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morgana-ren · 10 months

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I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference.

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction.

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does.

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne.

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name.

His real name.

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet—

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance.

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.”

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity”

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.”

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom.

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe.

He lashes out at her.

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all.

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness.

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–”

Because that is what he’d taught her.

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished.

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?”

Her head cocks. She does not understand.

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question.

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something.

From him.

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest.

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest.

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her.

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you."

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night."

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair."

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent.

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued.

He can’t.

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death.

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow.

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded.

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight.

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct.

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?"

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love.

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried.

“Darling?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her?

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall.

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes.

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed.

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic.

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that.

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely.

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time.

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #literally whatever you want it to be #very bad implications here do not read if sensitive #bad mean astarion #sort of #lots of mistakes here fellas #i TOLD yall i was having a tough time writing #this needed more time and work but man I just CANNOT focus #you get the gist right #this needed more detail and to be longer but i was struggling here #god i need medicine or something #one down about 399 more to go lmao

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harunayuuka2060 · 4 months

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Neige: MC! *sniffles* You got hurt!

MC: I am alright, Neige... Though what are you doing here?

Vil: He insisted on coming with me when he heard about the news.

MC: ...

MC: *glances at Rook*

Rook: *smiles at them*

MC: ...

MC: *turns their attention back to Vil and Neige* Thank you both for your concern, but it was only a minor injury.

Vil: Your bandage on your arm says otherwise. *looking stern now*

MC: It's fine now since it's been treated.

Neige: MC, you should always be careful!

MC: I will. Thanks for reminding me, Neige.

Vil: ...

Vil: I checked the CCTV. You fought with the burglar.

MC: ...

MC: Yes.

Vil: Why didn't you wake me up?

MC: I didn't want to disturb your rest. Besides, I handled it just fine.

Vil: ...

Vil: You still got yourself injured. If it was Rook, he would—

MC: Yes. He's much capable to serve you. He was your vice housewarden when you were still studying in Night Raven College, right?

Vil: ...Yes.

MC: And I guess he has always been exceptional.

MC: He's the best for you, Vil. I'm sure he wouldn't mind working for you.

Vil: ...

MC's co-worker: Is your friend alright? I saw him walked out and dragged Neige LeBlanche with him.

MC: They had a schedule to follow.

Their co-worker: Ya veo. But Vil Schoenheit looked like he was fuming mad.

MC: ...

MC: That sounds like an exaggeration.

Their co-worker: Oh, yeah. Of course. What I mean is his aura, okay? It's burning.

MC: *shakes their head* Let's just get back to work.

Their co-worker: Oh wait! Rook. Rook just quit. I didn't know why, but he said that his job here is done.

MC: ...

MC: Vil must've hired him.

Their co-worker: That fast? Quite a privilege, no?

MC: *chuckles* *proceeds to continue with their task*

Rook: Roi du Poison, there must be a reason why Ami masqué refused your offer.

Vil: They've found out that we are affiliated to each other, Rook.

Rook: Oh! How could that be possible? I was certain I didn't raise any suspicion!

Vil: That doesn't matter now. My plan didn't work.

Rook: You shouldn't lose hope, Roi du Poison. I know deep inside that Ami masqué cherishes you. Maybe they just need more time to realize that.

Vil: ...

Vil: Rook, were you not listening to me when I told you about our story?

Rook: Non. I had listened intently. And my point still stands.

Vil: ...

Customer A: You lack energy today, MC. Did something happen?

MC: Huh? What do you mean?

Customer B: It feels like you're sulking about something. Or we could be wrong.

MC: ...

MC: You two seem to have been drinking a lot.

The customers: We're sober!

MC: It doesn't look like it to me.

The customers: Manager! Your concierge is judging us!

The manager: *chuckles and waves her hand dismissively*

The bartender: I think MC is sulking because Vil Schoenheit isn't here today.

The customers: Oh!

MC: No. That's not the reason at all. *carries the drunk woman*

The drunk woman: We're going home?

MC: Yes, miss. Is there someone waiting for you to be home?

The drunk woman: No...

MC: I see. We'll get going.

The bartender: Don't sulk! *as MC walks out of the nightclub with the customer*

The drunk woman: Looks like they're teasing you...

MC: Please don't mind them.

Vil: *staring at MC's phone number*

Vil: *decides to call them; not really hoping that MC would answer*

MC: Vil?

Vil: MC—

'MC~ You smell good~'

Vil: ...

MC: Please excuse me.

MC: Miss, you're inhaling the fabric conditioner.

'But this has never smelled so good before~'

Vil: Looks like you are in the middle of something.

MC: Ah, yes. Sorry. I will call you back. *hangs up*

Vil: ...

Vil: *smiles in irritation*

#twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst vil #twst neige #twst rook #twst vil and mc series 1

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oncomingnight · 5 months

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Yandere! boyfriend x fem reader

Malik is the sweetest guy you've ever come across and his charisma doesn't even come at a cost. You've never met anyone, no matter the gender, that was as attentive and humorous as him. Malik could care less if he's making himself look like a fool as long as he's graced with the presence of your heartwarming smile. His humor consists of material you'd only ever expect to hear out of the mouth of a teenage boy which is what makes his jokes so much funnier.

He doesn't need an international holiday in order to spoil you with stuffed animals, sweets and handwritten letters, he already gifts you all those things for the simple fact that he wants to. Malik is always showing up to your shared apartment with a bouquet of flowers in hand as he feels like the worst man to ever walk the Earth if he does otherwise.

Letting you pay for yourself is something he'll never allow you to do, as long as he's with you of course. He can't exactly stop you from doing so if he's not physically next to you (rare occurrence)but he has his own way of handling that issue. He'll notice if you seemed to have purchased something with your own money while he wasn't around, and immediately reach into his pocket in an effort to pay you back.

"You look so pretty, baby. Is that a new lipgloss?" "Yeah it is, I bought it when we were at the market the other day!" "Oh yeah? How much was it, baby? I'll give you your money back, just let me know if you want something next time, okay? I don't care if I look like I'm busy with something else, I have all the time in the world when it comes to you."

While we're on the topic of time I think this is the perfect moment to mention the fact that Malik is extremely possessive over not only you but also your time. Nothing gets him more upset than when the two of you are out together at a public setting and your friends attempt at pulling all of your attention away from him. In reality, your friends are simply making conversation with you and they actually make several attempts at including him in the conversation. This, however, doesn't matter to Malik one bit, he can see right through their 'good people' personas.

Malik practically battles with other people when it comes to having your full attention on him. It's not even a case where you're not appreciating how greatly he treats you, no. He is the one who is urging himself to be the absolute best for you before someone attempts at lifting you off of your feet and away from him. He finds it incredibly comedic when others attempt at acting as if they could ever understand or know you as well as he does. There have been many instances where he's gotten you the perfect gift and he just can't help but look on at the other party attendees with pity, as they all now know that you won't be as satisfied with their presents.

Is Malik a possessive boyfriend (soon to be husband)? Yes. Although, this doesn't mean he won't allow you to have girl trips/sleepovers. If you're having a girls trip in an area with a completely different time zone, this will not prevent Malik from staying up as late and early as he needs in order to call and wish you a good morning.

He will keep you on the phone for extremely extended amounts of time (not that you mind). Your friends could try their absolute hardest at being irritated towards his constant need to be near you and to call you but they just can't. Malik is so sickeningly sweet to you that they'd be seen as bitter people that are just jealous due to the fact they've never been as loved and cared for as you are now.

Malik didn't exactly grow up in the most accepting house hold, even as a child, he felt as though he was constantly walking on eggshells with his parents. His parents were raised with extremely aggressive religious views that would quite obviously intimidate the average person, this caused him to be raised in an environment where even cartoons most people deemed as 'kid friendly' were forbidden. Anything that wasn't blatantly religious was seen as unholy, his parents wanted him to uphold the stereotypical attitude of toxic manhood that even him doing simple acts of skincare were seen as something to 'look out for'.

This extremely damaged environment he was raised in just may be the reason as to why he doesn't speak to his family anymore and why he loves so ferociously, like a rabid animal. I don't know though, it's not like I make the rules or anything.

He absolutely adores doing anything and everything romantic with you, especially within the comfort of your own home. When the holidays roll around, there's nothing he loves more than brewing up two cups of iced coffee, sporting matching onesies, baking Christmas cookies and lighting up the fire place as the moon shines into your shared bedroom window.

Well, there is one thing he loves more than all of that.

That's you.

Edit: credit to @cafekitsune for the divider ♡

#yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere oc x y/n #yandere x you #yandere oneshot #yandere #yandere oc x reader #obsessive love #yandere oc x you #obsessive yandere #yancore #yandere male #male x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader #male oc

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thedensworld · 25 days

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Towel Argument | H.Js

Pairing: Joshua x Reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, bit of angst

Summary: Towel is just a towel. It's not something essential. But why it is able to crack a relationship? Joshua is the first man to proof you that you won't have a towel argument.

You sat on the edge of the bed after finishing your nightly routine. Joshua, your husband, was likely still on his—meticulously ensuring every window was closed and every door locked before coming to bed. Your first intention was to wait for him so you could cuddle together, but your mind drifted to the conversation you had with your friends earlier today.

One of your friends, Jinah, had confessed that she was going to divorce her husband after just two years of marriage. All of you had offered sweet words and encouragement, striving to be the support system Jinah needed. Jinah explained that she had decided to divorce her husband because of a persistent argument about towels that irritated her every day. The irritation had snowballed into something intolerable for Jinah.

You couldn't help but pity the situation between Jinah and her husband. They had dated for seven years before marrying, only for Jinah to discover something post-marriage that she couldn't stand. It made you reflect on the complexities of relationships and how small issues, left unresolved, could lead to such drastic outcomes. You wondered if Jinah might regret this decision later, but respected her choice to pursue what she felt was best for her happiness.

Lost in these thoughts, you barely noticed Joshua finally joining you.

"Hey..." Joshua tapped your shoulder, pulling you away from your thoughts. You looked at him, slightly startled.

"I've been calling you. What's wrong?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes. He knelt down in front of you, positioning himself close to your swelling tummy.

A gentle smile lingered on Joshua's face as he wrapped his arms around you, his lips brushing against your stomach in a tender kiss.

"Is something bothering you, love?" he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and care.

You felt a wave of emotions wash over you, grateful for his presence and the way he always seemed to know when something was on your mind.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the day's conversation settle over you again. "It's just something that came up during my gathering with the girls today," you began, your fingers lightly tracing circles on Joshua's arm.

He looked up at you, his eyes full of curiosity and concern. "What happened?"

"Jinah...she told us she's going to divorce her husband," you said, watching his reaction carefully. Joshua's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Really? They've only been married for two years, right?"

You nodded. "Yes, but they've been together for seven years in total. It was shocking to all of us. She said it was because of this constant argument about towels that irritated her every day. She felt it was something she just couldn't tolerate anymore, and it snowballed into a bigger issue."

Joshua's expression softened with understanding. "That sounds really tough. It's always the little things, isn't it?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the comfort of Joshua's embrace, but the thoughts continued to swirl in your mind. "I guess, seeing Jinah go through this made me worry about us," you admitted softly. "Especially with the baby on the way. There's just so much to think about—stress, work, everything that could affect our relationship."

Joshua's eyes remained gentle and reassuring as he listened. "I understand," he said, his voice steady. "It's a lot to take in, and it's natural to feel worried."

You felt a lump form in your throat. "I'm scared that with all the changes coming, we might face challenges that we haven't even considered yet. The stress from work, sleepless nights with the baby, trying to balance everything—it just feels overwhelming sometimes."

Joshua squeezed your hand gently, his touch grounding you. "We will have challenges, that's true. But we also have each other. We can face those challenges together, just like we always have."

You looked into his eyes, searching for reassurance. "But what if it's too much? What if we start arguing over little things like Jinah and her husband did?"

Joshua shook his head slightly, his expression resolute. "We'll argue, sure. Every couple does. But the important thing is how we handle those arguments. We need to keep communicating, be honest with each other, and make time for ourselves as a couple, even with a baby in the mix."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of fear and relief. "I just want us to be okay, no matter what."

He brushed a tear from your cheek, his thumb lingering softly on your skin. "We will be. We'll make it through because we care about each other and our family. And when things get tough, we'll lean on each other even more."

As you and Joshua got ready to sleep, both of you lay down on the bed. Joshua was almost drifting off, his breathing slowing into a relaxed rhythm. You, however, couldn't find a comfortable position, something that had become a nightly struggle as your stomach grew. You shifted from side to side, trying to settle in.

Your mind kept circling back to Jinah and her husband. The thought of their crumbling marriage weighed heavily on you. Sensing your restlessness, Joshua stirred and pulled you gently into his embrace.

"Try to get some sleep, love," he whispered, his voice drowsy but caring.

You sighed, unable to hold back your thoughts. "It's not really about the towel, you know," you said softly, your voice tinged with frustration.

Joshua blinked, trying to shake off sleep. "What do you mean?" he asked, confusion evident in his tone.

"It's actually not just about the towel."

"The fact that Jinah had to keep repeating herself every day is a sign that he never really heard her, right? And that hurts," you explained, feeling the depth of Jinah's pain.

Joshua's brow furrowed as he processed your words. "So, it wasn't about the towel at all?"

"No, it wasn't," you replied, your voice firm. "It was about feeling unheard and unappreciated. Imagine telling someone something that's important to you over and over, and they just don't seem to care enough to listen or change. It's exhausting and hurtful."

Joshua nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I get it now. It's about respect and validation. No one wants to feel like they're talking to a wall."

"Exactly," you said, feeling a sense of relief that he understood. "That's what I'm scared of. I don't want us to ever get to that point where we stop listening to each other."

Joshua tightened his embrace, his hand gently rubbing your back. "We won't. We'll make sure we always hear each other, no matter what. Communication is key, and I'll always strive to listen to you, truly listen."

His words brought a sense of calm over you. You snuggled closer, feeling the warmth of his body and the strength of his commitment. "Thank you," you whispered, closing your eyes.

"Always," he murmured, his voice soothing. "Now, let's get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow, and our little one needs their rest too."

You smiled, finally finding a comfortable position. With Joshua's reassuring presence, you felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that together, you could handle anything. As sleep slowly overtook you, the worries about Jinah and her husband faded, replaced by a deep sense of love and security.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #densworld🌼#seventeen scenarios #seventeen series #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagine #joshua scenarios #joshua imagines #joshua x reader #joshua hong #joshua hong imagines #joshua smut #joshua fluff #hong jisoo

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carolmunson · 1 year

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always something there to remind me (s.h.)

summary: ten years after the sealing of the upside-down, you and your fiance steve head to a cookout to unwind during memorial day weekend. with steve on edge after a rough half sleep full of night terrors, you hope the day can be salvaged by seeing the party and just relaxing, but a violent thunderstorm changes those plans for the worse. pairings: steve x reader, lumax, edancy. heavy on the steddie brotp tho.

tw: 18+ as always. this story deals with themes of mental illness and ptsd, it is only intended for mature audiences. descriptions of ptsd flashbacks, internal and external (please be advised they are dramatizations). partner violence (unintentional). drinking/smoking. discussions of mental illness. very moody steve but very soft steve. features some tense arguments. smut, like, very loving and passionate smut. this relationship is not perfect, it's also a depiction of a moment in time in 1997. the emotional load was very much a woman's job and i personally think steve would be 'too proud' to be 'too soft' about his stuff. so there are parts that seem kind of 'eh' but -- that's just how things were sorta. gif by @kingofscoops

His pill case sounded like a rattle when you took it from the medicine cabinet, taking it into the kitchen where he was shrugging on his freshly ironed polo. The ironing board and hot iron still set up by the counter. The black stone contrasted nicely against your cherry wood cabinets that he installed two summers ago. That was when you both thought he might be getting better: the night terrors were less and less frequent, the flashbacks far and few between, he was less tense, less irritable. Seeking you constantly for soft touches and kisses, any kind of affection he could pull from you he'd take willingly. Two years ago was your two year anniversary -- when he finally told you the real story. Why he had all those scars, why he can't sleep, why he wakes up in a cold sweat crying. Why you'd never been able to figure out which health care company was providing him with so much medication and therapy when he was working part time at the hospital -- it's because it was the FBI.

It was two years ago where they took you to an underground office where they told you everything. Steve sat next to you, gripping your hand so tightly you thought it might break. They reassured over and over that nothing was coming back, that everything was over, but that Steve and his friends will likely never recover emotionally and mentally from what they endured. Four years into things now, you were both his fiance and his nurse. You checked in monthly with his caseworking team, but in these last few months, they've had nothing but shaky reports. You wondered if maybe his mind just isn't as sharp as it used to be -- you both just entered your thirties, maybe things get knocked loose quicker when you've been to hell and back. "Here, honey," you say softly, putting his pill case on the table. He looks at them and sighs, amber eyes lingering on the 'Saturday' section of the pill box. "Let me get you some wa--" "You don't need to give me my pills every day," he says -- it's soft and sharp, "I know I have to take them. I've been takin' them for ten years."

You offer him a tight smile, "I know, Stevie..." You trail off. 'It's important that he feels in control of the situation, a lot of his role when he was in this situation was to protect others. Try not to baby him about it, he might be fragile, but he doesn't like to feel like he is.'

"It's just...I don't want a repeat of last year," you quietly remind him. He had gotten too sure of himself when he started to feel better -- missing days, stopping altogether, off and on.

He reaches for the pill case and pops open the Saturday square, tossing the main five pills into his palm and then into his mouth. Pain, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, migraine, blood thinner. The heavy stuff sat in the cabinet above the fridge: Quaaludes, Oxycontin, Sumatriptan, Clozapine -- among others. Every day was a reminder to him that he didn't come out of this a stronger person. His dad let him know that at every visit, treating him like he had a son made of glass. "Don't," he says after he swallows, "Don't start with me."

Your eyes narrow in on the finger he puts up in warning and travels down to his big hand, a vein popping in his forearm and under the band of his watch. His bicep flexes against his polo, you follow it across the expanse of his chest and down the other arm, landing back on the pill case.

You knew last night what kind of day it would be this morning. Desperate reaches for you while he woke up from another nightmare, his damp chest up against yours while he hid his face in your neck. He hugs you so tightly to him so he doesn't float away, and you match his strength as best you can until he falls back asleep. Sometimes it takes hours of stroking his hair and soothing him before he feels safe enough to even close his eyes. In the years you've been together, he's been more and more embarrassed over these needier nights. 'It's just, baby -- I'm a man. I have to get over all this shit.'

"I'm not starting anyth--" "You are," he warns, eyes narrowing. He clenches his jaw, "Don't."

"M'sorry," you breath out. You take the pill case when he sets it back down and bring it back upstairs to the main bathroom. You refill the case before placing it back in the medicine cabinet with a sigh. When it closes you look at yourself in the mirror, no longer the fresh 26 year old he met at the hospital admin desk when he started his part time job as an assistant in the children's psych floor. Gaining hours towards getting his pediatric therapist licensure to help kids who were like him and his friends -- well, sort of. To some extent. You smooth over your button down dress, his favorite one in your closet -- navy blue with beige flowers littering the fabric. It flounces over you in dips and swoops, falling just under your knee. Another sigh and you grab your purse from the bedroom and slip on your sandals, clip clopping down the stairs where you hear him grab the keys. Another Saturday morning where the group gets together and just hangs out, even though Steve sees Eddie, Rob, and Dustin pretty often throughout the week. They've been doing it for years now, but the outside buzzed with the promise of summer, Memorial Day weekend making everyone feel more at ease. Everyone except Steve.

He slams the car door when he gets in the drivers seat, making you jump in the leather of his Lexus. He runs his hands over his jean clad thighs, having grown in size over the last six years with age and trips to the gym. 'I just wanna be in like, peak physical condition if anything tries to come back. I wanna be more ready than when I was a kid, y'know?' And while the muscle was certainly titilating, it made for a very wary you when things went left. "Don't be like that, Stevie," you say softly, your voice calm and gentle like it is with patients on the floor, "I promise I wasn't trying to get on your case. Do you -- I don't know, do you wanna just stay home?" "No," he snaps, looking ahead toward the road as he starts the car, "I didn't pack a cooler full of all the shit you made for this cook-out just the stay home." "Can you relax?" you ask a little harsher than you planned, "Are you even good to drive?" "I'm good. To drive," he says through gritted teeth, pulling down the street. "Are you sure? 'Cause -- Honey you -- you didn't sleep so good last night and I --" He hits the breaks hard, stopping short at a stop light turning to look at you, tilting his head a bit to glare at you down the slope of his straight nose.

"Drop it," he says, the tenseness in his voice sends a chill up your spine. "Stevie I'm not trying t --" "Drop. It." he warns again, "Don't make me raise my voice at you." "Don't talk to me like that," you say sharply while he pulls the car forward when the light turns green. "Then don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child," he snaps back. "Well maybe if you didn't have an attitude with me like one I wouldn't have to," you cross your arms over your seat belt and huff. He shakes his head slowly, tongue tight between his teeth. He thought he knew better than to fall in love with someone who had a tongue as sharp as his. "You're askin' for an argument when you say shit like that to me," he says lowly, the Lexus crunching over helicopter seeds while he navigates through the neighborhood. You see his shoulders rise and fall while he attempts to steady himself -- fuse lit and ready to blow. "I'm sorry," you follow up, a deep breath filling your chest. You uncross your arms to lean your elbow on the edge of the window, resting your cheek in your hand, "I didn't mean that." "You did," he responds, tight and frustrated, quiet. He hastily reaches into his back pocket with one hand, eyes still on the road. Steve pops a cigarette between his full lips and you sigh at the sound of the lighter flicking. “What’s wrong now, hm?” he asks while the cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, “What’s your problem?” “Nothing,” you say – it’s something. He takes a drag and blows the smoke out the open window, “It’s just that you bought that pack yesterday and it’s already half way gone. You always chain smoke when you –” “Give me a fucking break,” he snaps, voice raising with each word, “God, can you let me have fuckin’ anything?” “No Steve, I guess not. God forbid I look out for your heal–” you start sarcastically. “Look out for yourself, baby,” he says sharply into the rearview so you can see his glare, “I’m doin’ just fine without you on my back.” You bicker the rest of the way to Ed and Nancy’s house, he only raises his voice one more time.

Eddie and Nancy's wedding was one for the ages, something about the mixture of straight laced and all over the place that made sense when they tied the knot. The pair, you were told, seemed unlikely until Eddie was in recovery after being removed from the Upside Down. He was down there for six months, tested on for another six. The Party and the older kids would visit him every day, keeping him updated and fed and hydrated. They'd cheer him on when he made advances in his mobility -- but for the most part he just needed rest. Nancy was working a lot, throwing herself into journalism like she always wanted, so she'd come to the hospital late. She wasn't really one for small talk so instead, she'd just read. She'd read aloud while he was asleep, her voice slow and calm -- stoic. Keeping him lulled like still water, she didn't even know if he knew she was there. One night, she picked up where she left off on the first installment of Lord of the Rings, continuing in her soft stoic voice. She watched him lay there with his eyes closed, breath steady, the beeps of the hospital machines in quiet rhythm with him. She at frist felt silly before she started, but maybe in his dreams he could hear her, and maybe just maybe if she does something fun, he won't have nightmares tonight. So she tries it...she puts on a silly voice for Samwise, and she continues with her silly voices. Gruff and manly for Aragorn, gleeful for Sam, some weird form of Scottish for Gimli. She bites her lip, smiling as she tries each one, shaking her curly head at her ridiculousness and stops. Then she hears it...the low rumbling giggle from Eddie in his hospital bed. "Keep going, it's funny..." he said with a grin, eyes still closed. "You can hear me?" she asked, trying to stifle her giggle. "I can hear you every night," he said, eyes peering open slightly, "It's the best." "Do you want me to keep reading?" she asked with a blush. He nods, a soft grin pulling up on his lips while he eyes closes again, "Only if you do the voices."

When you park in the driveway it's clear that the rest of the group arrived before you, their cars already Tetris'd into their places. Steve lugs the cooler out of the back seat with a grunt, hoisting it to rest on his broad shoulder. You roll your eyes at his machismo, like someone is watching him at all times and he has something to prove. You both walk to the back, the sounds of music and conversation and laughter bubbling louder and louder as you get to the gate of the yard.

A symphony of 'Heeeyyy!' and 'There he is!' and 'Finally!' come from the group as he opens the gate and you follow in toe. Eddie comes over quickly to help with the cooler, his hair still as long as it was when he was 20 – the only real updates being his five o’clock shadow and the ring in his nose. A few more weary tired lines by his eyes. His home made Iron Maiden muscle tee had a small sweat mark by the neckline – they must’ve been out here getting ready all morning. “Hey man,” he grins when the cooler gets set down, pulling Steve in for a tight hug. “Hey,” Steve smiles, patting his back hard, savoring the hold. “You alright?” Eddie asks when he lets go, putting a hand to his face, “You feeling okay?” Steve smiles tightly and nods but Eddie only half buys it, returning his look before turning to you. He comes forward, kissing both your cheeks with his full lips, scruff scratching at your skin, “Hi, sweetheart.” “Hi Ed,” you grin, watching everyone else come up to say their hellos. “Where’s Nance?” Steve asks, but his question is answered when she waddles out of the sliding door of the kitchen with a pitcher of lemonade. From the back, you’d have no idea she was seven months pregnant, but from the side – let’s just say, it was gonna be a real big boy. “Honey, what did I say?” Eddie calls out, walking over to her and taking the pitcher. “It’s not even heavy,” she chides back with an exasperated eye roll. You giggle at their bickering, listening to their sweet back and forth with a gentle ache in your chest. You wonder if Steve will be the same way when you’re pregnant. You wonder if the back and forths will sound so sweet, so innocent, so soft. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the cooler opening, turning to look and grab what you can to put in the fridge inside. Steve takes the meat out to put by the grill and a few appetizers that you put together last nice. You take the icebox cake and chocolate covered strawberries, hurrying with them through the sliding door into the kitchen. “I know, mommy just thinks she can do it all,” Eddie coos, resting his hands on Nancy’s stomach while she slices cheeseburger toppings on the counter, “She just won’t rest, are you gonna be like that too? You gonna run me ragged? You gonna be just like mommy?” Nancy laughs and it’s half airy, half from deep in her belly, “Look, it’s just better if I’m active so that I’m not surprised by it when he’s born.” “I know,” he says, kissing her cheek, “I know. You still love me, Wheeler?” “Love you always,” she grins, blushing when she sees you come in with desserts, “Oh! Oh my goodness, let me help you!” “I got it!” you say, “Just hope there’s room in the fridge!” When everything’s loaded up you give each other a hug, watching as Eddie and Steve have a mildly stern conversation about who is grilling what. ‘It’s my grill.’ ‘And? It’s my meat.’

“Do you think they should just kiss?” you ask while you watch them. “Honestly, I feel like they need to at this point," she laughs, "Go on outside, I’ll be out in a few,” Nancy encourages and you make your way back out into the very early summer heat – mugginess starting to soak the air around you. Before you know it, you’re already being pulled over to the picnic table to watch a game of Magic the Gathering between Lucas, Max, Dustin, Mike, and Will. El doesn’t come back to Hawkins very much,so you’ve been told – she’s the only person from the group you haven’t met. “So is this like D&D?” you ask, resting your cheek against your palm while you lean on the table. “Yes and no,” Max explains, looking at her options, “It’s like…” “Like poker but D&D,” Dustin says, making Mike, Will, and Lucas snort. “I think that’s the easiest way to explain it to you,” Mike says. “I trust that,” you laugh with them. You’ve been consistently hopeless with trying to learn the mechanics of Dungeons and Dragons but still enjoy watching, loving it more when Steve decides to join a campaign. He lets loose in ways you’ve never seen when he does, smiling and laughing, free like a child in the summertime. The sun beating on your back suddenly disappears when you hear Steve come up behind you with a hand on your shoulder, “Can I have my glasses, honey?” “They’re in the glove box,” you say, turning around, “Why do you need them?” “Oh, is Erica making you read her thesis outline?” Lucas asks, “Just tell her to buzz off. She already passed it in.” “Sinclair – don’t be an asshole,” Steve gives him a look that can only be described as ‘bitchy’, “She wants some assurance. We need another psychologist in the family, and she’s obviously the only one smart enough to get it done.” “Rude,” Max deadpans, flicking her eyes up at him. “You’re rude, twerp,” he says back, he turns back to you after sucking his teeth, "My glasses?"

“I just said, in the glovebox,” you repeat, a little sharper than you meant to. He lets out a huff through his nose, looking at you like he can’t believe you’d get snippy with him before stomping off toward the gate of the yard. “Is he alright?” Dustin asks quietly, “I saw him on Thursday he just…I don’t know, he seems a little tense.” “He had a bad night,” you explain, toying at a splinter in the wood, “He’ll be okay.” The sun disappears again but not from the expanse of your fiance’s shoulders and chest, but from a thick cloud moving slowly across the sky. The relief from the heat is almost welcomed until you feel the humidity raise a bit in the air – a little too tight, a little too suffocating for your taste.

The party is in full swing while Meredith Brooks’ ‘Bitch,’ blares from the boom box, Nancy and Max screaming the lyrics with abandon while the boys groan. You smile at how much fun they’re having, the afternoon going smoothly enough that you haven’t had time to notice how cloudy the sky had become. Your eyes linger on Steve, glasses on while looking at Erica’s thesis outline with her on the back porch. He had a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the fifth one in the last hour and a half. "You got something here," he says to her, tapping his pen while continues reading, "Your argument's really strong -- especially about the rates of homelessness, it's almost always trauma related." "Well -- I am me," she says. He raises his brows and nods in agreement. "Can't spell America without Erica," he teases. You watch him, how gentle he is and how he taps through outline, asking her questions about how she feels about the finished thesis, where she got it bound, if the articles he sent over were helpful. They speak in words you don't understand, but it's okay -- he looks calmer, brows softened while they talk, so encouraging. "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed --"

Eddie's rasp pierces the groups singing and conversation as he belts the lyrics next to his wife. Everyone looks up to watch him go, laughing as he does. "We should cover this," he grins, "Me and the guys, we gotta cover this at the next show." "So you can get boo'd off the stage?" Mike laughs. "So I can make sure your ass doesn't get in the bar?" he asks back. Mike scowls while Dustin laughs at him -- it's always smarter to not try it with Eddie, he'd always get you back ten fold. With a jolt, you feel something cold hit your hand, looking down to see a water drop splat against your skin. Then another, and another, and another. After the fourth or fifth, the rain starts to come down -- and then it starts to pour. "Alright!" Nancy calls, "Everyone grab something and head inside." The Party rises, wincing as the rain pellets down on them while everyone grabs a foil tray or covered Pyrex filled with food. You follow suit, hurrying inside with the undressed cheeseburgers and buns, laying them safe on the counter in the kitchen. Everyone else starts to file in, Steve and Eddie turning off the grill while the sky starts to darken significantly. The first rumble of thunder sends everyone's face to a flat line -- you wished Robin wasn't spending the weekend in New York City so that you'd have someone on the front lines with you and Nancy to keep everyone at ease. Nancy and Robin definitely had their moments but had a much tighter grasp on the world around them now.

A few flashes of lightening crack followed by deep rumbles of thunder. Boom, crack! Boom, crack, crack! You notice everyone resettle themselves around the kitchen table -- jittery, quiet. You sit down across from Steve while he looks down, following the woodgrain with his finger. You keep your gaze on his chest, watching for a tell -- he swallows the frustration he feels from having your eyes on him. "It's alright guys, just a storm," Nancy reminds everyone gently while she brings in the last of the food from outside. Eddie gets her seated before opening things back on the counter, the kitchen smelling like barbecue while he opens the foils. The conversations start around you again while you sit across from Steve, the tension sitting like a weighted stone in your chest. Another flash of lightning and that's when you notice it, the twitch of his hand. The thunder rumbles and he reaches up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. Shit. "You okay, honey?" you ask him softly. He swallows, jaw clenching, "Mhm." "Okay," you nod, trying not to bring attention to it just yet, just incase it passes. The thunder booms again and he lets out a breath through his nose, he takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes more agressively. You tap your foot under the table and he can hear it, he can hear everything in the room -- the scrapes of foil on foil. The separate conversations. Eddie's laugh while he talks to Nancy. The clinks of silverware. Ice in cups. The drumming of fingers. Your tap. Tap. Tap. Tapping. Under the fucking table could you just stop tapping your fucking foot -- The next crack of lightening is so intense it shakes the house and everyone gets quiet. 'Just a storm', Nancy reminds, but her voice sounds far away. Thunder rumbles again in the distance and he swears when the lightening flashes through the windows it's red. He rubs his eyes again, a short burst of breath coming through his nose. 'Honey?' he hears you but its like he has cotton in his ears. The thunder rumbles again, the slick squelching of vines starts to creep into the sound of it. Another crack of lighting and the lights in the kitchen flicker. But when they turn back on Steve isn't with the group anymore. He's not even in the kitchen. He's back at the Creel House. 'Baby? Steve?' your voice is distant -- does Vecna have you? Did he find you? Is he taking you away from him? Steve whimpers, getting out of the chair, pulling at the roots of his light brown locks -- desperate to pull himself out of the memory, "Help, please..."

"I'm here, Steve," you say rounding the table while the rest of the group stands back, getting ready to help. Max grabs a boom box and Lucas runs to his car to grab his tapes with everyone's favorite songs on it -- just in case. Dustin approaches him slowly, hands out in front of him while Steve shrinks to the floor, back against the cabinets. "Steve, it's me, it's Dustin," he says calmly and slowly, "You're in Eddie's kitchen, Steve." But Steve only hears Dustin saying his name -- Dustin must be in trouble. "I'm coming," Steve says, eyes shut tight, falling further away. You watch as sweat grows on his hair line and neck, muttering a fuck under you breath. This was gonna be a bad one. "Honey, honey," you continue, kneeling down in front of him to ease his hands off of his hair, "You're okay, you're safe. I'm with you." 'Honey.' He hears your voice in the distance, searching for you in the blue black haze of the Upside Down, the thick particles of dust in his eyes. The slither of vines covers the walls and the floors while he ascends the stairs -- where are Nancy and Robin? Weren't they with him? "Nance?" You watch him call out for Nancy and she goes to get up but Eddie puts his hand delicately on her shoulder. He shakes his head no at her, "Just talk to him," he says to her. 'I'm here, Steve, it's okay!' 'It's okay!' But it's not Nancy's voice, it gets more an more deep, more gravelly, more like him. Steve flinches in front of you, soft 'no, no, no's slipping from his mouth. 'Stevie...' Where are you? Does he have you? 'S̷T̴E̶V̴I̷E̵.'

The sound of Vecna's voice booms in his ears, the thunder rumbling, the red lighting flashing to light up the house. You were never here -- Vecna tricked him. He breathes hard, looking around while the vines snake around, searching for him. "Okay, okay baby," you say hurriedly, watching him while he starts to hyperventilate. You raise your voice to get through to him, "Honey you gotta take some deep breaths for me, okay? Can you hear me?" Max and Lucas come back, smacking the tape into the radio and fastforwarding until Marc Cohn's Walking In Memphis crackles through the speakers. They both heave breaths while the song plays, leaning over the table to settle down from running. "You hear the song, honey?" you ask, "Can you hear it? Talk to me, Steve." You reach your hands up, sliding slowly up his chest to rest your hands by his jaw in a soothing touch. But for Steve in the Creel House, the vines have found him, slithering up his chest and around his neck, tighter and tighter against the wall. He tenses, big hands coming up and grabbing your wrists with a grip so tight you whimper. "No, shit, shit, shit! Fuck! STOP! NO! I CAN'T!" he panics, gasping for breath while his nails dig into your forearms and drag painfully downward why he tries to pull you away. "Ow, ow baby, hey, you're hurting me," you yelp out. He doesn't stop, eyes switching from tightly closed to open and unfocused while he reaches up to your biceps, clawing at them in defense. You reach out a final time. "Honey, honey, please, it's me," you say, tears balancing on your lower lashes while he rises, taking you with him. He handles you real rough, grabbing you by the shoulders and throwing you to the ground with a loud thud. And god does it hurt.

"HEY!" Eddie's voice booms out, gruff and loud like the rumbles of thunder outside. He gets behind Steve, pulling his arms close to his chest while Steve struggles against him. Erica and Mike hurry toward you to help you slowly up off the floor. You reel at first, wanting to run back to him. "Stay in front of her Wheeler," Ed warns, "You all stay right there." You stand behind Mike with Erica who takes your hand tightly in hers. You feel the pulse of pain in your arms when you look down -- gouges and deep scrapes, the blood shines in the line of the kitchen. You shake your head out of it and watch on as Eddie and Dustin do what they can to help -- the song continues to play in the background. "No, no," Steve whimpers, twisting his wrists in Eddie's grasp to break free, but in this state Eddie is stronger. He pulls him close, Steve back to his chest while they sink back down against the cabinets. "Shh," Eddie soothes, still holding him tight, "We got you, just listen -- you're in my kitchen. You hear the song playing?" Steve grunts, thrashing while Eddie hugs him tighter to him. "Steve, listen, listen to the song," Dustin says, "Focus on me and Eddie's voice, listen." Steve struggles, less intense than before, "Shh, shh, it's okay Harrington," Eddie soothes, rocking him slowly back and forth. "They need me," Steve cries weakly, breaths slowing while he pulls again at Eddie's hold, "Gotta save 'em..." "Steve," Dustin says again, getting closer. He rubs his shoulder slowly, pressing his thumb into the joint, "We're safe, all the kids are safe." "Safe..." he repeats back. Eddie sighs a little in apprehensive relief, letting go of one wrist to run a hand over his head, turning Steve's face into his chest and holding him close. "That's right, Steve," Eddie says softly, "Safe." 'Saw the ghost of Elvis, on Union Avenue, Followed him up to the Gates of Graceland And they watched him walk right through...' Steve can hear the lyrics, warbled and tinny in the Upside Down. 'Safe, safe, safe.' Echoing through the walls -- it gets dimmer. 'Now security they did not see him, They just hovered round his tomb...' Dimmer and dimmer. 'Almost over buddy, I can tell, we're right here. You feel Henderson?' A soft warm rub on his shoulder, the lyrics to the song, Eddie's voice. The sound of vines fade away, he hears the rain, it fades to black. "Walkin' in Memphis..." Steve whispers, half confused, while his eyes open and focus -- squinting in the light of the kitchen. Overwhelmed he looks around while the room tilts on it's axis. He grips Eddie's leg tightly to steady himself, he's breaths picking up again. "It's okay buddy, it's just us," Eddie says again, "You with me?" Steve nods, face cracking while he lets out a broken sob. You can only watch while Eddie flicks his eyes up at you in another warning to not come closer yet. Dustin let's go while Eddie starts to hoist him up, wrapping Steve's arm around his shoulder while he helps him to the guest room down the hall. "C'mon big boy," he says gently, "Let's get you some rest."

Things feel a little quiet after Eddie comes back from the guest room, he's tense -- no longer having fun the way he was before. His eyes are dark while he heads outside into the rain to have a cigarette. Lucas turns off the stereo and The Party sits back down at the kitchen table for a moment to decompress. They silently take out of the Magic the Gathering cards and start to set up again, Erica joins them seamlessly. When things seems a semblance of stable, Nancy gets up and takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, "Let's check you out, alright?"

You sit on the toilet seat cover while Nancy takes out a first aid kit from under the sink. You listen while she hums the climax of Whitney's 'I Have Nothing' quietly, searching the medicine cabinet for some Bactine for your cuts.

"Are you okay?" she asks, taking both of your hands to outstretch your arms, she turns them to see the damage -- she tries to hide her face of disappointment but it's clear.

"I'll be fine," you say softly while she wipes down the gouges and scrapes, "I can take care of it Nance."

"No, you just -- just let me," she says softly. The Bactine stings -- so does the way she looks at you -- pitifully. You hear Eddie's boots clomp down the hallway before he shows up at the door frame of the bathroom.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks -- you wish people would stop asking. They only ask when they see him lose control. You do this all the time, you take care of him all the time.

"I'm okay," you repeat, "A little banged up, but y'know. It's okay."

"Does he do that alot?" Eddie asks, his jaw clenching, "Does he hurt you a lot?"

"This is one of maybe...I don't know -- four times he's gotten physical with me during an episode," you explain, "And you all know about them."

"Does he hurt you when he's here?" Eddie asks, tapping at his temple.

"No, Ed, don't be ridiculous," you sigh, exasperated that he'd even ask.

"Steve's not like that, Eddie," Nancy says, "We've been over this." "Well, here's the thing Nance," he starts, tense, "We're ten years out of this shit and no matter how bad my shit got I've never put a hand on you like that. Ever." "Eddie --" "No, no, listen," he says, "I don't like that, and I especially don't like that happening in my house in front of my pregnant wife." "And what would you like me to do about it, Ed?" you snap, "I can't -- fuck -- I can't fucking fix him for you." "I'm not asking you to fix him," he says back, a pain deep in his chest coming through with his voice, "I'm asking you to be sure that you still want to be a part of this -- your wedding's what -- October? You really wanna be worrying about this?" "For better or for worse, right?" you ask back, choking on the lump in your throat, "That's the promise." Eddie tucks his lips in, his own eyes getting teary while he scans the gouges that Nancy carefully puts bandaids over. "Ice your hip and shoulder for the first couple days," he mutters, biting the edge of his them, "After a fall like that. Then heat." You nod, quietly murmuring a thank you. "S'what my mom used to do," he says under his breath. Eddie scans you slowly one more time, swallowing hard before pushing off the door frame and walking back down the hall. You hear their bedroom door click closed in the distance. "You know how he gets," Nancy says, "Stuff like that y'know -- that's hard for him." "I know." She takes a washcloth, running it under cold water before squeezing it out. Droplets fall on the fabric of her light purple maternity shirt, leaving dark people marks on the top of her belly. She hands it to you. "Here, for his head," she says softly, "In case he's not all the way back yet."

You creep slowly into the guest room, seeing him laying on his stomach with half his face buried in the pillow. His sculpted arms tucked under it to give him something to hold. "Baby?" you ask quietly, "You awake?" He nods with his eyes closed and you look him over -- big hulking man who needs to be held. He hates it but you can't help but love him for knowing he needs it. You put the wet face cloth on the side table, sliding down next to him while he moves over to his side. In one swift motion you've replaced the pillow -- arms wrapping tight around your waist and up your back, one hand molding over your shoulder. He hides his face in your neck and you can feel his tears on his lashes and cheeks. His shoulders shake while he cries for a while, cold sweat damp on his shirt and the back of his neck. You never check how long he cries for – as long as he does. “I’m here,” you say softly, nails grazing his scalp in a steady swipe, “I’m right here.” You adjust a bit in his hold and you feel his grip tighten slightly, a soft whine of desperation leaking from his throat. “Don’t go, please,” he begs softly. “M’not going anywhere big guy,” you soothe, “This wedding’s already put us ten grand in the hole. Where would I even go, now?” You hear a soft ‘tsss’ come out of him, a tug of a smile against the skin of your neck where he hides.

“Oh, is that funny?” you joke, still coasting your fingers through his hair. He groans, letting his arms let go of you so he can sit up, you can see the tension in his body still. Steve looks down at you with tear stained cheeks and tired eyes, beckoning you forward with his fingers. You sit up for your thank you kiss, his warm palm cupping your cheek while he holds you gently in place. He kisses once slowly, then twice, three times – holding the last so you know he means it. When you break away he rests his forehead against yours, offering a few shallow breaths. You stand up off the bed while he sits off the edge of it, standing between his thighs.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks softly. He asks after every episode ever since he did hurt you back when you first started dating. A swift smack to the arm that stung for a solid twenty minutes afterward with the amount of power he put into it. It welted. He cried for hours. He wrote you love letters every day for a week.

You nod, showing him the scratches and bandages on your arms, "I think you thought I was a vine or something. You threw me. Like, to the ground. It was pretty hard."

His lower lip quivers, "No, no, no." “No, Steve,” you assure, trying to calm him, “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s alright, I’m alright. It was an accident.”

His face contorts while the tears start again, his big hands reach out to your waist, pulling you close to him, "It's not okay, it's not alright."

His voice raises an octave while he cries, "I'm sorry, baby."

"It's okay, Stevie, shh," you whisper to him, he pulls you in tighter, body shaking while pressing his nose against your cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cries, sniffling, "You know I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," you say back, your own cry getting caught in your throat. He sniffles again, leaning back to face you, both of his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing the apples.

"I love you," he says with a depth and intensity that makes the lump in your throat give way. You cry with him and it breaks his heart, "I love you so much honey, you know I’d never…"

You nod, trying to calm your cry the way he was able to calm his -- so used to swallowing it up even though you'd beg him not to.

"I – shit – I have to tell you something," he says softly, hands sliding from your cheeks back down to your waist and then your hips. He looks down at the small triangle of mattress between you and the apex of his thighs.

"What's up, Steve?" you ask, running your hands through his hair again soothingly, "What is it?"

He lifts his head up, eyes shutting at the comforting touch, but when he opens them he looks defeated -- guilty, "I haven't been taking my meds at night. I was -- was flushin’ them cause I just -- baby, I don't know. I can't keep depending on this shit."

"Steve."

"I know," he nods, "I know...That's why -- that's why my shit's getting worse."

"You're not just taking this stuff to take it," you say, cupping his cheeks, "It's to keep you here. It's to keep you with me."

"I know," he repeats, voice cracking again, "I'll call my shrink tomorrow I promise. I'll get back on track. Fuck -- I'm sorry -- and I'm -- I'm sorry I was so mean to you this morning."

"It's okay," you nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead. You drop your hands and rub his shoulder, "I think we should go home, alright? We can get on the couch for the night and just rest."

"Okay," he says quietly, nodding. He slowly gets up off the bed, a little dizzy, using you for support. You both slowly walk out of the bedroom, Nancy peeking around the end of the hall.

"Everything good?" she asks.

You smile at her, "Yeah, I think we're gonna head home."

She smiles tightly, heading into the kitchen where the rest of the group still sits, eating and talking. Their heads turn when you both come into view -- soft eyes and smiles.

"I'm okay, guys," Steve nods, barely able to meet their gazes, "It's fine."

Nancy approaches you with a few tupperwares filled with food and dessert, "We'll get the cooler back to you on Tuesday."

"Don't worry about it," you smile, gathering the tupperware in your arms. You watch as the group gets up one by one to give Steve a hug goodbye. Their movements are slow and controlled, warning touches on his shoulders beforehand to remind him ‘It’s just me, it’s just my arms, I’m hugging you’. Soft mumbled words of support, nothing too loud – don’t startle each other. Wraiths of the friendship they all shared earlier. Rehearsed reactions to all of their sensitive needs – if you’ve seen one episode, you’ve seen all of theirs. And you had, once or twice. “I’ll get a copy bound for you,” Erica says while she hugs him. “You make me so proud, Sinclair,” he smiles. Nancy walks you both to the door and you turn, “How’s Ed?” “He’ll call later,” she nods, a look behind her eyes that matches yours. You hug goodbye, share quick reminders about food for the baby shower and a few crafty decoration plans before heading to the car with a very tired Steve. The rain patters on the hood of the Lexus while you both sit in the leather interior, this time with you in the driver's seat. He rubs at his temples with his eyes closed while you rifle through your purse for a sandwich baggie of emergency migraine medicine. “Here,” you say, handing him the pill, “Before it starts to get bad.” “Hmm,” he grumbles in agreement, popping it in his dry mouth to suck it down. “We’ll be home soon, okay?” you say, hand coming down on his thigh reassuringly, “Just close your eyes for now.”

He takes the tupperwares when you get out of the car, fishing his keys out of his back pocket while he does. His strides are long while you hurry up behind him, following him into the house only to bump into his back while he’s stopped by the thermostat to turn on the air. “Sorry,” you say softly. “S’okay,” he replies back, barely above a whisper. He puts the food in the fridge while you head upstairs to start a shower, a ritual you’ve both come to learn well after days or nights like these. You take out the good soap, the shower oil, all the aroma therapy you can to get him to ease up. Anyone else watching you get things ready would assume it was about to be a very sexy time for you. On the same coin, these showers are probably the most intimate moments you have with each other. He comes in as the room starts to steam and you help him ease off his polo, you start on the buttons of your dress while he takes off his jeans and socks. He helps with your bra, both of you shedding your underwear at the same time before you step in. Steve soothes almost instantly, his muscles relaxing under the hot stream, sighing further while he gets soaped up. You don’t have to be in there with him, but you do. He needs you so close so he doesn’t float away. His favorite part comes near the end, sitting in the flow of the shower together while you wash his hair. His eyes flutter closed while your nails scratch and massage him – he swears his hair is even thicker than it was before with all the blood flow you encourage. You wash his hair twice, then deep condition, holding him to your chest while you wait the five minutes it takes to settle in. He leaves soft kisses on your collar bone, on all the marks he left on you in Nance and Eddie's kitchen. He holds your hand, so you can’t float away. You both end up on the couch afterward, the leather groaning beneath you both while you lay across the deep seat cushions, you lay on your back, he lays on his side against you. The heat of his bare chest warms you through your oversized sleep shirt. His soft sweat pants tangle up with your bare legs. You let whatever’s on TV play – reruns you guess, you’re thinking about too many other things. “How’s your head, baby?” you ask while his eyes shut, leaning on your shoulder. “S’fine, better,” he says, he lifts your hand and kisses your fingers before placing both his and your hand on your chest over your heart. The ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dum lulling him to sleep. You half watch TV for however long until your own eyelids get heavy. You click off the TV and opt to turn the stereo on low, just so he doesn’t get lost while he sleeps.

You wake up to oldies, music your parents would listen to on records in the living room growing up – songs that came out a few years before you were born. Oldies. It's dark outside but you can still hear the rain. Steve’s already awake, just watching you while his hand smooths back and forth over your sternum. “You snored,” he says. “Good,” you reply quietly. You both snort out breathy laughs, feeling the warmth of his lips as they smoosh against your cheek. “How you feeling?” he asks, hand coming up to rest on your cheek, sliding down the side of your neck. “A little banged up,” you say, “Might bruise.” “M’sorry,” he says again, a tinge of guilty pink tinging his ears. “It’s okay,” you repeat for what feels like the thousandth time in the past six hours. “You looked really pretty today,” Steve says gently, almost sheepish, “I should’ve told you.” “You looked really handsome,” you say back, “But you were kind of being an asshole so I didn’t want to tell you.” “You should’ve told me, it probably would’ve cured my PTSD,” he says seriously but sarcastically, “Could’ve saved the entire afternoon if you just said how good I looked. Prob’ly wouldn’t have had an episode.” “You’re such an ass,” you laugh, smiling. He leans in to kiss you and it’s the kind that makes you too weak to stand. That kiss got him a second date, it proved that they said about old King Steve in highschool. On the stereo, Sherry Baby bleeds into Unchained Melody.

His hand reaches up under your neck to tilt you up toward him, tasting your tongue with his, guiding you with his kiss, “Angel…” he murmurs. He breathes through his nose while he keeps his lips pressed to yours, desperate to stay here in this moment, attached to you. “Steve,” you say softly, breaking away, “Stevie…” “Please,” he whispers, nuzzling your nose slowly, “Please.” “Lemme take care of you.” “I…” your thoughts trail off while he kisses your neck, sucking and nibbling gently at the spot just by the hinge of your jaw. He waits for your soft sigh, the tilt of your hips towards him – your allowance. He grins when he hears the air pass your lips, the realignment of your spine beneath him while he settles between your squishy thighs. His hands travel south, pushing up the hem of your big t-shirt to your waist, holding you there for a moment while his kiss takes over your mouth again. He tugs your cotton panties down, breaking the kiss while he sits up on the couch to slide them off your ankles. Steve looks down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch in your chest, serious – with supple lips, needy eyes. He leads himself back down again, big hands sliding down the sides of your thighs over your hips to your waist again. Instinctively, your legs spring up to wrap around him while his hips align with yours, feeling his strained cock in his sweats against you. “Jesus…” he whispers again, eyes fluttering closed. He buries his face in your neck while you rock slowly against him, the pressure and friction against the underside of his erection sending low volts through his body. “Mm-mm,” he grunts, shaking his head ‘no’ while mumbling, “It’s supposed to be about you.” “Well stop dangling it in front of me then,” you giggle quietly, he giggles too. The smile sends you reeling, his pretty teeth, the way his nose scrunches. He leans forward again to kiss, he just can’t stop kissing, can’t stop tasting your lips, feeling you against him. Steve’s hand reaches down to pull himself out of his sweats, pushing the waistband to the tops of his thighs while he uses the other to push one thigh out off the couch. “You ready f’me?” he asks huskily, tip dragging slowly from the pool of slick at your opening up in between your folds. He lets his thumb run in slow circles over your clit while he waits for your answer, your slow nod while you lean your head back on the arm rest gives him the okay. He eases himself in slow, the tip pushing past your opening with some resistance. “Open up a lil’, honey,” he mumbles quietly while he guides the tip in again, “Open up for me.”

Your little gasps float out of you and into the fuzzy part of his brain, gliding down his spine. You angle your hips upward, one thigh up against the couch cushions and the other dangling over the edge, spread as wide as you can. He holds himself above you with one arm, the other aiding in pushing himself further in, the tip finally breaching your core. He keeps guiding, slow back and forths while you ease open for him – taking him in, inch by inch. “Oh yes, mhm,” he groans to himself softly, “Thass–hmm-that’s it, angel.” He let’s go when he’s three fourths in, crowding over you, forearms on each side of your head while he strokes slowly to start – getting you used to him, accommodating his size. “That’s good?” he breathes. “Ye-yeah,” you breathe back to him. His mouth latches to yours again, feeling him guide your hands up beside your head, lacing fingers while he presses you deeper into the couch cushions. He keeps his strokes slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge of you inside, how you suck him in and hug him tight in place – but how he feels isn’t nearly as important. It’s the way your brows contort, the way you bite your lip, your whines into his mouth while he kisses you. Each slow thrust makes you coat him in a new flow of slickness. “C’mere,” he says into your jawline, letting go of one hand to sneak behind you at the waist, pulling you flush to him. The new angle makes you let out a whine while he hits a spot deep inside you, he grunts at the reaction, the feeling of you taking him in. His pace picks up the smallest tick, face centimeters from yours – your noses brush, lips barely touching while his amber eyes keep steady on yours. You let out short huffs, little whimpers every time the head of his cock pushes deeper with every roll of your hips. “S’nice, hm?” he asks, brows slanting, softening. “Mhm,” you squeak back, “S-so good, honey.” Your legs pull in again, socked heels resting on the top of his butt while he sighs at the change in pressure. “Thassperfect, god,” he hisses out, head dropping down to your chest, pressing sloppy kisses above your breasts while he gathers himself. He groans into your neck while wet warmth tightens over him, soft velvet walls coaxing him closer and closer to the edge.

Steve’s shoulders flex while he balances on his forearms above you again, your forgotten hand taken by his, fingers interlocked. His face inches from yours while he looks at you, the way your eyes flutter, the soft parting of your lips, the high pitched ‘Uhn, uhn, uhn, uhn,’s coming out of them — you’re so beautiful.

“So pretty,” he says to you, huffing a breath into a smile, “So pretty, baby.”

You kiss him a thank you. You see him swallow when he breaks away, his eyes getting glassy.

“S’gonna be okay,” he assures, nodding down at you, nose to nose, “We’re gonna be okay.” Slow thrusts between statements.

“Gonna get married,” he says, a groan flowing right down into your mouth while he kisses you, “Gonna be just like Ed and Nance, right?”

You nod while his thrusts get more passionate, deeper.

“Yeah? That’s nice?” he asks, “Marry you? Take you just like this after the wedding?”

“Yeah,” you gasp back, “Yes, Stevie.”

“Give you a baby?” he asks in a low whisper into your skin, lips pressing against your cheek, his strong nose dragging against your cheek bone, “Give you so many babies. You want that?”

“I want that,” you nod, face pinching while you feel yourself building up and up in a slow churn.

“You want that?” he asks again, coming back to hover over you — tears in his eyes, “You want that with me?”

You nod to each other while he embraces you in an old movie kiss, wrapping himself around you, pressing him to his chest while his thrusts get purposeful, controlled.

“I love you,” he pants into your ear, “I’m yours, m’all yours.”

“I love you, too,” you rasp back, free’d fingers interlocking in his hair. He gets leverage on his knees, the leather of the couch squeaking under him while he repositions. Soft smacks of skin between you echo in the living room against the backdrop of the low stereo. “Oh my god, Steve,” you moan out, “You’re – oh god you’re so deep.” “So deep, angel, Christ–” he huffs, trying to make a mental note of this position so he can remember it for October – really make it stick. His thought process stifled when your nails drag down his back, making his passionate thrusts quicken – a signature cocky smirk flick across his lips. “Mmm, that feels good honey?” he asks – he knows the answer. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, tears glazing over your eyes while he feels you pulse over him. Thank god the couch was leather. Watching you bathe in the afterglow of your orgasm he works you toward the second with ease, chasing his pleasure with each soaking thrust into you – so nice like this, so pliant – his little ragdoll. When he cums it’s deliberate, spilling inside you with your eyes on each other. You give one another breathless kisses, bodies interlocked, sticking to the couch in new found exhaustion. The phone rings. Neither of you get up to answer it. ‘BEEP. You’ve reached the Harrington residence – Did you forget my last name isn’t Harr– If you’re calling before October 1997 then it’s not just the Harrington residence yet but – whatever you know what I mean. Leave a message, we might call ya back.’

“Hey Harrington it’s Munson, um, just making sure you’re okay, man. Sorry I disappeared for a little bit there. Love you, call me back when you can. Bye.”

thanks for reading. <3

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic

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writerpetals · 2 months

Text

tender | 🔞

; optional male lead smut | ☁️

a/n: this was a poly relationship smut i wrote years ago, but since i don't write actual names, i had to call them SOMETHING to differentiate the two male characters, thus they've been dubbed protective boyfriend and cautious boyfriend. haha anyway, it's more difficult obviously to write two unnamed love interests... and as a writer and reader i hate repetitiveness most of the time... but times like this it calls for it haha anyway pick two male leads for this one~ ^_^

One is The Cautious boyfriend. Always careful with his words, his actions. He keeps a close eye, studying situations before acting and guarding himself as well as the two people he cares for most.

The other one is The Protective boyfriend. Hot-headed at times, but only because his heart is too big for his chest and words just sometimes won’t do the poor thing justice.

Both care deeply for you as well as one another, and you aren’t sure how you have gotten so lucky to have the two in your life. Especially at times when you are at your worst. When the days are too long and you feel too weak, too broken down and worn out to do anything but curl up in your bed with blankets and pillows covering every inch of your body.

“How are you feeling?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Do you need anything?”

They are so attentive, even in your worst of moods, asking questions they hope they will get more than a few mumbles for, with one situating himself behind you, hand on your back to rub gentle circles through the sheets, and the other making his way to gently pull the pillows from around your head.

You blink, adjusting to the harsh sunshine filling your room that will soon fade when the sun sets behind the trees. It’s only a moment before you try to bury your head in your hands to shield your face.

“Are you going to do anything but moan and groan?” The protective one sighs after asking, irritation in his voice and if you didn’t know any better, you would assume it’s toward you.

But you do know better, you know him better than that, and that is the tone that tells you he is worrying just a little too much, feeling like there is nothing he can do for you. You hear a huff from the one behind you, and you know he is shaking his head at his boyfriend, knowing he will get nowhere by being so pushy when you’re in such a mood.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he assures you, leaning closer from behind and you have to admit his warm voice in your ear makes you feel just a little bit more comfort.

“It’s not okay.” You can hear the glare in his tone as he speaks, knowing his eyes are narrowed toward the man behind you. “You need to eat. Get up. Change clothes. You’ll feel better.”

“Just,” you begin, huffing and rolling over on your back, “let me be sad in peace, please.”

The Protective one tsks.

The Cautious one sighs.

You know there is no way either of them are going to leave you be.

“Alright, that’s it.” Suddenly you’re standing from the bed, The Protective one earning your gaze once again as you watch him peel the covers from your body. “Let’s go.” Your puffy eyes widen, noticing the other leave your side as if he knows the plan without speaking. In a moment he is gone, disappearing from the room just before an arm reaches for you, scooping you up to his body, with your grip immediately finding his neck once he lifts you from the bed.

“Wait!” you whine. “Hold on!” There is no use. The Protective boyfriend guides you from the bedroom, through the living room, and finally settles you down next to your other boyfriend as he stands in the bathroom, all the while you pull and tug and whimper for him to release you.

The water has already been running by the time the two of you enter, a hot steaming shower awaiting your presence and even though you are in no mood to be pampered by your boyfriends, not many complaints leave your lips when they begin to undress you. Deep down you know it’s for the best. You know they care, and they want you to take care of yourself. If they can’t help you mentally, they make it clear they will help you physically.

One reaches for your t-shirt, one that is two sizes too big that you stole from him, and begins to pull it over your head. The other follows with slipping his fingers into the band of your shorts to push the fabric down your legs, along with the panties you had on beneath.

The both of them leave you bare, standing between the two as they remove their own clothing, pulling shirts over their heads, slipping boxers to the floor, and soon they are guiding you with gentle hands into the shower.

The moment the hot water hits your skin in beads of pure bliss, you can’t stop yourself from moaning. The Protective one pulls you toward his chest while making sure to give The Cautious one ample room to reach for the melon-scented body wash to fill your loofa as he stands behind you.

He begins lathering your shoulders, soapy suds cascading down the front of your body, over your breasts and stomach, just as the other places a finger beneath your chin to cause you to stare into his eyes.

“Please take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he tells you in a whisper, almost unable to hear the caring words beneath the shower. Each careful syllable grabs you by the heart, knowing how much each of them love you and want to help.

You say nothing in reply, only lowering your eyes. Part of you is ashamed for reaching this point, but the rest knows how many times you have been in this position before. Your mental health doesn’t care and there’s no reasoning with it. In the moment, you feel even luckier to have them.

He understands your thoughts from reading your expression. There’s no need to reply. If you’re used to their care in times like this, they’re used to knowing what to do to urge you on a better path of helping yourself. In an instant his lips are on yours, pressing soft kisses against your skin to ease all the worries, or at least offer a distraction from the thoughts in the moment, while The Cautious one takes extra care in running the sponge over your shoulders, back, and all the way down to your ass.

“Feeling better, baby?” His tone is softer than before when he grew fed up with how cruel your mind can be to you, hands reaching to cup your breasts softly, tender strokes over your erect nipples causing your jaw to slack.

All you can do is nod in response just as you feel the boyfriend behind you begin to slip the sponge between your thighs, parting your legs and caressing slowly, gently over your folds. A gasp fills the shower to mix with the stream beating softly against your skin. He lingers for too long once he’s dropped the sponge, pressing against your clit a second later to have you reaching for the one in front to brace yourself with a grip against his shoulders.

“Just relax, baby,” he comforts you, leaning in closer to press a quick peck against your forehead. “Let us take care of you.”

He brushes his fingers over your slit instead to have your eyes shutting tight, only concentrating on the way he eases all the tension from your body with a simple touch. You can’t help but to push your hips back, asking him for more without saying a word thanks to the way the other’s lips find your own once again. You moan against his skin, overwhelmed by the two of them so suddenly once fingertips are pressed to your clit, drawing circles over the flesh.

Your legs are trembling in no time, melting between the two at their affection and care, whimpering each of their names to earn their groans of approval, rocking your hips against the hand between your legs to invite him to take it a step further.

And he obliges, easing his fingers toward your entrance to dip into the pooling arousal so carefully, so slowly, that all you can do is push your body back, slipping down onto the digits until your moans are the only thing hitting their ears. He buries his fingers deep, receiving a whimper of his name in response that only begs him for more, giving him the approval to begin pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping heat.

Your head falls back, inviting The Protective boyfriend’s mouth to every inch as he kisses, and licks, and sucks the skin tenderly, earning breathless moans filling the shower. It isn’t until he decides to also lower his hand down your body do your eyes open once again to see the smirk on his lips. His fingers delve between your thighs to tend to your clit as the one from behind works his own in and out of your tightening walls.

Together the two of them have you quivering between their bodies. Their fingers both pleasuring you have you on edge, nails digging into the skin of a muscular shoulder in front of you, and when the one behind leans into your body to nip at the delicate flesh of your earlobe, it only adds to the bliss swelling inside of you.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear, voice deep and needy until he’s chuckling at the way you clench around his fingers from growing too close to release. “Are you going to come soon, baby? God, you’re so wet.”

You can’t respond. Even beneath the shower’s stream you can hear the messy noises he makes as he pumps his fingers inside of you, proving his words to be true. The sound mixes with your own moans, whimpers of their names, hushes curses beneath your breath.

Their actions leave you speechless, legs threatening to close around both of their hands as your entire body grows too sensitive. Every brush of fingers against your clit has your knees wanting to buckle. Each time the other pushes his own fingers deep within you to have you crying out. And with their mouths against your skin, peppering kisses and teasing with their tongues, stars cloud your vision with the pleasure that takes over every inch of your body.

You nearly double over as the waves of electricity course through you, thankful the broad chest in front of you is available to grow limp against while their fingers never slow their pace. You whimper their names mixed with curses, again and again, shaking in their holds, feeling their continued motions until you are too spent, too beyond weak to function.

When they each pull away, you feel a sense of relief in the way they never fail to take care of you. Even if it’s a temporary solution to clear your mind so you can tell them what’s bothering you, you’re thankful for it. Before you know it, one shuts the water off, the other grabs a clean towel to dry you off, and each of them help you step out of the shower and guide you to the bedroom to dress you.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” The Cautious one asks seconds before he pulls one of his t-shirts over your head, causing you to release a sleepy giggle because of course, you can’t respond to him until the shirt has slipped past your face.

“Better,” you chuckle, earning laughter from him as well when he realizes your mood has finally lifted, even if it’s just for the moment.

“Hungry?” He kisses your forehead after asking, noticing you nod your head. “Why don’t I make us some dinner, and the two of you can pick out a movie to watch?”

As if on cue, your protective boyfriend returns, toweling his damp hair with one hand while tossing the other a pair of boxer-briefs in the other. “As long as it’s not a horror movie.” The two chuckle as he takes you by the waist, allowing your boyfriend to get dressed but all you can do is pout while looking up at him.

“But those are my favorites,” you whine playfully, watching his smile grow and you know it’s only because he is relieved you seem to grow out of your funk from earlier.

“Fine,” he huffs, just as playful as he leans down to press his lips to yours, “we can watch a scary movie. If…”

“If?” You raise your brows, allowing him to lead you from the bedroom to the living room to pick out your choice of movie, but not before taking you by the wrist to pull you closer.

“If you help me scare him later.”

“I heard that!” Your other boyfriend’s voice rings high-pitched from the kitchen, causing you to giggle and shake your head.

“Heard what?!” he yells back, just as loud, playing innocent.

All you can do is giggle, wondering once again how you got so lucky to have them.

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villainousauthor · 2 months

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Part one

Hero is sitting on the hardwood floors of the living room, as they pass another block to their baby.

She takes it with a giggle, stacking it atop the other ones. Hero can't help but grin at how much this activity is entertaining her, and them as well.

"She's getting good with those blocks."

Hero jumps at the sudden sound of Villain's voice behind them. They must have snuck in through the balcony again. Villain comes and sits next to Hero with an annoying grin.

"You need to stop sneaking up on me like that! And you need to stop breaking in." Hero exclaims, shoving Villain's shoulder.

Instead of immediately responding, Villain feigns hurt.

"Ow! Not in front of the kid, what are you teaching her about hitting?" Villain teases with a snicker before answering seriousness. "You can't come out and fight with me anymore -"

"I have an infant to take care of."

"-I understand why, but that just means I have to come annoy you here now." Villain finishes like Hero didn't interrupt. Hero rolls their eyes at this. They've been coming regularly now for the past few months, never knocking, just letting themselves in. So irritating.

The baby crawls across the floor to where both Hero and Villain sit, having forgotten about her blocks. For a moment, Hero thinks their child is crawling to them until she makes a beeline for Villain. Not surprising, Villain has quickly become a favorite for the young child.

'Betrayed by my own kin.' Hero thinks quietly, shaking their head.

Hero can't pretend they haven't been of help, though, with how they seem to so naturally know how to care for the baby. Hero still wonders how they know so much about child care, but Villain won't divulge. At the very least, the extra pair of hands has taken some burden off Hero's shoulders.

They watch as Villain reaches for her, another one of those rare genuine smiles on their face they only ever seem to show while here. Hero tries to ignore how it makes their heart beat faster.

"You're getting so good at crawling." Villain coos, picking the baby up gently. "At least someone is happy to see me here." Villain says humorously.

"I bet it's the only time anyone is happy to see you." Hero replies, though their tone isn't as serious, and they scoot closer to Villain.

"Heh, probably." Villlain shakes their head, still smiling, though as they hold the baby.

Hero feels the same questions burning in the back of their mind again, curiosity eating them up from the inside. They know Villain is unlikely to answer and will dodge the question again like always, but Hero can't help but ask.

"Are you a parent, Villain?" Hero's voice is quiet as they ask, soft as they bring up the subject. They've never asked so directly before, and for a split moment, they think they see a flash of sadness on Villain's face.

Before they can respond, though, the baby makes a noise, spitting up directly on Villain's shirt. Hero immediately comes and takes the infant into their arms.

"I'm so sorry!" Hero's voice is apologetic, as they look to make sure their baby is okay. Villain is unphased, though, as they smirk.

"Don't worry about it." They look to how she immediately smiles up with those chubby baby cheeks and dimples at both of them. "She thinks that's funny. You're raising a little mini villain, Hero." Villain's voice is full of amusement. Hero rolls their eyes as they stand.

"I can wash that for you if want, I think I have a spare shirt in about your size." They offer, still feeling bad. They set the baby in her play pin as they lead Villain through the house to their bedroom. Hero paws through their dresser until they find the shirt.

Turning around, they find Villain is already removing their own shirt, and Hero tries not to pay attention to the curve and contour of their toned body. Flushing red, Hero thrusts the shirt in their direction, averting their gaze.

Villain takes it, chuckling at their reaction.

"You really don't have to apologize. You have an adorable kid." Villain's voice is softer than normal.

Smiling gently, Hero nods. This is something they both can agree on. "Yeah, she is."

"I have no idea where she gets it from." Villain continues, teasing in their tone evident. Hero pushes their shoulder in retaliation.

"I happen to be adorable as hell."

Villain takes Hero's hand and pulls them close. "You're just hot. There's a difference." Their voice is low and rumbling.

Stomach fluttering, Hero can't help the heat rising up their neck. This has also been happening frequently, Villain's teasing and flirtatious comments. Hero can't tell if they actually mean it or are trying to get a reaction.

Hero doesn't know how to respond, always replying to their teasing words with flustered laughter or deadpan replies. When they don't respond, Villain continues speaking.

"I'll come back later to return your shirt." Their voice still has that playful air, but they look a little dejected. They turn to presumably climb back out the balcony like a maniac.

Before they can think otherwise, Hero grabs them by the elbow, their skin soft and warm under theirs.

"Wait- you don't have to leave." Their voice is still sounding flustered as they speak in a rush. "You should stay. If you want.."

Villain's resulting smile has their heart quickening. "I couldn't say no to spending more time with my favorite ankle bitter. Or to annoying you some more." Their voice is light and joking as they head out of the bedroom, back towards the living room.

"Have you ever thought about having any more?" Villain asks suddenly, as Hero follows after.

They haven't really thought about this. The kid they have now is already a handful, but the mental image of a big family is an endearing one.

"I haven't really thought about it," Hero says, picking their infant up from her pen. "Why do you ask?"

Villain leans in close, offering a finger to the baby. They smile as she grabs it, before looking up to Hero's eyes. Their gaze is full of warmth and amusement, and something else that gives Hero butterflies. Villain's voice is warm and flirtatious when they speak.

"We could have some cute babies."

#hero x villain #prompts #dialogue prompt #original writing #hero #hero prompt #villain #villain prompt #villain x hero #superhero #writing prompts #writeblr #writers on tumblr

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ms-demeanor · 10 months

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since twitter has become actively hostile to its users, so they came to tumblr, and reddit has become actively hostile to its users, so they came to tumblr, what do we do now that tumblr is becoming (more) actively hostile to its users? i’ve been here for over a decade so i know tumblr users are the type to cling on despite everything and revel in undoing every change, but i’m so tired of the way this website breaks the way it fundamentally works in order to appeal to new users. the twitterfication of the site seems so much worse than when people jumped ship after the porn ban, and even then, only small communities (and twitter) cropped up as solutions. you might not be the person to ask for a definitive answer, but i figured a tech blog might be interested in considering - what do we do when there’s nowhere left to go?

Okay so, I mean this very seriously: how has tumblr meaningfully become like twitter?

I don't personally find the sidebar view obnoxious and it seems to me like just another layout change that's pretty typical to tumblr. New users are getting signed up with a bit more emphasis on algorithmic feeds, but that is still very easy to change (MUCH easier than on any other social platform) and the algorithm has been there for everyone for quite a while, we just typically don't notice it because a lot of long-term tumblr users don't go into the "for you" feed.

I don't think that tumblr *has* fundamentally broken the way that it works to appeal to new users. My dash now is still very much like my dash in 2019, and still very much like my dash in 2018 (though much less pornographic). Reblogs are still reblogs, likes are still likes. Replies, for all that they seem like they've been around forever, are new and good and I think they work well. I'm irritated that the notes menu doesn't have a "view all" option but I think that's a worthwhile tradeoff for an easy way to see tags.

I *do not* understand why tumblr has broken linking back to previous reblogs but I don't think that's out of an effort to act like twitter; it is a bizarre choice that I dislike and don't understand but I also don't think that it has fundamentally changed the way the site works and i mean you've been around long enough that I'm sure you've had the same experience I have of going into the notes of a post and randomly clicking until you found a version that you wanted to reblog without a bunch of bullshit at the bottom. Tumblr has always kind of sucked, this change DOES suck but it doesn't suck in a way that is particularly novel or insurmountable. (For instance, I think this change sucks MUCH LESS than when they made posts with links invisible to the search, that is something that is genuinely bad that has been long lasting but doesn't get brought up much in lists of the ways that tumblr has gone wrong)

Tumblr *is* changing, but I think it is changing more incrementally and less terribly than other parts of the internet. I also hate the floating clown, the login walls, the dash-only view for blogs (you can't archive it and I HATE that), and - to an extent - the new lightbox on mobile. And I dislike that less than I thought I would but I don't think it's a fundamental change that necessarily impacts my interactions with the site - it *adds* a feature that I don't care for but it doesn't *break* anything that I require to have a good time on tumblr - in that way I think of it very much like Live. People hate Live so much and I find that perplexing because it is so easy to simply ignore it.

But that's not really your question; that's just some stuff I want people to think about because as much as tumblr has changed in the last two years it is nowhere near as fucked up as the recent things that twitter and reddit have pulled.

So, as to your question: where do we go?

Well. Not to be an extremely old person on the internet, but damned if I don't miss email lists. And forums. God I miss forums. Neither of those things has all the bonuses of platforms like twitter or reddit or tumblr or facebook, but they were great ways to hang out with people you liked on the internet.

The internet is changing. I can feel it, you can feel it, I'm pretty sure we're all like cattle in a field lifting our noses and hearing some distant rumbling and becoming slowly aware that it's almost time to run. There's a coming stampede and it isn't here yet but you know it's on its way. You're not imagining that, that's how things feel right now and there are a shitload of things contributing to it.

Things like SESTA/FOSTA and KOSA (which has not passed yet but is a big red flag waving on the horizon) have been eroding away the way that users on various platforms can function. Some platforms have consolidated in ways that harm users; some new platforms have popped up and shaken up the map of the internet; some platforms are being torn apart brick by brick by owners who don't care about the users. It kind of seems like people are actually looking up and realizing that advertising is A) bad and B) doesn't actually work and I think we're running straight toward another advertising-based crash like we saw in 2017. It feels like all the desperate things that tumblr is doing is just rearranging deck chairs on the titanic as the internet as a whole starts to sink into the ocean.

Honestly, I don't think it's that bad. I think it *feels* bad, but I think we're looking at a slow whimpering death of the platforms, not a bang. I think tumblr is going to hang on at least for a few years and I think it's going to end up like livejournal and myspace, which both still exist as websites that are recognizable as updated versions of the sites they were in 2004-2010. The thing that I think would really, honestly hurt tumblr in a fundamental way is if it moved to a more algorithmic and data-sales based model of advertising, and I think that's still pretty distant. I think Automattic is aware that killing the chronological feed would be the one unforgivable sin that would cause a mass exodus and a final crash, and I think when we see that, when we can't just scroll through the feed and see what our friends did that day in order of when they did it, that's when the party is over here.

But that's still not answering your question.

So, where do we go? What do we do? Well, for now, I'd say it's a good time to get contact info for your friends across various platforms. Get email addresses, get phone numbers.

Now is also the time for you to set up a personal website. NeoCities is currently the best place to do this, though it takes a lot more effort than just starting a blog on tumblr. I think that various oldschool blogging sites like Wordpress and Blogger/Blogspot/whatever the hell the google one is are a better place to have your emergency backup than a more platform-y platform if you aren't up to doing something with NeoCities.

If you've got the ability to do so and a group of people who are interested in the same core subject, set up a forum. There's a decent amount of off-the-shelf forum software out there and a text-and-small-images forum isn't prohibitively expensive, but it's never going to be huge and you're never going to have the kind of spread and virality and random connections that you would on a platform with millions or billions of users.

If you can't set up a forum, setting up or joining a discord server for your friends is a decent enough option at the moment, and may be a very good option for people who are looking to keep their interactions more private.

But yeah i think right now is a great time for people to start setting up their own personal websites, to start visiting actual webpages again, to start bookmarking their friends' websites, and to start collecting contact info that isn't tied to platforms.

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promptsbytaurie · 7 months

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anything with wing clipping. i once tried to do research on it for a fic and,, it is SO angsty

i got u fam <333 (i have way too much brainrot on this bear with me LMAO)

tips for writing ✨wingfics✨

!!please credit/tag me if you use this!! i'd love to see what you write!!

physical differences:

area where wings connect to their back is insanely sensitive!!

feathers falling e v e r y w h e r e

wings are big!! if the wearer hasn't had them for long, or is younger/inexperienced, they're gonna knock shit over

~birb noises~

they're actually really good singers with insane lung capacity, a lot of them are/could be opera singers

thin bones, so they're super light and even though most think it's embarrassing to be picked up so easily there's always One Dude who's like 'carry me everywhere'

smaller birds = smaller people. most wings correspond to a specific species, and hummingbird varieties are notoriously short (though never say that to their face, they will probably murder you <3)

unless the avian is a kind of waterbird (penguins, sometimes eagles) going into water will clog their wings and they could drown!! adding onto this i imagine that avians have special bathtubs and brushes and stuff so that they can properly clean their wings

on the flip side if an avian does NOT clean their wings they can get tangled or matted which a) is super painful b) could impact their flying and c) could cause sickness !!

dislocated wings >:(( this happens about as often as dislocated shoulders do with regular people. this can be caused by a couple things like blunt force, trying to manuever/twist wings in ways they aren't supposed to go, or flying too often/straining wings.

psychological differences:

preening!! it's intimate, but doesn't have to be romantic/sexual. obv there is room for very fluffy and romantic moments but it can be either way

flock!!! it's kinda like a family or a pack

the urge to Make a Nest and Only Let the Flock In

once the Flock is In the Nest then the Flock Will Not Leave Ever

molting!! old feathers fall out to allow new ones to grow in !

molting is basically the bird version of a period except all birds have it once or twice a year. they're more emotional, super sensitive, and extra clingy during molting!!

if an avian gives you one of their feathers it's basically a version of marriage, except it doesnt have to be romantic. its essentially a promise, like a 'we're with each other forever' kinda thing.

just as humans have discrimination, i imagine that avians have it too. more common species like songbirds, ravens, or crows are probably valued in society way less than those like eagles, doves, or parrots, and there could also be stereotypes against species like vultures or condors.

on wing clipping:

in my mind wing clipping is a lot like trimming your fingernails realllly sloppily, except the difference is that you should NEVER clip an avian's wings.

what i mean by fingernails is that the nails themselves don't hurt but if you do it sloppily there are Consequences: clipped too short -> irritated skin. clipped inconsistently -> sharp edges, snags on everything INCLUDING other feathers

huge violation of boundaries/self!! clipped wings -> can't fly. flying is integral to avian health and if they can't fly their mood and mental health will fall drastically.

clipped feathers take a long time to grow back, and therefore clipping has long-term effects. it also damages the feathers themselves (obviously) in ways that sometimes can't be healed

if an avian's wings are clipped their trust goes DOWN and their insecurity goes UP. its likely that if someone else tries to touch their wings they will freak out

clipped wings also make avians more jumpy and paranoid because they've lost their major way to escape/protect themselves: flying away.

angst potentials in wingfics (spoiler: there's a lot):

like i said, clipped wings -> can't fly. write about an avian's first time flying again. (not super angsty but still)

SUPER angsty: write about the actual act of wing clipping.

an avian is neglecting their wing care and tries to hide it.

relationship between a 'noble' avian (eagle, dove, etc) and a 'basic' avian (crow, raven, etc) and society's dislike of the relationship.

or maybe avians are a minority in a human world, and an avian has to hide their wings to be safe.

hope this helped!! <33

#writing tips #wingfic #fanfiction #fanfiction tips #advice #writing advice #wings #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #prompt list #ask #anon ask #anonymous #anonymous asks

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starkeyisthelastname · 24 hours

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It’s Always Been You Chapter Two:

Here’s chapter two my loves! 🥰 Disney World here we come! Yeah and Topper is super annoying in this series.. 😅 (I haven’t been to Disney World in years, so this just comes from a little background and research!)

Previous Chapter

"Why the fuck am I even awake right now?" Rafe grumbled to you as he climbed out of his F-150 truck that was now crookedly parked next to the sleek white Mercedes you drove. With an irritated sigh, he opened the back door to pull his bags out, nearly throwing them down onto the hard asphalt of the tarmac.

Rafe's grumpiness in the mornings was legendary, a trait that had been firmly in place even back in your elementary school days. You could still recall those car rides to private school, with either Rose or your mom at the wheel, Rafe grumbling in the seat beside you. So, when you slammed your trunk shut, your expensive tote bag slung over your shoulder and your large pink suitcase clutched in one hand, his predictable morning grouchiness was met with a healthy dose of eye-rolling from you. You yanked open the passenger door, leaning in to grab the frozen coffee you'd picked up for him. "Drink this and shut up," you ordered, practically throwing the cup at him.

Rafe shot you a smirk as you handed him the coffee, something only you would do for him. "You aren't going to tell people I drink this girly shit, are you?” He teased, his eyes traveling down to the way your ass looked in the tight leggings you wore. The things he wanted to do to you, whether they were wrong of him to think about as you were his best friend, but fuck did he want you bad.

“How did you know? It’s my plan to tell everyone that the big bad Rafe Cameron likes caramel frappuccino’s.” You said, standing back up straight, oblivious to the way he had been staring at your body. You turned to face him again, Rafe’s eyes immediately focusing on your own.

“Okay smart ass.” Rafe mumbled, hiding a smirk as the two of you began to make your way to the Cameron’s private plane.

Your parents were settled in, engaged in a boring business conversation with Rose and Ward over steaming cups of coffee. Wheezie had already dozed off, her blanket snugly over her head, while Sarah and her boyfriend Topper giggled at some TikTok video playing on her phone. Rafe shot a disapproving glance at the frosted-tipped haired boy as he strode past you toward your usual seats. Sarah and him didn’t get along most of the time, and her boyfriend Topper only made it worse for him to keep his anger in check as the idiot was constantly running his mouth to be a smartass. People like him were the reason Rafe had to always have his vape and cart pen on him.

“Why is he coming? They've been dating for what? Five fucking minutes.” Rafe grumbled, plopping down into the leather seat next to the window as he took his sunglasses off. You sat down next to him, placing your bag on the spacious floor, before getting comfortable. “What? Sarah’s boyfriend isn’t aloud to come?” You asked with a small laugh, looking over at the couple. Even though Rafe and Sarah didn’t get along, you and her were close, despite her being a few years younger. Topper wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around, but he was making Sarah happy which was what mattered.

Rafe leaned his head back against the plush headrest, looking at you as you sipped on your coffee. You were so effortlessly beautiful even makeup free, still looking like a stunner. Your eyelashes were freshly filled, eyebrows threaded and lips lightly glossed in the Dior lip oil he knew you always wore. One thing he loved about you is that you always kept yourself together, even at a time like this where there was an early flight. You were expensive, and high maintenance, always taking pride in the way you looked. It was starting to eat him up inside at how much he just wanted to shower you with compliments.

“He’s a fuckin prick who is always trying to get under my skin on purpose just to piss me off so he can see me flip out.” Rafe said, buckling his seat belt as the pilot announced they were about to take off. It was hard enough for him to try and control his anger and someone like Topper Thornton didn’t help when he was trying to do his best to be a better man and figure out his emotions.

You fastened your own belt, reaching over to intertwine your fingers with his as taking off always made you anxious. “He’s not worth it, don’t let him get to you. If he chooses to act like an idiot that’s on him not you.” You told him, running your finger across the gold signet ring that adored his left hand. You knew how important it was for him to try and do better after getting clean.

Rafe was so goddamn in love with you, it fucking almost scared him…and he had done some pretty scary shit. You were the only one who understood him. The calm to his brutal storm. He gave your hand a squeeze, kicking himself in the head on why he couldn’t be a man and tell you how he really felt about you. He had to figure out his emotions and fast before he lost you to someone that would never be worth your time.

Rafe seemed to be in a somewhat better mood as the plane landed, and he had eaten breakfast. That mood quickly changed though as he found out you two were riding in the same car as Sarah and Topper. You could see him from your peripheral vision, trying not to bang his head against the car window as Topper talked non stop. His hand came down to the pocket of his sweatpants, digging in them for a few seconds before pulling out the dark blue cart pen. He took a hit off of it, inhaling the smoke before blowing it out the cracked window.

“You know I don’t think those are the best for you man.” Topper said from behind you as Rafe took another hit. He was such an asshole, and as much as you loved Sarah you didn’t know how she put up with those smartass comments.

“Don’t care.” Rafe said, nonchalantly as he felt the weed cool his inner self down from the yapping that frosted tipped idiot was spewing.

It was Topper’s comment of “One addiction to another.” Whispered loudly on purpose to Sarah, that had Rafe immediately turning around.

“What the fuck did you just say?” He asked, blue eyes flashing dark in anger. The last thing that he needed was this dumbass to start speaking about shit he didn’t even know about in the first place. You slowly reached over, placing your hand on Rafe’s knee to give a gentle squeeze, knowing you were the only person that he would calm down for. You knew exactly how violent Rafe could get, and when he was on cocaine it was about 50 times worse. As hard as it was, and definitely wasn’t right, Topper wasn’t worth losing his cool over.

“Top, don’t.” Sarah told him softly, not wanting a fight already to happen on this trip. As much as she loved Topper and didn’t necessarily get along with Rafe, she still knew her boyfriend didn’t stand a chance with her older brother if his mood got to a 100.

“Fuckin pussy.” Rafe mumbled under his breath, turning back around and looking at you with apologetic blue eyes. God, he just wanted to be the best version of himself for you. There was no way you would ever give him a chance if he kept flipping out at every little thing that pissed him off. He had to keep the promise to himself to really try and do better, but that punk was already getting on his last nerves.

Thankfully the rest of the car ride to the resort went smoothly, the suv soon pulling into The Grand Floridian Resort & Spa. The entire family headed into the lobby, where Ward checked in and then told everyone the suite arrangements. Your parents along with Ward and Rose would be staying in one suite, while the rest of you would be staying in the other.

“There’s a room with two queen beds and one with a king size bed.” Ward started, handing the five of you keys. Before Wheezie could even say it, the older man put his hand up. “And Rafe is getting the king size bed.” He said, causing the 13 year old to pout. He then told the five of you to go explore the resort, relax or whatever you wanted to do before meeting at the restaurant Victoria and Albert’s later for dinner.

You couldn’t help but watch Rafe as he walked in front of you. You loved how tall he was, his frame massive and broad shoulders and muscular back, flexing effortlessly throughout the black t-shirt he wore. He was like a tree you wanted to climb and if you ever told him that out loud, he would most likely jokingly call you a dumbass. You quickly brushed your thoughts away as everyone piled onto the elevator, realizing every little thing Rafe was doing had you thinking about him.

The way you were standing, your back was pressed to Rafe’s front. He could smell your perfume, sexy and sweet just like your gorgeous self. Your perfectly shaped ass was too damn close to him, his hands gripping onto the railing to keep himself from wrapping his arms around your waist, and holding you against him. He was thankful yet disappointed that the elevator climbed to the right floor quickly before he lost control. You were damn near making it almost impossible, every little thing you did reminding him how in love with you he was. He had to start making some kind of move, even to see if you were open to the idea of being more than just best friends.

Entering the suite, you couldn’t help but laugh a little as both you’re parents always made sure everyone had the best. The suite was spacious, a small living area and kitchenette on the left side, while the right side held a small hall with two bedrooms spilt across from each other. It was when you were following behind Wheezie towards the room with the queen beds, that you felt Rafe tug your arm back.

You frowned, looking at him as you wanted to go set your stuff down. His tall body looked massive in the dim hallway, as you looked up into his blue eyes. He nodded towards the room behind him, before speaking. “Stay with me.” He said, his voice a little softer than usual.

You were no stranger to sharing a bed with Rafe, you had literally known him your entire life. You weren’t sure if it was your overwhelming feelings for him or what, but something about this felt different. You found yourself nodding though, watching him smile as he dragged you into the room with the king size bed.

“Can’t let my favorite girl suffer in there with Wheezie’s snoring and Sarah and bozo’s bullshit.” He said, shutting the door behind him. He loved his sisters, sure. You were superior to everyone in his mind though, especially since he was an asshole to every other female but you.

His favorite girl. It was something you heard often but never got tired of. You sat your bag down onto dresser, walking over to the window where you couldn’t help but smile at the view. “You bitched about coming here in the first place and you still get the room with the best view.” You teased him, pretty eyes glancing at Cinderella’s castle in the distance.

Rafe did get the room with the best view and it wasn’t Cinderella’s castle. “Yep, sure do. Wanna know why?” He asked, his long legs walking across the room to stand behind you so that he could see out the window better and just be near you again.

You hummed, looking back at him as his baby blue eyes shined in the sunlight as he looked down you. He smirked, leaning in closer towards your ear. “Because I’m fuckin Rafe Cameron and I get a whatever I want.” He whispered, his voice sending goosebumps down your skin as his hot breath tickled your neck. He had to make you his by the end of the week, he couldn’t go back to Kildare without having tried to tell you how he really felt about you. If you rejected him, it would be the most painful thing he would experience, but at least he would know.

tag list: @alinavalentine @rafesfuckdoll @ijustwanttoreadlols @maybankslover @rafeyswrd @gh0stsp1d3r @chenslucy @mattyskies @skye-44 @xoxohlala @saveahorserideaspacecowboy

if i missed anyone or you’d like to be added let me know! 💖

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sunflowerdigs · 1 month

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It's kind of wild to read takes about how Buck "finally" has someone to love and support him unconditionally when I thought that's exactly what Eddie was doing for the last 7 seasons. I think that's the thing that irritates me most about people who have replaced Buddie with BT (not multishippers) - it's like they've completely forgotten 7 years of canon because of a few kisses. Especially because, as recently as 7x06, the show deliberately had Eddie demonstrate much more love and support for Buck than Tommy. In fact, that was the point of even having Tommy in that first scene at Chim's party. It's the willful blindness to more incisive and richer readings of the show combined with a weird pride in that more shallow reading because it's spoonfed that I think is really irritating to me. Buck and Tommy have some of the outward appearances of a committed relationship but I'm really hoping that in these last 2 episodes, Buck demonstrates who he's actually canonically committed to.

Some speculation under the cut.

It's worth pointing out that the Bucktaylor breakup happened in 5x17 and 5x18 with pretty much no warning. 5x17 set up the reasons for the breakup and then, in 5x18, the breakup happened. There was nothing about them in the official description for 5x17 and, from what I can gather, only one unofficial description for 5x18 contained anything about them.

While I agree that 7x09/7x10 would be pretty early for a BT breakup, it's hard for me to believe that the show wants to spend much more time on another hamster wheel relationship for Buck. Especially since, after 7x04, the hamster wheel is more visible than ever, what with the obvious contradictions in Buck's actions vs the conclusions he reached about those actions (similar to 4x14, where he prioritized Eddie over Taylor unnecessarily but then came to the conclusion that he wanted to be with Taylor).

I keep thinking about the 7x03 scene where Buck paused and smiled at Tommy for a bit before following Eddie. That scene right there was an indication that the relationship would be short-lived. Additionally, Lou wearing the same outfit in 7x10 that he wore in 7x04 is potentially a bookend, possibly indicative of a reset of his relationship with Buck back to what it was the first time he wore that outfit. After all, Buck was never jumping ship, he was just keeping his options fluid.

Finally, I think it's telling that Ryan keeps saying both that Eddie is heterosexual and that Buddie is possible because those two statements are contradictory. It makes me think his heterosexuality may not be permanent. Because if it was, then Buddie would be off the table, and discussions of Buddie would be banned in interviews like they were in previous seasons.

So...obviously no one can say anything for certain until the rest of the season plays out. I'm not here to promise anyone anything because I don't work on the show and my interpretation could always be wrong. But there's certainly reason for hope, at least.

#buddie #anti b*cktommy #911 discourse #911 speculation #if it's not obvious i am purposefully trying to keep this off the bt tag so if it ends up there i apologize #911 spoilers

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scintillyyy · 2 months

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anyways. i was thinking about timkon and about how it's so much more than the cloning attempts and you'll always be my clone boy and the colors--it's the bickering and pushing against each other, it's the irritated to best friends arc. it's the fact that years before tim changed his colors for kon, kon became robin in an alternate universe for tim. it's the way tim admits everything that happened while kon was gone & kon forgives him everything because they've been through so much together. and then i was thinking about their fight on apokolips & exactly how much of kon's guilt is wrapped up in how he thinks he should have listened to robin--that if he had listened to robin, things would have been okay. because he explicitly says it, in superboy #91

he says it was his fault that impulse died...*because he had to go and push against robin*. kon blames himself for causing it--kon is also holding in his heart that nothing bad would have happened if *he hadn't fought with tim*.

and there's such an interesting callback to this feeling of his in superboy #92 during his guilt-laden dream. when he's confused & trying to figure out what exactly is going on--it's tim that appears for him.

nothing is making sense to him. he's looking for help--and who shows up to help him figure things out for himself? *tim*. robin is the one to throw him the line for him to grab onto. and not just that, robin says "get your tail in here and we'll keep you safe!" which. is SUCH an interesting line to me. kon is drowning in his guilt. *robin* will keep him safe. not fighting with robin on apokolips would have meant that kon wouldn't have gotten bart killed & he wouldn't have to be dealing with this guilt. the idea of robin as safety for kon, that being with robin will keep kon safe from making his mistakes and getting people hurt. but since he didn't listen to robin & bart got hurt as a result, it ends up kon can't get on the boat and be safe with tim--he gets eaten by a shark to continue to drown in his guilt, the safety of robin taken from him.

of course, it's his meeting tim in his dream that allows him to recognize that none of it is real & helps him make sense of what exactly is going on-

he left behind tim & people got hurt. seeing tim in his dream is what allows him to realize none of this is real--which allows him to recognize later that he's drowning in his guilt over the people who got hurt because of him in his dream. because he has this connection in his head of not him listening to robin, of him losing his friendship with tim means people get hurt. he's not allowed to get on the boat and get to safety with tim, because he argued with tim--which led to kon leading impulse to his "death". kon had such interesting and complicated feelings about how important his relationship to tim was to him & what exactly tim represented to him & such a desire to not lose tim's friendship even as they fought--which, of course, tim reflected back at him many many times.

#anyways i know i don't talk about them a lot BUT.#tim has always represented something special and undefinable to kon <3 #even as they fought they were like magnets to the other

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grandlinedreams · 4 months

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|| uhh i forgot the mating bond is just kind of a feelings/vibe pathway rather than talking so just assume reader is Daemati or smthing idk i'm too lazy to fix it and it's part of the fic

|| warnings: enemies(ish?) To lovers, mating bond fic, angst, some pining, cursing, nsfw ㅡ oral (f & m receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, piv unprotected sex (make informed decisions, kids!), breeding kink

You'd always been a sucker for fairytales.

You'd grown up on a healthy dose of them, tales repeated over and over with the weary affection of your mother as you clamored for them again.

And what young child wouldn't enjoy stories of knights and dragons and damsels in towers? Where the villain was always clear cut, good and bad measured in black and white.

Too bad the real world never dealt with such things. No, there was no prince to kiss you from a death-like slumber, no knight to rescue you from a tower.

But there is a Cauldron, the Mother ㅡ and whatever gods exist to laugh at the hand that they've dealt you.

That's the only reason you can think of as to why you, part of Rhysand's Inner Circle, can only stare in mute disbelief at Eris Vanserra as the mating bond, mocking you with the idea of shimmering gold, snaps into place.

“Are you done moping yet?”

“For the last time, Mor,” you huff as you turn the page of your book, “I'm not moping. I'm busy.”

“Busy,” Mor mocks. “Looks like moping to me. You need to stop hanging out with Az so much.”

She waits all of two minutes before she's moving towards you, knocking the book out of your hands to drape herself across you like a contented housecat. “Come on, you need to live a little.”

“I'm four hundred and fifty years old,” you counter, hating the way a smile twitches at the corners of your lips. “I think I've lived quite a lot so far.”

“Being a bore with books and training isn't living,” Mor protests with a huff. “You've been acting weird for the last two decades, don't deny it.”

You freeze. “I have not.”

Honey brown eyes meet yours. “Have too. You've been acting weird ever since that run in withㅡ”

You slap a hand over her mouth. “Don't,” you hiss, then recoil. “Did you just lick my hand?”

Mor grins as you wipe your hand on the couch before she eyes you, brow furrowing.

“Seriously,” she says, her expression sobering. “Did he do something? Because you know Rhys would want to knowㅡ”

“No, Mor.” You push her off of you and stand. “He didn't do anything.”

Left, right, dodgeㅡ

“Somebody's in a mood,” Cassian pants as he narrowly avoids your fist to his jaw, his eyes gleaming as he studies you. “Normally I have to drag you out here to train.”

“You don't have to drag me anywhere,” you fire back, pushing hair out of your eyes. “Just felt like it was time for a tune up of hand to hand.”

“And I get to be the lucky punching bag? I'm honored.” Cassian straightens, and you hate the way he studies you ㅡ the way Mor did, equal parts concern and curiosity. “Are you okaㅡ”

“Cauldron boil me, I said I'm fine!” You know it isn't fair to snap at Cassian, but you've felt off kilter all morning ㅡ since Rhysand had told you of the impending arrival of Eris ㅡ presumably to discuss the ever shifting agreements in the tentative allyship with him.

Just hearing his name had put you off of your breakfast ㅡ not out of indignant disgust, though you wished it were. Anything but the traitorous lurch of the bond you'd hoped would bury itself and remain forgotten.

Mate, it whispers, an adder coiled in the back of your mind. Your mate.

Only if it snapped in place for him too, you remind yourself viciously. Only if you accepted it.

And you won't. Not now, not ever.

“There you are.”

You force yourself not to freeze, turning slowly to lock eyes with the one person you'd been doing your best to pretend wasn't staying in your home.

Eris eyes you, and the lazy trace over your legs and back up makes you want to slug him and preen in equal measure, the latter only adding to your mounting irritation. “What do you want, Eris?”

He huffs, eyes gleaming. “Now, is that any way to talk to a guest?”

Pretentious asshole. Your teeth clench hard enough you think something might pop as you exhale. “My apologies,” you grit out, “how can I help you?”

Eris’ eyes gleam, and you get the distinct impression that he's laughing at you. Not just at you, but at the shimmering coil in your head that sings in his proximity.

He approaches and you take one wary step back after the other until your back meets smooth wall ㅡ and Eris is in front of you. He's devastatingly handsome, staring at you with an intensity that makes you want to punch him.

It also makes you want to ㅡ no. No.

“Back off,” you hiss.

“Or what?” He's taunting you. “If i were a lesser male, I'd think you'd been avoiding me.” His eyes glitter as he leans in. To anyone who could stumble upon the scene, it'd look…intimate. “But that can't possibly be what you're doing, right?”

You should hit him. Tell him to fuck off, to get away from you ㅡ to leave entirely. You hate how he eyes you, the simmering song that your veins respond with in kind.

“Come on, little rabbit,” he exhales, voice low and almost a purr. “Where are those teeth you showed me last time?”

You snarl, hand fisting into his shirt ㅡ and you yank him to meet your lips. It's an aggressive kiss across the board, teeth and tongue as he shoves you further against the wall, and you hate how something in you purrs at the pressure.

This, at the very least, is horribly familiar. His touch is not unknown on your body, the snake of warm fingers against your sides so eerily similar to the handful of rendezvous so many years ago, a lifetime ago, before ㅡ

Mate. A bond untethered, unanswered ㅡ and icy water douses the ignition of flame in your lower belly, sours the warm lips against your neck.

“Get off me,” you rasp, ripping yourself free. “The next time you touch me, I'll cut your hands off.”

“I want to get drunk.”

“Hello to you too,” Mor blinks up at you, studying the tension in your shoulders. “Any special occasion or…? I feel like I should intervene if this is going to be a bad idea.”

“Since when have you turned down a reason to go to Rita's?”

Mor only frowns at you, then gentles her tone as she sets a hand on your shoulder with a call of your name. “Tell me what's going on,” she murmurs. “You've got us all worried, babe. Talk to me.”

You debate telling her to forget it, to take it out in the training ring or to simply take a good, long walk along the Sidra ㅡ and then Mor presses gently, “Is it Eris?”

You tense further, and she looses a curse. “I knew it was a bad idea to have him stay here. If he put his hands on youㅡ”

“Mor,” you cut in. “It's not…not like that. Not anymore.” One eyebrow raises at the anymore, curious as she watches you. You exhale slowly. “My mating bond snapped into place.”

Her eyes widen, and you can't stand the sympathy in her eyes ㅡ the idea that you're a star-crossed lover, helplessly in love with someone you aren't Cauldron-bound to. If only ㅡ perhaps you could handle that a little better than being bound to the person you are in love with.

Who's never shown a hint that the bond has snapped into place for him. Never wanted you for more than the intervals of hands and teeth, murmured filth and promises that'd made your toes curl ㅡ and been all too happy to pretend you didn't exist except for those moments.

“Oh,” Mor says, and your chest aches. She, of all people, knows how Eris is ㅡ and the way she stares at you makes it worse. “Oh, honey.”

She doesn't coddle you, because there are no tears to shed ㅡ you buried those along with your end of the bond, thrown a shield around it, tried to forget. You had no Prince, no Knight.

(You'd never been good at being a damsel, anyways.)

You don't know what Mor says to the others, but you don't really care when it lands you at Rita's, snug between Cassian and Azriel and all too happy to drown your woes in the sharp tang of alcohol.

You don't need coddling or pampering ㅡ you know what you need, and it drives you from the safety of your brothers, joining Mor to chase the pounding thrum of music.

You're not sure when you end up with an unfamiliar Fae male's hands on you, only that you simply grin and welcome the advance, the simmering promise in his eyes to give you what you need to forget the ache in your chest ㅡ at least for tonight.

And maybe tomorrow. And perhaps the next ㅡ whatever and however long it took for Eris to leave, to let you bury that bond back down where it belongs.

It's as his lips are brushing over your neck that he's wrenched away from you and you blink, admonishment on your lips ㅡ and it dies a quiet, quick death at the absolute fury blazing in Eris Vanserra's eyes. Not at you, no ㅡ at the male who'd been touching you.

“Get your rutting hands off of what isn't yours,” he all but snarls, and you watch as the male disappears back into the crowd before Eris is focusing on you. “And you. Come with me. Now.”

Some of the drowsy edge of alcohol is beginning to wear off, and you blink before your eyes narrow. “No.”

A muscle in Eris’ jaw jumps. “We need to talk.”

Defiance ignites in your veins, fueled by alcohol, the ruined distraction (from the very male before you), and the irritation that he won't just leave you alone.

But maybe this is what you need ㅡ that final nail in the coffin, the claws to finally dig the bond out by the roots and get rid of it once and for all.

So you grit your teeth, shoving hard against the ache of your chest as you bite out a flat, “Fine.”

The trip back to the House of Wind is silent, tension rolling off both of you in waves. Eris doesn't so much as look at you, but the set of his jaw says he's still pissed. About what, you don't know ㅡ he's the one who came to crash your little party, acting as though he has a right to you.

He doesn't. The only claim he can say he has is the times he's made you cum on his fingers. You refuse to look at him, to entertain whatever self-righteous game he thinks he deserves to play.

This is your home, not his. Regardless of how tonight ends, you will not be the one leaving.

Somehow, be it for better or worse, you end up in your room. Eris surveys it, taking in all the little pieces that make this yours, then turns towards you.

Arms crossed over your chest, you raise an eyebrow. “Well? Talk, or get out. I don't appreciate you ruining my night.”

Anger flares, smoldering as Eris offers a terse, “I don't appreciate you letting other males touch you like that.”

You scoff. “You don't get to boss me around, Eris,” you hiss. Your voice is sharp. “You make it sound as if you're my mate.”

Eris’ eyes blaze, the flicker of flame at his fingertips as he snaps back, “Because I am, damn it!”

You freeze.

Eris, so much like the wildfire he embodies, keeps going. “I'm trying not to act like some feral animal, but you make it so hard not to when you parade around like that, it makes me want toㅡ” He cuts himself off.

The silence between you is brittle, cracking under the strain of things unsaid ㅡ and then you break the silence.

“Makes you want to do what, Eris?” A gentle, tentative tug at that bond ㅡ reeling at the presence on the other side, an answer after decades of silence.

His eyes lock with yours as he steps towards you. This time, you don't take a step back. “It almost makes me want to apologize to everyone who's about to hear you scream my name.”

You don't respond, but you don't have to. The shiver ripples through the bond, the blown quality of Eris’ pupils before he pounces.

His mouth is hot against yours, demanding in ways both familiar and not as you moan, fingers digging at your hip before you're backed against the wall next to your dresser. Something clatters to the floor, but you can't bring yourself to care about anything but the wedge of Eris’ leg between your own.

He licks into your mouth, muffling the choked sound as he grinds his thigh up against your core. You shudder at the spark of pleasure that ignites, a reflexive jerk of your hips to chase it as Eris nips at your jaw.

“Tell me how many others have seen you like this,” he murmurs darkly against your skin, “so I know how many times to make you come so you'll forget anyone but me.”

You want to answer, you truly do ㅡ but he takes your beat of silence as a prompt to tense his thigh, and it wipes your mind blissfully clear of anything but the molten warmth pooling between your legs.

It should be embarrassing, rutting against his thigh like some desperate animal in heat, but Eris meets every tiny noise that leaves your lips with approving nips of teeth in your skin and the wander of his hands to pull at your clothing until he meets bare skin.

His fingers work from your hips to your navel, then to your ribs ㅡ and then he's pinching at your nipples, turning them to achingly stiff peaks as you groan and rock your hips harder against his thigh.

And then he's slipping it away, leaving you to tremble and pant as you watch him. He could leave you like this, desperate and aching ㅡ and his eyes darken in answer before he's backing you against the dresser. More things clatter to the floor, but Eris doesn't give you time to care with the way he lifts you onto the now empty surface.

His mouth is hot against your neck, drifting to your collarbone, then to your chest ㅡ nipping and sucking marks you're sure will bruise ㅡ and then your abdomen, your core clenching around nothing when you realize his intent.

Lacquered wood creaks in protest beneath the hard curl of your hands on the dresser, fighting the urge to dig your hand into Eris’ hair as he takes his sweet time sucking marks into your thighs. “Eris,” you huff, head spinning with heady arousal and the remnants of alcohol, “please.”

That deceptively soft mouth pauses as he looks up at you, eyes wildfire-bright. “Oh,” he murmurs, “say that again.”

You blink before there's the barest drag of his tongue against your folds, prompting a sharp gasp and a whine when he doesn't repeat it.

“Come on,” he coaxes, watching you in a way that makes you want to smack him. Your frustration must echo down the bond, because all he does is laugh. “Manners, darling. Manners.”

You squirm as he nips just shy of where you want him, and you groan. “Please,” you exhale, and Eris smirks.

“Much better.”

And then his tongue is on you before you can curse at him, lips parting around a moan as he begins to work at your aching core. Your hand finds his hair at the same time that he flicks his tongue over your clit, and the answering groan that you get makes your eyes roll.

Despite never having had his mouth on you like this before (not for lack of want, truly), Eris seems to know how to get the loudest sounds from you. Your head thumps against the mirror behind you, fingers curled tight in his hair as he works you steadily towards orgasm.

His eyes don't miss anything, locked on your face and the way it contorts in pleasure, lips parted as you writhe and pant. It feeds his own pleasure, the steady ache of his cock in his pants as he renews his efforts.

Your orgasm builds like a storm cloud, the ever tightening knot in your lower belly that has you at the mercy of the male between your legs. Eris knows how close you are ㅡ how can he not, with the way your thighs tremble, the steady leak of arousal against his tongue ㅡ and there's no small amount of pride to have you this desperate with just his mouth.

The knot snaps when Eris digs the tip of his tongue against your swollen bundle of nerves and you arch with a sharp cry. He follows the shudder and jerk of your hips as you come, tongue rolling over your hot, pulsing core to swallow everything you have to offer.

You whine as he works you through your orgasm until you're pulling him away, panting as he presses damp kisses to your thigh. “I certainly hope I haven't worn you out already,” he murmurs, and your breath hitches as warmth simmers between your legs again.

Part of you wants to tell him that this is nowhere near the kind of talking the two of you need to do, to discuss the bond, to decide if you accept it or not. But you're shoving at him, single minded intent in the way you back him against the wall and sink to your knees.

If Eris is surprised at the way you shove at him, he hides it well, dark eyes tracking as you as you thumb at his hip bones, popping the button of his pants and tugging ㅡ leaving him bare before you. And then your mouth is on him, and it's hard to think about anything at all.

There's pride to be had in watching his face contort with pleasure as you lick precum from his tip, sliding your tongue against the underside and feeling him throb in answer before you take him into your mouth.

Eris groans as you envelop him in the wet warmth of your mouth, the deliberate press of your tongue against the underside of his shaft as you suck.

“Fuck,” Eris swears, voice rough and hips jerking with a hiss when you hum around him. You can feel him throbbing, the steady leak of precum that slides down your throat as you swallow.

His hand finds your hair, an echo of your own just moments ago and you let him guide you along his length. His chest rises and falls unsteadily, the glisten of sweat at his neck and chest, the soft grunt that leaves his throat when you suck harder.

You watch his head hit the wall with a muffled thump as you curl your tongue against his underside, hips jerking once, twice ㅡ and then he's spilling down your throat with a groan that borders on obscene.

You swallow before you pull back, and Eris pants as you bring a hand up to wipe at your lips. He watches you, tracking the way you slide your finger into your mouth to clean it ㅡ and then he's yanking you up, pinning you against the wall once more to kiss you.

It's an all encompassing kiss, sounds muffled as he presses into you hard enough that you can feel the stir of his cock against the apex of your thigh.

“Eris,” you gasp against his mouth. “Eris, stop.”

He pulls away, eyes on yours ㅡ and the flicker of genuine concern makes your chest ache. “We need to talk,” you say, as if you aren't both in varied states of undress ㅡ or your mouth wasn't around his cock just a moment ago. “Actually talk.”

You almost expect him to ignore you, to press for this ㅡ but his expression sobers, and it almost hurts to watch that desire for you snuff out like candlelight. “Okay.”

Part of you wonders if Mor and the others are home yet, or if they'd heard the two of you ㅡ and wisely decided to make themselves scarce, because the house is as quiet as it's ever been.

Eris still looks far more composed than you feel, and you take a steadying breath as you wrap your fingers around the comforting warmth of the mug of tea before you. “...How long have you known?”

You don't have to clarify, the gentle tug on the bond that's answered in kind on the other. “A while,” Eris answers, and it hurts that he seems focused on anything but you as he exhales. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to ask you to stay last time you were in Autumn Court.”

Something dangerously soft unfurls in your chest, renders you mute as you study the curl of steam from your mug. You could have.

Eris’ eyes flick to you, then away. We both know that isn't true.

He's right. You never would have, and he would never have asked ㅡ you love Velaris, you love your family too much to ever stray too far. Perhaps that was also why you'd spent so long shoving the mating bond down, pretending it didn't exist ㅡ so that if it did snap in place for Eris, you wouldn't have to confront what you are now.

All you can feel is the ache, echoed in tandem, the way you almost wish that it wasn't there at all ㅡ and you recoil from the hurt on his end. He exhales. “Do you really…”

You curl in on yourself. “No,” you mumble, “I just ㅡ I'm terrified, Eris. We both know what we won't give up, and I don't…I don't know how we're expecting this to work.”

Eris is silent for several long moments before he moves, and there's the press of warm fingers against your jaw, coaxing you to look up ㅡ and then he's kissing you.

It's sweet, gentle ㅡ and it only makes you hurt worse as he pulls away to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your forehead. “We'll figure it out.”

ㅡ

When I said we'd figure it out, this is not what I thought we'd be doing.

You can feel his annoyance, the flare of it at your answering amusement. It's what's working right now.

So you say. He falls silent, and you resume tying your leathers. What exactly are you up to, anyways?

Training. You finish, making sure that they're in place properly before you exit your room.

Such a shame I'm not there to admire you.

Your heart, the stupid thing, gives a soft flutter that you know Eris is undoubtedly aware of. More like distract me.

Would that be so bad? You roll your eyes, shaking your head. You're the one who's holding out on me, love. Don't think I've forgotten.

That you haven't technically accepted the bond, that you'd instead offered what the two of you have been doing for the last few weeks since Eris returned to Autumn Court. Which was, in truth, perhaps, a coward's way out.

Because for all your jabs and steady ebb and flow through the bond, you're still terrified. That though the Cauldron had given you him, he could still be taken away.

There's the distinct feeling of warm fingers against your mind, stroking ㅡ trying to settle you. I've waited this long for you, you know.

Sunlight warms your skin. I bet I have you beat in terms of waiting.

We'll see about that.

“There you are,” Cassian calls as you approach. “Thought I was going to have to drag your lazy ass out of bed.”

“As if,” you snap back, but you're grinning as you stretch. Cassian smirks, eyes gleaming ㅡ relieved that you're back to normal, if not perhaps a little cheerier than you have been in a while.

No doubt in large part to me, right? You almost drop your practice dagger, rolling your eyes as you square off in front of Cassian.

Not everything has to involve you, you answer, knowing that the barb isn't anywhere near as vicious as it could be.

But it could, Eris answers. As I said, such a shame I'm not there to admire you. He pauses. Shall I tell you? Or let you imagine on your own?

Your movement stutters for a second as you swing too wide, rolling backwards to avoid Cassian's own lunge at you. I'm busy.

So you're not imagining my head between your legs again? He sounds all too pleased with himself, with the way you fall silent ㅡ abruptly thinking of that exact thing, much to his amusement. Because I am. You're so cruel, not allowing me the pleasure of fucking you with my tongue again.

You block a blow meant for your middle, swinging your leg out. Sweat drips down your temple, the familiar ache of your body that sparring always gives you ㅡ and more, the curl of warmth at Eris’ words.

Or maybe I should have let you finish on my thigh first. You certainly were eager. Your breath stutters. Or perhaps my fingers next? I wonder how many you can take. Last time it was two, yes? Should we try for a third? He pauses, ever the satisfied fox for how your end of the bond goes silent still. Or perhaps you'd prefer my coㅡ

Eris. He's laughing at you now, amusement echoing even as you throw up the barrier, blocking him out.

Across from you, Cassian eyes you. He's aware of that far-away look, the snap to clarity once more before your eyes narrow on him. “Don't,” you intone in warning, and he grins.

“What? I didn't say anything.” He straightens, dusting off one of his bracers, the gleam of the siphons in mid-day sun before he approaches to clap you on the shoulder. “I'd pay to watch you shut him up in person, though.”

“That,” you murmur, “could probably be arranged.”

ㅡ

To be fair, you don't bake a lot. And it'd taken an inordinate amount of courage to ask Elain to help you, the soft, knowing look she'd shot you that'd made your cheeks color.

But she'd helped you knead dough, rolling it out and crimping it into place so that now you had a pie.

A pie that mocks you with the simplicity of it, the last minute effort of adding coarse sugar to the top so that it glitters like the frozen crests of the mountains. Simple ㅡ perhaps too simple.

Nothing like the elaborate things you've seen in windows of bakeries, in glossy magazines ㅡ you've never been good at that. Decent yes, but never so to recreate anything so elaborate.

You groan, pillowing your head into your arms ㅡ only to lift it a moment later at the crisp, Autumnal scent that invades your senses. As if you'd need even that ㅡ there's the familiar tug at the bond that has you watching as Eris strolls through the door.

You don't leap into his arms. You don't even tackle him ㅡ but there is a swiftness to your gait that has you against him in a heartbeat, face tucked into his neck.

“Well,” he murmurs, “was my presence missed that badly?”

“Shut up,” you huff, but there's no venom ㅡ not when the knotted tension in your chest is easing, made quicker for the arms that wind around you, tucking you tighter against him.

“Here I thought you'd be so glad to have me back,” Eris sighs in mock-lament. “Your beloved mate had to find a believable enough excuse as to why I had to come here. Don't you think that deserves a kiss?”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, even as the little bit of truth to your situation sinks home. Autumn Court is beautiful ㅡ but there's good reasons as to why Eris doesn't want you there more than absolutely necessary. Reasons that you forcefully shut out, instead studying his face ㅡ just as he spots the pie.

“What,” he murmurs, “is that?”

Your cheeks warm, even as you scoff. “A pie.”

“Obviously,” Eris says, arm still slung around your waist. “But where did it come from?”

You study the wood paneling, the carefully detailed artwork from Feyre when she'd stayed here. The cabin isn't often used ㅡ and when you'd asked for usage of it, Rhysand had the audacity to smirk at you. Eris prompts you with a call of your name, and you almost contemplate winnowing and trying again later.

“Me,” you answer finally. “I made it. For you.”

Eris freezes against you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you before there are warm fingers on your chin, coaxing you to look at him ㅡ the only warning that you get before he's kissing you.

You can feel the grip he has at your waist as he backs you until you meet the counter, your noise of surprise muffled by his mouth. “Eris,” you manage when he pulls away for a moment, “I worked hard on that pieㅡ”

“And I'll happily eat it,” he huffs against your neck, voice low and rough as he lifts you onto the counter, slotting himself between your legs. “I'm busy right now.”

You want to protest, but his teeth are bruising over your pulse, making you shudder and lean away, giving him more room to work. It earns you a low growl of approval as he busies himself with sucking marks into the column of your throat.

One hand curls against his shoulder as the other slides into his hair, earning a groan when your nails curl against his scalp. Warm fingers slide up beneath your shirt to yank it upwards, contact of his mouth broken long enough to toss your shirt somewhere else ㅡ and then he's mouthing at your chest, tongue sliding over one achingly stiff nipple and then the other.

“Eris,” you exhale, “godㅡ”

He nips sharply at the underside of your breast. “There are no gods here, love. Only me, and I don't share.”

It's spoken in the tone you know is that primal edge of the bond, the innate need to take you ㅡ that'll have him near feral for days if another male so much as looks at you. It thrums in your veins, feeding your need to answer in kind as he grinds down against you, hard pressure against your core making your eyes flutter.

And then he's pulling away to tug at your pants, kissing his way down one leg and then the other ㅡ and then that sinful mouth is on your core, just as he'd promised. The roll of his tongue has you moaning, hand in his hair to keep him from pulling away ㅡ even though you know he won't.

You have no doubts that you're absolutely soaking as he presses into you like a man starved, keeping your legs parted as he fucks you with his tongue. Your back arches as he sucks at your clit, the sharp, broken cry that makes him smirk against your aching core.

Your orgasm is looming, brought ever closer by every curl and roll of Eris’ tongue as you pant and writhe, fingers of the hand not occupied in his hair scrabbles for purchase against the counter beneath you.

As he'd done weeks ago, Eris works you through your orgasm as it washes over you like a thunderclap, letting up only once your noises have been reduced to whimpers and you're tugging at his hair.

Warm, damp kisses trail up your abdomen to your chest before Eris kisses you, and you moan at both the taste of yourself on his tongue and the fingers that he slides into you.

You're slick enough that the slip of them is easy, and Eris groans at the way you tighten around him as he works you open. The stretch of his fingers has you keening and arching into him as his thumb finds your clit.

“I told you,” he murmurs, “how I intended to admire you. But you making all of these infernal noisesㅡ” He curls his fingers and you keen, hips jerking against his hand. “And it makes it hard to stay focused.”

You wish you could answer, you really do ㅡ but the way he's working you towards a second orgasm has robbed you of any eloquence beyond shuddering gasps and hiccuped moans.

“My pretty mate,” Eris groans into your neck. He can feel the way you tighten as your orgasm nears, the lewd sound of his fingers as they thrust in and out of you. His cock throbs in his pants, and it's self-control alone that keeps him from spilling into his pants as you soak his hand as you come for the second time, making such pretty noises that Eris swears it's all he wants to hear for the rest of his immortal life.

He finally has the courtesy to lift you off of the counter, a slick mess left behind that he entertains the idea of making you clean up later with a hand in your hair and his cock in you as he takes you from behind ㅡ and the answering flare of arousal from you almost makes him want to do it now.

But it's the soft plush of a bed that meets your bare back, legs parted to welcome the settle of Eris between them ㅡ deliciously bare, erection just shy of where you want him.

And despite the two orgasms he's coaxed from you, you have no qualms in telling him as you rock your hips up, head tipping back against the bed. “Fuck me properly, Eris.”

He raises an eyebrow, a Cauldron-sent menace as he tongues at the marks he's left on you, strawberry blossoms he's made sure will get the point across. “Ask nicely, love.”

You huff, then knock your leg against his hip, rolling so that you're straddling him now, hands planted against his chest. “You need to put that mouth to better use than pissing me off.”

“I already did,” Eris answers, cocky gleam to his eyes that makes you roll your own before he's hissing as you take him into your hand, guiding him to your slick entrance before you sink down.

“Being my mate doesn't excuse you annoying me,” you say, tone shaky for the way pleasure spiderwebs at the stretch of him inside you, the golden whisper of finally, finally, finally.

Eris’ expression is also taut as you clench around him before he offers a rough, “Say it again.”

You stare down at him, aware of the way his pupils have blown so far you can't tell the color of his eyes anymore, the steady throb of his cock inside you. You don't have to ask what he wants you to say.

You stretch over him, the slow roll of your hips that has him gripping at you even as your lips meet the delicate arch of his ear and you offer a breathy sigh. “My mate.”

Eris snaps. You can't even yelp as you're flipped back into the sheets, moan leaving your hips as he bucks into you. The pace is aggressive enough that the bed creaks in protest beneath you, but you can't bring yourself to care.

Nothing matters beyond the hard thrust of him inside you, tip knocking against that spot inside you that has you making sounds that'd put a pleasure-hall to shame. Your fingers curl against his back, rewarded with a groan that makes you tighten around him further as his hips roll steadily against yours.

“Mine,” Eris huffs against your hair, then your temple, then your neck, the graze of his teeth making you shudder and arch into him. “Mine.”

Yours,” you gasp, choked cry ripped from you at the sink of his teeth against your skin.

One hand anchors him over you as the other skims over your breasts and down your abdomen to rub tight circles into your swollen clit. The contact makes you keen, and Eris huffs a rough laugh as you clench around him.

“Gonna come already, love?” You offer something that might be words, garbled and incoherent for the way pleasure is overloading your brain. It amuses Eris further as he watches your expression contort, the part of those pretty, kiss-swollen lips of yours as you mewl and moan.

“Two orgasms and still so needy…” He offers a playful click of his tongue. “Insatiable.”

As if he's faring better given that he's opted to simply grind his pelvis against yours now, intent on staving off his own orgasm for as long as he can in order to continue tormenting you with the pleasurable sink of his cock inside you.

“Want you to come in me,” you rasp, a moment of clarity that makes Eris freeze above you for all of ten seconds ㅡ and then he's moving again, groaning as he fucks into you with renewed vigor.

“My pretty mate wants me to fill her up, huh?” He goads, slick fingers pinching at your nipple and tugging until you're crying out. “Want me to fuck you full of my seed? Go ahead and put a baby in you so everyone knows who you belong to?”

You don't get to respond because you're cumming hard, clamped hard around him as he manages one, two, three unsteady thrusts before Eris is pushing as deep into you as he can and groaning your name into your neck as he spills into you. The warmth of it makes you almost squeal, arching into him before he's settling over you, sweat slick-skin and a heartbeat to match yours.

The next several moments are silent save for heavy breathing and the soft noise Eris makes as you drift your hand up and down his back.

“Worth the wait?” Eris asks at last, and you pretend to think long enough that Eris pinches at your side in protest. “If you don't answer me, I'll just have to keep outdoing myself until you say otherwise.”

“Is that so bad?” You challenge, and you can feel the twitch of him inside you, the way he's stiffening as his eyes flash.

“No,” he growls, “not at all.”

#ㅡmine.#acotar x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #acotar smut

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