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#prattling about the self

lunod · 11 months

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You know I realize my view on romance (and interpersonal relationships in general) is very warped by a myriad of factors such as "fucked up weirdo backstory befitting a main character in an anime or perhaps a soap opera" and "the autism" but I realized a (small) part of the reason I never really got into any kind of media shipping culture even when I was younger and more prone to getting involved in #fandom is that ****** and ********** really changed the game for me at a crucial point in my childhood and I have never gotten over it.

Like you are trying to tell me that you want me to be invested in two characters' relationship but they are not even messy painfully homoerotic childhood-best-friend fuckups who are mutually pining after each other but neither thinks they deserve the other (much less the issues of coming out in pre-2013 social climate) so they keep pushing each other into other people and try to hold each other at arm's length except they are still best friends and can't help but be There any time the other needs them and also they would simultaneously kill for each other and die for each other without question, without hesitation, and more than that they would raze their entire society in revolutionary fire for each other at the drop of a hat and also they are both hiding the fact that they both believe they are doomed from each other while basically sharing the same fate? You want me to be excited about something less than this? Hm. 😐

#the dynamic of turbulence and loyalty and self hatred and unwavering dedication just lives rent free in my head #they're just so messy and FUN to think about and it's so many emotions all the time #the stupid self sacrifice attempts that are completely unneeded if they knew they were both doomed as opposed to only one of them #user.dat #this was brought on by a post about friends to lovers being about the hesitation to disrupt the existing relationship #ignore me prattling on about the fictional old fucks I am permanently obsessed with

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rinneverse · 4 months

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cw a little suggestive towards the end, mdni please and ty :)

alhaitham is the type to seethe quietly in his jealousy.

he’s not outwardly possessive—no, because he lets the stranger talk to you—his pretty girlfriend—about his thesis plans, about his academic feats, and you sit there with a smile plastered on your face, nodding your head as you listen to him prattle on and on and on.

alhaitham nearly bends the book in his hand into pieces with what he claims is annoyance. not possessiveness, no, that was out of character. he was just… annoyed, that this random man had the gall to interrupt his reading session with you.

that’s what he tells himself, at least.

of course, how was he supposed to know you were dating the akademiya scribe, when alhaitham was possibly the most low-key person ever? the two of you were quiet about your relationship, content to share it between yourselves. only your close friends really knew the extent of how deep your “friendship” with the scribe went.

as soon as the man leaves (not without leaving his number for you, of course), and the two of you are blanketed in the quiet murmurs of the akademiya library, alhaitham sets his book down. he turns to you.

he finds you staring at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. alhaitham tilts his head, all feline grace, his eyes narrowing into slits as he asks, “what?”

you shake your head mirthfully, crumpling up the slip of paper in your hand and tossing it into the nearest bin. alhaitham feels his shoulders un-tense just a fraction at the sight.

“nothing,” you say, but alhaitham knows you’re lying.

so he leans closer to you, grasping your chin in his hand as he tilts your head back and forces your gaze to meet his.

“liar. what is it?”

you smile. wide and wider it grows, and you reach a hand up to brush alhaitham’s cheek. he barely suppresses a shudder at the gentle touch.

“i didn’t think you to be the jealous type.”

“i’m not.”

“then what was that all about?” you hum. you’re… amused by this. amused by him grappling with his emotions. alhaitham feels his lips twitch downward.

if you didn’t know any better, he would appear to just be frowning. but you did… and it was like he was pouting. you giggle.

“i am annoyed,” alhaitham says, stressing the last word, “that we were interrupted by a stranger. nothing more.”

“nothing more?” you parrot, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “sure. and i’m the grand sage.”

alhaitham bites his tongue, pulling his hand away from your chin. his fingers flex—he has to stamp down on his self-control. being found in a compromising position in the library would surely wreck the both of your social statuses.

but the thrill of it… seeing you bent over the table, utterly wrecked under the careful ministrations of his hands—getting to mark his claim on you...

he quickly shakes the dangerous train of thought away.

“do you want to go home?” you suddenly ask, a coy smile dancing on your lips. he must have been obvious where his line of thinking was going, if you managed to catch on that quickly. the grin on your face tells him that you did.

alhaitham pretends to ponder it. grabs the book he set down, turns it over in his hands, then shrugs.

“sure. kaveh shouldn’t be home for another few hours.”

his voice was bedroom-soft, and the tone in which he said it—nearly purring—has heat pooling in your core.

“alright. let’s go?”

he wordlessly rises, holding out his hand for you. there’s a small part of him that feels a maddening satisfaction when you let out a pleased hum, followed by a surprised yelp as he gracefully slides an arm around you.

someone nearby makes a “shh” noise, and he completely ignores it. you giggle out an apology.

it was utterly unlike him, he thinks, as he guides you through the library with his arm wrapped around your waist, slowly moving to rest his hand on the small of your back when the two of you exit the library.

maybe he’ll try being more public in his attention to you. that would most certainly keep this from happening again.

#alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #☆ oakie writes #hey ! alhaitham drabble jumpscare before i go to bed :3 #i did not proofread btdubs #wrote this all in one sitting on my phone from the comfort of my bed. and now… i eep!#a nice little bedtime story if u will

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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 1 month

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I'm falling so badly, I'm coming apart

Things you do that make them fall deeper in love with you ♡

feat. Ace and Deuce

I write the reader as female

Masterlist

Ace Trappola

When you not only indulge in his whims but actively and happily encourage him

He teases you by asking you to be his cheerleader during a basketball game and you take him on by appearing in the front row of the stand, carrying a huge banner with his name over your head and loudly yelling his name for the whole island to hear

You his heart race and face flush for reasons that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of the match as he jogs over to you and plants a kiss onto your lips, smiling as he hears your breathless gasp and feels your hands interlock around his neck, pulling you closer in front of the whole gymnasium

Or when he’s goofing around, fully expecting you to give him that endeared but exasperated look he adores only to find that you - the responsible, reliable and hard working prefect - are goofing around with him

And it fills him with such unimaginable euphoria, when he sees the childlike sparkle in your eyes as you beam at him and his antics, when you mirror his teasing grin and play off of him so perfectly it’s like your souls were intertwined

It just makes him feel so fluttery that you love him not despite his flaws but also with his flaws

Sure it does hurt a little, when he hears whispers about how tough it must be for you to be babysitting dating such a tactless troublemaker, at how horrible it must be to settle for someone who could only bring you down when you have so many other admirers that are much better suited for you, but when you look so beautiful wearing his clothes, laugh at his jokes, smile so genuinely that your face glows so ethereally, all his worries get pushed to the side

When others would roll their eyes and mutter about him being his usual obnoxious self, you smile at him all soft and gentle, like you can see past his cocky exterior and right into his heart which has your name engraved inside it

And when you bless him with that loving gaze, eyes brimming with pride as you throw your arms around him in an embrace, saying his name so sweetly he fully understands why sailors would willingly drown themselves whenever sirens would whisper a syllable, when you proudly stand next to him as you call him your boyfriend or refer to yourself as his girlfriend, he knows

He knows that your heart has his name on it as well

Deuce Spade

When you love both sides of him

He can’t help the rosiness that blooms over his nose and cheeks when you coddle his soft side; making him adorable bento boxes and omurice meals, when you smile so dearly when he prattles on about his day, when you gift him bouquets of flowers and plush chicks despite his pouty insistence on that being his job, when you take time out of your already overloaded schedule to study with him and not getting the slightest bit annoyed at his slow uptake (instead choosing to praise him for every correct answer), when you drown him in affection for every good grade, every track and field win, every time he feels like his dream of being an honour student isn’t as impossible as he initially thought

When you show just how proud you are of his change for the better, just how much you believe in him

And also when you’re not only unperturbed by his shameful delinquent side that he still fights to keep at bay, but you also dote on it, lovingly bandaging his bruised knuckles, your gentle eyes staring right into his as you press soft kisses against plasters and bandages that he swore he would never wear again (though the baby chicks decorating the plasters you carry around in your bag aren’t exactly as unappealing as the old bandages his younger self would proudly parade)

When you don’t even hesitate to press your lips against his cheeks or mouth when he inevitably slips up and spits out gruff curses, lowers his voice with a growl lets a threatening snarl pull at his lips as he clenches his fist, hackles raised and ready to strike, only stopping himself when he feels your hand make its home in his - and, well, your pecks don’t exactly stop his subsequent self hatred and guilt but it certainly does

Though he does feel some shame for it, he feels absolutely enamored in you wearing his old leather jacket. He swore that useless old thing could bring back nothing but horrid memories of fights and tears but seeing you so happily cuddle into it, all he could feel was fondness and longing. And, he realises that, yeah, maybe there are some things about his past that don’t leave such a bad taste in his mouth as you smile at him when his gloved hands click his helmet straps into place under your chin, or as he feels your body pressed flush against him as he takes you for a late afternoon spin on his magical wheel, drinking in your excited whoops as he akira slides down a deserted road

And when you give him that look, that piercing look that tells him that you know about the inner contents of his head, that makes him feel like a butterfly pinned to a wall, his thoughts being laid bare, inspected and examined, yet still let yourself melt against him and kiss him with just as much love and desperation that consumes him

It makes him feel almost worthy to call you his

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #ace trappola #fem reader

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hxllblazer-a · 2 years

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@lanternslight

“Now, put that ring away ‘fore you go and hurt yourself.”

#lanternslight #✦✦INSANE PRATTLE -- (in character)#✦✦A SELF MADE MONSTER -- (demon)#hal u about to Learn

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vinnellamadz · 3 months

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Enemies to lovers Adam x f!reader?

Enemies to Lovers

Adam X Reader

A/N: I shed blood, sweat and tears making this. SORRY IF ITS OOC this is my first real fic Adam is a PAIN to write.

You were never really able to get along with Adam. From the moment Adam arrived in heaven, the two of you were always at each other's throats.

Adam would always pick fights over the smallest things, and it was always enough to make you bite back. There wasn't a single day that he couldn't get under your skin and make fun of you. Calling you names, competing with you, and just being a general pain in your ass.

Today was the day of the first-second extermination of the year.

Adam was off giving his soldiers a 'pep talk', but before he flew off to this hazbin hotel, he came to you first.

As always, he made sure to get his daily insults in before he left, tearing into you with his words, ensuring you knew just how inferior and pathetic he deemed you. His snarky and playful tone only served to aggravate you further. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you snapped back, 'Oh, shut up! I hope you never return, Adam!' His initial shock quickly gave way to a smug grin. 'Calm your pretty little head, babe,' he retorted, his arrogance undeterred as he continued to prattle on about himself."

You weren't even listening; His annoying voice was easy to block out.

“plus I know you’ll miss me, I fuckin’ rock, I’m THE Adam” he pointed to himself keeping that stupid shit eating smile he always had, god you wanted to punch him so bad but couldn't, as you feared you would get sent to hell so you slammed the door in his face instead.

Later that night, you were sitting on your heavenly comfy couch, enjoying the latest episodes of your favorite shows. You were just about to fall asleep when a frantic knock jolted you from the cushions. With a tinge of fear, you approached the door, thinking, 'This is heaven; this couldn’t be bad, right?' As you opened the door and peeked out, you were shocked to see Adam, but he was far from his usual self. Covered in golden blood and bearing multiple stab wounds, he looked as though he had been through hell. (Lol) Without hesitation, you flung the door open, calling out, 'Adam!' before he collapsed on your doorstep.

It had been a while since you found Adam. Earlier, you had managed to drag him to your couch. As you attempted to patch him up, you discovered several more wounds scattered across his body. Shocked by the extent of his injuries, you couldn't help but wonder who could have inflicted such damage.

hours have passed since the surprise at your doorstep. You had fallen asleep on the floor beside him. When you woke up, he had yet to awaken, Panic gripped your heart as you reached out to shake him gently, wondering if he had actually died in his sleep. (double dead) You placed your finger beneath his nose, relieved to feel the subtle rise and fall of his breath. 'Why do I even care so much...' you pondered, a mix of emotions swirling within you.

More hours had passed, and as you were making lunch for yourself, you heard him make a sound. Turning around, you saw that he had finally woken up. “What the fuck am I doing here?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. “You came to me, Adam. You're hurt.” Upon hearing your words, he winced and attempted to sit up, but a wave of pain washed over him, causing him to groan. Reacting quickly, you rushed to his side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down. 'Lay down, Adam,' you said softly, concern evident in your voice. “You're going to make it worse if you push yourself too hard.” Adam groaned with displeasure as you stood up and started walking back to the kitchen. However, something he said made you stop in your tracks.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” You froze in surprise. 'What?' Slowly, you turned to him, a shocked expression on your face. “Excuse me? How hard did you hit your head?”

You stood there in silence as he just stared at you “… I’m just fucking with you… dumb b-bitch…” he looked away in embarrassment, you stared at him with a shocked look ‘doesn’t sound like was a joke..’

“I can do it myself!” He argued.

"If you move, you'll probably explode or die. Stop it!" You were trying your best to care for him these past few days, but he's just such a pain in the ass. Currently, you were trying to feed him, but he kept turning his head away, stubborn as ever. Fed up with his behavior and the frustration boiling inside you, you finally snapped. With determination, you grabbed hold of his head, locking eyes with him. "Just eat it, damn it!" you exclaimed, frustration evident in your voice as you forcefully shoved the spoon into his mouth. Finally, he relented and ate it, although begrudgingly.

“I’d rather you shove your-“

“Shut the fuck up”

“Moody Bitch…”

You scoffed at his remarks, striding over to him and motioning for him to sit up, to which he obliges. "Take your shirt off," you instruct. He smirks in response. "Don't give me that look; you know what I mean." His smirk fades into annoyance as he complies with your request. Gently removing his bandages required getting close, and you carefully unwrap them before swiftly replacing them with fresh ones, wrapping them around his body with precision and care.

"You look really pretty down there" he grins at you, his eyes sparkling with admiration. You blush in response, feeling a warm flush creeping up your cheeks, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected compliment.

Wanna know a secret?" He said, catching your attention. You looked at him with a confused expression, but slowly nodded, curiosity piqued.

"you know I live alone right now? No one's going to—" Your words were cut off as you felt his hand grasp your face, Before you could react, his lips met yours in a sudden, electrifying kiss, sending a rush of warmth through your body.

Adam pulled away, leaving you stunned and bewildered by the sudden rush of conflicting emotions.

"You make it so damn difficult to hate you," he confessed, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of something deeper, something you couldn't quite decipher. As you stood there, grappling with the unexpected confession, you realized that perhaps there was more to your relationship than just rivalry. With a mixture of uncertainty and expanding hope, you met his gaze, silently acknowledging the unspoken possibility of a new beginning between two former enemies turned potential lovers.

This was so hard goodbye. It’s so OOC I’m soo sorry I tried to rush the end to put this out faster 😭

#adam x reader #adam x reader hazbin #hazbin #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #helluva boss #hazbin adam x reader #adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader hazbin hotel

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say-al0e · 7 days

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Casual

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Steve Harrington has always been kind of an asshole and you've always been kind of in love with him. But a lifetime of friendship doesn't mean either of you are ready for something more than a casual fling because there's nothing scarier than vulnerability, even in Hawkins. [Set between seasons 2 and 3] Warnings: Car sex, requited unrequited love, unprotected PinV, mentions of cheating (parents, Carol; not Steve or Reader). Pairing: Steve Harrington x rich girl!Reader (briefly mentioned but important, off-screen Eddie Munson x rich girl!Reader) Word Count: 5.6k

Steve Harrington was kind of an asshole.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d been a bit of a dick. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, depending on who you asked, you’d known him your entire life. You grew up together, neighbors, with parents who, in their own way, were best friends - if either of your parents were capable of such a thing as friendship. And because of that, you saw a side of Steve that few others had ever witnessed.

There were moments where you saw the softness, the honeyed sweetness, that shimmered through the cracks in the facade he crafted for himself - beneath the hair and the smirk and the snarky quips. Moments where the real Steve, a tender-hearted, well-intentioned sweetheart who was always on the verge of getting it right but never quite managed to make it, lurked beneath the heavy crown he wore.

Just as there were moments when he saw beneath your own carefully crafted persona. He was the only only person who had ever seen the worry, the sadness, the deep-rooted yearning for something more that was buried beneath your walls of ice. He saw every impossibly strong, deeply felt emotion that lingered beneath your careful composure, your even stoicism. He saw the real you, not just the Ice Queen cloaked in department store dresses and expensive perfume.

Only, neither of you acknowledged those moments.

It was an unspoken pact, one you’ve honored since thirteen when you both realized that being popular meant more than being nice. You both pretended that you were still the same vapid rich kids you’d always been, unburdened by a world built to cater to you.

Even if that was no longer true. Even if it hadn’t been true in a very long time.

Either way, you didn’t mention his newfound soft spot for a strange, ragtag group of children and he didn’t mention the fact that he knew the hickey just beneath your jaw was from none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.

Just as you had nearly every weekend for the past six months, the pair of you sat in the backseat of his BMW after yet another party that neither of you particularly wanted to attend. It had long ago gotten old, pretending to enjoy the self-involved prattling of your former classmates - their bragging about taking on the family business or which colleges they’d be attending in the fall, snide remarks about Steve’s lack of direction while conveniently ignoring the fact that you were the only one with an Ivy acceptance - and you couldn’t help yourself as you huffed.

“Tommy and Carol are the worst. I swear, if I have to hear her bitch about his inability to make her come or him make another stupid fucking dick joke, I’m gonna scream.”

For as long as you could remember, you’d wanted to tell them both to fuck off, to disappear back into whatever hole they’d managed to claw their way out of, but Steve reveled in their following, once upon a time, anyway. Now, he looked almost resigned to their existence in your lives as he frowned.

“She told you that?”

“Won’t stop telling me that,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hand fell to your thigh, fingers idly tracing the bare skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. “I would tell her to break up with him but, honestly, they totally deserve each other. May they spend the rest of their lives making each other completely fucking miserable.”

It was only in these moments, hidden away in the thick of the trees near Lover’s Lake, that any glimpse of your real selves began to emerge. Your annoyed huffing, directed at the awful people you found yourself surrounded by, and Steve’s tender touch as he shifted closer and carefully brushed a lock of hair from your neck. Neither of you mentioned it, too lost in your own little world, but it never escaped either of your notice.

Still, Steve hummed dutifully. “Totally,” he agreed, “told him she cheated on him with Billy but he called me a liar.” He paused for a moment, shifted just a touch closer - his jean covered leg pressing into yours, body warm even in the cool air conditioning - before he changed the subject by asking, “New perfume?”

“Everyone knows about her and Billy. But, like, who hasn’t Billy fucked at this point.” Steve leaned in, nosed at the curve of your jaw, and you hummed. “Mom brought it back from that last conference they went to. Said I needed something more mature before I leave for school.” You left out the part of the conversation where she went on for nearly an hour about how much of a waste it was for you to even consider college in the first place when you were meant to marry someone of status - someone like Steve - and tilted your head to allow him more room.

“Smells good,” he complimented. “Like oranges or something.”

“Or something,” you mumbled agreeably, shifting against the seat to make yourself more comfortable as he began to press his mouth to the sensitive skin of your throat. “What’re you doin’, Stevie?”

“Giving you the attention you deserve,” he answered, never missing a beat and only pausing to nip at the pulse point. “Can’t have you unfucked in this skirt. That’d be criminal.”

As if he sought to make a point, Steve’s hand began to drift higher up your thigh, fingers traveling a well-worn path and ghosting over bruises left in his wake after last Saturday’s party at his own home. Again, he decidedly avoided the few extra spots that lined your thighs - the bite mark he would see when you parted your legs, in the shape of a certain metalhead’s teeth, and the hickey you’d been left with at the juncture of your thighs - as you laughed.

“Should call Hawkins’s finest,” you teased, grinning when Steve huffed a laugh.

“They’d send Callahan,” he mused as his fingers dug into the plush of your thigh and pulled you closer, encouraging you to climb onto his lap. “Would love to see him try to figure out what to do with you.”

“And you know what to do with me?”

Steve’s smirk was obvious, clear even as he nipped at your skin. “‘Course I do,” he assured you, settling back against the plush of the seat as you shifted in the small space and settled on his lap. “I know exactly what to do with you.”

“Prove it.”

The challenge hung in the air for a moment, thick even in the cool interior of his car, and gave you the briefest respite to study him. Soft brown eyes were blown black with lust, a darkness that you sometimes found yourself grateful for the chance to witness, and his hair had begun falling in his eyes. His cheeks were tinged pink and you knew that his lips would follow soon.

Steve was beautiful, a work of art in the dim moonlight, and your heart beat just a touch too fast for something that was supposed to be casual as you waited for him to take the bait.

Before you could tease, attempt to bring some levity back into the moment that suddenly seemed too intense, Steve’s large hand found the back of your head. He pulled you in with a practiced ease, a touch that betrayed just how comfortable you were with one another, and pressed his mouth to yours.

Whereas Steve’s facade was all flash, easy confidence with nothing to prove, his kiss was almost desperate. There was the knowledge that he was good - he’d earned it, sought to learn exactly what you liked and adapted quickly - but beneath that, there was a desire to make the moment everything you could want. He kissed you with an urgency you could never quite understand, almost as if he wanted to savor the moment because he feared it may never happen again, but you knew that couldn’t be true.

As reticent as you both were to delve into your true selves - into your true feelings - you knew that this would happen time and again. It would happen until one of you inevitably broke the other’s heart, and maybe even after.

Still, Steve kissed your with more passion than you ever could’ve expected.

From your position on his lap, skirt bunched around your waist and hands falling into his hair, you could feel the growing bulge in his jeans. There was a slight rocking of his hips, something you might’ve dismissed as an attempt to get comfortable if you didn’t know him so well, and you still managed to find yourself surprised by just how much the little things turned him on.

“Girls like you,” he rasped, breaking the kiss before you could even think to, “just need to be fucked dumb. Be all pretty and cock drunk. Made into that pretty little trophy wife you swear you’d hate to be.”

The way he spoke was so casually condescending, a little mean in the way he’d discovered you liked, and you felt your cheeks heat as you squirmed on his lap. He knew - knew that your mother hated your ambition, swore you were purposely sabotaging her attempts to marry you off, including the few attempts she’d made with him - and smirked when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

“You can pout all you want, but that’s what you need, right?” His hands fell to your thighs, raking up the soft skin as your own tangled in his hair and tugged. “To be taken care of, to be fucked like you deserve.”

“Don’t think some hotshot husband would care enough to fuck me like that,” you countered, swallowing hard in an attempt to maintain your composure as his fingers trailed higher. “Would never come. He’d be too focused on fucking the secretary ‘cause she won’t be upset when he gets off and she doesn’t. But that’s why the trophy wives fuck the pool boys and tennis coaches, I guess.”

Steve hummed his understanding - had his own firsthand knowledge of both your father’s affairs, knew just what kind of men he was surrounded by now that he was old enough - before tipping his chin to glance up at you. “Guess you’ll have to look harder to find someone worth your time, then. ‘Cause this pussy’s too good to be wasted on some dickhead who won’t appreciate it.”

“Steve.” His name came out softer than you intended, a near breathless sort of whine that betrayed you - more than the growing patch of slick clearly visible against the light pink fabric of your panties - and he hummed.

“Don’t worry, babe. You know I’ll take care of you.” Though Steve could be an asshole when he wanted, he was nothing but a giver when he settled between your thighs. There were moments where you worried, secretly feared this might be the moment he decided to be selfish and leave you hanging, but more often than not, you were the one to tap out first. And any argument you could’ve formed died on your lips as he ordered, “Just shut up and sit pretty for me, yeah?”

Despite yourself - despite the part of your brain that wanted you to argue, to fight back and tell him to go fuck himself - you melted into his touch as his fingers ghosted over the fabric between your thighs. You heard him sigh, felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your mouth as he refused to put more space than necessary between you, as his gaze met yours.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in my bed,” he decided, gaze flicking back to where his fingers hooked into the soft material and dragged it to the side. “Can’t taste you the way I want in here.”

“Can’t keep saying shit like that,” you mumbled, nails biting into his skin as you gripped his shoulder to keep yourself upright. “Gonna make me think you actually like eating pussy.”

“I do,” he admitted, grinning when you rolled your eyes. “Like eating yours the best, though.”

With that, Steve’s fingers swiped through the slick gathered between your thighs. His thumb caught on the sensitive bundle of nerves and his mouth returned to yours, eagerly swallowing the soft noise of surprised pleasure you released.

Each swipe of his fingers was easy, almost lazy. There was a practiced ease there, a lover’s knowledge of your body - absent any of the almost nervous exploration of the first time - and you forced yourself not to think too hard about that fact as his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

The small space was cramped, not the easiest to maneuver, but it was familiar.

Though sometimes familiarity equated to boredom, routine, Steve’s touch was anything but. Every swipe of his fingers through your folds, every brush of his thumb over the aching bundle of nerves, was electrifying. He had you teetering on the verge of begging, eager for him in a way you’d never been for anyone else - almost anyone else - and you knew he could tell as he finally gave you something more.

Two thick fingers, skilled and steady, pressed into you. They stretched you - never quite enough to fully prepare you for the impressive length hidden beneath the denim you knew you were soaking through - in a way that had your breath catching in your throat and your heart hammering in your chest. Steve knew exactly where to press, fingers finding that one spot that made you see stars, and you could feel the twitch of his mouth as he refused to allow you to pull away from the kiss entirely.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, tone so smug it made you realize why so many were eager to brand him an asshole. “C’mon, babe, the sooner you let go, the sooner I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Despite your conflicting emotions - the desire to hit him, to call him an asshole and tell him to just get on with it; the desire to kiss him, to tell him that you only wanted this, him for the rest of your life - you settled for the middle ground and allowed yourself to sink into his touch.

Those murmurs of encouragement, almost reverent in a way that you hoped no one else had ever heard, had your mind blanking and your chest heaving as you focused solely on the press of his fingers. His pace was perfect, steady and even and never too much - always too much, always enough to make you wonder how you ever thought you could be fine with losing this someday - and you would’ve told him as much if you were capable of speaking without admitting that you were afraid you could love him for the rest of your life.

Instead, you settled for sinking your nails into his shoulder, for tugging at the soft strands of his hair, as he nipped at your skin. He sucked a mark just beneath the one you knew he’d seen, despite your attempt at concealing it, and that was enough to throw you over the edge.

Steve once admitted to loving the noises you made, promised they turned him on rather than weirded him out - something you only admitted when he asked why you were so quiet, refused to let you come until you explained yourself - and you knew you wouldn’t have been able to quiet yourself even if you’d tried as his fingers worked you through the first orgasm of the night.

Knowing him, Steve wouldn’t stop until he had you desperate - he liked to see your tears, watery eyes and mascara running as you finally let down the walls he’d only glimpsed behind - and that seemed to be the case as he resumed his pace the moment your breathing began to even.

“Steve,” you huffed, your best attempt at something resembling normal, though you could hear the whining edge to your tone. “Fuck me,” you demanded, or at least attempted to. “Fill me up. So big, always feel so full when you’re inside.”

It was a low blow, an attempt to appeal to his ego - exaggerated, though it was true; he was the biggest you’d ever had - and he rolled his eyes as he nipped at your bottom lip.

“So fucking impatient,” he huffed, though he gave in, just as he always did. “Such a spoiled brat.”

With a tap to your thigh, you shifted. You held yourself upright, knees digging into the soft cushions of the seat, long enough for him to unbutton his jeans and shift his hips. As you had every time you found yourself in this situation, which was more often than not lately, you watched with wide eyes and bated breath as he freed himself from the confines of too-tight denim.

For years, you wondered why so many girls flocked to Steve when they knew how things would end. You wondered why anyone gave him a chance, why anyone came back when he forgot to call or blew them off for someone else, but you understood now. The look of him, the weight and feel of his cock in your hand as you reached out and swiped at the pearl of precum beading at the tip, was almost answer enough. The effort he put in to make you feel as if you were the only person that mattered, as if your pleasure were more important than his, quelled the rest of your doubt.

When you lifted your hand to your mouth, lapped the bead from your thumb and hummed, Steve groaned.

“Fucking tease.” There was no bite, no venom, to the words, but you still bit back your grin as he reached for your hip with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He dragged you closer, settled you firmly on his lap and swiped the tip of his cock through your folds, as he tipped his chin in a silent request for you to return your mouth to his.

As you pressed your lips to his, he used the grip on your hip to drag your hips down. It was swift, faster than he’d ever gone and almost desperate in the way he pulled you in, but you reveled in the slight pinch as he stretched you open.

There was something so overwhelming about feeling Steve so close, about having him in the way you dreamt of when you first realized how you felt about him, but you did your best to swallow the sudden lump in your throat as your eyes fell shut and your lips parted.

The pace always varied with Steve. Some nights were hard and fast, usually when you were both wound up after a particularly rough night; others were soft and slow, when the emotion began to overwhelm you, when the desperate need to be close outweighed the potential damage a confession might bring. And others still were somewhere in between, teasing and playful; an alternation between soft and hard, slow and quick - a way for him to make you beg, to bring you out of your head and into the moment.

Tonight was no different.

Though you sat atop him, Steve did all the work. His hips snapped, cock pressing into you with every movement, as his hands dragged you down. He controlled the pace, controlled the moment, and you allowed yourself to be fully present.

There was no facade in these moments, no pretending to be anything other than you were, and you imagined that was why you both returned time and again. This was Steve - giving, eager, desperate to be good enough. And you were just as present, just as honest; soft, pliant, warm and overjoyed that he still wanted you despite the surface ice that froze most others out.

Neither of you could pretend here, with nothing between you but a few pesky articles of clothing. Neither of you wanted to.

And you knew, as your mouth returned to his, that despite the rough snap of his hips and the bruising grip he held on your hip, that your kiss betrayed you. Each swipe of your tongue, each breathless gasp you allowed him to swallow, told him exactly what he needed to know.

When his hand fell between your thighs, thumb pressing to the aching bundle of nerves, your mind went blank and your thoughts revolved solely around the beautiful brunette beneath you.

The curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips; Steve, Steve, Steve, was all that existed in your mind. The drag of his cock, filling you so perfectly that it almost seemed as if he were a missing piece, designed especially for you, was all that existed. And just as he wanted, it left you pliant in his hands.

“There we go,” he groaned, voice softer than you imagined he intended, as a hand lifted to your cheek. “Look at that, givin’ you what you need, hm?” When you moaned your agreement, lips pursing in a silent request for him to kiss you, Steve smiled. “Look pretty like this. Soft and fucked out for me. I’m the only one that can make you feel like this, yeah?”

It was the first confirmation that he knew, that he cared more than you thought he might, about the other man in your life. And though you wanted to tease him, to poke and prod and be a bit of a bitch about it, you could only moan your agreement.

Eddie was good, was more than enough, but there was something about Steve.

“Prove it,” he demanded, voice only just beginning to show his exertion as his hips snapped a little harder. “Come for me, babe. Show me how good I make you feel.”

As was beginning to become a habit, you gave in to him without so much as an attempt otherwise. The press of his fingers to your aching clit, the rough snap of his hips, the warmth of his breath fanning over your sweat slick skin; all of it was too much, just enough, to send you barreling over the edge for a second time.

With a cry of his name, keening and louder than you intended, you came and Steve followed shortly after. You could feel the warmth of his spend, the twitch of his cock, as you settled for a long moment, and felt the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

Without so much as a second though, Steve lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks, careful not to press too hard, and swiped away the few that had fallen before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and shot you a teasing wink.

“Love it when you cry for me, babe,” he teased, though you wondered if he’d have the same reaction if he knew the tears were, at least in part, caused by the overwhelming flurry of emotion that had you questioning everything you knew. “Seeing the Ice Queen melt never gets old.”

“You’re such a dick, Stevie.” The huff was as playful as you could manage with your breath still coming in short pants and your stomach churning with emotion but he grinned just the same as he helped you off his lap.

“Think you mean, ‘you have such a great dick, Stevie’.” When you rolled your eyes, straightening out your clothes and attempting to smooth your hair, he laughed. “Oh, c’mon, not gonna say thank you for the incredible orgasms? Your parents raised you better than that, babe.”

“They raised me better than to fuck some rich asshole in the backseat of his car, but, here we are.” Steve followed your lead and began to straighten himself out, zipped his jeans and at least pretended not to stare as you settled your panties back into place, the fabric immediately darkening with his spend. “Speaking of, you should probably get me home, Romeo. It’s past curfew.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Steve simply tugged you back into his side, hand cradling your jaw as you both attempted to catch your breath.

The lie was obvious - your parents didn’t care very much how late you stayed out, even less when you were with Steve - and you knew that he knew who would be waiting for you to return home. However, you didn’t expect him to ask.

Steve’s touch was soft, though you could see the distaste in the set of his mouth as his fingers brushed the two marks beneath your jaw - one fresh and one fading. “What’re you doin’ with the freak, anyway?” He’d never asked, neither of you made it a habit to pry into the other’s personal life, but he seemed unable to help himself as he continued. “You know you could just buy weed, right? You don’t have to fuck him for it.”

“I don’t smoke,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into his touch. “Dunno,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as your hands worried with the hem of your skirt. “He’s exciting. Well, not really,” you amended because he wasn’t, “but he’s different. He’s just… Eddie. Doesn’t try to be something he’s not.” The slight was unintentional but you caught Steve’s slight wince, even as you barreled on. “And, I mean, it totally pisses off my dad every time he sees Eddie sneaking out because the guy’s a total fucking klutz and can’t leave without waking up half the neighborhood.” Steve scoffed, though you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it as he quickly covered the sound with a clearing of his throat before you added, as an afterthought, “And he listens to me. Not, like, pretends to.”

“I listen to you.”

While it wasn’t a lie - Steve listened, retained whatever you told him - neither of you were ever particularly honest with one another. Your conversations were never as serious as the ones you shared with Eddie, never as deep. For someone you considered your best friend, Steve barely knew anything about the real you. Though, that was as much your fault as it was his.

There was always a fear, deep and unfounded, that he might not like the real you. That if you were honest, that if you allowed him to see you for who you really were, that he might hate you. That he might leave. With Eddie, that didn’t matter very much. He was fun, a distraction, a taste of something forbidden and a glimpse into another life, but he was temporary. He could leave at any time, decide he didn’t like the real you and it might hurt for a moment but you would get over it quick.

With Steve, it was your biggest fear.

Thinking that he might not like the real you, that he might suddenly change his mind and decide the real you wasn’t worth his time, was a fear that felt almost paralyzing. Steve’s opinion mattered, more than anyone else’s, so you held tight to the person you’d always been - the one he’d always at least tolerated - and never breathed so much as a word to the contrary.

Regardless, you humored him. “You do,” you agreed, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. “But you kinda have to. And you also moaned Nancy’s name the first time we fucked so, like, that sorta cancels out some of the good stuff.” Steve flustered, cheeks flashing neon pink as he recalled the moment - a drunken hookup soon after his breakup, the first of what would become a regular occurrence - but before he could defend himself, you asked, “How’s that going, by the way? You figure out how to get her back from the creep?”

Steve shook his head, then, and sighed as he admitted, “Don’t think I even want to, anymore. Think I was just… She was right, maybe. We were kind of bullshit.”

The resigned misery in his voice was obvious, still upset by the hurtful declaration of a girl you knew he’d loved - in his own way, anyway - and you sighed as you rested your head against the seat cushion. “All of this is bullshit,” you shrugged. “High school, Hawkins, Indiana; none of it means anything.”

“We don’t mean anything?” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Steve sounded almost heartbroken - devastated to hear yet another person who meant something to him declare that he meant nothing - and you sighed as you grabbed the hand that rested on your thigh.

“You know I hate sentimentality,” you mumbled, unable to look him in the eye, “but you’re the only thing worth anything in my whole life. You could never be bullshit. Annoying, totally, but not bullshit. Never bullshit.”

There was a brief pause, a moment in which you both felt the weight of you admission pressing on your chests - stealing what little air seemed to remain in the car, windows still fogged and radio still playing too softly to really hear - before Steve swallowed. “You know I…” He cut himself off, paused and seemed to think better of voicing the thought aloud, before he asked, “You know, right?”

‘I love you,’ went unspoken, as it always had. It lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to crack the ice and set it free. You knew, just as Steve did, that you were in something like love. Maybe not a love that would last forever, maybe not even a love that was ever meant to be, but it was there.

Warm, shiny and bright, and just waiting for you to stop pretending that things between you had ever been casual.

So, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you assured him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it gently. “I know. Me, too.”

Silence fell, then, thick and suffocating. It filled the interior of his car with a bitter chill and it struck you just how new that feeling was. It made you wonder what a future might be like, if you had one at all, and you found yourself mildly horrified at the idea that you could end up as either set of your parents. There was no world in which you could see a future without Steve at least somewhere in your life but there was no happiness in a world in which you both continued to pretend.

Either way, you were both stuck - caught up in a never-ending performance, an act for an audience that only existed in your minds.

What began as something effortless, something casual, had become so complicated that you no longer felt certain of much beyond the understanding that you loved Steve. How - if you could love the real him, if you only loved the idea of him, if you loved the safety of him - was a question you had no answer to but before you could begin to even fathom it, the moment ended.

Steve pressed a final kiss to your mouth, bruising in a way that made your chest ache and your eyes sting with unshod tears, before he made his way to the driver’s seat.

And then, just as he had every night since he got his license, Steve drove you home. He pulled up to the door to let you out and didn’t mention the van he saw parked down the street. He squeezed your hand before you could step out into the night, three times in rapid succession, and lit a cigarette the moment you stepped out of the car.

King Steve wasn’t one to fall in love easily, neither was the Ice Queen. But Steve Harrington wore his heart on his sleeve and that heart beat for you. Despite the distractions, the desperate attempts at finding something so disconnected from the cushioned prison of his gilded cage, he knew that it had been you all along. And just as neither of you mentioned the real people beneath the personas, neither of you mentioned just how real the love you shared had grown.

Loving one another, allowing yourselves to be vulnerable - to reveal the deepest, darkest secrets - was terrifying. Both of you feared what the other might think of the truth that lay beneath the crown so you agreed, silently, that to pretend was better than to face rejection.

So, Steve drove the few streets that separated your neighborhood from his and let himself into the empty house that meant nothing when his true home was likely sliding open a window to allow the only person he’d ever seen as true competition inside. And he wondered when the love of his life became a casual fling, when you both resigned yourselves to pretending that neither of you deserved something real - something true, something happy. He wondered why he carried on with it, knowing that in a few short weeks you would be in Boston, knee-deep in a life you hated, while he was stuck in Hawkins, wishing he’d had the courage to be himself and that he’d asked for something more than casual.

There was no satisfactory answer, not if he really thought about it, so he decided not to.

The rest of the summer would be spent in the same way the last six months had. Steve would pretend to enjoy the parties and the attention of girls who only wanted him for his reputation. You would continue pretending that nothing fazed you, not even him. And things between you would remain casual.

And he supposed that was just the way it was meant to be.

_________________________________________________

Author's Note: Did you know there's a chance black beans will catch on fire in the microwave? 'Cause I didn't. Anyway. This was my first time writing 'King Steve' and I had so much fun. This was loosely inspired by Chappell Roan's Casual. And my love of both Steve and Eddie. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff, @valthevalkyrie-main, @crying-caro, @inglourious-imagines

#stranger things smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #v's fics

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dancingbirdie · 6 months

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Hello there! I adore your fics and how you wrote Astarion! I was hoping you could write something around the succubus scene? I know you get comforted by Astarion later on in the game regarding it, but due to his own trauma and backstory I would have liked to see him stand up for Tav and protect them during that scene itself, instead of just standing by while Tav is being manipulated 🙈

If you could do something around that, it would heal me! 😂🙏

Hi, anon! I hope you enjoy. I really liked your prompt, but I'll admit it did get a bit darker than I had originally thought I'd write it.

Please take note of the content warnings before you read! As always, comments and reacts are appreciated.

No Self-Sacrifices

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader/Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Discussion/description of dissociation, implied sexual assault, mentions of Astarion's past, descriptions of violence, blood, mild gore, death, angst.

*****

“Why don’t we play a game?” the Raphael-look-alike called to you seductively from the ridiculously lavish bed. “You win, I give you everything you desire. But you’ll enjoy yourself more if you lose.”

Astarion began to sense that all too familiar, uneasy feeling coiling itself tight inside his chest. The premonition that something was about to go utterly, horribly wrong. He risked a glance toward your allies, Lae’zel and Halsin, but they appeared just as woefully confused as you did. As if you all weren’t aware of the trap you’d just walked into.

“What’s the game?” he heard you ask. He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

“It’s a surprise! Off with your clothes,” the devil commanded.

There could be no doubt as to what would take place. Surely, Astarion thought, none of his companions could be so blind as to not see what was about to happen.

Astarion watched as you bit your lip, hesitating. How you looked wildly about the room, as if you were searching for any last-minute way to avoid this. With his preternatural senses, he couldn’t help but be aware of how your heart rate spiked to a frenzied pulsing as you stood there, terrified of what was to come.

He watched in horror as your shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Defeated. Resolving to go through with this. And as you began removing your clothes, his vision turned nearly as red as the fiend on the mattress before you.

“Good, little thief, good,” the monster crooned, totally unaware of Astarion’s brewing rage. “Keep going like this, and you’ll get to live. You’ll be crying out my name soon, you’d better know it. I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus…”

The incubus - Haarlep - prattled on while Astarion continued to seethe with barely-contained fury. His fingers twitched, itching – almost of their own accord – to reach for the crossbow strapped to his back. He began shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, restless. He caught the glare Lae’zel was leveling at him from his periphery and turned his head slightly to meet it.

She gave a slight, but obvious, shake of the head. A silent command to stand down. Then he felt the tadpole squirm in his brain, while a voice that was distinctly Lae’zel’s echoed in his mind.

Don’t act rashly, vampire. We need to gather more information before we strike.

Astarion nearly laughed aloud. The audacity of this Githyanki, willing to let her comrade be violated in such a way. After all they had done for her. For this party. And yet, part of him knew he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he had known plenty of “heroes” who had let equally horrible fates befall others without so much as lifting a finger to help them.

“It matters not to me.” Your deadened reply to Haarlep brought Astarion back to the present moment. He recognized that tone of voice. Knew when someone was trying to dissociate. To disconnect their mind from their body. He knew all too well what that feeling was like. And it was nearly as horrible to watch as it was to experience it for himself.

“Very well, I will be Raphael himself,” Haarlep continued. “All of him. Now, on the bed. Lie back.”

Astarion made his decision when he saw you begin to take stilted steps toward the bed. Covering yourself with your hands, trying to maintain some modicum of modesty as you climbed up.

With Haarlep’s attention solely on you, he reached behind him for the crossbow. His index finger felt for the trigger as he pulled it around before him. One swift flick, and an arrow was suddenly lodged in the incubus’ left pectoral.

Chaos erupted as imps suddenly appeared throughout the room, responding to Haarlep’s distressed cry. You toppled off the bed, head knocking onto the floor, as the fiend raged above you, trying to right themselves and extract the arrow from their chest.

“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel cursed in Gith, hefting her sword over her shoulder and barreling toward the first enemy in sight. “To battle it is, then!”

Halsin shifted quickly into his bear shape and let loose a formidable roar, charging for another group of imps across the room.

But Astarion only had eyes for Haarlep. He stalked slowly toward the bed, unsheathing the twin blades from his back as he did so.

You watched as he gave one brief, wicked smile before utter carnage ensued.

*****

“Kainyak! Your foolishness nearly cost us all our lives,” Lae’zel spat venomously toward Astarion while she wiped her blade free of the fetid black imp blood. “I should strike you down now for acting with such stupidity.”

To his credit, Astarion barely seemed to acknowledge the Githyanki’s formidable censuring. You watched as he slipped his daggers back into the sheaths at the small of his back and readjusted his armor. He picked up his crossbow and shook it free of blood before strapping it back between his shoulder blades.

“You still have all your limbs intact, Lae’zel,” he replied airly. It was a stark contrast to the way he was standing, body as taut as a bowstring. “And wasn’t that bloodshed so much more satisfying than watching the incubus violate our dear party leader?”

Lae’zel’s mouth snapped shut, but she continued to glare. The vampire had a point, though she was loath to admit it.

“I, for one, prefer this outcome to the alternative that was before us,” Halsin agreed, rising from where he had been crouched after dismissing his ursine form. He glanced your way but averted his eyes quickly, to your confusion.

“Best get dressed, darling,” Astarion drawled, coming over to where you still lay prone on the floor. “As delicious as I find your birthday suit to be, I’d wager you’ll fare better in this wretched place with a little more clothing on.”

He held out a hand to help you rise to your feet. You observed him cautiously, trying to discern the emotion behind his carefully schooled expression.

“Why?” you whispered.

He squinted at you, one brow quirked. “Are you seriously asking me why armor is prudent to have on, in a place like this?” He chuckled before adding, “gods, you must’ve smacked your head harder than I thought.”

“No,” you retorted, refusing to be deterred by his cheeky banter. “I mean, why did you attack Haarlep? You’re never one to be spoiling for a fight.”

Astarion scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest as if insulted. “Careful, darling. You’re almost making me out to be a pacifist.”

“You know what I meant, Astarion,” you grumbled as you began donning your leather breeches and jerkin.

“And would you have preferred to be fucked by that incubus instead?” Astarion bit out derisively.

Your head whipped up to meet his gaze, hearing the sudden change in his tone.

“Of course not,” you scowled. “But you could sense how powerful they were. It seemed like the only way to ensure your all’s safety.”

Astarion grimaced. “So you would have just laid down and taken it? For us?”

“I’m not saying I would have enjoyed it,” you hissed. “But to keep you safe? Keep them safe?” you gestured to Lae’zel and Halsin across the room, polishing and re-polishing their weapons as they attempted not to overhear your barely-whispered argument.

“Of course,” you concluded, voice resolute.

“Don’t be a fucking martyr. Not for me. Not for them. Not for anyone,” Astarion growled.

Your brows shot toward your hairline in surprise.

“We know what we signed up for when we joined this rag-tag group,” he continued, tone icy. “I’d rather fight a hundred fiends than watch you debase yourself to save anyone, including myself.”

You let loose a mirthless laugh, feeling angry, embarrassed and too completely exposed. Before you could think better of it, your retort was flying past your lips.

“You know, Astarion, you have a fucking funny way of showing appreciation for your partner who was willing to be violated in order to keep you safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. You immediately knew it, and so did the rest of the party. Suddenly it was like the air had been sucked from the room.

Crimson eyes bored into your own as Astarion took a step forward to meet you, chest to chest. You glared up at him, refusing to back down. Refusing to be chastised for your willingness to protect him.

The shared air between you was charged. You could almost feel the electricity surging.

“Need I remind you? I’ve been violated enough times over the past 200 years to know how unequivocally monstrous it is,” he intoned, his voice pitched dangerously low. “I will promise you this. I am finished with having it happen to me, in front of me, or for me.”

Words escaped you. It was all you could do to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the conviction in his tone. The anger that had sustained you up until this point had all but disappeared. In its place was something far more demure.

“So yes, I fired the first shot that pierced that devil’s skin. Then I eviscerated their neck with my teeth,” he crooned, reverently tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You shivered at his touch, at his dulcet tone that was describing such violence.

“And I slit his throat with glee,” he continued, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I would do it again. And again. And again. Because I will never witness abuse like what was about to happen, ever again.”

He swept the pad of his thumb over the hollow under your eye, his gaze flicking rapidly over your face. As though he were subconsciously checking you over for any nicks, cuts, or bruises.

“Do you understand?” he whispered softly. His voice was still laced with rage, but you could tell it was not directed toward you. Really, it never had been.

The entire situation had obviously touched the most sensitive pressure point within him. Had triggered his urge to fight, to protect, to resist. You couldn’t be angry with him for that. Never. Not one bit.

You gulped before nodding slightly. “I understand now. I’m sorry.”

You lifted your hand to cover his where it was still cupping your face. Turning slightly, you planted a kiss against his palm.

“No self-sacrificing on my watch, darling, agreed?” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around your waist in a solid embrace.

“Agreed,” you confirmed, returning his embrace before venturing on through the House of Hope.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 3 months

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literally can't stop thing about highschoolsweetheart!au where darling is 24/7 clinging onto a slightly annoyed/frustrated könig's arm, autistically chatting his ear off about random things like cute cat videos that she saw, dinosaurs or art, gushing about how much she loves him, how utterly handsome he's looking and that they're absolutely meant to be!! 🥺 always nuzzling him and pressing sweet kisses to his face.

until... maybe he snaps and shuts her up :// not in a nice way. maybe i'm projecting here, but i've been silenced before and it did nasty things to me. (bit of advice for unknowing peeps, don't make autistic people stop rambling, if you can help it. let them down gently if you must 💌)

back to our sheep... she suddenly shuts in. doesn't chat as much as before, slowly sticking to only utilitarian stuff. avoids his gaze oftenly, gradually starting to keep her distance, stops initiating affectionate things. she still absolutely adores him, but she's hurt, heart constricting in her chest. thinks she's doing him a service by listening to his 'request' at shutting the hell up, thinking she's making him happier. she's still itching to babble, making an active effort at stoping herself from going back to her rambling habits.

how would könig feel? react?

imagine what would it be like, if after some time of this distance, at a social gathering or something, he sees a man approaching her. another MAN!! how is this possible?? and he's... he's asking her about things? looking interested in her talk, eyeing her up and down??

would you do me the honour of tormenting this poor man for me? :33

Her ramblings were cute at first, then they started to go in one ear and out the other. König has a budding tinnitus from work and only wants to rest, but she skitters to him like a lovesick cat, climbs into his lap, and starts to talk his ear off about attachment styles and some pop psychology.

The enthusiasm in her eyes is what bothers him the most – he’s hit with envy, bright hot and red, because he has no time for intellectual interests these days. There's nothing but gun oil and gym to keep him busy. He was supposed to become either a philosopher or a fighter, but since they said philosophers can’t get pussy, he chose the other option (and still got little to no pussy), sad wanker as he was back then.

He either doesn’t know what the hell she is talking about or, he would want to discuss with her about the subjects she’s into, so much in fact that it would soon become an autistic competition of its own. But the deeply ingrained memory of being called a scrawny nerd is keeping his mouth shut even now, when he’s approaching his mid-thirties.

So he tells her she should read an actual book about the subject and stop filling her head with nonsense layman theories.

It hurts; it fucking burns, the mute, helpless stare she shoots at him. She scoots away, sorely upset, and won’t come back to him before the evening fall.

There's no cute noises and kisses peppered all over his face, no dangling from his neck and prattling away about the differences between C. S. Lewis and Tolkien; no videos where a cat tries to fish the last pringles with its paw or memes that remind her of him. There's just a broken girl and a knife in his heart, but he’s too ashamed and proud to apologize.

And so she comes back to him when he won't go to her, the deep yearning always overthrowing her pride. It feeds his self loath by gallons: she's better than him, always has been.

She hugs his middle when they lie down to sleep, forehead pressed against his upper back. She’s too small to reach the back of his neck, but she won’t wriggle upwards like an adorable little worm to place a kiss there like she used to. Just falls asleep with a sigh, holding him tight.

His sleep arrives only after hours have passed, and the knife inside his heart has finally done its duty and euthanized the whole organ.

They never talk about it: but she prattles far less nonsense to him now. He nearly breaks the silence one day and asks her about the Myers Pigs test or whatever it was called, see if she would crack open from her shell and laugh. He could coax her to tell him what her newest interest is nowadays, what makes her eyes bright and shiny when he’s away. But he’s too fucking ashamed, too goddamm proud to tell her that she’s annoyingly cute when she talks so much and that he fucking loves her for that. That she’s the silliest girl he’s ever met and if he had a hat, he would take it off every time she wanted to share another monologue.

If he had the balls, he would ask if she had all this madness inside her when they were kids but never had the courage to spill it out… If he's the only person she has allowed to see this side of her without fear.

...

He returns to the party after having a smoke – a bad habit everytime he knows he's about to down a few beers – only to see she’s engaged in a heated conversation with some other guy.

Or, the guy is asking questions, while his girl is about to burst out of her dress from the eagerness to tell him everything about some new hyperfixation of hers. Something she hasn’t really shared with him; not anymore...

The knife is still in his heart, it seems, because it twists. Violently.

He looks for a weapon to defend himself: an empty beer bottle, a knife on the table, an untended umbrella by the door; his fists, ungloved. It’s just a routine check, a simple habit that was hammered in his system years ago, and of course this is not the time or the place for violence. He just… fantasizes about stabbing that guy in the liver with some blunt cutlery, pounding his ribs to pieces until his knuckles bleed with jealousy. He even fantasizes her screams when she sees what kind of a man he really is: a weak wanker who turned into a pitiful beast of a man.

These flashes take only a second or two, then he squares his shoulders and goes to get his girl back.

“How about we dance,” he offers his hand to her, palm up like the other guy was made of air – or not even that.

Her eyes light up with surprise, pure, undiluted hope, her interest in her chat companion now completely gone.

“You... You want to dance?”

His lips compress into a thin line, his nostrils flaring from the need to either claim her right on this floor or turn and beat the competing dick beside him into a pulp.

Then her hand finds his, her soft little smile pulls him back, her eyes now shining to him and only him.

It’s a slow one, the song, and he only notices it when she lifts her hands and cups the back of his neck. Tingles shoot down his spine and send a curious little twitch down his dick – even his testes pull up a notch. They’ve fucked a thousand times, and still, she has this effect on him... All she needs to do is smile and touch his neck, and his body answers; he’s hers.

“Does this mean you like me…?” She asks with a playful smile when his hands come to naturally claim her waist.

“...What?”

“You saw me with that guy and came to whisk me away.”

He tries to avoid her stare, fakes to steal a glimpse at the other pairs dancing, but it’s challenging when she looks at him like… like that.

“He was drooling all over you back there,” he mutters.

“...Oh? So you came to save me?”

“You have difficulty saying no.”

She's relaxed, while he's stiff, the adrenaline leaving him slowly and with a rising boner. It doesn't help that she's drawing little circles on his skin, right there where it tickles and sends more pulls down his cock.

He tries to breathe deep and slow, but it doesn’t really work much. There are times when he gets a hard-on from her playing with his hair or brushing a set of fingertips across his nipple, and then there are times when he really wishes she wouldn’t do shit like this. Not when they’re at a party and he almost had a temper tantrum in front of everyone.

“König… You never dance,” she says with a weighted stare. He answers it with a heavy glare of his own, eyes that should tell her enough about his true feelings for her.

There’s a thin line between love and hate, but never has he felt this undeniable truth as acutely as he has with her...

“If you don’t stop with the tickling I’m going to have to take you upstairs for a fuck.”

Her tiny little fingers stop immediately, but her eyes shine brighter than ever before. From shock, love, or awe, who knows. Then she picks up that annoying habit again, a bit too keenly to convey any kind of actual fear.

“You’re begging for it, aren’t you...?” He comments with genuine contempt.

“...Yes?” She answers with a breath of a smile, pure love in her stare.

He grunts as if tired, then scoops her up, right there on the dance floor and takes her upstairs when everyone can see.

“You like me. Admit it,” she babbles when he carries her inside some guest bedroom and kicks the door shut, with her snug and smiling in his arms.

“Yes, yes. You can tell me all about everything when I’m done with you.”

“All about everything?” She giggles as he throws her on the bed and starts to take off his shirt. Her eyes shoot to his pecs, then to his fingers when he unzips his pants. There's no lie, no deceit in that stare, just adoration and want.

“First you have to be quiet. Think you can manage that?”

She opens her pink little mouth, then shuts it, starts to nod like a broken doll.

When he eventually slides in, the poor doll whimpers, just like he thought.

"Hush," he gruffs, but doesn't cover her mouth.

He can have a little taste, a sip, a treat... Because the knife in his heart stops rattling only when he makes love to her – he does that often, even if he calls it 'fucking' in his mind.

#könig x highschool sweetheart #könig angst

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hiroshiii13 · 1 month

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Head Disciple Binghe x Young Master SY #Bingqiu thoughts

Sometimes I think about Binghe that didn’t have to lose his parents. Didn’t have to go through the abyss and didn’t have to fight for the acknowledgment of his Shizun.

He’d be the darling of the demonic and cultivation world; doted upon in his younger years and a respected cultivator after his coming of age. He’d be self-assured, almost cocky, the way young masters who have never experienced being wronged are.

But Binghe would always have the skills to back it up, besides his innate talent, Su Xiyan, head of HHP, made sure that his son was grounded and hardworking. In fact, he commands HHP when his parents would up and travel for months at a time.

He’s forthright, which he learned from his mother, yet empathetic and charming, which he got from his romantic father.

I still think Bingqiu would be a thing. They meet as desk mates (borrowing this @/Gusu Lan arc) and wouldn’t hit it off at the start.

SY has always admired Binghe from the stories he’s heard from his older siblings. Binghe, the leader of the next generation. He looked forward to meeting him.

Imagine his surprise when the first day of his excursion led to sparring with said leader of the next generation and his humiliating utmost defeat in .005 seconds. He wanted to look cool in front of him but he can forego this embarrassment. It’s okay!!! This was expected from Binghe!!

But what was not okay was the harsh training at HHP. SY could not help but feel a little resentful towards BH. He was the third son in a merchant family. His family’s cultivation was in refining pills and artifacts, you could say it’s 80% marketing and 20% refining even, so he had never done hard labor in his life!!

He almost regretted saying he would join HHP for the summer instead of joining another sect specializing in botany and alchemy, which was his specialization.

Binghe, as the head disciple in charge of training, provided a plan that was standard in his sect. While he does enjoy seeing this pretty gege scrunching his brows, pursing his lips, flushed like a tomato during drills, (Heh.) he does feel pity and gives him a little less reps.

But it’s in the study portions where SY shines. LBH is astounded with SY’s encyclopedic knowledge.

Reminiscent of the child-like wonder he experienced as TLJ told him stories before bedtime. Of monsters that can swallow suns and plants with roots so deeply in the earth that it shakes. He learns later on of course that these were mere exaggerations but at that time, as SY babbles on about plant no. 4892, he could not help but feel that same fascination.

Their relationship starts getting better. Binghe would pick his desk mates brain despite knowing (some) of the answers, the other would prattle on, patiently teaching.

From an outsiders point of view, LBH looked indulgent, a soft smile ever present on his face, while his deskmate would fan himself while explaining, obviously enjoying the attention. And who could blame him?? He was teaching THE Luo Binghe! From then on, Binghe would teasingly call him Shizun.

Despite SY being slightly older than BH, he is the youngest son, (he has 1 meimei) in their family. Compared to Binghe who was raised to meet certain expectations, SY had a more unrestrained behavior. If he wanted a snack, he would get it. If he wanted to nap, he snuck it in.

And nothing could stop Binghe from doting on him on their free time. As an only child, he never had someone to spoil or play with so he recaptures some of his childhood like this. Sharing snacks, showing parts of HHP and sometimes sparring in the fields between laughter.

But SY’s pride cannot take being coddled, he’s older than him! so he dotes back. Bringing him refined pills for his cultivation, sending in some rare herbs and animal skin. (He is working his nepo baby network overtime!)

When he teaches BH during self-study, he compliments him when he gets things right while patting his head. And how BH thrives from being dotted on, now at his grown age! LBH feels lucky.

He found someone, who was not only smart and chatty, but was thoughtful and indulgent towards him. He… he really liked SY. Meanwhile SY found himself even more gently stroking his hair. He can’t wait to share to his siblings how the great LBH was completely docile from his head patting. SY could not help ruffling his curly hair, almost pulling. (As for what that would awaken later on, we won’t discuss.)

They part after that summer, but keep in touch through letters. Both feeling a longing to meet. SY decides to pick up a sword and learn how to fly it. He can definitely learn it and fly to HH and casually meet BH. His siblings give it a week til he gives up. But surprisingly 1 week turns into 2, then a month, then on the 6th month he could fly long distances.

His nausea was still as bad as ever but he can endure, he will learn how to endure. As to why he didn’t tell Binghe though? he didn’t know why he wanted to keep this as a surprise.

—

The Immortal Alliance Conference was upon them, and SY had received BH’s letter and how he might not be able to respond as quickly for the time being. But in fact, he was very much aware of the event. He even haughtily bet a few hundred spirit stones when someone mockingly said LBH would not place.

No one could escape his scalding critique had anyone even breathed wrongly towards BH. The public ate their melon seeds while watching another one succumb to that monster. They could not outbid him and even more so, out talk him. What a rabid fanboy. He gained notoriety overnight.

So imagine their surprise when the conference was over. How LBH saw SY, how he ran and hugged him, bombarding him questions of how he got there. LBH showing a small cut the size of a nail, a slight glassy look in his eyes as he retold his hardship and triumph.

The passersby knew it was an exaggeration, they were all watching him effortlessly kill the demons!! His confidence practically oozing. Even the ladies fainted against such charisma. What is this?? The fiersome leader selling meng??

AND THE DEVIL INCARNATE, who ate his every opponent in a bloodless battle, was suddenly a gentleman, waving his fan with a sweet smile, talking softly while patting the champion’s head.

WTF??

They take a few more years of friendship before eventually tying the knot but their families have long known each other since those two have been inseparable. SY spends his days at HHP in the summers while LBH goes with the other’s family in winter. TLJ still feels a little sour in his heart that his son would spend his bdays w/ SY more than them.

The 2 men were even more sticky when they got married. Waking up, preparing meals, cleaning up, lounging, it’s as if they could not get enough of the other. The Regret of Chunshan exists btw, but rather than an angsty story of abandonment and conflict, it is said that they just, really, really loved each other for a lifetime.

(Of course the papapa is front and center!! LMY writes about a rich, young master fanboy and his seemingly respectable cultivator idol having loving, disrespectful, s/ex. She delivers always!)

END.

#svsss #mxtx #luo binghe #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #hiroshi drabble

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that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction · 3 months

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I wrote a random fic thing (beginning and overview summary) on my phone when I had a spare half hour in work.

I don’t know if this will actually become something, I’m focusing on rewriting the next chapter of the Leon’s knowing and knowing treason fic before I properly start anything else, but I got bored and had an idea I didn’t want to forget.

Arthur takes Merlin not flirting with him after the sigil thing as a rejection. Merlin doesn’t know what a sigil means until Gwaine sees his, Arthur is embarrassed until Merlin claps him around the head and drags him out to yell about explaining what the hell sigils mean. Merlin gives Arthur half of a coin that his mother gave him (originally a gift from his father) and tells him he’s going to ask more about courting traditions, Arthur laughs and tells him that giving a sigil back completes the union and is basically an agreement to get married. Merlin kisses Arthur’s hand and tells him that of course he’ll marry him, but after he gets a chance to do the whole courting thing because Arthur deserves it. Possibly Hanahaki thrown in there too because I don’t think I’ve ever written that but I’m not sure yet.

— preview —

Arthur has loved Merlin as long as he’s known him. It started harmlessly enough, a childish crush on the insufferable peasant boy with a lack of respect for authority and a self assured ability to get himself too deep into trouble.

At first, Arthur was simply curious. Merlin hadn’t realised he was a prince for their first interaction, so it made sense that he felt confident enough to mouth off. Their second interaction however, had Arthur’s heart beating a little faster. Merlin had completely disregarded Arthur’s royal status in a way no one else ever had, and the drop in his voice, lilting with a slight Essetir accent, as he completely defaced the way Arthur would hear “My Lord” forever. That night at dinner with his Father, Arthur had choked on his wine when a servant had used his title! As though that wasn’t bad enough, Merlin had Arthur beat in their fight, though he’d never admit it. Arthur had no idea how the country boy managed to best him but the humiliating truth was that up until Merlin got distracted, Arthur was loosing.

And then Merlin saved his life, being rewarded a position as his manservant. Arthur tried to hate him, it seemed easy enough with the stuttering in his heart whenever Merlin came near him. Any attraction Arthur had felt as a result of Merlin’s fighting ability left him as soon as he saw the incompetence Merlin displayed when he forgot to hand Arthur his sword and fumbled through every piece of armour he had.

It came back full force when Merlin was suddenly well adept at polishing, sorting and handling his armour, but that was neither here nor there. Merlin had stopped his mindless prattle about nerves and whatever else too, simply wishing Arthur “Good luck” before his tournament. Arthur felt his heart melt a little in his chest.

And then Merlin had warned him about the snakes in Valiant’s shield in low fire light that cast an ethereal glow over his face and lit up his eyes almost golden. There was so much sincerity in his voice and Arthur couldn’t believe someone was capable of speaking so genuinely. Not to a Prince when there would always be a chance for some ulterior motive.

But not with Merlin.

So the long slow descent from harmless crush to falling in love began, and seven years later Arthur was absolutely smitten though only in secret. Merlin had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t care for Arthur in the same way Arthur cared for him, anyway.

———

So thoughts? :)

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur #merlin emrys #ao3 fanfic #i’m bad at tagging #fic preview #fic ideas #random #I’m blaming this on a lack of sleep

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mellowsadistic · 10 months

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Changing Her Hobbies

Your girlfriend may well have some hobbies and interests that you don't approve of. Perhaps you're worried being into football is making her hang out with the wrong crowd, or maybe you think chess is just too grown-up for a silly little thing like her. Whatever the case, the solution is simple. Just tell her she doesn't like those things anymore, and give her a new list of things she likes to do in their place.

Be firm, as she's likely to get very fussy over this. She might complain that she's the only real authority on herself, or insist that it's impossible for her to start liking something just because you've ordered her to. If that happens, just spank her bare bottom over your knee and remind her that you're her Daddy and you know best. Enforce her new hobbies with a strict discipline program and she'll soon learn to engage in them with a smile.

I promise you the results are worth it. I know a man who used this strategy to radically alter his girlfriend’s personality. He loved her very much, but he was sick and tired of her bad attitude and refusal to accept her place as his inferior. He put it down to the kind of activities she liked to take part in, so with a firm hand and a bit of patience, he changed them to better reflect her immature nature. Here’s a before and after of her hobbies:

Things she used to like:

Playing guitar

Reading classic literature

Trying on stylish clothes

Going clubbing with her friends

Having debates about politics

Playing hockey

Going out for romantic dinners

Things she likes now:

Playing with dolls

Watching Disney channel

Running around naked

Doing the housework

Wetting herself for attention

Practicing ballet

Sucking cock under the table

It was a difficult transition for her. She’d always been a bit of a tomboy, so it wasn’t easy for her to adjust to playing with Barbies and prancing about in a tutu. It wasn’t easy to get used to stripping off all her fashionable clothes and going streaking around the house in the nude periodically either, like a toddler with no concept of modesty. Nor was she keen to spend her time watching TV aimed at tweens when she wasn’t scrubbing the floors, making dinner, or doing the laundry. It was especially hard for her to learn that she liked to give frequent blowjobs (she insisted she hated them for the longest time), and she was in complete denial about her desire to regularly pee her pants for attention. However, with enough corrective punishment, she eventually learned to accept her true self.

These days she pouts at the suggestion of going out partying, but bounces up and down with excitement at the thought of mopping the floor. She has no desire to play guitar, and reading anything more advanced than a picture book would bore her to tears, but she can happily spend the whole afternoon glued to her favourite cartoons or prattling away at her baby doll, rocking it in her arms and changing its nappy (and hoping Daddy doesn’t follow through on his threat to put her in nappies because of all the ‘accidents’ she’s been having). She never talks about politics anymore, partly because she has no idea what’s going on in the world since her Daddy banned her from reading the news, and getting involved in rough and tumble sports like hockey would just be silly for a sweet little pirouetting princess like her. It’s much more fun to put on ballet performances for Daddy and her dollies. Modelling the latest trends is a thing of the past for her too; in fact, it’s a struggle to keep any kind of clothes on her since she’s always wanting to be Daddy’s little nudist - why wear a cute pair of jeans when she could just go bare-bottomed instead? And why would she want to go out to a fancy restaurant for a romantic meal when she could just serve Daddy his dinner herself before crawling under the table to suck his dick while he eats?

Sometimes she slips up. She looks bored while playing with her dolls, or casts a longing look at a guitar in the window display of a music store. She might go too long without wetting herself or forget to smile while she's doing the polishing. When that happens, her boyfriend is always quick to reacquaint her bottom with his hand, or even the paddle. A 'fake it till you make it' policy is important to enforce here. Make your girlfriend pretend to enjoy her new hobbies, and eventually, over time, she'll learn to like them for real. And if not, don't worry, because you won't know the difference!

#mellowsadistic

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