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rhaenyratargcryen · 1 month

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i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment.

This man will not take a fucking hint.

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one.

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him.

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.”

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom.

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is.

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers.

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go.

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work.

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes.

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own.

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight.

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me.

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent.

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further. “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation.

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up.

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel.

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure.

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face.

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck.

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat.

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care.

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there.

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

#let's try this again #honestly if this flops too i will just live and let god #wolverine #hugh jackman #logan howlett #james howlett #james logan #wolverine smut #hugh jackman smut #logan howlett smut #james howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fanfic #i edited it down a little bit not structurally or anything bc i still feel p good about the structure but #took some stuff of in the first half lol

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months

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i love you enough

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'roadtrip/vacation' rated m wc: 995 cw: nightmare, implied sexual content tags: friends to lovers, getting together, love confessions, first kiss, loosest way to reference vacation is staying in a hotel

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"Steve...Steve!"

His eyes opened wide as Eddie's hands shook him awake.

"Jesus Christ, man. I thought I'd have to push you off the bed," Eddie sighed, his hold on Steve's shoulders loosening but not going away.

"Sorry," Steve gasped, his breath caught in his chest like he was about to have a panic attack.

This nightmare had been different.

Instead of Robin dying under the mall, it was Eddie. Instead of Steve being able to convince the Russians that he should be taken, Eddie convinced them he knew all they needed to know.

It was the exact type of falling on the sword Eddie would do.

Steve's eyes landed on Eddie, who was watching him silently, looking like he was doing his best not to cry.

"Eds? You okay?" Steve's voice cracked.

"Shit, are you?" Eddie asked back, letting out a disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah, sorry I woke you up."

"You're kidding, right?"

Eddie looked mad. He sounded mad.

"No, I'm really sorry. I know you don't sleep so great, either, so," Steve shrugged. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanna go down the hall to the girls' room."

Eddie blinked at him, silence making the air feel thick with an awkwardness they hadn't had between them in months.

And then Eddie's hands were cupping his face, almost lovingly.

"Do you ever think about how other people care about you?" Eddie asked, barely more than a whisper. "Or how seeing you suffer and then apologize for it breaks our hearts?"

Steve's mouth was opening and closing like a fish, searching Eddie's eyes for the answer he wanted.

"You have no idea how much people love you, do you?" Eddie's forehead rested against Steve's.

"I-"

"Stevie. I need you to listen to me." Eddie breathed out slowly. "I can't imagine how much you've seen. I know you've told me, and I've seen some of it myself, but half of the shit you've done? Just to keep everyone safe? And you keep seeing it in nightmares all the time. It never goes away. You're so strong. You get up every day and go to work, and cart the kids around, and bring me to appointments, and cook dinner for me and Wayne, and help Robin with her girl problems, and then you go to bed and have to worry about what monsters will be waiting for you. And then you wake up the next day and pretend it didn't happen, but we all know it did. I know it did."

Steve sniffled.

"And here I am, shaking in the corner of my bed because I think I hear a noise outside my window one time." They both let out a laugh, but Eddie continued before Steve could interrupt. "I was scared. I tried waking you up when you first started making noises. You sounded like you were hurt. And then you said Dustin's name and I could feel you shaking. And then-"

"And then I said your name."

Eddie nodded.

Steve placed his hands at Eddie's neck, almost mirroring Eddie.

"You died. But it was the Russians. You convinced them you knew something to distract them from me and the kids, but you didn't so they just kept...they-" He let out a sob as tears fell down his cheeks. "They did to you what they were gonna do to me."

"Oh, sweetheart."

Eddie's lips were on his.

It shouldn't be happening like this, a part of Steve thought.

It should be romantic and sweet, maybe after a date where Steve used all the charm he's been saving just for Eddie, maybe when the reason for the wetness against their cheeks was because of rain instead of tears.

But in a way, it was always going to be like this: admitting too much at the wrong time, saving each other from pain.

Regardless of all the ways it should be and all the ways he wished for it to be, it was perfect.

When Eddie pulled away, he let out a small laugh.

"Robin said this would happen as soon as I said I was staying in your room."

"She said I would have a nightmare that left us both crying and kissing in a bed that is definitely big enough for us to not be cuddling, but we definitely were?" Steve asked with a smirk. "She's good, but I don't think she's that good."

"Oh, shut up," Eddie lightly smacked his shoulder. "You know what I meant."

He did. She'd said the same to him.

"Well, maybe if you hold my hand, I'll be able to fall back asleep?" Steve suggested.

"Yeah, I could do that. Or..."

"Or?"

"Or I could..."

"You could?"

Eddie nipped his bottom lip.

"I could kiss you in...other places..."

"Eds, just say what you wanna do," Steve giggled.

"Fine! I could suck you off so you can sleep!" Eddie laughed.

"You could do that, yeah," Steve nodded, pretending that wasn't enough to rile him up.

"I could. If you want."

"Is it just to help me fall asleep?" Steve asked, suddenly nervous that this wasn't anything more than helping out a friend.

"If I wasn't completely clear before: I love you. I love you enough to sacrifice myself in your nightmares, I love you enough to do stupid physical therapy sessions that I hate because you get sad when I don't go, I love you enough to make Robin take a room with Nancy and Jonathan so I could stay right here with you, and I love you enough to suck your dick to help you sleep."

Steve snorted.

"Be my guest, then," he gestured down at his lap, watching Eddie literally lick his lips.

Just when Eddie was breathing against his stomach, ready to move further down, Steve stopped him.

"Wait!" Eddie looked up at him, eyes wide. "I love you, too. Need you to know that."

Fondness poured from Eddie as he pressed a kiss to Steve's stomach.

"I know, sweetheart."

#steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddieholidaydrabbles #vacation

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bangtanintotheroom · 4 months

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Just Like Candy (M)(Teaser)

She's just like candy, she's so sweet

But you know that it ain't real cherry, know that it ain't real cherry

🔊 candy - doja cat (spotify | soundcloud) 🔊

• Pairing: S.Coups x (F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Smut

• Rating: 18+

• Words (teaser): 583

• Summary: Following a breakup, Seungcheol is looking for a distraction for the night. You catch his eye with your red lips and the rest is history.

• Warnings/themes: mentions of a breakup, sulky Cheol 🥲, drinking, swearing, one night stand, flirting, making out, dirty talk, handjobs, fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), c*me swallowing, strength kink, manhandling, hint of begging

• Notes: Yes, yes, I know. "There goes AJ falling for another leader!" I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT! SO WHAT IF I LIKE A RELIABLE MAN HUH, HUH 🤬 *deep breaths* Anyways. Just enjoy me starting to simp for Mr. Coups and watch as I slowly become a Carat over time 😊

• Teaser Notes: Teasers are a WIP and will not fully reflect the final draft, warnings and themes are subject to change. If you want to be tagged when the final draft is released, either leave a reply or shoot me an ask! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE PRESENT IN YOUR BIO OR YOU WILL NOT BE TAGGED.

• Taglist: @minttangerines @minisugakoobies @kiestrokes @swga-ficrecs @hyunjinsjeans @firesighgirl

Reminder that I have a permanent taglist if you're interested in all future fics I post!

“Yah, is he on his phone again?”

Wonwoo replied to Seungkwan’s question from the front with, “He sure is.”

Every other occupant groaned in exasperation, Chan peering around him to scold, “Seungcheol-hyung, focus! You’re supposed to have fun with us tonight, not pine over her!”

“Just block her already!”

Seungcheol was quick to snap at Joshua’s quip, “No, because then I’ll look bitter.”

“So?”

Seungkwan turned around in the passenger seat to look directly at him, seeming as if he was about to give the most unhelpful advice ever.

“Hyung, you want my suggestion?”

“No.”

“Too bad. Fuck her feelings, respectfully—” He was quick to throw in that word after the elder’s face began twisting in displeasure. “—she decided to end it and she’s out there living her best life while you’re moping around. Be selfish for once and focus on your well-being!”

Chan joined in, “Exactly! Are you going to let her distract you from having a good time with us tonight?”

The eldest wanted to fight back on instinct, but the more he stewed on his friends’ words, the more he realized that they had a point.

What was the use in getting in his feelings? He’d just end up being the downer of the group and waste the effort they put in to have him get dressed and come out. Even though it had been a while since he went to a party of this size, the tiniest part of him was excited. His ex was the type to avoid get togethers like this, so he often put off the guys’ invites in favor of pleasing her.

But she wasn’t around anymore…

He sighed heavily. Hopefully, he’d be distracted enough that she wouldn’t run through his mind until he got back to his bed and deleted more of their couple pictures.

“No, I’m not.”

“Last chance to back out.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help but knit his brows a bit as he pondered. Was he really about to fool around with a complete stranger?

He didn’t need to see Wonwoo’s flabbergasted expression downstairs to know that this was somewhat out-of-character for him. Even when he was single, getting in bed with someone he had only known for a couple of hours was a thought he never entertained. But this was now and he was, to put it lightly, yearning for some physical contact that would keep him distracted for the night.

And quite frankly, he didn’t want to say no to you.

“Seungcheol?”

The light call of his name brought him out of his thoughts, looking down to see you gazing up with mild concern.

“You alright?”

He was quick to nod and smile reassuringly, replying, “Yes. Sorry, just…got in my head for a bit.”

Your expression eased up, tongue clicking as you gave his hands a squeeze.

“Well, we can’t have any more of that. C’mon.”

You maneuvered Seungcheol around so his back was facing the bed now.

“Quit thinking about your ex and focus.”

“Believe me, I’m trying. I might need a little more help on your end.”

With the hint of encouragement in his voice, it seemed to shift you into a more domineering mood, cherry lips twisting into an undaunted grin while you let go of his hands.

“Of course. Even if it’s for a moment—“ All of a sudden, he felt a push to his chest and found himself falling to the bed before looking up at your salacious smile. “—I’ll make you forget all about her.”

©bangtanintotheroom, 2024. Crossposted to AO3. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

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grimalkinmessor · 5 months

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The parallels between Tsubomi and Reigen drive me so fucking insane you have no idea like—that shit had to be at least SOMEWHAT intentional even if not in a specifically romantic way.

For one, Tsubomi and Reigen are two of the only few people that call Shigeo "Mob" consistently. (Yes Tome also calls him Mob eventually but she starts out calling him Kageyama-kun and likely picks up "Mob-kun" from Inukawa or Reigen later on). We don't know how Reigen started calling Shigeo "Mob", though we can assume that Tsubomi was likely part of the group of kids that originally misread Shigeo's name as Mobbu to begin with so she's less of a mystery on that front. Maybe Reigen saw it written on his backpack or his shirt tag and started calling him that too, or maybe Mob even just told him that that's what everyone else called him and was what he prefered to be called at the time. Either way, it's a little odd that Reigen's one of the only people who use that nickname when we don't really get a reason why beyond "it can also be read like this", especially since Reigen is a grown man with (presumably) full literacy of kanji and would know how to read it.

Then there's the other obvious parallel that's made in the show; how Tsubomi and Reigen treat Mob. How they see his powers. They're not special, they're just a part of him. Nothing to be scared of—even though they kind of,,,,are lmao. The fact that Tsubomi continues to sit in the park even though a literal hurricane is approaching because she thought Mob sounded upset on the phone happens at the same time Reigen goes sprinting full-tilt into said hurricane because Mob is in trouble always stands out to me. It's less obvious than Mob's own words: "She never treated me any differently because of my powers" "Master never treated me any differently..."—but it's still a pretty blatant parallel to me.

Not to mention that both Reigen and Tsubomi's personalities are actually very similar as well! They're both described as people that hide behind a mask, a facade, while still being brutally stubborn. If Tsubomi doesn't want to do something, she's not gonna do it. While Reigen is more laid back because he's used to getting his hands dirty for work (money), he's still very stubborn himself when he doesn't wanna do something. He'll find a way to wriggle out of it and talk circles around you if you let him. Dimple even says that Tsubomi is the type of person who can't be swayed by words or peer pressure. She and Reigen were actually, again, two of the only people brainwashed through airborne Vibes™ instead of through food like everyone else. The biggest difference between them on this is that while Reigen lies fairly blatantly, Tsubomi seems to only lie through omission. Tsubomi is more of an introvert too, compared to Reigen's extrovert (though you could argue that both of them are good with people, with the only difference being that Reigen enjoys being the center of attention while Tsubomi presumably does not).

Plus they're both pretty goofy too once you think about it lmao. They're both prideful and hate to be humiliated, but they also care a lot about their public image and how people perceive them. Every time the scene with Tsubomi and her friends outside cleaning up leaves comes up, her expressions and panic always remind me of Reigen. And then there's Mob, calm and unjudgemental, willing to help her with no questions asked. Mitigating her humiliation, just like he does for Reigen :)

Another thing that always strikes me is how Mezato says, "If you can accept her for who she really is..." followed by Reigen's echo during his confession: "This is who I really am". Mezato essentially tells Mob that Tsubomi isn't who she seems on the outside and that if he wants to be accepted by her, he needs to also be ready to accept her as well. Which, we don't get to see much of Tsubomi's life outside of Mob—wow just like Reigen—so we don't ever really know who she is beyond that outer mask, but we see her slowly opening up to Mob later, as a friend. But the fact that Reigen's own confession mirrors Mezato's words to Mob about him accepting Tsubomi always makes me vibrate in place a little like,,,Confession Arc my beloved 🙏

I don't know man, there's just so much there, it makes my head spin. I could go on and on about it but I better cut myself off because if I don't I'll start crawling on the walls going feral about it because what, what was the point of this if not to make it clear that the relationship between Mob and Reigen is supposed to parallel his relationship with Tsubomi like what do you MEAN—

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some-pers0n · 1 month

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Demoman is one of the characters in the fandom I feel most people straight up ignore or don't know how to write. Blunt, sure, but I do stand by it. Demoman is such a fascinating, intriguing character with the most fleshed-out backstories, yet is oftentimes relegated to being Soldier 2.0, only now with poorly written phonetics.

In other words, hey! I'm a fanfic writer who has a ton of opinions as well as a neurotic need to analyze every character they come into contact with. Pleased to see you're reading this. I've already done a little doohickey essay like this with Medic a while back. The purpose of these long rambles is half of me combing through every instance of the character and pulling them apart to see how their character works...and also me not-so-subtly venting and complaining about mischaracterization. Shocking how a fandom where the main characters are all very clear-cut stereotypes with some slight subversions here and there can't seem to get them.

This essay will go through Demo's beginning and all the way to his latest appearance in the 6th comic. I'll touch on how his character shifts and is expanded upon. I doubt he changes as much as Medic has over the years, but I think it will be interesting to see. I'll just go over bits of characterization, try to rationalize it, and then try my best to sum up all of the traits by the end and try to describe his character in the most canon-compliant way.

With that preamble out of the way, let's begin. This is also 7k words btw just...be aware of that, okay?

Before we actually get into proper character stuff, I wanna lay the groundwork first by exploring the types of characterization I see from Demo. Pick them apart. See what they're really like.

So, of course, there's the popular Redditor opinion of Demo that's mainly shaped by the way people play him in the game. There, people will describe Demo as being generally a bumbling drunkard. It's not too uncommon to see people say that he's an angry drunk. A man who is more concerned with alcohol and drinking himself into a stupor than anything else. I've also seen people say that Demo straight up can't read, which...euhhhhggg. He feels more like an alternative version of Soldier at times, which, again, isn't accurate to his character.

I don't care at all for this characterization. I do think a good chunk is rooted in racism and it's generally very uncomfortable for me to look at for too long. This characterization is pretty shallow and empty, which makes for a boring and offensive caricature. Reddit moment.

The second one is more interesting and the version you'll see more on Tumblr. It's this...odd version of him. I can't exactly put my tongue on what is off about it. It seems more accurate to his character. He's a foil for Soldier a lot of the time (Boots n' Bombs is his most popular ship let's be real) and generally isn't exactly seen on his own. Sure yeah there's the oddball art of him and him only, but let's be real most of his tag is mainly just him being in the background or saying a jokey-joke.

I actually fell back into Ao3 for a bit to skim over some fics to see what kind of characterization there was of Demo there to refresh my memory, and some of the common throughlines was shockingly that he doesn't drink a lot. "He rarely drinks!" I remember reading once. That's not right, no. He's an alcoholic. Like that's a core part of his character. Another fic had him being called "Cyclops" as a pet name. Ew. Anywho, other than that it's Demo being pretty into cryptids, having the Eyelander as a buddy guy, etc and etc. It's fun, but also it's missing...something.

Then, it hit me: Demo rarely is seen as an individual. He reminds me of Heavy in that regard, where most of his appearances have him be the straight-man to another character. Most of the time he's secondary and just a folly for the other characters. It's disappointing in that regard. Like you see a lot more stuff for characters like Scout, Medic, etc and etc with their own unique characterization stuff and getting their own attention.

So...then what is Demoman's character, exactly? Well, that's what we're here to see. It'll be pretty interesting, no?

----

So, funny thing is that Demo didn't change nearly as much as Medic has over the years. Sure yeah, the concept art of Demo was more of the generic stereotypical Scotsman. White, ginger, sideburns, that whole thing. Cartoony and fun design, but eventually they went with the Demo we all know and love today.

Looking at the concept art, it all seems pretty standard for the tone that Invasion was going for at the time. Nothing really to note there other than Demo's face being a stock angry grr grr expression. It is interesting to see how the idea of him wearing an eye was a constant even from the beginning though.

This then brings us to the voicelines. Ahh, good ol' characterization. Demo here is characterized as being jovial and having fun. He's throwing out insults left and right, damning them to hell and laughing at them as they die. Usual typical mercenary stuff. This is just personal headcanon material, but I always rationalize the way the mercs act on the battlefield as being a result from adrenaline and generally being drunk on blood. They aren't as mean when off the clock, but it's worth noting that these are how these characters act when a gun's in their hands and they're exploding people left and right.

TF2 really likes basing the characters off of the class they play as and how they act. Scout is fast moving and his gameplay is oftentimes getting right in someone's face and bolting, which is reflective in his hotshot personality. It's only reasonable that Demo is an explosive, fun, and generally cocky guy when out and battling. He's lobbing grenades and sticky bombs left and right. He isn't afraid to yell to the Medic he just blew up that he's been shagging his wife and calling the Scout he just chopped the head off "twinkle-toes". He teases and such when it comes to the other team.

However, the voicelines also very curiously give us a really fascinating look into his character. He's an alcoholic. He loves his scrumpy, which is not whiskey, shockingly. I thought it was whiskey for the longest time, but no! It's a cider! His stock melee is the bottle he uses to drink, now turning it into a quick weapon. His model in the main menu is him holding up the bottle itself. His default melee taunt is him taking a swig from the scrumpy bottle. It's a core part of his identity, let's be real. It's a part of the whole Scottish stereotype he has going on.

The game of course follows this. There's a lot of lines where he's slurring and babbling in a cartoony drunken way. A good portion of it is just him making vague threats...but a lot of it is also sad. He calls himself a one-eyed bloody monster. He weeps and cries. When jeering, he says he's hit rock bottom here. Interesting new development.

Apologizes for pausing to ramble, but I don't get why people try and sand down the edges to Demoman's character by making him out as though he isn't an addict. He is. That's something that is made abundantly clear. The iconography of alcohol follows him like his own damn shadow. I dunno. It bothers me.

I digress. There's some other bonus stuff I think is quite interesting. Most of his battle charges involve the other team. "Let's gettem lads!" and all. I think it's neat how he views his teammates as just that. Teammates. Those he fights alongside with. Another thing of note is how he occasionally has lines that are...odd in a way. Poetic and dramatic. Something that subverts the typical characterization. When he loses at rock paper scissors, there's a chance he'll say "Oh, 'tis a dark day", which. well then okay buddy.

So to recap: for characterization in-game, Demo is an alcoholic Scotsman who is generally pretty witty and functioning despite the incredible amounts of booze he drinks. He is energetic, bombastic, and generally hearty and having fun. He's not taking things terribly seriously and is generally just going about and blowing stuff up. However, there is a very noticeable streak of sadness to his character. When drinking, he reveals undertones of self-deprecation and hatred. Why? How?

...well, you just need to take a gander at his character card.

Erm excuse me what the fuck.

I honestly do not understand the logic behind this backstory. Like in a practical sense. Like, yeah!! obviously this backstory is sad and such! I really actually like this backstory and honestly I love writing him in the context that this happened to him. It's just that...I can't wrap my head around the idea of this being Demo's backstory given that everyone else has pretty silly little blurbs here. I think the darkest it gets is Soldier going to Germany years after WWII ended to kill people.

This??? Sure yeah TF2 gets a lot sillier and more cartoony comedic as time goes on, but even with the current tone where is the funny? I ain't complaining, I love me my angst, but this is so jarring to see. I suppose that explains why they retcon it later, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Hey, at least it gives us an explanation to why Demo is sad. We can pretty easily gleam a reason for his current behaviour in the game from this: his messed up childhood. To begin, Tavish Finnegan DeGroot was abandoned by his parents and left to live in an orphanage. Eventually, he was adopted and brought up by some foster parents, who he then murdered in an attempt to blow up the Loch Ness monster. This was when he was six years old. Actual child.

He then went back into the orphanage, where he would tinker with bombs. Why? Insert whatever headcanon here, but for me I think it's a feeling of fascination, yet also heavy guilt. Perhaps revenge. Either way, he loses his eye from these experiments. Eventually however, he's brought back into the family when word spreads of his excellence when it comes to manufacturing bombs. The use of the word "lovingly" feels exceptionally sarcastic, but that could be in part to how his parents are later characterized. Either way, this is a result of the DeGroot tradition, which, and I quote, is wholly unnecessary and cruel. It even cites it as him being reintroduced into his family as the "end of his unhappy childhood".

...so yeah. Pretty safe to say the reason for his alcoholism is to cope with that. He feels the guilt over that and will breakdown into sobs over it even. Yikeesss... It can also mean that he feels as though he's held up to incredibly high expectations, having the entire DeGroot family lineage to live up to. Again, later on he's being nagged at for not being as hard-working as his father, who, in good ol' TF2 fashion, blew up the Queen for a nickel. It does certainly feel that way, no?

So this introduces a new wrinkle to Demoman's current characterization: he's an alcoholic who is happy and has an upbeat and fun personality (at least on the battlefield), but underneath it he's hurting and feels ashamed of who he is. He drinks to cope and manage it, yet it only seems to exasperate problems at times.

Can I safely say that Demo is the merc with the most fascinating and intriguing backstory and personality thus far? Sure yeah I love Engie a lot as well, but Demo's character actually feels like it is a result of the backstory written for him. Like all of the other mercs sure you can go on and on about stuff with them, like Scout and Spy and their whole deal, Sniper and his parents, everything with Heavy, etc. Demo?? Right off the bat there's something to chew on in terms of actual character writing.

What an interesting character! I sure hope later installations of the story will follow through on this and give him ample screentime!

Anywho, time for the Meet the Demo video. Again, a departure from the Meet the Medic video and how I rambled on and on about that one, but it was mainly due to MtM being something to mark a drastic shift in Medic's character from serious and angry to more silly and mad scientist-esque. Meet the Demo, due to it being one of the Meet the Team videos made so early on, doesn't really get the benefit of a short with a story, but I digress.

This one is stylized more like an interview, which, in canon, means he's telling this all to The Director and all. It opens with the title screen before the horns section seep in, cutting to a clip of Demo running while explosions go off behind him. A freeze frame cut before a voice-over of Demo comes on with the iconic line "What makes me a good Demoman? If I were a bad Demoman, I wouldn't be here discussing it with you, now would I!?"

Okay so just more confirmation and all of Demo's personality in-game. According to his bio, he has a short temper and all, which could explain him getting louder when asked that question. I don't think it's a joke or him exaggerating, since he seems genuinely pretty upset by the suggestion. He would have to be good at his job in order to be telling you this, yeah? Why even bother asking? It's an interesting bit of characterization that somewhat expands on that short temper.

More generic footage of him running about while explosions go off before coming back to the interview of him explaining a bomb in its simplest form. "One crossed wire, a wayward pinch of potassium chlorate, one errant twitch... and kablewie!!" Seems like filler dialogue, but I always like taking note of the fact he uses the chemical compound term as opposed to something more colloquial. It's just headcanons, but I really enjoy thinking that Demo is pretty damn smart and really gifted when it comes to making bombs and general chemistry. It's a clear passion and love of his and I like touching on it when I can.

The next couple seconds are shots between him taking a good swig of his scrumpy and then blowing up a level three sentry. It's just showing off his capabilities as a class. Nothing special (other than being cool and showing he's competent at his job). The real interesting part is his breakdown where he's on the verge of tears, exasperatingly telling the camera that he's...off. He knows it. There's not too many black Scotsmen, especially ones with a busted eye. "They've got more fucking sea monsters in the great Loch Ness than they got the likes of me" he says.

But, he perks up! He talks over a clip of him baiting a group of BLU mercs into a sticky trap. The voiceover is also really fascinating here. The way Demo talks reminds me something out of an Aesop fable. It's a very curious and fascinating way of talking. I wish this bit of characterization stuck around since it's pretty fun. "Come and get me I say! I'll be waiting on ya with a whiff of the ol' brimstone. I'm a grim bloody fable...with an unhappy bloody end!" is really cool.

The video ends with him taunting the mangled corpses followed by a rendition of the main theme with bagpipes. I should probably also mention Drunken Pipe Bomb, his theme song. It's an upbeat and fun piece with a mixture of the typical TF2 sounds (funky jazzy drums and bass guitar) as well as a Celtic flair, what with bagpipes, whistles, etc and etc. There's also a kickass surf rock section. It's quite the battle theme and definitely reflects a lot of Demo's character as being an energetic, explosive type of character who is proud of his Scottish roots.

So that's pretty much it for SFM bits for now. How about we take a step back and look at the first-ever actual TF2 comic: WAR!, where Demo really gets a big break for his characterization. We don't care about the Saxton Hale or Jarate ones. WAR! my beloved...

But first, the actual WAR! update. It was the sixth major content update released back in 2009. Remember when this game got actual content updates? Me neither. The update was based around the rivalry between the RED Demo and the BLU Soldier to excuse why they were adding new items for the both of them, with Soldier in the end winning the little contest and getting the Gunboats.

For canon lore, the update serves to introduce the idea that the RED Demo and BLU Soldier had a comradery at first. Friends! Interesting piece of characterization to have Demo explicitly go against RED and become friends with Soldier. The two of them do bounce off of each other quite well when they're paired up, I will say. They're both heavy-hitters in terms of gameplay and their personalities are quite loud at times.

For added voicelines, there's a bunch of the Administrator denouncing their friendship as well as domination lines for both Solly and Demo whenever they kill each other. Demo pretends he hates Soldier, but asks if he's okay, tells him that he loves him, and generally is like "but we're still friends though, aye? :]" He does care a lot about their friendship, which is pretty sweet and cute. Sure hope that lasts.

In the WAR! comic, we see Demo in a mansion. He's loaded! It's also confirmation that the mercs are given quite a lot of money, but apparently not enough for Demo's mother. She's nagging him about not working and saying that he should be ashamed for being so lazy, to which he rebuttals, saying he has three jobs and has made millions annually. Apparently not enough for his mother, since Demo's father worked twenty-six jobs.

She also brings up an interesting piece of information. "No demoman worth his sulfur ever had an eye in his head past thirty!" which implies that missing an eye is a family tradition to lose your eyes when working this job. Would this also imply that Demo is not thirty by this point, since he still has the one eye? Eh, whatever.

Demo taking care of his mom in this old, nagging state is pretty neat characterization, as well as him holding down two other jobs besides mercenary work for RED. He's very capable and talented! He's also extremely caring and sweet. Even when his mum is complaining and griping about him not living up to his father, he gets her tea and takes care of her. He does respond with a lot of "I know mum" when it comes to that. He's heard it all before. She keeps saying the same stuff. I like thinking he knows fully well he can't live up to the extreme work ethic his father had or truly impress his parents and is pretty bummed out about it, but that's just headcanons.

Anywho, Pauling's there. She's there because the Administrator wants to break up the friendship between Demo and the BLU Soldier and instead have them be pitted against each other. While Soldier needs to be tricked and insulted by Demo and told that he's a civilian (something that he hates apparently), Demo is more coerced and convinced.

He's still loyal to their friendship, but, aye, there's something different about that sword there. Here's an interesting bit of characterization: Demo being a sword guy. There's a lot of medieval stuff relating to Demo, what with DeGroot's Keep, the Eyelander, his general way of speaking at times, etc and etc. It's fun and I think he takes great interest in medieval-period stuff, but, again, headcanons.

Demo feels conflicted. How could she make him choose between his best friend and this cool ass sword?? He doesn't give an answer, but Miss Pauling further pushes him to choose violence when leaving even more stuff for him as well as telling him that Soldier said that he'll join the fight. It's then assumed that Demo agrees by that point.

It's interesting to compare and contrast Demo and Soldier. Soldier, despite hearing all of these mean things, still wants to be friends with Demo. It's until "Demo" calls him a civilian, something personal and sensitive to him, is when he decides to betray him. Demo meanwhile is more swayed by things that he loves, but the final push is that betrayal. He only acts when he's finally told that their friendship has been severed. Curious how their loyalty is strong in those ways.

...I should probably sometime mention the actual retconning of his backstory however. Hoouhhh boy let's go. So, for the 2011 Halloween update, there was a comic alongside it. This comic had some cute gags, like Heavy giving a little boy he scared seven grand. However, the main attraction is the rewritten backstory for Demo.

I mentioned earlier, but I honestly can't blame them for maybe trying another crack at a Demo backstory that isn't as bleak and miserable. I do really like the original one because I'm a sucker for angst, but this backstory does work a lot better tonally when you're just trying to write some goofy stuff, especially if it involves Merasmus at some point.

The story retcons the whole thing and seemingly makes it so that Demo has always been with his parents and the reason he lost his eye was not because of some brutal accident but rather a currrseeee ooohhhh spookyyy. He's hired by Merasmus to sweep up the place a bit, with him being exceptionally clear to young Tav to not touch any of the accursed tomes. He does, of course. Nothing too much in terms of characterization. It's more just saying "Hey Demo's eye is cursed and that's why he lost it but! hey! it comes back once every Halloween!!"

Again, I can't really knock this version of events. They're simple, but goofy and fun. It's all up to whatever you're trying to accomplish with Demo methinks. If you want silly and whimsical stories, you can have that backstory. If you want gut-wrenching angst, probably should take the initial one.

Aanndd that's virtually it for Demo being important. Demo doesn't get too much plot relevance later on. He's just kinda done with. He shows up in Expiration Date for a quick gag where he returns with a bunch of beer, shouting and cheering while being unaware of how they all just learned they're going to die in three days. He then shows up again during the bucket scene and doesn't do much other than mouthing somethin' (I can't tell you want tbh). A new thing is that he plays piano! That's fun! He then kinda watches Scout try and ask out Pauling and he yells for him to describe what she looks like, which is just what Demo currently sees her as (drunk, blurry, etc). He then fights in the big battle yada yada and shows up at the end with the beer again.

The MVM trailer I suppose is a thing to be noted. Here, he's a BLU Soldier and is playing cards with the Soldier of the same team. Seems like regardless of teams, there's some sort of bond between the two of them. All that happens is that Demo is down to bust up robots with the rest of the RED mercs. Pretty much it.

It is quite unfortunate to see Demo relegated to a role so passive in the story and comics. I've mentioned it before, but I do have an ever so slight grudge against Soldier for taking up the majority of the screentime when it comes to the comics. Yeah, he's really fun to write about, I can't blame the writers for doing so, but also like...c'mon... In the end, we're left with a good chunk of the mercs being underdeveloped in exchange for a ton of Soldier trivia. Props if you like Solly though; your fave got the best treatment.

Ah, but still! Demo has some moments in the comics! Let's go through them!

Uh. Upon checking most of the comics before the mainline ones, it appears he does not say even a single word. Or even show up in a good portion. Well that's disappointing. I thought he at least said like...one thing. The most he does in terms of characterization is put on a crown in A Fate Worse Than Chess, and even then that's just a silly cosmetic. Damn.

It's fine though! Because now we have the mainline comics! Hot damn finally some actual casual Demoman TF2 writing! Let's get a look and see what his normal usual personality is like! I wonder what fun shenanigans he's been up to.

The first time we see Demo he's babbling about his job being replaced by robots and looking utterly dishevelled and depressed.

Okay. That's...yeah pretty in line for his character thus far. An alcoholic who is struggling with some stuff and oftentimes will have a very vocal breakdown in front of others.

The way that he's characterized here is rather fascinating though, I'll say. He's depressed. From what we can glean, this is what his life has been like since the layoffs. He's gained weight (what with Soldier's very blunt "Hello fat Demoman!"), hasn't shaved, his clothes are dirty, and beer bottles are scattered in the living room. Even the Eyelander is like "dude you need to let it go" when Demo mumbles about robots replacing jobs. He's presumably lost his two other jobs and has just been laying on this couch, drinking booze and watching TV and nothing more, despite his mum's nagging.

This is a side of Demo we don't really see. Sure, yeah, we see the hot and tempered side (ex: Meet the Demoman and the general game) as well as the sad and weepy side, but it's never to this degree. Like full on depressive episode. Yikes. Sure yeah he gets dragged back into the plot and instantly gets back to himself (albeit more orange than actually black)(I keep forgetting how whitewashed Demo was in these first few comics), but it's played for laughs and gags.

What an interesting piece of characterization, no? I've seen a fair amount of major depressive disorder, BPD, PTSD, and or bipolar headcanons slapped onto Demo and tbh I can't blame them. I'd be really interested to see some fic explore that in greater detail. I'm too busy writing Engiemedic yaoi to do anything for now though. Womp womp.

The ending bit of the comic has Demo and Pauling mainly chat with each other. Oh yeah!! Demo and Pauling! They've got a couple pretty neat lines. For the usual contract it's just jokes about his alcoholism, his eye, and a couple about his mom and just general gags. In the Tough Break update, she's out drinking with Demo and nearly spills the beans about her job. Fun. I really like the Miss Pauling characterization where she regularly hangs out with the mercs. It's cute.

In the comics, she talks to Demo more like an actual equal than, say, Pyro or Soldier. She talks to them like they're children roughhousing in the backseat. Demo sits up front and the two go back and forth. Demo is the more mature and reasonable one here. Another thing that's a common bit of characterization in the comics is that Demo isn't...drunk. He's not slurring nor acting in a way that makes it immediately clear he's inebriated. He's pretty lucid. This can be from the fact that he's a very high-functioning alcoholic, but it also makes him out to be actually pretty all-there for most of the time. I've seen far too many fics where Demo is in a perpetual state of shitface drunk so that was a nice refresher.

Demo reappears in the second comic, where we get some pretty neat characterization. He's out on the town in disguise. I keep forgetting about that "What do you see?" "Not a damn thing. Let's switch places" gag that's so funny. Whatever. He is the voice of reason when it comes to Soldier. The straight-man character. He's not really...drunk here. He's not slurring his words nor is he exactly doing anything. He steps in front when Soldier starts yelling at an elderly woman, instead approaching her with a calm and kind demeanour. He holds Soldier back when he goes to strangle Scout for. I guess just being there.

So there's Demo when he's just doing stuff normally, I suppose. He's generally pretty level-headed, albeit because he's up there with Soldier. He's the Normal One when posed next to a guy like Solly. A little disappointing, but there's probably more in comic 4.

Ah the Swordvan comic. Demo and Pauling head over to Sniper's house to retrieve him. An odd bit of characterization is that Demo just takes one look at Snipes' house and goes "Welp, nobody's here. Let's get out". He doesn't seem terribly thrilled to be here, further backed up by him saying that there's just gonna be fingernails and jars of piss and he straight up says "good riddance" like what is his issue with the bushman??

Now that's kinda interesting. Demo sees Snipes as being kinda just gross and a raving lunatic. He could easily be in-place for the audience and just saying what we're thinking, but I think it's interesting to see that Demo, the guy often portrayed as being the weirdo party guy, being very straight-forward. He think Sniper is some sadistic madman and just wants out. Unfortunately, he's given a neckfull of Sniper's homemade family moonshine, so he can't get out quite yet.

A very common thing in these comics it seems is Demo being the voice of reason, which is pretty interesting. The straight man to everyone. When he wakes up to Pauling spitting on him to wake him up, he goes "eughhh gross, but, hey, it worked!!" before then is knocked out. He then stays quiet for the rest of the scene, unless of course you're counting the deleted pages. There's no dialogue, but Demo breaks free from the ropes binding him, yells at Sniper, then pushes past before then inserting three syringes-worth of the moonshine into himself and passing out. Alcoholism joke as per usual. Shockingly the first one we've gotten so far.

In the submarine ride down, Demo's passed out with his scrumpy in hand. Again just a gag about him drinking a lot. He then kinda stays in the background for the rest of the comic, only appearing really once to hold a vat of liquor, before then coming to in the final shot where he holds Sniper's dead body. Heyyyy Demo I thought you thought Sniper was a weirdo freak.

Nothing too much to say from this comic then. It's just establishing more and more that Demo plays a very...straight-man character role when it comes to the comics at least. He's reasonable, level-headed, and often just says whatever comes to mind. He's kind and will instantly rush to someone's aid when they're hurt as well as just generally being pretty good-hearted. Nice!

Comic 5 mainly just features a gag with Demo's liver being so overworked that he starts turning his other organs into alcohol distilleries. The whimsy. The line that I find most fascinating from this comic is from Spy.

Like oh okay so he straight up doesn't eat anything other than alcohol and aspirin. Water literally poisons him. Probably just a throwaway gag, but geez. It does say that he is kinda in pain all the time, at least to the point where aspirin is one of the few things his body can handle. Someone out there can probably work with that and make it angsty. Other than that, not much else for Demo.

Comic 6! The final one! Home stretch here folks before I can wrap this up and give a thesis on whatever the heck Demo's character is. Demo, again, is mainly just here for gags. It's the one thing I do really wish that the comics did more: explore Demo's backstory. Like you don't even need to keep the original one, but it's still fascinating to bring up the fact he has a family lineage at all. Instead, he's mainly just a straight-man character. But, hey, whatever. I'm just the one analyzing these silly comics and jokey joke characters for gay melodramatic yaoi fanfiction.

There's a gag about Demo's liver coming back to him after leaving. These soap opera drama scene could parallel the type of shows that he was watching when having that depressive episode, but that's maybe a bit of a stretch. He then gets included in that fun group shot, where his pose mimics that from the Meet the Demo, before then gets a one-on-one scene with Medic.

These two are such a fun duo I wish Jaggerbombs was a more common pairing. Ah well. Medic catches Demo up on everything whilst he's stitching up wounds. The medi-gun is broken so they're doing this the old-fashioned way. Demo has a gag where he's still drinking, only that it's hydrogen peroxide instead. This then leads to a scene where Demo asks why Medic never gave him an eye. Reasonable methinks. Medic responds saying he did.

Demo gets upset. He raises his voice for the first (official) time in the comics. Again, his temperament. I think it's a reasonable thing to be upset about tbh. Like imagine being told after all this time you could've had your eye back. He then learns that, no, the procedure has been done before, but rather that it never sticks because of how his eye socket is cursed. Demo asks how he can't remember this, to which Medic goes "Hooh :] It's because I scooped out a part of your brain" because of course he did. He then forgets the entire conversation + probably Medic entirely.

Aaannnddd that's pretty much it for Demo. That's his last speaking role. Just a quick, simple gag about his eye being cursed, his alcoholism, and generally being the straight-man for others, even if he does have a couple silly gags too. Seems like a culmination of everything he is in the comics.

To conclude: Demo is a character I feel can take on two main roles depending on what kind of tone you're going for. If you want angst, you've got a character who carries the guilt of murdering his foster parents as well as the burden of being a DeGroot, turning to alcohol to cope with his sadness and general inability to deal with it all. If you want silly goofy stuff, you have Demo being a straight-man or a neat party guy if you like the bit from Expiration Date where he brings back beer and such. Of course there's nuance. I find it best to try and find a balance between these two opposing sides. It just takes time and practice to really get a hold of his personality methinks.

I do wish he was more in the comics though as his own person, y'know? He's very reliant on others in order for his character to function, whilst most others have scenes where it's just them doing something. I wish he was used more than being the guy who drags the others back to reality. Damn it sucks to see that the fics where he's mainly just the straight-man are kinda right in that regard.

But for character traits? Hm, let's see. I find it's just trying to make sense of what's given to you and seeing what best fits for the tone of story you're trying to go for. However, for me trying to write him? Well...

His alcoholism is a central character trait. He is definitely 100% an alcoholic, regardless of however people try and sand him down. I personally really like sticking to the idea that he straight up can't eat anything but booze and aspirin because I think it's funny but also sad, but that's me. I think him having a flask of scrumpy on his person at all times is a neat headcanon as well.

Another big trait with Demo is his frequently shifting mood when drunk. He can swing from loud to weeping in a couple moments. I wouldn't say he's particularly angry nor aggressive, no more than any other character at least. He's most volatile on the battlefield, but otherwise at the base I feel it wouldn't be an uncommon sight to see Demo partying until dawn or holed up in the living room and sobbing. Poor guy.

In spite of what many think, Demo is certainly not lazy. He's a workaholic is anything. He holds down three jobs and rakes in a lot of money in order to live up to his name as a DeGroot. It could be because he likes working that much or that his mother just nags him to push himself that far. That also ties into his self-deprecation, another core trait of his, but that's pretty obvious to see.

His heart is another big trait. The guy loves. He cares for his mother even when she nags at him. He sticks by Soldier's side until he feels as though he's been betrayed. He takes care of the Eyelander and treats it like a pal. He generally cares a whole heck of a lot about people and other things. He wears his heart on his sleeve and says what he means. He doesn't feel a need to really hide who he is as a person. He's loud, fun, and just naturally pretty sweet and kind. I don't think he's ever really "mean" outside of the game stuff. There's also the whole "being hired to explode people" part but ehhh that's just the silliness in him :]

Demo also being generally pretty...normalish. He's a guy who's really just going through it when you take the angst option. He oftentimes will try and hold back others from doing something stupid when sober. I feel like when he's drunk he's more willing to get in on dumb shit, but still. However, this doesn't mean he's wholly a normal person. I think you can do a lot of headcanons here where you bring out some traits that are otherwise not talked about too much.

There are a lot of liberties to be taken with Demo's character as per usual. A ton of writing a character to be, well, in-character is just getting down their voice and mannerisms. Understanding their personality and motives is just half the battle. Demo sometimes speaks like an old-timey medieval knight or poet or whatever. He's generally pretty well-spoken and whatever. For the love of god if you want to write him, you don't need to include phonetics constantly. Please. It's so much better that tu'try toh spell everay whurd like tis. Oftentimes people will just know what the character sounds like regardless. Just try and mimic his way of speaking more and you'll do wonders for actually making that character sound like, well, that character.

I've neglected to mention Demo being a black man a lot because, well, it never really pops up a lot in canon. I think the most recognition we get for Demo being black is him just saying that he's black. He's a black Scotsman and that's about it. It's curious since I've seen a number of fics where it's all period-typical racism angst and whatever, with Demo being used as a way for the author to get up and proudly say that they think that racism is bad by having Demo being called a slur and getting upset. How progressive.

I dunno. I never really personally touch on period-typical bigotry stuff myself due to the fact that this is Team Fortress 2. Rocket jumping was invented before stairs. Besides, this is the late 60s/early 70s. The civil rights movement happened by this point. Not everyone walking the streets is gonna be some abrasive bigot. I don't know why people want to try and make it "historically accurate" to begin with since this series has never been period-accurate to begin with. I don't particularly think TF2 is a great series to go on about tackling period-typical bigotry either. Literally if you want Demo angst you've got the actual mountain load of angst with his backstory right there. Obviously of course people are allowed to write what they want and I do fully believe that sharing stories and portraying bigotry is important, but why with TF2??? Do people just really look at a POC and think their existence is inherently political and they need to make it clear they think Racism Bad, even though the tone of canon really doesn't match that?? Ah well. I'm just rambling.

Regardless, Demo is just a character where you can take a lot of different avenues with. Maybe you can explore his trauma and try and write about how he feels trying to live up to his family name. What about his issues with his now-deceased father? Maybe you can forgo that and have him be a partner in crime to Solly or whomever else, with the occasional glimpse into his more sensitive self. Really, it all just depends on the story you're trying to tell. Ultimately, writing Demo with a healthy mix of comedy and angst is probably what is best done if you just want a pretty in-character version. He can be out on some grand adventure to take down Nessie with a merc or two AND have it be a story about him coming to terms with his past. That's just a me thing though lol.

Demo, like the rest of the cast, is an easily moldable piece of clay. All of the mercs at their very core are just funny character archetypes. They can be whatever you want them to be. It's just best to work with their original characterization and personality in mind, y'know? Fanfic writing is mainly about having fun anyway.

Speaking of which, enough procrastinating for me. I need to get back to writing my yaoi...

#sp-rambles #tf2 #tf2 demoman #character analysis #long post

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heavens-aesthetic-kitchen · 5 months

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Why the TF2 Defense Trio deserve more recognition

The people have spoken, I have decided to create an essay disguised as a post on this godforsaken website because it's a free country goddammit! (I would have done it either way lmaooo, I have a lot of shit to say about these maniacs) To start this formal essay glorified very serious shitpost, why should you as a tf2 fan care about these 3 men? They're so "boring" and there's not much going on with them. If ya took a second, let's pause with what was being said. YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND to think such thoughts, we must shake you out of cuckoo land by giving you an in-depth look into these three so that you understand where I'm coming from. Let's start in order:

Demoman:

After being in the fandom since 2019, there's always one character I always thought wasn't given much anything in the fandom at all. Even taking ships out of the equation, there's barely any fics I've that focus on Tavish Finneagan Degroot specifically that I've seen that isn't a compilation fic (I read a lot of x readers, don't judge me). Believe me, I checked ao3. I went through Demoman's tags and I tried very hard to filter a lot of the crossover and relationship tags, yet there's less of Demoman himself, than there's him just existing as a side character of a story. Which is honestly sad, I honestly think Demo is one of the more kinder mercs compared to a lot of the team. This man made friends with the BLU soldier, despite knowing that they were supposed to be killing each other. Sure, it's unclear whether or not Demo did actually go through with it and it's just a ruse, because the voicelines in WAR! don't have a set timeline. But I do think that Demo would have tried to keep his friendship with BLU soldier. He's very chill. I've never actually seen him get violent against his friends and family, despite being a drunkard. I honestly think he's one of the sweetest people in TF2, he takes good care of his mom and haunted sword lmaoooo. Jokes aside, he seems like a genuinely good man and I barely see anything that suggests he's sadistic. He's a chaotic and loud, but not bad. Not bad at all. The fact he can still do his job well, even after drinking so much that his body created a whole distillery, is even more impressive. He is damn good at what he does and works very hard. He's had multiple jobs, even as wee little lad. Despite what people think of him, the fact he's getting paid 5 million dollars a year, is proof he knows what he's doing. He loves his job and couldn't bear the thought of not working. I feel like his backstory isn't talked about enough in the fandom either. When you think about it, it's kinda fucked up that he was put in an orphanage by his biological parents until he was in the right age to be blowing people up. Not only that, his eye socket was haunted by the Bombinomicon so that every halloween a giant eye would manifest, attacking him and his friends. Even Medic couldn't help him and instead resorting to scooping the part of Demo's brain where he remembered so he would stop asking. He most likely has a lot of stories for you, I see him as the type that has a lot to say. His past is the most fleshed out and complete out of all the mercs, which I really appreciate, you can do a lot more with him. Also another thing, during Unhappy Returns, he took the time to reassure Soldier that he wouldn't think he's a civilian. He didn't brush Soldier's worries aside and instead comforted him. I wish I had a lot more to say about Demo because I am baffled that he isn't being gushed about as a potential partner. He has the excitement and like zero baggage. A thing I also wanna point out is that he seems to be insecure of the fact he's a black scottish man with only one eye during Meet The Demoman. I may be reading into things a bit too much, but it makes me wanna be like "NOOOO don't talk about yourself like that, bro. You're so cute UGHHH" Also also he's handsome. Sure looks can be subjective, but I still think Demo has a face I would kiss hehe. He looks great with his beard and his cheeky ass smile. GOD I could gush about him all day, but I have to move on rip.

Heavy:

Honestly, I'm having a hard time just finding the words to describe this amazing man without giving him the respect he deserves. But I'll sure try. Heavy has had a difficult life and I've always admired how strong he was. Not just of his muscles, but he endured one of the toughest situations and still kept moving forward with his life even though it was traumatizing. You see why I'm even having a hard time talking about him? I can't really get down into the weeds, without getting serious for a min. I feel like the fandom doesn't give him much credit for being able to deal with so much. He's the rock for his family after his father disappeared (atp I think he's dead, which is the cherry on top this depressing sundae) and I wouldn't doubt that he would be the same for his team. He's a man of few words, but that makes him all the more intriguing. Just because this man has a lot of brawn does not mean he's dumb at all. Despite how he acts in the battlefield, Heavy is observant and clever. Although, it's implied that Spy being Scout's dad is an open secret between the mercs and Miss Pauling, the fact he figured it out without saying it directly must mean he has a lot more going on. He's also educated, getting a phD in Russian Literature. It's not a STEM program, but he actually got a doctorate and went to college, that's a lot more than half of what the mercs did lmaooo. Also he has a bit of a softie side, not just for his mom and sisters, but also other creatures as well. I respect him so much for avoiding violence against those dogs during the Showdown comic. Not only shows what an absolute sweetheart he is, but also how much he's able to think quickly on his feet. Heavy is very direct and blunt, I don't see him as the type to lie about his feelings. I appreciate that he doesn't feel the need to sugarcoat anything, he'll get the job done and he ain't playing. There's no fluff, he knows what he wants and that's to rev up Sasha and ram through sons of bitches without any worries.

I feel like I wanna point out, his story seems the most unexplored in the fandom, even though it has a lot of potential for ANGST factor. I already broke down how sad it is, but I just feel like it isn't said enough. Can I just say how cuddly he looks?! GAH, I feel like he would give the warmest hugs! The way he smiled in Unhappy Returns when he finds out his family doesn't need to live in fear anymore, just melts my heart! He's so protective over his family and friends! I wish I had a lot more to say about this guy because I just can't stop finding more things about him that go unappreciated. I had to literally edit this part so many times before moving on, he just has those little details you don't notice until you take a second and have that OH MY GOD moment

Engineer:

I was getting so hyped, when it was finally our resident southern nerd's time to shine. GOD I have so much to say about this man. It's been over 5 fucking years and I have never stopped simping for this man since 2019, I think I'm gonna go insane from how much I've been repressing, I go feral when he's around. Anyways enough stalling. I don't ever think a fictional character has ever made me swoon quite like Engineer, I really mean that. I have ask and pleaded to whatever god was listening to give me a man like Engie. To me, he is everything I ever wanted and more.

First, I wanna talk about what makes him attractive to me. His accent. His southern charm, UGH he's killing me with that smooth voice and chivalry! I swear this man could make me faint just from existing. The way he smiles is so warm, his insults are so corny I love them. That five o clock shadow GAHH! I'm getting butterflies all over again. I swear I love all three of the defense bois, but Dell Conagher has my heart wrapped around his gunslinger metal finger. All those personal reasons aside, I've always thought Dell Conagher was a very interesting character in the world of TF2. He might not have much screen time or goofy shenanigans like the other mercs, but that doesn't mean you can ignore him oh no no no. This man is important within the whole story of Mann Co and TF industries, his grandfather being the catalyst of the game's events and the comics going forward. The Conaghers are the SOLE REASON why Team Fortress 2's story exists. I find it strange that the fandom hasn't done much with this fact because you can do a lot with this idea. Engineer knows a lot of shit and would be the biggest threat to Helen, if not for the fact that his family has been helping her for years.

Like his backstory, he's not seen much in the battlefield, but he has a lot more going on behind the scenes. Imagine the possibilities. He is damn intelligent and he knows it. While Dell is very sweet and has a southern charm, this is a facade to hide his God complex and sadistic tendencies. If you think this man is just your boring gentle engineer, you've got a big storm coming. It's heavily implied that he sawed off his own arm so that he could use the gunslinger. This man works on projects with Medic and doesn't question the moral implications of putting a human brain in a pumpkin. Hell, he threatened his own employer, even if he was an old man (Granted, Blutarch dug up his grandpa's grave, so he probably should have gotten something a lot worse than just Dell telling him to fuck off). Engineer is more than the texan egghead sweetie pie, he is a mercenary for a reason and I would argue that he might be as insane, if not more than, the rest of the team. No sane man would willingly work with a bunch of war criminals if he wasn't also crazy. That's the thing I really like about him. I love playing as him in the game because it represents his character very well. He technically serves a supportive role to the team with his buildings, but he is a killer with a lot of tools in his disposal, With the right amount of training, he can absolutely dominate in the battlefield.

I feel like he's one of the people that underestimate and assume that he's an easy target, but he's a lot more than that. He has a lot of layers that makes me want to learn more about him and what he has to offer.

In Conclusion:

These guys are cool. Lmaooo okay I won't just end it there. I genuinely believe that they're not getting the recognition that they deserve, they've got a lot more going for them if you pay attention. Sure they might not always be the loudest or most prominant character in the story, but what they lack in quantity, they make up for in quality TEN FOLD. They don't have to be your favourite, but you should at least give them a chance. You never know, they may surprise you.

Okay so thats enough of that, I couldn't find a divider above this message, so you're getting this grainy ass gif. Honestly, I put way too much effort on this shitpost lmaooo, but I just wanted to get my thoughts out in a more concise manner. If you want to add more stuff about these three that I didn't mention, feel free to do so. Anyways thanks for reading

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 engie #tf2 demo #tf2 mikhail #tf2 defense #i spent way too long on this post than I should have bruh #enjoy the ramblings of a thirsty idiot #defense nation rise up

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etsuven · 2 years

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rating: sm-t cw: none i don't think!! includes: current anemo men as of the end of 3.2 (venti, kazuha, heizou, scaramouche, xiao) modern au, reader is pretty and i'm saying pretty because i think it's gender neutral everyone should be allowed to be called pretty summary: let's rank the anemo men as least to most brattiest subs <3 (also them as lovers!)

note: lets rank the men of my favorite element, anemo!!!!!! we're not reallyy ranking them as bf's only as subs- but uh this is just a small headcannon thing to pass the time between my writing!!! should i do these more often?? maybe you guys should give me headcannon asks (???) idk how to explain it, but i just want to have them as something to schedule or whatever- anyways, feel free to reply with your opinions!! (repost AGAIN bc my last post didn't show up in any tags <3)

xiao

in my opinion, xiao is probably such a sweet boyfriend! even though he's not the best when it comes to talking to people, he always has you there to help him <3 (unless you're also quiet, then he'll be the one to talk for you.) he's not shy, he just doesn't like talking to people.

your innocent kisses on his cheeks and lips get him so flustered sometimes, and even though he's embarrassed by how you ended up catching him off guard so easily, the cute smile on your face makes up for it.

now, i feel that xiao is probably the sweetest sub. much like his in public self, he's not very loud- but that's only because he's hiding his moans. it works for a little bit, but every time you fuck, you end up touching that one spot that makes him moan louder than his hand can hide.

after that, he's unable to hide his noises anymore. instead- he opts for clutching the sheets next to his head or hips. his moans are breathy, with the occasional gasp or groan into the air.

he prefers receiving oral more than giving, but only because he likes how you can so easily reduce him to gasps and almost tears. (also he loves the look you give him from in between his legs)

i feel like he'd like it if you held his hand while fucking him- like he thinks it's intimate and it allows him to feel closer to you (well, he probably can't get closer than literally being inside him/you being inside him, but that's besides the point)

all in all, very sweet, not a brat at all!

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kazuha

kazuha my love my only limited 5 star besides the traveler who's higher than C0.... he's definitely a wonderful boyfriend. he's very kind, sweet, and he has a way with words that make you fall harder for him every time he says them.

he likes to give you sneaky kisses just to watch you jump in shock, and he's definitely the type to be like, "i'm sorry, love, but you were too pretty, i couldn't help it!"

kazuha is also a very sweet sub, and he wants to please you! you wanna touch him until he's on the verge of tears? go ahead! do you want him to sit in between your legs and make you cum as many times as you'd like? well, that's actually his favorite thing to do!

this pretty red clothed man LOVES to please you. in his eyes, he doesn't get to cum until you do. he's very good with his mouth and tongue, and it often leads to some situations where you're a little too distracted to continue your work. after all, how could you focus when there was a gorgeous man with furrowed brows and a flushed face sitting in between your legs?

when you finally get to touching him, you'll find that he has quite pretty moans. they're a bit more on the groany side, but they turn onto full on moans when he really gets into it. he doesn't hide his noises, in fact- he prefers that you hear just how good you were making him feel. you've almost gotten caught many times because of that...

he definitely likes it when you pull his hair. although he makes sure his hair is tied up perfectly when he's in between your legs, a ton of strands will always find their way outside of the previously neat ponytail thanks to your wandering hands... perhaps he should keep his hair down while like that? only to keep it from getting more messy- and definitely not to give you more to pull.

summary: he's very sweet, very attentive. if you'd like, get yourself a lover like him!

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venti

i feel that venti would be a wonderful boyfriend! contrary to popular belief, he isn't the type to date you only to abandon you in the name of freedom. he knows exactly how to cheer you up when you're feeling down, and he knows when to leave you alone when you need space.

he's very energetic, often times chatting your ear off when it comes to something he likes. he also loves giving you random things he finds in stores that remind him of you. you like a certain show? i can guarantee that he will buy a cute little keychain for you and give it to you when you're least expecting it.

if you're the more quiet type, he will gladly speak up for you. he wants you to feel as comfortable as possible.

now i feel that he's lowkey a tease in bed. he likes to leave lingering kisses on your skin just to get you worked up, and when you ask what he's doing, he'll pretend to be oblivious and walk away.

he wants you to throw him down, and the quickest way to get you to do that is to tease you until you can't handle it anymore. light teasing is all he does, as he doesn't want to accidentally annoy you and ruin the mood.

he has THE prettiest moans, kind of high and breathy, and he gets a bit choked up when you touch a particularly sensitive spot. he's also not the type to hide them, but he will do so if you request.

he loves it when you grab him by his hips as a way to keep yourself steady. you always manage to fuck him even harder when your hands are grasping his hips, something he very much enjoys when he just doesn't want to think anymore.

summary? very much a tease, but he knows how to tone it down when he needs to!

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scaramouche/wanderer

SCARAAA!!! thanks for you and your weapon but do you mind coming home one more time, i need you at c1- i don’t know what to call him here, but i’ll just stick with scara for now.

anyways, scara is such a good boyfriend he’s so sweet but it’s like backhanded sweet. like ‘i won’t admit that i really like you and i really want to kiss you but that’s embarrassing to admit so i’ll stay quiet until you do it first’ kind of sweet.

we all know from one of scara’s idle lines that he’s not afraid to speak up. he’s literally like “you didn’t like that? well that’s your problem.” so i feel like he would totally stand up for you if someone were treating you badly. but like he would insult them and leave them questioning if it was really worth messing with you.

he hasn’t experienced many romantic things in his life, as most people were too scared to even go up to him. so when you came along and absolutely turned everything around from how affectionate you were, he was quite shocked.

despite being bold and unafraid of consequences in his usual life, he’s quite shy when it comes to romance. holding hands gets him all embarrassed, the way you look at him like the answer to the life itself is right in front of you makes him so flustered. i can only imagine how he’d be like if you kissed him!

he’d be such an adorable sub, i can already feel it! he’s still a bit of a brat, thanks to remnants of his old personality being retained, he’ll talk back to you, but only because he’s flustered, and he feels that he doesn’t deserve to be touched in such a loving way.

he’ll try to egg you on, little things like “i bet i could do so and so better,” just to have you treat him a little bit harsher. he’s not glass, so don’t treat him so gently! he wants you to turn his mind into mush, he wants you to please him until forgets everything he did that day.

he loves it when you’re able to fuck him until he’s on the verge of passing out. he has quite a bit of stamina- due to not being human and all, so he’s able to go on for a while. he enjoys the feeling of everything building up until it eventually bursts, it’s overwhelming and he can’t help but get addicted to it. waking up to see you tending to him is just a bonus.

but there are times where he’ll be a bit vulnerable, and those are the times where you can be a bit more gentle with him. he won’t talk back, he’ll just embrace you and let you praise him for how good he’s being.

summaryyyyy: he’s a bit of a brat, but at the same time- not really. he’ll talk back, but at the same time he wants to be a good boy for you. it really just depends on what scara you get that day!

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heizou

pretty boy heizou <3 i have him but i don’t really read much on his personality and stuff, so i’m writing this based off of what i saw in his hangout quest.

he’s very much the flirty type of lover, always knowing what to say at certain times to get you all flustered. while he’s an expert at flirting at you, he gets quite embarrassed when you do the same to him.

forehead and back of the hand kisses are his fave, as they’re simple and sweet. though he isn’t opposed to a quick peck on the lips when you’re least expecting it.

as a detective, he is naturally attuned to your needs, knowing exactly what you want based on your body language. if you’re a bit fidgety in public, he’ll guide you away to give you a break. if your hands start to wander during what originally started as a small kiss? that was a sure fire sign that you wanted something more…

heizou is lowkey kind of a brat. the flirty nature of his doesn’t fade away when he’s about to get his brains fucked out, so prepare for him to sweet talk you and tease until he eventually can’t talk anymore.

he’ll always try to annoy you, whether that be by small remarks or outright disobeying you when you want him to do something. but unlike venti, he won’t tone it down. why? he wants you to wreck him. treat him like he’s just a toy for you to use.

his moans are on the sobbier side, as he cries pretty easily. he loves loves LOVES getting pinned down, so feel free to push his arms down into the bed as you’re fucking him so he’s unable to squirm away as he cries and pleads for you to let him cum.

summary: i don’t know much about him but he’s cute! very bratty, but he’s the fun kind of bratty. the kind where you don’t mind because it was so fun seeing him slowly lose his composure.

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fictionalreads · 2 months

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Can you please do an Armando x reader angst 🙏 I don’t know abt what lol I JUST WANT HEAPS OF ANGST SO I CAN BALL MY EYES OUT AND I WANT THIS MAN TO BE GROVELLING LEFT RIGHT SND CENTRE 😭 lol sorry abt that love ur work bae💗💗 Make sure to get heaps of rest and stay hydrated 🧘‍♀️💆‍♀️🫶

A/N: Soooo... reader didn't wanna talk to me. Or more accurately I think, Armando wanted all the attention. I'm sure I'll eventually be struck with inspiration for an Armando x reader angst and I'll definitely tag you in it, but for now I hope you enjoy this Armando angst.Title is from Lonely by Benny Blanco and Justin Bieber.

No One's Listening And That's Just Lonely

Fandom: Bad Boys

Prompt: Armando reflects on times in his life that he's felt alone.

Warnings⚠️: Our boy is lowkey depressed in this one. Might be a line that could be seen as morbid.

PHOTO IS FROM @yeahnohoneybye I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW TO GIVE THEM CREDIT WITHOUT TYPING IT OUT LIKE THIS

Armando Aretas was used to being alone. After being ripped from his mother’s arms at just six years old, he learned to embrace the feeling. He was forced into preparing for his mother’s grand plan which included gun training, fight training and emotional resistance. There was no room for a six year old’s sadness over being alone. The people his mother had training him definitely weren’t the type to go and cuddle with, they were more likely to punish him for being so weak that he expressed his fear. Not that his mother was any better when he was with her.

“Otras personas te decepcionarán, mijo. Confía en ti mismo,” she’d say when he was young and upset that he couldn’t play with the other children in the prison. He was small, but it was a prominent memory from his short time with her, the first lesson she taught him.

He should’ve listened to her, maybe then he’d have heard her subtle warnings about herself.

When he was eighteen, a freshly minted adult that was on top of the world, he had thought her old saying paranoid. He had loved going out and meeting people, befriending them. It came naturally to him, but his mother had her people keeping him on a tight leash. The few times he went out, he kept his cover pretty well, never telling anyone anything real about himself but just enough they wouldn’t be suspicious.

Until he met a girl that is. She had been different from the quick fucks he’d had before, holding actual conversation with him and keeping him on his toes. He’d loved her spontaneity, it being a breath of fresh air from the rigid routines he was used to. He had slowly dropped breadcrumbs of what his lifestyle was really like b behind closed doors, testing the waters to see if she was about the life or if she’s run for the hills. Every small test he set in place for her she passed with flying colors. He was so sure she could handle it that he told her everything. At first it seemed like he was right about her, she stayed by his side. Then one day she disappeared, no word from her at all. He went to her place and saw she had packed some things, it looked like she had been in a hurry. He initially worried that she went to the police so he played low for a few weeks, but when nothing happened, he just felt hollow.

The one he was supposed to rule the world with was gone, she had left him. He spent weeks questioning every interaction. Where did he go wrong? What signs had he misread? Did he really misread them or were they obvious and he just refused to see what he didn’t want to? Had she ever really loved him? Why wasn’t who he was enough for her to stay? Why was he destined to walk this life alone?

Thinking back on it, his mother hadn’t been pleased his attention had been split and probably had her killed.

Prison hadn’t felt as alone as he was expecting. He knew other people would be around but he’d been surrounded by people all his life and still felt alone. His cell was in murder row, the nickname for the solitary unit he was in. He wasn’t exactly friends with the others in cells in his solitary unit, but they were better than nothing. He spent time with them sometimes when they got the chance to go to the yard, sometimes preferring to workout and enjoy his hour in the sun alone.

It probably helped that his father would visit him at least twice a month, more if he could swing the travel time. It had been interesting getting to know the man he had thought was an enemy. He hadn’t attempted the corny get to know you spiel, preferring to stick to business which was fine by Armando. Armando had learned a few of the mans quirks just through the small amount of conversation they had. But his father usually showed up to ask him for information, an effort to cut down his extremely long sentence, so it lacked the warmth that would chase the cold feeling of loneliness away.

A loneliness that hit worst at night when he would stare at the gross ceiling of his cell and wonder what could have happened if he had known his father from the start.

This alone was different. He was lying down in the boat his father had put him on to flee Miami, blood slowly dripping out of his side. The motor on the boat had long ago canned out on him, he didn’t have the strength or the tools to try and fix it. He was currently floating in open water, no land in sight. He wondered if he would bleed out, or starve to death first. Maybe he’d dehydrate, he had no access to fresh drinking water.

He figured the loneliness felt different because for the first time, he didn’t have a tether to something else that brought him out of his self pitying. His mother was dead. He didn’t have anyone he loved waiting for him to come home. His father had sent him away knowing he’d probably never see him again, albeit he also probably assumed Armando would survive. But what was the point? Everything he had been taught growing up was a lie and everything he did ensured he couldn’t come back from those actions with a clean slate. For the first time in his life, he hoped the police would catch him.

He didn’t want to die feeling the worst feeling in the world, feeling like there was nothing for him. He’d rather keep living and find hope for a life he could build that he should have had from the start.

Translation:

Other people will disappoint you, my son (darling). Rely on yourself.

Taglist (I'm gonna tag for all Armando pieces unless you ask me not to):

@yeahnohoneybye @bootlegroach @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

#armando aretas #fic request #request answered #kinda #jacob scipio #bad boys for life #bad boys ride or die #bad boys #minors dni #no romance in this one

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modern-gremlin · 4 months

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All of You | Lance - SDVE (Stardew Valley Expanded) MDNI. 🔞

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Pairing: Lance (SDVE) x f!reader Word Count: 6,334 (whew...) Warnings: Smut (basically porn with plot lol), talks of rough sex Tags: Established relationship, oral (male + female receiving), rough sex, creampie, little bit of fluff

SYNOPSIS Lance wants to have get rough in bed but doesn't want to take it too far, not until you give him permission to. A/N: Y'all, this is my first fanfic and of course I did smut as my first. :')) I’d appreciate feedback bc I wanna get better, but please be nice (im fragile) Listen, when I first played Stardew Valley Expanded, I KNEW I was just down bad for Lance. I absolutely simp for those pixels. This turned out to be WAY longer than I anticipated but oh well, I think I like how it is. Also, thank you so much @neet-elite for responding with writing tips. Your response really gave me the inspiration to just get up and write something I like. I appreciate you!

Before you knew it, you were getting railed harder than you've ever been railed in your life — let alone from your usually sweet and slow, doting boyfriend. It was only a week ago that you even broached the subject of rough sex; the culmination of late-evening pillow talk. Sex with Lance wasn't dissatisfying, in fact, it was probably the best you've ever had, you think to yourself. He is simply good at everything he ever attempts, and sexual endeavors would be no different.

Lance has a way of making you become undone. Planting kisses on your neck, trailing down your body until he reaches the wet spot between your thighs. Then he gauges your reaction; studies the way you pant heavier in anticipation, whine and shuffle your hips closer to his face until you're practically begging him to drown in you. Only then will he go in for the plunge. Lapping up your wetness like he's starved, lightly humming as he licks your clit. He slowly teases your wet cunt with his calloused fingers before shoving them deep into the part that makes you see stars. He always has to have you cumming at least twice before he even thinks about getting himself off. That's the way Lance is, that's just his routine.

You love that about him, always selfless and he always thinks about you first. It's a rare brand of kindness you don't often see in others, but he's particularly and lovingly considerate of you. It does, however, leave you wondering how you can be considerate of him. You hate to be a skeptic, but his kindness makes you wonder if he sacrifice his own needs to prioritize yours. It's something you've seen all too often, but Lance is never the type to complain, not explicitly at least. After finally getting together a year ago, you've learned a lot of his little mannerisms. His eyebrows cross slightly when he's confused, his shoulders tense to a specific position when he's stressed. Learning his habits gives you a sense of comfort and domesticity. So, you've taken from his playbook and began to study his reactions, and it was through this you've discovered something in particular.

Likely a result of his training, he never acts out of turn. Always the gentleman, he lets you set the pace and only lays his hands on you when you give explicit permission. This surprises you a little, honestly. While he's never been foolhardy, he always struck you as unwaveringly confident; an incredible flirt. He's a man who trusts his instincts and he's hardly every wrong in trusting them. So when he looks at you longingly, waiting for your permission to ravish you with his hands, clearly eager but hesitant, it's a little unexpected.

He always reassures you that he enjoys having sex with you when you ask, which is almost good enough to fool you. Clearly, you can see he enjoys it by his eagerness to go for another round and how easy it is for you to get him hard again. But something in the pained look on his face, maybe the furrow of his eyebrows or the regimented movements of his thrusts, makes you feel like there's something wrong.

These kind of thoughts have a funny way of eating away at you. And this thought in particular has been eating at you for a while now, until your worries spills out of you one night you've decided to keep him company at the Outpost. After exhausting scouting days, you've made a habit of keeping Lance company through his night watch duties. Though, you're likely more of a distraction than an aid but he doesn't mind it all. Nestling close to you in bed makes the cold stone walls of the tower feel like home, a concept he had a hard time defining until he met you. You find the same comfort in him, so naturally, your inner thoughts aren't kept secret from him for long.

"Lance?" you ask as sweetly as you can muster in spite of the obvious pit in your stomach. You wait for his response, counting the stone slabs across the ceiling while lying on his linen sheets. "Yes, my love?" he replies in reassuring tone — he's all too familiar with your anxious tells, though you're not sure what gave it away this time. "I want you to answer me honestly, even if it's not what I want to hear. I just genuinely want to know." You were just filled with so many questions, which soon turn into (rather irrational) assumptions. Maybe he's secretly unsatisfied with your relationship. Maybe there was something you did to upset him that you were unaware of. Just questions, questions, and more questions.

Despite quickly becoming his closest confidant since you've met him at the Caldura, it still feels like there's an air of mystery around Lance. He keeps his cards close to his chest, most likely for your own good. He lives a life of danger, and he doesn't want you in the crosshairs. But truly, you don't care. You're hopelessly in love with him. You'd rather dive head first into his life and be beside him, no matter where he stands. Besides, it's not like you're a stranger to the perils of adventuring yourself.

Your thoughts race fast as ever, and before you can go down another mental tangent, he does as he always does and brings you back to earth. "Of course. You have my word." He places his hand to your face and strokes your cheek with his thumb. "Ask away.” A weak smile forms on his face in an attempt to encourage you. "Are you...happy with me?" you feel your shoulders tense at your own question. He looks at you incredulously, mouth open, prepared to assure you, "You make me so happy, I mean i--" "It's...not that I don't believe you when you say that. In fact, I mean more like... are you s-satisfied with me?" you ask sheepishly. He furrows his eyebrows slightly, thinking of a way to ask you to clarify. "If you don't mean satisfied in happiness, what do you mean? Satisfied, in what way?" His question is earnest and borne from genuine curiosity, but it still makes you nervous to elaborate further. You fiddle with your fingers until you speak up once more.

"As in...sexually? I figure you enjoy it at least a little, otherwise I'd imagine you wouldn't be so eager to have sex with me as much as we do. But I have this feeling that maybe, you're holding back in some way? And if so, am I doing anything wrong?" You scan for answers within his purple eyes, but before long you're distracted by the way his face is illuminated by the dim lamplight. He truly is a beautiful man. If it weren't for the way you stare at him admiringly, you wouldn't have noticed the flush form over his tan skin. "N-no. I promise you, you have done nothing wrong. You are such a light in my life and I never want to take what we have for granted." He reaches to grab both of your hands and cups them between his own. "It's just — I have…rather-" Uncharacteristically, he stumbles over his words. It's your turn to reassure him now. You bring his hands to your cheek, your hands still cupped within his. "You can tell me."

He folds at your sincerity. "Well, sex with you is...fantastic. Truly." he states as the flush on his face deepens. "It might be selfish of me, but I love that there is a side of you only I can bring out. A part of you that is mine and mine alone." He looks into the distance, smiling lightly at memories of your earlier trysts. His words trail for a moment as he tries to collect his thoughts until you bring him back to focus.

"But...?" you gesture. He sighs deeply then continues your train of thought, "But there is... something. It's not dissatisfaction; not at all. It's more like... restraint." "Restraint?" You issue back.

He adjusts himself to sit upright against the headrest of the bed. "I've always been warned to be aware of my strength in my training. Whether it be in magic or in combat... Control is key. Otherwise you risk unnecessary danger. It's an ingrained rule when you're a member of the First Slash." His eyes dart towards to you, gauging whether or not you understand where the conversation leads. You shift yourself up to match his position against the headrest and look back at him curiously, which prompts him to continue.

"When I'm with you, I feel myself losing that control. I feel this need to completely... consume you. I don't want to hurt you or be selfish in any way. I hoped it wouldn't be so obvious, but I should know better than to think anything gets past you." He huffs a breathy laugh and gently places a comforting hand upon your thigh. You take a moment to take in his words before feeling profound sense of relief. You're relieved that his restraint isn't from something wrong you're doing, rather, it's about what you're doing right.

"So, what you're saying is...I didn't do anything to bother you then?" you ask, looking for confirmation. "No, far from it. Simply put, you drive me crazy in the best of ways." He lets out a light laugh to conceal a relieved sigh; as if a weight has been lifted from his admission. "Simply put, you want to go rougher on me? Is that it?" you retort back cheekily, mimicking his earlier tone. He laughs a bit louder this time, his thumb gently traces up and down movements against your thigh. In a teasing tone, you press him further on the matter, "Hmmm, I'll take your silence as a 'yes', then." You enjoy playfully pushing his buttons from time to time, but you genuinely to know what's on his mind. The flush on his face returns when he gives you a simple nod. A bashful Lance is a rare sight, so you can't help but grin at how coy he's being.

Clearing his throat to continue, "That being said, I don't want to hurt you. Ever. I don't think I would, but I-" "Let's do it, I know you won't hurt me," you say while interrupting his train of thought. Your eagerness causes his eyes to widen, slightly moving his hands to cover his erection that grows from your words. You're usually the one to be flustered by his brazenness, so you take much satisfaction at how the tables have turned this time. Your agreement clearly has him a little riled up, but he's doing as you observed again: he's eager but hesitant. You move yourself closer into him, prodding him to make a move. Swallowing thickly, he clears his throat to finish his thought, "I just... wonder if maybe I do lose control, I'll reveal a side of me that you're not familiar with. I don't... want to show you a side of me you didn't sign up for." His smile is a little more nervous now, but as he tries to avert his face from yours, you catch his chin and face him towards you. You drop your teasing tone and look into his eyes; you need him to know you mean what you’re about to say wholeheartedly. “Lance, you don't need to hold back from me. I've signed up for all of you. I mean it."

For a moment he just stares at you with the utmost love and admiration. He thinks himself to be one of the luckiest people in the world, lucky enough to have the privilege of loving someone entirely and have that love be returned. This admiration of you slowly turns into desire as he takes in the weight of your words. "All of me, hm?" He slyly retorts with a hum and half-lidded eyes. Staring at your lips, he leans in for a kiss. You press back at him, mouth open to take his bottom lip lightly within your teeth. The delicious sting on his lips causes him to moan into your mouth. His hands trail down your arms toward your waist, pulling you closer to meet the warmth of his chest.

Everything about him is intoxicating to you. The rumble of his voice, the smell of cedar and incense on his clothes, his familiar touch are all equal parts comforting as they are arousing. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss before pulling away. Looking into his eyes once more, forehead pressed to his, you give him an answer that quells his fears, "Yes. All of you."

The night's anxieties slowly dissipate with every touch you lay on each other. Both of your hands desperately trail each other's bodies; desperate to unearth any secrets left between you. Lance finds grip upon your waist to move you on top of him and you eagerly oblige. Your chest presses against his while you savor the taste of his lips, straddling the already-hard bulge beneath you. Every dive into each other's lips grinds you ever so slightly against his clothed cock, causing him to furrow his eyebrows and moan into your mouth. His moans are like an invitation for you to continue, the kind of invitation you’d never refuse. You grind your hips against his length, wetness from both your slick and his precum seeping through the clothes that separate you. In this moment, you could swear he’s Yoba themself by the way you pant and moan his name over and over again like a prayer. The friction of your dripping pussy rubbing his cock is so deliciously arousing, you nearly get lost in the feeling. But while you're in your lustful daze, Lance swiftly rolls your onto your back to assume his position over you.

His sapphire eyes now stare directly into yours, but this time they're darker. Almost wild, like an animal in heat. The sheer look of complete desire in his eyes causes you to bite your lip in excitement. He stands over you, breathing heavily. There’s that hesitation again, you think to yourself. You can just barely see him ease out of his intense gaze, only for a moment to gain enough composure. "By the gods, you're driving me crazy. Are you sure absolutely sure about this? You must tell me if I'm going too far," he says through ragged breath. You prop yourself up by the elbows to land a kiss on his lips again. "I will tell you if you're going too far. But I know you won't hurt me, I trust you."

You lean yourself flat against the bed once more and you unbutton the top of your blouse, revealing the lacy bra that's hidden beneath. You return a similar gaze back at him, staring intensely into his eyes, hoping to reignite the fire within them. His heart is beating out of his chest and he swears you can hear it, based on how your breathing is perfectly in rhythm to his. You desperately want make every part of him yours, and all of you, his. And your body responds to this want before your brain could keep up. Like a primal need that came to the surface, you instinctively press the front of your wrists together and obediently offer them towards him. “I want all of you, Lance. Make me yours."

This was the coup de grace; the spell that lifted the seal on whatever was left of his self-control. With one hand, he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head. The other holds your face in place for him to land a devastating kiss, his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth. The intensity of his movements makes your skin tingle, sensitive to every touch. His weight above you is both comforting and restraining; he’s holding you down as if you’d float away the moment he lets go. Kissing you like he wants to devour you whole, sucking the air out of your lungs until you’re lightheaded under him. You’re already so love drunk that your eyes close, allowing you to sink into the pleasure. Suddenly he pulls away to cusp your face again as a way to grab your attention. “No, no, look at me. Keep your eyes on me.” His sudden movements shock your eyes wide open to meet that same, animalistic gaze. He wants you so badly, there’s no doubt in your mind. The thought makes you smile at him, catching your bottom lip with your teeth.

He takes deep satisfaction in the shift in your facial expression. “You’re so perfect. So good to me,” he says with a mixture of pure love and pure lust in his tone. His speech is low and drawn out now, still holding your face in his free hand. “So good. So obedient.” He frees your wrists and slowly trails your neck with his mouth, leaving marks wherever visible, hoping to deliver on his promise of claiming you as his. His prize, his woman, his pretty little slut, and his wife if you let him.

He continues to plant spots of red across your chest until he’s stopped by the collar of your shirt, slightly unbuttoned from your earlier display. He claws at the buttons frantically to get it off of you as soon as possible. His movements are uncharacteristically imprecise, so much to the point he resorts to ripping the buttons off in his fervor. You’ll have to worry about your shirt later, but for now, you’re much too aroused by his desperation to care. You help him unhook the clasps of your bra and he discards it behind him. Finally, your breasts were freed and his for the taking.

Without hesitation, he grasps both of your breasts in each of his hands, grazing his thumbs over the sensitive peaks. You throw your head back and whine from the sudden stimulation only to be put over the edge by the sensation of his mouth lightly biting at your nipple. His tongue flicks and circles at your bud erratically. The sensation sends jolts through your body causing you to instinctually pull away. Before you can move, he catches you by your shoulder and holds you in place. “L-Lance,” his name escapes your mouth in an elongated moan as you’re overwhelmed by his tongue. “Stay put for me, love. Can’t let you get away.” He turns his attention to you other breast, licking and sucking on the bud while gently pinching the other with his thumb and index.

He only pulls away to free himself from his uniform. With a swift tug, he removes his top to reveal his muscular body. His skin looks beautiful in this light, smooth but adorned by light scars from his years of combat. You let out a deep sigh from the sight; it feels like you’re seeing him naked for the first time. You’ve seen it so many times before, but tonight his body was so painfully, incredibly sexy to you.

He isn’t faring so well himself. The act of taking his shirt off gave him just enough distance to soak in the full sight of you. Already with a lust-struck expression, huffing and panting from just teasing you, covered in marks he just freshly laid upon you. This sight alone is enough to make him nearly feral, he practically has to fight for his life to not immediately shove his throbbing cock deep inside you. He’s holding back, but not from fear this time. His concealed fantasies cloud his mind; the thought of ruining you, plowing into you so hard that his cock is the only thing you remember, and filling your perfect cunt to the brim with his seed. He’s determined to bring the love of his life down to the same level of depravity he secretly harbored since the day he first met you, and to do that, he needed to be patient. Even if his cock is begging to be buried to the hilt inside you.

Suddenly, he’s acutely aware of how tight his pants have become and decides to discard them as well. You watch as he hurriedly pulls the fabric past his ankles, instantly locked to his handsome form. Your eyes follow his V-Line to the clear outline of his fat cock, bulging through his boxers already soaked in precum.

Just as quickly as he dispatched of your shirt, he pulls off your jeans and throws them to join the rest of your clothes on the floor. You shudder at the cool draft of the room on your exposed thighs, emphasizing the mess of slick drenching your underwear. You've been naked around him countless times before, but the way he eyes you up and down makes you feel more than desired by him; it feels like you're the object of his obsession. His angel's pretty pussy is ready and drenched in front of him, lewdly displayed and eager to be fucked. If only you knew how badly he wants to ruin you in this moment.

He leans forward to match his face to yours, his tongue grazing his teeth looking at you with a cocky smile. "Look at you. Do you know how wet you are?" he questions almost condescendingly. Before you can respond, he quickly sneaks his hand under your panties and drags two fingers across your cunt, picking up your wetness to show you. "See? So wet for me and we've only just started." His touch makes you convulse and whine his name, like you're begging him to give you more. He knows you need him so badly, and your cunt is already so wet he could slide his fat cock into you with ease. But he as other plans. Just a little more, he thinks to himself. Just a little more.

"You want me, darling? Do you want me to make you feel good?" He says as he licks his fingers clean, feeling a high from your taste. Something about his teasing attitude and his refusal to give into your usual tells has you at your limit. You place your hands gently on his face with a pleading look in your eyes. "Please, Lance," you beg through ragged breathe. "I need you so bad. I'll be good, just-- Please, fuck me."

He has you right where he wants you. He has you feeling as hungry and desperate as he is whenever you're alone together. He stares right into your soul, like he's hypnotizing you to do his bidding. "Show me, then. Be good for me and get on your knees." Without hesitation, you drop yourself to the stone floor, knelt in front of him as he sits on the edge of his bed. You're obedient, waiting for his next command because you'd do anything to have your sweet release. You'd do anything satisfy the deepest parts of him. With a smile, he plants a kiss on your forehead as a reward for your compliance.

"Good, now take them off," he orders as he gestures to his boxers. He lifts himself to give you room to take his boxers off and you pull them in one quick movement. His cock springs free upon its release and gently smacks against your face, smearing precum against your forehead. In this position, you realize how big he really is. So girthy and long; it's no wonder why he makes you feel full to the brim when he's inside you. The weight of his erection resting on your face is oh so tempting, you just have to take a taste. You drag your tongue against his balls all the way to his wetted tip. Lance throws his head back, leaning on his arms to ground himself from the earth-shattering sensation you've provided him.

To think, this man who's known for his well-studied vocabulary is now whispering profanities under his breath. "F-fuck, not too h-hasty, hm?" He feigns confidence even though his stutter reveals how truly whipped he is by you. You know you could make him fold to your whim if you kept going despite his attempts to slow you down, but tonight, you want him to have you exactly as he wants to. So you pout up at him, looking almost apologetic for your impatience. Once he regains his composure, he grabs the base of his cock and presses it further onto your face. "Let me see your tongue, darling. Stick it out for me."

You stick your tongue out close enough to his leaking cock that you can basically feel the heat radiating off him. And without warning, he slaps his cock several times on your tongue before easing it into your mouth to the back of your throat, coating it with his precum. The speed in which his girth fills your mouth takes you by surprise, so much so you almost pull away but Lance's large palms cradle the back of your head, preventing your escape. The feeling of his fat cock in the back of your throat borders on uncomfortable, but the feeling of his shape clearly articulated in your mouth makes your pussy leak onto the floor. He holds you there until tears well in your eyes and quickly pulls away when he notices them falling onto your cheek. For a moment, he looks down at you with panic, wondering if he had gone too far. He'd feel so guilty if you hated this, and feels even more guilty that he finds your tear and saliva covered face so frustratingly hot. But then you clear your throat and meet his gaze with grin plastered on your face, drool still dripping from your lips. "You like it when I choke on it, hm?" you say in a slur of words, already cum drunk. He looks back at you, returning your grin and lets out a shallow laugh.

You stick your tongue out again, ready for more. As he buries his cock into your throat, he's completely overwhelmed by the warmth of your mouth and your unabashed acceptance of him. He's so grateful to see you smile at his roughness and he's prepared to reward you in kind. His pace is slow at first, pulling out until your lips meet the base of the head, just to shove it deeply to where it belongs. He only starts to speed up when you grip the back of his thigh with one hand, the other gently massaging his balls. The sensation of it is all too much to bear; the shallow fucks into your throat nearly makes him cry from pleasure. If he were to look at you now, watching you take the whole of his length through your pretty lips, he knew it'd be over for him. As a renown warrior, his endurance would usually easily outmatch any opponent, but right now, he could burst in your mouth right this instant and coat your throat in white. He grits his teeth and groans your name with every thrust, just barely holding onto his bearings. He could probably die happy if he were to force his load down your throat right now, but he realizes there are much better places inside you for his seed to go.

He was dangerously close when he pulls out of your mouth. A string of saliva still connecting your mouth to his cock. Sweat dripping off his brow to land on your face beneath him. Only now does he notice your absolutely fucked out expression. Your eyes are half-lidded, high off of his scent and taste. The grip of his hand on your hair tugged on a primal need you didn't know you had. All the while, you rubbed circles around your clit so rapidly that it left a puddle on the floor. To Lance, this scene was a work of art; he had to pause to take in every detail so he could replay this moment for the rest of his life.

Taking your cheeks in his hands, he pulls your face into a deep kiss. "You're...so beautiful," he breathily praises you against your lips. "You've proven yourself to me. Now, let me be good to you." You can barely speak in your aroused state, all you can muster is a weak nod and a "Yes, please." You surrender yourself into his arms as he lifts you to lay you back on the bed, spreading your legs to position himself in between. For a second, he looks down at how completely soaked your panties are — how they stick to the skin of your cunt so perfectly that he can make out its entire shape through them. Pulling the cloth to the side, he slaps his cock against your puffy clit, causing the both of you to whine and groan in unison. He stands at the threshold, on the precipice of completely entering you. You think he’s teasing you by the way he rubs his cock on your slit, but really, he’s teasing himself. You’ve given him something valuable today; an unrestricted exploration of his deepest fantasy with you. The night feels like it lasted an eternity and matter of seconds at the same time. How could his fantasies be happening so quickly? He prods at your entrance, hoping to prolong the experience. You can tell his own patience has reached its end by the way his face unabashedly scrunches in desperation. This is the moment you've both been waiting for all evening, ready to face your absolute high. "Are you ready, my love?" he asks while licking his lips. You nod enthusiastically and beg, "Yes, Lance. Please. Please, fuuc-"

Before you can get the words out, he grabs the fat of your thighs and quickly slams his cock into your tight hole until it hits the deepest part of you. Waves of complete and utter pleasure wash over you, causing you to arch your back and roll your eyes to the back of your head. Your mouth opens to whine but his size knocked the wind out of you. Just seconds ago you were empty, waiting eagerly for his touch and now you are filled entirely by him. He rests himself inside your convulsing pussy, already milking him dry despite the fact neither of you are moving. You’re too overwhelmed by his intrusion to notice there’s tears running down Lance’s face. All the years of experience under his belt go to shit the moment he enters you, and suddenly it’s as if he’s a virgin again. He’s just so goddamn in love with you, he needs to bury himself deep enough inside you so you understand how much you mean to him. He needs to fuck every doubt that you’re not perfect for him out of your mind. He remembers what you said earlier, and decides he wants to do the same. Tonight he’ll have all of you.

Right from the start, his pace is punishingly fast. His little game of teasing you has long been over and now he's ready to fully consume you. Sounds of sex fill around the room — the slamming of his thighs against your ass as he plows balls deep into your cunt over and over again. The squeak of his bed threatening to give way at the tenacious rhythm of his thrusts. The sound of your leaking pussy making a mess of the sheets below you. The lewdness of it all rings so deeply in his ears that he, himself, can’t contain his grunts. Nothing else in the world matters except his angel beneath him, screaming his name as he fucks her to ecstasy.

The sight of you now is more alluring than anything he could have imagined. He watches the way your pretty cunt obediently takes every inch of his cock as it disappears inside you. You’re covered in marks he left on your body, your tits violently bounce to the rhythm of his thrusts, and to top it off, you’ve been whimpering his name nonstop since he plunged inside you. He loves the way he completely occupies your mind now — a physical confirmation that right now you’re his alone. All of this is deliciously perfect, so he knows it’s greedy of him to want more, but he can’t stop. He can’t stop until you’ve creamed on his cock. Not until you’ve taken every drop of his cum inside you.

He pounds into you again, again and again, relentlessly until he feels your cunt clench tighter around him. You can’t think straight, not when he bullies himself against your cervix like this. Your convulsions are a dead giveaway you’re close and he’s determined to shake you to your core. His pace not letting up, he uses one hand to rub quick, circular motions against your clit while the other has a bruising grip on your waist. “Come on love,” he coaxes you with ragged breath, “Cum for me. Cum on my cock… you’re so fucking tight, please-“ and finally, sweet release. Your back arches again as you feel yourself reaching your peak, tears rolling out of your eyes. He slows his pace to fuck you through your high, almost pulling out fully before thrusting deep strokes into all the spots that make you burst.

He stays inside you as you come down from your orgasm, leaning forward to wipe the tears from your face tenderly. “You’re so beautiful, darling. Hold on just a little more for me, okay?” he says softly, “Just. A little. More.” thrusting in between each word. It’s still not enough for him but he’s oh so close. Leaning himself upward again, he grabs your wrists in each of his hands to pull you deeper onto his cock. Ignoring the fact you just came and resuming his tempo. Your pussy is just too good for him to stop now, he still has to reward you for obedience today.

And reward you he shall. Like a good slut, your cunt squeezes and pulls him back in, pulling him closer and closer to his limit. Closer to claiming you, closer to marking your insides with his cum and making you his little wife. Your glazed over, fucked out eyes meet his as pounds your messy cunt harder and harder. He can hardly make out your ramblings over the sound of his body pounding into yours, but when your words finally register, it sends him over the edge. “I love you so much. It’s s-so fucking good. It’s too fucking good” you mumble shakily. Everything about your demeanor screams for him to impregnate you, to fill you your grateful pussy to the brim until it drips out of you. His movements are getting sloppy now, fucking as deep as your cunt will let him. The relentless pounding sends you back into a frenzy, as if your first orgasm prolonged itself enough to reach another high.

He’s absolutely about to burst from the way your pussy clenches around him again. But before he does, he pulls you forward by your wrists so you have a perfect vantage point of where your two bodies connect, watching how his length disappears into you. “Look a-at us. Look how you well you take it for me. Now take all of me, okay? I’m gonna…fucking…fill y-“ he couldn’t even finish his sentence before he bullies fat cock the back of your cunt and spilling his seed right against your cervix. His words are caught in his mouth from the immense pleasure; all he can stifle are loud groans and some semblances of your name in gravelly whispers. Warm semen filling your spasming cunt, shoving his cock in small rocks of his hips as if to prevent any of his seed from escaping. He releases his grip on your wrists to collapse on top of you, lying flush against your body, still spilling spurts of white into you.

You wrap your arms around him to pull him closer and rub circles on his back. Both of you are panting messes from the night’s intensity, but the afterglow makes it so worth it. He coils an arm around your back and nestles his face into the crook of you neck. Only then is he able to speak breathily against your skin, “I…love you…more than you can ever imagine.” Your eyes dampen at his sincerity and you whisper I love you’s while running soothing fingers through his red hair. For a moment the world is completely silenced — only the sound of your tired voices occupy the spaces in your mind. In this space, only you and Lance matter.

Once he finds the strength, he pulls himself up only enough to bring your face into view. “Thank you. For accepting me, for giving me something to call home,” he says as he presses a kiss to your forehead. You take his face in your hands and press your lips to his, hoping your gratitude can reach him through your action. Because truly, you are grateful. So grateful to have met someone who encourages your ambitions unapologetically. Someone who never aims to control you but support you when you need it. Someone who loves and sees you first. You’re so overwhelmed by gratitude, you nearly cry into his arms.

You’re comforted by his familiar touch, stroking the side of your shoulder with his thumb. This moment is both so incredibly special and completely ordinary at the same time. Because this is how you always feel around him, so special, so full of love. You didn’t flinch once at Lance’s words before the night’s activities started, not at all, because that feeling of wanting consume him is all too familiar to you. If he’d let you, you’d have him for the rest of your life. With a smile, you hum into his ear before you whisper, “Thank you for being mine, thank you for everything.”

He replies with a simple word, but you hang onto its weight like a promise, “Always.”

#stardew smut #stardew valley smut #Stardew Valley Expanded Lance #smut #sdve smut #sdv smut #stardew valley x reader #this is my first fanfic pls be nice #or don't #sdve lance #sdv fanfic #stardew valley #grem-writes

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