#and using... five others for other routes

[uss-edsall]

The United States, one way or another, spent the past eighty years intentionally building up a global hegemony as predisposed to American interests as possible. Those who did not follow the American lead cast as the Bad Guys(TM). For the most part, the majority of the world has gone along with this hegemony - either because it was directly advantageous to grab onto the coattails, far more dangerous to oppose it, or active US interference that toppled their opposition.

This hegemony was largely built on the belief that the U.S. will do the right thing (in the perception of those who benefit from Coca-Colonisation), even if it takes until, as Churchill said, 'all other routes were exhausted'. It was built on the idea that the U.S. President, with a nation that supports him (for yet still nobody of any other gender has been elected), was the most powerful man in the world, the "Leader of the Free World."

In about five weeks, I daresay that Trump and his ilk have shattered that hegemony in a way that I'm not sure is repairable, and are promising to continue to do for four years.

Whoever the Leader of the Free World is, it is not Trump. If he and his ilk remain in power the next four years, I'm genuinely not sure if it will still be the U.S., either.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Mammalia - Macroscelidea

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our first group of placental mammals, as well as our first group belonging to a diverse clade of mammals known as “Afrotherians”, the order Macroscelidea are commonly called “elephant shrews”, “jumping shrews”, or “sengis.” Like many animals commonly called shrews, macroscelideans are not true shrews, and are closer related to elephants than they are to shrews! Macroscelidea includes one family, Macroscelididae, with 20 species in 6 genera.

Sengis are small, quadrupedal, and insectivorous. They have long, flexible snouts, which they use to search for food, with the length of the snout varying between species. They will then use their tongue to flick food into their mouth, much like an anteater. They eat mainly insects, spiders, centipedes, millipedes, and earthworms. Some species also feed on small amounts of plant matter, especially new leaves, seeds, and small fruits. They have long legs relative to their size, and scaly tails. They have large canine teeth, and also high-crowned cheek teeth similar to those of ungulates. They are mostly diurnal and very active, wary, well camouflaged, and adept at dashing away from threats. Several species make a series of cleared pathways through the undergrowth and spend their day patrolling them for insect life. If the animal is disturbed, the pathway provides an obstacle-free escape route. Sengis are uncommon, but widely distributed across Africa, mainly southern Africa.

Sengis are solitary, despite many species living in monogamous pairs. These pairs will only meet for mating, and not associate otherwise, living in separate nests. They share and defend their home territory, which is marked using their scent glands. Female sengis undergo a menstrual cycle similar to that of humans, making them one of the few nonprimate mammals to do so. The sengi mating period lasts for several days. After mating, the pair will return to their solitary habits. After a gestation period varying from 45 to 60 days, the female will bear a litter of one to three young. The young are born relatively well developed, and are able to run within a few hours. They remain in the nest for several days before venturing outside. After five days, the young's milk diet is supplemented with mashed insects, which are collected and transported in the cheek pouches of the female. The young then slowly start to explore their environment and hunt for insects. After about 15 days, the young will begin the migratory phase of their lives, and will eventually begin to establish their own territories. Females have litters several times a year.

Macroscelids are thought to have diverged from other afrotherians roughly 57.5 million years ago. The earliest definitive member was Chambia from the early-middle Eocene of Tunisia. Some early macroscelids, such as Myohyrax, were so similar to hyraxes that they were initially included with that group, while others, such as Mylomygale, were relatively rodent-like. These unusual forms all died out by the Pleistocene. The diversification of living macroscelids apparently began when the Rhynchocyon lineage split off about 33 Ma ago, in the early Oligocene.

Propaganda under the cut:

Sengis are one of the fastest small mammals, having been recorded to reach speeds of 28.8 kilometres per hour (17.9 mph).

Unlike most other sengis, Short-snouted Elephant Shrews (Elephantulus brachyrhynchus) utilize a network of safety burrows by digging their own burrows or stealing the pre-existing burrows of rodents.

The Cape Elephant Shrew (Elephantulus edwardii) feeds on both insects and the nectar of plants, covering its long nose in pollen. It is an important pollinator for the Pagoda Lily (Massonia bifolia), Hyobanche atropurpurea, and the Sulphur Sugarbush (Protea sulphurea).

The Somali Elephant Shrew (Galegeeska revoilii) was among the 25 "most wanted lost species” that were the focus of Global Wildlife Conservation's “Search for Lost Species” initiative. On 18 August 2020, 50 years after it was last seen and recorded, it was announced that a population had been found in Djibouti, the first documented since 1968.

Rufous Elephant Shrews (Galegeeska rufescens) are very meticulous about their foraging trails (see gif above). Throughout the trails are several spots for resting, scent-marking, and sunbathing. They maintain their trails by pushing aside leaf litter and other loose debris. The males usually spend most of their time cleaning the trails.

Young Rufous Elephant Shrews will climb on their parents’ backs and vigorously rub their four feet in the fur in a rapid vibrating motion. This allows them to transfer odors from scent glands on their feet to their parents, as well as pick up their parents’ scent. The mixture of the scents creates a family odor that can be used for recognizing family members.

The Etendeka Round-eared Sengi (Macroscelides micus) (image 4) is the smallest known sengi. It weighs less than one ounce (28 grams) and is 19 cm (7.3 inches) long, including the tail, when fully grown.

The Grey-faced Sengi (Rhynchocyon udzungwensis) is the largest known sengi, on average 56.4 cm (22.2 in) long, and weighing 711 g (1.6 lbs). This species was only recently discovered in January 2008.

[farsight-the-char]

++ THE IRON WALL ++

- Art by Artem Demura

.. They said: “O Dhu al-Qarnayn! Lo! Gog and Magog are spoiling the land. So may we pay thee tribute on condition that thou set a barrier between us and them?” He said: “That wherein my Lord hath established me is better than your tribute. Do but help me with the strength of men, I will set between you and them a bank. “Give me pieces of iron” - till, when he had levelled up the gap between the cliffs, he said: “Blow!” - till, when he had made it a fire, he said: “Bring me molten copper to pour thereon.” “And Gog and Magog were not able to surmount, nor could they pierce it.” He said: “This is a mercy from my Lord; but when the promise of my Lord cometh to pass, He will lay it low, for the promise of my Lord is true.” - Surah Al-Kahf

...

More lore under the cut

Anchored by the Taurus Mountains to the North and Zagros Mountains in the East, the two horns of the crescent moon, the Invincible Iron Wall of Dhu al-Qarnayn is both the symbol of the Sultanate and the very reason for its existence. Beyond it lies the last and the greatest realm of Those Who Believe. Easily eclipsing all other known Wonders of the World, none who have seen the Iron Wall can ever forget it. Despite centuries of artillery bombardment by Heretic cannons, its surface is untarnished, glittering like a newly-cast steel plating in the morning sun, and at night the manyfold gemstones embedded into its very structure light up in a wondrous show of colour and artistry. Neither the Wall itself nor its gates have ever been brought down, and while some enemies have made it across the Wall to spread death and terror deep into the Sultanate proper, they have always been thrown back.

At regular intervals stand towers and bulwarks erected by the sultans of both past and present, specifically constructed to support the long-range artillery of the Imperial School of Military Engineering. The great spires act as both lookouts as well as minarets for calling the believers to salah five times a day. These constructions, mighty as they may be, are not nearly as durable as the Invincible Iron Wall. They are often under repairs or being rebuilt due to the horrendous damage Heretic artillery and long-range bombers inflict upon them. There are four Great Gates (as well as many lesser ones) roughly corresponding to the four cardinal directions. Each holds a great garrison commanded by a sanjaq-bey (‘Lord of the Standard’) responsible for the security and protection of the trade routes beyond. Despite their formidable constructions, the Sultan’s Pashas know that if one of the Four Gates was ever taken, the Sultanate would be in mortal peril. Thus it is not just Janissaries and a host of Azebs and Sappers that guard the Great Gates, but instead each entrance is also guarded by two takwin creatures of truly colossal proportions: winged beasts with eyes keener than those of any hawk and claws that can tear a Heretic tank in half with a single swipe. Their form was chosen in honour of the legendary buraq that once carried the Prophet. They are not only there to protect the Gates with physical force but also with their wit.

Created with keen intellect, the buraq takwin tests the travellers to the Sultanate with subtle but deeply sagacious perspicacious questions and riddles, exposing Heretic infiltrators and weeding out those who would bring harm to the Believers. Due to their intelligence, the takwin guardians are well-aware of the artificial nature of their being, suffering from the knowledge of their unnatural existence. It is said that they are created as pairs not only for their might but also that they could give solace to each other with deep philosophical discussion and sophisticated poetry, alleviating the pain of their existential horror - for they were created by a man and not by God, and thus can hold no hope of salvation. When there are no passersby travelling through the Gate, their low, rumbling voices echo across the wall as they debate the meaning of the ninety-nine names of Allah, the nature of love or past battles they have engaged in the many years of their existence. Creation and maintenance of even one of these mighty beasts costs the Sultan the yearly income of an entire nāḥiyah, and occupies the finest cadre of the Alchemists of the House of Wisdom for a better part of seven years. It is a price the Sultan is glad to pay for the protection of his people. The bountiful blessings of the Iron Wall are not limited to mere physical protection from the forces of Shaytan: the scholars of the House of Wisdom have laboured for decades to create machines to help maintain and regulate the precipitation within the lands of the Believers, as well as making Sultanate air space exceedingly hard for Heretic aerial forces to harry, due to the high winds that often whip above the spires of the Iron Wall. Here, wondrous devices trap the passing gales and storms, using them to guard their air space against Hell-bombers and long range reconnaissance planes.

[masonscig]

not really back but i started playing infamous... [muffled circus music in the distance]

[unsteady-calcium]

My Breath of the Wild Slow Livin' challenge is in its third iteration and let me tell you it is the only way to play this game

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

I should find a job.

[raeathnos]

.

[jtownraindancer]

had a momentary obsession that i shall ramble about in the tags

[nasa]

What We Learned from Flying a Helicopter on Mars

The Ingenuity Mars Helicopter made history – not only as the first aircraft to perform powered, controlled flight on another world – but also for exceeding expectations, pushing the limits, and setting the stage for future NASA aerial exploration of other worlds.

Built as a technology demonstration designed to perform up to five experimental test flights over 30 days, Ingenuity performed flight operations from the Martian surface for almost three years. The helicopter ended its mission on Jan. 25, 2024, after sustaining damage to its rotor blades during its 72nd flight.

So, what did we learn from this small but mighty helicopter?

We can fly rotorcraft in the thin atmosphere of other planets.

Ingenuity proved that powered, controlled flight is possible on other worlds when it took to the Martian skies for the first time on April 19, 2021.

Flying on planets like Mars is no easy feat: The Red Planet has a significantly lower gravity – one-third that of Earth’s – and an extremely thin atmosphere, with only 1% the pressure at the surface compared to our planet. This means there are relatively few air molecules with which Ingenuity’s two 4-foot-wide (1.2-meter-wide) rotor blades can interact to achieve flight.

Ingenuity performed several flights dedicated to understanding key aerodynamic effects and how they interact with the structure and control system of the helicopter, providing us with a treasure-trove of data on how aircraft fly in the Martian atmosphere.

Now, we can use this knowledge to directly improve performance and reduce risk on future planetary aerial vehicles.

Creative solutions and “ingenuity” kept the helicopter flying longer than expected.

Over an extended mission that lasted for almost 1,000 Martian days (more than 33 times longer than originally planned), Ingenuity was upgraded with the ability to autonomously choose landing sites in treacherous terrain, dealt with a dead sensor, dusted itself off after dust storms, operated from 48 different airfields, performed three emergency landings, and survived a frigid Martian winter.

Fun fact: To keep costs low, the helicopter contained many off-the-shelf-commercial parts from the smartphone industry - parts that had never been tested in deep space. Those parts also surpassed expectations, proving durable throughout Ingenuity’s extended mission, and can inform future budget-conscious hardware solutions.

There is value in adding an aerial dimension to interplanetary surface missions.

Ingenuity traveled to Mars on the belly of the Perseverance rover, which served as the communications relay for Ingenuity and, therefore, was its constant companion. The helicopter also proved itself a helpful scout to the rover.

After its initial five flights in 2021, Ingenuity transitioned to an “operations demonstration,” serving as Perseverance’s eyes in the sky as it scouted science targets, potential rover routes, and inaccessible features, while also capturing stereo images for digital elevation maps.

Airborne assets like Ingenuity unlock a new dimension of exploration on Mars that we did not yet have – providing more pixels per meter of resolution for imaging than an orbiter and exploring locations a rover cannot reach.

Tech demos can pay off big time.

Ingenuity was flown as a technology demonstration payload on the Mars 2020 mission, and was a high risk, high reward, low-cost endeavor that paid off big. The data collected by the helicopter will be analyzed for years to come and will benefit future Mars and other planetary missions.

Just as the Sojourner rover led to the MER-class (Spirit and Opportunity) rovers, and the MSL-class (Curiosity and Perseverance) rovers, the team believes Ingenuity’s success will lead to future fleets of aircraft at Mars.

In general, NASA’s Technology Demonstration Missions test and advance new technologies, and then transition those capabilities to NASA missions, industry, and other government agencies. Chosen technologies are thoroughly ground- and flight-tested in relevant operating environments — reducing risks to future flight missions, gaining operational heritage and continuing NASA’s long history as a technological leader.

You can fall in love with robots on another planet.

Following in the tracks of beloved Martian rovers, the Ingenuity Mars Helicopter built up a worldwide fanbase. The Ingenuity team and public awaited every single flight with anticipation, awe, humor, and hope.

Check out #ThanksIngenuity on social media to see what’s been said about the helicopter’s accomplishments.

Learn more about Ingenuity’s accomplishments here. And make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Pollen and Pheromones

Kinktober Day 13: Sex Pollen

Male Alpha Yandere x Gender Neutral Omega Reader CW: Noncon, sex pollen, aphrodisiac, pheromones, knotting, biting, claiming bite, stranded, spaceship crash, sci-fi, outer space, alien planet, a/b/o dynamics, bigotry/prejudice against omegas, rivalry, breeding, general yandere behavior, tsundere, betrayal Word Count: 1.6k (Enjoy this kinktober meal I have prepared <3)

"Star log: This is Pilot 2418 currently operating vessel Starlion: Orion. I am currently on route to pass the threshold of our galaxy in less than five minutes."

You were a shuttle pilot, one of the Exploration Guild's best. Ever since humanity had achieved interplanetary travel, they had sought to extend themselves ever further. With the new drift-space drives, that dream was now a reality.

They were only currently suited for small 1 to 2 man shuttlecraft, and only a couple such craft had been made. Two different ones had been commissioned through the guild, with both pilots competing to see who could exit the Milky Way first. The new drive could only be used in bursts to prevent overloading, so the journey had still taken a few months. But it seemed like you were about to succeed. Then you could make a U-turn and start drift-jumping back towards the nearest station.

Since you were an omega, this was a great achievement, a notice to the universe that your kind could do whatever betas and alphas could. You would be able to help stamp out the lingering bigotry and inspire others all with one action.

You were just about to cross the finish line!

Suddenly, your opponent, Tetsunori, came out of drift-space behind you. He had been your long-time rival, with both of you being about equally skilled.

But this was unacceptable to him as he was an alpha and held to the knothead mindset that an omega's place was bouncing on an alpha's prick or maybe in a teaching or nursing job.

You weren't worried, though. You had a solid lead. There was no way he could close the gap.

You rolled your eyes at the incoming transmission.

"Why don't you just give up now? If you surrender nicely, I'll let you celebrate my victory by letting you keep my knot warm!"

The temptation to reply was too great.

"Ha! You may be good at navigating the stars, but I doubt you have ever found your way into an omega."

Conversing with him hadn't distracted you or made you pause, so he growled as he switched to another plan. He fired on his tractor beam.

What the fuck, was he insane? Stooping so low to make sure you couldn't have a historic moment? You fired an equal and opposite tractor beam through his, which forced him to disengage. Something only possible because both ships were similar in size and energy output. Did he think you were some amateur?

In a desperate bid to prevent you from winning, Tetsunori rammed his shuttle into yours.

This type of bumping wasn't unheard of. It wasn't lethal if both ships were similar and had their shields up. But the bouncing was pretty strong for both parties, which is why it was a last-ditch effort. It could push you past the line, or it could bump him further. Neither of those things happened, though.

Instead, you careened right into the gravitational pull off a planet. You did everything you could to slow down and stabilize, but nothing seemed to be working.

Tetsunori sped after you in his spacecraft as he spoke into the comm link.

"I'm sorry, oh my god, I'm so sorry! I just had to be first! What omega would want to be mates with someone who they bested??"

You didn't have time for his weird ass confession and barely registered it. Your shields were still online and he had started pulsing his tractor beam to slow you down, full usage of it at such speeds could rip your ship apart, thankfully he wasn't an amateur either and knew that.

You put all available power and quickly put it into overloading the shields. You hit the emergency crash button, and two nozzles came out from the sides of the cockpit and sprayed you with a rapidly drying foam that would reduce damage to you if you got flung about the ship. Tetsunori's reckless and speedy entry into the atmosphere may have been enough to save you, but he had lost control of his vessel as well.

As you crashed, he careened away and crash-landed as well.

It was a good thing the high-tech impact reduction foam was so effective. Despite having shields, the ship was still shaken pretty badly, and the inertial dampeners weren't powerful enough to thwart damage from such a landing.

You took stock of the condition of your systems.

Almost everything was fried. You could at least scan the planet. It seemed like you had actually lucked out. In the entire galaxy planets that supported life were incredibly rare. But you had landed on one.

It seemed there were no known biological hazards present. No recognized toxins, dangerous bacteria, or viral agents. You were cleared to remove your suit. The temporary foam had started to dissolve, so it wasn't hard to remove.

The scanner also indicated there was a strong human life sign. It appeared that Tetsunori was okay.

You took the survival kit from underneath your seat as well as some beverages and rations you had procured at the last station and headed in the direction of dust and smoke in the distance.

You didn't even need the ship's scanner to tell you that the great imbecile, Tetsunori had landed there.

As you got closer, you stepped into a field of flowers that surrounded the entire crash site. You were probably still a mile away, but all around you were odd glittery silver and gold flowers.

The smell of them made you just slightly lightheaded and tingly. You realized the tiniest bit of slick was dribbling down your leg. They must be an aphrodisiac. The scanner hadn't warned you of anything in the air that was truly dangerous, so it probably wouldn't matter very much. And it really didn't. For you. As you trudged through the flowers and pollen, the effects did not get worse.

But for Tetsunori, the pollen was much stronger. When it hit his nostrils, it immediately put him into rut. Not a typical rut either, one of the ruts you see in pornos where the alpha is almost feral and unable to control their mating drive. When you came upon him, he was sitting on a piece of debris from his shit and rocking back and forth in clear distress. Through his outfit, his bulge was immediately visible.

"T-tetsunori? Uh... are you okay? D-did you get hurt in the crash?"

You took a step back when he looked up at you. His eyes were red, giving him a demonic appearance.

"The flowers, I think... they... UGH! My thoughts are all jumbled..."

He started to rub and massage his crotch desperately. He finally caught a whiff of your scent, ripe from the recent hike over to him and from being without a proper shower since your last space station stop. Not to mention the smell of the slick the aphrodisiac had coaxed out of you.

He started wildly sniffing at the air.

"Y-you smell so nice. You can help!"

You started backing away slowly.

"Uh... help with what?"

He got up and closed the difference between the two of you. Sweat had his dark hair clinging to his head. He was significantly taller and looked down at you intensely before sniffing and licking your neck with lazy broad strokes.

"S-smell so gooood. Always wanted to knot youuuu~"

You tried to push him off.

"Tetsunori! St-stop!"

You slapped, smacked, kicked, punched, and flailed, but nothing you did deterred him in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, but I fucking n-need this!"

He pinned you to the ground, clawing and biting off all your clothing until only your underwear was left, he removed it more delicately before inhaling its scent deeply and putting it in his pocket for later.

"Please don't do this, Tetsunori, PLEASE!"

He looked down at you, and it seemed like he was genuinely trying to resist before the pollen-charged rut won out.

Tetsunori unzipped his pants and let his drooling cock and full heavy balls out.

"G-gonna put all my babies in you! Have to! Have to!"

The lust-drunk alpha wasted no more time in ramming into you, an insertion that would have been more difficult had the pollen not slicked you up. Though it was still sudden and slightly painful.

"A-aaah!"

You tried to kick at him, but he growled viciously before pushing you into a mating press and slobbering all over your neck with his eager tongue.

The pollen must have increased the potency of his pheromones, or at least your susceptibility to them, because his musk was starting to cloud your thoughts.

Your grunts of pain became gasps of pleasure as your body quickly accommodated to his large size. You winced as he bit down hard on your neck to claim you. He kept right on fucking into you without skipping a beat.

He licked and kissed the lightly bleeding bite mark, some part of him remembering to comfort you despite his dominating need to fill you with cock. And by that point, the last of your resistance finally melted away.

"T-tetsunoriiiiii~" You moaned as your toes curled and body twitched in orgasm.

He growled your name in response and gave a few hard, deep thrusts before cumming as deeply as possible.

A comforting fullness filled your hole as his knot locked the two of you together. He pulled you close as he sat down so that you were in his lap facing him. The two of you caught your breath, then remained in an awkward silence until his knot deflated.

"G-got it out of your system?"

"Yeah... for the most part... sorry about that..."

You lifted yourself off of his lap, his half hard cock springing free with a lewd plopping sound.

"Well... it wasn't your fault. It was just the pollen..."

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his lap, his cock ramming directly into you, then began humping.

"Well... it wasn't just the pollen..."

[pretentious-blonde]

unrecognisable

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve's father gets in his head, and he takes it out on the one person who has only ever asked him to love her

warnings: toxic parents, arguments, crying, MEAN steve, hurt steve (i'm sorry)

a/n: im sorry (again), i wrote this on two separate five hour train journeys, so i apologise to the elderly gentleman opposite me for witnessing the five stages of grief i went through. @allergictosoup thought about you, so buckle up

welcome to pt. 7, can be read as a standalone

next part

series masterlist

Flour dusts every surface of the Harrington kitchen. Particles drifting through the air in soft swirls that settle on the counter, some even managing to make their way onto the tiled floor. 

You’re not even sure how it got this out of hand. One minute, you and Steve were diligently following a cookie recipe—or, maybe it was muffins—and the next, he was downright threatening you. 

It felt almost unfair how he leveraged his height to corner you, using the same relentless technique he must have honed on his high school basketball team—leaving you with no room to slip past him.

You’re cornered against the fridge, glancing for your closest escape route, your cheeks hurting from nervous laughter.

“Come on, honey,” he croons, voice dripping with mischief as he edges closer, a devilish glint in his eye. “Usually, you like my cream.”

For a split second, your brain short-circuits.

“Ugh, Steve!” you shriek, scandalised and horrified, your laughter bursting out before you can stop it. Your hands fly up, shoving at his chest as he boxes you in. “You did not just say that!”

But he only smiles wider, utterly unrepentant, eyes twinkling as he takes in your exasperated expression. He gasps in mock horror as you smear some of the flour residue on his shirt.  

“Oh, that’s how we’re playing, huh?”

“It is,” you declare as you gaze up at him smugly, a fresh, white handprint marring his navy polo.

“Alright,” he bends his arms to engulf you, whipped cream at the ready. “You asked for it.”

You duck under his shoulder and dart toward the counter, squealing when his other hand snakes around your waist. “Steve Harrington, if you get that on me I—”

He smirks, hold in you tighter, leaning in like he’s about to whisper a secret.

“Too late.”

Before you know it, he swipes a small dollop of cream onto your cheek. You shriek, raising your hands as if to grab him, but he’s faster. Dodging your retaliatory swing, he nearly collides with the kitchen island, laughter echoing off the walls.

“Ok—please! You win!” You finally beg, giggling.

His grin spreads across his face, and for a moment, you think he’s going to comply. Then he arches a brow, stepping closer, feigning another attack.

“I swear to God, if you so much as—”

The phone rings, slicing through the chaos. You both freeze, breathless.

“Saved by the bell,” he says smugly, using his pinky to flick a tiny dab of cream onto the tip of your nose as a final victory.

You huff, wiping it away with the back of your hand, but you’re still smiling. He grabs a kitchen towel on his way to the wall-mounted phone, wiping his hands as he picks it up. 

You watch him. Even with his disheveled appearance, he’s effortlessly stunning. There’s something boyish about him in the aftermath of his teasing, his eyes alight with mischief as he takes in your irritated expression. 

He doesn’t look the least bit sorry—and if he apologised now, you wouldn’t believe him for a second.

“Harrington residence,” he answers as he tucks it against his shoulder, still slightly winded from the physical exertion.

It only takes a few seconds. A muffled voice crackles through the line, and just like that, it all drains away.

In an instant, his entire demeanor shifts—shoulders tightening, brow furrowing, the remnants of his smile vanishing without a trace.

“Oh… hey, Dad.”

He straightens as if bracing for impact, his hand raking through his hair in that telltale nervous tic you’ve come to know all too well. The motion is restless, almost absent-minded, but it betrays everything he isn’t saying.

“No, yeah, of course,” he says. “Thought you were coming back Thursday?” A pause. You hear a faint rumble of a voice from the other end, and Steve nods like his dad can see him. “Yeah… I’ll take care of it. Sure.”

He hangs up, his fingers lingering on the phone for just a second longer. When he turns around, the corner of his mouth moves in what might pass for a grin if you weren’t paying attention.

But you are.

You’d heard about his parents in passing, though any mention of them was always met with a swift change of subject. It was clear the topic was a sore spot, and you never pressed—some wounds were better left untouched. There was an unspoken understanding between you: his parents had never been his greatest supporters, but he didn’t dwell on it. He had Robin, the kids, and now you—a mismatched, unconventional family where, despite everything, he had found a place to belong.

“Steve?” you ask gently.

“Hey, honey.” He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Gotta drop you home, okay?”

His voice is casual—almost too casual, the kind of forced nonchalance that immediately sets you on edge. 

“Wait, what? Why?”

“My parents are coming home… in a few hours.” He gestures around the flour-strewn kitchen. “They’re, uh, back early. You know how they get about the house.” 

There’s something in the way he speaks, a little too even, too measured, as if he’s trying to smooth over something. Your brows knit together, suspicion flickering in your eyes as you search his face for cracks in the façade.

“Oh,” you decide not to press. “Alright, well, I can help clean? We haven’t even started actually baking yet, so...”

No. Absolutely not.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He shakes his head, a hint of that lopsided grin returning. “I’ve got this. I’ll save you some, okay?”

“Are you sure?” You study his expression, noting the strain just beneath the surface. He’s definitely not as relaxed as he’s pretending to be, but he’s trying.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he insists, stepping closer to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Think I can handle a little cleaning.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, your heart gives a little flip. For a moment, it feels almost normal again, lips sugary sweet on yours. 

“Come on,” he says, grabbing your coat and guiding you toward the front door. “I’ll drive. Promise I’m not a fan of this either.” 

There’s a flicker of humour in his eyes as he helps you slip your arms into the sleeves. But it still feels as though he is ushering you out of the place.

“Hm, fine. But you better not eat all of them.” You tell him, trying to coax out a real smile. “They were a joint effort.”

“I won’t,” he says with a grin that’s almost genuine. “Promise.”

You can’t shake the worry in the back of your mind, but he’s doing such a good job acting like everything’s fine that you decide not to push. 

He’s Steve, after all—he’s handled plenty. If he says he’s got this, he probably does.

He hurries around the living room, heart hammering in his chest. He’s in overdrive, picking up discarded socks, tossing them into a laundry basket, and wiping away streaks of flour on the table. 

There’s still residue smudged on the hardwood and batter-encrusted mixing bowls cluttering the counter, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the muffins. You were so excited about them in the first place.

He promised he’d finish them for you, so he popped them in the oven anyway, cranking the temperature and muttering a silent prayer that they’ll actually turn out okay. It feels ridiculous, making time to bake when he knows his parents are about to walk through that door and nitpick every speck of dust they can find. 

But he can’t help it. He pictures your smile, the way you’d probably tease him about being sentimental, and he clings to that for a second.

He hears tires crunch against the gravel. A breath catches in his throat. 

They’re here.

The front door opens. Footsteps in the hall. He steels himself, leaning against the counter like he’s cool, collected—like he hasn't spent the last two hours in a panic.

“Steven?”

He hates that name—so formal, so stiff. Only ever used by his father, and therefore only said with coldness. 

“In here.” Steve replies.

Mr. Harrington appears with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes skim the room with mild disinterest, like he’s barely registering the baking utensils piled near the sink.

“You’ve certainly left your mark,” he remarks flatly, setting the bag on a chair. “We leave you alone for a couple weeks and this is what happens to the house?” He shakes his head. “The house you don’t pay for.”

Steve swallows, cheeks warming already. He has no rebuttal for that, and it stings. 

“I was gonna clean up,” he starts, rubbing at a flour stain on his shirt. “Just... got caught up in the baking.”

His dad’s eyes flick to the mess, then settles on the oven. 

“Baking?” The sarcasm is mild, but pointed. “Sounds productive.”

A defensive retort swells in his chest. He’s too worked up to let it slide. 

“I was—doing it with someone.” He mutters out. His father’s gaze flicks to him, bored. “My girlfriend,” Steve adds. “The one I told you about?”

There’s no real surprise on Mr. Harrington’s face, just the slightest arch of his brows—barely a sign of acknowledgement. Steve feels a sharp sting of irritation. He’s mentioned your name before, more than once—dropped it casually in passing, threaded it into brief phone calls, even muttered it during those rare, fleeting visits. 

And yet, it’s clear now that none of it stuck.

“She still around?”

The question stings more than it should. 

“Yes,” Steve says, jaw tightening. “She’s still around.”

Mr. Harrington gives a dismissive shrug, dropping the bag onto a chair. 

“Huh.” He glances at the flour smears on Steve’s shirt, then back to the general state of the kitchen. “I assume this girlfriend of yours is the one with the real job, right?”

“She’s a journalist at the Hawkins Post,” he clarifies as he exhales slowly. “It’s not like—”

“Right, an office job,” his dad cuts in. “Something stable. Maybe you could take a page out of her book. Instead of playing clerk at that Family Video.”

The words sink into him like tiny barbs. Sharp and painful.

“It’s a job,” he fires back, voice tight. “I’m making money.”

“Making money,” his father echoes flatly, “sure. Must be enough to keep you rolling in dough.” He glances to his son after the ill joke, eyes dull, as if he’s reading a newspaper he doesn’t care about. “Could be worse, I guess. You could be back at that ice cream place.”

A hot surge of anger flares in his chest, impossible to ignore. It burns at his father’s indifference, the way he effortlessly dismisses things that matter to him. But there’s another touch of resentment, small but undeniable, curling at the edges of his frustration.

Toward you.

He loves that you’re driven—admires it, even. The way you carve your own path, the independence you wear. Your own place, your own ambitions. It’s everything he wants for you, everything he respects.

But sometimes, it does make him feel like he’s lagging behind, stuck in some endless game of catch-up. And hearing his father throw it in his face? That’s just twisting the knife.

“Where’s Mom?” he blurts, hoping to derail the conversation.

“Meeting me in Evansville,” his father replies, running a hand through his hair. “I won’t be here long, so you can relax. You won’t have me breathing down your neck for more than a day or two.”

Relax. Yeah, right. 

He shifts on his feet, hating how resentment twists in his core. 

He doesn’t want his dad around, but there’s also that pang of disappointment—like he’s never worth sticking around for anyway. Mr. Harrington rolls up his sleeves, staring at his flour-stained clothes with faint distaste. 

“You should probably change,” he remarks. “You look awful.”

Before Steve can speak, the oven timer goes off with a shrill beep, making him jump. He strides over, turning it off and tugging the tray of muffins from the oven. They’re a little golden around the edges—exactly how you wanted them. 

For a second, he imagines you here, teasing him about his shirt or the bit of flour in his hair.

You’d probably know exactly how to handle this. 

He sets them on the cooling rack, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air. Behind him, his father is already rifling through his bag, not even sparing the fresh-baked goods a glance.

Embarrassment prickles at the back of his neck, creeping in like a noose tightening around his throat. He can feel his father’s presence, the weight of his judgment making his hands tremble as he carefully decants them.

He almost regrets letting you pick the pink casings. They stand out—bright, cheerful, undeniably soft. He remembers the way you squealed in the shopping aisle, eyes alight with excitement, how you turned to him with that look—the one he could never say no to. 

And so, of course, he agreed. 

Because it made you happy. Because that was enough.

But now, under his father’s silent scrutiny, those same bright casings feel like a spotlight, like something he should be embarrassed about. They’re not the kind of thing his father would ever see as ‘manly.’

He hates that he thinks that.

He hates that he has to think that.

“Hope you didn’t make a huge batch,” Mr. Harrington says absently. “Seems like a waste if it’s just you.”

Steve’s grip on the rack tightens, but he forces a deep breath. 

“They’re not for you,” he mutters under his breath. 

He almost regrets speaking up—pushing back never gets him anywhere. It never has. But he can’t help himself.

“Hm.” His dad barely reacts. It’s the sort of non-answer that grates on his nerves more than an outright insult. “Anyway,” he continues, “go get changed. I’ve got some calls to make.”

Steve hesitates, his eyes sweeping over the kitchen. It still needs a proper cleaning, but that can wait. Right now, all he wants is to get out of there—to put as much distance between himself and this moment as possible.

There’s resentment. It’s pointed at his father for being so dismissive, but there’s a traitorous thread pointed at you, too—at how you seem to have your life figured out, while he’s still stuck in this stupid loop of disappointment.

“Fine,” he mutters. He tosses the potholder onto the counter and trudges out of the kitchen.

Climbing the stairs, he tries to ignore the storm of frustration swirling in his head. He’s so tired of feeling inadequate. So damn tired of just bored disapproval in his dad’s eyes. 

And if he’s honest, it scares him how easily that frustration can twist into resentment toward you—as if you being successful somehow makes him look worse.

He stumbles into the house, shoulders heavy under the weight of a long shift. The overhead lights in the hallway feel too bright as he heads straight for the shower. His clothes reek faintly of the store—a scent he’s gotten so used to, he hardly notices it anymore. 

But it’s there. And he knows his dad smells it, too.

Steve tries not to think about it, tries not to think about him, as the hot water cascades over his tired muscles. Tonight’s supposed to be his night—your night. You’d made plans to see that new movie you were buzzing about, something you’d both been looking forward to. 

He’s been distant this week, but only because he doesn’t want to drag you into this—doesn’t want you to see just how bad it’s gotten with his dad living under the same roof again.

Water off, towel around his waist, he pads back into his bedroom and rifles through his drawers for something decent to wear. Jeans, clean shirt, maybe that jacket you said you liked. He checks himself in the mirror, fusses with his hair—he just wants to look put together. 

He’s about to slip on his jacket when he hears the door open behind him. Turning, he sees his father standing in the doorway, arms crossed, scanning the room like he’s taking inventory. 

“Hey,” Mr. Harrington says, clearing his throat. “I’m off.”

“Yeah… alright.” He nods, tries to keep his tone light. “Talk later.”

He goes back to checking his pockets for his keys, wallet—waiting for his dad to leave. But the older man remains planted, gaze still on him. Eventually, he stills, looking back. 

What now?

“Listen.” His father sighs, pressing his lips together. “I’ve spoken to your mother, and we’ve both agreed that when we’re all back here, it would be a good idea to have a discussion. A proper discussion.”

Steve’s gut sinks. He forces a calm he doesn’t feel. 

“About what?”

“Come on,” his father says, giving him a flat stare. “You’re not stupid.”

“No, about what?” Steve’s jaw clenches. 

“It’s just….” He pauses. ”You have no direction.” Mr. Harrington exhales, like even speaking to Steve is a chore. “No goals, nothing you’re striving for.”

Those words dig in like glass splinters. Steve forces himself to breathe, reminding himself of all the good things in his life—you, his friends, the sense of contentment he’s so close to finding. 

“Listen, Dad,” he starts, voice tight, “it’s not like I’m not happy.”

His father’s mouth twists, disbelief etched into every line of his face. 

“I don’t understand how that can be true.”

“Well, lucky for you,” he swallows, holding back the flash of anger clawing at his throat, “you don’t have to understand.” 

Mr. Harrington’s gaze narrows. “It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

“What about her?” Steve’s heart thumps, a little jolt of protectiveness sparking to life. 

His father waves a hand dismissively. “Let me know how long that lasts.”

“Now I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Jesus, Steven,” his father cuts him off, “wake up and think for a second. That girl is going places. You think she’s gonna stay in Hawkins forever?”

He feels something twist. He doesn’t want to consider it, but the thought’s already worming into his head, even with your prior reassurance.

You’re so damn ambitious, so ready to chase the next big thing. You moved to Hawkins on your own—who’s to say you wouldn’t move again if it meant climbing the ladder?

His silence stretches, and that seems to spur his father on. 

“Girls like that always want more. They need someone who’s going to add to their life, not drag them down. And from the looks of things right now, you don’t exactly have much to offer.”

Steve’s throat tightens as he tries not to let his father’s words sink too deep. But he can’t help it—he’s suddenly thinking about all the things you love: work, reading, writing, devouring books at an alarming rate. 

And him? 

He can’t remember the last time he touched a novel. He’s thinking about the times you’ve told him about your articles in excited detail, and he just nodded along, telling you it sounded amazing, without any real critique to give. 

What if that’s not enough?

He's had these thoughts before, but now, they seem harder to push away. Especially with his own flesh and blood repeating them back to him.

His father’s watching him, expression grim, like he’s waiting for a reaction. And finally, Steve snaps out of it, forcing his voice to remain steady.

“Dad, seriously, can we not do this right now?”

“Clearly, there’s no good time to figure this out.” Mr. Harrington’s mouth sets in a hard line. “Your mother and I want you to find a new job. A real job.”

“I’m not doing that,” Steve says, voice shaky with suppressed fury. 

He likes his job, even though he moans about it non-stop. He likes that it’s easy enough to leave behind at the end of the day so he can spend time with you.

He knew that he shouldn’t have pushed back, it never works out in his favour. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him from the words that spilled out of his father at that moment. Years of resentment leading up to one of the worst interactions he could have ever imagined. 

“Just—look at yourself, Steven! You can’t stick with anything—sports, school, friends—all of it, you just quit the second it’s not convenient. Basketball, football, every damn team you tried out for—quit when it got hard. Remember that?”

“And don’t get me started on the so-called friendships you let fade. You can’t keep anyone close. You can’t even hold on to the people you claimed were so important to you back in high school. They’re all moving on, building real futures—and you’re just stuck in the past.

“And college? Jesus, don’t even try defending yourself there. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for your mother and me to tell people our son couldn’t get the grades to even apply? Now here you are, wasting away in some run-down video store. I mean—for God’s sake–-you could’ve at least found a respectable job if you weren’t going to stick with school. But no—you’re working a job any clueless teenager could do, living here, making nothing of yourself, with no plan for the future.

“You know what that looks like to everyone else? It looks embarrassing. And I’m sick to death of explaining it to people. I’m sick of defending you when there’s nothing to defend.

“So here’s the deal. You have three months—three, Steven—to figure your life out. Find a job with some kind of respect attached to it, or at least prove you’re trying for something better than that worthless retail gig. Because if you can’t pull yourself together by then, you’re out of this house for good. I’m done watching you throw your life away.”

Then he turns on his heel and slams the bedroom door behind him, the sound reverberating in Steve’s ears long after he’s gone. Completely shattering him in the process. 

For a moment, he just stands there, chest heaving. 

It feels like the entire room has shrunk around him, the walls pressing closer, threatening to suffocate him. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, white-knuckled. 

He thinks of you—your voice in his head telling him to breathe, that he’s got this, that he’s enough. But it’s drowned out by the echo of his father’s voice, the condemning words bouncing around his skull.

All at once, he can’t contain it. He roars in frustration, snatching up the first thing within reach—some old textbook—and hurling it across the room. It hits the wall with a dull thud, slides to the floor. 

The sight of it fuels him, and in a blind rush, he tears at the piles of clothes on his bed, toppling anything and everything, yanking drawers open only to slam them shut again. He barely registers the sting in his hands when he punches the wardrobe door, the hollow crack echoing in the small space.

His breathing is ragged, tears hot behind his eyes, though he refuses to let them fall. He can’t stand the thought of crying because of that man, can’t bear the humiliation of it. But it’s all so overwhelming—the heartbreak of possibly losing you, the fear that maybe his father’s right, the suffocating knowledge that he has nowhere else to go.

After a minute—two, maybe three—he sinks to his knees in the midst of the chaos. His chest aches, his throat tight. He stares at the scattered clothes, the overturned laundry basket, the scattered tapes and magazines. 

Tears threaten to rise again, and he sucks in a sharp breath, willing them back. There’s no point—no way he’ll be seeing you tonight, or maybe ever again. Not after this. Not after it had been made so clear to him. 

You were never going to stick around.

He stays in his room for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the house around him. Eventually, he drags himself downstairs, peeking into the hallway just to make sure his father is gone.

The silence is suffocating.

He sinks onto the couch, eyes unfocused on the flickering TV screen, and wonders how the hell he’s supposed to get through the next few months.

Steve had never been one to leave you hanging. That was the first clue something was off. 

It’s Friday—your day. The one evening you both set aside, no matter what. By the end of the week, you’re both drained, desperate to shake off work and just be together.

Your schedules don’t always line up—his weekend shifts, your late nights—but Fridays are non-negotiable. You made sure of that, telling your boss it was the only evening you needed off.

You’d spent the whole afternoon daydreaming about it, picturing whispered commentary during the previews—because Steve could never quite keep his mouth shut. He always had something to say, too eager to share his thoughts, even when it earned him a few irritated shushes from strangers. He’d turn to you with that sheepish blush, murmuring an apology before inevitably doing it again. And maybe, if he’d remembered, he would’ve brought the muffins you baked earlier that week.

When he didn’t show, you lingered outside the theatre, wrapping your jacket tighter around your torso. You’d picked out a dress he’d once admitted was his favourite, fussed with your hair until it looked just right. It felt silly standing there alone, trying not to look too disappointed as other couples filed in. 

But Steve was never late, much less a no-show. It just didn’t happen.

By the time you reach your car you are more concerned than frustrated. Maybe he’s with his father—he barely hid how tense it made him. It’s possible he’s sick, lying in bed refusing to call because he hates worrying you. Hell, he’s a big baby sometimes—always trying to hide his vulnerability. You tell yourself it’s something along those lines as you start the engine.

The drive to his house feels longer than usual. Every turn builds a knot in your throat, and your brain sprints through every worst-case scenario. It was a gift and a curse to have such an overactive mind.

But when you pull up, there it is: Steve’s car, parked at a slight angle like he always does. No sign of his parents’ vehicles, though. The driveway is eerily empty otherwise. You turn the key, nerves skittering through your chest.

Knocking on the door yields no response. Yet the windows glow with gentle lamplight—a habit you once teased him about. ‘Conserve energy,’ you’d nag. He’d roll his eyes but always hit the switch when leaving. The fact that they’re still on now makes your pulse spike. Peering through the window, you see no movement.

“Steve?” you call softly, tapping on the glass. 

Still nothing. 

Worry nudges you into action. You crouch down, lift the door mat, and fish out the spare key—the same key you’ve begged him to hide somewhere else at least a dozen times. 

Your heart hammers as you open the door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the silent entryway. 

“Steve?” you try again, growing more confused. 

You shouldn’t have to break into your own boyfriend’s place just to find him. Yet here you are, turning on your heel at every shadow, hoping to see him emerge from the corner with some sheepish grin and a perfectly reasonable explanation.

But of course, life would never be that kind. 

He sits hunched on the couch, his body all stiff angles and clenched fists. Usually, you’d see him sprawled comfortably, a grin tugging at his lips, something soft in his eyes whenever he looked at you.

But tonight, there’s nothing soft about him—his posture is wound tight, like a spring ready to snap. The air crackles with a tension so thick you can practically feel it pressing on your skin.

You step deeper into the living room, heart thudding heavily in your chest. He’s always been the sweet one, the one who’d drop everything just to see you smile. But now, that warmth is nowhere to be found, replaced by something guarded. Something scary. 

A word you thought would never have been possible to describe your Steve. 

“Steve?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, thick with caution.

His gaze stays fixed on the floor for a long moment before he finally sighs. 

“Yes?”

He sounded hollow, like he was done with you. Like he didn’t even have the energy for this conversation. 

“Where were you?” You ask with uncertainty, hating how small your voice sounds, but you’re too unsettled to hide it. “... I waited.”

“Sorry,” he rubs his temples, though it doesn’t feel like an apology, it feels like a statement. Something he is supposed to say. “Didn’t feel like going.”

Your stomach twists, a sting of hurt blooming in your chest. 

He never talks to you like this. Ever. 

“Uh, okay,” you say, trying to keep your tone steady despite the ache behind your ribs. “When were you going to tell me?”

His only answer is a ragged breath, and then he drags his hands down his face, the weight of the entire week pressing on his shoulders.

“Jesus,” he mutters, “I had other things going on, okay?”

Every syllable strikes like a blow, and you can practically see the frustration rolling off him in waves. Your own pulse thrums as you struggle to navigate what is happening, feeling fully out of your depth.

“So you wasted my time because you can’t pick up the phone?” you ask, trying your best not to let your voice shake—but it does anyway.

At that, he finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. You expect to find the tender brown gaze you know so well, but instead, you see anger there—a bitterness you barely recognise. 

“Oh,” he snaps, “because your time is so important?”

His words lance right through you, and a flush of heat crawls up your neck. This isn’t the Steve who calls you pet names or who leaves little notes around your apartment just to make you smile. This person feels like a stranger, and you can’t even hide the waver in your voice as you press forward. 

“Steve,” you whisper, “what is this?”

He sucks in a sharp breath, scrubbing his fingers over his scalp as though trying to ground himself. You see something flicker in his eyes—anxious, irritated. 

“Can’t I have one bad day without you being on my case?”

The words punch the air from your lungs. A bad day? 

Of course he can have a bad day. But that is not what this feels like. His anger is directed at you. You have not the faintest idea as of why, and that thought unsettles you as he is not letting you in to fix it. 

“I’m not trying to be on your case,” you say, voice filled with a confusion that’s fast morphing into desperation. “I’m trying to get you to talk to me.”

His lips curl in a scoff. “Yeah, well, not everything needs to be talked about to death.”

A tremor of frustration flutters through your stomach. Why on earth is he acting like this? 

“I’m not trying to talk it to death,” you manage, forcing each word out carefully, “I’m trying to understand.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want you to.”

He levels you with a stare so intense it makes your heart pound. Each word is laced with a fury you can feel, and it’s so unlike the man you know that it sends your mind reeling.

Before you can reply, he shoves himself up from the couch, stalking toward the hallway like he can’t stand to be in the same room as you. You’re left in the sudden void of his absence, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You lurch forward, catching him by the arm, your grip gentle but urgent.

“Is this about your parents?” you ask, breath hitching. You know enough about his situation to deduce that fact, it would be the only logical explanation. “You know this isn’t the way —”

He twists away from your touch so violently that you stagger back, a jolt of invisible pain shooting up your arm. Alarm flares in your chest as you see his eyes—there’s a dullness in them, a coldness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Isn’t the way what?” he challenges, voice shaking with pent-up rage. “No, seriously—what is it? Am I not handling this in the right way?”

You want to tell him no. You want to tell him that this is not the right way to handle it. But the way he is staring at you lets you know that your pleas will fall on deaf ears. 

You can see just how worn down he is. That expression—something’s building into a storm inside him. But his voice is sharp, slicing through the empathy you’re trying to offer. He hurls more words at you, each one stinging deeper than the last.

“You want me to cry on your shoulder?” he hisses, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Let you tell me how I should feel? You’re always right, after all.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. You reel back, tears prickling at your eyes. He’s never spoken to you like this—like you’re the enemy. You were supposed to be a team. A unit that supported each other—talked to each other—not whatever this was.

This was scary. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you say, your voice cracking.

His laugh is hollow, painful to hear. Almost mocking in tone, like you were too dumb to figure it out already. 

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean, sweetheart. Always gotta be the smartest person in the room, right? Always got the perfect words, the perfect answer… like you’ve got life all figured out.”

You feel raw, exposed, like he’s peeling back layer after layer just to wound you. 

And the worst part? 

He doesn’t even seem to care about the words falling out of his mouth. 

“Where is this coming from?” you plead, practically choking on your words. Inside, your heart is tearing. 

This is the same man who used to beg to spend every moment with you. The same man who waited for you after your shift with candy in the glove box. The same man who showed up to your apartment whenever he got the slightest inkling that something was wrong.  

Now, there’s nothing but resentment in his eyes. Nothing recognisable as yours.

“You think I don’t see how you look at me sometimes?” He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, anger carving lines into his features. “Like I’m some fucking idiot—some dumbass wasting his time working minimum wage while you’re off playing reporter, living on your own like you’re so fucking independent.”

Your breath stutters, and a stinging heat blooms behind your eyes, tears threatening to spill. You’ve fought so hard for your career, your home—and he’s always been proud of you. Always your number one supporter, even when it got too tough for you to carry on your own. 

At least, you thought he was. 

“You know how hard I worked for that, Steve,” you manage to say, your voice trembling.

“Oh yeah, and you make sure everyone knows it, don’t you?” He barks a harsh, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Perfect job, perfect apartment. Well, congratulations, sweetheart—you did it. You’re better than the rest of us.”

His words feel like a knife twisting. This bitterness, this rage—it’s as if he has been pushed so far that he desperately needs an outlet, and you’re the only one here. 

You’re the scapegoat.

You’re the collateral damage.

“Is that what you think?” you ask in disbelief. “That I—what? Look down on you?”

He meets your gaze, and for just a second, you see the flicker of something else—pain, exhaustion, maybe even fear. Then his jaw sets, and he spits out the words like their poison. 

“I think you pity me.”

A silence runs through the room, lingering in the air after his words. 

For a moment, you see the fragile boy beneath his anger: the same kid who once prowled the halls of Hawkins High with a chip on his shoulder, always desperate for approval but never sure how to earn it. 

You remember how he confessed, quietly one night, that he’d been bad in high school. But you never imagined this—the cruel sneer, the razor-sharp tone, the venom in his stare. Willing to risk it all in the heat of the moment. 

“Steve, if you feel that way, maybe we can—”

“Don’t fucking analyse me!” he snarls, the word cracking across the room. “I’m not one of your leads for you to pick apart.”

The accusation stings, but before you can gather yourself, he lashes out, swinging a kick toward the coffee table. The impact jolts the furniture with a dull thud, sending it skidding a few inches across the floor. It’s not aimed at you, but the fury in the motion makes your stomach lurch. 

You flinch—an involuntary reaction, your hands instinctively shifting, breath catching in your throat.

Everything seems to stop for him in that instant. 

His anger halts, mid-flow, eyes widening at the sight of your trembling form. You can practically see the realisation crash over him. 

You’re scared. Of him. 

He’s never seen that kind of fear on your face before—and it hits him like a freight train, knocking the breath from his lungs. For the first time in his life, he truly understands what it means to have someone be afraid of him, and the realisation sinks in his stomach like lead.

“Wait,” he breathes, voice shifting from explosive rage to desperate remorse. “Angel, wait—”

Your eyes sting with tears you refuse to let fall, but the shock and hurt are already etched across your features. You take an unsteady step back, and he tries to reach for you, fingers twitching with regret.

“Please don’t be scared— I didn’t—” His words tumbled over each other, pleading, panicked. He moves closer again, arm half-extended.

“Don’t,” you repeat, your voice thicker this time, harsher. “Don’t you dare touch me after that.”

The words cut through him like broken glass. You can see it in the way he staggers a little, anguish flickering across his face as he tries to gather himself. 

“Listen,” he starts, voice trembling, “I—”

“No,” you say firmly, turning away, each step feeling like it’s taking every ounce of will you have left. He follows, heart thudding, panic rising.

“Please—” he calls, voice strangled. “You said you wanted to talk—let’s talk. We can talk for however long—just—”

You’re already at the door, blinking back tears. Your hand is on the knob, and you glance over your shoulder, voice shaking with anger and hurt. 

“I’m going home, Steve. I’m leaving.”

“No, don’t—” He begs, chest tight, desperation thrumming like a live wire under his skin. “Please don’t go.”

But it’s too late. You slip out the door, and his heart seizes. He charges after you, no shoes on his feet, stumbling into the cool night air. The gravel bites at his soles, but he barely feels it, his voice cracked and hollow as he calls after you.

“Come on, sweetheart—we never fight like this,” he pleads, each word drenched in remorse. “Please—we don’t do this.”

You grip your car door, shooting him a look brimming with hurt, tears still shimmering in your eyes. 

“You know what else we don’t do?” you manage, voice raw, unsteady.

His face crumples. He already knows what you’re about to say. Knows it’s true.

“We don’t use each other as punching bags when our feelings get hurt,” you continue, anger and betrayal bleeding through every word. “Grow the fuck up, Steve.”

You slide into your car, turning the key as he watches, frozen in the driveway, his heart pounding so hard it drowns out everything else. The engine roars to life. He wants to scream, wants to beg you not to leave, but the words stick in his throat.

The tires crunch against the asphalt, and then you’re gone—taillights disappearing around the corner, leaving him standing there in the silent darkness, a chill sinking through his bones. 

His father was right in some aspects—that you would leave. But Steve never thought that he would be the one to make you go. 

[randomshyperson]

hi friend!!!

for your drabble thing, could you do

wanda + kisses + number 56?

i have so many i wanted to see but this one climbed to the top of the list immediately <3

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

prompts: angry kisses | warnings: arguing, roughly making out, some angst(ish) conversations, takes place during civil war.

challenge masterlist | general masterlist

You met Wanda shortly before she joined a neo-Nazi organization in search of power, so you weren't surprised that she could be quite the stubborn and reckless person but that didn't mean you couldn't get annoyed by it.

When all the drama of Steve and Tony's divorce that they called work differences fell upon the Avengers, you expected to escape into a comfortable retirement with your girlfriend like Barton did for his family, but you returned to the tower only to find the two of them packing their bags.

The hole in the building's structure and the robot at the end of it were ignored by you as you joined them in the white secure van Barton got for their escape.

You didn't say a word the whole way, and as the route stretched out into the suburbs of San Francisco in search of yet another hero to help Team America, Wanda began to get equally irritated with the silent treatment.

Barton left you two alone in the van, determined to convince Scott Lang to fight for Cap and almost content to leave the tense atmosphere between you even if only for a few minutes. He practically ran away once he was out of the car, but neither you nor Wanda seemed very willing to break the silence.

Sitting with a seat between you, the distance seemed terribly greater than just a few inches of cotton.

Wanda, being the telepath that she is, suddenly groaned in an attempt to read the mess that was your thoughts and emotions right now.

To her reaction, you snorted softly before muttering; "Unbelievable."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, a defensive position at being reprimanded for her bad habits of breaking other people's privacy. "You can't blame me. You haven't said a word in 12 hours." She grumbled irritably, and you felt a migraine forming from the small invasion from before. Or maybe it was the constant stress of dating a witch with such a difficult personality.

Finally, you snapped.

"What exactly do you expect me to say, Wanda?"

Her frown deepens, but you don’t flinch. Now that it’s started, you have a hard time not shouting out the emotions that have been bottled up for the past few hours.

“I leave you alone for five minutes, and you get a government target on your back!”

She snorts in disbelief, turning her face toward you. "Steve needs my help!"

"None of this is your problem!" You immediately contradict.

"I owe him!" She insists and doesn't flinch at your ironic chuckle. "He gave me a second chance after Ultron, you know that."

"I gave you a second chance!" You retort irritably, your tone louder. Wanda swallows hard. "And a third, and a fourth. All I do is give you chances, Wanda. But you never choose me!"

Her eyes fill with tears. From hurt, frustration, or anger you can't tell. But you know the same tears are in your eyes too.

You don't shout again, but the firmness of your tone makes her shiver as if you were.

"I spent months going to congressional meetings and taking care of all the paperwork to make you a legal citizen of this country. I made a normal, civil life possible for us. And you threw it all away because Clint Barton asked you to. And I can't forgive you for that."

Wanda sighs in frustration. "I really wish you were able to understand that things are not that simple."

She uncrosses her arms, to adjust her hair back in a nervous gesture.

You tilt your head gently. The smell of Wanda's shampoo filled the car as she played with her hair, and you feel slightly intoxicated, as if anger was a background in your mind, and your focus was on the pleasant scent of your girlfriend.

She continues speaking as she turns her body towards you. "Of course I value and am grateful for all the effort you put into our relationship, into our future. But I am still someone who can move things with her mind. I am an Avenger. And when they need me, I have to show up."

"What about when I need you?"

She hesitates, frowning. You hurt her with the accusation, but you don't apologize. Neither does she.

"Don't be like that." She says, risking trying to touch your wrist resting on the seat. You huff, pulling your arm away. It’s your turn to cross your arms, shielding yourself from her attempts to get close, to change your mind. “Baby, look at me.” You turn your face further away, toward the window. 

“I’ll tell Rogers to go fuck himself and find someone else. I’m not going to join this nonsense for the ghost of a man he once loved.” 

“No one asked you to” she mutters, and you gasp in indignation. It’s true, of course. The invitation was never extended to you, maybe because the team knew your neutral stance. Or maybe because you would have told them all to fuck off if it meant putting Wanda in danger, or risking the life you planned with her. She tries to fix her words next. “Even though I’m glad you’re here with me—” 

“Oh come on.” You interrupt her in annoyance. "You said the words, now fucking own it. You don't want me here? Fine. I'll leave you to throw punches and energy balls at each other. Maybe you'll find another city or building to blow up around here."

It's too far. There's no healing a wound like the fall of Sokovia, and Lagos is fresh enough that Wanda feels anger take over her actions for a moment.

The slap isn't hard, but it's precise and burns your cheek.

She feels a hot tear run down her face, but she's busy choking on her own breath when you suddenly lunge at her.

There's an attempt to hit you again, but your hands grab her wrists, and instead of moving forward, you pull her body against yours. That's all there is for a moment; a small war of pushing and pulling, because the black widow trained two great fighters but then, Wanda is pressing her mouth to yours with all the conflicting feelings she's feeling at this moment. From anger and resentment to the burning, pulsating love she's felt for you since the first moment you looked at her. You kiss her back with the same intensity. Your experienced tongue doesn't ask for permission, and the kiss is dirty and sloppy, the sounds of your breathless moans mixing as you push your bodies together in a nearly physical fight for dominance.

Wanda ends up completely pressed against the van's seat, your warm body on top of hers pinning her against the cushion. She can't contain the pleading, whimpering sounds she makes as she feels your hands roaming so urgently under her blouse, and under her skirt. She closes her legs to trap your hand where she wants it, but you clamp your other hand over her throat in warning, and she kicks out a submissive whimper that makes you grunt aroused against her mouth.

Your tongue grows hungrier, exploring every corner of her mouth as you turn Wanda into an aroused, impatient mess beneath you. Just when she’s ready to beg for your hands to stop squeezing her tits and move to where she’s burning, you pull away at once.

She protests with a groan, her body vibrating in all the right places and her mind dizzy with arousal. You look equally breathless and affected, but you do a much better job of containing yourself, especially when the door suddenly opens.

It takes Wanda a moment to disguise her state and understand that you only pulled away because you had heard the commotion outside. You weren’t rejecting her, or teasing her. You were trying to keep it PG13 in front of the other two superheroes.

Scott Lang is talkative. A bit clueless, despite seeming intelligent, he’s too excited to realize what was going on, and he’s the perfect distraction to occupy them while you and Wanda normalize your breathing and heartbeats. 

Still, after Lang falls asleep after spending three hours telling her about how awesome it was to help the Avengers and other prison stories, Clint meets her gaze in the rearview mirror and doesn't say out loud: 

"I'm going to assume the guilty faces and torn clothes are because you girls managed to sort things out." 

She's kind of impressed that the entire team, even Clint who's been nearly one hundred percent retired since she joined, has learned to organize their thoughts enough that she can communicate telepathically with them. But she's too embarrassed right now to focus on pride. With a warm face, she steals a glance at your figure before looking at Clint's reflection again and nodding in agreement. 

He smiles wordlessly.

She turns her attention back to your sulking posture on the other side of the car.

Not wanting to wake Scott, her words echo inside your head.

"Are you really leaving?"

You huff softly, and Wanda is ready to give up on pressuring you to talk when she feels your hand on her thigh, her breath labored as you adjust to let your hand rest there on her warm skin, just at the edge of her skirt for what would be appropriate.

It's not a real apology, but it's a start. She bites back a smile, and risks speaking in her mind again:

"I'll make it up to you."

There's a gentle squeeze on her thigh, that brings a deep flush to her neck and spreads heat throughout her body. She looks forward, almost mortified that Clint might have noticed, but lucky he just keeps driving.

"Yes, you will." That's what you mentally assure her.

[timefall-if]

DEMO (prologue / 11th of January 2025) || An IF based on & inspired by the show "Arcane". Time Fall is a drama interactive fiction story with steampunk & cyberpunk elements, set in the dual state-cities of Delphora and Draeken, also known as The Spire and The Depths. It's meant to follow complicated relationships, complicated choices, and complicated consequences. It is written with an 18+ audience in mind due to heavy themes and topics such as death, use of drugs and alcohol, swearing, violence, (optional & skippable) explicit sexual content etc.

Time does not wait for anyone, even for the one that controls it.

After the bloody aftermath of Draeken's rebellion against Delphora, you're left an orphan. Your mother lies dead beneath a pile of bodies, crushed under the boots of the Time Watchers, and your older brother, Mylo, is nowhere to be found. Bruised and scared, you're taken in by Marek, your mother's friend, together with a few other strays he managed to catch hiding in the shadows of the night.

As Marek tends to your wounds and wipes away your tears, the Council of the Eternals, forever holed up in their lavish upper city, is falling apart. They are in complete mayhem and disarray as, unbeknownst to you, one of the five time shards that keep the heart of the city—the Clocktower—working in tune with time's balance has been stolen.

Oddly enough, that lost shard looks suspiciously similar to the strange shiny stone your mother gave you and your brother right before the doomed uprising. With it gone, the flow of time grows slippery and erratic, as the Clocktower starts to decay without its missing piece.

Life in the undercity of Draeken, also known as The Depths, is brutal enough. But when an ill-fated encounter leaves you forever altered—your blood itself changed—you’ll soon realize that time is strange, and the thin fabric of reality a fickle thing. Even more so when it’s something you can no longer just witness ... but may be forced to control.

༒︎ Fully customizable MC including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality etc.

༒︎ Choose 1 out of 5 occupations for your MC: underground pit fighter, street artist, black market medic, inventor, or dingy bar singer.

༒︎ Romance 1 out of 4 love interests, all of which are gender-selectable. Engage in hookups with other side characters.

༒︎ Find your brother, or let him find you.

༒︎ Go through an unimaginable physiology-changing experiment and manage to keep your sanity, or become completely unrecognizable to those closest to you.

༒︎ Betray the people you care about or protect them at all costs.

༒︎ Explore the dual state-cities of Delphora and Draeken on a steampunk/cyberpunk background.

༒︎ Become the hero everyone wants you to be, a new world order dictator, or God :D

Maddox / Maxine (M/F) - Rough around the edges and with a body built for combat, M's very demeanour and appearance reflects years of hard living together with you in Draeken. Taken in by Marek after the failed uprising, M had grown overbearingly protective of you on the very first night of sharing a bed with each other as kids. Now, all grown up, M fights in Marek's underground fighting pit to earn their keep, but with every bloodied knuckle, their anger grows—anger at the scraps their people are handed by Delphora’s elite. M is ready to make a change. Are you?

— Possible (romance) routes: Best Friends to Lovers / Best Friends to FWB to Lovers / Best Friends to Lovers to Enemies / Best Friends to Enemies

Riven / Raven (M/F) - A street-smart wildcard loyal only to the highest bidder, R lives by a simple rule: survive and have a good time while doing it. So they smuggle goods and sell information to whoever pays the most. R is not above double-crossing anyone, and they don’t pretend to be. Always charming, confident, and looking at you like they want to take your pants off any second, you’ll have to find out if R is worthy of your trust, or if they’re truly incapable of not betraying those they care about.

— Possible (romance) routes: FWB to Lovers / FWB to Friends / Lovers to Enemies / FWB to Enemies

Seraphim / Seraphina Vaughn (M/F) - The strangest person you have met down in The Depths, and that’s saying something. S is sweet, about as intimidating as a puppy, with a wide and bright smile and … clothes that sometimes seem to be too well tailored to their frame with golden silky linings that make them stand out in ways they’re trying to hide. They’re a people pleaser at heart, but S’s thinly veiled ambition and naivety about the streets of Draeken makes you wonder about their intentions. They seem to be attached to you from the moment you meet. Can you figure out the catch, or will your trust come back to bite you?

— Possible (romance) routes : Friends to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies / Friends to Enemies

Cassian / Calypso Kazimier (M/F) - C’s deep sense of superiority and disdain for The Depths is reflected clearly on their sharp and cold face, their commanding presence demanding respect and authority with every move. As the most influential member of the Order of the Eternals, C makes it their very purpose to ensure that no one can challenge their rule, and that any threat to their control is dealt with swiftly and without mercy. What happens when that threat might be you? C is untouchable, they will make sure to squash you with their own hands. Unless …

— Possible (romance) routes : Corruption Arc / Enemies to Lovers / Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

DISCLAIMER: this is a project in early progress, meaning that there are things that might be subject to change later on.

LINKS: cog forum || ROs physical descriptions || other project || neon dividers credits

[smileysuh]

ride night

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader I ft. Johnny

🔮 preview. “You always told me you had a thing for older men. Said I wasn’t your usual type- not daddy enough for you, well, here you go, baby. Let daddy hear you moan for my cock.” You seriously can’t believe this is happening. All you can do is try to relax while Hyuck fucks you stupid in some dive bar bathroom stall, your core still throbbing and desperate after six orgasms from a vibrator while on his bike. The fingers on your oversensitive bud are unrelenting, just like your boyfriend, and at this point, you can’t even bring yourself to care that his ride night dad is listening in, only a few feet away. 

tw/cw. Exhibitionism, riding a Harley with a vibrator inside of you, multiple orgasms, fucking in a bar bathroom while someone (John) listens in, overstimulation, unprotected sex, vibrator as a ball gag, voyeurism, dirty talk, praise, choking, brief pussy eating, Hyuck has tattoos, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 4.9k

🍭 aus. Established relationship au, motorcycle au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. The I love Harleys saga continues but this time with NCT

You met Lee Donghyuck in the winter of your life. It was all cold weather, windy days and rain streaks against your apartment window. When you bumped into him at a bar, and he’d pulled you over to tell you that you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, things began to get brighter.

It’s been five months now, and the warmth of spring turning into summer matches the heat Donghyuck has brought into your existence. He’s enthusiastic, and so so good at making your day sparkle. 

A self-proclaimed ‘motorcycle skid man’ with tattoos and a generally bad attitude toward others to match, Hyuck has been raving about how excited he is to finally have a girl to take on his Harley night rides, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as stoked to be joining him in this aspect of his life.

You’ve been on his bike a handful of times since the riding season started, and while you’re getting used to the loud, vibrating engine, you’ve never been a backpack for more than fifteen or so minutes with the speed he goes at. This will be your first time on a longer trip, as his friends usually take a scenic route two or so towns over to get drinks at one-off dive bars.

He pulls infront of your apartment, and your entire body is thrumming with an excited energy you can’t even put into words. When he takes off his helmet, and shakes out his shaggy dark hair, you swear he looks almost godlike. The tattoos on his hands and neck are visible, but the rest of his intricate inkings are covered in a hoodie and ride gear. 

“Hey, princess,” he grins, pulling out one of his bluetooth earbuds to hand to you. “Are you ready for this?”

“Uh huh.” You accept the earbud, slotting it into place.

“We’re going to stop at my bike dad’s place to get you proper gear,” Hyuck explains. “He called me earlier and gave me a talking to about not being too much of a dick head with you on the back.”

Your Harley lover has found a family within his motorcycle fanatic friends, one of which, is a man named John who you’ve met twice. He’s always preaching about safety, as he’s been in the motorcycle scene for much longer than your baby rider boyfriend, who’s only been riding for two or so years.

There’s always a risk involved with motorcycles, and John has had too many friends who’ve gotten into accidents, too many close calls for comfort. 

The first time you’d met John, Hyuck had darted off to get drinks, and in the loud seclusion of a corner in the bar, John had warned you not to let Hyuck take risks with you. “He’s only brought a girl around once,” the twenty-nine year old had explained, “and even with that, he’s the only guy I know who goes faster with a backpack.”

You’re not surprised that John would insist on proper gear for a ride of this caliber. When you and Hyuck pull up to his townhouse, he’s standing in the garage with three different jackets laid across the hood of his new black ram truck. 

“Hey, Speedy Racer, hi, Princess,” John smiles, pulling you into a hug that lingers before assessing Hyuck as he’s taking off his helmet. “You excited for this?”

“So excited,” you respond, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hold onto this one,” John says, addressing your boyfriend, “she’s not a scardey cat like the last girl.”

“Trust me, I’m planning on holding on,” Hyuck promises, coming up behind you to wrap you in his arms. 

“So… is this the gear?” you ask, assessing the jackets on the car.

“Yeah, I bought these for my ex.” John runs a hand through his dark hair. “Figure they need a new home now.”

“Why don’t you get your own girlfriend?” Hyuck teases, squeezing you roughly.

John only sighs at your boyfriend’s antics. “Anyways, try them all on, see which one you like best.”

You shrug off your own wind breaker, picking up the first black leather jacket. It looks nice, but it’s a little large, and John explains that it’s usually meant for a hoodie underneath, which he can grab for you if you’d like. 

The second one fits a little better, but it’s still not as snug as you’d enjoy. 

When you pick up the third jacket, a white leather piece with black detailing, you can already tell from the feel of the material that it will be your favourite. As you put it on, you note the small amount of padding, the way it hugs your body. 

“That’s the one, princess,” Hyuck muses, looking you up and down.

“It looks good,” John offers you a smile. He turns, heading for a drawer, where he pulls out a pair of black riding gloves. “One last touch,” he explains, passing them to you.

When you put on the leather gloves, you finally feel like an actual motorcycle girlfriend.

“Are we good to go?” John asks.

“I just need to go piss first,” Hyuck says. “Princess, come with.”

John cocks his eye brow, but doesn’t say anything as Hyuck pulls you into the townhome, leading you down a hall to the first floor bathroom.

“What are you doing?” you laugh when he closes the door behind you, locking it securely.

“Got you something,” Hyuck tells you, reaching into his jacket.

Your heart thumps at what this present could be, and it lurches into your throat when he takes out a pink, egg vibrator.

“Hyuck, this isn’t a good idea-”

“Are you kidding?” he grins. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever had, come here”

You don’t fight him when he reaches for your hand, tugging you closer. His lips meet yours, and you eagerly kiss him back, his tongue swiping against your own. His mouth quickly moves to your throat, and his breath tickles when he whispers, “You’re going to love this.”

He gets down onto his knees, quickly pulling your pants and underwear down. The cool air of the bathroom makes your skin tingle, and your boyfriend leans forward, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin just under your belly button.

“Hyuck-” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Be good for me,” he tells you, spreading your thighs as much as the pants by your feet can allow. It’s an odd angle, but your boyfriend somehow gets his skilled tongue licking at your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit. 

One finger enters you, then two. He pushes at the spongy spot that has your toes curling in your shoes, your legs shaky. Then, to your disappointment, he pulls away.

Hyuck looks up at you, watching your reactions as he brings the internal vibrator to your pussy, gently pushing it inside.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, breath hot along your sensitive inner thighs.

“Good,” you respond, swallowing thickly.

“Perfect.” He kisses your stomach, then pulls up your jeans. “This is going to be the best ride you’ve ever been on.”

The three of you had arrived at the dealership with ten minutes before the kickstands-up start time. Hyuck had introduced you to friends you’ve not yet had the chance to meet, and he hadn’t turned the vibrator on yet.

But when everyone gets on their bikes in preparation for the hour ride ahead of you, Hyuck reaches into his pocket, at first, you think it’s just to turn on music for your Bluetooth earbuds, but that’s when the low setting of the toy kicks into gear.

Your thighs immediately squeeze around him at the stimulus, your grip on his hips tightening.

Hyuck tosses you a look over his shoulder, then flips his visor down, turning to face the road and revving his engine.

The vibrations from the Harley and the toy have your entire body tingling with delight, and you realize that while this might be the best ride of your life, it’s definitely going to be the longest, in more ways than one.

You do your best to focus on the sight in front of you rather than the vibrations. There must be over twenty Harleys on this ride, and it feels momentous in some odd way to be a part of this. 

Your group comes up to the turn light outside the dealership, after this, you’ll be on the highway. The riders are in two columns, taking up one stretch of lane. When you turn your head, you realize Johnny is pulled up beside you. He pushes his tinted visor up, flashing you a wink while you all wait.

Hyuck turns to stare at John, and as the light shifts, they both begin to rev their engines. You can’t help the giggle of delight that bubbles within you, it’s as if the two are caught up in some type of pissing match, and others soon join in.

The first two riders take off as the turn light switches on. Hyuck shifts into gear, and the motorcycle pulls forward, your knees digging against his thighs for grip as you prepare for the speed that’s about to come now that you’re on the highway.

You’ve heard John and others call Hyuck ‘Speedy Racer,’ and you know your boyfriend has a reputation for breaking limits, but in your short experience backpacking, nothing could have prepared you for how fast all the bikes are moving the moment you’re all clear of the turn.

You can see the way the men are feeding off of each other. They’re respectful of those in front of them… to a point, but everyone looks like they have something to prove, or maybe it’s just a love for the extreme.

Either way, you can only hold on as the outskirts of the city flash by you faster than they ever have before. 

The music playing through your earbud shifts, and as ‘Or Nah’ by Ty Dolla $ign comes on, you realize Hyuck’s making you listen to his sex playlist. 

Fuck- Your pussy clenches around the vibrator, your fingers digging into his hips.

You watch Hyuck’s grip tighten on his handlebars, his veins flexing under numerous dark hand tattoos that always turn you on way more than they should.

His engine revs aggressively, prompting the rider in front of him to go even faster and close the gap between the person two bikes up. 

John matches Hyuck’s speed on your left, turning to look at you both. 

It feels suddenly very dirty - and exhilarating - at the same time, to be doing this.

If only John knew what sinful music is ringing through your head, what dizzying vibrations are coursing through your pussy-

There are small district type suburbs outside of the city, and you somehow make the fifteen to thirty minute stretch to the next closest one in what must be only five minutes. You’re breathless by the time you get to the next light, one of two on the highway in this zone, and even though you think you’ll be able to catch a moment of reprieve, you’re wrong.

Hyuck reaches into his pocket, dialing up the intensity of the vibrator.

Your legs shake around him, your breaths coming out in hot pants inside your helmet.

John is looking at you again, and he motions for you to lift your visor.

Sure, any rider watching you practically hyperventilate at a red light would suggest lifting the piece of plastic keeping your face contained in your helmet- but that’s the last thing you want to do right now.

Hyuck lifts his own visor, looking over his shoulder at you then back at John. He leans a little to the left to get closer to his friend, and John’s the one to ask “Is she good?”

“She’s perfect,” Hyuck shouts over the sound of engines. His hand finds yours on his hip, rubbing you gently. “Aren’t you, princess?”

Taking a deep breath, you lift your visor, managing a small smile at your boyfriends ‘bike dad.’

“I’m okay,” you try to reassure John, but your voice is shaky.

Before John can say anything else, engines catch your attention and all three of you look forward, where the light has turned green.

“Visors down,” Hyuck warns you, knocking his own back into place before booting his kickstand back up. The bike lurches forward not two seconds later, and you’re left scrambling to adjust your helmet before latching back onto your boyfriends waist.

There’s a sissybar at your back, and you know logically that it will keep you from sliding off the end of the Harley, but you’re still not used to this type of speed. You can’t help but hold on like Hyuck is your life line, and with your mischievous speedy racer of a lover in control of the vibrator wedged between your sensitive walls, he kind of is. 

Lucky for everyone taking part in ride night, the second light in this small town is green, and your group flies through, the signs noting the speed increase back to normal highway regulations- although, you’re sure everyone here is going way over what’s posted.

You can’t see Hyuck’s speedometer with his body in front of yours, and part of you doesn’t want to see it.

You close your eyes, giving in to the onslaught of sensations. 

The air ripping at your tight riding jacket, gravel buffering your knees ever so often, music ringing through your helmet, the powerful vibrator in your pussy, and the even more powerful machine that Hyuck maneuvers like a God-

If you focus too hard, if you allow yourself to enjoy all of this, you might just cum, and part of you wants to resist that, so you open your eyes, looking over at John on the bike next to you.

Hyuck might be the notorious dare devil, but John’s not all that angelic either. The man is standing straight up on his foot pegs, his butt raised completely off his seat. The wind is tearing at his leather jacket, and you can’t even imagine the pressure of the air he’s cutting through, battering at his body-

Even so, he looks as free as you’ve ever seen a man look.

Your pussy pulses pathetically around the toy and you grip Hyuck’s hips, legs shaking around his own.

His hand lands on your thigh, squeezing, as if to say ‘cum for me,’ and your body can’t help itself this time. You release all the pressure, your muscles going slack for a moment of peace before contracting from the power of your orgasm.

Your core throbs desperately around the vibrator, your eyes closing to enjoy the sensation.

Hyuck takes his hand away from your thigh, revving the engine and kicking into an even higher gear. The bike purs below you, as if she - like her master - is amped up from the energy of your release.

John sits back down on his bike to match Hyuck’s acceleration, and you can feel his eyes on you. Another pang of pleasure erupts through your form, your visor fogging up from how hard you’re panting.

Hyuck makes a motion at John, and with your vision obscured, it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s saying. However, when he forms his hand into a fist and shakes it aggressively to emulate a vibrator, you can almost picture the look of recognition behind John’s tinted visor.

You can’t bring yourself to think about it too hard right now, your orgasm still throbbing through you like white hot summer rays.

It’s hard to gauge time on the back of a bike. With the world going past you at what feels like a hundred miles a minute, it could be an orgasm that lasts five minutes, or five seconds, you’re not sure.

All you can do is hold on, allowing the pleasure to overtake you until it subsides, your muscles slowing the contractions around the vibrator. 

You don’t know it yet, but this will be your first of six orgasms on the back of Hyuck’s bike during the hour and a half ride to the bar.

Hyuck had turned off the vibrator at the first red light you’d reached after entering the town that will be your final destination. You’d slumped like a limp rag doll behind him, trying to catch your breath the rest of the way.

When the group of Harleys pulls into the bar parkinglot, you’re honestly not sure you’ll even be able to stand, and your legs are wobbly as you nearly stumble off the back of Hyuck’s bike.

You fumble with the straps of your helmet, tearing it off and taking a big gasp of air.

Hyuck’s much more graceful with his movements, bending down to pick up the earbud that’s fallen to the ground with the force of the removal of your helmet. “You good, princess?”

You narrow your eyes at him, knowing your cheeks are flushed and you probably look like a mess.

“I’ll make it better,” Hyuck promises, standing and pulling you into a breathtaking kiss. You can’t help the way you react to him, leaning against his chest and completely melting. It feels so good to be touched, finally, after over and hour of what feels like torture. You can almost forget about the gang of bikers whistling and howling at the sight. 

Hyuck pulls away too quickly, putting his helmet on his bike before grabbing yours to do the same. Then, he latches onto your hand. “Come on,” he says gruffly.

You want to ask if you should wait for the rest of the riders to park properly, but when Hyuck begins to tug you toward the bar, your words get caught in your throat.

The dive bar hostess’s eyes widen when you and Hyuck approach. “Hey, I’m with the group that just pulled up, my girlfriend’s been needing to piss since the last town, can we just use your bathroom real quick?”

The girl stammers, but Hyuck’s already pushing through with a gruff, “Thanks.”

It’s clear Hyuck’s been here before, because he knows exactly where he’s going. As he pushes you into the men’s bathroom, doing a quick look around to make sure it’s empty, your heart begins to thunder in your chest.

“Hyuck-”

“Come on, princess,” he shakes his head at you, tugging you into a stall, “I didn’t toy with you for over an hour just to leave you high and dry. You want to be filled, properly, don’t you?”

His breath is hot against your skin as he corners you into the small stall, pinning you against the black plastic wall. 

You don’t have it in you to wait for him to fuck you till you get home, but you don’t have it in you to speak much either, all you can do is whimper and nod, clutching at his hoodie to pull him into a kiss.

He groans against you, and the sound goes straight to your core. Hyuck’s lips quickly move to your throat, teasing by your sweet spot while you moan and thread your fingers through his soft hair.

When his teeth graze past the collar of your jacket, you push your hips forward, silently begging for more friction. He rewards you by pushing his thigh between your own, allowing you to grind down on him while his nimble fingers tug down the zipper.

For a moment, a scene flashes through your mind's eye. You envision John in a very similar position to where you are now, some faceless lover, adorned in the jacket that’s now keeping you from Hyuck-

 Your boyfriend buries his face in your exposed tits now, holding the leather open so he can access the cleavage pushed up by your bra.

“Hyuck, please-” you whimper, acutely aware that you’re in a public restroom.

“So needy,” he chuffs, nipping at your collarbone.

His hand slips to your pants, undoing them before roughly tugging the fabric down.

“Can you push the vibe out for me baby?” he prompts, thumb circling your clit.

The mere graze of his digit against your throbbing bud has your core clenching, following through with his command. Hyuck catches the vibrator as it falls, grinning at you. “Now say ah.”

“What?”

“It’s to keep you quiet, plus, I need this shit clean so I can put it back in my pocket.”

He’s such a fuck, but you dutifully open your mouth for him, accepting the toy.

The taste of your own pussy on your tongue has you mewling for Hyuck, reaching down to fumble with his belt.

You can feel his cock pressing against his jeans, and you’re practically drooling around the makeshift gag ball by the time you get him free of the denim.

Hyuck grabs the back of your head, pulling you in for a haphazardly sinful kiss. He licks at the toy, groaning from your slick that coats the plastic vibrator. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he growls, staring you in the eyes for a moment full of tension.

Then he flips you around, pushing at your back so your chest is pressed to the wall of the stall.

“Spread your legs for me, princess,” he instructs.

You do as you’re told, and he rubs the tip of his cock along your pussy lips a moment later. You moan around the vibrator, closing your eyes. 

God, you need to be filled so fucking bad-

“Always so wet for me,” Hyuck murmurs by your ear, his mouth teasing past your throat. “You came what? Five times on my bike? Six? You’re gonna give me one more.”

He pushes his cock into your wet hole, bottoming out immediately while your toes curl in your shoes, your nails clawing against the plastic wall of the stall.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, digging his fingers into your hips. 

“So fucking big,” you retort, and it’s true. Hyuck is around 5’9, maybe 5’10 or 5’11 on a good day in his work boots- but where he’s lacking - arguably - in height, he makes up for in cock. He’s probably around seven, seven and a half inches. And he’s girthy too, stretching out your tight pussy in a way a vibrator only wishes it could.

This is what you’ve been needing for over an hour.

All the toys in the world, but nothing, nothing, is like Hyuck’s cock. He sure as hell knows how to use it.  

Hyuck begins to rut into you, lips hot against your throat. The layers of leather covering your form are making you sweat, but then again, you’ve been sweating since that first orgasm. You can’t even bring yourself to care about the uncomfortable nature of this, because you’ve been desperate for Hyuck, and nothing is going to tear you away from this experience.

Nothing-

Except the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Hyuck freezes momentarily, then he slaps his hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds that have been escaping past the vibrator.

He picks up where he left off, railing into you even harder while your eyes roll back into your head.

Fuck, at this point, you feel like you’re possessed, spiritually, and physically.

No other man in your life has ever tempted you to be in a situation like this one, but Hyuck’s nothing if not a guy who broadens your horizons.

“You two are such animals.”

John’s voice makes your skin tingle, your eyes opening. You turn your head, meeting Hyuck’s gaze behind you. He only laughs. “Easy for you to say old man,” he calls.

“A vibrator in your girl’s pussy during ride night,” you can practically hear John shaking his head, “funny, I never thought of that.”

“Do you have something to say to me, or did you come just to chat and listen to my girl get railed?” Hyuck asks, irritation and amusement laced in his words.

“I got to watch her cum on your bike a couple of times, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it, I figure, might as well have some audio to burn into my memory too.”

Fucking hell.

Your pussy clenches desperately around Hyuck, and he laughs, kissing your throat.

“Oddly enough, John, I think my princess is into that. Open your mouth baby, let’s give John the vibrator to hold onto for now.”

You do as you’re told, spitting the toy into Hyuck’s hand and staring at him with a question in your eyes.

“You stay right here,” Hyuck instructs, pressing his hand to the back of your head to force your face against the wall. His motions have stopped, and he reaches behind himself to open the door. From the angle of where you are against the stall, John can’t see you, all he can do is reach in and accept the vibrator from your boyfriend. “Clean that off for me, will ya?”

You hear Johnny chuckle to himself, and then Hyuck’s locking the door again.

“Okay, baby, no need to hold back now. Put on a show for John, I know you want to.”

The first whimper that escapes you makes you claw at the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold plastic. Your eyes close, your teeth gnawing at your lip.

“Are you…” you swallow thickly, stifling a moan. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, princess? It’s only John.”

“Fuck-” you whine as Hyuck reaches around your front, his fingers toying with your clit. 

“You always told me you had a thing for older men. Said I wasn’t your usual type- not daddy enough for you, well, here you go, baby. Let daddy hear you moan for my cock.” 

You seriously can’t believe this is happening. All you can do is try to relax while Hyuck fucks you stupid in some dive bar bathroom stall, your core still throbbing and desperate after six orgasms from a vibrator while on his bike. The fingers on your oversensitive bud are unrelenting, just like your boyfriend, and at this point, you can’t even bring yourself to care that his ride night dad is listening in, only a few feet away. 

“You sound so pretty, princess, show John how pretty you sound, stop holding back.”

Hyuck begins to suck on your sweet spot, and you gasp loudly, eyes closing. Each thrust of his hips has his cock hitting a place deep inside of you, making your toes curl. Then he pinches your clit, and you suck in a strangled breath.

“Want you to cum for me, baby, show us that you’re a good girl.”

“Hyuck-”

“Now’s not the time to talk.” His free hand wraps around your throat, and you shiver with anticipation. “Good girls listen to their boyfriends, don’t they princess?”

When he squeezes your neck, your core throbs, and a few more circles of your aching clit has you seeing stars. You let out a strangled gasp, grabbing at Hyuck’s tattooed wrist, keeping his hand around your throat while your pussy clenches tight on his cock, your orgasm washing over you like a waterfall.

“That’s it, princess,” Hyuck coos. “And you’re going to take every drop of my cum too, right? I know how much you love being full.”

“Please-” you whimper.

“Fuck.” You hear John groan just outside the stall, and another wave of pleasure erupts through you, goosebumps fleckling along your flesh. You’re delirious at this point, overcome by the high that’s tearing through every fiber of your being.

“Okay, princess, I’m there- take it, take it-” Hyuck squeezes your throat even tighter, and you gasp when you feel his cock twitch inside of you, filling you up with warmth while his hips stutter with effort.

“Hyuck-” you whimper, beginning to struggle in his grasp.

He releases your neck, tilting your head so he can lean over your shoulder and press his hot lips against your own, tongue invading your mouth while he finishes.

You’re both gasping by the time he stills inside of you. He rests his forehead against your own, breathing deeply and looking at you under heavy lids.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers, pressing a shockingly chaste kiss to your lips.

Hyuck pulls away, helping you sit down onto the toilet so his cum doesn’t get on your clothes. He quickly wipes his cock. “We’ll give you some privacy,” he winks, exiting the stall. “Come on, John.”

Both men leave, and you’re free to pee in peace, trying to catch your breath.

When you’re finished up in the bathroom, you find Hyuck waiting right outside. His arm slings around your shoulder and he leads you onto the covered patio where everyone is already seated and enjoying drinks.

John waves the two of you over to a table, and you find it difficult to meet his gaze when you sit down.

It’s clear from the way John and Hyuck dive into a conversation with one of their friends that neither of them intend to discuss what just happened, and that’s fine by you. There’s always another time, and there’s always another ride night. 

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! He's never going to see this, but I just wanted to gush for a moment about how much I appreciate my significant other. For years, being a fanfic writer has been a touchy subject with prospective partners, but my boyfriend right now is so stupidly supportive of what I do here on Tumblr. I'm so blessed at all the ideas he's given me since we started dating, and this fic is just one of the many ways I've been able to creatively interpret aspects of our relationship into fiction so we can all enjoy even a slice of the joy that he gives me every day.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “You’ve been good, cum for your boyfriend, bet he’ll love it when you make a mess on his tongue.” John is so suave- he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to be respectful but still an active verbal participant while Hyuck takes you to the edge. The combination of dirty talk and Hyuck’s motions on your pussy have you clamping down with a whine, your muscles clenching hard around Hyuck’s fingers while you cum.

cw/ tw. Vibrating anal plug while on a Harley, exhibitionism, voyeurism, threesome, unprotected sex, protected sex, double penetration (cock & fingers), anal, dirty talk, praise, spitting, pussy eating, multiple reader orgasms, dom/sub dynamic, hand job,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) Princess, baby. (Hyuck’s)  master. (John’s) daddy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 240

🌙 starring. Hyuck & Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

Riding with a toy inside your pussy is one thing, but riding with a butt plug is an entirely other arena of sensation. It’s been two months since your first ride night, and in those months, you and Hyuck have discussed allowing Johnny to join you for some fun. Hyuck had only agreed if he would have complete control, and part of that control, is stretching you out like this.

The worst part is they’re not even going to fuck you at the bar. No, you’re going to be wearing this plug for hours, and only after everything is finished, will you be heading to John’s for the final pleasure of the night.

Hyuck had also chosen to give you a vibrating plug, and for the ride there, he’d kept control of it, but at the bar, that had all changed. Sat between Johnny and Hyuck the two had passed the remote back and forth discreetly, and whenever the plug would jump inside of you, your head would be whipping to figure out who had decided to tease you.

You’re accepting a glass of beer from the waitress when the plug begins to vibrate, and you nearly spill your drink all over yourself. First, your eyes shift to Hyuck, only to find his hands on the table, which means the culprit is John.

He flashes you a wink, and you think you might just die here and now.

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[spiderb00bs]

- Baby Fever?

Mikey Madison x (g!p) reader 

“You and your wife had everything anyone could dream of, but on a trip, you both realized that maybe something was missing” 

Genre – Fluff      Warnings – English is not my first language, sorry for any mistake 

Now playing – Get you, by Daniel Caesar 

You sighed, parking the car in front of the large house you and your brothers had rented for the weekend. the weather was cold, and your hand found comfort positioned gently on Mikey's thigh. Your wife was in the passenger seat, looking around the neighborhood through the car window, ready to greet anyone she saw.   

You and Mikey met five years ago, both of whom were only twenty when you asked her to date, and twenty-three when you asked her to marry you. You knew Mikey was the woman of your life as soon as you laid eyes on her, and Mikey knew she would spend the rest of her life by your side as soon as she saw you, it was love at first sight.   

Mikey has always gotten along well with your family, just as you have always gotten along with her family, so whenever you had a break in your schedules, the two of you would take time to visit relatives.   

"Hey baby, is everything okay?" Mikey asked, seeing your clear hesitation to get out of the car.   

"Yes, baby, don't worry. I'm just mentally preparing myself to see my brothers." You said, making your wife laugh at your comment.   

You were the youngest of three siblings. The twins are the middle siblings, Haley and Nick are four years older than you, both twenty-nine years old. Now, Henry is the eldest brother and is thirty-one years old. No matter how old they were, it always seemed like you were the weakest, even with your frequent trips to the gym, nothing seemed to make you beat them.   

"Hey, you have really nice muscles now, I don't think they can make fun of you like they did before." Mikey says, trying to get you to have a little more faith in yourself.   

"I just don't want to be thrown into the pool like last time, it's freezing here!" Mikey laughs at your comment, taking your hand on her leg and kissing your knuckles.   

"You won't. Now use those beautiful muscles of yours to get our bags out of the car."  

Your wife approached, giving your lips a kiss before opening the car door, stretching her body as soon as she put her foot out. The trip here was long, and although you made a point of driving the entire route (which Mikey thanked heaven for), your wife was still very upset about sitting for too long.   

Getting out of the car, you opened the passenger seat door, nimbly removing the dog seat belt that was buckled to Jam's harness collar. Taking the dog in your arms, you let him give your nose a little lick, before stroking his head. 

"Go big boy, stay with mommy while your other mom takes the bags out of the car." You said, handing the little puppy to Mikey, who quickly started playing with it.  

"AUNT YN!" Hearing the scream you quickly averted your eyes from the suitcase you took out of the car, watching a little blond boy run through the snow towards you as if his life depended on it.  

"ADAM!" You yelled back, putting the suitcase on the floor in time to take the little boy in your arms.   

Seeing the commotion, Mikey approached you, seeing your nephew give you a tight hug. Your wife has always liked children, and whenever you and she went to visit your families, she loved to see your interactions with the children, especially with the little blond boy. Adam is Haley's son, you and Mikey closely followed the entire pregnancy of your sister and her husband, and consequently the boy was in love with you and your wife.   

You and Mikey had never given much thought to children, you had plans to get married and have a long, consolidated career before starting the other part of the plan and having children, but that was a plan that was never very well worked out. You and your wife ended up forgetting about the second part of the plan for a while, but when little Adam arrived at the family, your wife started to analyze that whole plan again, wondering if it wasn't time to have a copy of the two of you running around the house with the other children in the family. 

"Hey dude, what's up?" You asked, putting the boy down again.  

"The good news is that I got a PS5, we're going to play all weekend, and all night!!" The little boy said excitedly.   

"And since when does your mother let you stay up all night?" Seeing the little boy furrow his brows, you laughed lightly.    

"Aunt Yn, I'm already pretty grown up, I can stay up all night." Knowing that the eight-year-old probably couldn't stay up all night, you quickly concocted an answer to him in your mind.   

"I know, and I believe you." You said, before you bend down on one knee and start whispering to the little boy. "But we have a problem, don't tell anyone, but Aunt Mikey won't let me stay up all night." You said, signaling for the little blond boy to be quiet about it.  

 Mikey, who was until now just admiring the interaction of the two of you, let out a little giggle at your lie, knowing that you were only doing it so that your nephew wouldn't try to stay awake longer than he could.   

"Actually, I have to sleep through the night if I want to play with you the next day, so I think it's better for us to sleep and only play during the day." You ended by saying it, making the little boy shake his head and go to your wife.   

Laughing, you continued to take your bags out of the car, watching the blond boy hug your wife and caress Jam's fur.   

Entering the house carrying two suitcases and a purse, you saw your brothers at the door, one of your brothers taking a suitcase you were carrying, leaving you with only Mikey's suitcase and purse.   

"Just look at you, carrying all the baggage, you really started to get stronger after you got married in." Your older brother said, messing with you.   

"Of course I do, I don't want to be a pot-bellied dad like you." You countered, making the twins laugh and Mikey trying to hide her laughter.   

"You're sharp, brat." Henry said, pulling you into a hug and laughing at the moment you just had.   

Everyone was in the yard, sitting and talking at the big round table that was there. You had a smile on your face, seeing the whole family gathered there, having your wife by your side, all this gave you very good comfort. Mikey was by your side, your wife was talking to one of your brothers' wives, while you listened to the conversation and helped your father cut some steaks that just came out of the grill for dinner.   

Your brothers had gone to the fridge to get more drinks, your mother was finishing making the famous sauce she always made at barbecues like this and the children were playing. Everything there had a perfect harmony, you loved your work, but it was much better to be like this all the time.   

Finishing cutting one of the steaks, you have pierced one of them with your fork and carefully brought it to the front of your wife's face. Mikey, who was very interested in the conversation, got a slight start, recovering and smiling at you before eating the piece of steak from your fork.  

"yes, that's very good." Your wife said  

"Your father-in-law is a good barbecuer, dear." Your father said, making Mikey laugh and nod.   

"Do you want me to prepare a dish for you?" You asked, kissing your wife's cheek and getting up to go to the kitchen.  

"I would appreciate that, thank you baby." Mikey said, pulling your shirt and making you lean over and give it one last peck before letting go of you so you could go to the kitchen.   

Watching you walk away, Mikey saw Adam approach you, asking if you could prepare a dish for him too, which you promptly agreed to, picking up the boy and placing him on your shoulders like a sack of potatoes. 

"Yn, could you not turn my son's brain inside out, please?!" Haley said, approaching the table with a plate of lasagna.   

Laughing, Mikey saw you throw your thumbs up, with Adam still on your right shoulder. The little boy mimicking your actions and showing his thumb as a 'cool' sign to his mom.   

"My god, I swear, your wife will break my son someday." Haley said, making Mikey smile at the comment.  

"forget about it, I just heard Yn offer to make a dish for you?" Henry's wife asks.   

"Uhm, yes?!" Mikey answers, not understanding at first why she was in doubt.   

"Wow, I thought everyone in the family was lazy, but it turns out they're just our husbands." Nick's wife says now, patting Henry's wife and making her laugh.   

"Hey!" Haley protested. 

"What do you mean?"  

"Girl, in ten years of marriage Henry has never washed dishes for me, you're lucky you got the right sibling."  

"Women were taught like this, our father never let Henry and Nick do housework, when he realized what he did, it was too late." Haley said, shaking her head and becoming thoughtful.   

"And the way she treats Adam?! Oh my god, it's so cute." Nick's wife said. "Do you want to have children?"   

"I haven't talked to her about it yet, we're so busy with our careers that we've forgotten about that part a bit." Mikey said, definitely hiding the deep desire to be a mother.   

"At least you already know she's going to be an amazing mom." Haley said, leaving Mikey more thoughtful than she was before.   

Everything went well during dinner, the whole family was together. After dinner, Haley went upstairs with Adam, ready to put the little boy to bed, your brothers' wives doing the same with their children, your parents went to bed early, so they went upstairs as soon as dinner was over. In the end, only you, mikey, and your two brothers were left, all talking on the couch.  

"You're both old enough to drink, right?!" Your brother Nick said, approaching with a bottle of beer and handing it to you and Mikey, who was sitting on your lap.   

"Ha ha, you're really funny Nick." You said, rolling your eyes at your brother's sarcastic speech.   

"I'm just saying that you two look like a couple of girlfriends. Are you planning to have children?" Nick kept saying, making Mikey and you a little uncomfortable that they haven't talked about it yet. 

The problem is, in your mind, Mikey wasn't ready to have kids yet. You both had very busy careers going on, you and your wife just finished shooting two separate movies, and you still had to do interviews and red carpets, not to mention the awards shows and separate things you would have to do to promote the movies you both worked.  

"We don't have plans for that right now, everything is very hectic, we almost don't find space in our schedule to come here." You said, making Mikey sit uncomfortably on your lap.   

"Wow, sorry lady businesswoman, sorry for messing up your precious time." Your brother Henry said, bowing sarcastically. 

You and Nick laughed at your older brother's antics, but Mikey just let out a little fake laugh, making you look at it, just to check if everything was okay. Without giving you a confirmation, your wife just cleared her throat, getting up from your lap.  

"I'm going to see if the girls need anything. I'll be right back." Mikey said, giving your lips a little seal and leaving your head confused.   

As your gaze followed Mikey up the stairs, you felt something hit your face, looking at your lap and realizing that someone had thrown an olive from the cold cuts board at you. 

"Are you stupid?" Henry asked, making a disapproving face that reminded you of the one he did when you were kids.   

"Did you throw an olive at me?"   

"No, Nick threw that. Dude, are you stupid?" Henry asked again.   

"Why did you throw an olive at me? And why are you calling me stupid?" Looking at your two brothers, you waited for an answer.   

"She clearly wants to have children with you!" Henry spoke.  

"Now, in this minute of preference!" Nick added.   

"She never told me anything like that. We haven't talked about the topic of 'children' since before our marriage." You said, bowing your head and reflecting on what your brothers said.   

"Well, she clearly wants to talk about it." Nick said, taking a sip of the beer. 

After saying goodbye to your brothers, you went upstairs, leaving the two idiots talking downstairs. Looking down the hallway, you looked for Mikey in one of the bedrooms, finally finding her in Nick and his wife's room. Walking in, you saw your brother's wife next to Mikey, who was cradling the little baby in her arms.   

Noticing the movement, Mikey turned to you with Nick's daughter in her arms, and you could tell she had one of the biggest smiles in the world on her face. You never thought your dumb brothers were right about anything they said, but you had to admit they nailed it this time.   

"She slept in my arms." Mikey whispered, pulling you out of the thoughts your mind put you in.   

"I believe in you." You said mimicking her tone.  

Approaching, you looked at the baby through your wife's shoulder, smiling at the moment. Deciding it was time to let the baby rest, Mikey returned the little girl to her mother, saying goodnight and leaving the room with you. Upon entering the room of the two of you, the tension was expedient, so palpable that anyone who entered there could feel it. Sighing, you approached your wife, placing your hands on her waist and giving her a kiss on the top of her head.   

"I think we need to talk." You said, making Mikey smile slightly and nod in agreement.  

"Do you still want to have children with me?" Mikey asked, clasping her hands around your neck.   

"Of course I do, my love. What makes you think not?" pulling the woman closer, you kissed her forehead, wanting her to feel comfortable to say everything she wanted.   

"It's just that we never talk about it again, we're so busy with our careers, that I thought you had given up on that idea." Mikey shrugs, you could feel the insecurity hovering in the middle of her words.   

"Mikey, baby, I want it all with you. You say, grabbing her chin gently and making her look at you. "I married you because I love you and I will love you until the end of my life. We have busy lives, but I will always want to conquer everything with you. You're the best actress I know and your career is on fire, baby." Mikey, who had hearty eyes for you, laughed lightly embarrassed at your comment.  

"Yours too. You have your projects, and I didn't want you to feel pressured to drop them for something that only I want." Mikey said, making you deny it with your head.   

"Baby, you still don't understand? I love you, Mikey. I wanted to marry you from the moment I saw you for the first time, I want you to be the best at what you do, I will support every little step you take. I want to have as many kids as you want, I want everything with you, Mikey. I always wanted to."   

Tears begin to well up in your wife's eyes, the speech you made didn't have a false word at all, and Mikey, knowing you the way she did, knew it.   

"You don't need to be in a hurry, nor postpone this my love. We're going to plan a step of this, let's sit down and talk, together. See everything we have and our possibilities, and then we'll have the family we've always longed for." Placing your forehead on Mikey's, you felt the woman nod her head slightly, letting a sob come out of her lips.   

"I love you, baby." Mikey said, gluing your lips together with hers.   

The kiss was tender, calm and full of love. With all the weight of the unspoken words out of the chest of the two of you, all the love could flow lightly through the air. Your hands were on your wife's waist, and Mikey's hands caressed the back of your neck. Her tongue tasted like beer, and her lips were so soft you could have sworn you were in heaven.  

Taking a few steps forward, Mikey threw you onto the bed, climbing onto your lap and kissing you once more. You could feel the excitement starting to flood the room, your wife's hands went down the fabric of your shirt, lightly scratching your back, while your hands went down and squeezed the woman's ass on top of you.  

"How about we start practicing now?" Mikey said, giving a smile you knew well, in the middle of the kiss.   

"I think it's a great idea, my love." 

Hi guys, I hope you are doing well.

I decided to create this blog to share stories of all the women I have a crush on. This is not my main blog, my other blog was created first, and it is dedicated only to kpop GG's.

It's been a while since some people have been asking me to write for women outside of Kpop, and that's what I'm going to do on this blog.

I've had a crush on Mikey for a long time, but she's not the only one, if you want to make a fic request, you can take a look at my profile, there are all the rules and all the women I write.

Just keep in mind that requests can take a little time, because as I said, this is not my main blog. Thank you for understanding

xoxo, spider.

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

So I’m in a deeply red incredibly conservative state.  I ran a pride month 5k awhile back. The usual group of 3 protestors with an incredibly loud bullhorn showed up to yell at us about how trans people are mutilating themselves and AIDS is God’s judgement and we’re a menace to children etc. etc. etc. But they were vastly outnumbered by runners and volunteers. One of the first race announcements was that they hadn’t ordered enough T-shirts for the amount of people who ended up running, and would have to reorder, so anyone who wanted another race T-shirt should sign up now.

We’re all used to the protestors by now, they show up everywhere. We just ignore them. Interacting with them just encourages them.

I hadn’t realized how early the race date was this year compared to previous years and hadn’t prepared as much, and there were a lot of hills; not to mention there was some confusion as to the race route which resulted in the announcer referring to it post-run as a “4-mile 5k” (they are supposed to be about 3.5 miles. One guy ended up in an entirely different district of the city from where the race route was and still finished first.) I ended up walking a lot of the race, but I finished it, and did do a fair bit of running.

I had top surgery a few years ago but I’ve only gotten comfortable running shirtless this year as body fat redistribution happened. I had been trying to decide if I wanted to run shirtless or not before the protestors showed up and started yelling, then I was like ah. I will run past the transphobes shirtless like a human middle finger. And that is what I did. was wearing delightfully garish rainbow shorts I found at a thrift store and my pink triangle necklace.

Some Americorps volunteers were directing runners at one of the more confusing junctions, I high fived one and panted that I had just joined Conservation Corps. The sound of angry bullhorn shouting faded almost immediately behind us, and there were rainbow flags hanging in several of the yards we ran past throughout the route.

As in previous years, a lot of tough incredibly fit beautiful older people, mostly women, breezed past me during the race. One jogged up even with me with an encouraging “what would you do for a klondike bar!” I wasn’t sure how to reply to this and didn’t have the breath to express that I did not want anything thick or creamy at that moment, but what did come out was “you did remind me that there’s beer at the finish line.” Another lady who walked and jogged near me for awhile near the middle-latter half of the race talked a bit and complained that one of the volunteers organizing the race hadn’t set up the “water” table with fireball shots that she did for some other races and we just got a regular water and gatorade station!

Coming back to the finish line I was handed a flag and ran past long rows of cheering people. Around the corner the protestors were still lurking, but were mostly silent now. Apparently they had gotten worn out by just standing there and not running. As I passed the bullhorn guy shook himself out of his torpor enough to give a halfhearted “is it a man? is it a woman? who knows anymore?” I passed him and the sound of cheering, and then the 80s music (I remember Blondie and ABBA) they were blasting closer to the finish line.

Once most of the runners were back there was a fun run for the kids. A couple of the older ones had also run the 5k (I just know the protestors were awful to the poor guys ughh) but all of them made a lap around the parking lot and got handed medals. All of the adult volunteers and participants spread out around the middle of the parking lot so that there was someone cheering and waving flags for the kids along every step of the route.

There were free snacks, water and beer courtesy of our sponsor [brand redacted]. There was also non-alcoholic “beer”, which I thought was nice to see, I’d been thinking there was a heavily alcoholic element to a lot of local queer events. I drank a lot of water and ate some food before getting a free beer, which still hit me pretty hard after the run. While I was hovering around the refreshment table a big handsome butch came up next to me and I noticed a faded tattoo on her arm of a chain, each link a different color of the rainbow.

I went to put something down in my car just as the protestors were starting to leave, and realized that they were moving on a course that overlapped with mine as I walked to my car. I decided I wasn’t going to stop or veer out of their way and just see what they did. As I got closer they seemed to be talking about how we had definitely totally noticed that they were leaving (no one had.) They noticed me coming towards them and suddenly got quiet, avoided eye contact and skittered out of my way. Ha.

I stumbled into the nearby fundraiser to cool down and sober up in the air conditioning before I left. They were playing girl in red, rupaul, that girls/girls/boys song by Panic! at the disco, and that Taylor Swift song “You need to calm down” that some people on this site complained was cringe. The lady next to me sang along to “shade never made anybody less gay.” I bought a baseball hat.

It’s easy, I think especially if you’re very online and not very active in your local community, to start feeling like there’s no queer community in your area and we’re outnumbered by people who hate us. Unless you live in the middle of Westoboro Baptist territory that’s generally not true. I cannot stress enough how incredibly conservative and red my area is. We’ve got like 3 very loud people with nothing better to do who bother us at every event, and large amounts of people across all demographics who show up in support. I’ve been thinking about this post by @headspace-hotel about not being able to find stuff online and this is a slightly different thing but yeah. If you don’t know what there is in your area, you don’t know what you’re looking for or where to find it when searching online. If you search “is there queer stuff happening near me” google is going to shrug and recommend you Products And Services that it can Sell You. When I moved back home after spending some time in a much more blue state (but which had much less of a sense of community--I think it’s the way we band together down here when we know just what the stakes are) I felt like I was going to be the only trans person in the state, then someone mentioned to me that there was a local private facebook group for trans people to share personal posts and resources with many hundreds of members. There are more of us that aren’t on facebook. The Facebook group, though, introduced me to many more resources I hadn't known were in my area.

Get outside. Find some sort of local queer event and ask around. There will be other queer people. There is very likely something you’re interested in already happening or people who would love to work with you to start it if not. Even if you’re in a very red very rural state, you’re not alone, and chill or neutrally polite people vastly outnumber the few assholes, it’s just that the assholes are very loud and especially if you’ve been marinating in overwhelmingly toxic online environments it can feel like they’re everywhere. They’re not. Don’t give them that power.

The current legal landscape is terrifying and needs a lot of work but it doesn't reflect lived experiences. Get outside, find your local community, show up to in-person events if at all possible, it’s so encouraging.