#LMAO idk where that came from but

[whalechief]

my villain era began in 2nd grade when a kid told me at lunch to put up just my middle finger and i was like "??? which one? this one?" and did what they told me and they told the teacher and she called my mom aND I CRIED-

[bi-writes]

what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

NEXT

[steddie-as-they-come]

"Mom," Steve whispered in the inky blackness of his parents' room. "Mom, there's something under my bed."

Patricia Harrington turned over. "Steven, go back to sleep," she murmured.

"I can't." Steve said. "There's a monster."

"No such thing." his mom said, angrier, more awake. "Go to bed now, and if I catch you out of bed again you can forget going to Tommy's this weekend."

Steve nodded and padded back down the hall, pausing at his door then taking a running jump into bed.

The room was silent.

"I know you're here." Steve whispered, making sure all his limbs were tucked safely away under the covers. "You don't scare me."

A couple minutes of quiet, then Steve heard a scraping sound come from under his bed. He squeaked and pulled his blankets up to his nose.

A horrible, raspy laugh came from below him. "I do scare you!" said a voice. "You lied!"

"No-no you don't!" Steve said boldly. He clutched his blanket tighter, then said, "I can't be scared of something I can't see! That's just dumb."

Something dark began to slither across the floor out of the corner of Steve's eye. Oh, I'm gonna regret that, he thought.

The thing began to pull itself up, looming over Steve. It cracked a smile, and sharp white teeth gleamed in the light from his closet.

Steve screamed.

"Shut up!" his dad shouted angrily from downstairs, and Steve clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking between the shadow and the door like he wasn't sure which monster to be more afraid of.

The monster crept toward him, and Steve dug his fingernails into his face, scooting away from the horror. He whimpered, not daring to close his eyes.

Then the monster began to shrink.

It shriveled away, changing color and backing up, until a little boy, about Steve's age, stood in front of him. He had long curly hair and was dressed in a t-shirt that was way too big on him. When he opened his eyes, Steve flinched, because the whites of his eyes simply...weren't there. His eyes were an onyx black.

"Hi," the boy said. "I'm Eddie."

Steve was too stunned to speak, but he did uncover his mouth.

"I'm the monster under your bed!" Eddie said. "I'm supposed to scare you, but, um-" he risked a quick look at the door "-I don't think you need my help for that."

"Why are you supposed to scare me?" Steve asked.

Eddie shrugged. "Dunno. Every kid's got one. It's just how it works. I was made to be your monster, forever!" He sat down on the edge Steve's bed, bumping Steve's shoulder against his. "Weird to be on this side of the bed. No dust bunnies or anything."

Steve giggled, forgetting his fear. "You're fun!"

Eddie grinned at him. "Thank you! None of the other monsters think my jokes are funny."

"So you have to scare me?" Steve asked. "But you're not scary. Not after talking to me."

Eddie paused. "Oh, right. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Um..."

"What if we just say you're scaring me?" Steve asked. "I'll pretend I'm really scared of the monster under my bed, and you pretend you scare me every single night. But really we're hanging out instead of scaring!"

"Ooh, I like that idea!" Eddie struck a dramatic pose. "I'll be the monster under your bed, but I'll be ready to protect you if you need it too!"

Steve stuck out his hand like he saw his dad do for business deals. "Deal?"

Eddie shook it. "Deal."

-

Steve sprinted through the forest, the kids hot on his heels. "There!" he shouted. "Everyone in!"

The kids bolted to the abandoned cabin, and Steve slammed the door shut. "Is there a bed in here?" he called. "A couch? A fridge?"

"Bed's in here!" Will yelled, and Steve followed his voice to the cluttered bedroom, complete with partially-caved-in bedframe. He gingerly took a seat on the mattress, cringing when it crackled. He did not need to know what was on this.

"Eddie?" he called, tapping on the flaky painted wood.

The shitheads crowded in, and Mike murmured. "What the fuck is he doing?"

Steve ignored him. "Eddie, come on, I need your help."

Something tall, dark, and lanky slid out from under the bed, and all the kids jumped back in fright, raising their various weapons. Steve leapt to get in front of them, raising his hands as a shield. "Chill! Calm down, this is Eddie!"

Eddie shrank into his human form, draping himself over Steve. "You had to summon me to the nastiest bed in Indiana? Really, Steve?"

Steve shrugged. "This was the closest one. We need your help, Eds."

"We?" He focused on the Party. "Well, these must be the infamous buttheads." Eddie slid into the shadows and reappeared behind the Party, inspecting them. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, right?" he said, pointing at each one as he said their names.

"What the fuck are you?" Dustin asked.

Suddenly Eddie was under Steve's arm, wrapping a hand around his waist. "I'm Steve's monster under the bed." he said. "I'm just... friendlier with Steve than most of the monsters I work with."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You can tell him you're my boyfriend, they know I'm bi." He kissed Eddie on the cheek.

The kids all broke into gasps, except for Max, who fake gagged. "Don't be gross!" she yelled. "Demogorgon outside, remember?"

"Ah, right." Steve said. "Eds, can you-"

"On it." Eddie kissed Steve. "I'll be back."

The kids watched Eddie melt into shadows, then wheeled on Steve. "Steven Don't-Know-Your-Middle-Name Harrington," Dustin said. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

edit: i did not expect this response to the short little thing that took me 30 mins max at 2am!! i’m planning on rewriting it and turning it into a full length fic, so i’ll come back and edit this with the link!

edit #2: if there’s anything you guys want to see in the full length version of this please let me know!! i’m trying my best to make it a slowburn which is horrid for my adhd so let me know if there’s anything you want!!

[jesuistrestriste]

cw (18+): sub!art, afab + femme!character, age gap, crying/dacryphilia, art being a sad and lonely hot guy in his forties, tashi and art never really got together, creampie

˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢

dilf!art getting with a pretty young thing from down the block. . .

he always admired her effortless confidence and the way her body moved when she walked down the street to the corner store every weekend.

always watched her return from his brownstone apartment window; a pack of cinnamon gum and a case of peach seltzer in her hands.

she’s beautiful and bouncy and everything he didn’t get to have in his youth when he was too sucked into tennis to let himself live a little. he lost tashi to patrick. that was that. and he never tried dating again until about ten or so years ago.

they were all flings that crashed and burned their way through his thirties. meaningless moments where all he was left with was a wet dick and a heaviness in his chest. he hated it. he was done with it.

until her.

she was different.

she sparked a conversation with him one day when they ran into each other outside his doorstep. she was cracking jokes that only made her seem more intriguing because art didn’t understand the social context behind them— he was no longer hip and cool, he’d accepted it. but that, combined with the pop of her hip she did when she was making him laugh (not to mention the way she smacked her gum + batted her lashes when she smiled; all pearly whites) made him feel like even more of a creep.

but now she’s bouncing on his cock and gazing down at him while he gasps and squirms like a livewire underneath her.

they’ve only really known each other for a week and a half.

“say thank you, Artie,” she purrs, her hand tracing the spattered flush on his chest, “say it.”

he bucks his hips up as much as he can to meet her movements, and bites his lip hard enough to taste metal when his tip bumps her cervix.

“thank you, oh my god, thank you— thank you, thank you—! ha-aah-!”

he babbles; a broken record of whines and shaky moans. his throat hurts from all of the sounds being pulled from him when the most he’s talked all month has come from just a couple of boring, remote interviews about his athletic career.

and her, of course.

god, it’s all her..

he swallows and keens, and then his eyes are watering.

and then he’s sobbing. he’s choking on his tears and yet he’s still feeling the tight coil of warmth tense further and further and further-

“don’t cry,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss the wetness from his cheeks, her hips swiveling to ride him harder just as the first slimy blurt of his orgasm spills inside, “you’re a good boy, okay? you’re perfect… a total catch…”

she smells like candy. she’s wiping his tears now.

“oh fuck, thank you-uu—hnghh!”

art lifts his hips, his face crumpling with pleasure and sadness, before he yelps and his climax wipes him out. his whole body trembles as he feels his cock pulse and coat her pussy with gooey clots of his spend. he’s practically wheezing.

he grips onto her hips fiercely; like if he doesn’t squeeze hard enough she’ll just go *poof*, and then he’ll be alone again.

“.. ungh, ‘m sorry, im cumming inside you, im cumming, im so sorry,” he whimpers, the aftershocks leaving him feeling bare and weak. stripped of all of his armor. if he even had any left to begin with.

she kisses his shoulder gently, and then she’s dipping her glossy lips down to whisper right next to his ear. her dainty necklace chills his skin when it dangles from her body and meets his collarbone. she’s so close to him.

“don’t worry, Mr. Donaldson…

you’ll be a great daddy.”

[bonefall]

Man I love women happy Bumble day everyone

Happy Bumble Day to all who celebrate, 1 Hour Long Moonkitti talking video has come drifting down from the heavens like an empyrean feather off an angel's wing.

[choccy-milky]

clora with @lamieboo's dahlia💛🩵 i had to draw them together as soon as i saw dahlia was yellow and blue, bc their colour schemes are kinda the same, just inverted (and u all know how i love my opposites LMAO)

[pizzacastella]

I HATE THESE BITCHES !!!!!!!

[feistyvirghoe]

「 ✦ 𝖒𝖞 𝖕𝖆𝖈𝖘 ✦ 」 ೃ⁀➷✍

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 (𝔭𝔞𝔠)

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 (𝔭𝔞𝔠)

「 ✦ 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 ✦ 」 ೃ⁀➷✍

𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 #1 ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 #2 ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

「 ✦ 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖞 ✦ 」 ೃ⁀➷✍

♡₊˚ ・₊✧ 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶’𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔡? 18+ ♡₊˚ ・₊✧ ✎ᴛʙᴀ

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔟𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔢? *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✎ᴛʙᴀ

⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ 𝑨 𝑩𝑰𝑻 𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑴𝑬 ⋄ 𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐥𝐢, 𝐚 23 𝐲𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 , 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐨-𝐩𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 🇻🇮🇵🇷

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐜, 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦..

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫! 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 !

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 (𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨) 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧…𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞💀😏 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐚…

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐛𝐭𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭) 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬) 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞..

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬. 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨..

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐢’𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐭, 𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤..𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐭𝐰 <3. 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧��𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬, 𝐢 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊!!! (𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫!!) 𝐡𝐦𝐦𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞..

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐜, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐜, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐱𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐜, 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 “𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐬” 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬, 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 18 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨 𝐢’𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 20+ 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧 ����𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐭 𝐢𝐭.

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘ 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐦 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐆𝐎 !

𓍯⋆·˚ ༘𝐢’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧/𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐬/𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐞𝐭𝐜. 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐲 <3 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲!

[cxtori]

Kaveh ✮ Bad Days

summary: basically you’ve had a really rough week and Kaveh decides to help you do your hair when you get upset with it :)

genre: fluff established relationship, good ole’ feminine hair rage, hurt/comfort, Kaveh is really good at doing hair I just know he is

warnings: n/a

WC: 1.3k

song: here with me by d4vd

tori’s note: OMG a genshin fic, lookie! And HELLO! I’m alive. I’m finally getting used to my new job and routine so I’m finding more time to spend on my hobbies, which means I’m finding more time to write :) hoping to be posting more stuff soon! <3

It had been a hard day. A Hard week actually.

First, the art piece you had worked so hard on was rejected by the art exhibit you submitted it to. Then the market was out of all of the key ingredients you needed when you planned to make Kaveh some Fatteh. And then one of the art gallery’s regulars yelled at you because her piece wasn’t in the spot she felt it deserved. Plus all of the other little inconveniences that occurred throughout the week that pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

You were already exhausted, annoyed and frustrated. And now, here you were, sitting at your vanity trying to get your hair fixed and looking pretty while on the verge of tears.

It’s a style you’ve done a million times over. There’s no reason for it to be this complicated. And yet, your hair is refusing to cooperate, your strands now tangled in a hair barrette.

You let out a loud, frustrated groan. At this point, you don’t care if it’s not the best it’s ever been, you just want it to look presentable. But it seems like the harder you try the worse it gets.

Kaveh is supposed to be here at any moment to pick you up for your date and your hair is nowhere near ready. And now the tears welling in your eyes threaten to ruin your makeup as well.

You take a deep breath and try to calm your annoyed thoughts before making another attempt to untangle your hair wrapped around the intricate hair piece, its sparkling green gem reflecting in the mirror as though to mock you.

You’re making fine progress, until you drop the barrette and your hair seems to wrap around it like a magnet. You pick it back up and manage to tug a little too hard on a strand or two, causing a sharp pain in your scalp and an involuntary gasp to escape your lips. And that did it.

You let out an exasperated groan and the tears you’d done so well to hold back drop down your cheeks, dragging dark mascara with it. Great, now your hair is a mess AND so is your makeup.

You pick up the hair piece again, heavily considering whether it would truly be a bad idea to just cut it out.

Before you can convince yourself you’d look good with shorter hair, Kaveh knocks on your door and enters the room.

“Y/n, there you are, darling. I thought you’d be down-” He cuts himself off when he catches a glimpse of your mascara-streaked face in your mirror. “Y/n?”

You turn around to face him, tears now streaming freely down your face as you’ve completely given up on trying to hold them in. You’ve reached your breaking point, though you must admit, you’re surprised it took this long.

“Wh-why are you crying?” Kaveh asks, panic rushing through him at the sight of your current state. His eyes widen slightly and he straightens, placing his hands on his hips. “Was it Ms. Oshi again? I swear, her work isn’t good enough to be putting up a fuss the way she does.”

“No… I mean she did come in again this week, but that’s not why I’m crying,” you say, your words barely comprehensible through your quiet sobs and sniffles.

Kaveh’s arms drop and his expression softens. “What is it then, darling?”

“I can’t get my hair right!” You cry. He looks up at your head, only now noticing the tangled barrett resting chaotically in your strands. “And now my makeup is a mess,” you mutter, turning your gaze back to your reflection.

You miss the soft smile on Kaveh’s lips as he makes his way over to you and rests his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you to sit up straight.

“Let me help.” You don’t resist when his hands begin working on your hair, carefully pulling it from the metal piece. His nimble fingers make quick work and before long, he’s pulling the barrett from your hair, no scissors needed.

He moves his hand around you to place it in your lap before picking up the hair brush on your vanity. As he straightens out your knotted hair, you begin fixing your makeup, doing your best to not smudge the streaked mascara further on your face.

You finish your makeup at the same time he gets your hair untangled, but when you move to start working on your hair yourself, Kaveh pushes your hands away, a humming quiet “hmm mm”. You, once again, don’t argue and sit back in your chair as he continues his braiding.

Your gaze drops down to the barrett in your lap and you pick up the cool piece of metal. Your fingers trace over the delicate, golden vines and leaves, the stems growing tighter together as they meet in the center where they wrap around a grassy-green crystal surrounded by tiny, crimson red gems.

“Do you remember when I got you that hair piece?” Kaveh asks quietly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You mean when you were nervously fumbling with the jewelry box and nearly dumped it into the river? I remember,” you giggle, the image bright and vivid in your memory.

“Ahh, well… yes, but not that part,” he says and you look at his face in the mirror just soon enough to catch the flash of embarrassment on his face. “Do you remember why I’d given it to you.”

You think back on the moment, but no answer comes to mind. You had been together for around 6 months at the time, and aside from that milestone, nothing of significance comes up. You shake your head, careful to do it lightly enough as to not mess up your boyfriends progress. Kaveh gives a light chuckle.

“You had been having an absolutely horrendous week. ‘Worst days of your life’ is what you’d told me.” Your eyebrows furrow as you try to dig up the memories, but you get nothing.

“Granted, I think you were overexagerrating a bit,” he says quickly before continuing. “But still, you were quite upset. I thought the gift would cheer you up. And it did, though maybe not in the way I’d intended.” You laugh again at the image of him almost dropping his newly purchased gift off the bridge into the rushing water below you and the heavy sigh of relief he gave as he clutched the box in his hands like his life depended on it.

He reaches around you to gently take the barrett from your hands, his fingers lingering on yours a few moments longer than necessary.

“All of that to say, this moment will pass. You’ll move on and forget about all of the bad things that happened this week. Well, maybe except Ms. Oshi yelling at you. Her voice forever haunts me,” he jokes and you giggle. He never fails to make you laugh, even if it’s not his intention.

“But something you will never forget are these moments,” he says as he clips the barrett into place. He brushes your hair over to the side and places a light kiss on your exposed shoulder.

“I love you, darling. On your best and on your worst days.” His whispers against your skin give you goosebumps and you turn your head to face him, his amber-red eyes meeting yours.

He takes your hands and guides you to stand up, his hands moving to your wast as soon as your vertical.

“I love you too. Thank you,” you say, leaning close to him so your whispers fall on his lips. He wastes no more time to press his mouth to yours, the scent of clay and sandalwood flooding your senses.

Every unsaid word is conveyed perfectly as he pulls you closer to him and deepens the kiss. You let out a soft laugh when he nibbles your lip, knowing it’ll get a reaction out of you. You pull apart, your quiet pants filling the space between you as you hold each other close.

“My love,” Kaveh says, stroking a thumb tenderly over your cheek. He gives a happy hum as he pulls away, his hand dropping down to yours to grasp it tightly. “We should get going, don’t want the tavern to be too crowded now.”

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[vcrnons]

JUN [INSIDE SEVENTEEN] 'Rock With You' Special Video BEHIND.

[prettyboykatsuki]

if this is too personal of a question, please feel free to ignore! but I was wondering because the way you talk about him is so sweet: did you ever expect to end up with your bf? like, was your relationship something that snuck up on you, or did you just Know at some point and go for it?

WAAHHHHH. it's not no worries!!!

did i ever expect to end up w my bf... it's yes AND no i think.

im not trying to be corny but i usually compare my experience w my boyfriend to like. the japanese term koi no yokan bc i think it's most accurate to my experience. not quite love at first sight but the feeling when you meet someone you know you're going to love them.

its not any exaggeration to me at all but i knew he was going to become someone important to me the first time i met him. ive yet to meet another person in my life who makes me feel like that. i know it sounds corny and made up KDSJKA but i just. knew. right away that he was going to be someone i loved eventually.

this might make some of u laugh but me and my boyfriend we're qpp's (queerplatonic partners) before we ended up dating and we only knew each other for a few months until then and hadn't hung out in person. it must've been four months of that before dating (i was dating someone else at the time we met) forreal

i dont believe in first sight but i did know from the moment i met him he would be someone i loved eventually. so while i wasnt surprised when it happened, the actual dating came as a surprise to me which is why i say yes and no

[catsinmugs]

kibo family portrait using ravasheen's mod </3

[bi-writes]

thinking about being a new lieutenant working with laswell and getting to meet her a-team, tf141, and immediately clashing with your equivalent. that other lieutenant that wears a fucking costume and glares whenever he sees you, simon fucking riley. (kinda dark, 18+)

you hate him. you hate how good he does in the field. it sickens you when you see how every knife he throws hits its target with disgustingly perfect accuracy. you sneer when he aims his rifle, each bullet going exactly where he wants it to go because he's that fucking good, look at him, big man with a big fucking head and a big--

god, it's so frustrating to be out here for so long. on a cot, so far away from everything, reporting back to laswell and then spending time with a task force who is so intelligent on the field but shares one fucking brain cell off of it.

and it's so lonely. it's so lonely, and you feel so far away, and when you show up in front of ghost's room that evening, you don't even exchange words as he steps aside, letting you slink into the dark of it. you don't speak as he crowds you against the door, as he pushes you up against it, when he reveals the lower half of his face so he can kiss you and taste you in every way he's wanted to since he met you. you're so fucking annoying, you crawl under his skin, and when he tastes you, he sucks, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth as he tugs his cargo pants just under his cock and hoists you up around his waist.

it's just stress relief, you tell yourself as he fucks you against the rattling door. i just need a little relief, is what you say to yourself as he mumbles against yours lips, gripping the fat of your hips in his big hands and putting his cock to good use. he's not gentle, but you don't want him to be. he's too good at what he does, you were hoping he would have fault in one fucking area of his life, but even like this, he shows you just how well he fucks and just how big he really is, everywhere.

please, please, please--! you beg. he snickers, and it's mean, and he's sucking a warm bruise into your neck when he mutters, "tha'sit, swee'eart. we both know who's really in charge, eh? yeah--yeah, good girl--y'r such a good girl--"

and you are. cum soaked thighs, your mouth still on his when he finally comes, grunting as he fills you so full, it's dripping onto your thighs, onto his, dampening the clothes neither of you bothered to take off. and when you leave, you tell yourself this will never happen again, that ghost will keep this a secret because he hates you just as much, that ghost is discreet and quiet and values his privacy, and if you don't speak of this again, neither will he. it suddenly comforts you how closed off he is.

so it does surprise you when the next morning comes, and you go to sit with your team to eat, that ghost snarls when you try and take a seat beside him. you expect this to be a rude gesture, but you squeak when he grips you around the waist and forces you into his lap. you stiffen, but his sergeants barely bat an eye. the braid of your hair is yanked backwards, and you gasp when you feel his breath against your ear, even through the mask.

"the casual shaggin' sort of deal? not m'thing, luvvie. now eat y'r breckie, swee'eart, 'm fuckin' hungry, and 'm not very patient."

he used to think having one of his sergeant's underneath him was the kind of power-play that got him right off.

wrong.

nothing like fucking a pretty little lieutenant good enough she can't fucking remember how to speak.

[sp0o0kylights]

He can see it in Eddie’s face. 

Steve can't help it but laugh. "Are we gonna get through a date where you don't spend half of it trying to escape?"

Eddie looks startled, but gives a shaky laugh. "You can see that, huh?"

Steve reaches out, wraps a finger around a curl.

Let's it go slowly, gently.

Admires the neon shade of red Eddie's face has just gone. 

"You're pretty obvious about it, Eds."

Eddie laughs at that, but it's self depreciating. He keeps his eyes glued to the glovebox playing with his rings. 

"Look just--don't laugh, alright?" 

"I won't." Steve agrees and let's the playful tone drop from his voice.

Whatever this was, Eddie was serious--and that meant he deserves to be taken seriously. 

"Hey." He prods gently. "I mean it."

Eddie jerks his head in a quick nod, before giving another painful smile. "I uh, I didn't think I'd get this far. Never have, you know? Not with--"

He cuts a glance at Steve out of the corner of his eye, words faltering.

"A guy?" Steve guessed. 

Eddie snorts, an ugly sound. "Someone like you, Steve. Rich, darling of the town, world's best babysitter."

He shakes his head before quietly adding, "--and yeah. A guy." 

"You're my first, you know." Steve says conversationally and frowns when Eddie sucks on a breath.

Harsh and fast, like he's been punched.

'Don't--don't tell me that, man, fuck." Eddie scrubs a hand down his face.

Hides in it for a minute, before dropping his hand back to his lap.

"Sorry. I just. I Really, really don't want to be another persons experiment, or one night stand or fucking, passing ship in the night or whatever. I don't want to be a regret." He turns, looks at Steve.

Shows him the terror that lurks in his eyes. 

"Cards on the table? I like you a lot, Steve. Have for a while. Mooned over you in school just as bad as those chicks from Spanish class." 

Steve stays quiet. Somehow knows Eddie isn't done, that he needs to wait. 

Even if he smiles at the Spanish class comment. 

"You were the straightest dude I've ever met and now here you are, taking me out on dates?"

Eddie laughs harshly. Like he can't believe he's even daring to say it, let alone believe it's happening. 

"You gotta tell me if this is fake. Or--or some kind of lapse in sanity on your part. It's not--it's not fair, if this isn't serious." 

Steve slowly leans in, bumps his forehead against Eddie's. Draws a curl around his finger once again.

"I'm here." He whispers calmly. “And I'm very serious.”

“You promise?”

“On Dustin’s mother's life.” Steve agrees, just to hear Eddie huff a laugh.

Follows it with; On my own life too.” 

Then seals the deal, with a kiss.

[onboardsorasora]

In his hotel room that night, Daniel thinks back to the interview he just had with the two most notorious men in the world. More than half of it was unusable, just lots of muffled sounds and--

It had started with a joke online that he (no one important) would love to interview the infamous Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton. Two men famously in hiding in a country with no extradition but chronically online. Someone had reached out to him and he thought it was fake, a scam.

He'd eventually found himself in a place he couldn't name in front of the men who were way hotter in person than fugitives had any right to be.

The interview was stilted, impersonally. Max had almost refused to answer any questions and Lewis had been teasing him. Daniel had been annoyed because why bring him all the way out here to sit in a room and stare at each other.

Max had snorted and said he didn't trust him to not have a wire.

"Mate, your guys searched me before I came in here. Y'all took my phone for 24 hours and I only got it back when I came in this room. If I was wearing a bug, you'd know." Daniel had pointed out.

"he has a point." Lewis shrugged. Max pressed his lips together. And Daniel stood with a roll of his eyes.

"I mean you clearly don't trust the people around you to do a good job." Daniel pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his pants, smirking when Max looked like he was finally paying attention. "if you want me to get naked then all you had to do was say so."

He stripped to his briefs and stood in front of them with his hands out as if to say 'well?'

"all of it." Max nodded for him to continue. Lewis bit his cheek but didn't refute.

With a waggle of his brows and confidence he kinda sorta felt, Daniel dropped trow. Throwing his brightly coloured briefs onto the pile of clothes. "Do you want me to spread my cheeks and cough too?" He teased.

And well, Max had done a thorough job of 'inspecting'. And then Lewis had helped and there was lube and come everywhere and Daniel forgot his phone was recording and he didn't get dropped off at his hotel til three days after.

[brookiidookiii]

Brick is so mischaracterized it’s obnoxious. Anytime I see a headcanon where he’s forced against his will to go to military school it’s soooo,,. How can you say that. This man LOVES the army. He is obsessed with the military like a little boy is obsessed with joining the military. This man has a tank nightlight, he loves military shit. It is his proudest accomplishment. The first thing he does when he gets on the island is brag about his medals, and all he talks about in his biography is the military. His best memory from childhood is going to boot camp for fucks sake. He can like fashion AND the military lmao. Why chose one