#just want to spread more awareness for this term :)

[sophieinwonderland]

r/systemscringe is Hulking out over my Avengers post!

Does everyone know that?

What comics or movies was this addressed in?

Why does the hatesub act like this word was just made up? Sanism has been a thing since the 60s!

I know it's hard for you all, but please at least TRY to educate yourselves before making fools of yourselves in the future!

This subreddit just cannot stop itself from hurling ableist insults.

Oh, for the love of the triple goddesses!

What is it with certain groups reacting to NEUTRAL descriptors by claiming they're slurs?

This is the ridiculous bad faith "cis is a slur" argument all over again.

"Singlet" is a neutral term for a non-system. It's not a slur. It's not an insult.

You just have a massive raging victim complex.

And I promise you, the fact that you don't have DID is not the reason everyone thinks you're a piece of shit.

They've typically fought Mutants when those Mutants were doing something that could be dangerous to the world. Not just attacking them because they're mutants.

Mutants have even served on several Avengers rosters. And The Avengers have teamed up with mutants far more than they've come to blows with them.

Yes, Steve and Tony have generally stood aside while mutant discrimination was happening. That's an unfortunate side effect of separate groups of writers running different comics. Besides that, Captain America showing up to save the X-Men from their enemies in their stories would be pretty unsatisfying.

But even if Steve is just someone who hasn't done enough for mutants, he's still generally supportive of mutants.

Hulk wasn't abused in the MCU as far as has been revealed. Nor is his plurality considered DID.

This may be confusing it with the Ang Lee movie that did address the abuse.

MCU Hulk, so far as we know, is an endogenic systems made by trying to recreate the super soldier serum in an experiment gone wrong.

"He doesn't live in Marc's head. He just invades it"

Right... That's a Gateway System. A headmate from the outside entering the mind.

And the gods do seem, at least, somewhat "attached" to their avatars. It seems like they can communicate only with their avatars and prospective avatars. How this works isn't perfectly clear. But it at least doesn't seem as if he can just freely roam Earth and appear to different people whenever he wants while bonded to someone. I admit this may be disproven in the future.

Still, my assumption is that he can appear to Layla because he wasn't currently bonded to Marc. Once he's bonded to Marc again, he can't communicate with Layla anymore.

This did come to mind. But being pro-endo isn't just about believing endogenic systems exist. Even if we consider the Winter Soldier an endogenic system... which feels wrong on multiple level... he's a brainwashed tool to them.

They don't even consider him a real person. Just an asset to use.

Given their association with Nazism, I wouldn't expect them to see other systems any better.

Your so-called "defense" is reliant on having no idea what you're talking about, and regularly accusing DIS systems of faking for things that are basic parts of the disorder.

One of the first things you'll see on my page is a debunking of just a small fraction of the lies r/systemscringe has spread about DID in the name of "defending" it.

But we are not talking about DID here. We're talking about plurality. About the experience of being multiple in one body. And this is something that has been well-recorded by actual psychiatrists.

The entry on DID in the World Health Organization's ICD-11 states that you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without a disorder.

In Transgender Mental Health, a book published by The American Psychiatric Association, it was specifically acknowledged that you can be plural without trauma or a disorder.

If I wanted, I could go on and on and on, listing paper after paper affirming the existence of non-disordered and endogenic plurality.

But what's the point?

The thing I've learned from sysmeds is that they are chronically incapable of accepting any information that proves them wrong.

And this is the ultimate reason that the Avengers could never be anti-endo. And even most Avengers villains couldn't. Being presented with all of these expert opinions and still doubling down, when you can't even name a single doctor who claims all plurality comes from trauma, requires a certain level of willful ignorance that fictional characters like these are rarely written with.

None of the Avengers would ever be a sysmed.

Because being a sysmed requires you to lack curiosity. It requires you to lack critical thinking. It requires you to be someone who will go along with the crowd and be sucked in by groupthink. To NEVER question the narrative that you're given.

And this type of person... doesn't make for a good protagonist.

In the end, you're pretty clearly not The Avengers. You're just ignorant bigots who hide your bigotry under the guise of helping people. But that is just a front. Inside, you're looking for people to blame for your own suffering, and so you've picked a marginalized community you think you can get away with attacking because it's more socially acceptable. And you will refuse to accept facts that prove you wrong because accepting those facts would mean you're the bad guy.

No, you're definitely nothing like Avengers. But maybe Purifiers?

[creature-wizard]

Okay y'all, going forward, this is what we're doing.

Shit's scary, I know. But we absolutely cannot afford to surrender to that fear, because that benefits the GOP. They want us to feel powerless, because they know we are not powerless. That's why they have so many shills and bots discouraging people from voting.

We will not demoralize ourselves and each other by doomposting in our moments of panic. If we have a panic attack, that's okay. But we are not going to spread that fear to other people in public. We will save our most scared thoughts for our private journals and close friends. And we will support our friends who are feeling hopeless.

We will remember that spreading awareness of Project 2025 and Agenda 47 has been hurting Trump. And we will continue to do this.

We will remember that right now, our only option is Biden, because without ranked choice voting, getting a third party candidate in is simply impossible. We might not like it, but that's why we're going to push like hell for ranked choice voting once we get his pruny old ass in to office for a second term. (And thank God, he can't have more than a second term; the Democrats will have to find someone else afterward.)

We will not spread conspiracy theories. Conspiracy theories are the weapon of the enemy. We don't need them.

We will not publicly mock Trump in all of this. Making Republicans feel even more victimized is a losing strategy. "But it's my blog-" I'm sorry, are you playing for political keeps or are you just here to fuck around and put everyone's life in even more danger?

We will emphasize the ways that Project 2025/Agenda 47 will hurt everyone. And we will keep talking about it.

We will remember that the UK and France have already avoided far right takeovers in their elections.

All right? You got that? Because we got this if we stick together and keep at this. Shit's bad right now but that doesn't mean it has to be bad forever. We got each other, and we can do this.

[mosoderbergh]

I love to think about that necromancer being h*rny

Here's the thing about Emmrich leading up to the romance: He's fiercely kind not just to Rook but to everyone else. He's gentle and unassuming, even in the face of Rook's being a goblin occasional teasing. It's clear he likes Rook, and it's clear how fondness turns quickly into *adoration*.

It's also a known fact that the man has weapons grade rizz. He has game like nothing you've ever seen before. He is comfortable with his sexuality and confident in his flirting abilities (as he should be, because wow).

But I do love the idea that when Rook first "accuses" him of trying to impress them, he protests specifically because he feels called out. Not just that: Rook's comment is exactly what wakes him up to his own crush. Because despite his usual confidence, he's been kind of in denial - even while setting up tea time for two in the Memorial Gardens.

And here's the delicious bit: I think he would come to terms with his romantic feelings for Rook relatively quickly after that. But his *desire*? No. There's the age difference, there's their overall situation, and then there's Rook, who is constantly overwhelmed and being thrown tasks from all sides. Emmrich's own wants are the very last thing he considers whenever he does get a moment with Rook. He's so focussed on showing them kindness, on making sure they are comfortable, that the first time he helps them to their feet after a fight and gets caught in the way they look up at him, all flushed cheeks and parted lips, their hand lingering in his, he has to excuse himself to stare at a wall.

Because sure, he has a soft spot for Rook. He's well aware of the warmth that spreads through his chest when they smile at him. But now his skin on fire and that *look* in Rook's eyes is burned into the back of his eyelids and it takes five minutes of breathing exercises (And then two more minutes of something he is too ashamed to ever think about again) before he can rejoin the group.

The scene in his library with the skull happens that same evening, after a minor existential crisis some serious deliberation. Because this is not Emmrich's first time *wanting* someone. But it's the first time he's been so repressed about it.

Don't get me wrong: I like this framing of Emmrich as confident and in control as much as the next guy. I just love to think that during that scene in the library, he accidentally turns himself on far more than even Rook. Emmrich says "close your eyes" and then Rook DOES IT and Emmrich internally is like "oh no oh god what have I done". He rests his hand on theirs and speaks in that low, seductive voice and Rook is like "damn this guy has some moves!" while Emmrich is just glad he's still producing words at all (Lucky for him, a constant flow of sweet-talk is what his brain defaults to when he is criminally horny).

[hyuniemyunie]

ok so..PLEASE hear me out on this..Hyun-ji hc…with size kink only if ur comfortable with it tho!!🤧

Size difference with cho hyun-ju

hcs are gn reader, the scenario is afab reader!

sfw and nsfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): size difference, brief mention of a belly bulge, A LITTLE bit of cum eating, top dom Hyun-ju, her genitalia are refered with anatomical terms, soft sex;3

hiii ofc im comfortable!! i wasnt sure if u wanted smaller partner or taller:( if you want taller, tell me! i can write that too. ik you said hcs but i got a little carried away..😞😞

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

ᯓ★ Hyun-ju has a strong protective streak, and having a smaller partner amplifies this tenfold. she always keeps an arm around you in public, shielding you from crowds or potential danger.

ᯓ★ She’s hyper-aware of your surroundings, constantly ensuring you're safe and comfortable, even if it means stepping in front of you during tense moments, girl is PROTECTIVE

ᯓ★ Is incredibly gentle with you. She cups your face with care, as though afraid she might accidentally hurt you.

ᯓ★ Loves resting her chin on your head, using your height difference as an excuse to pull you closer whenever possible, might get a little sassy about the difference.

ᯓ★ Can’t resist teasing you about your size, often smirking as she reaches for things you can’t quite get to.

ᯓ★ “Need help, sweet thing?” she’ll say with a mischievous grin, only to grab the item and hold it above her head, making you jump for it, or give her a kiss if you reaaally want it.

ᯓ★ She has no problem scooping you up, whether it's to carry you over puddles, give you a piggyback ride, or just because she wants to.

ᯓ★ Her oversized clothes practically swallow you whole, and she secretly loves seeing you in them. She often hands you her jackets, claiming, “You’ll catch a cold otherwise.” (That's a big fat lie, she just likes seeing you in her clothes.)

ᯓ★ She loves calling you stuff Tiny” or “Pocket-Sized,” but if anyone else dares to mock your height, her protective side kicks in immediately.

ᯓ★ Hyun-ju adores resting her hand on your head or shoulders, finding it comforting to have you close in such a tangible way.

ᯓ★ She’ll often lift you onto counters or higher surfaces to make conversations more “equal,” though she secretly loves looking down at you.

ᯓ★ If you feel insecure about your size, she makes a point of reminding you how much she loves it. “You’re perfect the way you are,” she’ll say, her voice soft and sincere.

ᯓ★ In private, she’s surprisingly clingy, loving how easily she can wrap herself around you. She’ll pull you onto her lap or into her arms, drag you to the couch or bed to cuddle, hug you from behind when you're making a meal..

ᯓ★ She compares hand size differences quietly. She holds your hand in hers, aligning them together before spreading her fingers open, quietly marveling at your smaller hand, making her feel all warm n fuzzy inside.

ᯓ★ Her hugs are all-encompassing, wrapping you in her arms so completely that you practically disappear.

ᯓ★ She loves how your head rests perfectly against her chest when you hug, and she’ll hold you a little longer than necessary just to enjoy the moment.

ᯓ★After you two get to the point where you're both comfortable, she teases you about how you’re her “pocket-sized partner” and pretends to look for you in crowds by glancing down dramatically.

ᯓ★ “I need to get you one of those flags on a stick so I don’t lose you,” she teases, laughing at your playful glare.

ᯓ★ On the more nsfw side..she absolutely adores how your little tummy bulges whenever she fucks you. She puts a hand over the bulge, pressing down on it, making you gasp and squirm under her touch.

ᯓ★ During sex, she's ultra careful, not wanting to hurt you. If you insist on let's say, eating her out or giving her a bj, she'll be super nervous at first. you'll have to reassure her that everythings okay, before getting smothered with her larger body.

ᯓ★ Girl is big in all the right places. she'll secretly enjoy watching you choke and gag around her, your throat not being able to handle the size.

ᯓ★ Runs her fingers thru your hair while you have her in your mouth. she softly praises you, cooing about how "Such a good girl..you're doing so well, my love."

ᯓ★ LOVES loves loves picking you up and pinning you against the wall, making you wrap your legs around her waist and just feel how much she needs you. she'll always use her height to her advantage, not that you mind, of course..

ᯓ★ Pins your wrists above your head, grinding her clothed bulge against your crotch as she looks down at you, making you feel so, so small compared to her.

ᯓ★ If you..well, actually tell her how much you like the size difference..

after..a few hours of making out and groping each other, hyun-ju swept you up into her strong arms, cradling you against her chest as she carried you to the bedroom. She kicked open the door, not bothering to close it behind them as she laid you down on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath their combined weight.

she stood back for a moment, drinking in the sight of you spread out before her, her chest heaving with anticipation. Then, she stepped forward, pinning you down softly, covering your smaller body with her own larger frame.

She captured your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as she ground her hips against your, letting you feel the thick, hard length of her cock straining against her pants. Hyun-ju could feel the heat of your pussy, feeling just how ready you were for her.

"so wet already.." Hyun-ju murmured, her hips rocking against yours as she put her hands on the hem of your shirt, softly helping you take it off, putting it away on a nightstand next to the bed.

Her hands slid around to your breasts, palming the soft mounds as she lowered her head to take a hardened nipple into her mouth. She sucked hard, grazing the sensitive bud with her teeth as her hand slid down your stomach, delving between your thighs.

hyun-ju pushed her pants down just enough to free her aching cock, the thick, heavy shaft slapping against your belly as it sprang free. She didn't bother with further preparation, knowing that you were already dripping and ready for her, still wet from her fingering you a few hours ago.

"It's okay, my love," Hyun-ju murmured, her voice softening as she cupped your cheek gently. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you, I promise."

She brushed a tender kiss against your lips, pouring all of her love and affection into the simple gesture. Her grip on your wrists gentled, her fingers intertwining with yours as she brought their joined hands down to rest on the pillow beside her head.

"Let's take this slow, sweetheart," Hyun-ju whispered, her hips still nestled between your thighs but no longer grinding urgently against her. "I want to make this good for you, okay?"

She trailed soft, gentle kisses down the column of your throat, feeling you shiver beneath her touch. Hyun-ju took her time, savoring the taste of your skin, the way your pulse fluttered beneath her lips.

As she kissed, her hands roamed over your body, caressing and stroking, learning every dip and curve. She cupped your breasts, thumbing your now wet nipples until they pebbled beneath her touch once more. Her fingers skimmed down your stomach, teasing along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs before brushing lightly over your dripping slit.

She brought her slick fingers to her lips, sucking them clean of your essence, moaning at the taste. Then, with a tender smile, she positioned the head of her cock at your entrance, feeling the heat and wetness beckoning her inside.

"Tell me if you need me to stop, okay? I never want to hurt you," Hyun-ju murmured, holding her gaze with unwavering intensity as she began to push forward, slowly, gently, inch by thick inch, until he was seated fully inside you, your hips pressed flush together.

With a soft huff, she began to move, her hips rocking against yours in a slow rhythm.

"Oh, love.." Hyun-ju breathed out "You feel so good.." She rolled her hips in a deep, circular motion, grinding against that sweet spot deep inside that made you see stars.

Her thrusts remained slow and steady, each one a deliberate, purposeful slide of hard flesh against soft silk. Hyun-ju wanted to savor every moment, to commit every gasp, every sigh, every flutter of your eyelashes to memory.

She leaned down to capture your lips in another kiss. Her tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, coaxing you to respond, to meet her thrust for thrust.

One hand slid up to tangle in your hair, gently tugging your head back to deepen the kiss. The other hand skimmed down your side, over the curve of your hip, to grip your your thigh, caress your waist..she couldnt get enough of you.

The room filled with the soft, obscene sounds of their lovemaking - the creaking of the bed, the slick slide of skin against skin, and the breathy, needy noises spilling from your lips.

Her hips began to move a little faster, her thrusts growing a bit harder, a bit deeper. The head of her cock kissed that sweet spot inside you with each drive forward, making her gasp and shudder.

"That's it, my love," Hyun-ju praised, her voice a low, approving rumble. "You're doing so well, taking me so perfectly."

She could feel the heat building between them, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly. Hyun-ju knew she was getting close, could feel the telltale tightening of her balls, the way her thrusts were growing more erratic.

But even as she lost herself in the throes of pleasure, she would not forget, would not risk bringing a child into this unpredictable world without careful thought and planning.

So with a herculean effort, Hyun-ju gritted her teeth, forcing herself to hold back, to delay her own release. She focused on you.

Hyun-ju's eyes widened as she witnessed the unmistakable bulge of her cock stretching your belly. The sight of her lover's body yielding to her, accepting and accommodating her size, made her even more turned on, if that was possible, her hand skimmed over the curve, marveling at the way her fingers sank into the supple flesh.

She could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering and clenching around her thickness. Hyun-ju knew she was close, could sense the impending crest of her own release barreling down on her. But she remained focused on you, determined to bring you to that peak before allowing herself to let go, so she doubled her efforts, pounding into her with deep, powerful thrusts that shook the bed and left you breathless. she slipped a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, her fingers seeking out the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex.

Hyun-ju began to rub firm, tight circles around your clit, feeling it swell and throb against her touch. She timed the strokes with her thrusts, pushing deep inside you just as she flicked your clit.

finally, she could feel you coming beneath her, your pussy clamping down around her cock like a vice as you hit her peak. The sensation was almost too intense to bear, and Hyun-ju had to grit her teeth, calling upon every ounce of her self-control not to let go and spill herself deep inside you.

At the last possible second, Hyun-ju wrenched her hips back, tearing her aching cock from the velvet heat of your pussy. her hand flew to her shaft, stroking furiously as thick ropes of seed erupted from the swollen head, painting streaks of pearly white across your belly and breasts.

"Fuck.." Hyun-ju breathed out, her voice shaky.

she collapsed against you, careful not to crush you with her larger frame, her heart slamming against her ribs as she struggled to catch her breath. Hyun-ju tangled her fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands up to press against her heart as she rolled them to the side, cradling you against her chest.

"you did amazing, sweet thing, so good for me.." Hyun-ju murmured, once she had regained a modicum of composure. she brushed a tender kiss against your damp forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Rest now, i got you.."

[callmerainman]

Alastor with a pure hearted s/o

a/n I'm fully aware that Alastor is aroace. My scenarios are meant to be interpreted as a deep, unconditional love, not necessarily romantic. I'm not aroace but I'm all for educating myself, so please if something's off let me (gently) know. Hope you enjoy :)

TW! canon typical violence

being a twisted person is not a requirement to reincarnate in Hell. Sins depend on religion, culture, societal norms. You were more of a victim, in fact.

you never got used to being in Hell. Surviving not only the Extermination but also the inhabitants becomes harder and harder every year.

it's kill or be killed, but you just can't bring yourself to do any harm to anyone, even if it means risking your own life.

as soon as you hear about princess Charlie Morningstar's new hotel for souls who want a second chance, your bags are PACKED

it's not like you really need redemption, you are pure hearted already. it's more a matter of understanding the reasons why you ended in Hell and coming to terms with them. maybe then the gates of Heaven would open for you. it's also a safer place for you to be.

Charlie welcomes you excitedly; Angel Dust, Husk and Vaggie aren't that friendly at first since your personalities don't match, but they eventually grow fond of you

and then there's, well...the Radio Demon.

you never met an Overlord before, and Alastor was supposed to be gone for years. But his presence wasn't frightening. A big smile spread across his face, he welcomed you like a gentleman.

you heard stories about his lifestyle and even previous murderous acts as a human, but for some reason you just can't bring yourself to fear him.

at first you were kinda pathetic to him. so naive, out of touch with the evils of Hell. he didn't dislike you. just thought your life was so easy to throw away in a society like that and that you wouldn't last long.

it seems like you two don't have much to share. he just wanders in his den, while you spend time in your room. you greet each other and have small talks, but nothing more than that. that's until he hears jazz music play behind your door.

he mentions it during dinner, and you start talking about your interest in 30s jazz music, especially the one of the Roaring 20s. you come from a later era, but you're very much cultured about jazz and its forms and that's enough for Alastor to develop an interest in you.

he has so many jazz artists recommendations, and you share some of your favourite pieces with him through your gramophone.

without even noticing, Alastor starts spending hours in your room just listening to music. some time even practicing swing dancing. and talking about jazz culture all around the world, and entertainment in general. he has many fun facts about the history of radio too!

the others at the hotel notice your growing bond and low-key support it, in their own, weird way. Angel Dust is especially convinced that you two are hooking up, as Husk not-so-kindly explains that it's more likely for Alastor to ascend to Heaven than express interest in sex.

you would start to open yourself up a bit to the Radio Demon. he doesn't understand why, since it didn't ask or never showed much empathy. but he just can't bring himself to tell you to stop. he wants to listen.

you manage to make him talk about some glimpses of his own life and thoughts. you knew that he was the complete opposite of you. incline to Evil, an enjoyer of all things that made your stomach clench. but he's still the one person who spends hours with you just listening to both jazz and your fears.

one day, Alastor decided that in no way you are walking around the city without him. it's just too dangerous for you. he tries to teach you how to use weapons and demonic powers to defend yourself but he doesn't feel like you can make it into Hell by yourself.

you like strolling through the streets with him, arms intertwined, chatting and laughing even if demons around you are shitting their pants just by seeing the Overlord walking around.

but one day, Alastor can't find you.

you're not in your room, or in the Hotel hall. No one saw you that morning. He starts to feel something he never felt in his life: fear.

he darts out the Hotel, trying to find you. that's when he sees you just a few streets away.

a group of animal-like demons is encircling you. you are on your knees, arms over your head to protect yourself. A lion-demon is holding a knife over you and your arms are covered in cuts. you hold something close to your stomach.

that's when Alastor realized that he had feelings for you.

when he threw himself between you and the demons attacking you.

it's the first time you see Alastor without a smile. his teeth are gritted, face full of unprecedented violence and will to kill, breathing heavily in and out in a sort of animalistic way, but there's no trace of his characteristic smile you love.

his body starts to morph into his full demon form. his horns grow exponentially, his body too as it hovers menacingly on top of your aggressors as they start to feel a pure fear they never felt before.

in a matter of a second, they are gone. Alastor has always been a calculated, elegant killer, but this time he only felt a raw, ferocious instinct to kill.

as he's done, he turns around towards you. he doesn't want to, but he snaps.

"W̶̞̐H̷̻͒Y̷̰̅ ̶̠͛D̸͕́I̸͔̍D̴̿͜ ̷̯̇Y̶̭͌Ỏ̴̬U̵̖̍ ̷̛͎Ģ̷̕O̸̩͑ ̷̹̈́O̶̮͆U̸͍̇T̴̙͆ ̷̧̀W̴͓̅I̷̞͑T̸̗͒H̴̹͒O̴̺̓Ṷ̵̂T̵̺̚ ̵̢́M̴̜̅E̶̬̋?̸̻͋!̸̦͂"

you flinch, you never saw Alastor lose his composure. he was always so calm and collected. his voice was static, choppy.

the tears that were cornering your eyes start streaming down your face "I-I..."

"Ţ̶̈Ḧ̴͙́Ė̵̩Ỳ̷̳ ̷̳̒Ã̸̡L̷̛͚M̶͇̚O̸͈̔S̴̜̎T̸͚̊ ̷̤͝K̷͊͜I̵̺͝L̵͚̎L̴̤̆Ẽ̴͖D̶͍̈́ ̵̻͝Y̵̰̑O̸̜͘Ù̶͍!̵̻͝ ̸͓̾D̴̯͒O̶̅͜Ṉ̶̌'̷̹͒T̵͎͋ ̶̺́Y̴̹͂O̶͍̅U̴̘͌ ̵̘̾Û̷̪N̸̩̊D̵͎̋Ȅ̴͜R̵̮͂S̸̰̄T̸̝̅A̵͓͘N̷̩͂Ḏ̴̀?̵̗̍!̸̭̎"

suddenly, your bleeding arms fall from your head. you expose what you've been protecting all along.

a vinyl, a really old record from Alastor's favourite jazz artist. a rare find.

"I-I know but...tomorrow it's your death anniversary and I wanted to give this to you...as a surprise. I'm sorry"

Alastor's face immediately softens. Eyebrows raised, smile still not seen. He's just surprised and...moved.

He doesn't say anything, he just picks you up in his arms and takes you back to the Hotel where he bandages your arms.

Feeling guilty for putting yourself in danger, you ask Alastor to come to your room in order to apologize to him.

As he closes the door behind him, he says that there's no need to apologize.

"I'm...glad that you are still in your room. Listening to jazz, alive"

words didn't come easy, but he did feel the need to say it. you smile at him.

you propose to put his gift on the gramophone and so you do. music starts to flow between the small space you shared with the Radio Demon.

that's when you and Alastor start slow dancing. his arms around your waist, yours encircling his neck. his smile is back, but soft and...almost loving.

with his silent agreement, you reach for his cheek and graze it.

"Thank you for saving me, Alastor. Even if you are everything I distance myself from in this life...I'm glad you are the person that you are with me. In my next life, I'll make sure to be a sinner again if it means dancing with you like this"

Alastor now understands his feelings. It's something deeper than care. It's love. But not the same love you reserve to a friend and not even romantic. It's something deeper, more visceral.

He doesn't answer, just closes his eyes and leans in to press his forehead against yours.

you later fall asleep on your bed to the quiet sound of the gramophone playing, hands intertwined on Alastor's chest.

[germiyahu]

Republicans are absolutely 100% manufacturing consent for pogrom-like violence against immigrant communities, specifically Haitians. That is true. Haitians keeping their children home because of increased threats and harassment is a cause for alarm.

But seeing people already call it a pogrom... nobody has been chased out of their home, nobody has been murdered, nobody has been raped, nobody has posed with the bodies for grizzly photo-ops. I don't know, this all fits into the larger narrative of liberal~leftist apathy toward anti-Jewish violence, taking it and washing out its historic Judenhass connotations, and applying the term to anyone even when the conditions haven't been met yet. At the least, there's a lot about historic pogroms that the general American public just don't know about. They're not aware of just how brutal and swift they were. All it takes is a little education, but clearly it took me wanting to become a Jew to even try to learn more about Jewish history so I don't have a lot of faith in the vast majority of gentiles.

It's a complicated mix of emotions where like, it's appropriate to be nervous and scared for these communities, but I find myself annoyed that most of these accounts just don't care when entire Jewish communities are harassed and have libel spread against them. A lot of online leftists certainly didn't care, in fact celebrated, the October 7th pogrom!

Let's hope nothing escalates further, but it is not appropriate to just take terms from Jewish history, not understand the actual implications of these terms, and throw them at the nearest Republican politician. It's just like invoking Hitler. And when you also apply these terms to Jews, I know you are not operating in good faith.

[notherpuppet]

Do you think there's a right and/or wrong way to handle QPR? I know it's a tricky relationship, but it feels like most/some people kind of just slap the label onto a ship while depicting the ship as just romantic/having no difference with a romantic relationship. (this is why I was a little surprised when you said you do radioapple qpr when it reads a lot more like normal romance). Not meant as an attack or anything on anyone, just genuinely curious more than anything. Again, tricky relationship

So Imma put this link to info at the top of this post: https://taaap.org/2022/07/16/qprs-part-one/

Alright, so please take what I say with a grain of salt, because that's exactly what it is. One small bit of perspective in a mass of many people who experience QPRs in their life and/or are on an aro/ace spectrum. I also have NO QUALIFICATIONS on gender/sexuality theory, so my opinions are shaped by what I've learned and experienced personally. While people may identify with the same term, we are all still individuals with our own experiences. Words can help describe a phenomenon, but it doesn't make everyone who identifies with the word into a monolith.

So I've stated a few times that I navigate shipping Alastor similar to my own experiences as an aroace person. (I guess I'm sharing about myself with this post, but I think that can be helpful to just spreading awareness of an "alternative lifestyle"). So I'm romance-repulsed and sex-repulsed LOL but I'm also "positive" about those things. Like I view romance and sex as lovely, fun experiences people can have, but I've never been into it personally. It's fun for me to consume media about romance/sex, but yknow, it's also fun for me to consume media about violence or isolation. Doesn't mean I want to experience or engage in any of those things lol.

Anyway, I'm a huge people person and I love to party and yknow it seems most people are really wanting to fall in love or fuck or whatever pretty much all the time, but especially at parties hahaha. Normally, I'm pretty touch-averse, but I love dancing so much and it's a blast to dance with a partner (salsa especially!! i don't care for grinding for probably obvious reasons). And to connect the two previous sentences, people (whatever gender they are) would be very kissy-touchy on the dancefloor. Which i honestly dont really give a fuck about hahaha. I don't really get anything out of kissing but I also don't mind it. I just like to dance. It's all a pretty superficial--but still genuinely fun--experience for me.

When it comes to my deeper or more intimate connections, I have had friendships that have felt SO on the line of what was viewed as a romantic relationship. They were exceptional friends and we connected on a level that was deep and true, but it wasn't romantic. Sometimes we'd slow dance, sometimes we kissed, and it rocked. But it wasn't more than that, it was all that it needed to be. I didn't want more and neither did they (except one situation and so we had to stop being friends lol whoops). From the outside, people would even refer to us as partners in a half joking way, but we really were just friends. And I love those friends!! And a huge part of what made those relationships (which at the time were described as 'situationships' because we didn't know any of these terms haha) was their convenience. We either lived in the same building, worked together, or were neighbors LOL. I'm still friends with those absolutely lovely folks, but we don't live around each other, so our QPR just appears a lot more like any ole regular friendship. But it's not like there was a feeling that we transitioned into something different than before. It twas what it twas! (Had to take a pause while I was typing to reminisce fondly for a second, okay back to hazbin hahaha)

SO, whenever someone asks or it comes up, MOST OF THE TIME I do ship alastor through an aroace lens and experience with QPRs (specifically, MINEE because they were fun and I've never felt like doing this before I met a character like Al). And my XP is: "this isn't gonna be a partnership and we ain't fucking" LMFAO. so yeah!

When it comes to using a queer term like QPR, I just hope folks are considerate in their writing, but I also am inclined to just believe them if they say that's their intention because QPRs can look very different. Again, aroace and ace folks are not a monolith. The terms help to describe a human's experience. I'm inclined to think people are writing in good faith.

And all this being said, I want to just emphasize that I really don't think it's necessary to consider any of this shit if you want to ship a fictional character. I understand wanting to be protective of a character who shares an identifier with you (I personally don't wanna see romance/sex with Al in canon). But shipping is a fun thing a fandom does that often does ignore canon. Tale as old as time. I don't think anyone needs to be beholden to canon when they're writing fanfiction or having fun. If we did, I would have like--5 artworks on this blog hahaha. These characters are like dollies, do whatever you want. It's cool if people don't like it and I think it's cool if people do. It's just not that serious. There are ships I'm not particularly into or dynamics that I am not enchanted by, but whatever. I can just scroll or close my eyes.

TLDR; shipping in fandom doesn't need to be taken seriously at ALL. It can just be fun way for someone to play with fictional characters they like. That being said, I think it's good practice to use queer terms thoughtfully.

[ambermeh]

Sitting in Chris' lap

warning: smut

It had all started when he called for you to come over, but there were no chairs. Sitting on his lap wasn't something uncommon for the two of you, but, at the same time, you were aware that his brothers and all your friends where nearby. Still, you went ahead. The roughness of his jeans almost scratching on your skin, as your legs weren't covered. His hands laid casually around your waist and on your knees. Rubbing small circles over and over. You had adjusted, not deliberately. But you started to feel his head lay on your shoulder.

'i can feel you on my leg' His whispered. You turned round almost confused at his statement. Of course he could feel you. But his hand started to rest further up your leg. Oh.

Your face reddened at the realisation.

'Chris- please not here' You pleaded not wanting everyone to look at the two of you, incase they had noticed Chris' hand, knowing that he wasn't likely to stop.

'fine, hey me and Y/N are just going upstairs, I've got a bit of a headache' Everyone got back to what they were doing as the two of you left.

Once you had entered another room in this building, Chris sat down. His legs spread open a bit, as he made a gesture for you to sit down.

You followed not long after, sitting on his lap. Although, he had made you sit in front of a mirror. You gazed at his smug and mischievous look on his face.

'well, we're somewhere else now, so you can see yourself while you grind on my dick, okay ma?'

His hand grabbed your neck, allowing you only to look at the two of you in the mirror. The other hand guiding your waist. He rolled you back, you could see him looking between your face and the view of you grinding back. Eyes looking into your somewhat shut eyes through the mirror, as the contact between your pussy and his dick were subdued by his jeans.

'Chris, I need more, need you to put it in' The pressure of grinding barely satisfying you, as well as the slow pace that Chris was going. His hand refusing to let your hips roll faster, as you felt his now hard dick pressing against your clothed core. The wetness now on his jeans as well.

'Nah, this is all you get baby, it can't all be on your terms'

After a few minutes of Chris slightly increasing the speed but then going back to making you slow down your movements, you started to feel a small knot in your stomach. But it was unreachable at this pace. Tears of frustration where beginning to brim in your eyes. The knot in your stomach mocking you as it just stayed a dull ache and not giving you any release.

'I'm close, just need it a bit faster, please Chris'

'Y/N you're not supposed to cum, this was what you wanted, you wanted to be away from everyone. Now, stop crying because you know it will only spur me on and let me use you to get me off, okay?'

Tag list: @soontosturniolo @blahbel668 @mulitfandomslvt @sturnobsessedwhOre

Divider from @/enchanthings

[ln444]

my english love affair

cw: MDNI+18, f!reader, strangers to lovers, soulmates au, fluff, smut, maybe slight angst? depends on how you see it lol, fingering (f), penetration, soft dirty talk, a lot (like a lot) of kissing and sharing long gazes, whipped lando again bc im obsessed sorry.

now playing: english love affair by 5sos, let me by zayn.

notes: omg this took so long 😭 i'm not really confident abt my smut, i feel like i'm writing fluff way better but i hope you like it!! i might write a part 2, let me know if you like this one! enjoy🤍

requested by anon | requests open!

______________________________________________

“when the lights go out, she's all i ever think, i can't forget my english love affair, today i'm seven thousand miles away”

the thought of finally going back to his f1 driver life fills lando with excitement. sure, lando loves england — it's his home, after all. but nothing can compare to the rush he feels when he's in an f1 car, traveling all around the world and meeting his fans.

for his last night town, lando's friends convinced him to hit the club. normally, he prefers staying in to rest before the start of the season but a little fun doesn't hurts, right? he won't have much time to do it during the grand prix.

despite his fame, lando still gets surprised when someone recognizes him, especially at the club. he knows he's known for his looks, and he's aware of the attention from admirers, but it still catches him off guard in real life. sometimes, the attention can be overwhelming, especially when he just wants to have a good time with his friends and ends up with some overly clingy girls.

lando decides to excuse himself, seeking some fresh air. the pressure of the coming season is getting to him, and the situation doesn't help. he finds a quiet spot with a few people smoking and making out, leans against the wall, and closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a relieved sigh.

suddenly, a voice startles him from his thoughts, "did your friends force you to come here too?" his head jerks towards you, and you're standing beside him, out of nowhere. he takes time to answer, surprised by your unexpected presence. after realizing that he left you without any response, he clears his throat, a bit confused, "nah, just needed some fresh air" he mumbles, a small smile forming on his lips. you chuckle slightly, and comment "not surprised, having so many girls fawning over you must be exhausting", there's a small hint of tease in your voice that makes lando's smile grows.

finally, as he turns to study your features under the soft glow of the night lights, lando finds himself entranced by your captivating beauty, the grace of your features leaving an indelible impression on him. he can't help but get lost in your eyes shining in the dim illumination, making it difficult for him to look away. it takes him a good minute to quickly look away, thanking the night for hiding his rosé cheeks.

he gazes at the sky, trying to think of something to say that doesn't sound awkward — and also trying to get his shit together. he suddenly feels the need to make a good impression. "i mean, it's not that i don't appreciate the attention, but wow, they can be quite persistent."

his hands find their way into the pockets of his jacket, and his eyes avoid meeting yours, fearing he might get lost in them again. "yeah, i know. they're my friends," you say with a small chuckle, not because he's making fun of them, but more because of the use of the term 'friends.'

lando's eyes widen, and he turns to you, 'i'm sorry, i didn't mean to-' but he stops himself, looking down, feeling too embarrassed to find the right words. you laugh softly and move closer to him, your shoulders brushing and lando can feel his body tense up due to the closeness.

"hey, it's okay. i don't really consider them my friends, anyway," you say nonchalantly and lando lets out a sigh of relief, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "wow, that's nice for them", you both laugh and lando doesn't miss the way you subtly lean into him, your shoulders finally touching. he turns his head away from you, clearing his throat once more, trying to control the warmth spreading through his body.

"hey", you suddenly call out after a minute of tranquil silence and lando dares to meet your gaze, instantly regretting when he's captivated by your radiant eyes. he finds himself unable to look away and you both share an intense, unspoken connection, as if you've known each other for years. everything feels perfectly right at this moment.

"wanna get out of here?" you finally suggest, your words barely more than a whisper, your focus entirely on lando's mesmerizing eyes. you take his hand, both fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces and you let him drag you in the dark streets.

after a walk filled with stolen gaze and silly conversations, you found yourself on lando's couch, engrossed in his f1 souvenirs and you have never felt so much passion, feeling your heart soften every time your see that sparkles in his eyes. lando never thought that his night will end up like this. sure, he might ended up with a girl from the club like he usually do, but this time was different. he never really experienced this; having sweet and innocent conversations with a stranger from a club. the atmosphere is tranquil yet there's a subtle tension in the air.

lando couldn't help but be his flirty self, playfully teasing you from time to time. however, your responses makes him somewhat nervous — it's a new sensation to him, having a girl making him feel this way. perhaps it's the way you gazes at him with patience and attention, your lovely smile that you share generously with him or how closely you listen to his random f1 stories. lando and you end up scrolling through photos in his phone, with him recounting the stories behind each one. he couldn't help but feel his heart melt your reactions; your smiles, your laughs, and your curiosity as you ask for more details and share your own anecdotes.

a soothing silence descended, and the two of you sit beside each other, thighs and shoulders lightly touching. lando struggles to contain the fluttering feeling in his stomach when you turn to look at him. he dares to meet your gaze, trying to focus on your eyes rather than your enticing lips. lost in each other eyes, you can't tear your gazes away. a brand new emotion envelops both of you, one that's strangely familiar yet undeniably unique, as though destiny has brought you together in this very moment and lando can't help but wonder if soulmates might actually exist.

you finally speak, after what feels like an eternity, in a soft voice, "you can kiss me, lando", you whisper like it's a secret. lando stomach tighten and he don't even take the time to answer, gently placing his hand on your cheek to pull you for a shy kiss. your lips discover each other, timidly and your hands instinctively slides around his neck to pull him closer.

you can't seem to get enough of each other, savoring every moment as you explore each other's mouths. lando's hand venture on your hips, and the chill of his touch sends shivers down your spine, as you suppress a soft moan in your throat. the kiss grows more intense, both of you yearning for more. without the need for words, you share an unspoken understanding of each other's needs, as if you've been intimately connected for ages. out of breath, you both finally pull away, foreheads touching, sharing a playful gaze, giggling and blushing like teenagers experiencing their very first kiss.

after one last sweet peck on the lips, lando takes your hand and stands, guiding you towards the bedroom, careful not to stumble due to both your impatience and the lingering dizziness of that passionate kiss.

not wasting time, he gently guides you onto the bed, positioning himself on top of you. he can't resist the urge to pause and admire you, your eyes shimmering in the soft glow of the dim lights. before he gets lost in that gaze, his eyes roam to study every detail of your face, causing you to blush and squirm beneath him. your arms tighten around his neck, and you chuckle, bringing lando back to the present. "like what you see?" you whisper, stealing a smile from him as he draws closer, his lips teasingly brushing against yours. "oh, absolutely," he murmurs before capturing your lips in a kiss. this time, it feels different; electrifying.

lando's hands slips, beneath your dress, and this time a whimper escapes your lips, making lando smirk through the kiss. his hands dares to explore the skin of your thighs, creating an unusual feeling in your stomach — and making your pussy slightly throb. your fingers finds their way into his curls, gripping onto them as the kiss becomes messier; your tongues dancing together.

"just take it off already" you huff and puff, seeing lando struggling and he lets out a chuckle "damn, someone is impatient", he says, teasing you, before finally taking your dress off. his eyes travel your body, and you've never felt so vulnerable, your cheeks burning. lando let out an unwanted groan, completely loving the view and he stares a bit too long until you pull him for another kiss to put him out of his thoughts. he takes a moment to kiss you back and it's your turn to slide your hands beneath his shirt, playing with the lines of his abdomen, making him moan softly against your lips.

after a good minute of kissing and touching, you finally take off his shirt and his pants, on the way, leaving you both in your underwear. lando leaves kisses along your jawline, going down to your chest, his hand sliding in your back to unbutton your bra and the way your boobs bounce out of it makes lando groan, feeling his erection grows. your grip on his hair gets tighter as you watch him play with your nipples, flicking it and licking it and the view drives you crazy.

you moan his name softly, pulling on his hair to make him look at you and you share a long stare, full of lust, both craving for more. you pull him for a sloppy kiss, trying to show how impatient you are and lando gets the message, pulling down your panties and getting rid of his boxers.

lando's mouth leaves yours and is replaced by his fingers, stealing a whimper from you. your eyes meets his as you suck on his fingers and, if they could, his eyes would burn holes into yours. lando found himself getting more and more impatient, the way you suck on his fingers with that irresistible look making it harder for him to contain it.

pulling out his fingers out of your mouth and without leaving your eyes for a second, his two fingers found your hole, slipping gently in it and you throw instinctively your head backwards, a moan escaping your mouth. lando take a good look at you in that position before taking the opportunity to leave kisses on your exposed neck, fighting the urge to suck on it to not leave marks, not wanting to overstep your boundaries.

"feeling okay?" he whispers softly, his breath hitting your skin, making it difficult for you to fight the whimpers escaping your mouth. lando takes a minute to look at you, to make sure that you don't feel any pain or discomfort.

"mmh'yes, you can move, please oh my god" you desperately says and lando can't help but pull you for another messy kiss. his fingers start moving in you, stretching your walls and you become a moaning mess, your eyes closing and lando takes advantage of it to admire you, his moves getting faster and faster.

"are you close, princess?" he murmurs close to your lips, feeling your body trembling and hearing the way your moans gets louder. you can only shake your head; feeling the bottom of your stomach getting warmer and the nickame almost make you choke on your moans. lando slows down to make scissors movements, his thumb rubbing your clit to help you reach your climax. he can't take off his eyes of you, inspecting every aspect of your face; the way your face crunches and your mouth is slightly open to let multiple sounds out of it. he could almost come just by this sight, his own crotch getting bigger.

with a loud and long moan, you finally climax, arching your back and lando plant soft pecks on your neck, whispering sweet words to you and telling you how good you're doing. breathless, you absently stroke his hair and close your eyes for a moment trying to calm the beat of your heart but lando makes it hard; his hands traveling your body and his lips attached to the skin of your neck.

the sudden emptiness when lando pulls out his fingers make you whimper and he lift his head to meet your gaze — he lost count of how many times he got lost in your eyes tonight. your hand make its way to his cock and the sudden touch makes lando slightly startle, a groan leaving his mouth. before you start stroking it, his hand comes to stop you immediately and you look at him, confused and with a hint of worry; silently asking him if you did something wrong.

"wanna fuck you now or i might go crazy", he says, almost whimpering and you slightly laugh, pulling his face closer to yours. "someone is impatient huh", you tease, a small smirk forming on your lips and he can't help but mirror that smirk. "how can i not when you look at me like that?" he takes your bottom lip between his teeth before kissing you again, his body getting closer and his cock brushing on your pussy makes you both moan through the kiss. you take his dick, once again, in your hand to guide it through your hole this time. and slowly, he penetrates you, a long groan escaping his lips at how tight you feel around him and you break the kiss to moan loudly.

"so fucking tight, baby, just for me", he mumbles close to your lips and you can't even answer, too overwhelmed by the way he's filling you — and his dirty words. when you finally adjust, he doesn't waste any minutes and start moving. you both moan in unison, holding into each other like your life depends on it. he watches you go crazy over his cock; the way your eyes gets watery, the way you hold into the sheets — your other hand too busy pulling his hair —, the way you can't control the continuous moans, his name slipping out of your mouth from time to time and encouraging him to go deeper into you. and he does go deeper, slowing down the pace to thrust into you as deep as he can, reaching your sensitive spot.

"right here? like that, baby?" he moans, feeling you tightening around him. his voice makes it harder for you to hold your growing orgasm. your hand leaves the sheets to hold onto his shoulder, your nails crawling into his skin. lando suddenly feels the urge to look at you in the eyes — maybe because his orgasm is getting close too. his hand finds a way to your neck, his fingers wrapping around it gently "look at me, angel", he says in a husky voice that could make you come at any moment. struggling to keep your eyes open, you try your best to hold his gaze, the way he's looking at you making you insane.

his thrusts gets faster and you can't control the sounds escaping from your mouth anymore. you look away for a moment, too overwhelmed and lando's hand travels to your face, cupping it gently to keep it straight "eyes on me, love". you obey, meeting his gaze and it's all too much for you.

you don't even have to use words for lando to understand that you're getting close, the way your eyes gets watery and your body shakes is enough. with his hand going back to your throat, lando accompany you into your orgasm, enjoying the way you scream his name and you manage to hold his gaze. his own orgasm comes a few minutes after yours and he makes sure to pull out before ejaculating, his groans echoing in the room. he immediately falls besides you and you both just stay like this: his leg over yours, your hand still in his hair as you try to catch your breath. lando uses his last drops of strength to grab a tissue from the nightstand and clean his fresh cum on your stomach.

he pulls you close again, linking your legs together and letting you play with his hair. the silence is so peaceful; the warm of your bodies making you both relax immediately. a smile unconsciously forms on lando's lips at the sight of your tired face, your eyes shining in the almost dark atmosphere of the night. you look back at him, smiling back and giggling, making lando raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"what's so funny?" he says, fighting the smile growing on his lips. "i just slept with the lando norris", you tease and lando groans, hiding his face in his arm. "i knew you were a fan!" he replies playfully, playing along. you laugh in sync and lando's heart feels at peace; all the worries about the incoming season completely forgotten. your hand gently plays with his curls as you absently stare at the ceiling, an unbeatable smile on your face.

lando, on the other side, can't take his eyes off you, watching you slowly fall asleep and enjoying your fingers in his hair. and just before you completely close your eyes, you turn to him, offering him a last kiss; so tender and passionate that your hearts both might burst out of your chests. pulling out, lando watches you fall asleep, not fighting the smile on his face anymore.

he usually struggles to sleep before an important day but this time, his mind is only filled with you and this night spent by your side. and just like that, it's lando's turn to meet the sandman.

-

with a groan, lando struggles to reach and silence the blaring alarm. the morning sunlight aggressively shines through the curtain, making him shield his face with his arm, staying in half asleep state for a minute as he gradually gets out of it.

then it suddenly hits him; you're no longer beside him.

lando suddenly starts to panic, jolting him into full wakefulness. he springs out of the bed and desperately search for any signs of you in every room of his apartment but you're nowhere to be found. he mutters curses under his breath, passing a hand to his messy hair — the thought of you messing his hair last night making him even more frustrated. defeated, he returns to the bedroom, his gaze falling on the tousled sheets where everything happened. as lando realizes that he didn't even ask for your name, frustration festered within him, causing him to clench his hair.

however, amidst his self reproach, a small piece of paper on the nightstand catch his attention, and he immediately rushes to it.

"we will meet again, i promise. you're going to kill it, lovely boy. y/n, x"

lando can't even fight the smile creeping on his lips, his heart softening — it was beating way too fast just by the thought of not even knowing your name. he sinks back onto the bed, your smell immediately hitting him and making him even happier. he reads those few words repeatedly and his hands falls onto his chest, holding the paper close to his heart as he whispers your name again and again, savoring its melodious sound. lando can't help but tell himself that soulmates might exist.

"i am going to kill it,", lando murmured to himself, a foolish grin etching on his face.

______________________________________________

part 2?:p join the tag list here!

masterlist

[politemenacephd]

Stress Relief (18+)

Miguel O'Hara X GN!Reader Content: Heavy Daddy Kink, Mild degradation, Workplace sex, Spanking, PinV sex, Size Kink, Mild Breeding kink, Creampie

Notes: (No gendered terms are used for reader and there's no mention of characteristics, but vaginal terminology is used so be aware!!) forgive me I'm just a little feral rn lol

‘Mm- f-fuck, Mig—’

‘Shh, shh.’

Miguel’s sharp rebuttal made you pout, but the feeling of his fat cock stretching you out quickly humbled you once more. You bit your lip as he continued to rail your body into his desk.

‘Come on, one more.'

‘F-Fuck—daddy.’

You felt your face burning as you offered up that sweet gratification, and he rewarded you with a sharp smack to your bare ass. You felt him grunt with pleasure as it bounced against his calloused hand.

‘Así así, mm- tu pucha está mojadita' he murmured, more to himself than to you.'

You were bent over his work desk which he had hovering in the air, offering just the barest semblance of privacy for your little fuckfest. You’d only come in to give him some paperwork from Jess. Now he was balls deep inside you with your waist in his grip, his fingers barely an inch away from squeezing your little ribs to dust.

You knew he must be stressed, because he hadn’t even bothered to fully undress either you or himself. He’d phased away the part of his suit covering his cock the moment he had you over his knee, and while he'd remained patient enough to slip your clothes aside he'd then immediately riped a hole in your panties to get what he wanted.

You could still feel them there, sopping wet and tight around your ass and lips, utterly spoiled by the copious slick he was pumping out of you with each thrust.

‘You like that, huh?’

‘Mm- so, so good—’

‘You like daddy’s cock?’

You involuntarily squirted as he angled his shaft deep, your translucent slick left hanging in strings between your pussy and his pelvis. The clap of his skin on your rear was now resoundingly wet, the debaucherous sounds echoing in his giant office.

‘Fuck- I’m gonna have to clean my suit’ Miguel grunted. You whimpered, thinking at first that you’d somehow displeased him, but then a low groan vibrated through his chest. His clawed hand came down hard on your right ass cheek, his palm leaving a large and distinct red mark. The sting made you squirm.

‘So fuckin’ dirty, huh?’ he panted. You could hear the gratification in his voice, so husky and deep.

‘Someone’s—MM—Someone’s gonna hear that’ you whimpered. If Miguel heard you, he didn’t indicate it, as he refused to slow down.

He was pussy drunk beyond reason. He didn’t care if he got caught.

‘Say it again’ he barked. A fresh slap to your ass caused it to jiggle, and before you could even finish moaning he’d used both hands to spread your cheeks wide. Your feet scrabbled at the floor with each toe-curling insertion, each sopping wet thop of his cock as it filled you.

‘F-FF—Daddy, fuck—’

‘Mm. Again.’

He was being merciless today. You could barely get the words out as he thrust you against the cold metal desk.

‘D—mm- da—dadd—daddy—’

‘Again.’

You felt him throb and you clenched him right back. You felt every inch of his shaft as it pulsed, every vein and every contour now imprinted on the velvety walls of your cunt. You knew he’d already painted your cervix with his pre-cum, like a fingerprint pressed onto your insides.

‘Please, daddy, more’ you begged.

You squeaked as he suddenly lifted your thigh up and onto the desk. The metal was cold on your bare skin. He bent your back and arched inside as deep as he could, filling you with a virile mixture of pleasure and pain in your core. He was thrusting right up to the navel.

‘F-FUCK—’

You had to bite your hand to muffle your wet little moans, but Miguel was merciless. He reached around and gripped your neck as he pulled you taut, his pace quickening as he started to pump you to completion.

‘That’s it, mm- fuck, that’s it, so god damn tight, so—’

‘Hey! Miguel!’

Your eyes widened in horror as a voice echoed up from the floor of his office. They widened even further when Miguel refused to stop.

‘I’M BUSY!’ he snapped back, his voice rising to mask how breathless he was.

Miguel’s hand went smoothly from your neck to your mouth, helping to muffle your pathetic mewling from being heard. Thank god he had because he chose that moment to slide back against your g-spot, right as his balls started smacking your clit. You squirted in silence for a third time.

On this occasion, you felt Miguel take notice. He slid his hand down to where your skin met and covered his claws in your slick, letting it drip between his digits as he held them up.

You heard something wet, and as you tilted your head you realized he was licking it off his fingers.

‘Oh, uh- sorry! Just—we need your help with something!’ the voice called for a second time. You heard Miguel’s fangs clack.

‘I SAID IM BUSY!’ he snapped back down, his voice carrying a certain gruff bark to it this time around.

You could feel the sweat on his thighs as they clapped your bare legs. His thighs were huge, sculpted and hard just like the rest of him. You knew he could break your back if he wanted. Good thing right now he just wanted your pussy.

‘Oh, uh- okay! Sorry, I’ll- catch you up later!’

You heaved a silent sigh of relief, but it was short lived. The moment the intruders footsteps had echoed into nothing Miguel let out a vicious grunt, and soon your body was being pounded into the desk once more.

‘Alright, come on, time to let daddy finish’ Miguel groaned. You could feel him humping to completion, his cock fucking you raw. You barely stopped yourself from screaming.

‘Say it’ he ordered.

‘Daddy!’

‘More.’

‘Daddy, fuck—’

Your soft moans filled the room with the clap of his thrusts. Your whole body was bouncing now.

‘Come on, that’s it. You wanna make me a daddy for real?’ he breathlessly teased.

In a flood of dumb pleasure your cunt clenched him tight, so tight that his knees almost gave out.

‘MM—Fuck, please, yes daddy, please!’ you cried.

That was enough for him. His claws sprang out and dug into your waist as he emptied himself out, his cock pulsing load after load of thick, white seed into your pussy. It was almost scary how much he managed to fill you with. You could feel it squishing, oozing, thick and heavy inside you, warm and wet as it dribbled down your thigh before he even pulled out.

The moment he was spent he pulled out and immediately phased his suit back on. He tried to help you by pulling your panties back over, but they were ruined. They’d been ripped by the friction and served just to hang there all pretty over your creamy little hole. You could sense him admiring the view.

‘Good, well done’ he praised in his usual stilted way. He put a hand on your head and gently scratched at your scalp with his claws. You barely even noticed; you were trying not to collapse as your legs shook.

‘You did good. Now uh- go clean up for me baby, okay?'

[nothorses]

You've made a lot of really great posts about transmasc experiences and struggles, and they really resonate with me! So I guess I want to in complete earnest ask: why the push for 'transandrophobia' when anti-transmasculinity as a term has been around for longer and faces little friction by comparison? I don't really *dislike* transandrophobia, but its meaning gets muddied everywhere from different directions, while ATM is pretty direct and succinct I feel. It's very clear that it's about TRANSmasculine oppression. I'm not against having a dedicated term at all, but the content of our struggles gets lost in the weeds of attaching kind of understandably divisive terms like misandry and androphobia in an attempt to mirror a phenomenon very specifically about misogyny; it seems more trouble than it's worth considering ATM is right there

I'll be honest, this ask is confusing to me for a few reasons.

When I started talking about transandrophobia around the summer of 2020, the conversations I was encountering were very much, like, a handful of people across Twitter and Tumblr (literally, a handfull!). I picked up "transandrophobia" because it was one of two words I saw in use, and the other- "transmisandry"- felt much less clear and much more contentious. It seemed super obvious to me that people would draw a line from "men's rights activists" trying to push this idea that "misandry", as a systemic oppression of men by women, to "transmisandry", and assume some ill intent where there was none. It's confusing!

"Transandrophobia" was the better of two options being floated at the time, at least in any conversation I saw. "Anti-transmasculinity" was not really a term I'd been made aware of, if anyone at all was talking about it at the time.

I have seen people pick up "anti-transmasculinity" more recently (maybe in the last year?), and this is definitely the first I've seen someone shorten it to "ATM". The people I've seen use that term have been mostly people who seem really new to the conversation, and the vibe I've gotten has been very, like, "we're the Good Transmascs, our word isn't dirty and gross like those other Bad Transmascs everyone hates. you'll listen to us now that our word is Good and Pure, right?"

Which is like... kind of frustrating, and kind of sad, honestly. I think these people honestly believe that if they just choose the right word, all the people who've been dragging me and every other transmasc talking about these issues through the mud for the last 4 years or so will really just stop & listen. If they can just say it right, these people- who have been relentlessly harassing and spreading lies about every single transmasc who came before them for years now- will care what they have to say, and will be willing to engage with them in earnest, compassionate dialogue.

If you just find the right word, all of these people will care about your hurt, your pain, and the suffering of your community.

It kind of breaks my heart. It's an incredibly hopeful, kind, loving way to view the world. It's compassion and patience and forgiveness that these folks are not being given, but that they so badly want to offer to others.

And at the same time, it sucks to be the Bad Transmasc. It sucks to have fought so hard for so long, and for the people I've been fighting for all this time to turn around and say, "you're gross, and dirty, and evil, and everything you've done is a mistake." It sucks to see the people I've been fighting for agree with the people I've been fighting against, and shove me under the bus in an effort to appeal to the people running me over with it. Knowing that the bus is going to aim for them once it's done with me just makes it sadder, yknow?

@saint-speaks wasn't the first person to ever speak the word "transandrophobia", but he is the one who coined and popularized it in its current form. And then he was dragged through the mud so hard and so brutally that some people think I coined it, just because when I defended him (too little and too late, imo) I withstood the mud-dragging better than he did (and gee, I wonder white.)

And now people take for granted that everything everyone said about hymn to justify that frankly fucking evil harassment campaign was true, actually, and we should abandon the word he coined and find one with purer origins.

If you honestly think "anti-transmasculinity" is just a more practical word, that's fine. I don't care what word we use. But they're going to cover it in mud, too. They're going to cover every one of you in mud.

Will you keep fighting for "ATM" once they make it the new dirty, gross, bad, evil word? Will you keep fighting when they drag you and everyone else through the mud for using it? Or will you agree with them, make up a new word, and never look back?

Please don't let us drown in the mud. We've been fighting for you, and we want to fight with you. Please.

[guiltyasdave]

come morning light

chapter 2 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.5k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury

a/n: i'm finally finished with chapter 2, and once again nervous af about it haha. there's not terribly much happening in this one, but i promise we'll get there, it just needs the buildup :)

thank you @catchallfangirl for beta reading <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but after hours of tossing and turning in the darkness of your bedroom, you think it’s probably time to get up. 

You’re halfway convinced that last night’s events were a product of your imagination, that your mind has felt so lonely that it conjured up the whole scenario. But when you step out of your bedroom and find the door of your parents’ bedroom only halfway closed, the way you have never left it before saying good night to Ellie earlier, you have to come to terms with the fact that this might actually be your reality. 

Ellie seems to be sound asleep, a lump under the covers, softly breathing, but when you head to the living area and switch on one of the smaller lamps, you’re met with the piercing glare of Joel. He’s still lying on the couch, much like you left him, still pale, still dark shadows under his eyes, but he’s much more awake now, his gaze following your every move. 

“Hey,” you say softly, sinking down on the same armchair that you sat in when you watched him last night while Ellie took a shower. You suppress a shudder at the way he regards you, his eyes flicking up and down your body, taking in your size, you presume, searching for weapons. Your gun is tucked into the waistband at the back of your pants, which you’re sure he’s already aware of. You don’t like the way he makes you feel, like somehow you’re intruding on him. You should have the upper hand, this is your home and he’s injured, you helped him for crying out loud, and here you are, nervously watching his every move. You did the right thing. It’s gonna be fine. 

“Where’s Ellie?” he asks, ignoring your greeting, his voice gruff. 

“Sleeping,” you reply, nodding your head to the bedroom door. “She’s okay, I promise.” 

Some of the tension seems to release from his body and he slumps back down a little, but the distrust in his expression when he looks at you doesn’t waver. Then again, you’re probably not much different. 

“Look,” you sigh, “I’m not playing some kind of game here. You came into my house, I saw that you needed help, so I helped.” You try to infuse your voice with as much confidence as you can. “Don’t make me regret that, okay?” 

He shrugs, a noncommittal grunt the only verbal answer. It could potentially be interpreted as a thanks, you guess. In a less tense situation, you’d probably grow annoyed by now. Shrugging yourself, you get to your feet and head to the kitchen. Anything to escape the way he’s watching your every movement.

“Hey, do you want coffee?” You don’t really want to offer him any, but you’d feel weird drinking it yourself without asking. 

He pipes up at the question, head turning in your direction, his face the most open that you’ve seen it yet. “You have coffee?” 

“Yeah.” That’s why I’m fucking asking. 

“I– yes.” A breath, a second of him not meeting your eyes. “Thanks.” 

You smile, small, fleetingly, busying yourself with the ground beans and the boiling water, reveling in the smell that slowly spreads throughout the room. It reminds you of happier times, when the world was still normal. 

He has pushed himself into a sitting position, breathing heavily, when you walk over to hand him the steaming cup, still careful to keep your distance. 

After you sit back down, the both of you stay silent for a few minutes. You enjoy the bitter taste on your tongue, the way you slowly feel your energy rising. 

“Does it hurt much?” you ask eventually, gesturing towards his stomach. 

Another grunt, the hint of a head shake. 

“So it does.” He opens his mouth, the protest most likely already on his tongue, and you raise an eyebrow. “I have painkillers, are you sure that you–”

“No.” It comes fast, his voice raised, no room for arguments.

You instinctively flinch back at the unexpected louder sound, the cup shaking in your grip. You set it down on the table in front of you. Have your hands free, just in case.

There’s a hint of regret in his eyes, his free hand slightly raised, palm open. He’s trying to calm you down, you realize. 

“Okay,” you breathe, working hard to keep your voice steady, “no painkillers, got it.” 

“Sorry,” he mutters, his face half hidden, words almost lost behind the cup. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“It’s alright,” you tell him as much as yourself. 

You’ve gotten jumpy, not used to loud sounds anymore, raised voices, not used to humans in general, you suppose. You hadn’t fully realized it until now, until there’s other humans around you again.

“Thank you,” he continues unexpectedly, “not just for the coffee, but– you know.” He’s struggling, the words not coming easily, but you think that he’s being earnest. “Patching me up.”

“Of course.” You nod hastily, your heart still beating a little too fast. 

Another moment passes in silence, both of you slowly sipping the coffee. He’s looking around, taking in his surroundings, eyes lingering on the closed wooden doors and the stairs leading up. You try not to get nervous about it. It’s normal that he would want to know more about where he is, after all. 

“This is the basement, right? Is it safe?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “No way to get in from outside.” As long as you stay inside, you’re safe.

He hums, appreciatively, you think.

“How long have you been living here?” 

“Always. It’s my parents’ house. I mean–” you laugh, but it comes out hollow, “we lived upstairs, obviously. But my dad was… kinda crazy. Or– not that crazy, I guess, all things considered.” Your lips curl into a wry smile. 

Your mind flashes back to long lectures about survival techniques, learning how to shoot, your father going on and on about first aid, hunting, all the things that you couldn’t have cared less about as a teenage girl, but were ingrained in your brain nonetheless. You’re grateful, now, but it’s laced with guilt about how often you snapped at your father, how often you told him he was paranoid, seeing dangers that weren’t there, that he was wasting your time. You couldn’t have known, the rational part of you argues. But you can never take it back now, the guilt whispers. 

When you look up, Joel’s eyes are on you, eyebrows raised in question. You shake your head, trying to clear it. Stay in the present.

“Sorry, what did you–?” 

Worry is painting his expression. “Are you okay?” 

Don’t show weakness. “Yeah, of course. Just spaced out for a second.” 

You force a smile onto your face and stand up rather abruptly, gathering both cups and putting them into the sink. Joel hasn’t moved, but you feel his eyes on you as you move. 

“Do you, um, do you want to shower, maybe? Or just wash up, I don’t know, how–” You gesture towards the dried bloodstain on his flannel, forcefully keeping your tone light. “I have clean clothes, too, if you want.” 

A shiver runs through you at the thought of going through your dad’s things, of someone else wearing them. He doesn’t need them anymore. He’s not coming back. 

You know that you’ve gone silent for too long again even before you see Joel’s expression. He doesn’t ask this time, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t place, something that almost looks like understanding. 

“Yeah, I guess cleaning up a bit would be nice. I– thank you. Again” 

His voice is gruff and he avoids your eyes. You think that he doesn’t like it, having to thank you. Owing you. 

Giving him a nod, you head to the bedroom, hoping not to disturb Ellie, but she’s awake already, her eyes glinting in the light that’s falling into the dark room from the living area. You clench your jaw, heading for one of the drawers, trying hard not to think about what you’re doing. It’s not like he ever wore this stuff, it was just sitting down here. It’s fine, you’re fine. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not about you,” Ellie says quietly from beside you, breaking through your racing thoughts. 

You turn towards her, confusion on your face. “What is?”

“Joel,” she shrugs, still keeping her voice low. “He’s like that with everyone. He’s a bit of an asshole, really.” She sounds fond, saying it, like it’s an endearing character trait. 

A surprised laugh escapes you. “I– okay, thanks, I guess.” 

She waves it away, swinging her feet out of the bed. “No, thank you for not murdering me in my sleep.” 

“Yeah, likewise.” You shake your head, still laughing to yourself. It’s so easy to like the girl, to feel like you already know her. 

You hand Joel a pile of clothes, purposefully avoiding to look at them too closely, explain where the towels are and he grumbles his approval before the bathroom door closes behind him. 

You release a breath and close your eyes for a second. You are undeniably warming up to Ellie, finding it almost impossible not to, but her companion is a different story. 

“Hey, do you drink coffee?” you ask in the direction of the bedroom. 

“Ew, no!” comes her reply as she steps out of the door, collecting the wild mess of hair on the top of her head and securing it in a ponytail.

Her offense at the mere suggestion makes you chuckle under your breath as you busy yourself with preparing breakfast in the form of porridge instead. She’s leaning against the doorframe, watching you, her eyes wide as she takes in the cupboards full of supplies. 

You’re glad that you don’t need anything from the storeroom, keeping that door in the corner firmly closed. You want to trust her, want to trust them, but a feeling of unease still lingers at the thought of letting them know just how much you have.

Instead, you voice another question, a thought that fills you with unease as well. 

“Hey,” you begin, keeping your eyes trained on the stove, “I’m sorry, but you and Joel, there– there isn’t anything weird going on, is there?” 

“Like what?” She sounds slightly defensive, but when you steal a glance at her, she’s eyeing you with curiosity. 

“I don’t know, like…” You shrug, stirring the mixture of water and oats, “you want to be here, he’s not forcing you to come with him or anything, right?” 

“No, don’t worry about that,” comes her reply, almost amused. It was a bit of a stupid question, when you think about it, considering how worried she was about him last night, how protective. 

“Okay,” you smile at her. You’re curious nonetheless, how they ended up together and where they’re headed, but it’s probably not really your place to ask. 

You divide the porridge into three bowls and hand her one, while you carry yours and one for Joel back to the living area and set them down on the wooden table. 

Ellie starts shoveling the food down immediately and you’re left wondering once more what happened to them and when they last ate something. 

“So…” Ellie begins, her mouth still half full, “you’re just down here with all this food? Because your dad stored it here, before… things went to shit?” 

You can’t blame her for her curiosity, you’re aware that you’ve probably found yourself in a better living situation than most people. Your thoughts go to the storeroom again, basically stuffed with enough supplies to last you multiple lifetimes, especially now that it’s just… No.

You hum in affirmation, not trusting your voice and you’re thankful that she’s too distracted by her breakfast to notice anything weird about your reaction. 

“So you don’t go out hunting or anything?” comes her next question. You freeze. 

You did go hunting, back when you cared about variance in the meals you prepared, about using fresh ingredients when you could. Until there was no need for that any more. 

You realize that Ellie is saying your name, not for the first time, judging from the look on her face. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, your hands tightening around the bowl. “No, I- I don’t go hunting.”

If she finds the situation weird, she shrugs it off impressively fast. 

She nods to herself, eating quietly for a minute, before she speaks up again. “So what do you… do? Down here all day?” 

“Uh…” What is it that you do all day? Time has been blurring together, days without anything happening repeating on a constant loop. You realize that you don’t remember, can’t talk of any activities that are part of your day. How long has it been like this?

You’re relieved from having to answer by Joel emerging from the bathroom, his face pale and his breaths going heavy. He has put on the sweatpants you gave him, but his torso is bare, the skin around the injury still an angry red. 

He sinks back down into the cushions with a heavy sigh and you quickly get to work, cleaning the wound once more and giving him more antibiotics before you redo the bandages and hope for the best. Your hands don’t shake as badly as they did last night. 

Ellie gets him some water and pushes his bowl of porridge into his hands, urging him to eat, before she turns to you. She’s trying to be strong, to hide her worry, but the pleading look in her eyes when she asks you if he’s gonna be okay tells a different story. 

“Of course,” you say, giving her what you hope to be a reassuring smile. 

Joel does look better after he’s eaten something, but his eyelids are drooping and after a few more minutes, his eyes close and his breath evens out. You do the dishes and check the cameras, calming down a bit more when you’re sure that everything seems to be quiet upstairs. 

When you return to the living area, Ellie is rummaging through her pack, muttering to herself, until she pulls a book out of, proudly turning the cover for you to read it. No pun intended - Volume Too.

She starts reading them to you while you settle back down with a second cup of coffee and you share her laughs, enjoying the way it makes her look lighter, allows her to be a kid who can laugh at stupid jokes. You ignore the sting it causes in your chest because you once knew someone who would have loved this book just as much as Ellie does.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[bimrwolf]

The Christmas Arrangement (Part 3)

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 10,996 warnings: 18+ minors dni :P summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: sigh i really love pathetic steve. you only get a tiny glimpse but sigh... also full transparency... conflict with these two will be so hard to write. Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (coming soon)

You absentmindedly played with hair on Steve’s chest. Neither one of you were naked, you had snuck one of his old Hawkins High t-shirts on while he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. It still managed to expose your underwear and you laughed when he had to run a hand over his face. 

He had settled on only wearing shorts and now you could really cherish his bare chest, running a finger over a few scars that looked strangely similar to his friend Eddie. 

To you, being like this… so domestic, made you wound up even more. “What you said today. Was it all true?” You asked softly. 

Your cheeks warmed up at his chuckle. “Which part?” 

You smirked, laying your chin on his chest so you could look at him. “That you had a giant crush on me when I started working for you.” 

He rolled his eyes. “We’re not in middle school. It wasn’t a crush.” 

“Did you want me to go on a date with you?” You shot back, an eyebrow raised. 

He frowned. “I didn’t just want to sleep with you if that’s what you’re getting at.” 

“That’s not what I was asking. I’m asking if you wanted to ever ask me to go to dinner with you.” You poked him playfully. 

He looked away, blushing, already giving you the answer you wanted. “‘Course I did,” he mumbled. 

You grinned, kissing his stomach. “Then you had a crush on me. And according to what you said to your friends, it was huge.” 

“I thought us having sex meant you would be less annoying.” He didn’t mean it because he was smiling. You took it as a term of endearment. 

You bit his shoulder. 

“Ow! What was that for?” He rubbed the spot your teeth grazed his skin. 

“Because you won’t admit you had a crush on me.” You pretended to pout. “Being mean has consequences, Mr. Harrington.” 

He no longer tried to attempt to hate the name. You had deemed it his kryptonite, making his face red. His smug smile made you wonder how he could be so shy yet so effortlessly cocky. “I did not have a crush on you. I was only hyper-aware of everything you did.” 

“Hyper-aware?” you repeated with a grin, leaning closer. “So you were staring at me in the skirt.”

Steve groaned again, this time with real defeat. “Okay, fine. Yes. I noticed the skirt. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you said smugly, planting a kiss on his jaw. “You’re lucky I think it’s cute, otherwise this would be a serious HR violation.”

He snorted, tugging you closer so your body was flush against his. “Yeah, because HR would really love hearing about this part.”

“It’s so cute to see you flustered,” you teased, trailing your fingers over his collarbone. 

He scoffed, his lips twitching as if he was fighting a smile. “Flustered? You think this is me flustered?”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “Absolutely. Look at you—you’re blushing.”

Steve sat up slightly, flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion. He hovered over you, his face just inches from yours. “Blushing, huh?” His voice was low, teasing. “You sure it’s not you who’s flustered now?”

You bit your lip, refusing to back down. “Not even a little. You, on the other hand…”

His gaze flicked to your mouth, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. “Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

Before you could retort, his lips found yours, cutting off whatever sarcastic remark was on the tip of your tongue. You sighed against his mouth, your arms sliding around his neck.

“Still think I’m the flustered one?” he murmured between kisses, his hand slipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt you were wearing.

“Mmm,” you answered stubbornly. 

Steve’s lips moved to your jaw, the slow press of his mouth sending shivers down your spine. He murmured, “Okay… I had a huge, massive, impossible-to-ignore crush on you. Are you satisfied?”

The weight of his admission settled over you, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You thought you’d been joking about the crush, but the way he looked at you now—like he was letting you in on some carefully guarded secret—made your chest ache.

You lifted his face from your neck, blinking. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel good,” you said softly, half-teasing, half-serious.

Steve shook his head, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I’m not saying it for you,” he admitted. “I’m saying it because it’s true. I mean, you were impossible to ignore.” He smirked. “I swear you lived to make my life harder.”

You laughed, though your throat felt tight. “You made it easy. You were such an ass sometimes.”

“I was not,” he protested. “I was the perfect picture of professionalism.” 

You narrowed your eyes, putting your hands on his chest. “You once made me rewrite a client report three times because I ‘missed the vibe.’”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “I didn’t know how else to keep you in my office longer. Sue me.”

His words made your stomach flip, warmth spreading across your chest. You tried to brush it off, but the truth of it sat heavy in your thoughts. How many of those little moments—the extra meetings, the lingering conversations—had been him trying to be close to you? And how many had you brushed off as just Steve being Steve?

Your hand traced absent patterns over his chest, your voice softer now. “You really liked me back then?”

Steve’s gaze softened, the teasing falling away. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I liked you a lot. Still do.”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch. You could feel the weight of his words settle in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. His lips ghosted your nose before flopping on his back. 

His arm draped over your stomach and you thought you could stay like this forever. “What will happen when we get back?” 

You could feel his muscles tense. His arm tightened ever so slightly around your stomach, but the comfortable rhythm of his breathing faltered. He stared at the ceiling, his jaw working as if he was chewing on the words he didn’t want to say.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice low, almost reluctant.

You turned your head to look at him, your fingers pausing their absent tracing over his chest. “What do you mean you don’t know? We can’t just… pretend this didn’t happen, Steve.”

He let out a sharp breath, his hand coming up to rub his face. “I’m not saying we pretend, alright? I just—I don’t know how to handle this back at work. Everything’s different there. It’s not as simple as just… being like this.”

Your brow furrowed, a flicker of frustration rising in your chest. “So what? It’s simple when we’re here, but it’s not when we go back? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, sitting up slightly, his arm pulling away from your stomach. His tone was still calm, but there was an edge to it, like he was trying to hold something back.

“Then explain it to me,” you urged, leaning up on your elbow. “Because right now, it just feels like you’re dodging the question.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “I’m not dodging it. I just—there’s a lot you don’t understand, alright?”

Your stomach twisted at his words. “What’s there to understand, Steve? Either this… whatever this is, matters, or it doesn’t.”

“It does matter,” he snapped, his voice sharp but not loud. His eyes softened almost immediately, and he sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It matters. You matter. That’s the problem.”

You blinked, the air in the room feeling heavier now. “How is that a problem?”

He looked at you then, his hazel eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you thought he might actually say it—whatever it was that was eating at him. But then he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “It just is.”

His words landed like a stone in your chest, and you sank back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Great. That clears it up,” you muttered, your voice laced with bitterness.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone softening.

“Do what?” you shot back, not looking at him.

“That thing where you get upset and shut me out,” he said, his hand hesitating near your arm before pulling back. “I’m trying here.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the warmth from earlier replaced with a tension that felt impossible to navigate.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you said finally, turning onto your side and pulling the blanket over yourself.

He didn’t respond right away, but you heard the soft rustle of him lying back down beside you. His arm didn’t reach for you this time, and the absence of his touch made your chest ache.

“Goodnight,” he murmured eventually, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

***

You woke to the faint light of morning filtering through the curtains, the early stillness of the house pressing in on you. The bed felt cold beside you, and when you reached out, your fingers met only empty sheets. Steve’s side was unmade, his pillow indented but no longer warm.

A flicker of irritation sparked in your chest, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at him or the lingering heaviness from the night before. Pushing the blanket off, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed at your face. You weren’t going to let his mood dictate yours today.

With more determination than usual, you rifled through your suitcase, pulling out clothes for the day. You usually found some excuse to slip into the bathroom to dress—privacy, politeness, whatever—but this time, you stayed right where you were. It wasn’t like Steve hadn’t seen you before, and a small, rebellious part of you wanted to prove a point.

You stripped out of the oversized Hawkins High t-shirt, tossing it onto the bed before pulling on a clean bra. The cool air against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but you ignored it as you grabbed your jeans.

That’s when the sound of the front door opening reached your ears, followed by the faint scuff of shoes being kicked off and the creak of the stairs. You didn’t bother rushing to finish dressing. Let him walk in. Let him see. You didn’t care.

The door pushed open just as you were tugging your shirt over your head, the hem catching briefly as you adjusted it into place. Steve stood in the doorway, his hair damp with sweat and his breathing still a little uneven from his run. His shirt clung to him, outlining the curve of his shoulders and the lean muscle of his chest.

For a moment, his eyes flicked over you, lingering just a second too long before he caught himself and looked away, clearing his throat. “Morning.” His voice was neutral, careful, as if he was testing the air between you.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you grabbed your socks from the suitcase and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling them on with deliberate slowness. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of an acknowledgment, not when the weight of last night still sat heavily in your chest.

Steve hesitated in the doorway, his hand braced on the frame like he was debating whether to step inside or turn back. Finally, he muttered, “I’ll shower,” and disappeared into his bathroom, leaving the door ajar behind him.

You stared at the open doorway for a moment, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. This thing between you—it was confusing and messy, and you weren’t sure how much more of his silence you could take.

But for now, you tucked it all away, focusing on tying your shoes with sharp, decisive motions. If he wasn’t going to talk, then neither were you.

Your ears pricked when you heard his clothes fall to the bathroom floor. The shower turned on. You pursed your lips. He was playing the same game you were. Acting like everything was normal but in reality, you were in a silent argument. 

You huffed, storming inside the bathroom. You could see him look taken aback out the corner of your eye. You made a point to dramatically get your toothbrush ready. You stared at him in the mirror, thankful for his glass doors. 

Steve rolled his eyes, turning so you only had a view of his backside. Perfectly good view of his stupidly perfect butt. Touché. 

You left the bathroom, sitting at the edge of the bed, arms crossed. 

The tension in the room was thick as Steve stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, water dripping from his hair and trailing down his chest. A towel hung low around his waist, and he made a point of not looking at you as he crossed to the dresser by the window.

You stayed planted on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, your frustration simmering just beneath the surface. If he wanted to pretend nothing was wrong, fine. Two could play that game.

“You always take this long to shower?” you asked, your tone deliberately sharp.

Steve didn’t pause as he pulled open a drawer, rummaging through it with a forced casualness. “Didn’t know there was a time limit. You keeping track now?”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “Just seems like you’ve been avoiding me since last night.”

He stilled for a fraction of a second before shaking his head and grabbing a pair of sweatpants. “Not everything’s about you, you know,” he said, stepping into the pants and letting the towel fall to the floor. “You also have been avoiding me.” 

“Right,” you muttered under your breath, your gaze flicking away as he turned to face you, his chest still bare. 

Steve leaned against the dresser, his damp hair curling slightly at the edges. He exuded the kind of casual ease that drove you up the wall. His hazel eyes flicked to where you sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, radiating irritation. He let out a dramatic sigh, dragging a hand through his hair.

“So, we’re still doing this?” he asked, his tone light but carrying that telltale edge of exasperation.

Your jaw tightened. “Doing what? Acting like nothing happened last night?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Pretty sure nothing did happen.”

The words hit harder than you wanted them to. “Oh, so now it’s nothing? Good to know where we stand, Steve.”

He froze mid-motion, his grip tightening on the shirt he’d grabbed. “That’s not what I meant,” he muttered, the defensive tone in his voice only making your chest ache more.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you snapped, standing abruptly. The bed creaked as you moved, but you didn’t care. “You’ve been doing a damn good job of avoiding anything that remotely resembles an answer.”

Steve tugged the shirt over his head, the motion rough, like he was trying to shove away the conversation along with it. “Maybe because I don’t have one,” he said, his voice clipped.

“You always have something to say, Steve,” you shot back, crossing your arms tighter. “So why not now? Not when it matters.”

His hands fell to his hips, and he stared at you, the tension radiating off him palpable. For a moment, the air between you crackled with frustration. Then he exhaled, his shoulders sinking slightly as the fight bled out of him.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he admitted, his tone quieter now, almost defeated.

The sudden shift in his demeanor threw you off, softening the edges of your frustration. You wanted to hold onto your irritation, but seeing him like this—so unsure—made it harder.

“I’m not trying to fight,” you said, your voice losing some of its sharpness. You sighed. “I was upset that you weren’t here when I woke up. I was worried you ran so you wouldn’t have to talk to me.”

Steve looked at you, his gaze softer but still guarded. “I’m sorry. I just…” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. And I’m sorry I don’t have an answer to your question from last night. Back at work… everything is complicated and I don’t want you to lose respect or people think that you’re only around for my pleasure. ”

“Steve,” you began, but he interrupted, stepping closer.

“You’re so smart and honestly, you’ve saved my ass with clients more times than I can count,” he said, a faint, weary smile tugging at his lips. “You know that?” 

Your lips parted. You blinked at him. You wanted to kiss him but you stopped yourself. You didn’t want to overwhelm him with what you two were, and kissing him so casually seemed like something a couple would do.

Steve’s lips parted like he wanted to say something else, but whatever words he had were swallowed by hesitation. Instead, he reached for his wallet on the dresser, pulling out a sleek black credit card and holding it out to you.

You blinked, the gesture throwing you for a loop. “What’s this for?”

“For the dress,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “Nancy’s picking you up soon, right? You’re going shopping for the gala. Just get whatever you want.”

You hesitated, looking at the card in his hand. “You think this makes everything okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost testing.

He met your gaze, his eyes earnest. “No. It doesn’t. But I want to do it anyway. Not to fix things—just because.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any trace of insincerity, but there was none. Finally, you reached out and took the card, sliding it into your pocket. “Fine,” you said. “But this doesn’t mean I’m not still upset with you.”

Steve’s lips twitched into a small smirk, a hint of his usual bravado returning. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.” He reached his hand out, brushing your hair back.

You leaned into his touch briefly. “This is really turning out to be the plot of Pretty Woman, you know” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re not a hooker.” 

“I mean… you are paying me and you did have sex with me–”

“Will you go before I find a way to make you be quiet?” Steve’s deadpan face didn’t quite match the glimmer in his eyes. 

You leaned in closer. “Mr. Harrington, you’re proving my point.” You grinned suggestively. 

“I meant that if you don’t go I might smother you with a pillow.” He smiled at you, setting his hand on your waist. “I’ll see you there. I have to help my mom with some last minute things for tomorrow.” He gave you a small squeeze before letting go. 

You nodded, already feeling flustered. As you headed for the door, you paused in the doorway, glancing back over your shoulder. “Oh, and Steve?”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the dresser.

“I noticed you watching earlier,” you said with a smirk, the edge of your irritation softening into something teasing.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Not my fault you decided to put on a show.”

“Careful, Mr. Harrington,” you called as you descended the stairs. “Keep this up, and I might have to charge you extra.”

His voice followed you, warm and teasing. “Worth every penny.”

As you stepped outside to meet Nancy, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. 

***

Stepping into the shop felt like walking into a scene from a holiday movie. Twinkling fairy lights were strung along the racks of dresses, their warm glow reflecting off sequins and satin. A garland of pine and red ribbon framed the entrance, and the faint scent of cinnamon and cedar hung in the air.

The floor was covered in a plush cream carpet that muffled your footsteps, and soft Christmas music played in the background, the gentle hum of Bing Crosby’s voice blending with the quiet rustle of fabric.

A small tree decorated with miniature bows and glittering ornaments stood in one corner, and near the counter, a tray of cookies and a pot of hot cocoa invited customers to linger.

The dresses were arranged in neat, color-coded rows, each one seeming more glamorous than the last. Full-length mirrors in silver frames lined the walls, reflecting the soft glow of the lights and making the shop feel larger, almost magical. It was festive and cozy, but not overdone—a perfect balance that made you feel like something special was waiting just for you.

Your arm played as a rack, holding the few dresses that caught your eye. 

Nancy handed you another dress from the rack. “This one might work. It’s classic, but not boring.”

You held up the dark green gown she’d chosen, the silk fabric catching the light. It was beautiful, but your mind was too preoccupied to really focus. You hummed noncommittally, hanging it over your arm and pretending to browse.

Nancy noticed. “Alright, what’s up?” she asked, leaning against the rack. “You’ve been quiet.”

You hesitated, fingers skimming a sequined dress you weren’t really looking at. “Steve and I… had a little disagreement,” you admitted.

Nancy raised an eyebrow, encouraging you to continue.

“I brought up what happens when we get back to work,” you said, your voice low. “About us. You know, making it official—or at least not hiding it.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she stayed silent, letting you get it out. You wondered if she thought it was suspicious that you had never talked about it before. 

“He got weird about it,” you continued, sighing. “Dodged the question, acted like it was too complicated. I don’t know. I just… I don’t get it. Things feel so easy when we’re here. Why does it have to change just because we’re not at his house anymore?”

Nancy’s lips pressed together thoughtfully as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Steve has a history of… being cautious,” she said carefully.

“Cautious?” You turned to her, frowning.

“Yeah. When it comes to relationships, I mean,” she clarified. “It’s not that he doesn’t care—it’s the opposite. He cares too much, and it messes with his head. I think he’s scared of screwing it up. Again.”

Your chest tightened at her words. “Again?”

Nancy hesitated, her eyes flickering away for a moment. “The last time he got serious with someone… it didn’t end well. He cared more than she did, and she ended up breaking his heart. He tried to date after but none of them stuck. It was worse after his dad died.”

“Someone broke his heart?” It was a little unbelievable to you. The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and unspoken. But then it clicked. The look in her eyes, the careful way she was speaking—it was her. Nancy.

You felt your stomach twist as the realization sank in. She didn’t need to say it outright; the pieces were all there. 

“Oh,” you said softly, the single word carrying far more weight than you intended.

Nancy glanced at you, her expression apologetic. “It was a long time ago,” she said quietly. “And I know I hurt him, but I’ve seen how he is with you. It’s different. He’s different.”

You tried to school your expression, but it was hard to process everything all at once. Steve’s reluctance to make things official suddenly felt sharper, clearer, like a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

“I didn’t mean to bring it up to make you feel bad,” Nancy said, reaching out to squeeze your arm gently. “I just thought… maybe it helps to know why he’s being so difficult.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts tangled. Steve’s hesitation made more sense now, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less sharp. You didn’t want to be the person who had to convince him you were worth the risk.

Nancy gave you a small smile. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re good for him. He needs someone who challenges him, keeps him grounded. You do that.”

You managed a faint smile in return. “Thanks, Nancy.”

As she turned back to the rack, your fingers brushed over the other dresses. A comfortable silence filled the space between you two. 

Nancy held up a sleek black gown against herself, giving it a critical once-over in the mirror. “Too simple?” she asked, tilting her head.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You could wear a garbage bag, and it would still look elegant. But no, that one’s perfect.”

Nancy smiled, setting the dress aside. “Thanks. I’m so sad that you’re going back to Chicago in a few days.”

You smiled, nodding in agreement. “Who are you going to see in Indianapolis tomorrow?” 

Nancy was looking at another similar dress she had picked up but in red. She glanced at you. “My brother, Mike and his fiancée, Jane. He’s going through law school now so he doesn’t come around a lot. He’s like a freaky genius when he applies himself.” 

“How did they meet?” You asked curiously. 

Nancy seemed to ignore your gaze purposefully, her jaw tightening. “It’s kind of a long story. But Jonathan’s step-dad and mom adopted Jane. I don’t know. They both weirdly understand one another like no one else.” 

“And you and Jonathan?” you asked, picking through the rack beside her, “how did you two become a thing?”

Nancy’s smile softened as she leaned against the edge of the display rack, her eyes distant like she was replaying a memory. “I kind of got with him right after me and Steve broke up,” she admitted. “Then he and his family moved off to California to get away from Hawkins for a bit and I think it put a strain on our relationship. We broke up when I left for college. It was mutual at first, but… I think I was scared, you know? Scared to be tied down, scared to figure out who I was without him.”

You nodded, leaning against the rack with her. “Makes sense. So, what changed?”

She let out a quiet laugh, blushing. “One day, I was in my dorm, and there was this knock on the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I thought it was my roommate’s friend or something. But when I opened the door… there he was. Jonathan.”

Your eyes widened. “He just showed up?”

Nancy nodded, her voice softening. “Yeah. We hadn’t seen each other in months, and I could tell he’d been working himself up to it. He looked… I don’t know, lost, I guess. And then he just started talking. Saying how much he missed me, how stupid it was that we broke up. He told me he wanted to be in my life forever, even if it scared him, even if it wasn’t easy.”

Your chest tightened at her words, the rawness of the moment she described stirring something deep inside you.

“What did you do?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“I cried,” Nancy admitted, laughing softly. “And then I told him I missed him too. I’d been trying to convince myself I was fine without him, but the truth was, I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be.”

You smiled, imagining the scene. “That’s… kind of perfect, actually.”

Nancy shrugged, her eyes glinting with warmth. “It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And I think that’s why it worked. We had to figure out how to be together again, but we both wanted it enough to make it happen.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if that kind of honesty was possible for you and Steve. If either of you could step out of your own fears long enough to admit what you wanted.

Nancy reached for another dress, her voice lighter now. “Anyway, that’s my grand love story. What about this one?” She handed you a dress. 

The dress seemed to jump out at you the moment your fingers brushed over the silky black fabric. Its simplicity was striking: the body was sleek and fitted, the hem pooling slightly like liquid midnight, and at the top, a crisp white bow perched elegantly just above the sweetheart neckline. It was classic, timeless, yet somehow playful—the kind of dress you couldn’t help but imagine twirling in.

You held it up to yourself in the mirror. Nancy caught the movement and glanced over, her eyes widening. “Oh, wow. You have to try it on.”

“It’s a little… dramatic, don’t you think?” you said, though the dress had already captured your heart.

Nancy shook her head emphatically. “Nope. It’s perfect. Go.” She gestured toward the fitting rooms, grinning.

You hesitated for only a second before nodding and heading for the fitting room. Once inside, you slipped into the dress, the fabric cool and smooth against your skin. It fit like a dream, hugging your curves in all the right places while the bow added a whimsical touch that somehow didn’t feel out of place. You turned in the mirror, the long line of the dress elongating your frame and making you feel… well, like you’d stepped out of a classic movie.

When you stepped out of the fitting room, Nancy promptly choked.“Oh my god,” she managed after a moment, fanning herself dramatically. “No wonder Steve can’t stop staring at you.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. “What? He doesn’t stare.” You knew he stared but you didn’t think he did when you weren’t looking. 

Nancy raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, please. He always looks like he’s completely captivated. And honestly? I get it. You look amazing.”

You turned back to the mirror, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. The dress really was something special, and hearing Nancy’s words only made you feel that much more self-conscious.

Nancy stepped up beside you, leaning against the mirror. “So,” she said casually, “when did it happen?”

“When did what happen?” you asked, still studying your reflection.

“You know. When did you start liking him?” Nancy’s tone was light, but there was a curiosity in her eyes that made you pause.

You blinked, opening your mouth to answer but finding that no words came. “I… don’t know,” you admitted finally. “I don’t think there was a specific moment. It just… happened, I guess.”

Nancy smiled knowingly,

“Is that bad?” you asked, heat rushing to your face. You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, guilt tugging at your chest. Steve had been so open—admitting that he knew exactly when he started liking you, no hesitation. But you? You didn’t have a clue.

Nancy’s smile softened, her head tilting slightly as she watched you. “Of course not,” she said gently. “It’s not like there’s a rulebook for this kind of thing. Sometimes it’s not about one big moment. Sometimes it’s… gradual. Sneaky, even.”

You turned back to her, still fiddling with the hem of the dress. “But he remembered. He told me he started liking me the day I walked into his office.”

Nancy leaned against the mirror, arms crossed, her gaze steady. “Steve’s always been the type to overthink things like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong—when he falls, he falls hard. But not knowing exactly when doesn’t mean your feelings are any less real.”

You let her words sink in, chewing on the inside of your cheek. It was true—you’d never had a lightbulb moment, never felt like you’d been hit by a proverbial truck. It had just… crept up on you. Somewhere between the banter, the stolen glances, and the way his voice softened when he spoke your name.

“It just feels unfair,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Nancy. “He’s so sure. And I—”

Nancy placed a hand on your arm, cutting you off gently. “Hey, stop beating yourself up. If anything, it makes sense. You were probably too busy pretending you didn’t like him to notice when you actually started to.”

You laughed softly despite yourself, the tension easing just a little. “Maybe you’re right,” you admitted, glancing back at the mirror.

“Of course I’m right,” Nancy said, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Now, are we buying that dress or what? Because if Steve sees you in it, I’m pretty sure he’s going to lose his mind.”

The warmth in your chest swelled as you smoothed your hands over the fabric, the thought of Steve’s reaction sending a flutter through your stomach. Maybe Nancy was right. Maybe it didn’t matter when it started. What mattered was what you felt now.

And in this moment, wearing this dress, you couldn’t deny just how much you wanted him to see you in it. Or how much you wanted him to tear it off of you. Both would be okay. 

You handed Steve’s credit card to the cashier, the shiny black rectangle almost mocking you as you slid it across the counter. Nancy leaned against the register, arms crossed, giving you a pointed look. You weren’t sure if it was judgment or amusement—or maybe, worst of all, both.

“What?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Nancy’s lips twitched like she was fighting a smirk. “Nothing. Just wondering if this is the part where you tell me Steve offered to buy out the whole store.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not my fault he insisted,” you muttered, even as heat crept up your neck.

The cashier returned the card with a polite smile, and you tucked it back into your wallet, exhaling softly. Nancy was still watching you with that knowing look, and you were just about to ask her to quit it when she straightened up.

“You want to get ready at my place?” she asked, her tone shifting to something lighter. “Robin’s coming over. She usually hates going to these things, but I tempted her with wine.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “At least she knows what she wants.”

“She made me promise it’d be red,” Nancy added with a grin. “Apparently, it’s ‘fancy people’ wine. She’s so dramatic. You should have seen her and Steve when they worked at the video store together. Drama Queen central.”

“That checks out,” you said, grabbing the bag with your dress inside. Your mind started to wander at the thought of what Steve was like when he was younger. Was he always the playful type? “Sure, I’ll come over. Steve said to meet him at the gala.” 

Nancy’s grin widened as she looped her arm through yours, steering you toward the exit. 

You smiled, but your thoughts drifted as you walked. The dress hung heavier in the bag than it should have. You wondered how Steve would react when he saw you in it. If he’d be smug, surprised, or something softer, something just for you.

Nancy nudged you gently. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just wondering if Robin’s ‘fancy’ wine is going to be boxed,” you deflected, earning a laugh from her.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the anticipation drumming beneath your skin. 

***

“Holy shit. You are hot.” Robin proclaimed. She had settled on a green pantsuit with a black jacket. Her hair was braided. She looked pretty, you thought. 

You rolled your eyes. “Someone please take away the wine.” 

Robin laughed. “Oh babe, this is not the wine speaking. This is the truth. No wonder why Steve is so obsessed with you!” 

“That’s what I said!” Nancy shrieked. She was putting on earrings that dangled like gold icicles. 

You tucked your chin into your chest, smiling bashfully. “This feels so weird,” you admitted. They wouldn’t know the weight behind the words. How just a few days ago you two were arguing over a tagline for a client and suddenly you were his not-so-fake girlfriend? Even if it wasn’t official, so many lines were crossed. You could never go back to being just his intern. 

Robin scoffed. “What’s weird with wearing his credit card in dress form? Do you know how cheap that man is?”  

Yes, you thought. He once made you call a restaurant for a refund because they forgot one side on a $200 order for the office. “That’s not what I meant,” you smiled weakly. “It’s complicated.” You almost winced at the word, feeling guilty that you had gotten aggravated Steve had used it last night. But now, you realized, he was right. 

How were you to explain to anyone about any of this? You felt ashamed you were lying to Nancy and Robin. They seemed nice. And they seemed like they cared so much about Steve. A week ago you didn’t even know he had human relationships with other beings. 

“The best kind of romances are,” Robin said with a cheesy smile. 

Nancy rolled her eyes, taking the glass of wine from her friend. “Bad advice, Rob.” She looked at you as you finished putting on your shoes. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Tell him whatever you’re thinking.” 

You let out a long exhale and half-hearted smile. Your chest was tight again as the lie bubbled inside you. You were afraid of one wrong move and it would finally burst. 

***

City Hall loomed in the distance, its architecture a stately blend of old-world charm and timeless grandeur. Hawkins had always surprised you that way—unassuming on the surface but filled with treasures if you knew where to look. 

Even as someone who had spent time in places like Chicago, there was something about Hawkins that felt irreplaceable. It was a hidden gem, the kind of place that didn’t need towering skyscrapers or sprawling cityscapes to feel special.

As you stepped inside, the soft hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of champagne glasses, creating an air of understated elegance. The polished marble floors gleamed beneath the glow of strategically placed chandeliers, their light refracting off crystal accents to cast delicate patterns across the room.

The decor was simple yet refined. Crisp white linens draped over long banquet tables lined the walls, each adorned with arrangements of ivory roses and greenery. Golden candelabras stood at intervals, their flickering flames casting a warm, inviting glow that complemented the muted tones of the space.

Even the waitstaff added to the air of effortless sophistication, weaving through the room with trays of champagne flutes and bite-sized appetizers. It was hard not to marvel at how Hawkins managed to pull this off—classy, yet entirely its own. No big city could replicate this.

The soft hum of chatter filled the air as you navigated the bustling room, weaving through clusters of people engaged in polite conversation. Your gaze swept the space until it landed on Steve. He stood near a corner of the room, laughing warmly with a group of older attendees, his shoulders relaxed, one hand tucked casually into his pocket.

There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, equal parts approachable and self-assured. It was a side of him you didn’t often see in the office, where the weight of deadlines and clients sometimes dimmed his natural ease.

As if sensing your gaze, Steve looked up, his smile faltering for a brief moment before softening into something warmer—something just for you. His hazel eyes widened slightly as he took you in, his awe almost palpable as his gaze swept over your dress. He didn’t even try to hide it, his lips parting as if he’d been momentarily struck speechless. 

You made your way over to him, the murmurs around you fading into the background. “Hey,” you greeted softly, your voice cutting through the buzz of the room.

“Hey,” he said back, his tone uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes didn’t leave yours, lingering for a beat longer than necessary before finally breaking away. “You look…” He paused, his words seemingly caught in his throat before he let out a breathless chuckle. “Beautiful.”

A blush warmed your cheeks, but you played it off with a teasing smile. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve grinned, his confidence returning as he straightened slightly. “Come on, let me show you around,” he said, gesturing toward the far side of the room. “They’ve got some pretty interesting stuff up for auction this year.”

You fell into step beside him as he led you through the crowd, pointing out various displays that ranged from antique vases to hand-painted holiday décor. His voice was light, easy, as he described each item with just enough enthusiasm to keep you engaged.

A mix of art pieces, jewelry, and vintage collectibles caught your eye, each labeled with elegant calligraphy on small white cards.

Steve pointed out a few items, explaining their significance or who had donated them. His voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret just with you. Then your gaze landed on something that made you pause—a delicate charm bracelet displayed on a deep blue cushion.

The bracelet was silver, its charms shaped like intricate snowflakes, each one unique. The craftsmanship was stunning, and the way the light caught on the dainty designs made it look almost magical.

“This is beautiful,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

Steve followed your gaze, his expression softening when he saw what had caught your eye. “It suits you,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “The snowflakes, I mean.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, you know.”

He smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Maybe I just like giving them to you.”

You nudged your hip against his, his hand quickly sliding to your waist to keep you there. “Where were those compliments after meetings with clients?” 

He looked away, ashamed, and pointed back at the bracelet. “I mean it’s just like you, it looks delicate—”

Your eyebrows shot up, cutting him off. “Are you saying I’m fragile?” 

“What?” He snapped his head to look down at you, his grip tightening as if he was scared you’d step away. “No, that’s not what I was meaning—”

“I’d like to remind you. Who saved your ass last week when you froze during the Q&A in one of our client meetings?” You were trying, and failing at biting back a grin. This was just too fun to mess with him now that things were incredibly different between the two of you. 

Steve groaned, his free hand dragging down his face. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t freeze. I paused for dramatic effect.”

You let out a snort, unable to help yourself. “Sure, Mr. Harrington. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

Steve’s expression changed into the same expression he gave you last night while teasing you until you unravelled. His eyes clouded. “What I was trying to say,” he started, his voice low, “is that it looks delicate, but it’s not. Snowflakes are stronger than they seem.”

Your smirk faltered, replaced by something softer as his words sank in. “Oh,” you said quietly, your teasing edge dissolving.

Steve stepped closer, his hand brushing yours lightly as he tilted his head to meet your eyes. “Kind of like you,” he added, his voice just above a whisper.

You looked up at him, your breath hitching at the sincerity in his gaze. For a moment, you forgot about the room around you, the hum of the gala fading into the background.

“Stop,” you said softly. 

“Stop what?” He gave you a cheeky smile. 

You bit your lip, leaning back to fully look at him. “Stop looking at me like you want to kiss me.” 

“Are you trying to threaten me if that’s exactly what I want to do?” His finger ghosted your chin, making you shiver. “Maybe I am,” you said. 

Steve’s grin widened, the corners of his mouth curling in that infuriatingly charming way he had perfected. “So, what happens now? You gonna report me to HR for inappropriate behavior?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile that threatened to break free. “I don’t know, Steve. This might finally be the straw that gets you fired.”

“Fired?” He placed a dramatic hand on his chest, leaning closer. “Not if I tell HR that you’ve been staring at me all night like you’re undressing me with your eyes.”

Your jaw dropped, and you smacked his arm, laughing despite yourself. “I was not!”

He chuckled, grabbing your hand before you could hit him again. “Sure you weren’t.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a moment of tenderness slipping through the teasing. 

You wanted to kiss him. Badly. To taste him again. But you restrained yourself. 

Before either of you could say more, a voice crackled over the microphone near the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, just a quick announcement—Santa will be arriving in thirty minutes to visit with the children!”

You turned toward the sound, spotting Steve’s mom holding the mic with an amused smile. She glanced your way and gave a little wave.

You gave Steve a slow once-over, tilting your chin in mock assessment. “See, you need to be careful. Santa will be here in thirty minutes. Should I tell him you’ve been naughty?”

Steve offered a weak smile as his mother winked at him while walking off the stage. You felt Steve stiffen beside you, his hand sliding from your waist as he stood straighter. That guilty look in his eye could only mean trouble.

“What?” you asked, your suspicion immediate.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his grin turning sheepish. “About that... I am Santa.”

You stared at him, your mouth falling open. “You? Santa? You’re kidding.”

He shook his head, biting back a laugh. “I wish I was. Every year. It’s like a family tradition or something, and my mom roped me into it again.”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “Oh, this is too good. Steve Harrington in a Santa suit? Do the kids know they’re about to meet the hottest Santa ever?”

Steve’s apprehension immediately evaporated, smirking, leaning in closer. “You think I’m the hottest Santa ever?”

“Don’t push it,” you retorted, poking his chest. “And please tell me you at least practiced your ‘Ho, ho, ho.’”

His lips twitched. “Do you want a preview?”

“God, no,” you said, laughing as you tried to step back. “Spare me.”

He caught your hand, pulling you back toward him. “Come on. You’re helping me get ready.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What, like an elf? Absolutely not.”

Steve’s grin turned devious. “No elf ears required, promise. But I could use someone to make sure my beard’s straight. Plus, moral support.”

You sighed dramatically, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But if you expect me to call you ‘Santa,’ you’re dreaming.”

“Noted,” he said with a laugh, tugging you gently toward a side door. As you followed, he shot you a sly glance over his shoulder. “But, for the record, you’d make a sexy Mrs. Claus.”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder lightly.

Steve led you through the hall and up a flight of stairs, his hand lingering lightly at the small of your back. The faint buzz of the gala faded behind you, replaced by the quiet creak of an old door as he pushed it open.

The room was simple, functional—a large mirror dominated one wall, and a rack of costumes stood in the corner, the crimson Santa suit hanging front and center like the star of the show.

You raised an eyebrow as you stepped inside, gesturing to the suit. “Well, you weren’t kidding. This is... something.”

It was an impressive getup: rich crimson velvet, trimmed with plush white fur. A thick black belt with a golden buckle hung from a hook nearby, along with the iconic hat and boots.

Steve crossed the room and picked up the jacket, holding it out in front of him. “It’s a lot, right?”

You smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s missing a little something. Maybe a rhinestone belt? Or some sequins? Really make it pop.”

He groaned, tossing the jacket over the back of a chair. “You’re already making this worse.”

“Worse?” you teased, stepping closer. “I’m here to make sure Santa is in top shape for the big debut.”

You stepped closer, grabbing the jacket off the chair. “Alright, Mr. Claus. Arms up.”

Steve turned to face you, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re enjoying this way too much” He raised his arms obediently, his expression one of mock annoyance as you slid the jacket onto him. The fabric hugged his shoulders in a way that had no business being as flattering as it was. 

“You know,” you said, your tone teasing but your pulse quickening, “this really works on you. Hot Santa could be your next career move.”

Steve’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “Is that a compliment or just your not-so-subtle way of saying I’m irresistible?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you shot back, but your voice wavered slightly as he leaned in, his hazel eyes darkening with mischief.

“Too late,” he murmured, his hand catching yours as you reached for the belt. “You keep touching me like that, and we might have to cancel Santa’s appearance altogether.”

Your breath caught, your eyes flicking to his lips. “Steve…”

“What?” he said, his voice low, teasing. “You’re the one getting me all flustered.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you against him as the plush fabric of the Santa jacket pressed between you.

The heat of his kiss sent a shiver down your spine, and you let yourself melt into him for a moment, your fingers curling into his lapels. But when he nipped at your bottom lip, a soft sound escaped your throat, and you broke away, breathless.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, your forehead resting against his.

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice husky as his thumb brushed along your hip. “Dangerously distracting, actually.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a grin. “You know, you’re not very convincing as a wholesome Santa figure right now.”

Steve chuckled, his lips ghosting along your jaw as his hands slid up your sides. “I’m off duty for another fifteen minutes. Plenty of time to be a little… less wholesome.”

Your heart raced as his mouth found the spot just below your ear, making your knees wobble. “Steve…”

“Say the word, and I’ll stop,” he murmured against your skin.

You wanted to say something, to tease him or push him away, but instead, your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging lightly. He groaned, his hands tightening on your waist as he kissed you again, harder this time.

He kissed your chin, then your jaw, and then his mouth found your neck. His teeth grazed the soft skin. You should push him away but only soft whimpers came out of your mouth. His hands had made their way to their rightful spot on your bottom, squeezing gently. 

He was the one who finally broke away, but something from his expression told you everything you needed to know. He didn’t want to. He licked his lips, smiling shyly, looking away as if he was trying to recollect himself. 

It was cute when he did that. At the moment, he could be so arrogant and confident but then at other moments he looked like a school boy who had no clue how to talk to girls. You kissed his cheek before grabbing the rest of the suit to help him get in. 

He turned toward the rack, grabbing the belt and hat. “Alright, how do I look now?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “You’re missing the beard.”

Steve groaned, reaching for the dreaded white fluff. “This thing is the worst.”

“Let me help,” you said, taking it from him and stepping closer again.

As you adjusted the elastic band, your fingers lingered near his jaw, and you couldn’t resist brushing your thumb lightly over his stubble. He caught your wrist, his gaze searching yours.

“You’re really testing me,” he said, his voice low.

“Good thing you’re Santa,” you teased. “Patience is kind of your thing.”

He smirked, leaning in to steal one more kiss. “Patience, huh? You sure about that?”

Before you could respond, he crossed the room in two quick steps, grabbed your hand, and tugged you toward the oversized chair by the mirror. “C’mon,” he said with a mischievous grin, plopping himself down and patting his lap. “I need help getting into character.”

You blinked, incredulous. “You want me to sit on your lap?”

“Only way this works,” he teased, shrugging nonchalantly. His hand rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers drumming idly, but the playful spark in his eyes was anything but casual.

“Steve Harrington–”

“Santa Claus.” He quickly corrected you.

You scoffed. “Mr. Claus.” You crossed your arms. “This feels like a trap.”

“Trap?” He gasped, feigning offense. “It’s tradition. Totally professional. Pure holiday spirit. Come on, sit down.”

Rolling your eyes, you relented, lowering yourself onto his lap carefully, your hands resting on his shoulders for balance. His hands settled on your waist, firm but easy, and his grin widened like he’d just won something. 

“Alright, fine,” you said. “What now?”

“Now you tell me what you want,” he said, leaning back slightly. “And be honest. I’m very generous this time of year.”

You tapped your chin, playing along. “Okay. I want a boss who isn’t a complete pain in the ass.”

Steve snorted, his grip tightening playfully on your waist. “Wow, that’s festive. Anything else? World peace, maybe?”

“Oh, and a boss who doesn’t hog the office coffee pot,” you added, smirking. “You’re a serial offender, Mr. Harrington.”

“Who is this Mr. Harrington?” He asked. 

You slightly nudged him, letting out an exasperated sigh. “He’s a freak who has a thing for skirts.” 

Steve’s laugh was deep and playful as he tilted his head, the Santa hat askew in a way that only made him look more annoyingly handsome. “A thing for skirts, huh? Sounds like something Steve Harrington might do. But me? I’m just Santa Claus.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at his ridiculous attempt to stay in character. “Oh, so Santa has no clue about Steve Harrington’s behavior? None at all?”

“Not a one,” he said, shaking his head solemnly. “But he sounds like trouble. I mean, hogging the coffee pot? Borderline criminal.”

You snorted, playing along. “And don’t forget the staring. The guy’s a menace. Should be on some kind of watchlist.”

Steve gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as if deeply offended. “I have to say, I’m disappointed in him. What kind of boss gets distracted in meetings?”

“Oh, the kind who claims to be ‘observational’ when he’s very clearly not,” you shot back, leaning slightly closer.

Steve’s smirk deepened, his hands tightening ever so slightly on your waist. “Maybe I’ll have to add him to the naughty list. What do you think?”

“I think he’s been on it for years,” you teased, your fingers toying with the fur trim of his jacket.

“Well, that settles it,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “Steve Harrington’s officially on my naughty list. Now, what about you?”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “What about me?”

“Any confessions to make while you’re sitting on Santa’s lap?” His grin widened, mischief dancing in his hazel eyes.

You huffed, pretending to think. “Well, I guess I did let my boss think I didn’t notice him blushing every time I caught him looking at me.”

Steve froze for half a second, and then he laughed, low and warm. “Caught me, huh? Santa’s gonna need some elaboration there.”

“Nice try,” you said, poking his chest. “You’re supposed to know everything. Isn’t that the whole deal with Santa?”

Steve shrugged, his smirk impossible to resist. “Maybe Santa just likes hearing you admit it.”

You were about to fire back when he leaned closer, his nose brushing yours. “So,” he said softly, his tone dropping into something more genuine, “what do you really want for Christmas?”

The teasing edge in his tone softened just enough to make your heart skip. You looked at him, your smile faltering slightly. “I don’t know,” you said, trying to deflect. “What about you? What does Santa want for Christmas?”

His smirk faded into something quieter, his hazel eyes searching yours. “That’s easy,” he said. “I want to take you on a real date when we’re back in Chicago.”

You blinked. “Santa or Steve?” 

He titled his head. “What do you think?”

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. “A real date?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone earnest. “No fake dates for my mom or friends. Just us. Dinner, maybe a movie. Something normal.”

You hesitated, your fingers unconsciously curling into the fabric of his jacket. “Steve…”

“What?” he said, his voice gentler now. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

You glanced away, your thoughts swirling. “I don’t know if I can be normal about this,” you admitted quietly. “I mean, everything about us started as… well, not normal. You were right when I asked about it last night. It’s all… complicated.”

“Exactly,” he said, his hand shifting to cup your chin and turn your face back toward him. “So let’s change that. Let’s make it normal. You and me, no pretense, no pretending. Just something real. I should have reacted differently last night. But I was scared. I had to think about it from two perspectives. Professionally and personally. Professionally, I respect you and what you offer to the company. I didn’t want others to think you’re there for me to ‘stare at’ because you are much more than a pretty face. But personally, you drive me so insane in the best way possible.”

His words made your chest ache in the best way, and you felt a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You sound awfully sure about this,” you teased, though your voice was softer now.

“I am,” he said without hesitation. “Look, I know I’ve been… not great at talking about this stuff. But I’m sure about you. About wanting this.”

You studied his face, the earnestness in his expression making your heart squeeze. “Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay?” he echoed, his smile spreading slowly.

“Okay,” you giggled.

His grin softened, turning into something warmer as he tilted his head, studying you. “So, we’re both hopeless, then?”

“Seems like it,” you murmured, the tension in the room thickening as his gaze flickered to your lips.

“Good thing I’m Santa,” he said after a beat, his voice low, teasing again but tinged with something deeper. “Pretty sure I’ve got some magic for situations like this.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably as your heart hammered against your ribs.

“Yeah,” he replied, his hands sliding up to cradle your hips as he leaned forward, his nose brushing yours. “For starters, I’d say this moment could use another kiss.”

“Steve–” you began, but your protest was swallowed by the warmth of his lips pressing against yours.

The kiss was slower this time, deliberate, like he was trying to pour all the unspoken things into it. The fake beard tickled your face as your lips pushed and pulled. Your fingers curled into the soft fur trim of his jacket, holding him close as his hands moved up to frame your face, thumbs brushing your jaw. 

When you pulled apart you both laughed. This was all utterly ridiculous. But it all felt right. You wiped his swallowed lips, realizing you had left obvious kiss marks all over his face. 

Steve’s hand caught your wrist. “You know, Santa would like to tell you that your dress might be the reason you end up on his naughty list.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

His grin turned wicked, his fingers brushing against your skin. “If you keep looking at me like that, it might not be the last, either.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. You pulled at his beard, the elastic stretching before letting it go. “Are you done flirting, Santa? You’ve got kids waiting downstairs.”

Steve yelped, rubbing his cheek. Regardless, he kissed your temple. 

The both of you stood up from the chair. He dramatically puffed out his chest and held his belt, giving you a small wink as he left the room. 

***

The cheerful hum of the holiday festivities filled the room, children’s laughter blending with the soft notes of carols drifting through the air. Across the room, Steve sat on a grand chair, dressed in his Santa suit and surrounded by kids eagerly waiting to share their Christmas wishes. His laugh was warm and easy, his gestures animated as he played his part perfectly.

You stood near the refreshment table with his mom, watching him work the crowd with that effortless charm. He really did look good, even in the ridiculous costume, and something about seeing him like this made your chest ache.

“He’s got his father’s smile,” his mom said suddenly, her voice tinged with something bittersweet.

You turned to her, surprised by the comment. She was holding a glass of champagne, her gaze fixed on Steve with a softness that only a mother could have.

“Really?” you asked, tilting your head. You tried to remember the photo on the desk. 

She nodded, her lips curving into a small, nostalgic smile. “Oh, yes. You know, his father used to play Santa every year. He was so good with the kids. Steve... he reminds me of him more and more these days.”

Your gaze shifted back to Steve, who was helping a little girl onto his lap, her face lighting up with pure joy as he spoke to her. It was easy to imagine him as the kind of dad who’d go all out for his own kids someday. You would think it’s because as a kid his own dad didn’t really give it to him. But no, you were starting to understand that Steve was just that type of guy. 

You didn’t want to break the illusion his mother had of Steve’s dad. You were sure she noticed his absence from what Steve had told you. Regardless, that was still her husband. “I guess it runs in the family,” you said softly, trying to match her wistful tone.

His mom chuckled lightly, but then her smile faltered, and she hesitated before speaking again. “It’s been good to see him like this. Enjoying himself, even if it’s just for tonight. He’s been... preoccupied lately.”

Your stomach tightened at her words, but you kept your expression neutral. “Preoccupied?”

She sipped her champagne, her eyes flicking to yours briefly before returning to Steve. “Yes, with the business. He’s been thinking about selling it—or quitting altogether. He hasn’t made any decisions yet, but it’s been weighing on him for a while. To be honest, I thought he would’ve done it sooner but something has been holding him back.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your mind raced, scrambling to piece together what she’d just said. Steve? Selling the business? Quitting? Why hadn’t he mentioned it to you? You worked so closely together—how could he keep something this big from you? Why hadn’t he told his employees? 

But you couldn’t let his mom see your reaction, so you forced a smile, nodding as if you already knew. “Yeah, he... he mentioned it briefly,” you lied, your voice sounding steadier than you felt.

She didn’t seem to notice the strain in your tone. “It makes sense, though,” she continued. “He’s always been so hardworking, but he’s not the kind of person who thrives under all that pressure. I think part of him just wants to figure out what makes him happy. He never went to college and he’s almost thirty.” She laughed, hiccuping. “Oh I think I’ve had too much eggnog. You already know all of this. I’m sure you’ll help him figure it all out”

What makes him happy. The words echoed in your mind, twisting something deep in your chest. Was this why he’d been acting so cagey about your relationship? Was this part of the reason he avoided talking about what came next for the two of you?

You glanced back at Steve, watching as he listened attentively to a little boy holding a stuffed reindeer. His laugh boomed through the room as he patted the kid’s shoulder, and the boy beamed up at him. He looked so at ease, so completely in his element, but now all you could see was the weight he must have been carrying behind the scenes.

And you hadn’t noticed.

Your fingers tightened around your glass, and you swallowed against the lump forming in your throat. How could you confront him about this without sounding accusatory? Or selfish? Maybe it wasn’t your place to question his choices—but wasn’t it your place to know?

“Are you alright, dear?” his mom asked, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts.

You plastered on a reassuring smile, nodding quickly. “Of course. Just a lot to think about, I guess.”

She patted your arm, her expression kind. “Steve’s lucky to have you.”

You nodded again, though her words only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

For the rest of the evening, your smiles were just a little harder to maintain, and every time you caught Steve’s eye, a million unspoken questions buzzed in your mind.

[seulszn]

Listen I love TLOU and the fandom very much but a lot of people (not calling anybody out) need a reality check and need to grow up. I wanna say my two cents on things that bother me in this fandom.

1. Boycotting for Palestine

I have seen multiple times on multiple occasions where people would sit on their phone and complain about why writers are “flooding the tags with this boycotting bullshit” and honestly all I have to say is your super childish you can’t take a hour or a week out of your day to raise awareness on a important topic that is affecting millions of people? Your so horny so down bad for pixelated characters that you don’t care about the innocent children, women and men that are dying in Palestine? The boycotting isn’t gonna stop just because you want your needs filled, the boycotting isn’t going to stop because you think it needs to, it’s not gonna stop until Palestine is free. And if you wanna read things that bad then read nobody is stoping you but a take into ignition that if a writer is spreading awareness then don’t be ignorant and say stupid shit

2. Less Sex and more angst or other genres.

Listen I love Abby and Ellie just like everyone else and I read a lot of smut about them but does that all y’all see when y’all look at them? As sex objects? Like I’m not saying that you should stop writing smut for those characters but write other things to that don’t involve smut, like angst I see a lot of people under that tag say how they wish writers would as write other things that isn’t just smut and majority of the time when they say that they get hated for it. It lowkey gets boring reading fanfics where the whole plot is smut, smut, smut. And again I’m not saying to stop writing smut but please for the love of whatever you believe in write other genres.

3. Black inclusivity

As a black writer and a black person TLOU tag isn’t inclusive enough. I know you must be thinking “Why are we speaking about this again?” Because I’m honestly so tired of how uninclusive the fandom is like I said before Ellie dates WOC if you don’t know what WOC is it’s Women Of Color all of Ellie’s girlfriends where WOC now I’m not saying you can’t write for Ellie as a white person and I’m not saying that never did all I am saying is once again all of Ellie’s girlfriend where POC

Riley was a Black African American who Dated Ellie

Cat the girl who wasn’t mentioned alot but is in the game is Asian American who also dated Ellie

Dina is a Jewish (Mexican, Middle Eastern ) American who dated Ellie

Also yes we know when the reader is white coded so don’t try a put that you don’t mention when race mentioned cause you do and we can tell when you do “She’s Petite and cute with her long blonde hair” or whatever you bitches be saying we know when you guys aren’t inclusive the whole point of fanfiction writing is to be inclusive is to make sure that readers can see themself in your xreader so if your putting all these “white things and then labeling your story as “the readers race is not mentioned” or that OC stuff that y’all do then just label the story as a white reader or a OC reader

4. Futa, trans and masc

Now here I’m gonna discuss two or three things starting off with Futa and Trans. Now I don’t know when “Futa” or “Trans” Ellie and Abby came from but a lot of you readers need to understand and learn the difference between the two because they are both very different things.

Futanari: is the Japanese word for hermaphroditism, which is also used in a broader sense for androgyny. Beyond Japan, the term has come to be used to describe a commonly pornographic genre of eroge, manga, and anime, which includes characters that show primary sexual characteristics from both females and males. In today's language, it refers almost exclusively to characters who have an overall feminine body, but have both female and male primary genitalia (although a scrotum is not always present, while breasts, a penis, and a vulva are). The term is also often abbreviated as futa(s), which is also used as a generalized term for the works themselves.

Transgender (often shortened to trans) is someone whose gender identity differs from that typically associated with the sex they were assigned at birth. Some transgender people who desire medical assistance to transition from one sex to another identify as transsexual. Transgender is also an umbrella term; in addition to including people whose gender identity is the opposite of their assigned sex (trans men and trans women), it may also include people who are non-binary or genderqueer. Other definitions of transgender also include people who belong to a third gender, or else conceptualize transgender people as a third gender. The term may also include cross-dressers or drag kings and drag queens in some contexts. The term transgender does not have a universally accepted definition, including among researchers.

Mind you I am not transgender I am nonbinary but I see a lot of transgender people speak up about how offensive it is to write a character as Transgender but it’s not really transgender but a Futanari remember a Futa is a character who is assigned a gender at birth but just has extra sexual parts like a penis.

Now another thing that bothers me is how y’all Masculinize Masc Lesbians as if they still aren’t women themselves like every time I read a fanfic with Ellie or Abby or even Vi and Sevika from Arcane you guys like to ignore they fact that they are also women themselves like it’s not gonna kill you to give those characters feminine compliments there shouldn’t be a reason why your calling these women “handsome” or other Masculine compliments and also a lot of Masculine women where makeup it’s not just a feminine woman thing. Masc Lesbians are women they aren’t men so stop treating them as if they are men and ignoring the fact that they are women

5. the Innocent childish reader gotta stop.

They title says enough I don’t think I need to say too much but a lot of y’all get innocent and corruption mixed up but a corruption kink is When you find the idea of "corrupting" someone, mostly in a sexual way, like taking virginities or introducing people to stuff like bdsm etc. It's the idea of having someone "pure" do "bad" things under your influence. And innocent is not corrupted or tainted with evil or unpleasant emotion; sinless; pure. not guilty of a particular crime; blameless. (From the dictionary)

Y’all need to understand yes not everyone knows what sex is but everyone knows what a vagina is what a penis is, what a orgasm is and what sex is but they may not knows what happens when you have sex so making the reader what y’all call innocent isn’t innocent it’s honestly to me perverted cause the only one who would say something like “my cunny feels weird 🥺” or that “what is sex 🥺” is a child. Children don’t know what sex is children don’t know what pleasure or orgasms is and when y’all say “the reader is a Bimbo” is also funny cause Bimbos know what sex is as well yes they may be stupid but they aren’t slow so before you make a innocent reader please think “am I making my reader act like a child or am I gonna make her really innocent like how regular grown ass adults act?” so don't get not knowing and "innocent" mixed up

6. The stories where they have sex inside a church also gotta stop

Now I’m not a Christian but these stories are honestly really bad and are Blasphemy a lot of people have come out and said that they don’t like the fact that people are writing stories about church in a sexual way like their shouldn’t be any reason why your characters are fucking inside a church, that’s like stomping on someone’s dead grave. You guys do shit like this and then wonder why Christian’s don’t like us. Religion isn’t something to be sexualized it’s not something to be playing with either this idc how much you hate Christianity you can be a Atheist, or Catholic or Jewish but please for the love of whatever you believe in don’t sexualize people’s religion.

That’s all I can think of at the moment if I think of more I’ll of course make a part two to this but don’t take anything I said here to heart it’s just my blunt honest opinion on things in this fandom and if I get hate for this 🤷🏾‍♀️

[anisespice]

tokyo revengers boys when their horny but their s/o is too busy to deal with their shit? (u can add bonten-)

aye aye, anon! 🫡 needy men are my favorite flavor 🤤 thank you so much for your patience, and requesting ♡♡♡

pairing: tr x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, MDI. cursing, vague descriptions of sex, teasing, mild nipple-play, empty threats, crack!fic coded behavior, a tiny pinch of barely-there angst in mikey’s with a hint of misogyny, and i think that’s it :D feel free to lemme know if i missed anything!

notes: something about this request screamed sano to me, and maybe even throw sanzu in the mix for a little treat ( ˘ ³˘). also may have strayed a little from the original plot of the request, but the premise is fairly the same >:)) hope you enjoy !!

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow

“Get outta there.”

Though your tone sounded stern, your demeanor remained placid as you continued typing on your laptop, making no move to actually stop the hands from creeping inside your sweater. You were well aware of their destination, and it was anything but harmless. SHINICHIRO was latched onto you the moment he arrived at your place, excited to spend his day off alone with you, and away from the prying eyes of his siblings for once. Rarely did the two of you get alone time due to your conflicting schedules, savoring the moments you did get without outward distractions in the way.

Things were going great for the most part…until your boss decided to dump busywork into your email, last minute.

“…tell ‘em to go fuck himself, so you can focus on fucking me,” Shinichiro grumbled into your shoulder, calloused hands feeling up your chest with slow, deliberate touches. You chortled, masking the small moan that nearly slipped out when he gently grazed your nipples.

“Good idea, Shin. But wait, oh shoot, fucking you won’t exactly pay my bills, now will it? So, knock it off.”

“Who says it won’t? I’ll pay your bills for the next month, hell, the next six months, if it means you’ll let me just stick it in, baby, please..”

You hissed through your teeth at the small pinch he gave your sensitive nubs, dick damn-near throbbing against your lower back as he rutted against you. Should’ve known sitting on his lap while you worked would backfire, poor thing’s so wound up, you felt a little bad. It’d been nearly three weeks since you and Shinichiro had even a second to breathe the same air, let alone touch each other.

You weren’t immune, craving a taste of him just as much, there’s nothing you wanted more than to succumb to his persuasion. But, having been on bad terms with your tyrant boss one too many times, you couldn’t afford to procrastinate.

“Shini,” you spoke, breathless as he suckled on your neck, growing more bold with his touch, “a-as much as I’d love for you to do that for me… you don’t exactly have the funds to make such an offer.”

He huffed, nipping playfully at your pulse. “I’ll get another job. Good? Good, problem solved, can you take your clothes off now?”

“Tempting…but no. Appreciate the sentiment, though.”

Shinichiro whined in the crook of your neck. His hands slowed to a stop inside your sweater, slipping down to rest on your tummy instead. It sent a tiny shiver up your spine, but was ignored all the same as you attempted to resume typing, seeming to have put a damper on his resolve. Or, so you thought.

Not even a minute passed when you felt his fingers searching for something else to play with. Something that has been calling his name since he waltzed through your front door. “Shin…”

Your warning fell upon deaf ears. Shinichiro merely shrugged, feigning innocence while his hands breached the waistband of your sleep-shorts, stopping right at your pelvic bone. Leaning back in the chair, the ravenette spread his legs further apart, forcing yours to do the same, giving him even more access to your already accessible center. Despite his lanky stature, homie had grip—Try and close your legs all you want, you’ll pull a muscle before pulling out of it. Your heart was borderline going Macarena, focus jumbled up to the point there were more typos than words in the report you tried completing.

You huffed, though your tone sounded less stern compared to the first time. “Shinichiro. If you don’t let me finish my work…I’ll ban your dick from ever entering me or this house for a whole month.”

On any other given day, that empty threat would’ve done the trick, hands flying off you so fast you’d think he got electrocuted. But, this wasn’t any other given day. This was already a two-week long hiatus of his most favorite place to be, in between your legs, and the only thing keeping him from it was your lack of underwear beneath thin-cotten shorts. Threaten him if you must, but it won’t work.

You weren’t fooling anyone.

Playing hard to get could take you so far, but he knew you were mere moments from crumbling to your desires you tried so hard to suppress, no shot you’d last another day, let alone a month. He was determined, and you were being stubborn—An immovable object verses an unstoppable force. Eventually, someone had to give. And it wasn’t about to be you.

It went on like that for another few minutes, him feeling you up and you batting him away. It only worsened the second he went further in your shorts, teasing your sex until you soaked through the fabric. You could feel his smug grin against your shoulder, no doubt thinking he was winning this battle. However, Shinichiro wasn’t aware of your trump card, your Charizard, if you will.

It’s a dirty trick. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

By slamming your fists atop of the table, startling him right out of your shorts, you turned to look him dead in the face, and said, “Don’t make me call Mikey.”

The mechanic widely blinked. But, his shock was short lived as he fixed you a sarcastic look, bringing his slick-coated fingers up to the light and right into his mouth to be even more obnoxious. After pulling them out with a wet pop!, Shinichiro called your bluff.

“You wouldn’t.”

“And would. Emma’s probably dying to catch up with me anyway, since I haven’t been around as much lately. And we both know Mikey would come just to spite you.”

As you continued to hold his stare, not backing down or giving any indication that you were joking, the sardonicism began to melt off his demeanor, and soon realization took its place. Shortly after that, betrayal. How could you be so cruel? He was already competing with an inanimate object, he’ll be damned if his siblings get added to the list. Taking a moment to weight his options, or lack there of, his face soon resembled a kicked puppy with his bottom lip stuck out and everything; you could’ve sworn his eyes started to water. “t’s not fair…been waiting all damn day…”

“I know, baby. But I need you to hang on for just a little longer f’me, okay? And once I’m done, then I’m all yours.” You cooed, placing a small peck on his nose as an olive branch. It seemed to do the trick, his frown softening as he pointed at his lips, puckering them. You snorted, but happily obliged, even placing a few more across his face until you got a smile. Shinichiro soaked up whatever he could as he leaned into you for more.

When it seemed he was satisfied, you turned back to continue working…only for the ravenette to try his luck one more time. “Can I get one here, too?”

You peered at him from over your shoulder—Give you one guess where he was pointing, wearing that all too pleased grin from before. You deadpanned.

“…I’m calling Mikey.”

“NoOO—”

—

“That’s considered sexual harassment, Mr. Sano.”

If he could time travel, MIKEY would beat the breaks off his past-self for ever encouraging you to fill the role of secretary at his work. At first, it seemed like a fantastic idea—Standing at his side, his pretty little assistant, wearing a tight uniform that left nothing to the imagination. He’d bend you over his desk and fuck you anytime he pleased, you’d call him Sir, and walk around the office filled to the brim with his cum until time to go home, then he’d fill you up all over again—The perfect work-life balance.

However, the gangster didn’t account for one teensy thing—You, actually taking the job seriously, and setting professional boundaries the moment you were hired on the staff. No matter if you’d be practically all over him in the car moments prior to clocking in, the second your kitten heels touched the marbled floors of the lobby…he wasn’t your lover anymore. He was your boss.

And he hated it.

“Sexual harass—You’re my s/o, [______].”

“Not within these walls, I’m not.” You continued reading one of the files left on your desk to review for tomorrow’s meeting, only for it soon to vanish right before your eyes. After a long blink, you held out an expectant hand to the stubborn blonde. “May I have that back, please?”

“No.”

“Mr. Sano-”

“If you address me formally one more time, I’ll take you right here in the middle of this hallway. Try me.” He hissed, holding the file out of reach.

You pursed your lips, fighting a grin. Seeing him get so worked up over not being able to get his dick wet was entertaining to say the least, but you were well aware he wasn’t kidding. Clearing your throat, you attempted to tread lightly as your expression morphed back to neutral.

“Alright. Mikey,” his eye twitched, but you continued, “would you be so kind as to let me finish reading the material for your meeting tomorrow? I would hate for anything to be amiss because I didn’t do a thorough review.”

“Tch. Where’s Kakucho? I distinctly remember assigning this task for him. Not you.”

You raised a brow. “You sent him on an impromptu errand to fill up the time he was spending ‘idling at my desk’. You remember that?”

Mikey averted his gaze. “…Don’t recall.”

“‘course you don’t,” you exhaled. “Mikey, with all due respect-”

“Not that name either.” He commanded, slapping the file back on the desk before placing his hands upon it to lean forward, towering over you. You couldn’t fight the grin this time, tilting your head up at him, amusement in your gaze.

“That’s your name, is it not?”

Mikey glared. “You know that isn’t the one I’d prefer you to use.”

With a shrug, you easily replied, “It’s what most of your employees call you. And last time I checked, that included me-” Mikey was quick to grab your chin, forcing you to look deep into his dark, deranged eyes. Man’s was definitely toeing line of his limit, and you were pushing it.

“And last time I checked, you aren’t like most employees. You’re my partner who’s working on my last nerve, and should really consider dropping this whole ‘professionalism’ act before I remind them why they were hired in the first place. And no, it wasn’t for your work ethic and attention to detail, or whatever bullshit Koko told you in the interview.”

Ouch.

Not to say you didn’t figure there were ulterior motives behind getting approved for the job, especially under the circumstances that you were heavily under-qualified to work in their type of environment. But, you tried your damnedest to keep up, do your part, and not be a burden on the team. For him to call it nonsense and boldly confirm such suspicions outloud? You think he realized his mistake the second your face reverted back to its neutral state. Wiggling out of his grip, you leaned back in the chair with your arms tightly crossed to your chest.

“That so? Well then, Michael, how ‘bout I remind you why a man shouldn’t mix his business with his pleasure. Things could turn ugly for him, maybe even end up losing both a loyal employee and a lover all in one day. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Out of all the names, that one made him cringe the most. A clear indicator of his grandiose fuck-up, one that if he didn’t fix immediately, he’d soon suffer the consequences. And your wrath.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It came out wrong-”

“Oh, I’m sure it didn’t. You’re a man who speaks his mind, after all.”

Mikey, though subtly, panicked. This wasn’t at all how he expected the conversation to go. But, it’s not his fault! It was his dick doing all the driving. With you working for Bonten, his long hours became yours, and by the time you both got home, sex became scarce due to your exhaustion. He was immune to the taxation of the job, while it was kicking your ass. And to top it off, he couldn’t even cop a feel of his own s/o, in his own damn building, because of ‘power imbalances’ between a boss and secretary that was ‘socially unacceptable’, according to you…as you work for the biggest crime syndicate in all of Japan.

Flawed reasoning aside, it drove him insane.

But, no thanks to his lust-clouded brashness, if Mikey thought getting some action at work was difficult, his chances at home just got a whole lot worse. He’d be lucky if you even slept in the same bed tonight.

“[_____],” he sighed, reaching over to grab your hand, though you moved it away at the last second. “You do a fantastic job here, angel. Exceeded all my expectations, actually-”

“Well, based on the merits of why you hired me in the first place, that doesn’t sound like much.” At that point, you went back to reviewing the file he threw back on the desk, seeming disinterested. But, Mikey knew better.

He’d hurt your feelings. To be reduced to nothing but eye candy for him, when you were busting your ass off like everyone else, it stung. It was playful at first, but now the blonde had crossed a line. With determination, Mikey removed the file from your sight once more, rounding the desk before crouching down so he could level with you this time.

You allowed him to take your hands in his, still indifferent. Mikey spoke with a tenderness only reserved for you, one that never failed to melt any cold front you built to wane his efforts.

“I was being childish. I shouldn’t have diminished your role like that, and I apologize for making you feel like your work isn’t appreciated. I’m glad to have you as my loyal employee. Even if a visit in my office from my lover from time to time wouldn’t be too bad, either…”

His words trailed off, along with his gaze as he reminisced. You chortled, shaking your head. Mikey looked back at you, ghost of a grin on his face. “I’ll back off. Promise.”

You raised a brow, skeptical. “You mean it?”

“Mmhm. Under one condition.”

You groaned, “Mikey-”

“Manjiro.”

“Oh, is that the condition?” He lightly pinched you for the snark, resting his head on your lap. But, before you could reprimand him for his inappropriate position, your words catch in your throat.

His stare was intense as they gazed up at you with hidden hunger, the tenderness still swimming in the inky pools, but not as present compared to moments ago. Mikey licked his lips, nuzzling against your plush thigh.

“Work less hours. Don’t want you to run yourself ragged trynna keep up with the rest of us. We’ve been doing this line of work a lot longer than you have, baby. No need to overcompensate. I’m already proud of you.”

Steadily did those words make your heart melt, until your were practically mush once they’ve set in. To hear his pride in you almost made you kick your feet, for that was all you really wanted at the end of the day—Acknowledgment. Validation. Praise. And working less hours would definitely benefit in more ways than one, more so on your mental health. You won’t lie and say this new job hasn’t been a challenge, all the talk about blood, death and drugs, one could only handle so much.

“Thank you..Manjiro.” He lit up at the sound of his name spilling sweetly from your lips. “I greatly appreciate you saying that. But, what’s the catch?”

He hummed, hands releasing yours to caress your calves all the way back up to your hips. Mikey didn’t pull nor tug, more so just holding you in place as he continued to watch you like a hawk. Eventually he shook his head, tresses fluttering with him as they curtained the sides of his face.

“No catch. Work your hours, I’ll leave you be…But once those hours are up, you better be sitting pretty on my desk with your reports in one hand and your underwear in the other, waiting for me to choose between my business and my pleasure. Deal?”

—

“Pout all you want, I’m not sitting on your face.”

When you informed your darling SANZU that your Saturdays were strictly for housework, he honestly thought you were joking—What idiot in their twenties would spend the weekend doing that?

Evidently his idiot, that’s who.

Imagine his surprise when he showed up, unannounced, ready to have you on every piece of furniture, only to be threatened with a feather duster the second he went to grab your ass. “Paws off. I already changed the sheets on my bed, cleaned the bathroom, the kitchen, and mopped the floors, so unless you’re here to help dust or wipe windows, keep it in your pants, Haruchiyo.”

Needless to say, he wasn’t the happiest houseguest.

After the long work week he’s had, Sanzu was looking forward to locking the two of you in the back all weekend, going at it like rabbits with no other purpose but keep the neighbors up—Pretty much until the room stank. But, thanks to this cleaning ritual of yours, that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. Especially not with the various scented candles you were burning to hide the potent smell of bleach and pine-sol. God, he was getting such a headache from overstimulation…and not the good kind.

“This is such bullshit,” he groaned into the couch, where you banished him after he tried to bend you over the washing machine while you were loading another basket of dirty clothes. “Why’d you even invite me over if we weren’t gonna do anything…”

You paused from folding, side-eyeing him. “I didn’t invite you.”

“You said you were staying in all day. That’s practically code for: I’m bored, come dick me down.”

Your laugh had snuck up on you, racking through your entire body to the point you had curled forward. The leap he took to draw such a conclusion nearly gave you whiplash as you attempted to regain composure. “Maybe for freaky-fucks like you, but the rest of us usually mean it as something mundane. Like, oh I dunno, doing chores.”

“On a Saturday?? What ‘re ya, 80??”

You shrugged, placing another item onto its respective pile. “You don’t have to stay, y’know. If you have something better to do, then by all means, don’t let me keep you.”

Sanzu abruptly sat up from his position, the clothes you had laid on his back flopping onto the floor, instantly losing their folded shape. You shot him an annoyed glance, but figured some of the blame was yours for using his skittish-ass for a table. The pinkette wore a pitiful look, wide cerulean eyes piercing right through you as he gave a defiant punch to the couch cushion, “Was ‘posed to be doing you! And you are keeping me from doing that!”

With a huff, you set aside the pile you were currently working through to gather up the clothes that he so rudely let fall to the floor. “Unfortunate. Now lay back down, and be a good table. Since you wanted to be chair so fucking badly.”

“Piss off.”

He absolutely laid back down.

© 2023-2024 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[prythianpages]

Shining Like the Sun | Lucien x Reader

summary: Lucien walks in on you singing a familiar tune to your daughter.

word count: 1,200

warnings: fluff

a/n: This has been in my drafts for a hot minute and I decided to finally edit it. Here is another part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: and a part two to this one-shot. It can also be read as a stand alone as this takes place many years after. I just wanted to take a lighter approach to this song since the first part was dark/angsty.

As the sun ascends to its highest peak in the beautiful blue sky, its bathes the court in a warm glow. It’s been years since Lucien officially moved to Day Court, accepting his title as Helion’s heir. Yet, he still finds himself getting lost in the beauty of it all.

It was not easy for him to come to terms with the truth and he was grateful to have you by his side. The one constant in his life. The one who loved him even when he couldn’t find it in his heart to love himself.

A soft, melodious hum echoes through the courtyard like a gentle breeze. Lucien’s lips curve up into a smile and he allows the lovely sound to carry him forward. His eye softens immediately when he finally spots you.

You stand in front of the magnificent crystal fountain, humming a familiar tune to your daughter as you gently sway her back and forth in your arms. The fountain is your daughter’s favorite place. Her tiny eyes love to watch the way the crystals catch the sunlight, entranced by the resulting rainbows that dance across the courtyard. She loves it even more when you bring her close, her hands always reaching out for the moving water in a silent request to let her touch it.

But your daughter is not focused on the fountain at this moment.

Her attention is solely focused on you... much like her father’s.

“Tonight the super trouper beams are gonna blind me, but I won't feel blue."

Lucien pauses as you begin to sing, admiring the scene before him. Your voice possesses an enchanting allure that never fails to draw him in. And so he listens, entranced and enamored, knowing that he would follow you to the ends of the Prythian over and over again just to hear the sound of your voice. 

“Like I always do,” you continue to sing, smiling when your daughter begins to scrunch her nose in delight. Lucien feels a tug in his chest–a sign that you’re well aware he’s watching. And then you’re finally lifting your head, meeting his gaze across the courtyard.

“‘Cause somewhere in the crowd there’s you.”

Sensing his warming presence, your daughter shifts in your arms. Her mouth parts as she spots her father, tiny hands reaching out for him. She is the spitting image of Lucien with her russet eyes and cascade of deep red hair that curls softly around her golden skin.

Lucien grins, finally bridging the distance between you. He graciously takes the infant into his arms, chest tightening when your daughter beams up at him. Her tiny hands grasp at his face, poking at his cheeks.

The way she looks up at him always makes his heart swell with such warmth. When she was first born, he worried his scars and mechanical eye would frighten her. But all he sees is pure awe and adoration reflected in those russet eyes.

Your eyes shine with mirth at the sight. “Someone missed you.”

Lucien playfully nips at your daughter’s fingers, eliciting the most adorable fit of giggles. So he does it one more time, chuckling with her, before turning to you. Your hair is swept to the side, leaving your back exposed and his gaze flickers toward the tattoo etched there. 

What once used to be a trapped bird in a cage is now a bird soaring free, its wings spread wide in flight. A powerful symbol of your journey and a testament to Lucien's promise fulfilled—to liberate you from the bargain that bound you to that wretched place.

You had been freed to follow your heart, to explore the world, and to love without restraint. And you did, your heart choosing him, overwhelming him with a feeling he had thought he'd never be able to feel again. It appeared that the Cauldron had also finally favored him when the bond snapped, revealing you two to be mates.

His thumb sweeps over the black ink before letting it fall to the small of your back. He presses a kiss to your forehead and then walks you both to one of the day beds.

“Just someone?” He asks, russet eye sparkling as he already knows his answer. You had sent a couple of tugs through the bond while he sat through a meeting with Helion and other members of the Day council. It was something you both did, a means to check on each other.

“Maybe, I missed you too,” you reply coyly.

Lucien scoffs. “Maybe?”

You only laugh in response but the surge of love that floods through the bond says otherwise. The hand at your back lowers until he finds your own, his fingers intertwining with yours. Lucien settles himself onto the day bed, your daughter secured safely in his hold while he tugs you along. You hesitate, a slight furrow to your brow.

“Don’t you have another meeting to attend today?”

Lucien’s nose scrunches at the reminder—a charming trait your daughter has clearly inherited. He glances up at you with a playful smile, tugging gently at your hand once more. “Can’t you just let me enjoy the sweet company of my girls?”

Your daughter coos in agreement, prompting Lucien to raise his eyebrow at you.

“Besides, I have at least an hour until then,” he assures you, russet eye lighting up when he feels your hand relax in his. “Now, come.”

You let him pull you closer, curling up by his side as his familiar, comforting scent envelops you.

“That song you were singing,” Lucien begins as your daughter begins to crawl up his chest. She presses one tiny hand against him to lift herself while the other tangles in the loose strands of her father’s hair. 

“I’ve always heard you humming it but I don’t think I’ve heard the words until now.”

“Really? It’s about when I first met you,” you say, lifting your chin to meet his warm and curious gaze. Blush rises to your cheeks. “I thought you knew. It's Sol’s favorite too.”

The two of you then look at the bundle of joy nestled between you both. Sol’s eyes crinkle, joyfully overwhelmed at the attention. “Sing it to me,” Lucien pleads gently, pulling the two of you closer to him.

And so you do. 

Your voice floats softly through the air, wrapping around the three of you like a gentle embrace. Lucien closes his eyes, savoring the melody and the meaning. Beneath the warm embrace of the sun, with his two favorite girls by his side, all his worries melt away. Your daughter follows suit, nestling her head into her father’s chest, her eyes slowly giving in to sleep.

“Still, I'm thinking about you only,” you continue to sing, smiling softly to yourself. Your daughter nestles deeper into Lucien’s chest, her eyelids growing heavier. With a tender caress to her cheek, she finally succumbs to sleep. “There are moments when I think I’m going crazy.”

“But it’s gonna be alright. Everything will be so different when–”

A light snore disrupts your song, and you let out an amused chuckle. Even as Lucien drifts off to sleep, his feelings of happiness and love flood through the bond you share. Your own eyes close, basking in the warmth of it all.

Surely, a nap wouldn’t hurt.

ABBA x Acotar Masterlist

I found a dreamy cover of super trouper and listened to it a lot when writing this.

tagging those who read the first part and were interested in a part two: @acourtofimagines, @flymetovelaris, @zeprussia, @mybestfriendmademe, @hardcoremarvelfan

@tele86, @secretlyhers, @sarawritestories, @evergreenlark

I would love to eventually write a part that is set in between the first part and this one that focuses on how Lucien saved you but I'm still trying to find inspo for that. Like I'm unsure if I want him to find reader again UTM or for Lucien to invoke the Autumn duel or for him to get Rhys involved. For now, enjoy this fluff bc Lucien deserves all the happiness in the world <3

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho