countless years and meaningless relationships, he couldn’t recall a time when his stress had been named and taken into someone else’s hands—quite literally. It was kneaded away with the heels of your palms. A pair of hands that touched him but didn’t ask anything of him. Not taking what you wanted from him, but giving, freely and of your own accord. 

It was intimate. It was something Eren realized he had never truly experienced before. Surely, it must cross one of those imaginary lines you had drawn in the sand so haphazardly together. But before he could think on it any longer, he was fast asleep. Out cold. 

You only noticed when his soft sounds whittled into steady, silent breaths. You peeked around to check and found that his eyes, barely visible behind his hair, loose strands quivering with every exhale, were shut without as much as a flutter. 

You stood from the bed then. Satisfied with your work and thinking it best to leave him be, you tossed a blanket over him before closing the door behind you.

You returned to your night, exactly where you had left it. You went back for that pint of ice cream you had saved for dessert, entirely unbothered as you cozied up into your nook on the couch.

About an hour or so had passed, with you an episode and a half deep into your show, when Eren reminded you he was still there with nothing more than the creaking of your bedroom door.

You held back your pestering ‘Morning, sleepy head’ comment when he emerged from your hallway, comparable to some sort of nocturnal animal, lazily dressed in his clothes again.

He immediately apologized, “I am so sorry.” Extra emphasis on that ‘so.’

You figured he might react like this, knowing he was the prideful type and whatnot, but he looked more like a kicked puppy than the man that fucked you senselessly on the regular. Up until now, you didn’t think he even had any sense of shame. 

You turned to him, handing him your full attention, and assured, “It’s fine! It happens!” It sounded a little fake, so you toned it down. “Really. It’s no big deal. You must have needed it.”

There was a pause, a long stare, and then Eren finally said, “I’ll get going. I shouldn’t have—”

“I’d still be up for that shower,” you chimed, interrupting him before he talked himself into a weird, uncomfortable hole. “If you are.”

Eren had a look on his face like he didn’t hear you correctly. How could you possibly still have any interest after he dropped by, borderline unannounced, on a Friday night only to nap in your bed? There was a fleeting moment, just as he was dressing, he believed you wouldn’t want to see him again. He was pissed at himself, thinking he screwed up a situationship that was practically handed down to him by God himself. 

But he didn’t think of it any longer because, right now—with that way you were eyeing him—he was only grateful. He watched you push yourself up from the couch, too-knowingly, because you already knew his answer. 

Fuck. Eren shoved his humiliation aside, just for now. He sighed, long but sharp, like you had vanquished him with a siren call. “Why not?”

The next thing you knew, Eren had you on the bathroom counter, thighs spread with him nestled between, swapping kisses to pass the time while the shower heated up. 

He yanked your tank top over your head, and you made even quicker work of his button-down. Each fell to the floor, pooling at Eren’s feet. Piece after piece, until there was nothing left between you.

For someone that tossed you a measly, ‘Why not?’ he sure was pretty eager. 

He kissed you deeply, with one hand around the nape of your neck, holding you still for him, while his other caressed your breast. He had your nipple between his fingers, rolling and pinching the sensitive skin until you tipped your head back with a mewl, offering him the expanse of your neck.

Eren obliged, sloppily licking and sucking the side of your throat. Like the efficient fuckbuddy he was, he had memorized where you liked for him to kiss. It wasn't rock science. The closer he was to that spot—the dip behind your ear—the needier you became. He knew you liked it even more when he nipped at it, so he did just that.

"No hickeys," you warned on a wanton breath.

Another rule. One that Eren often wrote off, but only because you were just as lenient with it. And tonight was no exception. When he began to bruise the delicate skin, small purrs of pleasure snuck past your lips. You clung to him then, your nails piercing into his shoulders—into the muscles you had just tended.

You wanted him to pull you down onto his cock right then, to bounce you against him over and over, and fuck you like making you come was the only cure to his awful week.

But he didn't. You felt his breath at your ear as he took the lobe between his teeth, murmuring to you, "Shower. Now."

Eren whisked you off the counter and over to the shower. He slid the glass door open for you to hop inside first. Like a true gentleman, and definitely not because he wanted to smack your ass on the way in. He’d never do that.

The water was hot, its steam thick and swirling around you. You let it run down your back as you kissed Eren again, wet mouths and hands slipping against each other’s bare flesh. 

Once again, the purpose here was to get off, not to get clean. You had done this before, experienced the fumbling and falling, and lived to tell the tale, so you knew already which positions worked.

You slid your hand down the ridges of his stomach, gliding your hand over his cock effortlessly, thanks to the water, and he groaned. But when you started to turn around so he could take you from behind, he stopped you with a hand around your wrist. 

“Let me,” Eren softly instructed.

You didn’t exactly know what he meant by it, but he started to kiss your neck again. Below your ear, then lower. Decorating your collarbone, and then your breasts. His mouth somehow felt warmer than even the scalding water as he took your nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. He didn’t neglect the other before wandering lower, crouching to his knees to peck at your navel and taste your hipbones. 

“What’re you—”

Eren cut in. “I want to make you feel good, too.” He kissed the crease of your thigh. “That’s why I came over, right?” 

It was a rhetorical question that you didn't answer. You couldn't even if you wanted to. Your words would have hitched in your throat, no greater than an embarrassing sputter, the second he pressed his lips to you. Right between your legs.

He didn’t go for it immediately, opting to bring his fingers to you before his tongue. He thumbed over your clit, letting his other fingers splay against your stomach, and began to rub deftly. You squeaked, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. He glanced up at you then, smirking, annoyingly aware of how easily he turned you to putty.

Eren dragged the pads of his fingertips down and angled his hand so he could tease at your entrance. He used only his middle finger, grazing it through you, up and down your slit. He wanted to comment on how wet you were already, but you’d say something smart back, he was sure of it. ‘We’re in the shower, dumbass.’ 

So when he did tease you for it—“Someone likes it when I play with her pussy, hm?”—he shut you up by pumping two fingers inside you. Your muscles fluttered around his knuckles, mouth dropping to a small ‘o’ as moans dripped from your lips. 

Eren curled his fingers just right, and you felt your heel start to inch out from beneath you. It was a fight to stay upright—a caveat of the elusive shower sex.

“Fuck—right there. Don’t stop,” you panted.

He continued to fuck you with his fingers, his eyes transfixed on where they disappeared inside you, the lewd sounds of wet skin on skin, but he didn’t want to just finger you. He wanted you to come, and he wanted you to come on his tongue. He needed a taste.

Eren knew that was what you wanted, too, your hips rocking, achingly begging for more.

Another, “Don’t stop,” spilled from you. 

He hummed, “I don’t know. Something tells me you want me to eat you out.”

Eren leaned in, real slow, lips ghosting over you. He slipped his fingers out of you and used them to spread you, just enough for him to lick at your clit. The heat of his tongue alone had your brain fuzzy, sparking like it could possibly short-circuit.

You immediately took hold of his head, your fingers weaving through sopping hair and searching for any support you could get. “Eren, ah—”

Even his kittenish licks, with only the tip of his tongue, had your back arching. He stabilized you with a hand on your hip. With his other, he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. He could have even more of you—taste even more of you—like this, and he delved in. 

His mouth closed over you, the flat of his tongue lapping at you with broad strokes. After months of practice, he was in tune with you by now. He mastered the craft of making you come, picking out the very moment his tongue becomes too much for you. Only then did he break to let the plush of his lips leave gentle, wet kisses against your clit. Each caused you to shiver, your skin prickling even in the heady temperature of your shower.

You propped yourself up with a hand against the glass door. Each time you faltered or twitched, the bathroom echoed with the indecent, smearing sound of your sweaty palm against the condensation. Slipping lower and lower until you had to smack it back into place. Then the process would repeat.

Eren’s tongue buried between you, hot, and dipping inside you. Each time, you fought the urge to rut against his face. You didn’t want to hide any of him. He looked so good there, eyes blazed and determined, his toned chest and pretty face flushed in a summer pink. You loved the telling hue, ruddy with humid lust. 

He wiped his face, cleared some of the water from his eyes, before parting you with his tongue again. Every sound he pulled from you—every whimper and every shaky breath—emboldened him. You were close, he knew it, as your voice turned pitchy. Your hips spasmed; you were holding back. With his hand on your ass, fingers squeezing the fat of it, he started to maneuver you, working you over his tongue. 

“Let go—that’s it. Ride my face." He spoke it against you, his voice a vibration buzzing through you, tapering off into groans once you did as you were told.

You were dizzy. The bottom of your stomach burned hotter, like blooms of fire or electricity or something else that was scorching to the touch—your thoughts were too scattered to choose. Whatever it was, you felt it at the base of your spine. You fanned it. You coaxed it out each time you helplessly rolled your hips over Eren’s mouth. It was filthy, all lips and tongue, kisses and licks, with him sucking at your clit. 

His eyes never left yours. They were heavy-lidded, fighting the water that threatened to dribble past his lashes, but they were fixed on you. God, you looked so fucking sexy above him, water trickling down the valley of your breasts. Your perfect pussy could suffocate him, and he’d thank you for it. 

Eren didn't need to say it; you could practically hear him. Hear the growl in his voice, the gravel of it as if his mouth was right against your ear and not stuffed between you. He wouldn't dare stop, but if his eyes could speak to you, he'd tell you—no, he'd demand that you come for him.

All at once, you tipped that edge. You cursed, your head lurching forward with your chin tucked into your chest. You had your eyes squeezed shut, so you didn’t see it but heard the clatter when your leg—the one over his shoulder—kicked a shampoo bottle to the shower floor. Neither of you even flinched, both of you wholly consumed with each other, even if it was only for this blissful blip in time. 

Well, maybe a bit more than a blip. It went on longer than usual. At least, Eren thought so, and it certainly felt like it to you. Your fingers were still knotted in his hair, keeping him in place for you to use—you had actually formed a fist now. He waited for your choked breaths to drawl out into whimpers, but it never happened, so he didn't slow.

The stimulation was so much, and it was so good. You didn’t want it to stop. Lost in the daze of pleasure, its ripples of it still pulsing through you, you had Eren lick at you for as long as you desired.

Until he eventually had to come up for air. You whined at the loss, glaring at him as he swatted some water from his face and grunted, “Hold on a second unless you want me to die.”

“Keep going. Please,” you urged, driving his head back once you decided he had enough of a break.

He didn’t argue it, only continuing to do the same thing as before. The same thing that kept you coming back for more, night after night, and sometimes on the occasional lunch break.

You rode the feeling out for as long as you could, sitting on the delicious fringes that were just shy of coming undone—of becoming utterly ruined. 

And when you came a second time, with Eren’s pointed tongue circling your clit, your mind went blurry to everything but the feeling. It was euphoric, radiating from your core until its warmth engulfed you like wildfire.

You yelped out his name, gasping for him in wracked sobs. Just like that, just like that. And, holy shit, was it fucking hot. Eren didn’t even mind your sudden roughness. If anything, he wanted to make you come a third time, just to hear that pathetic warble in your voice again. 

But you were sensitive now. Even his gentle pecks against your clit, his laps to savor everything you’d given him, were far too much. Your leg was quivering after stretching at a cramped angle for too long and fell from his shoulder. It was a miracle you were upright, even if you were folded into the corner of the shower. 

Eren stood to his feet, snickering to himself as he gave you a once-over. You looked fucked-out, with big and trembling breaths parting your lips. 

“You good?” he asked. Note: this could be construed as genuine, but do not let that fool you. Eren was just that smug. You knew this because he was still grinning down at you. That smile you couldn’t stand. 

Water droplets spattered your face. You smeared them away with your hands. 

“Yeah,” you answered, all dreamily, or so Eren thought, only inflating his already enormous ego. “Never better.”

You both stepped into this shower well aware that neither of you held any intention of getting clean. There was no point in pretending to soap up, not with your legs starting to noodle out, so you reached for the handle to shut off the water.

You dried off, embarrassingly sat on the toilet lid because you felt more like Jell-O than human, then scrambled together a fresh t-shirt and a pair of underwear to sleep in. You resigned to your bed with a final, contented sigh, melding with the covers as if they were clouds.

Moments later, Eren returned, dressed and at your bedside. He rested a hand on your shoulder to ensure you were still awake. 

“I’m going to head out,” he whispered. 

“You’re tired,” you said, your voice a staggered mutter into the pillow. “Just stay.”

Eren didn’t say anything back, but he didn’t leave either. Fuck it, he said to himself. He was way too exhausted to drive.

You heard him undress, the sound of fabric slinking to the floor, for what was the third time tonight. Hopefully the last.

You slithered to the far side of the bed to make room, only lugging your favorite pillow along with you since you didn't like to share. The mattress stuttered as Eren crawled underneath the blankets, only stilling once he relaxed into the bed.

Though he maintained the space between you, you felt him drape an arm over your waist. You couldn’t guess why, but for whatever reason, you let it slide. Just for tonight.

And only when he knew you were asleep—when he was absolutely positive of it—he gifted you a faint, “Thank you.”

[starks-hero]

Praise Worthy

Pairing: sub!Steven Grant x f!Reader

Summary: You accidentally call Steven your ‘good boy’ and he loses his goddamn mind.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, praise kink, sub!Steven, dom!reader, handjob, referenced oral (m receiving), p in v, overstimulation, some dirty talk, slight choking kink if you squint really really hard, includes some inspiration from this ask

a/n: I'm still a whore for Steven Grant apparently but this is really soft

He was so pretty like this.

Laid out beneath you, his olive body a gorgeous contrast to the bleakness of the bed cloths. His arm was bent at the elbow, hand brushing the side of his head, and his eyes blown with a combination of admiration and love. If it weren't for the fact that you were already straddled over his waist the look would have sent you to your knees.

His hair was tousled, curls falling against his brow and he adorably jerked his head to keep it from his eyes.

You couldn't quite believe he was yours.

With slow, deliberate movements, your fingers brushed his temple and traced his skin until you reached the sharp dropoff of his jaw. You stroked back along the defined feature, Steven smiling as you did. His dimples deepened and his eyes crinkled at the corners when you swiped your thumb across his cheeks blushing warmth.

“What are you doing?” He asked timidly.

You shrug somewhat dismissively, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “You're so beautiful.” You kissed his lips. “And I want to remember you like this. Want to commit all of you to memory.”

He turned his head to hide his burning cheeks and flustered smile and you were amazed by his ability to be so humble. To be surprised at the idea of you finding him so desirable. Your hand found his jaw and guided his gaze back to yours. His eyes darkened.

You did an admirable job of masking your shock as he tilted his head and gently took your thumb into his mouth. You pressed against the soft pad of his tongue and he whimpered. It was difficult not to when you were looking at him like he was the reason the sun rose every day.

“Shit Steven...” you breathed and his cheeks hollowed. He released your thumb with a pop, a lewd string of spit trailing after it.

Tracing your hand back down his neck to the plain of his chest, you watched the hardened muscles ripple against your touch. Steven managed a shuddering breath. A whine followed each exhale, a delicious sound that caught in his throat.

“That's it, love,” you praised. “You sound so pretty.”

You drew circles against his hips before finally taking him in your hand. His head fell back against the pillow, his back arching off the bed as he bucked into your palm. The sound he made was sinful.

“Gods, you're perfect.”

You kept your movements deft, tightening your grasp with each stroke. Your other hand remained in his hair, chocolate curls winding around your fingers like fine twine. With a careful tug, his eyebrows knit together and his mouth fell slack.

“Please– please, d-don't stop. Please... ”

“I won't, I won't,” you promised. “Not when you're being so good for me.” Your hand fell to his throat, giving an experimental squeeze. He responded so beautifully to your touch. Each moan, each whimper of your name filled you with a sense of divinity. He was yours. All yours. “My good boy.”

Steven gasped. His body tensed beneath you and your hand stilled. It took a few seconds for your own words to catch up with you. A combination of embarrassment and utter mortification set in once they did.

You pulled back enough to catch a glimpse of Steven's reaction and found his eyes already trained on you. His mouth parted slightly, lips glistening and of course you thought of him like that. Of course those words sprung to mind. How could they not when he was so obedient, so responsive, so good.

Intimacy was something you were introducing Steven to slowly. You didn't want to overwhelm him. Didn't want to push your own desires. And you'd been so careful to not let anything slip. But now–

“Shit, Steven I–”

“Call me that again.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Call... call me that again.” His voice was painfully sweet and shy and hoarse from pleasure. You swore there were tears in his eyes. “Please.”

“It doesn't bother you? I know it's not something we've discussed–”

Frantically he shook his head. His hands reached for you, grasping at the swell of your shoulders. “No, no I want to be yours, wanna be your good boy, please–”

His words were the single most liberating thing you'd ever heard. It was as if a switch was flipped.

You nodded at his request, then, you pulled his head back. The muscles of his neck tensed beneath already bruising skin. You kissed and nipped at his neck before closing your lips above his pulse. You continued to work him slowly in your hand.

“love, please ah–”

His whole body convulsed beneath you. “Shh, baby, I've got you, I'm going to take care of you, going to make you feel good, okay?”

He nodded breathlessly, lips parting as you quickened your strokes, thumb brushing over his tip. He strung your name together desperately. His release hit him hard and you watched on as his expression twisted in unbridled pleasure.

“That's it, baby, that's it.” You kept working him through his high. “Gods, look at you-”

Your movements didn't stutter nor did your words of praise as you made him come again; with your hands, your mouth, over and over.

He'd become so susceptive that now, even with your hands holding his wrists gently above his head and you mouthing lazy kisses against his neck, you could feel him rut against your thigh, riding out what must be his fourth orgasm.

You pressed your hand down against his chest, thighs on either side of his own. His breath shook with anticipation.

“Is this okay?” You checked in and Steven answered with a quick nod.

“Use your words, love.”

“Yes,” he whimpered. “Yes, just please, please, fuck-” A sob left him as you sunk down on him. The pleasure you felt as he filled you was almost as satisfying as his expression; brows knit together, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

He was a work of art.

“You're so beautiful like this.” You kissed his shoulder as his breathing began to even out, giving him the chance to adjust. Then, you began to slowly roll your hips against his. Steven cried out, his hands (that had, for the most part, obediently stayed where you'd pressed them against the pillow) shot up to grab your hips. Your hand found his throat again and Steven's eyes rolled back in his head.

“L-love, please I–” he managed. You quicked your pace and his hips rutted up to meet you. “Faster.”

With a smirk, you did as he asked. You leaned down to kiss his jaw. “I wish you could see yourself, Steven. See yourself as I see you.” Your nose brushed against his ear. “It's not a bad idea, huh? Maybe I'll try it soon, have you fuck me in front of a mirror so you can see just how stunning you are like this.”

Steven gasped. You could feel his thighs trembling beneath you. “You're so beautiful, baby, so good for me. My love, my good boy.”

Your words once again pushed him over the edge and he clung to you as the pleasure rolled over him in crushing waves.

He panted against your neck, nails leaving small crescents in your skin. With a breathless laugh, you kissed his temple. A few blissful moments passed in silence. Then,

“I know you're tired but you can give me one more, can't you, love?” you encouraged.

Exhaustion was painted over every inch of Steven's body. His eyes pools of chocolate brown now, his skin sleek and hair damp. An occasional tear still trailed down his cheek.

He nodded.

Falling back onto the pillows, it took Steven a long moment to catch his breath.

Quietly, you slipped out from under the covers. In the short time it took you to journey to the bathroom and back, the cool air of the night had already settled against your skin.

Upon your return, you found Steven's body still strewn out across the bed, akin to something you'd seen depicted in age-old paintings of beauty and splendor.

With the washcloth you'd fetched from the bathroom, you took your time to clean both of you up before joining him with a content sigh. His head moved to rest against your shoulder almost instinctively and likewise, you threaded your fingers into his curls. You then trailed your hand down his back, absentmindedly drawing patterns on the plane between his shoulders.

“I enjoyed that,” he confessed eventually and you smiled to yourself. “I– I want you to call me that more often, if that would be alright?”

His voice was shy at the request.

“Trust me, love.” You pacified him with a kiss. “That won't be a problem.”

Thank you for reading! <3

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