#behin the fog

[virulentvanity]

Hello, Doll (Part 2)

Yandere Eddie Munson  *** 

[Stranger Things] 

*** 

[WARNING: Obsession, Stalking, Elements of horror] 

*** 

We do not condone the behavior displayed in this story. These situations are fun in fantasy, but not in real life. Let’s confine this sort of thing to fiction.

(Part 1- https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/virulentvanity/687259042911059968?source=share)

Something horrific was going to happen. You had it in your head. The thought was embedded in your brain since you found him. In your hallway, bound in shadow, unforgettable, unwelcome. You didn’t have to call the police. They were looking for him anyway, no less than a week after the incident.                    

He had killed a girl.

You never knew Chrissy very well, but the event had disturbed you greatly. While your parents and friends were left to believe you were only saddened by it like the rest of the town, you knew better. You weren’t mourning. You were terrified. You couldn’t shake the thought of his motive. You had always heard of misplaced violence as a reason for killing. Did he do this to her so he didn’t have to do it to you? Maybe her bright eyes looked too much like yours. Maybe her voice reminded him too much of you.

Maybe she yelled. Maybe she screamed.                                                           That’s what you did, wasn’t it?

You got to thinking he might hurt you. Love isn’t supposed to do that. But kids aren’t supposed to disappear, and fires aren’t supposed to start for no reason. Teenage girls aren’t supposed to be found with their bones snapped.

This fear was heavy on your body as you walked. It was a weight on your very bones, a feeling cold and black. It was out of place on the sunny afternoon. You weren’t supposed to go alone. With Eddie Munson still out there, kids were heavily encourage to find a ride home or walk with a group, but your friend who was supposed to pick you up cancelled in the wake of a family emergency.

She begged you to wait for someone else.

You said it would be okay.

She begged you not to walk by yourself.

You said it would be fine.

She begged you to be careful.

You said it was only one day.

You repeated these phrases now. It will be okay. It will be fine. It’s only for today. But these words hardly comforted you. The air was thick with apprehension, and your footsteps were slow with that heaviness. It made you feel dirty. This entire town was polluted, and it had been that way for a very, very long time.     In your fear, you turned to the alley beside you. It was bordered by wood and wire fences, with the leaning branches of several tall trees shadowing the gravel below. You knew it wasn’t considered safe to walk through alley roads, but this route was faster. You couldn't stand to be here any longer. It was too wide, it was too open. You were too alone. Your heart was thumping in your chest, and it only thumped louder as you entered the mouth of the alley. Mouth. That is what they would call it, right? The entrance to some wide, deep space. And if that was a mouth, you must have been walking into a stomach.                       You felt your shoulders move as you inhaled. You felt your chest puff out as you released. For a moment you let that be the only thing you could feel. The air in your lungs, the air around you. The heat gave it an almost buzzing quality. You let out another breath. You listened to your heart, still beating fast. You listened to the dogs who moved behind the fence. You listened to your own footsteps. The gravel crunched beneath your shoes. It was a sharp sound. It hit your ears suddenly, and so did the realization. There was a second pair of footsteps.

You froze. For a moment you only stood there, as you had before. You felt your shoulders move. You felt your chest puff out. There was that buzzing again, the fear on your skin. The weight. The blackness. You felt distant, you felt strange. Maybe someone was taking out trash. Maybe one of those dogs had gotten out. You felt like you were in a fog, a haze, a dreaming state. You turned around. Your neck was so heavy it hurt.

The man was standing behind you. His nose was slightly crooked. It looked like he had tried to snap it back into place. His curls were matted and tangled. Traces of dirt painted his face. He looked at you with warmth. You still felt cold. “Hello . . .  Doll.” Eddie let out a breath. It sounded like the beginning of a laugh, one that had fallen short. He looked tired. “I’m sorry. I’m a . . bit of a mess.”          It didn’t seem real. You got that feeling again, the same unreal sensation that fell over you when he first appeared in your home. This felt like a dream. You wondered if it was. If all your fear had been building up and taking the ally roads, too far from anyone, too far from home, had snapped you. Even as he was coming closer, even has the dogs behind the fence began to bark, it didn’t feel true, it didn’t feel real. You felt like nothing more than a ghost. You were only a witness to this scene, you were only rust on the metal fence.                   Only when he stood in front of you did you know. When his breath fell on your eyes like a hot, misty mask, when his hand came towards you and the other reached out to catch your waist. “I- I didn’t kill Chrissy. I didn’t do it.”               Eddie’s actions were slow. Your thoughts were slow too, but it was all coming back to you, it was leaking through and pushing out until the panic finally set in. Tears sprung in your eyes as you snapped your head around and began to run.         “Wait, (Y/N), you have to believe me!”                                                                   The gravel rolled beneath your feet and you worried you would trip, your steps were clumsy like the last time. You were cursing your decision to walk alone, wishing you had listened to your friend or never taken that alley shortcut. Eddie was screaming after you. You could hear his voice scraping his mouth and feel him right behind you.                                                                                             “You don’t understand what’s happening!”                                                          Several people had left their back doors to check on their dogs, whose chorus still wrung loud in the ally. It was so loud it hurt your ears, it was bouncing off the trashcans and telephone poles and every fence post you passed. You could hear the voices of the ones who had come out, scolding their dogs, and feel their eyes pass over your form. You were nothing. You were a dream. They couldn’t see your terror behind the fence- you were only a couple of kids, you were only running, you were only playing. You were only a dream.                                               Maybe you should have screamed.

“You don’t know how dangerous this town is!”                                                     His words, echoing with the howls of the dogs, confused you, but before you could wonder anymore, before your heart could beat any faster, the gravel rolled too far beneath your feet. You screamed as you fell backwards but to your horror, you never hit the ground.                                                               Eddie’s arms had wrapped around you like a snake, pulling you back to him. You kicked and thrashed but despite how tired Eddie looked, his grip around you was iron. He was muttering things into your ear- soft phrases of comfort, curses to himself, incoherent words of exhaustion and fear.                                   He was pulling you closer to the end of the alley. You didn’t know what would happen when you reached the last fence. You didn’t know what he would do once he had you. You were still fighting, but your fear seemed to weigh you down. You were trying to bite, to throw a punch, but it all felt so distant. Like something entirely separate from you. You could feel love in his hold around you. You could feel it radiating off him like the heat from a lightbulb. Like the heat from a mouth. You could still feel it when you came to the corner, and turned your head, and stopped. Your breath stopped when you saw what lay just behind the corner. It was his uncle’s van, the one he had stolen when he ran away. Eddie was going to take you somewhere. Would you ever be found again? 

“Let me go!” You sobbed out. Your hands fell limply around his wrists and the tears in your eyes began to run down your cheeks. Eddie lowered his head and kissed them away.                                                                                                 “It’s okay, it’s okay (Y/N)! I just want you to be safe!”                                             He wrapped one arm tighter around you and reached the other out to the van. His rings pressed hard against your hands as he held them, and he tugged the door open. It was heavy. It was slow. The dogs had stopped barking now. “You’re crazy!” You shouted in one last effort, one last spout of bravery.            “I’m not crazy.” Eddie said. His words were soft. Certain. He looked down and met your eyes. His face was still straight, solum with guilt and exhaustion. He set you down on the cold metal surface, his gaze never leaving you.               “I’m in love.”

The door slid shut.

Note: Hello everyone! I’m so glad you all liked the first part of this story, and I’m so grateful for all of your positive comments! It really warmed my heart <3 Thank you so much for all of your support my loves!

Do you have anyone you’d like me to write for next? I would love to hear your ideas!   (But do keep in mind that I might not write here very frequently)

#yandere stranger things #yandere eddie munson #eddie muson x reader #yandere x reader #stranger things #@ietss

[theanonymousfoxsimp]

@shadowshifter01 had requested two fics awhile back for karl heisenberg and I have negleted to post this one. I didn't exactly follow the prompt but this is what came of it

Lycan!Karl heisenberg x fem lycan reader

Warnings: size difference,knotting,possessiveness,biting,claiming, heisenberg fucks you in the lycan den,reader is 5ft tall, loss of virginity ,reader is a bit clueless on being a lycan,first heat,a/b/o dynamics,heavily implied breeding kink

It had been pouring rain all day outside of the factory,unseen holes in the ceiling and flooding in the lower levels forcing you and heisenberg to travel to the lycan den in order to stay remotley dry. Luckily karl was the alpha,even as urias tried to assert that he was-karl had always knocked him down very easily and proved time and time again that this wasn't changing. Urias welcomed you both with friendly greetings and forced lycans to steer away as heisenberg brought you both into a den of his own.

The den was rather large,a nest in the middle made of clothing and comfortable cloths that made the nest all the more soft and comfortable. Luckily you both managed to save your pillows before the rain had gotten to them,a smile appeared on Karl's face as he watched you climb into the nest and make it more comfortable with the additional pillows. There was an unseen contract here, going into his den alone meant in some ways,that you were willing to be with him,then going into his nest was a sure thing to make him claim you. He watched carefully,your behine sticking over the edge of the nest as you made sure it was comfortable,even taking a few spare blankets to make it more like a bed. There had been weirder things you've seen,lycan nests were uncommon to be seen but not unheard of. A few poor schmucks ran into a lycan nest with children,they unfortunately didn't see the light of day.

"C'Mere" you said softly as you slipped into the nest,your head held high as karl slipped into the nest and pulled you closer to his body. Your body reeked of his scent,something you couldn't exactly smell since karl was a particular lycan. Your scent overpowered his,a sweet candy like smell he could become addicted to rather easily. He chuffed,a deep triumphant noise he would let out whenever he succeeded in something or simply was happy he had your attention.

He turned onto his back then patted his lap for you, your quick movements made him all the more eager as you quickly climbed into his lap and layed your head against his chest. A deep rumbling purr vibrating through his body as he wrapped his arms around you and rubbed his head against yours. You were curious on why he was so touchy all of a sudden before you felt his hips roll against yours and press a rather scarily large bulge against your clothed crotch.

"You okay?" Your mind didn't know why,your hand went down to rub the obvious bulge,a deep growl emitting from him as he bucked up into your hand before it shot away. The air became more hot,your mind began to have a slight fog that prevented many thoughts from forming.

"What's going on?" You asked softly to yourself,his face having a look of confusion before a look of realization washed over him. He noticed your clueless airy look,now regretting his previous actions but cheekily smiled at the thought of what he'd do to you. You hadn't noticed before but his scent sharpened,a hint of caramel and cinnamon filling the air as he wrapped his arm around you and pressed you close to him. Your body began to warm up at the close proximity,a primal urge forming deep within your gut as your lower regions began to burn with need. Your mind became confused,not knowing what's going on as karl watched your conflicting expressions.

"Darling?" He asked softly,feeling your body heat up from his touch when he pulled his glove off and tipped your chin up to look at him. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"M'hot,too hot" was your only responce before you began to strip off your jacket. Throwing it to the edge of the nest before doing the same with your boots and long sleeved shirt. Karl's expression changed from confused to giddy,his eyes absorbing every detail of your exposed body.

"What are you feeling?" He asked. Arousal pooled in your lower regions, your clueless mind not knowing what to do so you flocked closer to his body,any simple touch caused sparks of heat to warm your skin. He tilted his head back as if sniffing the air,not having noticed before at the overwhelming scent of your first heat. Your pointed ears twitched at every word he said,your mind pooling with one thought. Karl. Your pure need just to be by karl and to simply touch him made your mind swirl.

"Oh sweetheart..." he trailed off,resisting the overwhelming urge to pin you down and stake his claim. He didn't want to scare you away so soon,his powers helping him strip off his boots and jacket,leaving him in his pants and a rather revealing tanktop. Your body scooted closer to him,your head moving to look up at the lycan lord,your hips involuntarily rolling against his,your clothed groun rubbing his as you blindly chased the pleasure making your thighs quake.

"M'so hot,too much-" he gently hushed you before moving to take your shirt off but stopped as he saw your confused expression.

"Honey...I can help you,you just have to let me" he said,his voice going down a few octaves as he kept your hips against his. Your face betrayed your conflicting thoughts before you settled on saying yes. Yours and his eyes connecting before he leaned down to kiss you on your lips.

"What's going on?" Your mouth broke away from the gentle kiss,your mind confused. You knew this had to be something lycan related but didn't know exactly what it was. Karl neglected telling you about lycan season,the one time he would become scarily protective of you whenever you were close to heat.

"Heat darling,it's a lycan thing..." he said.

"Do..you have that?" Your question made him chuckle.

"No...no no sweetheart,what I go through is a rut, sorta the same but not exactly the same. Both are a sex thing...however,it can only be stopped when someone claims you..prefferably me" he said calmly. Your face burned at the realization of what he was saying before another wave of heat washed over you,forcing a needy huff to leave you.

"Help me, please?" Your innocence made him think about it for a second,knowing you were far from that but these topics were new.

"Since you asked so nicely..." he said,moving to take off his tank top and your shirt,a sharp clawed finger running up the length of your spine to slice off the back of your bra then pulled it off of you. He took note of yout offended look but didn't exactly care as he focussed on stripping you both down. He pulled your pants off along with his,your scents mingling together in the air. He felt warmth seep through his body,your hands helping him pull off his briefs. Though you've never seen a human dick,let alone lycan dick,it still shocked you that his size was well over the normal size you've heard about. A faint bulge was at the base of his length,the tip red and leaked pre while it looked painfully hard. He pulled your panties off,practically ripping them off to get to your mound.

"Oh honey...you're soaked" he smiled,yanking his gloves off so he could rub one of his fingers along your folds,gathering up the skick there before bringing it back up to his mouth and licked it off,humming at the sweet taste. Your face heated up,embarrassment flooding your mind as he flipped you over so he was on top. He pulled off the belts from his pants and hooked them underneath your knees,using his power to open your legs wide and expose your lower regions to him.

He dived down to lay inbetween your thughs,chuckling when he heard you squeak then moan as he licked a stripe up your exposed mound. His tounge felt rough,it was longer than a human tounge and much more pleasuring as he began to eat you out. Licking and sucking like a starved man,practically engorging himself on your arousal and slick,his beard tickling your inner thighs but the pleasure overshadowed it. Your thighs quivered when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked a loud moan ripping itself out of you as waves of heat and arousal rendered you limp,thoughts of him claiming you ran through your mind.

"Don'tstop" you slurred,hands covering your eyes but he stopped,pulling away until you uncovered your eyes and looked down at him. Your eyes connected with his golden ones before he went back to what he was doing before. He nipped and bit your thighs,leaving obvious bite marks and small bruises from how hard he was gripping your thighs. You saw his hand snake up from the side, his larger hand gripping your breast and rolled your hardened nippled inbetween his fingers while his other hand slipped up and gently worked his finger into you,crooking the digit to find that particular spot that made you yelp from pleasure. The new sensations felt like so much, your thighs quaking as an orgasm suddenly ripped through you,causing your tone to become louder and louder as he continued to push your orgasm as far as it would go. Wet sounds became louder and louder,the arousal becoming increasingly more prominent when he pulled back and admired his work.

"Fuckkking hell why did you stop" you said,eyes glossed over with arousal. His eyes scanning your body, bite marks and forming bruises littered your thighs as he watched you squirm and try to grab him. He leaned down to lay himself on you,unhooking his belts from your knees in order to press them closer to your body,practically folding you in half. His mind fogged with the simple need to breed, his form changing as he finally indulged into his rut. He had always forced himself to not be near you whenever the season rolled around,he had scared numerous partners away whenever he had tried to.

The air sharpened as his form grew much larger, his ears darkening and forming into wolflike ears,a fluffy tail wagged as he layed against you and inhaled your scent. His mouth watered at the scent of a freshly heated mate, a willing partner he would show the wonders of pleasure to. His thoughts were cut off as he felt your hands push at him,gently pushing him off before he pulled back with curiosity. He waited,noticing your conflicted looks before you turned onto your stomach and used your knees to keep you upright, presenting yourself to him. He noticed the small tail wagging at the base of your spine,your ears more wolflike than his as one was pointed while the other flopped over like puppy ears.

"C'mon.." you said,pressing back against him as you held a pillow close to prop yourself up on,a happy expression washing away his confused one. His body moved and went to mount you,his hands pinned beside your head as he thrusted forward and missed his mark, his length sliding inbetween your folds and gathering slick. He huffed then pulled back,using a hand to help him push the tip into your waiting hole.

The tip of his length felt boiling hot,your walls practically sucking him in as he slipped down to his knot. His head leaning down as he let you adjust to the sheer size of his length,resisting the urge to wreck you completely. Your tail thumped against his stomach,tickling him as your hips pushed against his,trying to force his knot into you. He smiled,loving your eagerness but he kept his body still,waiting for you to break and tell him to move.

He felt big,your abdomen bulging from his size as he rested there,your body becoming hotter and hotter until you couldn't take it. Your head leaned up to rub against his,whispered pleas to convince him to take his claim now finally tipping his resolve over the edge. He pulled out until only the tip was left then slammed back in,his pace rough and fast as you struggled to stay still. The warmth became more and more bearable,your lust fogging your normally innocent mind as he finally took what was his. It felt painful at first but you quickly adjusted and began to thrust your hips back to meet his.

"Fuck!" He yelled out,his body folding as he wrapped his arms around you then leaned back onto his knees,using his strength alone to handle you and make it easier for him to thrust deeper and deeper. Snarls and growls were second to the wet noises your arousal caused,his hand slipping down to rub your clit in quick rough circles. Your mouth agape,noises escaping like a broken pipe as he drew out moan after moan,his need overshadowing his urge to make this more romantic.

"Don't stop!" You words spurred him on,your body seemingly used as a fucktoy as he chased his high. He didn't notice when you orgasmed,your walls fluttering around him as his pace became impossibly faster,the overstimulation kicking in as he didn't realize and neglected to pull his hand away from your clit. The urge to breed you on his mind,thoughts of you round with his pups spurred him along.

Your second orgasm came quickly,the tightening of your walls and how they fluttered had sent him over the edge and popped his knot into you,his mouth clamping down on your neck as you felt the puncure of his teeth in your shoulder. It felt like ice water was thrown over you,his tail wagging so fast it was a blur while he panted and caught his breath. Your walls fluttered around him after each spurt of cum,not a drop spilling out as his knot kept you both locked together. He licked your shoulder clean of any blood,he began to let out a low rumbling purr as he adjusted you both to lay on your side,his hips flush against yours as his knot stayed snug within your hole.

"Mine..mine,mine,mine!" He growled out,his alpha instincts kicking in at the scent of a possibly pregnant mate. His tounge lapping up any blood on your neck as he noticed large bite marks littering your neck,he didn't notice he had done these but a small part of him loved how it showed you were claimed. He hadn't noticed your exhaust caused you to fall asleep until he heard your soft breathing,how you pulled yourself closer to his chest and snuggled into his wamrth. A small part of him screamed from joy at this but he didn't want to stir you awake so he gently pulled a blanket over the both of you and made himself comfortable in your shared nest,your sweet calming scent lulling him to sleep.

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #lord heisenberg #daddy heisenberg #lycan!heisenberg x reader #lycan heisenberg #lycan karl heisenberg

[once-was-muses]

[ realized the old verses post was Severely out of date, so here's a brief temporary list until I get all the verses added onto muse docs ]

Candyman

DbD (tbn): he answered the call like so many times before- but rather than a horrified face framed so nicely in a mirror, all Dan found was ichor, miasma, and a lazy counterfeit artist. Unwilling to be bound by an unseen contract, the Candyman is hellbent on escaping.

Goswin

Briars Overgrown: DbD verse. The air was filled with a sense of wrong, but the rider couldn't escape what with the blinding fog descending upon him. By the time his sight was restored, he could no longer feel his Lord's will, but the scent of Their more gruesome manifestations filled his lungs. He didn't believe the promises used in Their name, but without his Lord's guidance, the Dullahan had no choice- no chance. Stolen from one master to another.

Rorschach

Thy Fearful Symmetry: pre death and resurrection

Let Me Die In My Footsteps: pre Roche case

Working Class Hero: pre Keene act

Alone With Everybody: pre Crimebusters

Saint Walker

Blood Moon: alternate timeline where a Red ring found Bro'Dee instead of a Blue one. During the invasion of Astonia, shortly before their star's explosive death, the ring of a Red Lantern (killed in self defense by a group of villagers) attaches itself to Bro'Dee, instantly turning his feral rage on the invading Lanterns. Bro'Dee is captured and taken to Ysmault, where Atrocitus trains and manipulates him into his first commander.

Scarlet Eclipse: the last Blue Lantern deems himself unfit for the title, overcome by his grief and anguish, casting off his ring- only to be chosen as a Red Lantern instead. Ashamed, both by his weakness and the fact he had the capacity to wield a Red ring to behin with, Bro'Dee allows himself to be endlessly tormented by Atrocitus, his rage originating and directed within himself.

Scarecrow

Devil Boy: nobody knows who Mary Keeny is- but in little Jonathan’s mind, if anyone found out who he belonged to they'd just send him right back. That's why he has to keep moving.

The Butcher's Son: in a timeline where Jonathan failed to escape his father, he was forced to assist in Gerald Crane's crimes- and continue them, with his father's supervision, when the Butcher became too old to do it himself any longer.

#For Your Reference : blog maintenance

[mlmxreader]

Mine | Ernst Schmidt x m!reader (🍋)

@foxhybridargentmikaelson asked: "Don't stop on my account" 

"You look so handsome when you're trying to concentrate" 

with Schmidt if you don't mind please. possible kinks (you can choose) and male reader please

summary: you accidentally let it slip how you feel about Schmidt 

tws: swearing, blowjobs, masturbation, a little bit of mutual masturbation, mentions of choking kink/spanking, cum swallowing, Daddy kink, praise kink

word count: 1230

MINORS DNI

It was one of those quiet days on the Cloverfield, Volkov and Schmidt were too preoccupied with actually doing their jobs as opposed to ripping each other’s throats out, and it probably helped that they were on different ends of the station, if you were honest; they were separated like dogs that wouldn’t stop fighting, meaning that for once all was somewhat quiet and a little bit more peaceful.

Naturally, you hung around Schmidt as always, ever since day one, the two of you had been practically inseparable, and during your occasional talks with Hamilton, you had admitted that you liked him a lot; you liked Schmidt more than you dared to say, and his hot temper was… it got you going more than you cared to admit. But you never said a word, as you knew that he never felt the same way as you, you knew that he wouldn’t look twice at you; he probably had a spouse or a partner back home, anyway - a man that good looking always did have someone. No way he was single. 

You felt bad, though, fancying a man who was probably taken already, a man who was either already married or was going to be at some point to someone who loved him dearly. 

So you kept it quiet, or at least, as quiet as you could, and Hamilton kept your secret, too; she tried to help here and there, giving you space in her room for you to relax and to vent without worry, but it was hard to help with such a thing when everyone was practically crammed into the Cloverfield, it wasn’t exactly easy to distance yourself from the man you knew would never love you. Hamilton was as much a close friend, but the way you loved her was massively different. The way you loved her was in a different part of your heart, although it was no less important. 

But still, you fell for Schmidt a little more every day, and you hated it. 

It was one of those quiet days, and you found yourself sitting on one of the pipes just above the floor while Schmidt worked; his glasses were starting to fog up a little as he started to sweat, rolling up his sleeves and grumbling to himself in German; you couldn’t deny he looked so, so fucking good, and you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it, either. 

“You look so handsome when you’re trying to concentrate, mein freund.” 

Schmidt turned to you with a raised eyebrow and a shy smile. “Sorry?”

“I said, you look so handsome when you’re trying to concentrate,” you repeated. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, taking off his glasses and trying to hide the way he blushed, but he failed. “You look very handsome today, too… you always do.” 

“Y’think so?” You asked quietly, spreading your legs. You didn’t expect him to stand between them, you had to look up at him. 

“I always think so,” he nodded, licking his lips and rubbing the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “I just…” 

“Just what?” You almost whispered. You could have grabbed his thighs without needing to reach up, a dryness coming to your mouth. “Ernst?”

“Sorry, I…” he shook his head, clearing his throat. “I have to, uhm… I have to go.” 

You furrowed your brows, but when he rushed away, you hung your head, cursing yourself for being so fucking stupid; you should have known he would never care about you as anything other than a friend, you should have been content to be his friend, you shouldn’t have ruined everything by telling him you thought he was handsome. 

You waited a few hours, after talking to Hamilton, after having something to eat, you made your way over to Schmidt’s room after looking for him everywhere; you could hear sharp and rapid, heavy, breaths coming from behind the door, and when you opened it, your jaw fell slack. 

He was spread out on his bed, his back propped against the wall with a few pillows stacked up, his hand gripping his hard cock as he tilted his head back, his eyes closed; when he moaned, your name fell from his lips. 

You were in shock, swallowing thickly as you stared, wide eyed, for a moment before you stepped into the room and cleared your throat; with a yelp, Schmidt yanked the blanket over his lower half, blushing furiously as he stuttered out a multitude of apologies. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” you said hoarsely, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s not like I’ve never… over you.” 

Schmidt was still in shock as he gawked at you, but he eventually came to his senses, and he nodded slowly. “You have?”

“Yeah,” you approached the bed, kneeling at the end of it as you smiled. “Quite a few times.” 

He peeled the blanket off, keeping his gaze locked with yours as he swallowed thickly and slowly started to stroke his cock. “What do you think about?”

“I think about your hand around my throat,” you started, palming yourself through your clothes, “you, whispering sweet little praises to me… I think about calling you Daddy, and you fucking my ass so hard I cum more than once, I think about you smacking my ass - you want me to keep going?”

“Please,” he begged, gesturing to your cock. “Pull it out.” 

“My pleasure,” you chuckled, pushing down your bottoms and your boxers, letting your cock spring free as you started to stroke it. “What were you thinking about?”

“Earlier,” he choked out, biting the inside of his lip. “You, sucking my cock.” 

“I can do that, now,” you whispered, and when he asked you to, you were quick to get between his legs, replacing your hand with his while you dared to whisper in his ear, “just so you know, I swallow, too.” 

Schmidt let out a moan, his hand going to the back of your neck as he growled softly. “Suck my cock.” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you purred, licking his tip, making his head roll back again as he let out a moan. You took him in your mouth, making sure to coat his cock in your spit as you went down, bobbing your head as he kept his hand at the back of your neck, keeping you there. 

“Oh, fuck! That’s it!” He gasped out. “Genau da… fuck… du bist so gut darin.” 

You dared to remove your mouth from his cock. “Am I doing good, Daddy?”

“Ja,” Schmidt’s breath was heavy as he nodded, a little smile on his lips. “Sehr gut.” 

You cupped his balls in your hand as you started to play with them, wrapping your lips around his cock again, working the shaft without trying to be too eager about it; it wasn’t long before he started to cum in your mouth, but you didn’t dare to stop, swallowing as much as you could until he had finished. Licking him clean afterwards. 

“I came here to apologise for earlier,” you admitted quietly. “I hope this makes up for it…” 

“More than,” he agreed, swallowing thickly and pulling you in for a kiss. He could taste himself on your tongue and, fuck, if that didn’t get him going all over again… “du gehörst mir.” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you teased quietly, trailing a hand down his chest. “All yours.” 

#mlem writes #ernst Schmidt imagine #ernst Schmidt x reader #ernst schmidt #the cloverfield paradox #Cloverfield #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x you #daniel bruhl imagine #daniel brühl #daniel brühl imagine #daniel brühl x reader

[uwhe-arts]

rising fog . . . | uwhe-arts

#rising fog #trees in the mist #photographers on tumblr #forest #calm #stillness #wanderlust #pine trees #uwhe-arts #nature #uwhearts #vertical #magic #mystical #witchcraft #dreamy #elevenforest #behin the fog #misty morning #misty forest #foggy land #woodland people #woodland #artists on tumblr #original creators #original photographers #passion #photography #ssf #tree

[midday0nightmares]

26 - in your arms (m).

Previous chapter reckless choices.

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

The unexpected appearance of the young man with the unusual bright orange hair throw you all off guard, a minute have passed with the four of you starring at each other.

“I’m Zhong chenle, I moved to the 49th floor I believe that make us neighbors” his big smile never faltered. 

Jeno broke the rude silence, he cleared his throat, “It does” exchanging looks with jaemin, 

“welcome man, I’m jeno and this is jaemin” they shake hands with him while you stand there awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Chenle looks at you waiting for an introduction, jeno and jaemin hesitate for a second before jeno speaks again “that’s sera, she’s our roommate” You force smile, you feel uncomfortable with the attention, the way his eyes were scanning you from top to bottom..your messy hair, puffy face with red eyes and nose, your scraped knee through your torn jeans. You obviously been through something. you looked away hoping he would get the hint and stop starring. 

“Excuse us, we just came back from a long trip and we all are tired. See you around” jaemin spoke trying to cut the encounter short as he walked into the elevator first and you followed him, but chenle spoke again “I’m throwing a home warming party tomorrow night, you should come. You can bring guests too if want”.  

.

The elevator doors close, “he seems .. “ jeno trails and jaemin finishs his sentence “wild, we should be more carful now”. 

.

.

As soon as they walk through the door, they head straight to their rooms leaving you alone. you huff, still upset with yourself, you thought you should try again with jaemin, you want to properly explain yourself to him. you knock on his door, no response. you turn the door knob and let yourself in.

His clothes were scattered on the floor, the shower was running and steam was coming out of the slightly open bathroom door. You walk in and closed the door behind you, you too discard your clothes too you could join him. 

You open the bathroom door trying not to make any noise, the way his toned body stood in the hot fog, the way the water hits his muscular tattooed back made your heart flutter. Your face growing warm and you can’t blame it all on the hot stream. 

you tiptoe closer but you straddle him before you could surprise him, a heavy sigh blows out of him, he turns his back to you resuming his shower “what do you want?”..  you, I want you, you wished you could be honest, but you aren’t discouraged yet, as long as he’s not throwing punches you’er good to go.

You get in the shower wrap your arms around his waist, pressing naked chest to his bare back. He doesn’t react or try to push you away. 

“Im sorry” you say in your softest voice “I wasn’t thinking straight, I was scared and shocked, I didn’t know what to do”, you tighten your hold around him when he doesn’t say anything. he sigh but this time in defeat and turns in you arms to face you, his hands come cup your cheeks. “sera, if you want to leave, then go. I won’t hold you back anymore”, you shake your head refusing his suggestion, “ I don’t” your hands grabbing his arms, afraid that he will let go and you’ll lose him. He doesn’t believe you, his hands loosens ready to pull away from you, “jaemin” you try to step even closer, your arms reaching to the back of his neck “I promise you I don’t want to go. I want to stay here, with you” your voice straining with growing fear.

“Sera” he try to pry your arms of off him “I don’t know anymore, I try my best but you alway want to leave me”

“no” you stretch yourself on your tiptoes to reach his lips as you pull him down, you mold your lips with his, the feverish kiss lasts for what seems to be hours, your heart explodes in your chest when he opens his mouth to take your tongue in. his taste intoxicate you, making your head spin with lust, but you had to pull away to breathe. 

the way his eyes were still closed, the way his chest was heavily rising, the way his cheeks were returning to their original color, and the way he was beige vulnerable in your hands it all tugged on your heart strings.

He pulls you by your waist and holds you his chest, he hugs you so tight like he was trying to push you inside of his chest cavity. You don’t mind as you try to do the same to him, it would be nice if you could keep him next your heart.

You can feel all the exhaustion and frustration melts off of him. his angelic smile returns, his hands hold your face in place as he leans down to press tens of kisses to it, your giggles echoing off the walls. you reach for the body wash “Let me take care of you” you say to him in between the small kisses. You bit your lip when he doesn’t object, you squeeze the soapy gel into your hand and start leathering it over his bored chest, slowly moving to his shoulders and arms. He turns around and you do the same to his back, your hands move back to his stomach and you work your way down to his groin region, you take your time exploring his body, admiring every detail.

“sera..” his low voice calls your name, you ghost over his half alerted member earring a hiss. 

You feel the strong thumbs of his racing heart, you stop dragging it and take him in your hand, he moans and throws his head back, you bite on the soft skin of his back as you were getting exited yourself.

You slowly stroke him, feeling him twitch as he grows harder in your hands, his hips move in sync with your touch, his low moans and heavy breathing sound like a mesmerizing spell being casted over you.

He make a questioning sound when you stop, you turn him around and get on your knees in front of him to indulge yourself into him more. You take him in your mouth, you both moan when the intimate contact happens, you lose yourself in the way he feels filling your mouth, you take him deeper to the back you your throat finding pleasure with the struggle to take all of him in. he hiss and stops you “baby.. slow down”, you feel self conscious as shyness bites at your cheeks.

He helps you up, turning around pressing you to the cold tiles “I want you too you know” he mumbles into your neck as his lips attacks it, the work of his hunger and wet mouth makes you dizzy, his hands touching, squeezing, pinching every accessible part of you.

You were both needy for each other, passion was running in your vines fueling you to go further, you arch you back into him “Jaemin.. please”  you moan, begging him to do something already, his hands he grab your hips, pulling them back to gain better access to the place he hasn’t touched yet, he aligns his tip to your opening and slowly starts pushing in, there’s no resistance as he smoothly slides in, he opens you, stretching your walls around him.

Your loud moan egging him to go deeper, although it’s not your first time with him, but it feels like a new experience. his arms wrap around you, securing you for what’s to come, he stills when he bottoms out, taking a moment to enjoy being completely buried inside of you. 

You swear your bones went soft when his hips starts moving, he slowly pulls out before pushing back in, high pitched gasp comes out of you with each thrust, your toes curl and you fingers scratch the cold wall. your eyes flutter and your mind goes blank, all you are aware of right now is the immense pleasure of him stuffed deep into you.

He grunts before he bites your shoulder, muffling his sounds, his thrusts gets stronger, rougher, you jerk froward every time his hips snap back into you before his hands pull your hips back to him. you feel the tight knot in the pit of your stomach, your back arching into him more. He seems to know how close you are “baby you gonna cum?” He asks you but your mushy brain doesn’t register it, he holds you closer and give you exactly what you need, faster thrusts. It toke only two more thrusts to push you of the edge, your walls convulse around him, you chant his name as you come undone, he push himself deeper into you and stays there to make sure you ride the last bit of your intense orgasm. 

His hand creases your lower abdomen to calm your shaking body as your try to catch your breathes, “you ok?” you weakly nod to him, you don’t want to speak as your head is being folded with euphoric cocktail of hormones.

 “can you take more?” he makes sure you can before he starts moving again, you hiss at the burning sensation, you’er still sensitive and he was overstimulating you, but you quickly start to enjoy it too, specially knowing he finds his pleasure in you.

He dose’t last long after that, couple more sharp thrusts and he pulls out and spill his hot cum over your back. 

He holds you close for a while, before he helps you cleaning yourself, with both of you very tired, clean and very much satisfied, you dry yourselves and for the first time you willingly wear his clothes instead of yours.

You lay in his bed first and wait for him, “you still have it?” you squeal when you saw he still keep the teddy bear he bought you from the hospital next to his pillow, “I do” he sheepishly smile as he gets under the covers with you and pulls you closer to him, “can I take it?” .. “hmm it’s yours, its always have been yours” his words fill your fills with butterflies. you turn and snuggle closer to him, you lay over his chest socking in his warmth, his hand plays with your fingers. 

“When does your classes begin?” He asks you, 

“Next Monday”.. 

You look up at him, you stare into his dreamy eyes, you swear you can fall into them, you were smitten.. but the events of last night came creeping back, bursting your lovey dovey bubble, your hand pulls out of his, your body starts to retract itself away from him. But holds you firmly, retaking your hand in his “sera, he was a very bad man” he tries to explain, knowing the cause behind the sudden change in to your behavior, but his words don’t appease your worry, so he tries again.

“look at me, It has to be done or many people would have gotten hurt. Im not what you think I am” but the knot between your eyebrows still tight so he brings your hand up to his mouth, and kiss each finger before he place it on his cheek “l left my father’s gang long time ago, I’m not that type of a man, never was never will”, you can hear the sincerity in his voice and you finally settle in your place next to him and nod “I know”.

#nct dream #nct smut #nct yandere #nct mafia #nct jaemin #na jaemin #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct imagines #nct reactions

[rosepyrearchive]

𝐟𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

an  experiment  of  posting  a  drabble  a  day,     from  a  few  sentences  to  a  paragraph  or  more.     i  posted  them  on  my  old  blog,     now  i’m  going  to  compile  them  all  here !

i.

fingers  carefully  shift  the  lavender  crystal  in  betwixt  her  thin  fingers.     for  years,      it  had  remained  faithfully  at  the  base  of  her  throat,     the  way  wolves  protect  each  other’s  most  delicate  parts;     her  father  always  did  the  same.     now,      there’s  somewhere  else  she’d  like  to  place  that  power,     that  protection.     what  color  would  the  crystal  turn,     when  placed  in  anakin’s  palm ?     blue,     like   his  eyes,     or  red,     like  the  blood  he  sheds ?     the  choker  she  once  wore,     pastel  colored  velvet  around  her  neck,     has  an  empty  slot  where  she’d  pulled  the  gem  from,     and  now  it  finds  a  new  home  on  a  long  chain  of  beskar;     where  she  imagines  it  will  press  right  in  the  middle  of  his  chest,     beneath  his  tunic    &    tabard.     no  matter  what  becomes  of  him,     or  what  tries  to  hurt  him . . .   the  chain  and  crystal  will  remain.

ii.

in  her  mother’s  arms,     she  is  just  a  daughter,    a  doll.     on  stage,     she  is  better  than  a  mortal  girl,     or  even  the  immortal  one  she  became;     she’s  a  ballerina  in  tufts  of  pink    &    tulle.     i  am  a  good  girl,     even  now  when  they’re  all  in  the  ground.     now  that  the  curtains  of  earth  &  velvet  have  fallen,     though,     who  is  she ?     who  does  she  become,     without  the  pale  pink  ribbons   &    tight  bodice  of  her  costumes ?      the  voice,     the  visions,     the  hallucinations  seem  to  answer  for  her;     a  ghost,    a  hazy,     obscure  daydream  who  cannot  truly  exist.     who  is  she ?     where  does  the  camouflage,     the  eagerness  to  please  end ?     serena  supposes  it  doesn’t  end  at  all;     and  in  that,     she  is  a  russian  doll  of  nothingness.

iii.

she’s  never  seen  him  without  his  helmet.  no  one  has,     serena  imagines  —  not  in  this  state  of  his  life,     where  removing  it  means  deprivation  and  vulnerability;     the  simple  act  and  thought  is  filled  with  an  intimacy  serena  knows  she  could  never  earn  from  him,     but  …     the  yearning  doesn’t  stop,     nor  does  the  longing  and  curiosity  to  see  his  pallid  skin,     scarred  &  tainted,     the  marks  that  must  cover  his  cheeks  and  chest.     where  do  they  end ?     are  they  like  ripples  in  waves  or  a  pattern ?     and  …  when  she  stands  near  him,  does  he  ever  look  at  her ?     the  blackness  of  his  shield  hides  it  all,  and  it  does  it’s  job  in  making  her  nervous;  serena  can  never  stand  still  in  his  presence,  thighs  shaking  and  nails  digging  trench  tracks  into  her  soft  palms.     darth  vader  is  terrible,  awful,  even  cruel  …     so  what  is  it  that  allures  her  so  deeply,  and  why ?     then  again,  if  she  knew,  perhaps  the  shimmering  butterflies  would  subside  and  she  could  see  clearly,     see  this  for  what  it  was.  he  wasn’t  even  using  her  —  and  she  is  the  very  picture  of  devotion.

iv.

to  what  end  does  the  fae  steal  a  fair  maiden ?     or  is  it  truly  a  crime,     when  the  victim  is  so  terribly  willing ?     allie’s  feet  move  so  mesmerizingly,    around  &  around  while  flowers  and  mushrooms   bloom  from  beneath  her  soles;     her  palm  is  so  open  –     ❪   come  to  me,     serena !   ❫     perspiration  of  late  summer  sticks  to  serena’s  forehead,     betwixt  her  rosy  fingers,     ❪   𝙾𝚁  𝙸𝚂  𝚂𝙷𝙴  𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃  𝙽𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙾𝚄𝚂 ?     𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙴  𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙾  𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚆𝙰𝚈 …   ❫     and  without  a  regret,     she  lays  her  hand  in  the  other  girl’s.     she  sups  on  honeyed  milk,     gives  her  name.     the  fairies  covet  gold,     and  what  is  serena,     if  not  well - dressed  in  a  golden  shroud,    from  her  crown  to  the  hem  of  her  long  dress ?     what  does  she  have  to  fear,     when  she  is  magic  all  on  her  own ?     allie’s  hand  lifts  both  of  theirs  high  as  she  twirls  serena  amidst  the  flowers,     and  she  swears  she  can  feel  grass  grow  from  her  steps.

v.

calloused  fingers  dig  deep  into  serena’s  sweet,     soft  dimples;     and  from  her  jaw,    trickles  of  sweet  wine  drip,     down  her  neck,    like  spilled  rubies  on  her  pale  skin.     you  hurt  me,    she  wants  to  say.     you’ve  hurt  me,     and  i  am  the  one  who’s  sorry.     hollis  draws  his  thumb  down  to  her  chin,     leaving  perfect  smudged  fingerprints  across  her  the  way  one  would  drag  their  fingers  across  a  fogged  glass.     his  eyes  are  a  dull,    venomous  green  as  he  calls  her  a  name  that  doesn’t  belong  to  her.    that  isn’t  me,   serena  wants  to  cry.     non,    mon rêve,     you’re  much  prettier  than  she  ever  was,     hollis  would  reply,     because  this  isn’t  the  first  time.     he  squeezes  bruises  into  her  little  arms  as  he  kisses  her,     and  serena  thinks  she  kisses  him  back.

vi.

allow  the  camera  to  pan  upwards,     from  her  pale  pink  ballet  slippers  into  her  soft  cotton  dress,     her  feet  turn  out  in  first  position  as  she  raises  her  hands  into  fourth,     pulled  up  by  soft  silk  strings  by  an  invisible  puppeteer.     the  stage  is  her  church,     a  massive,     all  encompassing  world  of  history  &  grace,     and  then  the  world  becomes  it’s  own  stage;     and  serena’s  performance  is  all  consumed,     like  an  apple  in  the  garden  of  eden.     isn’t  she  so  lovely,     so  flawless,     our  little  ballerina  ornament ?     serena  doesn’t  know  who,     or  what,    controls  her  actions   –   her  lies,     her  pliés.     some  entity  who  refuses  to  present  themselves,     only  bothering  to  choreograph  her  life  &  watch  her  from  behind  the  scenes;     she  is  both  fresh  as  a  flower,     brought  up  in  springtime,     &     as  broken  as  skeletons  that  have  long  withered  to  dusk  in  their  caskets.     even  in  her  most  secluded  moments,     she  does  not  feel  alone   –   not  truly.     this  puppet master  is  always  watching,     writing  their  script,     judging  her  arches  and  how  gracefully  she  can  slide  across  the  floor  in  her  pointe  shoes.     when  she  takes  her  final  bow,     it’s  only  the  studio  mirror  that  gazes  back  at  her,     her  own  doelike  brown  eyes,     her  own  slim  form  –  there’s  no  cables  attaching  her  to  the  ceiling.

this  life  is  so  very  boring,     so  unlike  the  dreamy  world  she  longed  for  as  a  foolish  girl.     i  had  long  ruined  my  own  life  with  my  own  dissatisfaction  before  someone  else  destroyed  it  for  me.

viii.

longing  lurks  deep  behind  a  golden  -  brown  gaze   /   what  comfort  can  she  take  in  the  jedi  code,     when  it’s  cold,    hard …     and  ben’s  hand  is  warm,     all  encompassing ?    the  code,     the  code …     the  temple  is  a  stage,     and  the  council  pulls  her  strings,     but  the  one  thing  they  can’t  take  from  her  is  her  mind;     in  there,     she  is  strong,     stone.     they  encourage  compassion:     but  no  attachments.     what  is  that,     to  her ?    what  is  it  compared  to  the  sunlight  she  feels  in  ben’s  eyes  when  he  leans  down  to  kiss  her  temple,     or  the  delight  serena  can  see  in  him  when  she  enters  the  room ?     ❪  because  love  is  the  death  of  duty,     as  wiser  men  say   ❫     in  many  ways,     she  is  greater  than  other  girls;     a  doll - like  padawan,    bright,     intelligent   –   but  in  the  end,    she  is  still  human,     and  she  finds  no  love  within  the  code   /   only  does  she  find  the  serenity  it  speaks  of  in  ben’s  embrace,     and  the  way  he  bends  over  at  the  waist  to  hold  her,     and  he  is  all  around  her  like  cologne.     that  is  a  glory  &  a  tragedy  worth  dying  for.

viii.

fear  has  always  cut  deep  within  serena’s  soft  skin;     it  was  easy  to  pull  her  apart  like  a  pomegranate,     see  the  little  pin - prick  razors  of  fright,     but  nothing  had  made  her  so  afraid  since  meeting  the  jedi.     she’s  a  fragile  heart  wound  tightly  in  red  ribbons  and  strings,     each  tied  to  the  pinkie  finger  of  every  person  she  loves.     some  of  the  ends  are  cut,     some  fray  towards  the  latter,     but  she  doesn’t  forget.     she  doesn’t  let  go,     not  in  her  deep  heart,     where  they  are  safe.     the  jedi  don’t  agree;     and  her  body  wracks  with  guilt  as  she  resists  placing  ribbons  on  their  fingers.     they  cannot  love  me,     she  knows   /   so  why  isn’t  it  enough  to  stop  her ?

ix.

every  part  of  my  body  aches.       serena  sits  on  the  hard  bathroom  floor  like  a  stain  on  the  tile,     the  tulle  of  her  practice  skirt  shimmering  in  the  dim  fluorescents.     the  plastic  stall  divider  is  freezing  against  her  shoulders,     and  it  hurts  when  her  head  falls  back  against  it.     the  bathroom  is  empty,     but  the  room  is  loud.     DISGUSTING  GIRL.     IT  HURTS.    what  hurts ?     I  CAN’T  FIND  IT  ANYMORE,     IT’S  SPREAD  LIKE  A  POISON.     she  finds  sanctuary  in  her  own  little  white  lies,     and  this  stall  where  none  of  the  other  ballerinas  go  –  she’s  a  soloist,     a  prima;     she  is  special.     allegedly.     she  barely  notices  the  wine - red  trickle  of  blood  that  spills  from  her  nose,     gravity  pulling  it  down  her  perfect  pale  face.      the  relief  is  nearly  instant,     whatever  ache  she’d  had  seems  to  fade  away   /   her  eyes  hone  in  on  the  empty  plastic  bag,     only  remnants  of  white  pill  powder  left.     the  same  resin  seems  to  linger  on  the  tip  of  her  pointe  shoe,     that  she’d  used  to  crush  it  all  up.     the  urge  to  smash  the  wooden  end  of  her  slipper  into  the  stupid  godforsaken  plastic  container  as  hard  as  she  can  and  see  how  much  damage  she  can  do  washes  over  her;     but  she’s  too  shocked  by  the  sudden  violent  urge  to  act  on  it.     instead,     serena  lets  the  clarity  &  ability  to  focus  drown  out  the  voices  that  scream  in  her  tender  head,     and  brings  herself  to  stand.

x.

❪   𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊  ❫

pink  silk  shimmers  in  the  early  morning  sun;     her  blush  is  just  as  pretty,     sitting  across  from  her  father  at  the  iron  balcony  table.     he  is  her  king,     her  first  love,     and  serena  revels  in  the  attention  her  father  lavishes  on  her.     everything  is  still  so  new,     so  beautiful,     when  she’s  young  –  serena  dreams  of  the  future,     of  white  veils  and  cotillions.     her  distance  isn’t  yet  defensive,     but  a  sweet  daydream,     of  romantic  notions  &  hopes.     serena  dreams  of  the  far  away,     of  paris  and  rushing  crowds.     you  have  the  carlisle  look,     julian  had  told  her,    once.    your  brother  has  it  too.     someday,     this  world  will  be  wrapped  around  your  little  finger.     be  kind  to  it.     serena  had  smiled  so  lovely  at  that  –  let  the  world  be  kind.     let  it  show  her  kindness.

xi.

❪   𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘  ❫

this  is  a  private  moment;     but  serena  can  feel  the  hidden  camera  lenses  on  her,     seeking  that  million  dollar  photo of  palpable  grief,     or  the  bullet  hole  in  her  father’s  chest,     as  if  it  weren’t  hidden  from  view  behind  his  favorite  suit.     she  won’t  cry.     serena  had  already  emptied  herself  of  every  golden  tear  when  she’d  cleaned  her  father’s  face,     when  she’d  combed  his  hair.      she  was  the  one  who’d  laid  his  arms  over  his  chest,     with  her  favorite  stuffed  animal  between  them  to  keep  him  company.     august  pulls  all  her  curls  behind  her  head,     and  lays  his  hands  on  her  thin  shoulders,     squeezing  just  enough  to  be  a  reassurance.     a  million  questions  ran  through  her  head  –     every  single  one  beginning  with  why.

her  fingers  drift,     softly,     for  the  last  time,     over  her  father’s  cheek.     she  pretends  it’s  warm  with  life,     and  not  chilling  to  the  bone.     if  he  could  be  killed,     then  no  one  is  safe.

xii.

❪   𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋  ❫

be  kind  to  the  world.    serena’s  innocence  had  died  screaming,     yet  she  still  remembers  the  words  her  father  had  told  her.     sunlight  streams  through  the  trees  above,     but  she  is  too  stiff  to  move  just  yet;     so  she  lies  there  in  the  grass,     flowers  having  bloomed  over  the  years  of  her  sleep  through  her  hair  and  around  her  body.     a  new  era  has  begun,     everything  she  knows  is  gone.     everyone  she  loves  is  gone.     maybe  it’s  the  haziness  of  first  waking  up  after  a  half - century,     but  there’s  a  determination  beneath  her  silk  skin,     her  ivory  bones.     serena  has  become  something  new,     just  as  the  world  has  –  beneath  the  porcelain,     her  ribs  have  grown  steel.     she  will  not  be  so  breakable  ever  again.

xiii.

in  the  movies,     pearls  are  always  being  yanked  from  necks,     the  precious  little  beads  clattering  to  the  hardwood  floor  in  bunches.     serena  allows  the  pretty  necklace  to  drift  through  her  fingers,     remembering  the  time  her  mother  had  wrapped  it  around  her  neck.     she’d  felt  like  such  a  little madam  in  her  maman’s  pearls.     there’s  a  little  secret:     those  pearls  in  films,     dramatic  as  they  were,     were fake.     maman’s  were  genuine,     and  the  little  pieces  were  knotted  in  between,     meaning  even  if  she’d  ripped  them  from  her  throat,     only  one  or  two  at  worst  would  go ��missing.     her  mother  was  too  much  of  a  lady,     anyway …     prone  to  melancholy  and  hurt,     but  not  quite  fits.     what  a  complicated  love,     the  one  between  a  mother  &  a  daughter …     serena  finds  herself  missing  her  mother’s  arms  more  often  than  not  these  days,     and  the  security  that  came  with  them.

xiv.

valentine’s  day  has  always  been  a  non - affair  romantically;     her  favorites  were  dinner  dates  with  her  family,     the  men  being  the  gentlemen,     and  the  one  day  her  maman  would  let  her  wear  her  red  lipstick.     the  couples  on  the  street  below  her  balcony  make  her  feel something,    but  is  it  jealousy,   or  nostalgia ?     her  palm  cradles  her  jaw  as  she  leans  against  the  iron  barrier.     a  man  kisses  a  woman,     and  why  does  her  heart  lurch  for  something  so  impossible ?    to  love,     to  be  loved …     she  would  never  be  capable  of  it,     her  last  boyfriend  had  told  her  so.     adam  had  as  well.     anyone  who  would  want  to  spend  this  day  with  her  is  dead,     and  no  one  else  could  accept  the  things  she’d  done,     the  person  she’s  become  beneath  the  lace  and  ribbons.     hallowed,     broken.

xv.

i   hate  the  dirt.     i  hate  the  grime  that  i  can’t  wash  away,     and  the  fingerprint  i  leave  on  the  pristine  envelope  that  the  postman  gives  me,     his  gaze  apologetic.     until  i  look  at  the  handwriting,     i  don’t  understand  why.     it’s  been  a  week  since  he  could  last  reach  us  on  the  battlefield,     to  give  us  some  form  of  comfort  and  relief,     and  he  only  gives  me  a  single  letter.     there  should  be  more.     serena  writes  to  me  every  day,     there  should  be  at  least  six  or  seven,     all  beginning  with  my  dearest  brother;     but  even  the  single  letter  isn’t  from  my  sister,     but  my  wife.     i  should  be  excited  for  that,     but  i’m  not  –  not  when  i  can’t  fathom  why  there’s  only  this  one  letter.     when  i  tear  into  it,     a  picture  falls  out:     my  wife,     holding  our  son.     this  is  a  happy  moment,     and  i  can  feel  pressure  build  behind  my  eyes,     but  it’s  distracted,     because  serena  should  be  in  this  photo.     she  isn’t,     because  for  some  godforsaken  reason  she’s  here  in  europe  –  and  that’s  enough  to  push  the  tears  from  my  eyes.     i  should  be  there,     and  serena  should  be  holding  her  nephew  and  accepting  our  request  to  be  his  godmother.

but  she  isn’t,     and  i’m  not  either.

xvi.

the  streets  of  new  york  now  aren’t  so  different  from  the  streets  of  new  york  in  my  childhood.     the  fashion  is  different;     women  wear  shorter  skirts,     deeper  cuts  to  expose  their  collarbones,     and  these  are  changes  i  like.     the  buildings  still  creep  into  the  clouds  like  pillars  of  divinity,     and  the  sidewalks  are  crowded,     but  no  one  pays  too  much  attention  to  anyone  else.     the  men  dress  differently  too,     and  those  changes  i  don’t  like,     but  if  i  sit  and  close  my  eyes …     it’s  still  all  the  same,     and  i  can  picture  the  cars,     the  pretty  women  and  handsome  men …     even  my  silly  little  girl  friends,     the  ones  who  would  walk  with  me  during  breaks  in  ballet  when  we  had  so  little  else  to  do.     when  i  close  my  eyes,     it  doesn’t  feel  like  a  lifetime  ago.

xvii.

it  happens  gradually,     then  all  at  once,     like  the  impatience  of  waiting  for  a  rose  to  blossom.     one  day  you  wake  up,     and  it’s  simply  bloomed,     petals  spread  wide  in  the  sunshine.     in  that  case,     serena  wonders  which  moment  it  was  that  made  her  realize  her  feelings  for  ben  had  flowered   ──   was  it  the  time  his  fingers  grazed  hers  on  the  piano  keys,     and  he  played  the  wrong  note  to  make  her  laugh ?     or  perhaps  when  he  smiled  at  her  so  earnestly,     all  white  teeth  and  curled  lips  that  met  the  crinkles  by  his  eyes ?     she  can’t  pinpoint  the  exact  moment  she  realized  she  loves  ben  kenobi;     serena  only  knows  what  she  feels  now,     the  safety  of  his  warm  hugs,     the  way  the  word  ‘graves’  slips  between  her  teeth  and  she  doesn’t  choke  trying  to  reel  it  back  in.     home  was  something  impossible,     turned  to  ash  &  bone,     but  then  she  finds  herself  sitting  at  their  table  in  the  coffee  shop  &  she  thinks  perhaps  a  home  can  be  rebuilt.

xviii.

prayer  used  to  come  first  thing  in  the  morning,     a  mantra  spoken  breathlessly  to  open  air.     it’s  not  an  ideology  that  serena  subscribes  to  anymore     ❪   part  of  her  wonders  if  she  ever  did   ❫ ,     but  old  habits  had  died  hard.     she  wants  to  enjoy  a  new  one.     ben  is  there,     barely  awake  while  thick  raindrops  smack  against  the  balcony  doors,     and  serena  shimmies  his  boxers  down  his  thighs.     she’s  already  asked  him  nicely,     with  her  polite  manners  and  pretty  mouth     ──     and  she  tries  to  mask  her  eagerness  with  languid  movements,     laying  her  cheek  to  his  hip  and  letting  her  long  curls  fall  over  his  body.     serena  knows  he  can  feel  her  by  the  way  he  shudders  when  her  eyelashes  flit  over  him,     her  rose - petal  fingers  everywhere  and  nowhere  because  they  aren’t  exactly  where  ben  wants  them.     you  should  tell  me  what  you  like,    serena  offers  with  a  wicked  little  smile,     dragging  his  hand  until  he  can  grip  her  curls,     holding  sunshine  in  his  palms.

xix.

when  the  legs  beat  against  each  other  in  the  midst  of  a  jete,     it’s  a  battu  jete …     beaten.     everything  is  more  beautiful  in  french,     and  serena  thinks  it’s  true  of  herself  as  well.     she  had  been  her  company  director’s  little  princess,     sliding  into  his  queen;     she  would’ve  been  the  youngest  prima  ballerina  in  history.     she  would’ve  had  a  life.     she  would’ve  had  a  brother.     orson  does  so  much  for  her,     and  serena  can  hardly  find  it  in  herself  to  be  grateful,     can  hardly  repeat  the  pleasantries  and  manners  she’d  been  taught  to  sing  since  she  was  a  little  girl  letting  words  tumble  from  her  mouth.     instead,     serena  tries  to  create  a  peaceful  world,     she  jumps  at  the  chance  to  redesign  the  building  he  buys,     create  a  setting  of  her  own  making;     only  to  lay  under  the  covers,     sleeping  next  to  a  pillow  she  pretends  is  august.

xx.

disgusting.     vile.    serena  watches  august  rip  a  newspaper  in  half,     once,     twice,     then  three  times,     letting  the  pieces  fly  onto  the  floor  and  cover  the  coffee  table.     the  headline  had  once  read  about  her,     calling  her  a  top  three  debutante  in  new  york’s  uppercrust  society.     not  just  in  the  top  three,     but  ranked  number  one.    shouldn’t  we  be  proud ?    serena  asks  him.    shouldn’t  i  be  flattered ?     august  had  fallen  to  his  knees  in  front  of  the  chaise  where  she  sat  after  that,     holding  her  little  hands  in  his  own.     he  squeezes  them  so  tight  serena  winces.    tell  me,     he  begs.     tell  me  if  anyone  ever  touches  you.     tell  me,     and  i’ll  kill  them.    with  all  the  naivety  in  the  world,     serena  giggles,     shaking  her  head.     nonsense,     my  darling  brother.     the  only  man  i  love  is  you;     and  the  only  man  who  shall  ever  touch  me  is  not  here  yet.

xxi.

the  sunlight  doesn’t  seem  so  bright,     but  the  city  is  just  as  bustling  as  the  last  time  she’d  seen  it.     what  year  had  that  been ?     somewhere  around  nineteen  forty,     serena  thinks.     her  old  ballet  studio  has  moved;     it’s  previous  location  now  just  another  parking  lot  in  new  york  city.     everything  about  it  gives  her  whiplash.     it’s  all  the  same  and  all  entirely  different.     she  almost  expects  to  see  august  across  the  street,     handsome  smile  &  hair  swept  back,     but  she  knows  she  won’t.     he’s  dead,     and  so  is  everyone  else  she  ever  knew.     there’s  a  pressure  on  her  shoulders,     wondering  when  someone  will  notice  the  imaginary  blood  seeping  out  of  her  core,     or  when  someone will  realize  she’s  half - dead.     little  walking  dead  girl,     schrodinger’s  girl,     dead  and  alive.

xxii.

photographs  from  another  era  are  spread  all  across  the  wooden  table  serena  sits  at,     glimmering  and  shining  in  their  black  and  white  glory,     sepia,     and  even  a  few  colored  ones.     they  all  had  a  touch  of  grain  to  them,     the  consequence  of  new,     unperfected  technology,     but  serena  adores  them.     after  all,     in  every  photo  she  sees  the  face  of  someone  she  loves.     her  grandfather  royce,     cradling  the  toddler  version  of  herself  in  his  arms,     and  then  them  at  a  later  age,     serena  with  her  arms  wrapped  tightly  around  him.     in  another  photo,     serena  sits  in  his  lap,     while  her  grandmother,     the  woman  for  whom  she  was  named,     hugs  them  both  from  behind.     so  many  lost  smiles,     shining  with  no  idea  of  what’s  to  come.     her  finger  traces  along  another  photo,     of  her  mother  posing  with  her  in  her  first  pair  of  pointe  shoes.     she’d  been  so  proud  that  day,     and  serena  can’t  help  but  smile  back  at  her.     these  little  moments  are  all  she  has  left  now;     what  if  she  forgets  it  all  someday ?     at  least  she  won’t  forget  their  faces.     serena  glues  the  back  of  the  photos,  pasting  them  into  a  scrapbook.     there  are  new  people  she  doesn’t  want  to  forget  someday  as  well,     and  for  them,     serena  glances  at  a  newer  camera.     she  doesn’t  have  to  forget.

xxiii.

moy  lebed.    my  swan.    mr.  nikolaev  calls  her  that,     from  the  first  moment  he  saw  her  complete  the  thirty - two  fouettés  in  odile’s  coda.     serena  sighs  into  the  open  studio.     the  sky  has  long  gone  dark,     and  every  other  dancer  and  crew  member  has  gone  home — but  she  remains.     this  is  the  dedication  that  will  make  me  the  prima,     serena  reminds  herself.     this  is  what  sets  me  apart.     she  counts  the  steps  in  her  head  until  she  loses  herself  to  the  imagined  music,     eyes  closed  while  she  moves  her  arms  and  tip - toes  across the  floor.     serena  is  the  very  picture  of  a  music  box  ballerina  when  she  kicks  her  foot  up,      finding  her  north  star  and  turning  in  pirouettes.     not  even  the  quiet  opening  of  a  door  interrupts  her  focus.     august  takes  her  little  waist  in  his  hands  and  helps  to  give  her  the  extra  momentum.     then  he  hoists  her  over  his  shoulder,     telling  her  how  mother  is  so worried,    and  she  has  to  come  home  right  away…     all  spoken  with  his  hidden,    wry  smile.

xxiv.

i  had  never  tried  to  impress  anyone  the  way  i’d  tried  to  impress  mr.  nikolaev,     my  ballet  master  and  choreographer.     my  every  waking  moment  was  spent  under  his  scrutinizing  gaze,     attempting  to  dissect  his  utter  dissatisfaction  with  the  world  for  it’s  lack  of  grace  and  beauty  and  what  he  felt  towards  me  specifically …     all  in  a  leotard  and  tights  that  would  only  leave  the  color  of  my  skin  to  our  imaginations,     and  mirrors  on  every  wall  reminding  me  of  that  fact.     i  don’t  know  if  i  tried  harder  to  gain  his  attention  in  the  first  place,     or  if  i  would  have  killed  myself  trying  to  keep  it.     no  girl  is  ever  more  beautiful  than  they  are  at  sixteen,     and  though  i  didn’t  realize  it,     perhaps  if  i  had  lived  to  see  him  again  in  my  later  years  he  would’ve  been  impressed  with  my  freckles,     my  dimples,     and  my  big  eyes  at  the  age  of  twenty  –  i’ve  heard  i  don’t  look  so  different.     still,     i  was  even  more  girlish  then  than  i  am  now,     and  three  times  as  shy ;     ballet  was  all  i  could  use  to  get  him  to  look  at  me,     to  make  him  pay  attention  &  perhaps  remember  why  he  took  this  job  in  the  first  place  after  his  own  short,     but  famed  career.     i  would  be  perfect ;     not  just  for  him,     but  for  myself.     it  didn’t  hurt  anything  that  i  was  his  little  prima  prodigy.     he  smiled  for  the  first  time  when  he  called  me  his  moy  lebed,     his  swan,     and  i  can’t  remember  the  last  thing,     even  now,     that  had  made  my  heart  soar  so  much.

xxv.

‘are  you  ready?’     on  the  cusp  of  spring  in  the  midst  of  march,     lies  serena’s  birthday.     thirteen  is  such  a  special  age  for  a girl ;     not  quite  a  woman  yet,     not  quite  a  girl  anymore,     but  leaving  the  throes  of  childhood  behind.     august’s  question  comes  with  an  excited  edge  to  his  voice  and  a  slim  box  in  his  hands,     with  pink  wrapping  paper  and  white  ribbons.     the  other  guests  at  the  party  had  long  dissipated,      and  serena  sits  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,     feet  swinging  back  and  forth  to  dissipate  a  bit  of  the  thrill  she  feels.    ‘i’ve  been  waiting  all  day!’     is  what  serena  replies,     taking  the  gift  into  her  lap.     her  brother  sits  down  next  to  her ;     he’s  twenty,     seven  years  older,     and  a  man  grown,     but  it’s  as  if  there’s  no  difference  between  them  as  august  wraps  his  arm  around  her  waist,     matching  brown  eyes  gleaming  as  he  watches  her  carefully  pry  apart  the  paper  to  reveal  a  box  of  velvet.     ‘it’s  sentimental,’     august  had  said,     as  to  why  he  couldn’t  let  her  open  it  amongst  the  guests.     private,     serena  thinks.     her  brother  was  always  a private  man.     when  she  lifts  the  lid,     and  august  uses  his  other  hand  to  fold  away  the  white  paper,     it  reveals  a  precious,     heart - shaped  golden  locket.     he  pulls  it  out  by  the  chain,     letting  the  pendent  rest  in  serena’s  palms.     ‘it’s  the  most  beautiful  thing  i’ve  ever  seen,’     serena  says,     eyes  glimmering.     august’s  fingers  snap  the  clasp,     and  inside,     a  photo  of  himself  on  one  side,     and  then  a  photo  of  their  parents  from  their  wedding  day  on  the  other.     serena  beams  as  august  closes  it  then  places  the  necklace  around  her  neck,     the  pendent  falling  just  at  her  collarbones.    ‘it’s  beautiful,     my  wonderful  brother,’     she  says,     and  august  kisses  her  crown.     ‘it’s  almost  as  lovely  as  you,     my  sweet  little  sister,     and  you  deserve  lovely  things.     this  way,     we’ll  always  be  with  you.’

xxvi.

julian’s  wedding  band  was  like  him ;     it  was  a  simple  golden  band,     with  ivy  growing  around  it,     interrupted  only  by  a  diagonal  line  of  diamonds.     when  serena  tilts  it  back,     she  can  see  her  mother’s  name  engraved  in  it.     eirene’s  was  a  little  flashier,     with  a  bigger  diamond  in  the  center.     it  wasn’t  because  of  her  personality,     though …     in  that,     serena  can  still  see  her  father,     wanting  to  impress  her,     wanting  to  give  his  wife  the  world.     julian’s  ring  occupies  her  left  thumb ;     she  couldn’t  bear  to  get  it  resized  for  her  dainty  hands,     so  it’s  the  best  she  could  manage.     he’d  had  a  lithe  frame,     and  for  that  she’s  thankful  –  serena  remembers  sliding  the  ring  off  of  his  finger  when  she’d  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest,     holding  it  between  her  fingers.     she  had  to  have  it.     her  mother  had  worn  hers  until  the  very  last,     until  she  had  slipped  from  serena’s  hand  into  the  ocean’s  embrace.     serena  had  only  been  able  to  just  clasp  the  ring,     before  it  too  could  fall  from  her  grasp.     now,     it  rests  on  her  index  finger,     where  at  least  on  her  hands,     her  parents  could  still  be  together.

#◞ ⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐔𝐄 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ the sweetest flowerets gleam. #◞ ⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ may these memories break our fall.

[sinfulserpents]

Nobody Else

Steve Harrington x fem! reader / (some billy x reader and steve x oc callie)

MASTERLIST

Warnings:  billy’s arrogant attitude (I, in no way, condone his behaviour), mentions of sex, slight asshole! Steve, swearing, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it!)

Summary: you both know that you belonged together, so why the hell is it so complicated?

word count: 3.1k

loosely based on ‘boyfriend’ by ariana grande and social house

It was just a game. 

At least, that’s what it started out as. You could blame it on the alcohol, or the fact that you were finally letting loose after exam week – but in reality sleeping with your friend, Steve Harrington, was a thing that was just waiting to happen. 

In fact, you weren’t sure if you and Steve could even be classified as ‘friends.’ You met him through tutoring sessions that your AP English teacher had forced upon the both of you, and then started seeing him more when he hung around the the kids you babysat. 

And that was that.

But then things gradually started to become more. He started sleeping at your house after tutoring sessions, you’d both go out for breakfast before school and Steve would drive you home after school; his hand in yours – which scared you both, because it felt too real. It felt too much like a relationship.

So eventually those things began to die out. You both made sure that tutoring only happened in the school library, you went back to eating your usual slice of toast in the morning and riding your bike to and from school. It was better. Normal even.

Yet, it didn’t stop you both from feeling each other up in the bathroom of Macy Townend’s house, the Friday before your final semester of school began. It didn’t stop you from making out with Steve until both of your lips were swollen and your breathing was heavy. 

There was something there. You both knew it; yet you continued to deny it. 

Steve blamed it on the fact that he needed something to get his mind off his breakup with Nancy which was still fresh in his mind and you justified that it was because your friends kept trying to push you into a relationship – fogging your rationale. 

So when you tried to speak to Steve, to get him to at least tell you his feelings on this thing you both had going – he ignored you and pretended you didn’t exist; you hated that it hurt you. 

You hated that you ended up crying in your bathroom because of Steve fucking Harrington.

But Steve was intoxicating, and no matter how much he tried to push you away; you both always found yourself coming back to each other. You always ended pushed up against a door or found yourself under him in the bed of someone you didn’t know – which led to your current predicament.

Steve’s grip on your hip had significantly tightened as he was drawing closer to his edge, his head buried in the crook of your neck; soft curls tickling your skin. Both of your breathes were laboured as Steve’s thrusts became erratic, both of you so close.

The low hum of the speaker system downstairs at the party you currently were at vibrated the walls, and the knowledge that someone could walk into the bedroom you were currently having your sexual fun in didn’t seem to matter – because the both of you were too focused on the feeling that symbolised you were on the brink of bliss to care.

“F-feels so good princess,” Steve breathlessly grunted, eyes closed tight. “S-so close.”

“I’m close too Steve, please make me cum.”

Your back arched up so your chest was flush against Steve’s before he lowered his head to take one of your sensitive nipples between his lips – tongue dashing over it. 

“How badly do you want to cum, babygirl? Hmh?”

Your hand tightened its grip on the sheets beneath you, mouth opened as you struggled to form words. “S-so bad Steve, I need to cum so bad.”

Quickly placing his thumb on your swollen clit, Steve placed his forehead on yours – connecting your gaze. “Then do it. Cum all over daddy’s cock.”

With his words you felt your legs tense, the euphoric feeling spreading throughout your body as you threw your head back against the pillows. A gasp of Steve’s name flew past your lips – pushing the boy over the edge; his head falling against your collarbone. 

It was silent for the most part as you both revelled in your post-orgasmic ecstasy. Steve took a minute before rolling over to lay beside you, his hand hovering over his heart – while you began to sit up and collect your clothes at the foot of the bed. 

“You’re leaving?” Steve groaned, shifting so he was sitting up. Without saying anything, you continued to put on your clothes – the red dress you started tonight in crumpled in your hands. “We could always go back to my place for round two?”

“I think this was enough,” you shook your head, reaching behind you to zip the dress back up. 

“C’mon, you can’t tell me that you really want to go back down there and dance with Billy fucking Hargrove again?”

“Awh, are you jealous Stevie?”

Rolling his eyes at your condescending tone, Steve picked his boxers up off of the bedside table and pulled them up his legs before looking back at you.

“No, I’m not jealous. I just don’t want you to get invested in Hargrove; he’s bad news.”

“Whatever you say Steve,” you rolled your eyes, looking in the baby pink vanity mirror to fix your hair before leaning against it. “Thanks for a good last time.”

With that you began making your way towards the bedroom door only to be pulled back by Steve’s hand wrapping around your wrist. You swivelled around on the balls of your feet, noticing Steve’s furrowed eyebrows and head tilted in confusion.

“Last time?”

You gave him a shrug before answering, gesturing between the both of you. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“You don’t want to have sex with me anymore, can I... can you tell me why?”

“I don’t want to have meaningless sex anymore.”

Tugging your arm out of Steve’s grip, you gave him one final smile before walking out of the door – leaving him confused and a little hurt.

                                                       ✧✧✧

Billy Hargrove was a distraction and a damn good one at that. 

It had been three months since you cut things off with Steve, and you were having the time of your life without having to worry about the question that seemed to always be hanging in the air whenever he was around – what are we?

With Billy things were easier, they were simple and there was no lingering feelings that clouded your thoughts and judgements. 

You both were simply just there in the moment. 

Your foot rested against the dash of Billy’s Camaro as he pulled into the carpark of the convenience store. With a light swat to your thigh from the boy in the drivers side, you quickly put your foot down and exited the car, while Billy mirrored your actions – tossing his cigarette to the ground.

You both walked towards the entrance, Billy holding the door open for you as the little bell rang above your heads to signal your entrance. The young shop clerk glanced towards the pair of you before returning his gaze to the comic in front of him.

“What was it that you said you needed to get again?” You questioned, hand skimming the shelves as you walked down an aisle.

“Tommy wanted me to grab a couple of beers and some salsa or some shit.”

Humming in acknowledgement, you turned around to face the boy who was crouched as he skimmed through the salsas on the bottom shelf. “I’’m gonna go grab the beer.”

“Make sure it’s the good shit. Every party we’ve been to lately has the cheap crap.”

Without responding, you made your way over to the refrigerated section – eyes scanning all the alcohol; avoiding the cheap section just as Billy had requested. 

Stopping at the door that had what Billy had referred to as ‘the good shit,’ you contemplated your options before being interrupted by a voice from behind you.

“Y/N?”

Steve.

His voice sent chills up your spin, your body involuntarily reacting to the way he deeply spoke. You slowly turned around to meet the gaze of the boy you had been avoiding at every party you had attended.

“Steve.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Just.. uh, grabbing some stuff for the party tonight, you?”

“Tommy asked me to buy some drinks.”

Nodding, you opened the fridge door and snatched the beer carton that was in the middle row, before offering Steve a half-smile.

“Y/N, wait a second –” grabbing your arm, Steve stopped you from walking away from him. “I’ve - I uh, I’ve missed you.”

“Steve...”

Before either of you could continue the conversation Billy rounded the corner of the shelves, reading the back of the salsa jar. Steve’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, before he dropped his hand.

“Y/N, what’s taking so long? We’ve got to get go - oh. Harrington, what do you want?”

With a sarcastic huff, Steve gestured towards Billy before looking at you, “him? You’re seriously dating Billy? You’re dating the guy that we both agreed was a complete asshole?”

“Steve! We’re not..”

“Not what? Dating?” Steve appeared flabbergasted, his eyebrows raised with unasked question. “So what? This is just meaningless sex?”

“It’s not-” he cut you off again.

“You just wanted to fuck him didn’t you? Just like everyone else in this damn town,” Steve’s words were becoming sharp, and his tone was exasperated. 

“’You don’t want to have meaningless sex’, gag me with a spoon,” Steve mimicked your voice and air-quoted what you had said to him the last time you saw him. With that, Steve gave you one final hard look before pushing in-between you and Billy and walking out of the store. 

Billy only gave a hearty laugh, before taking the beers out of your hand, “He’s always got something pissing him off.”

                                                     ✧✧✧

“Harrington won’t take his eyes off you,” Your eyes looked towards Jane Aire from your AP English class, who was now leaning against the counter in front of you. 

“He’s too busy getting it on with Callie,” You responded with an eye roll. Downing the rest of the vodka from the red solo cup in your hand, you gestured it towards the pair who were grinding on each other.

“Yeah, that’s gross,” she chuckled, tucking her strands of red hair behind her ears, “but he keeps looking at you to see if you’re watching him.”

Giving her a smile with the corners of your mouth, you poured yourself another glass as your eyes scanned the kitchen around you. You had no idea whose house this was, but they would have one hell of a cleanup to do tomorrow. 

“Didn’t you come here with Billy?”

Your gaze landed back on the red head girl who was sending you a smirk, causing you to shrug. “Yeah, why?”

“Well at least you know that if you don’t leave here with Harrington, you always have the hottest guy at school falling at your feet.”

“Billy Hargrove wouldn’t fall to my feet.”

“Oh baby,” she shook her head, taking the cup out of your hand and drinking it. “Both those boys would do anything for you, but Harrington, that boy is in love with you.”

Without saying anything else she walked off to a group of girls sitting on the couch and weaved her way into their conversation.

With a sigh you realised that she had taken your cup with her, and just grabbed the bottle before taking a swig of the liquid that burnt your throat. Your eyes looked out of the kitchen window towards Billy who was being felt up by some girls and he appeared to be loving it. 

Sure, he’d do anything for me.

Taking another large gulp of the alcohol, you didn’t realise that Steve had rushed up behind you until the bottle was snatched out of your hands and he was standing in front of you. 

“Steve! What the fuck?!”

With an exasperated sigh, Steve grabbed your hand and began dragging you through the house until you were in an empty bedroom – your mind immediately flashed back to the last time you were both alone in a room. 

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” He gritted out between his teeth, eyes burning into yours as his grip tightened on your shoulders.

“I don’t know; not nearly enough though.”

“Were you drinking because of Hargrove?” Avoiding Steve’s question, you looked to the cream coloured carpet beneath your black heels. “You know he doesn’t care about you right? You were only a body to keep him warm at night.”

Snapping your head up, you were quick to push Steve away from you - watching him slightly stumble as he stepped backwards. 

“If that’s supposed to be your way of comforting me, it’s pretty shit Steve,” you snapped, placing your arms across your chest. Steve tried not to let his eyes wander over your perfect body in the red shirt and black skirt you were wearing. 

“No, that came out of my mouth way worse than I intended,” he sighed, pinching his nose before looking at you again. “I just meant that out of everyone you could be with, why do you want Hargrove?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you countered, popping your hip. “Why do you want Callie?”

Scrunching up his nose, Steve ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath before talking. 

“I don’t want Callie Lema,” he shot back, moving walking towards you as you took a couple of steps back until your body was against the door and Steve’s arms were beside your head. 

It somehow always ended up like this. 

His voice came out as a whisper as his eyes darted between your eyes and lips. “Do you want Billy?”

“No. I don’t want Billy.” 

“Good,” he hummed, pressing his forehead against yours, “because I don’t want anybody else but you.”

With that Steve’s lips pressed harshly against yours as he gripped the back of your thighs; your body instinctively reacting; jumping so your legs wrapped around his waist. 

Steve didn’t even bother removing your clothes, only bunching your skirt up around your hips and quickly unbuckling his belt until both his jeans and boxers were on the floor – pushing your panties to the side. 

His thumb instantly began rubbing your clit as you threw your head back against the door and Steve’s lips attached to your neck.

“You’re already so wet for me, baby girl.” You could only let out a soft gasp as he pushed his middle finger inside your convulsing hole, beginning to furiously pump it in and out of you; curling it up inside you - brushing against that oh so sensitive spot.

It wasn’t long before you felt that familiar heat in the pit of your stomach building, but before you could even tell Steve he had removed his finger from your soaked cunt; pressing the head of his hardened dick against your entrance.

“God,” he grunted, slowly pushing inside you. “I’ve missed your tight pussy so much.”

“I’ve m-missed your cock more,” you mewled, tightly gripping his grey shirt.  Without warning, Steve bottomed out inside you, causing your head to fly into the crook of his neck as you let out a loud moan. 

“I- I need you to move Steve, please move.”

“Okay baby,” slowly pulling out of you, Steve let his hips harshly snap back against yours before he began building a steady rhythm. 

The door behind you began to make creaking sounds with every hard thrust Steve made, and under any other circumstance you would’ve been scared you were going to break it off its hinges - but in this case you couldn’t find yourself to care.

“Oh my!” You gasped as Steve’s thumb made it’s way back onto your swollen clit, rubbing harsh circles. “F-feels so good, oh!”

“Yeah, you like when I fuck you hard? You like the feeling of my cock destroying you, huh?” 

Gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Steve instructed you to open your eyes - both of you watching the other as he continued his unrelenting thrusts. 

“You going to be a good slut and cum all over daddy’s cock?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You going to let daddy cum inside your pussy? Let me fill you up like the good cumslut you are?” Your eyes began to unintentionally close in pleasure, but Steve was quick to tap your cheek to make them open again. “I asked you a question, baby girl.”

Being able to barely form words, you quickly nodded your head and panted out a soft, “y-yeah, please cum inside me.”

“As you wish, princess.”

Steve’s grip tightened on your hips and your legs began to tense as you both neared your climaxes. The air was hot and heavy, both of you watching as Steve easily slid in and out of you - the sight so erotic that it pushed you over the edge. 

The feeling of your pussy tightening around Steve’s cock was enough to get him to his high; coating your walls with his seed. Your legs were shaking and struggling to stay wrapped around Steve’s hips; so he wrapped his arms around them as he milked the both of your orgasms with sloppy thrusts. 

It wasn’t until you had both calmed down that Steve released your legs and let them drop to the floor, holding you steady as he gently removed his length from your pussy. He watched as both of your combined juices began to seep down your inner thighs and tried not to groan out loud at the sight. 

As quickly as he could, he made sure you could stand on your own before rushing into the bathroom to grab some tissues to clean the mess you both made up.

“Well, that was..”

“So us,” you cut him off this time, chuckling lightly as you pulled your panties back up your legs and shuffled your skirt back down – Steve doing the same with his boxers and pants. 

“Yeah,” he laughed along with you, shaking his head before running his hands through his hair to remove it from its matted place on his forehead. 

“Steve,” you whispered, instantly gaining his attention. “This wasn’t just a hookup again right? I can’t do that anymore, you know.”

Cupping your cheeks gently between his hands, Steve pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose – the hot, rough persona he had a few minutes ago, now replaced by soft Steve.

“I told you that I don’t want anybody else but you,” he muttered, lips inches away from yours. “I’m completely yours if you want me.”

“I wouldn’t want anybody else either Steve.”

Placing his lips back on yours, you found yourself melting into Steve’s body, arms wrapping around his neck as you finally realised what you meant to Steve; what all those unspoken words were.

Steve Harrington loved you.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington imagine #steve #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #stranger things #strangerthings #stranger things 3 #stranger things s3 #stranger things season 3 #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things one shot #stranger things oneshot #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #steve x reader #oneshot

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#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 3 #79 texts

[sunnybimbo]

and some more shunkeith parenthood au because i have no self-control and the idea haunted me for like four days now.

Find it on AO3 here.

The thermometer beeped, and Keith had to take a moment to steel himself before he looked at the reading.

Only to release a hissed breath as the numbers blinked back at him. Serena had a mild fever, and it was only Keith at home to take care of her. Both Shiro and Hunk had been invited on a conference— and Keith had, of course, been invited to come too, but he adamantly refused to leave Serena with a sitter.

"Shiro is the better pilot of the two of us." He'd said. "Plus, he has the whole... smiling thing."

Hunk had quirked a brow at him, in the way the Keith knew he found what had been said funny, but didn't want to smile at it because he was being serious.

"We'll be fine." He promised, like an idiot. "Call me when you land."

He wasn't upset at his decision. Thank god it was him, and not some teenager taking care of a sick baby. He was already kind of panicking internally, though he desperately tried not to let Serena notice. Shiro always told him that babies were sensitive to emotions, and he didn't need her upset on top of being sick with a fever.

He'd first noticed something was wrong when she refused to eat a bottle. He'd thought she'd felt a little warm then, but he blamed it on the air conditioner and had taken her onesie off to exchange for some looser pajamas.

He'd noticed something was wrong when she started crying and wouldn't stop.

That had been hours ago, and Keith would be lying if he said he wasn't worried. Actually— he was downright terrified.

Outside of a window in the kitchen that Hunk decorated with bright yellow curtains and flower pots filled with synthetic plants that had encouraging reminders on them instead of something actually made of chlorophyll, snowflakes frosted against the windowsill and bathed the entire glass in a foreboding blue.

The entire time, Keith had been trying to phone for the doctor, Shiro, or Hunk. Hell, he even tried Lance or Pidge, to see if they could pick him up some medicine or something, but his service was completely nonexistent. That last thing had been a crap plan anyway, though, with how much snow was piling outside of the doors.

It would be hell to shovel away, but that was the last thing on his mind.

There was no way he'd be able to trudge through the snow banks with a sick baby. No matter how tight he'd bundle her, she'd probably be frozen stiff by the time he even got to the hospital. But he stored that thought in the very back of his mind, just in case.

He also couldn't just leave her in the home by herself while he ran out to get help— either to the drugstore or to kidnap a pediatrician. That was much too dangerous.

So, instead, he scrounged the house for as many baby books as he could find. Shiro had stocked up on them as soon as they first mentioned adopting, and Hunk had finished the collection off with whatever books he'd found at both the local pawn shop, off of friends, and even while browsing online.

Keith had gladly let all of those purchases fall on their laps instead of his. He focused more on the furniture, the setup of her room; baby-proofing the house. Those were solid things he could touch to keep his hands busy instead of wringing them nervously or biting his fingernails (a habit both Hunk and Shiro, respectively, had picked up after a while).

He didn't dare grab Serena and drag her all over the house. There were drafts that could be deadly. And the bookcase was especially wobbly ever since the wood had warped underneath it. They'd never gotten that fixed yet, and he didn't need her to be crushed on top of having a fever.

So he made sure to take one book at a time and jog back to the nursery, scouring the pages for whatever he needed. Inevitably, the pages spoke back to him nothing to help his situation, and he threw it on the ground with the rest until a pile of cracked spines and crumpled pages claimed the corner as its own.

Serena was fussing in her crib, gripping at the curve of her ear, and Keith's heart sunk. If she had an ear infection, he absolutely couldn't just let it sit.

---

About an hour later, after shining a flashlight down her ear canal and trudging through every single page of every single baby book they owned, Keith found himself pacing up and down the hall, cradling her against the curve of his shoulder as he tried to calm her enough to go to sleep.

It was the middle of the night— but it had been the middle of the night when this mess had first started. Her tiny fists clung to his shirts, wrinkling the fabric so much that she could probably tear a hole in it if she tried hard enough. It was Shiro's shirt, actually.

The information swirled around his head in a mish-mash of advice sprinkled with the same phrase, 'Always take your little one to the doctor if you're not sure what to do.'

That gnawed at his gut until it felt raw, and he started reading every book all over again, until he came up with a plan.

In one moment of desperation, he checked his phone again. And there, in the corner of the screen—  flickering in and out like heaven's gate was opening and closing right in front of him—  were the bars of his cellular service.

He jerked forward, startling Serena so much that her cries warbled and fell quiet for just one moment before they started again, and flew through his contacts until the letter 'L' popped out at him.

The phone didn't ring for the first few seconds, and Keith squeezed the phone so tight against his grip he was sure the glass would crack.

Then, like a miracle, it rang exactly three times before he connected to the other side, and the rustle of clothing could be heard. A distracted laugh sounded in the background, and Keith spoke before the receiver could even begin to greet him.

"Serena is sick with a fever, and she won't stop crying. She might have an ear infection, but I have no clue at this point— and our front door and garage are snowed in."

Then, he took a breath, and realized that his voice had been shaking. Tears burned hot against the corner of his eyes, like bitter acid, and he could say that, until this moment in time, he'd never felt so useless before.

"Slow down, cowboy." He heard Lance say, who had obviously been startled by the sudden spiel as he shushed the commotion around him. The noise that Keith had immediately tuned out in the background clicked off, and that made Keith realize the time.

"Were you in the middle of a movie with Pidge?"

"Don't worry about that." Lance waved him off, and he sounded further away. Probably put him on speaker. "You said your little chickadee was sick? How bad was the fever?"

"Mild. It might be higher by now, but I don't know."

Lance tsked, but it was more distracted than irritated. He could hear the clack of a keyboard in the distance, and he squinted his eyes at his coverage. It was holding at one bar for now, and he sent a quick prayer up to whoever was listening that it would hold for as long as he needed.

"Pidge, this desk is disgusting." He heard Lance say, and Pidge, who sounded much closer to the phone than him, blew a raspberry in his general direction. Keith knew it was her, too, because she did that snorting laugh afterwards that she only had when she was mildly drunk.

"Alright, Bad Hair Day." Lance said, addressing Keith. "Here's what you have to do."

---

The bathroom tile was freezing against his toes, and he muttered a curse as he kicked the fluffy, white carpet over to the tub to stand on while he waited for the water to warm up before he flipped on the showerhead.

"Humidity." Lance had told him. "She's probably congested, right? All of that pressure is hurting her head. Don't worry about the fever unless it gets higher."

He'd also suggested that, if it did start getting higher, he take a lukewarm bath with her, and Keith made sure to stick the thermometer close by as he waited for the steam to fill the room.

Serena had calmed a bit after his phone call, and had dissolved to whimpering, throaty mewls that made Keith's heart ache in his chest. Lance had also said her lungs sounded fine, after listening to her cry for the five minutes it took for him to find the right information on Pidge's computer and get it to load up. Keith was just glad that she'd had an internet connection at all.

They promised that, as soon as the storm stopped and they clawed one of their cars from the snow, they would be over with medicine and anything he needed.

He just had to last until morning. The snow plows would sweep by his house early, probably before the sun had begun to rise. Just a few more hours.

He clung to that with all his might, and steeled himself. Just a few more hours.

---

The water ran cold under his fingers, and the thick fog of steam that had built up had begun to dissipate and turn just as icy as the bathroom was before he'd entered.

Serena, who had finally— finally stopped crying and began to doze, snuffled against his shoulder. He could tell by the way her feet kicked against his thighs that she would soon be crying again as her nose stuffed up, and Keith shushed her as best he could.

He'd also been half-asleep, and the only reason he had noticed the temperature change is because he'd left one of his hands under the spray— just for this reason.

Where else could he get steam, though? The kitchen sink, maybe, but he would have to upend Serena over the water to let it swirl around her, and he could guarantee that she wouldn't like that one bit.

He was so tired.

Keith dug his fingers into his forehead, raking them down to wipe the sluggishness from his brain.

Serena kicked once more, and Keith curled around her even tighter.

Then, all at once, it hit him. They had a humidifier in the garage somewhere, that Hunk had fixed up and been meaning to give to Lance for months now. Apparently the steam was wonderful for the skin, but he'd just never gotten around to picking it up, and Hunk had stored it in the back corner, behind a dozen boxes of old knick-knacks that they'd never unpacked after moving from their old, ratty apartments.

He had one more shot.

---

Something Keith had learned forever ago— probably before he'd ever been born— was that things never came easy. They took work, or they were too good to be true.

He had been proved wrong many times, but the most noticeable were the most recent. He met Shiro first, forever ago. And then he met the rest of their friends, and then he met Hunk. And that friendship— that kindness and love that he'd been shown from all of them and given as much as he could in return— came so easily to him with those people that it was almost natural.

And then, tonight, as the snow clung to the windows like cold demons trying to break in and ruin the happy little family he'd worked so hard to keep and cherish, he found the humidifier. Sitting right in plain sight, on top of a shelf and exactly two feet from a puddle of water that had leaked in through the window and froze on the garage floor.

It had been so easy to find. Completely undamaged.

In working order.

Keith almost cried again that night.

He plopped down again, in the guest bathroom with Serena because it was the smallest room in their house, and would hold all the steam she needed for as long as it took to soak through the towels he stuffed under the door.

In one arm, he had her nestled in the crook of his elbow, swaddled in soft like a queen would be bathed in silk. With his free hand, he filled the tiny little machine with as much water as it could hold, and watched as it puffed a few test shots of air  to clear the filter. Then, a dull hum filled the room, as the water began to heat.

He crawled into the corner, sitting cross-legged so that she could rest comfortably in the space it created. She blearily blinked up at him, tired and sickly, and almost pleading.

Keith tucked the tips of her ears into the tiny cap that covered the soft tufts of hair on her head, and leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead.

His phone was half-charged where it was shoved under his thigh, and he checked the time. Almost five in the morning.

The steam filled the tiny room quickly, blurring his vision with wisps of white and burning faint tickles of heat against his skin.

First, Serena fell asleep. And then, as Keith leaned his head back and let his eyes drift shut, the rumble of a snow plow clearing its way through the streets of his neighborhood.

#shunkeith #sheithunk #shunkeith parenthood au #voltron #gotta love it #jam writes