#side note i tried to make a divider for this event but can't figure out how to make it transparent boooo

[ghost-proofbaby]

I literally love your work and this 3k celebration is absolutely GENIUS so can I please get a filthy martini with Steve Harrington? Can it be enemies with benefits(also hate fucking? I blame you for this new trope obsession bc 24 hours GOT ME FERAL)?

nonnie i love you this is the such an incredible request i can only hope i did it justice oh my GOD

come party with me!

sweet like honey (steve harrington x fem! reader)

warnings: smut, p in v, mean steve sort of if you squint?, oral f receiving, talk of unprotected sex, cnc hickies? is that a thing? she says no and then he does it anyway?, arguing over using protection (steve says he'll convince her to not use it next time, but they use it this time!), not edited, minors dni

You hate him. You swear it to yourself, to your friends, to your own mother who sometimes points him out at sport events or at the local grocery store. You hate Steve Harrington. Simple as that. 

But maybe, just maybe, it isn't as simple as that. 

Because you hate him, yes - to your very core -  but you still always end up here. You still answer when he texts you in the middle of the night, you still meet him at your spot at the park that serves as a halfway point between your house and his, and you still end up in his lap in the backseat of the BMW his daddy bought for him. 

��This is the last time, Harrington,” you murmur through fervent kisses as you sit as comfortably as possible in his lap, “I mean it.”

He pulls back with that boyish grin that you absolutely despise, tightening his grip on your hips as his head tilts, “Of course, honey. Just like you said the last two times, right?” 

You don’t offer him an answer, instead plunging back in for a biting kiss. You imagine that if you take his bottom lip between your teeth hard enough, if you bite down with the right pressure, he’ll bleed. And the thought of tasting Steve Harrington’s blood across your tongue is more exciting than you care to admit. 

“Yes, but I really do mean it this time,” you insist against his mouth, your hangs tangling against the roots of his hair. Your goal is to mess it up, to rake through the product and all the time you know he spends in the mirror each morning, and ruin it. 

He only hums in response and urges you down onto his lap harder, the bulge confined in his jeans pressing into you more noticeably. 

“Hard already?” you tsk, rolling your hips harder against him, eliciting a load moan from his lips.

He’s just so easy. Maybe that’s why you keep coming back for more. 

“God, just shut up,” he gasps against you, moving his mouth along your jaw and neck. 

He starts to suck hard on your sweet spot, which in return makes you tug sharply on his hair. Hard enough to make him hiss in pain, “No fucking marks, how many times do I have to tell you?” 

“I know,” he says, clearly not knowing, as he continues to chuckle and trace his finger along the junction of your neck and shoulder, “But imagine just how pretty you’d look, all marked up by me.” 

“And imagine how pretty you’d look with your head between my thighs, not fucking talking,” you remark back. 

No marks. Because if he left a mark, then people might know. And you’d rather die than have anyone find out you had been fucking around with Steve Harrington the last two months. 

Steve suddenly maneuvers the two of you so that you’re laid out across the seat, fitting himself between your legs with clear practice. The two of you have been in this backseat more times than you can count, and have learned your way around the confinement of it all. 

He pushes up the flimsy sleep shorts you’d worn out, bunching them at the top of your thighs as far as they will go as he places kisses up your inner thigh, starting at your knee, “I know you said no marks, sweetie,” his tone is laced with condescending confidence, teeth nipping at the soft skin as he looks up at you, “But what about here, hm? Where no one can see them? Do we have a deal?” 

He’s going to get his way. He always knows he can get his way when he starts to soften you up like this, one hand gripping your knee and already guiding it over his shoulder as the other trails beneath the waistband of the shorts and draws circles on your hip. 

“If anyone can see them, Harrington, I’ll-”

“Kick my ass,” he finishes your sentence for you, already moving to nuzzle his nose into your thigh, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before, babe.” 

He sucks and nips immediately at your makeshift permission, his saliva glistening against the purple bursting to life on your skin in the shape of his lips. 

“Lay off the nicknames,” you sigh, throwing your head back as his moves to make a second mark, higher up and closer to where you ache for him, “Or I will go back home and leave you with blue balls.”

His chuckle vibrates against your skin, eyes flicking up towards you. It’s a shame he’s such an absolute dick, because he looks pretty from here. Hair messed up as you intended, pupils blown wide, lips nearly magnetic against you as if he can’t get enough.

“Oh, honey, you wouldn’t,” he taunts, finally sitting up, beginning to take off your shorts, “We both know you don’t mean it, do you? You can threaten me all you want, but you still come back every,” your shorts are off, and he pauses to lean down and bite at your hip now before continuing, “single,” he moves to the other hip, sucking hard, leaving a weaker shade of violet in his path, “time.” 

You don’t reply as you whine out, hips bucking up, encouraging him to get it over with. To put his mouth where you need it most. To stop with his incessant cooing and taunting and to just fuck you with his tongue. 

He gets the message fairly clearly through his thick skull. 

And you like him best like this, quiet as he slides your panties to the side, tongue on your clit and already sliding his fingers into you, hellbent on unraveling you. He’s learned your body best at this point, knowing when to crook his fingers as he adds a second one, when to alternate between wrapping his lips around your clit to suck and using only the tip of his tongue to trace invisible shapes lost on you. He’s quiet, he’s as messy as a boy like him is capable of getting, and he knows.

But he’s eager. You’d say it’s his downfall, but you truly reap the benefits when he brings you right to the edge only to pull back and begin to make quick work of his own pants. He’s still in his jeans and polo, his work vest discarded in the front seat, his belt quickly joining it. 

You have no time to make another smart ass remark. No opportunity to poke fun at the way he bumps his head against the roof of the car or the way he struggles with his zipper a second longer than he should. Because once he’s gotten his cock out of his briefs, thick and pink and already leaking from the tip for you, he makes quick work to be inside you. 

“Condom,” you gasp out as his tip circles your interest, making him pause for the first time the entire night.

His eyebrows furrow, “You’re on the pill, yeah? We didn’t use one last time.” 

“My mistake,” you grit out, fighting the urge to just let him sink into you, to feel him stretch you in a way you both know only he can, “I know you’re fucking other girls. Wrap it, or I’m out, Harrington.” 

A sudden break of softness. In an instant, his teasing halts and he pulls back, looking at you with a hand still wrapped around his base, “I’m not fucking other girls.”

“What?”

“I said,” he leans down, warm brown eyes staring into yours, “I’m not fucking other girls. Only you. Only has been you since this entire thing started.” 

If you were an idiot, you’d read more into his words. You’d read into the fact that the town’s womanizer, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, has taken himself off the market for you. You’d think about it the rest of the night, your entire way back home, fantasize about it as you closed your eyes and begged for sleep. 

But you’re not an idiot. So you laugh at him. 

“Bullshit,” you say, maintaining eye contact, daring him into some unspoken war between the two of you. 

You watch as his jaw locks, his eyes set in stone, before he suddenly is fumbling around the car floor and producing his wallet. He pulls a condom from where it had been nestled between an abhorrent amount of cash, and he’s hasty in ripping it open.

“Fine,” he mumbles as he rolls the latex over his cock, “Fine. You want me to wear a condom, sweet thing? I’ll wear a condom. But I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll be begging me to go raw next time.” 

Your stomach clenches, your core flutters. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’re already reconsidering your insistence.

“Consider it a challenge, Harrington.” 

When the stretch finally comes, you’re preening into him, back arching and legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He’s harsh now in his actions, hardly allotting time to adjust once he bottoms out before he pulls back and repeats the motion, slamming into you harder the second time. 

He finds his rhythm quickly; he knows what you like. He knows that you want it rough, that you want him to destroy you from the inside out. Your nails claw at him through the cotton of his shirt, and you consider the ramifications if you were to tear through the fabric, leave holes and make the shirt unrecognizable. 

Mommy and daddy would probably buy him a new one. 

Your fingers dig in deeper at the thought. 

“This good, yeah?” he asks, snapping his hips up into your hard enough to that your body shifts upwards, back burning from the rough tapestry of the seat and the top of your head banging into the car door, “You like it hard, don’t you, baby?” 

No words are formed, your mouth open as whines and moans alike tear from your throat, pulling him in closer. He dips his lips back down into your shoulder, placing messy kisses up to your throat. 

“You’re always such a good little slut for me, aren’t you? What would your mother think? What would your friends think?” he presses as a hand grips your bare thigh hard enough to leave marks, holding your leg even harder to his hips, “Going all cock drunk for Steve Harrington, the boy you hate.”

“Shut up,” you groan out, grabbing at his hair and pulling harshly, trying to lift his head from your throat. He doesn’t follow the pull of your hand. Instead, he bites down on the skin he was previously kissing innocently against.

He leaves a mark. You know he does. But all you're capable of is a pathetic whine as your pussy flutters around him, sucking him deeper into you. 

“Fucking knew it,” he mumbles against the skin before his tongue lathes over the spot that still stings, “Fucking knew you loved being marked up, baby. Tried to stop me all this time because you knew you loved it so much.” 

“Steve,” you beg as your head hits the door yet again from the force of another thrust.

He slows his movements, head lifting to take in your features. Your teary eyes, your heaving chest to match his own, “Fuck, too hard?”

You breathlessly laugh, shaking your head, pressing your heel into his lower back, “Harder. Please.” 

Those two words are all it takes. Something snaps inside of Steve right there, in his backseat, you a writhing mess beneath him as his jeans continue to slip down his thighs. Your pleads are his command; he offers the smallest of mercies by moving a palm to protect the top of your head before his thrusts turn animalistic. 

He’s pounding into you as if his life depends on it, as if your pussy is a warm and wet savior he had sought out for years. The surrounding windows begin to fog over as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours, swallowing each of your mewls in exchange for guttural moans of his own. Your pussy clenches down on him, hard, and it does nothing to slow his pace. 

“Fuck,” you call out, back arching further. His hand trails below you and settles into the curve of your lower back, pressing you up against him further as he continues. “Oh my God, don’t stop. Please, fuck- Don’t stop. Please, please.”

Steve laughs lowly at your babbling, “I’m not, sweetheart. I’m not. Let go.” 

Just like that, you feel the pleasure heat up your core, molten between your hips as you feel every inch of him continue to stretch your walls. His hips begin to stutter as you tighten around him, crying out as the coil tightens to it’s breaking point. It overflows from you, whimpers and cries alike as he kisses them away with clashing lips and teeth. The waves of euphoria are still consuming you and dragging you under when he suddenly stiffens, stilling deep inside of you and collapsing down on top of your chest, groaning the loudest of the night between pants, his hand still curled into the small of your back. 

You suddenly wish you could feel his heat filling you. He was right - next time, there will be no condoms. You want to feel him, need to feel all of him. 

You both are quiet as you catch your breaths, neither saying a word as you come down from your highs. In a moment of innocent serenity, accidental peace amongst enemies, he presses his cheek against your sternum through your own shirt. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest against your torso. 

But the peace must end. Because you’re you, and Steve’s Steve, and the two of you can only fit together so effortlessly for so long.  He finally lifts his head, the devilish boyish grin returning, as he asks, “So, same time tomorrow, honey?”

[watching-pictures-move]

Viddying the Nasties #37 | Possession (Zulawski, 1981)

This review contains spoilers.

Andrzej Zulawski's Possession is a movie I'd somewhat been dreading revisiting. When I'd seen it all those years back (on YouTube, split into two parts if I recall correctly, as the DVD had been hard to come by in those days), despite being greatly moved by the experience, I'd also found it an extremely exhausting film to sit through. It's a tortured divorce melodrama (among other things) that starts at 11 and only goes up from there. Lots of shouting and screaming, physical abuse, kicking around chairs and tables. The movie is not what I'd call an overtly pleasant experience. Watching it now (on a Blu-ray from Mondo Vision, a substantial upgrade from my original format), while I won't characterize my previous impressions as inaccurate, I was able to better appreciate how the movie modulates this tone, acclimatizing us to its fraught emotional space. The movie starts off in the realm of a normal, bitter breakup, with the husband having returned from a work trip only to learn that his wife is leaving him and struggling to make sense of it, his frustration and anger stemming as much from the fact of her dissolving their relationship as his inability to comprehend her motivations. It isn't really until the half hour mark that it asks us to dive off the deep end with it. The husband hits his wife in the middle of a fight, follows her onto the street as she tries to halfheartedly throw herself onto the path of a truck, which then drops its baggage in an almost comical bit of stuntwork, their squabble ended when the husband becomes surrounded by children playing soccer and joins in. Any one of these by itself is nothing out of the ordinary, but Zulawski assembles them into an off-kilter crescendo, and does away with any sense of normalcy for the rest of the runtime.

That this approach works as well as it does is largely thanks to Isabelle Adjani as Anna, the wife, who spends the aforementioned scene looking like a vampire in cat eye sunglasses and blood streaming down her grimacing mouth. She delivers perhaps the most bracingly physical performance I've seen in a movie, but again this is something I'd maybe underappreciated initially in terms of how finely tuned her choices are. An early scene where she fights with her husband has her manically cutting raw meat and shoving it into a grinder, as if to channel her frustrations into acceptable form of violence for women. When she takes an electric knife to her throat, she begins to spasm about like a farm animal during a botched slaughter, providing a further comment on her domestic situation. The film's most famous scene has her freak out in a subway tunnel, thrashing her limbs about chaotically but almost rhythmically, maybe like the contractions when goes into labour. Her character later describes this as a miscarriage, ejecting the side of her which is neat and orderly and "good". Adjani plays this other half as well, with a much more old fashioned hairdo (braided conservatively like a stereotypical schoolmarm), one which provides a much more tender maternal figure to the couple's son. Adjani is also well cast because of her emotive, saucer-like eyes, which she isn't afraid to point at the camera repeatedly, providing a genuine emotional grounding during both the quieter and more hysterical sections of the movie.

Her husband, Mark, is played by Sam Neill, who had been cast after the filmmakers had seen him in Gillian Armstrong's My Brilliant Career. To understand why Neill works so well, it helps to know that Sam Waterston had previously expressed interest in the role. Waterston, while a good actor, would have come off too fogeyish as the husband. Neill brings the appropriate edge and even sex appeal necessary for the material. And like in Jurassic Park, his best known role, he brings an inquisitive quality that keeps him close enough to our vantage point to give the narrative arc some grounding. The other major human character here is Heinz Bennent as Heinrich, a new age guru who happens to be having an affair with the wife. One on hand, this character represents the counterculture from Zulawski's homeland, which he had left after trouble from the authorities when making his last movie. On the other hand, Zulawski was drawing heavily from the bitter divorce he had just gone through, and directs a sizable fraction of the movie's contempt at this character, leading me to believe that his wife in fact left him for some new age buffoon. In one of the movie's funnier scenes, he has Heinrich confront Mark over Anna's disappearance and then go into a dumbassed trance while spouting new age nonsense and basically calling Mark a Nazi. This is the guy his wife left him for? This jackass? Mark sets him up by sending him to Anna, knowing full well he could be killed, but the potency of Mark's rage (and Zulawski's, by extension), as well as the ludicrousness of the Heinrich character, keep us from sympathizing with the latter too much. Zulawski has Heinrich die with his head in a toilet, a final flush by Mark serving as one last hilariously mean-spirited gesture of contempt.

Zulawski originally conceived the movie as having another major character, Anna's ex-husband, to be played by veteran actor and director Bernard Wicki, but after the first day of shooting with Wicki, he decided to drop the character entirely. (I suppose it depends on the personalities, but I wonder how actors react to being let go early from a project. Is it worse if it's on the first day? How about if you lead the filmmakers to realize they should do away with the character altogether? I only hope Wicki got paid.) It's not hard to see what purpose this character would have served, particularly in the way that Anna "upgrades" her lovers, having traded a much older man for the younger, sexier Mark, and then trying to replace him with an evolving monstrous fuck-squid (more on this later) that she was trying to nurture and reshape into the ideal partner. The only remnants of this character in the finished film is his young wife, who appears in the climax and his goaded by the "new" Mark (the final form of the fuck-squid) to shoot into the corpses of the real Mark and Anna. The character's proposed thematic purpose might have spelled out this moment's significance more clearly, but I'm not always convinced thematic clarity is preferable to how things move and feel, and the end product does not feel incomplete or incoherent, or at least not detrimentally so. The emotions make sense, even if the events onscreen are outside the norm. (My condolences to those of you who've been dumped for a monstrous fuck-squid.)

Having been conceived after his last project was quashed by authorities in Poland, there's undeniably a political element here, enhanced by the noticeable presence of the Berlin Wall, near which much of the film is situated. (At one point the camera looks out the window and sees the police from East Berlin staring back.) The realities of the Cold War figure heavily in the characters' lives, as it's suggested that Helen (the other Adjani) is from behind the Iron Curtain (she speak of readily identifiable evil, which could be interpreted as the visible presence of an authoritarian regime) and that Mark's work is in the field of intelligence, maybe even espionage. But the movie is less interested in pointing out political specifics than in the accompanying sense of repression and division, which plays heavily into the visual style. The movie often divides its frames to separate the characters, but rarely with any sense of symmetry, suggesting a sense of emotional chaos enhanced by the bruising mixture of wide angle lenses and handheld camerawork. When we're with Mark, the movie looks overcast, bluish grey, appropriately repressed at first, although Anna's presence throws his neat, fluorescently-lit apartment into disarray. Anna's love nest, situated in the Turkish district right beside the Wall is dilapidated and unkempt, which may have reflected the squalid realities of a hastily rented apartment in what I assume is a poorer part of town, but after having excised the orderly part of herself, it seems like an accurately messy reflection of her headspace.

Now back to the fuck-squid. It's hard to go into Possession this day and age completely blind, and even back when I first saw it, it came on my radar as the movie where "Isabelle Adjani fucks a squid". I have a lot of respect for Zulawski for delivering the goods on this front and for Adjani for throwing herself into this material, not because I'm some kind of sexual deviant who gets off on this stuff (although if you are, I'm not here to judge, it's a free country, just clear your browsing history after), but because modern arthouse cinema often defaults to a mode of cold, downplayed and too afraid to raise the audience's pulse (because apparently it's undignified to force a reaction out of the audience) and it's nice to see a movie serve what it says on the tin (this is one I'd have loved to see with an unsuspecting audience back in the day). Producer Marie Laure-Reyre notes that Zulawski was very hands on with the conception of the monster, drawing inspiration from gargoyles in Polish architecture, as if to further imbue political context into the proceedings. When seeing the end product, I can only assume Zulawski broke up with his wife at a seafood restaurant (I would hope he didn't react like Mark and throw around all the tables and chairs). Of course, the design of the monster means that the movie leans heavily into body horror, and its inclusion on the Video Nasty list in the UK and its release in the US in a heavily-trimmed 81-minute version emphasizing these elements likely contributed to its psychotronic reputation early on. (I am still interested in seeking out this cut, as I can't imagine the loss of 40 whole minutes wouldn't substantially alter the film's character.) It flirts with other genres as well. Certain scenes have a clear slapstick quality. Some of these involve Heinrich, the ever-reliable target of the film's ridicule, but there is also Margit Cartensen, playing Anna's friend and Mark-hater Marge, falling on her ass like a Three Stooges bit. And there's the climax, parodying action movies with its woozy cocktail of car chase, shootout and explosions, which leads a headlong rush into the film's apocalyptic final moments.

[ask-ivory]

RWBY Random Rant #2!

What villain is the best? (Cinder vs Roman)

Second rant everyone! This one may be a bit longer than the first, so if you don't have time but find this interesting, then I suggest reading this later. If you have infinite time on your hands and your board, then this might help depending on your interests. So let's jump into today's rant!

So, the world of Remnant is a big place. There, you'll find friendly people, weird people, mean people, and people who are just flat out crazy. But today, we're looking at a certain group of people: Villains. Now before we jump in to the blender of craziness, this post is an analysis that can be used for predictions and plot lines. I may be wrong, but I'm writing this off of what I know.

Anyways... Let's start with the basic question, What IS a villain? A villain (or for the more technical term: antagonist) is a character who is trying to stop the hero (or protagonist) from accomplishing his or her goal. Either this, or they're trying to get something and the hero is trying to stop them because what the villain wants is wrong. This is the loosest definition, so you can imagine that this goes way deeper than you think.

There are some things that you need to ask and have answered before you confirm who is the villain in a story. Some of which includes the following:

Who is this guy? (Basic background)

Why is he or she interested in this scenario? (Could this benefit to their cause?)

Why are they doing this? (If so, then why?)

So if we take this and try and apply it to the "villain" we can tell if this is a VILLAIN. Another important thing to note is the quality of the character. What sort of events cause the villain to act like this, and why?

Well, when we're talking RWBY, then villains come in different shapes and sizes. Some villains are immature, and others have experienced enough pain and defeat to know exactly what will work to achieve their goal and/or stop the hero. Then you have the peeps in the middle who aren't as overwhelming as the big baddie, but have enough common sense to know what's going on, what needs to be done, and why they're doing it.

So I'mma gonna start at the bottom of the rainbow and work my way up to the best colors. I'll also be rating these characters on a scale of one to ten. I won't do everyone. Let's start with the entire fandom's LEAST favorite character.

Cinder Fall

Stars: 0/10

Now if I was a writer for the show, I think the most interesting thing that could happen to Cinder is if she just dropped dead. That's how bad she. Literally. Now, what makes her so disgusting? There are two answers.

She did horrible things. Like hacking the communication towers (With help from Watts, of course), making the people at the Vytal Festival Tournament doubt the leaders of Vale, and, to top it off, KILLED Pyrrah and Ozpin.

But these are the actions a normal villain would do, so what really makes her Terrible? The second answer has the reason.

2. She's a poorly written character with a lack of depth are perception.

I have no idea what made the writers want to make Cinder a hated character, but whatever did worked really well. Honestly, it's like Roosterteeth did the opposite of what Disney did to Cinderella. But when I say she lacks depth, I mean there is nothing that makes her character any good. She's also one of the biggest mysteries in the show, and I don't mean that in a good way. Here are some of the questions that I often ask about her:

Why does she want power?

Does she want to rule the world?

Why does she wear an outfit that's guaranteed to help her freeze to death?

Does she want to kill Salem?

Why doesn't she learn from her mistakes?

WHY THE HECK DOES SHE EVEN EXIST?!?!?!

Well, after some examination, I found out something shocking. She is just a plot device. She may talk and act evil, but in reality, she's just there so that the characters have something to worry about. She has nothing that makes her good, or relatable. To add to that, she's like the Grimm, all she does is attack and kill and if she loses, she DOESN'T reflect on her actions, and she DOESN'T try to fix her mistakes. She just goes back into the fight with the same strategy as before. If the main protagonists studied Cinder's basic movement, then they would be able to take her down, no doubt.

Can Cinder be saved? The answer is no. I bet that, judging from the road she's going down, her strategy will be her ultimate end.

Hazel Rainheart

(I may have spelled his name wrong. Sorry.😁)

Stars: 2/10 ☆☆

Now Hazel is a bit more interesting. Unlike Cinder, he has a reason he's on the side he is now, but like everyone, he has his flaws. He lets his anger get the better of him, and he's quick to judge. But the real reason why he's not so good is because of his reasoning. His sister died on a training mission because SHE chose to become a huntress. But Hazel takes all of his anger out on Oscar and Ozpin just because he (Ozpin) was the headmaster of Beacon, and let her into the school in the first place.

And I gotta say, this reasoning is understandable, but it's still dumb.

But there is something that makes Hazel a huge threat to the heros: his semblance of pain nullification. This gives him the ability to block out pain. And I kinda get where it comes from.

When his sister died, he was broken. She was probably the only family Hazel had, and when she was killed, he wanted to block out the emptiness, the grief, the pain. Thus his semblance was unlocked and he could no longer feel pain. This ability is probably how his aura charges up so quickly. If pain can block aura from charging, then he has the tools to be a force to be reckoned with. The only downside is that just because he can't feel pain doesn't mean that he's not hurt.

Can Hazel be saved? Maybe. But if he goes on a redemption arch, then he will probably die. But that doesn't mean that he's a lost cause. There's still plenty of things that can be added to Hazel's character to make it better. But at the present, he could be better.

Adam Taurus

Stars 2/10 ☆☆

This character is relatively horrible. In fact, he's worse than Hazel!

But the thing is, he's like Hazel in a special way: he has a tragic past. Certain events that wreck a kid's childhood can scar them for life. Adam was discriminated for his faunus traits, and this set him on a path of revenge that would be his bitter end.

He was a threat, but small compared to the real one. His semblance made him very dangerous, but it also makes sense. To be more specific, his semblance is, what I like to call, absorption of impact (or for the EruptionFang version, moon slice). This gives him the ability to absorb any damage done by the enemy into his blade, then release it back at a more powerful rate. This can cause devastating damage to both the enemy and the environment. As for why he had this semblance is pretty basic once you think about it.

Adam desired to get back at those who mistreated him. He wanted them to feel his pain, but a lot more extreme. He wanted them to feel what he felt, but worse.

Adam had a lot of potential, but, well when you get stabbed in the back, it's not easy to get back at your enemies. Over all in terms of writing, the thing that would've made him better was a better understanding of what he went through.

Tyrian Callows

Stars 4/10 ☆☆☆☆

If Adam wasn't crazy enough for you, then Tyrian's your go to guy.

I think that Tyrian is insane enough to join Salem, but has enough sense to know how to kill. He's kinda tough to figure out, but thanks to some much needed information in Volume 7, we now know a bit about Tyrian's past.

Tyrian was a mad man killer on the continent of Anima but was captured. He was then rescued by Salem and her Grimm. Since he's mad he owed his life to her ever since.

He's mad, so there's no bad excuse. And to add to that, he is flat down dangerous. His semblance is the ability to cut through aura, making him a hard to beat.

Can Tyrian be saved? Not really. The only way to kill him is for someone to fall victim to him while another strikes the killing blow.

Doctor Aurthor Watts

Stars: 5/10 ☆☆☆☆☆

Alright. Here we go!

Watts is very interesting. That's saying alot. Now that we have more information on him, it's easier to see why he wants to screwer Ironwood.

He was an Atlasian scientist who went against Pietro in the effort to make something great for Atlas. While Watts helped write the Atlas security code, Pietro found that the best inspiration is found inside. That was were Penny was created. Watts was disgraced and faked his death. Then Salem found him and he joined her group to get both revenge on Ironwood and respect from Atlas. Though he is clearly unaware of what Salem's true plans are.

He is a wiz when it comes to technology. Besides that, I believe he has some experience with combat. His semblance could have something to do with technology, but we're still figuring that out.

Can Watts be saved? Writing wise, maybe we can get more details about Watts in the final episodes. He's not a lost cause when it comes being a more interesting villain.

Story wise though? He's a dead man.

Salem

Stars: 6/10 ☆☆☆☆☆☆

Yes, I didn't save her for until the end.😼

Now from the writer's point of view, Salem's backstory has been completely fleshed out. It's pretty complicated so I won't go into details. But from that alone, Salem's actons make sense. As a prisoner of life, she yearns to be free. She wants to die. And she believes that the only way to do this is to divide humanity and summon the gods in there darkest hour. Then the gods destroy the world and Salem is free. She doesn't care about the people she is hurting. She hates humanity and wants to destroy everything. But above all, she wants to get permanent revenge on her ex Ozma (or Ozpin or Oscar). She wants him to die and stay dead when millennia ago she made great sacrifices to try bringing him back from the dead.

Now she has nothing to show for it except endless years of war, hatred, and suffering. There is some relation that one can have with Salem. If anyone who is reading this tried to do something for someone you cared about, but got nothing to show for it in return, then that's what Salem would be feeling. And this has caused her to spiral into madness. She is the purest definition of crazy.

Can Salem be saved? It depends at this point. Story wise, most likely not.

Emerald and Mercury!

Stars for them both 7/10 ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

These two are going to be paired in honor of their beloved ship: Emercury.

Both characters have tragic pasts, so that gives them some common ground, but both are looking for something different. Emerald is looking for love, the one thing that she never had in her entire life. Mercury is looking for a purpose in life, a way to make himself Worthy of greatness. He claims that Cinder recruiting him was just destiny.

Both of these peeps are incredibly good at what they do. Both can fight better than the members of team CFVY.

Emerald's semblance is Perception manipulation, which makes perfect sense in her case. In a very special case, her semblance is similar to Adam's. She wants others to see what she sees, Emerald wants people to see how alone she is, and just how much she needs family. Her semblance is an incarnation of her desire. And she uses it to make people see what she wants them to see.

Mercury's semblance is currently unknown at this time. But we do know that his semblance was stolen by his father. After killing him, Mercury probably got his semblance back, but lives under the illusion that it's still gone.

Mercury grew up in an abusive household, under the guard of a murderer. He was tortured everyday by his father.

Emerald grew up on the streets.

Basically, these characters are well written, and both have great potential as well. There's even some hope of a redemption Arch for these two, and possibly some romance.

Can Emerald and Mercury be saved? Writing wise, yes. More trauma and info can definitely help. Story wise? Hopefully, yes.

Roman Torchwick

Stars: 9/10 ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Time for the classics!

This charming young schemer has been the first character in the actual show. Fans everywhere love him, and will often mark him as the best villain. Honestly, I have nothing against it. But for the sake of this post, let's break down this lovely character and examine his awesomeness.

Roman's origin is currently unknown, but maybe we'll get some light cast on it with Neo's backstory as well. Many believe that he is somehow connected to Brunswick Farms, and it's still a possibility that has yet to be ruled out.

Roman is a good fighter and a master mind behind the underground crime rings of Vale. By himself, he is a relatively good fighter. Though his semblance has yet to be determined, he has his own Roman candle.

Another aspect of this character that won the hearts of fans is his charming personality. I mean, who can blame him? Though his death was sudden, and unfair, his handsome face will live on in the hearts of many.

Neo Politan

Stars: 10/10⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

The star of the show, folks!

Neo made her big enterence in Volume 2 episode 4 Painting the Town, and ever since has been one of the most popular characters in the entire show. If you break down Neo's character based on what we know, then it's actually really interesting. Let's scoop ice cream!

Neo's backstory is unknown, but we're hoping to have some light shed on the subject. Based off of the song "One Thing", we can tell that Neo's backstory is tragic in some way. She lost everything except for Roman. And she is willing to fight to protect Roman from the death. How do I know?

Her semblance is called illusions by many, but Unicorn of War calls it Mirrors, which I think is the most accurate. Her semblance gives her the ability to reflect her opponent's attacks upon themselves, and she can change her appearance right down to her hair and eye color.

What does any of this have to do with protecting Roman? She will use Any means necessary to protect what little she has left, and to her, that one thing is enough. She Will change her identity as many times as possible, and she often gets away with it. But she is so fierce in protecting that during a fight, any pain that the enemy can dish out to her dumdum would make her determined to kick her opponent's butt. She would give them a taste of their own medicine and literally reflect their attacks upon themselves.

She is a reflection of protection. And like that reflection she represents, she says not a word, but shows people how exactly they can hurt the one she loves.

After Roman's death, Neo Politan is determined to reflect her loves justice upon the true enemies. If you can't face yourself, then you can't face Neo.

So, there you have it, villains everywhere.

Be sure to reblog if you found this interesting!

If you have questions, then ask away!😁

[katedrakeohd]

Personal Shopper

A Choices : Save the Date Fanfiction

Pairing: MC Stella Jennings and Martin Mercado (Justin)

Rated: PG for language.

Word count: approx. 2800

Context: Martin calls Stella and asks for a favor.

Author's note: Stella's personal thoughts appear in italics

Tagging:

@dailydoseofchoices @sanvivrma @samihatuli @gardeningourmet @lovealexhunt @princess-geek @loveofafangirl @storyofmychoices @msjpuddleduck @perriewinklenerdie @thepotatobleh @shrinkthisviolet @griselda1121 @iamnotjesha @desiree-0816

*************

I'm standing in the bridal boutique with Lindsay finalizing our plans to attend the Wedding convention in Niagara Falls, when my phone starts ringing. Without looking at the caller ID I answer, “Hello, Jennings Wedding Planners. We make weddings spectacular, how may I help you?”

After the words leave my lips there's a pause, giving me just enough time to feel awkward about using the word ‘spectacular' .

“Stella, Hi. It's Martin.”

It's been a while since we've spoken, and I can't help but feel a tingle of excitement at hearing his voice. When I don't say anything he continues,

“Nora's wedding is coming up soon, and I was wondering if I could ask a favor?”

Oh so now he needs me for something. Is this a test?

“What kind of favor?”, I ask.

“Well as wedding planner I value your opinion on what to wear, and as Best Man I need a tuxedo. Could you help me pick one out?”

Well I've already overseen the picking out of wedding dresses. And this would give me another chance to show Martin that I can be professional and take my job seriously. So why not?

“Ok Martin, are we picking something out of your closet or are we going shopping?”

I can hear the smile in his voice when he answers, “I want something fresh and new for Nora's wedding, so let's go shopping. Are you free this evening?”

When he's not mad at me for something his voice does carry a certain charm. I wish it didn't affect me so much.

“I'm free, where are we going?”

“I'll text you the address. Meet me there at 7?”

I can't help but smile, “It’s a date.”

I hear him laugh on the other end, “Don't be late.”

As I look out the window of my taxi I can't help but shake my head. Given that the address Martin gave me borders on the south end of Central Park, it couldn't have said more “fancy rich guy” if it tried. When the taxi stops outside of the Ritz-Carlton hotel, I see Martin standing talking to the doorman. When the doorman steps over to get my door, Martin waves him off and opens it for me.

“Wow, aren't we being a gentleman?” I tease as I climb out of the taxi.

“Well you're here to do me a favor, so it's only right.”

Martin knocks on the passenger window and the driver rolls it down to accept his credit card.

I stand on the sidewalk and wait. The Ritz-Carlton doorman tips his hat to me in greeting and I blush. As the taxi drives away Martin comes back over to me.

“So this is a hotel. I thought we were going shopping?” I ask, eyeing Martin warily.

Martin's usual stern facade shifts and he smiles, “Oh we are, the store isn't far from here. So I figured we could walk.”

I shrug, falling in step beside him as we join the flow of pedestrians. “Don't tell me you're taking me to shop on 5th Avenue.” I joke.

Martin glances at me all serious, “Well yes, I always shop on 5th Avenue.

Of course you do.

As we walk by the other hotels on the street the crowd on the sidewalk gets more dense, and it's tough not to bump into people. A group of people come at us from the other direction and I have to step closer to Martin to avoid being trampled. Without warning I feel him take my hand, he leans in close to whisper. “Don't worry, I've got you.”

I give his hand a grateful squeeze, “Thanks, remind me again why walking is better than taking a taxi?”

As he guides me around a woman pushing a stroller, he smiles. “I like walking with you Stella. Remember how I walked you home after Nora's bridal shower?”

“I remember wanting to learn more about the real Martin that hides behind the façade of CEO event planner guy.”

We navigate the maze of cross walks and find ourselves on 5th Avenue.

“Well consider this as an another insight into who I am. I love this city, I live this city. The excitement, the people, the living breathing organism that is the exchange of commerce and business. I feel so energized to be a part of it.”

As I look down at his expensive shoes and the designer clothes he's wearing it reminds me of the divide between our economic classes. We might live on the same island, but he's all high-rise Penthouse and I'm Hell's Kitchen. I don’t belong in his social scene at all, yet here I am planning his sister's wedding and holding his hand. It's terrifying and exciting at the same time, like I'm on a carousel ride and if I dare let go it will all disappear and be just a dream.

He holds the door open for me as we enter the men's wear store at Bergdorf Goodman and as we step inside he looks like he's right at home. I feel like an ugly duckling in my basic cotton dress and sandals. He leads the way to the escalator and we go up to the second floor formal wear department.

The mannequins are all sharply dressed in suits of various colors and designer brands. As the only feminine thing in the whole room it feels very intense, almost erotic to be surrounded by such powerful masculinity.

The way that Martin just casually walks by the expensive price tags on display is mindboggling. But then this is his world, and money is no object. As we approach the clerk behind the counter the man smiles at us and greets Martin like an old friend.

“Martin! Back so soon! And with a pretty girl on your arm. How can I help you two today?”

Martin smiles back, “Good evening, Eric. My sister's getting married next month and I need a tux.”

Eric eyes me appraisingly as if I'm Martin's date. He seems to approve, but I don't know for sure because he quickly averts his attention back to Martin.

“Nora, right? Well tell her congrats for me. So for this extra special occasion are we going for something equally as special? Perhaps a tail coat this time?”

Martin shrugs and then looks at me, “That's not quite what I had in mind as Best Man, but let's ask the wedding planner. What do you think Stella?”

I hold my hand up, needing to clarify something first, “Hang on, I'm still trying to get over the fact that the staff know you by name. Just how many suits have you bought here?”

Martin grins at Eric, “Well this will be the fifth. There was Prom, two award shows, and of course Sam and Ali's wedding. I like shopping here because they carry the styles and brands that I like. Plus they have my size and measurements on file which helps.”

Eric laughs and smacks Martin on the arm, “Besides Martin and I go way back because we used to work here together.”

“So you weren't always part of your Dad's event planning business?” I ask, trying to imagine Martin working behind the counter at a clothing store.

“I was in highschool and Eric was in college. We worked in the backroom more so than directly with customers. It was my first taste of the business world at the ground level.”

Eric smiles, “One of the best, most down-to-earth guys I’ve ever worked with.”

Wait, what? Bossy pants, rich guy Martin is actually a nice guy under all of that expensive cologne? I knew it.

“Stop it Eric, you’re going to ruin the hard ass millionaire persona I’ve been trying so hard to uphold,” Martin jokes.

The air between us gets a little more awkward as Martin looks at me and smiles. What game are you playing Mister? You like me, then hate me, then you look at me like that and my knees go weak. Stop teasing me.

Eric claps his hands to dispell the moment and bring me back to reality, “Ok then, enough reminiscing, let’s get you a tux.”

He leads us to the racks and starts pulling things. “Let’s try this, and…this, oh and this one.”

Eric’s confidence as he chooses designer looks just at a glance is so different to Lindsay’s timid nature at the bridal boutique. He knows his niche market so well and obviously excels at it. I wish I could get the two of them in the same room, and just maybe some of his confident optimism would rub off on her.

He hands Martin a bunch of hangers as he leads us to a changing room, “I’m sure you two will be just fine with these, I’ll check back on you later.”

I feel a sudden panic take over at the idea of being left alone with Martin in a changing room. “Wait, you’re not going to help advise him about fit and stuff like that?”

Eric smiles, “I think in this matter that Martin would value your opinion more than mine. I’ll give you some privacy.”

Did he just wink at Martin before he left?

I suddenly feel hot all over when Martin hands me the hangers and then starts to unbutton his shirt, This is so not in my job description. What is going on?

I feel myself blush and look away, “Um, Martin should I wait outside?”

As he unbuttons the cuffs on his sleeves he looks down briefly as he slips off his shoes. “Only if you really want to Stella, I’m not too shy to ask for your help if I need you.”

If he needs me? What if I want to help now?

My eyes are drawn to the open neck of his shirt and the little bit of chest he’s revealed. I hang up the suits I’m holding and step toward him. “Let me help you with that.”

Martin doesn’t argue as I gently lay my hands on his chest, smoothing the fabric under my palms and running my thumb up over the buttons. His hands hang at his sides as he watches mine work to undo the buttons. I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and I boldly let my thumb graze against his skin as I reach the bottom button. Biting my lip I tug the shirt up out of his waistband. As I undo the last button I look up and meet the dark intensity of his eyes with my own. Our lips are only inches apart and I see him gasp as I run my hands up his bare chest and slide the shirt off of his shoulders and then it drops to the floor.

“Stella,” he whispers, catching my hands in his. “That's enough, thanks for the help.”

I step back and let my eyes wander down his toned and muscled arms and chest, ending at his abs, trying not to focus on anything below the belt. He clears his throat and then I look back up at his eyes.

“Are you sure you don't need help with anything else?” I ask, bending down to pick up his shirt. It's still warm and smells like him.

He pushes his shoes off to the side, and undoes his belt. I can't help but watch his hands.

“Yes Stella, I think I can manage the rest from here. I'm quite capable of dressing and undressing myself.”

I feel warm all over as I back out of the changing room, “I..I understand. I'll be outside if you need me.”

I lean against the wall and try to catch my breath. My mind, nerves and sexual desire are buzzing in overdrive.

Holy hell what the heck was that? He had no reservations about taking his shirt off in front of me. What the fuck is this twisted game he's playing? Was he just testing me to see if the attraction is mutual? Because it definitely is.

My eyes are closed, when I hear the door open.

“Okay, what do you think?”

My head snaps round to the sound of his voice. Damn he looks good in black. The crisp white of his shirt pops against the caramel color of his skin, and the bowtie draws attention to his handsome face and brilliant smile.

“Wow, Martin. Just wow.” I can't hide my smile of admiration.

“I know right? Eric really knows what looks good on me.”

He certainly does.

“You bet I do!” Eric says, grinning from ear to ear with pride.

After a quick visual assessment Eric nods. “And it's a perfect fit.”

Martin catches me staring and makes a show of adjusting his shirt cuffs and smoothing the lapels of his jacket. I can feel myself blush when he lays a smoldering look on me. He knows he looks good and that I'm checking him out. He undoes the button on the jacket and casually stuffs his hands in the pockets of the trousers as if he already owns them.

“Great then. I'll get changed and then you can ring me up.”

Eric smirks at me when Martin disappears to go change, “You like him don't you? You know you're just his type. Please tell me that you two are a thing.”

I'm caught off guard by his observation, but I can't help but tell him the truth.

“Not yet, but I'm working on it.”

Eric laughs, “I knew it! The two of you have been setting off serious sparks ever since you walked in.”

Well whatever is going on it's seriously something volatile.

“You're his friend, any advice for me?” I ask nervously.

I can't believe I'm really asking someone how to pursue a relationship with Martin.

“Be patient, he knows what he's got going on, but under it all he has a good heart and a good head.”

“And a good face.”

He grins and points at me, “You, Stella. I like you. Got spunk for days.”

Martin comes back out, “What are you two grinning about?”

“Oh nothing. Stella and I were just talking about cute boys that's all.”

He laughs, “I bet your husband wouldn't like that.”

Eric laughs, “Nah he'd just be jealous about missing out on the details.”

I blush and look down at my shoes, praying for the floor to open me up and swallow me whole. “Um, can we go now?”

Eric winks and collects the tuxedo and accessories from Martin, “But of course Madame et Monsieur, right this way.”

Standing next to Martin at the counter I try not to peek at the price of everything as Eric rings them up. Martin hands over his black Visa card. “So I'm assuming the hemming of the trousers to the proper inseam is included. And that everything will be delivered to my address?”

Eric smiles and nods as he makes a note on the receipt. “Yes Mr. Mercado, and as always it's been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Thanks Eric, we'll be back.”

We? What's this we all of a sudden?

“Nice to meet you Stella.” Eric says as we turn to go.

I smile and wave and then Martin leads me back out of the store. Out on the street I turn on him.

“Ok Martin, out with it. Why did you really invite me out to go shopping with you?”

Martin runs his hand over the side of his face, and looks down at his shoes with a sigh. “Honestly?”

I fold my arms across my chest, “I'd like the truth, yes.”

Martin looks up and the expression on his face is open and sincere. “The truth is…that..that I like you Stella. I was looking for an excuse to see you again.”

Well holy shit. I don't know what to say.

“Stella?” he says, as he catches me staring at him again. “Say something.”

I blink and then look down and reach for his hand. When I look back up at him again he's smiling. “I think I'd like that Mr. Mercado.”

He steps closer, “And what exactly would you like Stella?”

“For you to find more excuses to see me. Because I like spending time with you too.”

He brings his hand up to brush the hair back from my face, his thumb grazes my cheek and sends a thrilling sensation traveling down my neck. He leans in close and my eyes drop down to focus on his lips, now just a breath away from touching mine. I suck in a breath in anticipation and then he draws himself back.

With a sigh he steps back from me. “Can I call you sometime?”

I feel like all the air has been squeezed out of my lungs so I just nod.

“Yes, anytime.” I manage to whisper.

"Okay good, but for now let me call you a cab."

[big-ope-vibes]

I literally love your work and this 3k celebration is absolutely GENIUS so can I please get a filthy martini with Steve Harrington? Can it be enemies with benefits(also hate fucking? I blame you for this new trope obsession bc 24 hours GOT ME FERAL)?

nonnie i love you this is the such an incredible request i can only hope i did it justice oh my GOD

come party with me!

sweet like honey (steve harrington x fem! reader)

warnings: smut, p in v, mean steve sort of if you squint?, oral f receiving, talk of unprotected sex, cnc hickies? is that a thing? she says no and then he does it anyway?, arguing over using protection (steve says he'll convince her to not use it next time, but they use it this time!), not edited, minors dni

You hate him. You swear it to yourself, to your friends, to your own mother who sometimes points him out at sport events or at the local grocery store. You hate Steve Harrington. Simple as that. 

But maybe, just maybe, it isn't as simple as that. 

Because you hate him, yes - to your very core -  but you still always end up here. You still answer when he texts you in the middle of the night, you still meet him at your spot at the park that serves as a halfway point between your house and his, and you still end up in his lap in the backseat of the BMW his daddy bought for him. 

“This is the last time, Harrington,” you murmur through fervent kisses as you sit as comfortably as possible in his lap, “I mean it.”

He pulls back with that boyish grin that you absolutely despise, tightening his grip on your hips as his head tilts, “Of course, honey. Just like you said the last two times, right?” 

You don’t offer him an answer, instead plunging back in for a biting kiss. You imagine that if you take his bottom lip between your teeth hard enough, if you bite down with the right pressure, he’ll bleed. And the thought of tasting Steve Harrington’s blood across your tongue is more exciting than you care to admit. 

“Yes, but I really do mean it this time,” you insist against his mouth, your hangs tangling against the roots of his hair. Your goal is to mess it up, to rake through the product and all the time you know he spends in the mirror each morning, and ruin it. 

He only hums in response and urges you down onto his lap harder, the bulge confined in his jeans pressing into you more noticeably. 

“Hard already?” you tsk, rolling your hips harder against him, eliciting a load moan from his lips.

He’s just so easy. Maybe that’s why you keep coming back for more. 

“God, just shut up,” he gasps against you, moving his mouth along your jaw and neck. 

He starts to suck hard on your sweet spot, which in return makes you tug sharply on his hair. Hard enough to make him hiss in pain, “No fucking marks, how many times do I have to tell you?” 

“I know,” he says, clearly not knowing, as he continues to chuckle and trace his finger along the junction of your neck and shoulder, “But imagine just how pretty you’d look, all marked up by me.” 

“And imagine how pretty you’d look with your head between my thighs, not fucking talking,” you remark back. 

No marks. Because if he left a mark, then people might know. And you’d rather die than have anyone find out you had been fucking around with Steve Harrington the last two months. 

Steve suddenly maneuvers the two of you so that you’re laid out across the seat, fitting himself between your legs with clear practice. The two of you have been in this backseat more times than you can count, and have learned your way around the confinement of it all. 

He pushes up the flimsy sleep shorts you’d worn out, bunching them at the top of your thighs as far as they will go as he places kisses up your inner thigh, starting at your knee, “I know you said no marks, sweetie,” his tone is laced with condescending confidence, teeth nipping at the soft skin as he looks up at you, “But what about here, hm? Where no one can see them? Do we have a deal?” 

He’s going to get his way. He always knows he can get his way when he starts to soften you up like this, one hand gripping your knee and already guiding it over his shoulder as the other trails beneath the waistband of the shorts and draws circles on your hip. 

“If anyone can see them, Harrington, I’ll-”

“Kick my ass,” he finishes your sentence for you, already moving to nuzzle his nose into your thigh, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before, babe.” 

He sucks and nips immediately at your makeshift permission, his saliva glistening against the purple bursting to life on your skin in the shape of his lips. 

“Lay off the nicknames,” you sigh, throwing your head back as his moves to make a second mark, higher up and closer to where you ache for him, “Or I will go back home and leave you with blue balls.”

His chuckle vibrates against your skin, eyes flicking up towards you. It’s a shame he’s such an absolute dick, because he looks pretty from here. Hair messed up as you intended, pupils blown wide, lips nearly magnetic against you as if he can’t get enough.

“Oh, honey, you wouldn’t,” he taunts, finally sitting up, beginning to take off your shorts, “We both know you don’t mean it, do you? You can threaten me all you want, but you still come back every,” your shorts are off, and he pauses to lean down and bite at your hip now before continuing, “single,” he moves to the other hip, sucking hard, leaving a weaker shade of violet in his path, “time.” 

You don’t reply as you whine out, hips bucking up, encouraging him to get it over with. To put his mouth where you need it most. To stop with his incessant cooing and taunting and to just fuck you with his tongue. 

He gets the message fairly clearly through his thick skull. 

And you like him best like this, quiet as he slides your panties to the side, tongue on your clit and already sliding his fingers into you, hellbent on unraveling you. He’s learned your body best at this point, knowing when to crook his fingers as he adds a second one, when to alternate between wrapping his lips around your clit to suck and using only the tip of his tongue to trace invisible shapes lost on you. He’s quiet, he’s as messy as a boy like him is capable of getting, and he knows.

But he’s eager. You’d say it’s his downfall, but you truly reap the benefits when he brings you right to the edge only to pull back and begin to make quick work of his own pants. He’s still in his jeans and polo, his work vest discarded in the front seat, his belt quickly joining it. 

You have no time to make another smart ass remark. No opportunity to poke fun at the way he bumps his head against the roof of the car or the way he struggles with his zipper a second longer than he should. Because once he’s gotten his cock out of his briefs, thick and pink and already leaking from the tip for you, he makes quick work to be inside you. 

“Condom,” you gasp out as his tip circles your interest, making him pause for the first time the entire night.

His eyebrows furrow, “You’re on the pill, yeah? We didn’t use one last time.” 

“My mistake,” you grit out, fighting the urge to just let him sink into you, to feel him stretch you in a way you both know only he can, “I know you’re fucking other girls. Wrap it, or I’m out, Harrington.” 

A sudden break of softness. In an instant, his teasing halts and he pulls back, looking at you with a hand still wrapped around his base, “I’m not fucking other girls.”

“What?”

“I said,” he leans down, warm brown eyes staring into yours, “I’m not fucking other girls. Only you. Only has been you since this entire thing started.” 

If you were an idiot, you’d read more into his words. You’d read into the fact that the town’s womanizer, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, has taken himself off the market for you. You’d think about it the rest of the night, your entire way back home, fantasize about it as you closed your eyes and begged for sleep. 

But you’re not an idiot. So you laugh at him. 

“Bullshit,” you say, maintaining eye contact, daring him into some unspoken war between the two of you. 

You watch as his jaw locks, his eyes set in stone, before he suddenly is fumbling around the car floor and producing his wallet. He pulls a condom from where it had been nestled between an abhorrent amount of cash, and he’s hasty in ripping it open.

“Fine,” he mumbles as he rolls the latex over his cock, “Fine. You want me to wear a condom, sweet thing? I’ll wear a condom. But I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll be begging me to go raw next time.” 

Your stomach clenches, your core flutters. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’re already reconsidering your insistence.

“Consider it a challenge, Harrington.” 

When the stretch finally comes, you’re preening into him, back arching and legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He’s harsh now in his actions, hardly allotting time to adjust once he bottoms out before he pulls back and repeats the motion, slamming into you harder the second time. 

He finds his rhythm quickly; he knows what you like. He knows that you want it rough, that you want him to destroy you from the inside out. Your nails claw at him through the cotton of his shirt, and you consider the ramifications if you were to tear through the fabric, leave holes and make the shirt unrecognizable. 

Mommy and daddy would probably buy him a new one. 

Your fingers dig in deeper at the thought. 

“This good, yeah?” he asks, snapping his hips up into your hard enough to that your body shifts upwards, back burning from the rough tapestry of the seat and the top of your head banging into the car door, “You like it hard, don’t you, baby?” 

No words are formed, your mouth open as whines and moans alike tear from your throat, pulling him in closer. He dips his lips back down into your shoulder, placing messy kisses up to your throat. 

“You’re always such a good little slut for me, aren’t you? What would your mother think? What would your friends think?” he presses as a hand grips your bare thigh hard enough to leave marks, holding your leg even harder to his hips, “Going all cock drunk for Steve Harrington, the boy you hate.”

“Shut up,” you groan out, grabbing at his hair and pulling harshly, trying to lift his head from your throat. He doesn’t follow the pull of your hand. Instead, he bites down on the skin he was previously kissing innocently against.

He leaves a mark. You know he does. But all you're capable of is a pathetic whine as your pussy flutters around him, sucking him deeper into you. 

“Fucking knew it,” he mumbles against the skin before his tongue lathes over the spot that still stings, “Fucking knew you loved being marked up, baby. Tried to stop me all this time because you knew you loved it so much.” 

“Steve,” you beg as your head hits the door yet again from the force of another thrust.

He slows his movements, head lifting to take in your features. Your teary eyes, your heaving chest to match his own, “Fuck, too hard?”

You breathlessly laugh, shaking your head, pressing your heel into his lower back, “Harder. Please.” 

Those two words are all it takes. Something snaps inside of Steve right there, in his backseat, you a writhing mess beneath him as his jeans continue to slip down his thighs. Your pleads are his command; he offers the smallest of mercies by moving a palm to protect the top of your head before his thrusts turn animalistic. 

He’s pounding into you as if his life depends on it, as if your pussy is a warm and wet savior he had sought out for years. The surrounding windows begin to fog over as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours, swallowing each of your mewls in exchange for guttural moans of his own. Your pussy clenches down on him, hard, and it does nothing to slow his pace. 

“Fuck,” you call out, back arching further. His hand trails below you and settles into the curve of your lower back, pressing you up against him further as he continues. “Oh my God, don’t stop. Please, fuck- Don’t stop. Please, please.”

Steve laughs lowly at your babbling, “I’m not, sweetheart. I’m not. Let go.” 

Just like that, you feel the pleasure heat up your core, molten between your hips as you feel every inch of him continue to stretch your walls. His hips begin to stutter as you tighten around him, crying out as the coil tightens to it’s breaking point. It overflows from you, whimpers and cries alike as he kisses them away with clashing lips and teeth. The waves of euphoria are still consuming you and dragging you under when he suddenly stiffens, stilling deep inside of you and collapsing down on top of your chest, groaning the loudest of the night between pants, his hand still curled into the small of your back. 

You suddenly wish you could feel his heat filling you. He was right - next time, there will be no condoms. You want to feel him, need to feel all of him. 

You both are quiet as you catch your breaths, neither saying a word as you come down from your highs. In a moment of innocent serenity, accidental peace amongst enemies, he presses his cheek against your sternum through your own shirt. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest against your torso. 

But the peace must end. Because you’re you, and Steve’s Steve, and the two of you can only fit together so effortlessly for so long.  He finally lifts his head, the devilish boyish grin returning, as he asks, “So, same time tomorrow, honey?”