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soulscryer · 2 months

Note

I’m not sure if I’m doing this right I’ve never done an ask before. Would you consider writing an autistic! fem reader x tasm! Peter Parker please? Maybe like they go to a place that’s focused on her special interest? Or her stimming? Or sensory overload and he’s trying to help her stim in a way that doesn’t hurt herself? No pressure either way, just wondering. Thx 🫶🏼

you wrote this wonderfully love, thank you for the request <3 i hope this is to your liking

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!autistic!reader ༊ 1.5k

cw: overstimulation/sensory overload, harmful stimming/skin-picking, reader has mean thoughts about themself/their disability, maybe some not-so-great friends

You could still see the mixture of expressions on your friend's faces when you decided to leave early. The pity and concern for your state, telling you to text them when you arrived home. And the relief—you’d excused yourself quietly, you hadn’t fallen into a meltdown, and you hadn’t asked them to go with you.

You had wound yourself up tight to steer clear of becoming an inconvenience to them

It had worked.

They would be on their way to the author meet and greet to get their books signed. Already there, even. While you hadn't even made it through the coffees beforehand.

It was all so unfair.

For the past few weeks, you had been strung with anticipation. The knowledge that you were going to meet the author of one of your favourite book series and have them sign a copy had buzzed in your veins. But no—your brain had to work against you, your body had to protest an ability to regulate itself.

Now you were sat in the dark, curled up atop your bed, a weighted blanket thrown over your head to encapsulate you in solitude. All without having attended the awaited event.

It was unfair, cruel, and wrong.

And everything was so loud.

Had your quilt always made a scratching sound when your arm rubbed against it? Did the floorboards in the apartment above yours always creek even with the softest footsteps? When had the fridge started humming so loud you could hear it through the closed bedroom door?

Why wouldn’t it all shut up?

You had already switched off all the lights to cease the burning in your eyes, and the humming their wires made. Your phone was dead too—you couldn’t stand to hear the buzz of the charger as it worked.

Perhaps it was wrong to let your phone lie dead. How were you to contact anyone if something were to happen? How were they to contact you if there was an emergency?

It didn’t matter.

There weren’t any emergencies. Your blinds were drawn closed, your eyes were squeezed shut, and your body was coiled inwards. You were nothing but a small dot on a very loud planet where time was all too slow and so very quickly all at once.

“Angel?” he whispered in a murmur that was right there.

Even without touching you his warmth radiated into you through the thick blanket. His presence was all-consuming as he stood over you.

“Are you asleep?”

If only. Perhaps then your brain would be quiet. Or maybe the world would be. It was hard to tell which was causing you more pain. Both, perhaps. The world—society, refused to accommodate people like you.

“It’s too early to sleep,” you murmur through a mouth that feels stuffed with cotton.

His foot shuffled on the floor. “It’s almost midnight,” Peter says. “Do you know how long you’ve been under there?”

Perhaps if you weren’t a battery leaking all its charge your eyebrows would pull themselves together and your lips would purse. But your face stayed frozen in its dead expression. All you could muster was to heavy-handedly push the blanket away from your face to glare at the curtains.

No sunlight tried to seep out from under them. The bedroom was entirely dark now, a cloud of inky black that began to soothe a persistent ache in your head.

“When did it get dark?”

Peter inhales sharply. At your question, or maybe you look as bad as you feel. It would’ve been more enjoyable to drag yourself through a hedge attached to a run-away dog.

“Around six. I didn’t know you were home—I would’ve come back if I’d have known-”

“That would have sucked.”

Your words were as blunt as a well-used pair of scissors.

“I think this is one of those situations that sucks either way,” Peter suggests. “At least I could’ve dealt with some of the sucky-ness too.”

Rolling your head to the side, you looked up at him.

His mask was discarded somewhere out of your sight, the rest of him clothed in his spandex vigilante suit. His hair stuck up in odd directions like he had run his fingers through it recently.

What ached was the exhaustion lining his face.

Did you do that? Or had it been a rough patrol?

You had to be contributing either way.

He must’ve wanted to come home and collapse into his bed, and sleep deeply before he had to get on with his dual life again in the morning. Not find you curled up in the centre of it all—a dazed mess who wasn’t even entirely sure how long they’d been there.

“You were busy,” you tell him. “Was it busy?”

Peter shakes his head. “They all seemed to lack brain cells tonight. A pity, really, I was using some of my best quips.” He smiles as he speaks and you wish you could reciprocate.

“Like what?”

“I dubbed one guy ‘Elvis’. It was the hair.”

You nod your head slowly. “Swooshy?”

“Very.” Peter lowers himself down to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand under the blanket to encase one of yours. It's cold when he pulls it into the open air, toying with your fingers. “I take it you didn’t go to the book signing?”

Your lips do pinch together then and he nods.

“Did anyone bring you home?”

He’s not going to like it. Peter glances over his shoulder at you as you shake your head. And it’s like igneous rock the way his eyes seem to harden for a moment. Then they turn molten again, drifting over your face with a sincerity that could turn you to ash.

“And you’ve been lying here for at least half the day?”

“Has it been that long?” you ask groggily.

“Presumably,” Peter sighs. “Where’s your phone?”

“Dead.”

He hums. One of his fingers smooths over the tip of one of yours and a burning sensation begins. Unthinkingly, you jolt your hand away from his, but he’s quick to reclaim it. This time it's his lips on your skin.

It still burns. But less.

“I didn’t realise I was picking,” you tell him apologetically. More sorry for the fact you did it than that you did it to yourself.

Peter has always seemed to have an inability to be disappointed with you. But that doesn’t mean you don’t fear the day he is. Even for something as small as picking at the skin around your fingers until they’re raw and bleeding.

In a mildly masochistic way, it grounds you. You don’t realise you’re doing it until it’s too late, but the feeling distracts you from other feelings inside of you. If you’re feeling something outside of yourself, the inside feelings become lesser.

It’s better than the way you used to hit your thighs and whack your head on a wall.

“We’ll get some aloe and band-aids on them,” Peter says, reaching for your other hand. You offer it up, knowing the damage is done now. “At least you didn’t pick your face too.”

No. That you didn’t do, at least.

“My fingers are going to be sore tomorrow,” you frown. You focus on the feeling of his skin against yours instead of the burning at the tips of your fingers.

“We can make them better.”

It’s impossible not to sigh then.

He always says that. We. We can make it better.

As if it was his problem that you were unable to regulate yourself properly. Instead ending up a burrito in blankets, hiding in darkness, finding ways that are ultimately damaging to fight through your waves of emotions. And the heaviness of the outside world.

“Peter,” you whisper.

“Pretty girl. Let me take care of you.”

“Pete.”

He twists, bending one leg beneath him so he’s facing you. If you were less boneless you would move over so he could properly sit on the bed.

The thought dissolves as his lips press to your forehead. The crease at the side of your eye. Your cheek. Your nose.

It’s a deep breath of clean air as the world goes silent when his lips glide against yours. He’s still holding both of your hands in one of his, the other keeping his weight from collapsing down onto you.

“Don’t argue. We can have a bath, I’ll sort your fingers, and it’ll all be fine.”

A harsh breath of air draws itself from you. “I’ll fall asleep in the bath.”

“I’ll be right there. I promise not to let you drown.”

Your eyes narrow. “That would be very un-Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man of you.”

“Extraordinarily. Do you want bubbles?” He asks against your lips.

“Unscented ones?"

He shrugs like it’s a given. “Stay here and look pretty while I run the bath, I’ll be back in a minute.”

And you freeze, making a mockage of his instruction to stay. You aren’t so sure if you look pretty, not with the carnage you feel inside, but if he says you are then you won’t argue.

Peter has a habit of getting pouty when you argue just how pretty you are.

#autistic!reader #tasm!peter #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter x fem!reader #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter parker drabble #tasm!peter drabble #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem!reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x fem!reader

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lace-coffin · 5 months

Note

Heyo friendo, can I perhaps request headcannons for Bubba, Tommy, Asa, and RZ Mikey when giving and receiving comfort from their s/o? Bonus points if male or ftm reader cause we don’t have enough ;-;

Thank you 🩵🩵

How would slashers comfort their S/O on a bad day?

Absolutely, MWAH

Reader is ftm 💖

Trigger warning mainly for Asa- power dynamics/exchange (probably) toxic relationships, the usual for him lol

Also tw for raw meat/hacking at meat/blood

Requests are open!

Bubba Sawyer

Giving

Bubba notices you haven’t been yourself today. Usually he’s the first one up at the crack of dawn, busy tending to the small farm you’ve accrued over time on the sawyer family property. He returns back once the errands are done to find you still in bed, which is unusual for you by this time.

Bubba runs their hands over your cheek softly, murmuring to you quietly, prompting you to get out of bed, only to be met with a groan and the duvet being pulled back over your head. After several minutes of looking around nervously and playing with her fingers anxiously deciding what to do she hauls you over her shoulder.

They are absolutely about to traipse you into the dining room in your boxers and sleep vest in your full glory. He places you down gently on your chair and goes to fetch your food.

Drayton eyes you wearily, wondering why bubba just dumped their boyfriend at the dinner table clad in only boxers. Choptop and nubbins however find it hilarious and snicker until Drayton hollers for them to shut up.

If you’re not feeling up to eating then bubba will encourage you by feeding you smaller bites with the fork. Of course this isn’t without chop and nubbins making gagging noises at the display of public affection. Bubba groans in embarrassment but it’s enough to make you laugh and cheer up a little.

She’ll help you do your daily tasks if your finding it difficult, for example they’ll wash you gently and make sure to give you a nice scalp massage whilst washing your hair if your struggling with hygiene.

They’ll try involve you in activities to take your mind off how your feeling, making bone crafts with her and her siblings and even cuddling their favourite pet chicken.

Receiving

If bubba is having a bad day you’ll definitely know about it. They tend to wear their heart on their sleeve and are open with their emotions.

He’ll come to you as his boyfriend first. If she’s really upset and actively crying please hold them and give them a while to calm down before trying to ask what’s up.

Stimming! Please stim with them, it helps them feel better to shake it out by flapping their hands and making fists. They feel more comfortable and accepted if you join in. Mirroring and doing the same activities is one of their love languages.

Staying with them whilst they do their daily tasks is helpful, feed the chickens with them and the pigs. Maybe have a little cuddle session with the piggies.

If she feels particularly insecure that day then you can help do her makeup and dress up with her. Once he’s donned his favourite yellow dress and you your fanciest suit/button up you can have a little tea party or picnic now you’re both feeling cute.

Choptop and nubbins will complain that it’s lame but still insist in coming (they think it’s fun but are to stubborn to admit it)

Thomas Hewitt

Giving

Tommy spends most of his time either in the basement or out chasing victims so he may not be the best at noticing your upset since he’s absent frequently until the end of the day.

Luda may is confused but slightly honoured when Tommy’s boyfriend came to her teary eyed looking for comfort and advice, not wanting to bother Tommy whilst he’s working.

Luda will slip off later and give Tommy a heads up that you need looking after today. As soon as he finds out he cuts his work short, slamming his cleaver into the table and washing the excess blood from his hands before making his way up to you.

Tommy will try help by giving you deep pressure. Laying his weight on your chest to ground you. He traces his fingers over your palm in little shapes and letters, spelling out words of affirmation and hearts to let you know he loves you in a way he can’t verbalise. However if you’re lucky he may whisper a few raspy words of adoration into your chest as you pet his hair.

If it helps you blow off steam he might let you hack at some of the meat in basement with his cleaver, however only under his watchful eye. Your already upset, he doesn’t need you loosing a finger to.

Tommy will make an extra effort to keep you distracted and away from Hoyt since he can be..snappy to say the least. This can mean your spending time with Tommy on the swing out front or reading to him.

Receiving

Tommy is difficult when it comes to emotions. Years of hiding behind a steely facade as he’s taunted by mean kids or even Hoyt has left him closed off and unsure about being vulnerable.

When Tommy is having a bad day it’s more likely to come out as anger, he finds this easier to channel and disperse since he spends a lot of his time running on agression towards victims and knows how to handle it better than sadness.

The first sign things aren’t right is when he’s not back from his basement work for hours after he usually finishes up. Please go drag him out of there or he’ll work until he exhausts himself.

Having a tender hand and giving him room to vulnerable is the best thing you can do for Tommy.

Let him sign to you what the problem is when he’s ready and try help best you can.

He loves it when you let him snuggle into your chest on your shared bed, your fingers threading through his hair, lovingly detangling any knots or snags in his hair. His mask discarded on the bedside table so he can be skin to skin with you.

Spending time with you and Luda may will be therapeutic for him, he may be grown now but he still loves spending quality time with his mama, and with his boyfriend there it’s even more enjoyable. Play a board game together or cards. (Luda will let Tommy win a few rounds because he’s still her baby, but don’t let him know that :’)

RZ! Michale Myers

Giving

Michael will probably know when your having a tough day before you even do considering he spends most of his time silently observing you, he knows your emotions and habits like the back of his (giant ass) hand.

Mikey makes a point of trying to show his concern via acts of service since verbal and physical emotional aren’t his strong suits. This might mean the covers are pulled back from your bed and your handed a slightly burnt grilled cheese for breakfast. It’s not amazing but he tried lol.

Michael knows you struggle with taking care of yourself on these days and encourages you the best way he knows how. Guiding you to the room you need to be in and standing and staring until you do the task, you can try move past him but he’s like a brick wall in coveralls.

He knows when it’s time for you to take off your binder and let yourself relax. Either he tries his tried and true method of stubbornly staring and insisting you do it or he’ll unceremoniously man handle it off you and throw it aside. He’s not complaining about the view either.

Receiving

Michael tends to stay out for longer if he’s not feeling good. The need to shed blood hitting a peak, eating away at his insides and clouding his mind until he can satisfy it. He’ll return home more dirtied up than usual, caked in slowly drying blood and maybe even dirt if he gets into a scuffle with a hardheaded victim.

Mikey dumps his knife in the sink and shrugs off his dirty coveralls in the laundry room, throwing on some comfy gray sweats and a loose white T-shirt. Adorning his favourite paper pumpkin mask.

He’ll seek you out even if he’s still covered in splats of darkening blood and flop onto you with his full weight, demanding your attention. He’s clingier than usual, this gives you leeway to pamper him.

After a round of cuddles try get Michael into the bathroom to clean him up, despite his preference towards gore he doesn’t actually like feeling grimy, not being able to cope with the sensory issues it brings.

He would feel very cared for if you clean his wounds before getting him in the bath. Run your fingers over his scars and marks from past victims, tenderly kiss his top surgery scars.Mikey will melt under your hands if you detangled and wash his hair for him, especially if you tie it into a bun or ponytail for him to keep it off his neck and face, preventing the sensory issues mentioned earlier.

Asa Emory

Giving

Asa knows some days can be more taxing than others, especially in the situation you two share. Anyones mental health would be fragile considering your literally being kept as a pet to a serial killer. He can see during training that you blindly follow along with instructions with a glassy far away look in your eyes. This won’t do, he needs your full attention. He hates to admit it but your his little bug and he hates to see you hurting when he’s not the one responsible for it.

On days when you feel particularly hopeless about your situation or self he’ll be softer on you. Do not misunderstand, he will still demand your cooperation and obedience/submission but the consequences will be lessened or saved for later when you have the energy and attention to react accordingly.

Asa will bring you with him about his day. Sitting you under his desk with the chain from your collar wrapped around the desk leg. Running his hands through your hair and patting your head as he works. After a while you let your eyes flutter shut as you rest your head on his thigh, drifting off to the sound of his pen scratching along paper.

If you’re lacking in energy or unwilling to eat you will be promoted to his lap instead of your usual spot on the floor at your metal bowl. Asa will hand feed you, insuring you get enough nutrients and prying your mouth open with his nitrile gloves to ensure you’ve swallowed it all.

Asa will take you to his bed instead of your trunk or cage/room.

Receiving

After a long week of experiments succumbing to their wounds and dying on him and finicky traps failing, Asa is more than in a shitty mood. After snapping off his gloves and cleaning himself of any lingering viscera he makes his way over to your room.

His eyes crinkle highlighting his crows feet as he unclasps the trunk your contorted into, happier than ever to see his cricket after the day he’s had.

You know he’s had a bad day as it’s much later than his usual visit and he’s lacking the domineering energy he always exudes, to tired and trodden down to be strict.

Asa finds it therapeutic to do your makeup and dress you up (much like the implications with Abby in the collection)

You’ve learned in your years here it’s wise to be on your best behaviour when he gets this way. Being submissive and compliant is a great relief to him when he feels bad as he doesn’t have the energy to argue with you and will just storm out.

Using more honourifics like “sir” or “master” will get you brownie points and help boost his ego. Use “daddy” if your willing to finish what you started 👀

Curling up on him is ensured to pull at his heart strings and help calm him down. Tell him what a wonderful owner he is and how well he takes care of you. Feed into his god complex and worship him. let him know you’re only committed to him and him alone, you don’t need the outside or anyone else, just his attention. Assert his full control over your being and heart.

Not double checked bc eyes feel like they’re bleeding lmao

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hotluncheddie · 5 months

Text

high masking autistic steve snippet - a follow on from this and this

wc: 2.5k | rated: T | cw: none | tags: autistic steve harrington (and eddie but again this is about steve), hurt/comfort, established relationship, stimming

ao3

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Steve is spending the evening doing one of his new things. Where he takes time to just be. It’s recovering, or Stevie time, or whatever Eddie and Robin have decided it should be called.

He’s alone basically, and it’s nice, because he’s letting it be nice. Letting it be restful.

It’s for when he’s had a meltdown. Or can feel one coming on, because now he’s starting to recognise what overstimulation feels like on his skin. How it prickles at the back of his neck if his breaks cut short, makes his vision vignette if something too unexpected happens.

Learned that after something like that he’ll need to rest. Needs time.

And it’s not lazy. It’s not. (Sometimes it still feels like it is.) (Weak…that word always plays in the deep, scathing tone of his father’s voice…and selfish.)

He’s on the couch, it’s dark, he actually feels really comfortable, and he’s watching The Breakfast Club. Watching it again. It’s his favourite, it feels like his. But he doesn’t like watching it with other people because they might notice how much he likes it and he doesn’t want that. Can’t be seen like that.. Embarrassing.

So he watches it alone, when he gets home from work. He pauses whenever he wants, rewinds, pauses. Takes a deep breath, rewinds, pauses, stares into space.

He also pauses to eat the snack he brought in. Actually tasting the food bc it’s the only thing he has to focus on. No lights, no sounds. He forgot how much he likes oranges when they’re ripe. Harder to taste if he has to listen at the same time. So, on a day like today, he lets himself do stuff one step at a time.

It’ll probably take him double the normal run time to get all the way to the end. But who cares? It’s his time.

The weird girl’s parents driving off; that feels like him. The jock’s Dad letting him off easy; that doesn’t feel like him. ‘No schools gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case.’ Maybe that does feel like him. Before through. A long time ago now.

He claps sometimes. Keening high in his throat, a little happy hum that he only lets himself do when he’s alone like this. He does it after he whistles the same tune they do. And during the scene of them running around the corridors. It’s exiting. Makes his lips stretch wide and his feet flap around. He claps. Once. Twice. It feels good.

He laughs at the characters. How they merge together with bits of his friends. He feels that swell of happy sad emotion looking at the jock when he first comes in, acting above the others, only seeing Molly Ringwald. He lives through a couple flashbacks of himself. Resigns to actually watch them, sit in them, begins to process who he was. Who he’s becoming now. Something like forgiveness tasting sweet on his tongue. He cries a little; that swelling and shifting as buried emotion finally passes. It overcomes him sometimes when he lets his mind relax.. He rewinds, and he laughs.

“Stevie?”

Steve starts, fingers tangle in the blanket in his lap. Brain slow to process the change, the information. Eddie slipping through the door and coming over to him. Eddie dipping to look at Steve’s face, trying to catch Steve’s eye. Eddie smelling like cigarettes and crisp autumn air, it’s nice, but, it’s a lot. Panic sits bubbling somewhere in him. He wasn’t expecting this.

“…Eddie?”

“Hey sweetheart. I know you had a shitty day, but Wayne’s at home with a headache and he needs to sleep it off. Wouldn’t’ve been able to stay quiet enough for him.”

Steve breaths in and out a little quickly. Eyes wide.

Maybe it’s okay. Eddie knows he had a bad day. Maybe it’s okay.

“I’ll sit in the kitchen, work on my campaign, just forget I’m here.” Eddie speaks quietly, almost a whisper.

He stares at his hand in his lap. “..You won’t, listen?” Steve feels small. Knows he’s not, his frame broad and strong. But, he needs small. Wants his world small tonight, slow. Wants to stay hidden. Him and the couch and the film and nothing else.

Eddie just shakes his walkman and smiles (in that pointy way that makes Steve’s toes curl).

“Kay” Steve whispers, still wary, off kilter. But accepts the kiss Eddie drops on his head, tangling their fingers together for a breath. Steve leans forward for a kiss on the lips. It’s deep, and lovely. Steve can smell Eddie’s cologne. Feels where the chill bit at Eddie’s nose. He shivers.

“No cooking.” Steve mumbles while their lips are still close. Small smile pulling at his face, eyes sharp, waiting for Eddie to get it.

Eddie groans quietly in embarrassment but his eyes are soft and molten and Steve’s toes curl up again. “Course not baby, not again. Once you’re hungry just come through, yeah? Make us something nice.”

And the light of the kitchen doesn’t reach the couch. And Eddie listens to his walkman loud. And Steve’s safe. It’s Eddie. He’s not listening. Steve’s safe.

His favourite scene; Bender and Claire in the stock cupboard. The way he looks so shocked, the way she bites her lip. ‘Why’d you do that?’ ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t.’ Steve whispers as they do. Claps. It’s such a good scene. He’s exited. He claps again. Rewinds to just watch her face. Rewinds to just watch his. Rewinds and watches the whole scene again. Wraps his arms around his middle and squeezes. Pauses on the kiss. He rubs his fingers agains his mouth. Giddy excitement bubbles in his belly. He hums high and happy again. He loves this movie.

The weird girl gets a makeover, the jock really likes it. He feels like the weird girl sometimes, maybe Eddie can be his jock. Maybe he should get a makeover. Maybe keep growing out his hair. Maybe Eddie would like that.

The credits roll. Bender’s fist in the air. Steve drifts on the couch, eyes closed. He breaths deep, his stomach growls.

He pads through to Eddie. Squinting. Too bright. “D’you mind?” He motions to the lights, his eyes too adjusted to the dark and he doesn’t even wanna try and adjust them back.

‘‘Cause. What we making?”

Steve hums, goes into the pantry to see what’s easy. Eddie slips in behind him, hand on his waist. “Pasta?” Steve asks but Eddie doesn’t reply, just turns him gently. Nudging him to step back into the corner.

Eddie looks at him, dips forward to place a slow kiss on his neck. “Why’d you do tha..’ Steve’s words dry up in his throat.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t” and Eddie’s eyes are sparking with glee.

Eddie heard him.

He listened.

Steve’s feels himself flush hot, embarrassed and ashamed. “Ah, I, uh.” He can’t explain it, why he had to watch it so many times, why it makes him so exited. He crosses his arms over his chest. Turns back to the shelves of food and picks a can at random. Shoving out of the room.

“Steve?”

Eddie said he wouldn’t. He listened in on him. He said he wouldn’t. He’s making fun of him. Steve knew he should’ve told Eddie to go home.

“Stevie? What’s wrong?” But Steve doesn’t want to talk to him. He’s so angry, So ashamed, of himself. What if Eddie heard him clap too, heard him make that high noise, like a fucking baby, like some freak.

He puts the can on the counter with way too much force, corn, not what he fucking wanted. His hands are shaking. He stares at them, wills his tears to stay behind his lash line. He got too comfortable, he can’t do that. Why is it so hard to pretend now, when it used to be so easy.

“Steve, tell me what I did, please.”

“‘M fine” Steve’s insides feel too big, pushing against his skin, itchy all over. He squeezes himself around his middle again, digging his fingers in hard.

“Don’t do that, you know I hate when you bullshit like that.” Half lovely, half scathing.

The word stinks, a stab to the gut. But Steve gets it, he does, they talked about it. He bites his lip, hard.

Its old habits or whatever. Because Steve, he loved fine. Liked sinking his teeth into it; toxic waste green coating his mouth and lungs. Thick and delicious. Because fine gets you out of it. Fine gives you translucency. Controlled balance. Everything appearing a none issue, the perfect in-between. Steve was perfect at coming off as something to not worry about, someone to be ignored. It used to work in all situations; can’t get told off if you’re fine, cant do anything wrong, teachers didn’t look twice, his parents wouldn't shout. By staying half alive, never letting anyone too close, never filling your lungs up all the way. That was the fine Steve adored.

“You were literally just watching a movie. I dunno what the big deal is.” and there’s frustration, confusion, in Eddie, Steve thinks. He feels himself tense up, glance over.

Eddie must see something on his face. See that scared little animal prowling around within him. Because Eddie softens, his voice gentle. “Steve.. it’s nothing I hadn’t heard before.’ And Steve’s teeth clamp together with a click. He’s done that, his clap and his high hum, in front of Eddie before? Steve tries to swallow, he can’t, a lump too big and sticky in his throat.

He can’t look him in the face, angry tears still threatening to spill “You said you wouldn’t listen.” He’s mumbling. He sounds even more like a kid. Stupid. Grow up.

“I heard a little but I was just flipping the tape over, I wasn’t trying to snoop on you Stevie… You just, you sounded happy.”

Steve huffs. Glances at Eddie. That soft underbelly of his whining, because with Eddie, Steve yearns. Yearns for close. Yearns to be seen, and understood.

“You didn’t mean to?”

“No, it was just when I was turning the tape.”

Steve forces a deep breath.

“You think I’m weird. You hate me.” He whispers it like it’s true. A big part of him believes it, his tears welling up. Feels rejected. Knows that feeling too well. Hates it.

“Always like you Steve. Always.”

Steve grunts, a tear slips out, rolls down his cheek.

“‘M embarrassed” comes out like an ugly sob. Steve scrubs his palms on his cheeks, feeling how red hot they are. Glaring at the countertop. “I’m embarrassed!” But it’s just Eddie. It was just Eddie.

Eddie comes over, slowly draping himself over Steve’s back. “Nothin' to be embarrassed about, love.” And Eddie leaves soft kisses on Steve’s neck, squeezes his waist. “You looked cute on the couch like that. Like it when you’re happy.” Steve tries taking another deep breath but it shudders.

Embarrassed, angry, sad. Embarrassed, confused, angry. Frustrated, embarrassed. Tired.

Emotions wash over him. He’s learning to try and just feel them, name them, pick them apart. Some bubble back up to the surface, some only needed to be seen once.

Steve turns to bury his face in Eddie’s neck. He sighs, rubs his face into Eddie’s warm skin. shaking his head, likes how his lips feel moving against edie’s soft parts.

Tired, hungry, embarrassed, hungry.

“’M tired. I dunno what to eat.” He whispers, and then because he said it it’s like there’s space in his brain. “Want pasta.”

“Pasta it is then. And then we can sleep, yeah?” Eddie rocks them gently side to side, kisses the side of his head and slips away. Goes to get the box from the pantry, puts the corn back. Steve gets a pot out of the cupboard.

Staring into the water, the tips of his fingers prickle. Steve fizzes with energy and emotion. All pent up and annoying him. Needs it out. He clicks the flame on.

He starts pacing around the kitchen island. In big striding, stomping steps. “Ugh! You think I’m weird. Some weird guy who acts weird and does weird shit.” Steve grumbles. Annoyed. He smacks his palm quick and hard against the counter top. Keeps stomping.

Eddie comes back and starts following. Stomping and prancing like some court jester. “I like that you’re weird! You know, I have one episode of the Twilight Zone taped. It’s my third one. I watched the other two so much the tapes broke.’ Steve lets a little shout slip from him “Ha!” bubbly and forceful. Dislodging something within him. Like when a tooth finally falls out.

Feels good.

“I only like one brand of spaghetti hoops. Wayne once bought me a multipack for Christmas. Best fucking gift I ever got.” and Steve’s laughing now. Giggling and manic and still stomping around the island.

“I like how it feels to brush my teeth. I’ve never had a filling. I fucking love brushing my teeth, Eddie.” and that makes Eddie laugh now too. Two freaks stomping around the kitchen. A king and his jester, lit up by moonlight.

Steve turns the corner and stops short, still giggling. Eddies bent at one knee, presenting the box of pasta to him. “My liege.”

Steve claps, hums, high and keening. The waters boiling.

“How’d you feel now?’ Eddie asks around a mouthful of cheesy pasta.

Steve curls up tighter into the corner of couch, wraps both hands around the warm bowl. Glances at Eddie across from him. “Still kinda embarrassed.”

Eddie looks so soft, so kind, across from him. “I’m embarrassed too, to be honest. You love that movie, I thought you’d like me doing that. Kinda like when we, when we kissed upside-down, like I was Spider-man” Eddies sentence get quieter towards the end, mumbly, spoked into his bowl, cheeks dusted pink.

Steve strains to hear him. Smiles once he puts the words together.

He shovels pasta in his mouth. Eyes closed. “You are so annoying Eddie Munson. Why’d you even come here tonight, you coulda gone anywhere.” Steve sinks further into the couch, it’s really good pasta.

“Missed you.” Eddie says it like it’s simple, easy, and warmth drips over Steve’s skin.

Eddie clears his throat, Steve feels him fidget. “Wanna maybe.. You think we could live together one day? Want you to be able to do whatever you want with me around Steve. Breakfast Club on all the time at our place, kay?” And Steve’s throat constricts, that’s a big change, living with someone, moving out. But maybe with Eddie it could be okay, if they did it together, slow.

“Yeah, kay. One day.” Softly, bit by bit. Little bits. Steve can get there. Let Eddie in, let Eddie see. “But no to Breakfast Club on all the time.” Because some times, some days, some things, are just for him. Steve needs it that way. And that’s okay.

He stretches out further on the couch, feeling syrupy and nice, easy smile playing at his lips. “I like it when you kiss my neck though, you can do that again.” And that makes Eddie grin all pointy, put their bowls to the side and crawl over him.

Steve’s toes curl and he hums, high and happy.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

tagging those who asked mwah! @2jug2head @lil-gremlin-things

but also people who i think might be interested (sorry if ur not lmk and i won't again) @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @steventhusiast @sugarcookiesteve @spectrum-spectre @irethsune

#hope u enjoy!!#autistic steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #hotlunch #my fic #once again #steve harrington needs a hug #and once again #he gets one #lmk if u liked it #i can’t tell u how many times i’ve watched the breakfast club dude #there’s just something about it

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spop-romanticizes-abuse · 4 months

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How to Write Disability: SPOP vs ATLA

(TW: ableism)

(before i start talking about this, i have to tell you that i am not physically disabled so my observations may not be a 100% correct. i'm only writing this post in relation to my experience with autism. if you feel like something i've said is inaccurate or insensitive, please feel free to let me know!)

so the two characters i wanted to talk about, in reference to writing disabled/neurodivergent characters, is Entrapta from SPOP and Toph from ATLA.

Entrapta is an autistic woman who grew up in solitude, only surrounded by robots. as a result, she is desperate for human etherian connection while at the same time, struggling with social interactions because of her autism.

she was pretty heavily autistic-coded, even before the writers confirmed that she was canonically autistic; she has a hyperfixation on tech and machinery, she is shown to stim a lot, she has a preference for tiny food (likely a sensory issue) and she is not good at reading social cues or communicating in a way that neurotypical people would understand. she is also an extremely intelligent and intuitive person who is not only good at handling tech but also shows love and affection towards people in her own way.

Toph is a character from ATLA, who was born blind. not completely unlike Entrapta, Toph was also raised in solitude, although she had her parents and servants to look after her.

her parents were convinced that Toph was incapable of being independent, because of her blindness, and were unwilling to look past her disability and treat her as a person. as a result, Toph is extremely rebellious and stubborn. she is an incredibly capable individual who learned how to navigate her way through earthbending. however, she still faces difficulties due to her disability and has to rely on her friends every once in a while.

the trope that these two shows share in relation to their disabled characters is the humor. there are jokes made about Entrapta's and Toph's disability in both shows. however, the key element that differentiates these jokes is the target.

Toph was never the butt of a joke in ATLA. in fact, she was the one making jokes about her disability 90% of the time. Toph was comfortable enough with her blindness that she didn't mind joking about it or even pranking the others sometimes.

in fact, one of the running gags in the series is that the other characters forget that Toph is blind because of how insanely capable she is.

Toph is never the butt of the joke, she's the one making fun of the others for forgetting about her disability. and it's all done in good faith.

and whenever someone is being ableist towards Toph, it's taken seriously. it's not played off as a joke and the narrative doesn't act like people mistreating Toph is this funny gag that everyone should laugh at.

now let's come to Entrapta. there are “jokes” in the show made about her disability as well, except these jokes are often made at her expense.

one of the most problematic parts of the show concerning Entrapta is the way Perfuma leashes her TWICE, because she was worried that Entrapta would get distracted and leave the group. so instead of holding Entrapta's hand or something like a normal person would, Perfuma decides that the best way to tackle this situation is to treat Entrapta like an animal and put her on a leash.

this is shown as a joke and is never addressed seriously. the show writers think that Entrapta being dehumanized and infantilized is supposed to be funny and quirky. Entrapta never gets to confront Perfuma about this or gets any kind of closure.

this was the main example of ableism in the show but there are also other minor scenes where we see characters treat her in a way that other characters aren't treated.

examples being Catra using Entrapta's trauma and loneliness to manipulate her, and Mermista literally yanking on Entrapta's hair and yelling at her, because she couldn't understand social cues.

there are also multiple examples of what i'd like to call the “translate nerd language” trope, where one of the other characters get irritated at Entrapta for using technical terms while speaking, and she has to dumb it down for them.

there's a way to write disabled characters and while Entrapta was a very relatable and sympathetic character, the ableism towards her is never addressed. the princesses are never called out on their actions, while Catra gets off scot-free after a vague apology.

when ableism was portrayed in ATLA, it was always taken seriously. Toph was allowed to leave her toxic parents and find people who accepted her for who she is, she was allowed to prove people wrong and be a powerful character in her own right. meanwhile, Entrapta was forced to be friends with the people who mistreated her and she was only kept around because she was useful.

#yes this is a repost because tumblr decided to act weird lol #ableism tw #tw ableism #spop critical #spop salt #spop criticism #spop discourse #spop #she ra #anti spop #neurodivergent #autism #disability #entrapta #toph #atla #also toph was allowed to be vulnerable as well she wasnt strong 100% of the time #she was allowed to talk about her concerns and miss her parents even after the way they treated her #meanwhile entrapta's trauma is never addressed

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faggot-greg-house · 3 months

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house is autistic i will accept no criticism

i have so many thoughts about house and autism. this might be the most unhinged post on my tumblr yet but here we go so house had the illusion of normalcy forced on him from a young age. i dont think thats like, full canon, but house talks about how his father abused him on more than one occassion and talked about how he was never satisfied or happy with house no matter what. so i truly dont think its a far reach to say that he would not have tolerated a "weird child." the thing that i think, though, is that all of his actions are a response to the fact that he's not particularly great at masking. he's afraid if he lets people close to him he won't be able to hide the fact that he's "weird" (aka bad). he intentionally pushes people away with his weird creepy comments and being an asshole and that's both him masking (if he's aggressively mean all the time no one will bother to look further) and a way of coping with the fact that he cant mask. the more he pushes people away the less likely it is that they'll see that he cares about things and that he's not "normal" like he's always been told. i also think that as the show went on, he got less and less concerned about masking. he constantly stims, he hyperfocuses and burns out, he panics about change, he treats his fellows a lot more like family. once he got to a point in his life where his "weirdness" is not something he can be ruined for (he's tenured and he has people who will fight for him) he found himself a lot more able to be aggressively autistic, even if he struggles with it due to trauma.

a huge Autism Moment in the show for me is when foreman quits and house fires chase. house has been afraid his whole life of showing who he actually is, as mentioned. his fellows, though, are his People, they knew all of his shit and they never ran awayy from it. they didnt question who he was and what he knew, only his methods, and they were willing to fight back against him (something he's shown he loves). but then foreman quits because he "doesnt want to be like house" and this is house's worst nightmare. this is exactly why he had normalcy beaten into him, because being weird only makes it that people will run away once they know you. he dared to let people see a bit of who he actually is and how he thinks and acts and foreman essentially said "i cant stand to be like you." on top of that fear, his team became Different. he doesnt know if chase or cameron thought the same things as foreman, if they were also judging him or hating him for being autistic. it sent him into fucking panic mode because how is he supposed to trust them when he doesnt know if they agree with foreman!!!!! and even if he could, the team is Different and its for a reason he cant control and he cant just go back to normal. his method of interviewing his new fellows also shows this - how is he supposed to be able to tell if someone will be okay with who he is and if they'll work well together based off a short intervew where he's almost certainly masking the whole time???? anyway. to end this absolutely unhinged post ive put together an inconclusive list of autistic traits and actions from house, and i want to say that so much of this is him being written off as an antisocial eccentric genius and, while he is an ass that cant be debated, it clearly runs deeper than that!!!!

he doesnt understand how ppl feel (he repeatedly talks about how small talk is like a guessing game for him and he doesnt know what to say)

he doesnt like to be touched (for a lot of the show people just do Not touch him, wilson excluded)

he stims constantly and he needs Sensations

he's blunt, rude, somewhat monotone, etc

he has a hard time making friends

he has a hard time saying what he feels (he'd rather joke or be mean than analyse his emotions)

he has a routine that he Sticks To (even thgh its not exactly the same because of patients etc, he goes to work late, he talks to the same people, he sits in his same office. he's shown coming to work sick at one point and he doesnt rly go on vacation. plus when cuddy took his bloodstained carpet it was such a fundamental change to his life that he couldnt deal)

he notices Everything (yes ik this is a sherlock holmes thing but consider sherlock holmes - also autistic)

he has a method and train of thought that works for him and he is unwilling to break from it (he's shown at least once stopping the fellows from writing on his whiteboard, and after he loses the og three he continues trying to hold ddx's because its how he Thinks)

#hate crimes md #house md #gregory house #james wilson #child abuse #wrote all of this first in a discord channel so if it looks absolutely unhinged that's why #also im autistic and if you disagree with me thats ableist #autistic greg house #my thoughts

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adventuringblind · 7 months

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Stimming

Oscar Jack Piastri x Autistic Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort (I think)

Request: let’s add to the list! Comment your swims that aren’t on here and I’ll add them!

Summary: Oscar and his reactions to certain stims

Warnings: mean people, Stims that are harmful

Notes: Okay, the majority of these are my personal Stims. but! That doesn't mean these are the only valid ones. Remember, it's a spectrum 🤟🏻

Masterlist

The rocking

This one is a major way of self-soothing

If he sees you doing it then I think he’d most likely use it as an indication that there is either a particularly strong emotion or that your overwhelmed

Definitely would just sit next to you

In silence or talking it doesn’t matter

He just want to be there with you

Flappy hands (hand shakes as I call them)

Probably thought you hurt your wrist

Also used as an indicator

Either it’s a way of saying no and it’s obvious that you want whatever is going on to stop

Or it’s the opposite and your extremely happy and excited and don’t know how else to express it

The latter reason is his favorite

He likes to see you smile and do flappy hands when your excited

He makes it a point to get you hyped for things

Nails in the skin

Doesn’t like this one

He doesn’t like seeing you hurt yourself in any way

He knows it’s your way of grounding

But he’ll try and get you to focus on something else

He keeps bandaids with him in case it gets really bad

Also, despite his nail habits, he’ll make sure yours are short so you can’t do as much damage to you skin

Hair tugging

Again, a harmful stim

He doesn’t enjoy seeing you do this either

Definitely a sign of being overwhelmed

He’ll run his fingers through your hair if you’ll let him

If not then he’ll find something else for your hands to do that distracts and calms your brain

The ear noise thing (idk what it’s called)

Saw you doing it once in a crowded area

Was confused at first until you showed him

He does it also now

It’s kind of fun for him

Everyone teases when you two are plugging and unplugging your ears in random locations.

The foot hopper

Can’t stand still

It’s a struggle

Anytime you go somewhere and can’t stand still you find yourself hopping between feet

Sometimes you make a pattern out of it

Or a rhythm

Or your own little game

Oscar is there to catch you if your balance is off

He will also join in on the game sometimes if you let him

He makes sure to stay close if you ever have to stand for long periods of time

T-Rex arms

He laughed

He couldn’t help because it was funny and adorable

He couldn’t help it

If you ever feel stuck in that position then he’ll be there to help

Whether is be food or the tv remote he never fails to make you comfortable

Will remind you to stretch your arms if you stay in that position

Would hate to see you get a cramp

The head to flat surface

Thought you were annoyed at first

Then you avidly explained that the table feels nice on your head

It became almost routine that you would send your forehead at a flat surface you hadn’t tried yet

Walls, floors, anything that looks smooth or cold or soft

He’d remind you not to do it to hard

Head wounds bleed particularly hard

Feel like he can feel it himself when you describe in great detail how it feels against your forehead and face

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wee-snek · 3 months

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“I forgive you” parallels

Ok. Listen up, my little sweet potatoes. I figured something out.

I previously posted about how I thought the Final Fifteen “I forgive you” might be code.

And then today I went for like a 6 hour aimless drive to clear my head, and, yeah, I have audio recordings of a few of my favourite GO scenes, which I listen to on repeat sometimes as an auditory stim. And I noticed a few interesting parallels, and I think I’ve cracked it.

We, as the audience, have seen a few things only once before.

Season 1, after the Bandstand Breakup, outside the bookshop, Crowley is back and saying ‘let’s run away together’. In this conversation, we see the only on-screen instance (before the Final Fifteen) of Crowley calling Aziraphale stupid, and the only previous time Aziraphale has used the specific phrase “I forgive you”. If we take this and the bandstand together, we also have very likely the only previous time Crowley has been bold enough to say ‘let’s go off together’.

So what happens in Season 1?

1. Armageddon Part I is imminent.

2. Crowley suggests they run away together.

3. Aziraphale says ‘no, I’m going to stay and work with heaven to fix things’.

4. Crowley calls Aziraphale “stupid” for taking sides and believing heaven cares about good.

5. Aziraphale says ‘I forgive you’.

6. Crowley leaves.

7. Aziraphale talks to the Metatron and gets transported to heaven against his will, and is expected to fight for their cause.

8. Crowley waits for him.

9. Aziraphale comes back to Crowley.

10. They work together and things turn out okay.

Does any of that sound familiar?!?

Let’s look at how the Final Fifteen plays out:

1. Armageddon Part II is imminent

2. Crowley suggests they run away together.

3. Aziraphale says ‘no, I’m going to stay and work with heaven to fix things’.

4. Crowley calls Aziraphale an “idiot” for taking sides and believing heaven cares about good. (Also: you’re an idiot for choosing heaven over me).

5. Aziraphale says ‘I forgive you’.

6. Crowley leaves.

7. Aziraphale talks to the Metatron and gets transported to heaven (against his will?), and is expected to fight for their cause.

8. Crowley waits for him.

I mean….

Is there any chance at all that either of them doesn’t remember the first time they had this conversation? That they’re not also seeing the parallels?

That Aziraphale isn’t getting flashbacks to Armageddon, that he isn’t aware that something could go terribly wrong here, but that he has to try and, please, Crowley, be here when I get back?

Listen, when I say “I forgive you” I know we’re only halfway through this dance? Wait for me. I’ll come back to you.

(I wasn’t going to add this, but the only time Aziraphale has used to the word ‘idiot’ is when he said “I’m not an idiot, Crowley” when he thought Crowley was going to use the holy water on himself and that’s some foreshadowing I don’t really want to explore).

#I’ve connected the two dots #good omens #good omens meta #good omens theory #good omens theories #good omens final fifteen #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x arizaphale #ineffible husbands #ineffible divorce #Metatron #good omens parallels #ineffible

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sluttywoozi · 2 years

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Like A Cowboy Part 2 of 4 || kmg x reader

Rating: M (MINORS DNI) | Word Count: ~7.1k (~3.2 plot, ~3.9 smut)

Summary: Mingyu only needs to wake up with you once to decide he'll do whatever is necessary to do it every day; even if it means letting you help him outside and figuring out how to help you inside, it's worth it. || Part Two of Like A Cowboy

Warnings/Notes: Mingyu's pov, farm stuff, reader gets a lil burn but its not that bad or graphic, horny thoughts, size kink, backstory, cooking/eating, loving manhandling

Smut Warnings: softdom!gyu, restraints (he holds reader’s wrists, holds reader against a door, reader wraps hand around headboard of bed, he holds reader’s thighs down), nipple play, male masturbation (mc helps), mention of cockwarming, oral f receiving, fingering, wap reader, clit stim, brief throat holding, unprotected piv sex, bulge kink, size kink, breeding kink, lil bit of aftercare

Reader Notes: has a vagina and breasts, wears a dress, shorter than gyu, gets picked up by gyu, no pronouns used that i can think of, honey and baby used as petnames

Mingyu’s mind wakes before his body does, stirred by needlework-callused fingertips tracing up and down his chest. His mouth stretches in a smile and his head turns, his eyes opening to find yours. You stare at him openly, your shyness from the night before gone. From feature to feature your eyes travel, lingering on the freckle at the tip of his nose and the gentle dip of his Cupid’s bow.

He blushes under your gaze, bringing the blankets up to cover his bashful smile. Reaching his hand out to yours, he starts tugging you closer. You shifted in the night, likely trying to escape his furnace-like body heat, and are now much further away than he’d like.

Once Mingyu’s got you wrapped up in his arms again, his heart settles. Your lips find his in a sweet good morning kiss, and he can’t stop himself from smiling long enough to properly kiss you back.

You don’t seem to mind. You just giggle at him, your eyes soft, and rest your chin on his chest. He makes himself comfortable, thinking you intend to go back to sleep but, to his shock and horror, you instead give him a quick peck and start to make your way out of bed. He locks his arms around you before you can go far and brings you even closer than before, clenching fistfuls of your night dress and pouting.

“Where are you going?” Mingyu whines out in his gravelly morning voice, wondering why he didn't have the sense to bring up a pitcher of water last night.

“Honey, it’s nearly 9, I don’t even wake up this late!” You remind him.

Mingyu pouts, considering your words and then deciding he doesn’t care. “What if… we stay in bed for another hour and work together on chores today,” he offers.

Your face fills with glee as you reach around his arms and pull the covers up to your chin, your feet kicking against his a little. He melts, wondering how he got so lucky to be married to someone that gets excited at the prospect of labor just because it’s labor with him.

He lays himself practically on top of you, nestling his head in the crook of your neck and breathing you in. You really were onto something when you asked him to stay last night; he's happy just waking up next to you but waking up with you is so much better.

Watching your eyes crinkle when you smile at him, running his fingers over the pillow creases on your soft cheek, discussing in hushed voices your plans for the day. Rubbing his hairy leg against yours just to make you giggle, feeling your fingers trace the lines in his hand and tickle at his palm, snaking his arms underneath your back to roll over and haul you into his chest. Feeling you flush, knowing that it’s because you like it when he manhandles you a bit.

Sweet little moments Mingyu didn’t even know he was missing, just because he was too stubborn to let you pitch in more. He loves doing the work but if letting you help means he gets more of this, he’s willing to make some changes.

Mingyu decides to put you on horse and chicken duty, knowing his large, warm hands are better suited for milking the cows.

You head out to the field together, one of his hands carrying a bucket for the milk and the other hand swinging yours. The low morning sun filters through your hair, giving you a halo, and though it suits you, he’ll need to get you a hat if you decide to make a habit of working together. He wonders if you’d like to match his, or if you’d want one of the fancier ones he was starting to see in town.

Mingyu stops short, confused, when he realizes you’re no longer next to him. He turns his head wildly, scared that you somehow disappeared in the time he was musing over hats.

He spots you a few feet behind him, tying your skirt to leave your legs exposed, sleeves already rolled up. He blushes and averts his eyes, wanting to respect your modesty before remembering he’s your husband.

If anyone’s allowed to look, it’s him.

You skip a bit to catch up, filling his outstretched hand with yours, and he raises a brow as you lace your fingers with his.

“It’s warm out here! And I was already a few steps behind because your legs are ridiculously long,” you tease with a shrug.

Mingyu’s brow creases, considering too that you’ll need lighter clothes if you’re going to be working outside with him regularly, and a sturdier pair of boots. Yours were made for walking, not working, and he didn’t want your feet hurting at the end of the day.

He consciously shortens his steps, matching your stride and contemplating what he could do inside to make up for the work you’ll be doing outside. He knows you have your list of daily chores and is sure you’re willing to share, but he also knows you like things done in a particular way.

He’s still considering options as you approach the pasture, his eyes automatically sweeping over the animals to take a headcount. None have been lost to predators in weeks, and he wants to keep that streak going.

The fence is finally doing its job, he thinks proudly, speeding ahead of you to unlatch the gate and hold it open so you can walk through first.

You know what to do from the first couple days you’d bullied him into letting you help, so you head over to the chicken coop and Mingyu makes his way to the cows, keeping his eyes on you until you disappear from sight.

The outside work passes quickly with an extra set of hands, and before Mingyu knows it, he’s heading back up the trail with your fingers tangled in his. The sun sits high in the sky, half the day gone already, and your skin glows in the afternoon light. You’ve got some dirt smeared on your cheekbone and he stops walking, tows you back gently, brushes it off with a careful thumb.

He wants to move it lower, feel the plush of your bottom lip, maybe lean down to dig his teeth into it a little, but his thumb is dirty now and you wouldn’t appreciate that.

Mingyu can still kiss you though, so he does, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you in close, tilting your face up with a gentle finger under your chin, ducking down to press his lips against yours gently. You kiss him back immediately, rising up on your toes and throwing your arms around his neck, and Mingyu tries to hide the shiver that leaves him when you sink your fingers into his hair. He’s about to knock his own hat off so your hands have more room, but you pull away, dropping down onto your heels with a shy smile.

Mingyu realizes you’re probably not used to him showing so much affection out in the open air and especially not in broad daylight, as he usually returns from his work outside when the sun is going down.

He’ll get you used to it though, if you intend to start joining him. He already has some ideas of where to start: down by the stream with a picnic, maybe; a blanket laid down in the loft of the barn; one of the rocking chairs on the front porch; out in your favorite field of wildflowers, under the moonlight. Not like he’s thought about it before or anything, definitely doesn’t think about it when he catches your eye through the window, or comes in to flirt and rub his sweat all over you, or when you’re standing on his toes and he’s walking you into bed.

For now, Mingyu’s content with twining his fingers with yours and following the path back home.

Mingyu was right, you are particular about your work inside. He nearly dropped one of your precious jars of peach marmalade, just as you appeared in the doorway of the cellar, and now he sits in your rocking chair, sorting linens. But he can’t blame you for relegating him to a task without glass or needles or easily bruised vegetables, he can admit he’s a bit clumsy for a rancher.

Mingyu just finds it difficult to control his limbs sometimes; he takes up more space than he realizes, and occasionally moves around like he did before that last growth spurt in his late teens.

He’s been working on it but all progress flies out the window when you’re around. It’s like you take up too much space in his mind to allow for anything else, even maintaining his grip, evidenced by the marmalade incident.

But sorting Mingyu can do, especially when he realizes how much laundry the two of you produce, groaning when he thinks of the clothes you both just shed upstairs that are waiting to be washed. He can’t believe he’s been letting you take care of all of this by yourself, and dies inside a bit when he realizes there’s even more drying on the line outside. It still looks damp, swaying heavily in the wind, and Mingyu rushes to finish up this batch before the next is ready.

He can hear you singing in the kitchen, organizing the cupboards in preparation for the mason jars of preserves currently floating in boiling water on the stove. You like to have a lot of jam for the winter, knowing that when it gets cold enough to freeze, there won’t be any fruit to harvest or any honey to collect from the bee box he’d rigged up for you. You spend a lot of time baking in those months as it keeps the house warm and provides something fresh to eat, which is a luxury once the temperature drops.

Mingyu hasn’t told you yet, but he went out to the smith’s last month and traded a few chickens for a new cast iron dutch oven. You’d told him that was your favorite way to make bread, and that yours had cracked just before you’d married him. He wishes you still had the pieces so the smith could’ve fired it back together, made you something stronger out of something old and baked in love, but he supposes a new one will suffice.

He plans to give it to you on the first day of snow, which should line up with the week that he’d asked you to marry him two years ago.

God, he hopes you don’t cry, Mingyu thinks as he folds another sheet. He can’t stand to see you in tears, whether they’re happy or sad. It just makes him want to bundle you up in wool and hide you away from the world and anything that might seek to hurt you.

He supposes his stature could come in handy then; his arms are long enough to wrap around you completely, his chest and shoulders broad enough to act as a shield, his body tall enough to fully block you from incoming attackers.

He’s thinking too hard about this, he knows, but Mingyu can’t help it when he loves you like he does.

It was difficult when he was just courting you - he was uncomfortably aware that he couldn’t put his hands on you or haul you into him anytime he sensed a threat, that it would be seen as untoward and not a man trying to protect someone he loves. Because he wasn’t really supposed to love you like that yet, but he’d fallen for you long before that first outing, before he’d even gained the confidence to walk up your front porch steps, hat in his hands, and ask to speak with your parents in private.

He’s fairly sure it was obvious too, by the way your father laughed at him and asked what took him so long, and the way your mother smiled gently with fondness, the years of him taking every chance he could get to be near you fresh in her mind.

You’d grown up in the house just a few minutes’ walk down the way from his, and he still remembers meeting you for the first time and being so excited to have someone around his age so close by. You were a bit shy though, coming from the city and unused to boys being so rough and tumble and interested in you, so he’d backed off a bit and just tried to let you get settled.

Mingyu could never stay away too long though, cropping up a few times a year to ask if you wanted to go into town or ride horses or chase dragonflies with him, and slowly but surely you warmed up. You’d been shocked when he asked to court you though, apparently far less aware of his feelings than your parents had been, and it took a couple weeks for you to adjust to the idea.

Mingyu can still remember the feeling he got when he’d opened the door to find you, your fingers twisting in your dress just like they were last night, nervously telling him you wanted to accept his offer. He’d near vibrated out of his body with happiness, his hands reaching for yours before he could stop them and his canines primed to puncture his bottom lip with how hard he was grinning.

He’d made you wait in the doorway while he ran to grab his first courting gift, an embroidery kit with needles, cloth, and thread he’d hand selected. He’d also commissioned the local artist to create some patterns for you, taking your proclivity for wildflowers into account.

Mingyu’s folding one of the first handkerchiefs you’d embroidered with the kit now, and feels his heart stutter in his chest as his fingers run lovingly over the carefully sewn threads, finding his initials and yours hidden in one of the vines bordering the edges. He’s taken out of his reverie when he hears you let out a muffled swear from the kitchen, and rises to his feet so fast he knocks the pile of folded linens over.

He doesn’t even notice as he rushes to the kitchen, knowing you don’t have a penchant for swearing and finding you cradling your arm to your chest, a steaming jar of jam stuck on its side at the edge of the butcher block. Mingyu grabs a towel and rights the jar, sliding it to rest against the wall, before gently pulling your arm up to his face so he can inspect the damage. The skin is swelling already, your flesh hot to the touch, and Mingyu whines quietly in his throat when you jump at the soft press of his fingertips to your forearm. He tugs you over to the sink, running the cold water over your skin and turning to wrap up some ice in the towel.

“What happened, baby?” Mingyu asks carefully, knowing you probably feel annoyed with yourself for getting hurt.

You groan and press your forehead into his chest before you answer, “It slipped from the tongs and I tried to stop it from rolling off the counter.”

“Honey, you knew it was hot, why-”

“I didn’t do it on purpose! It was just reflexive, I’ve had a lot of practice with catching falling things since I married you.”

“Oh, don’t you try to charm me now, baby, it won’t make me forget about this burn on your arm.”

“What exactly was charming about that?”

“You said you married me!”

“That was just a fact!”

“And it’s a fact that I love. Now, go sit in your chair and ice your arm, I’ll start dinner.”

Mingyu sends you away, your arm wrapped up in the towel and your lips pursed in a pout, and jogs to the cellar to grab some salted pork. He’s thinking about just panfrying it with some vegetables, hoping you’re not expecting something more elaborate.

Mingyu prefers making the more complex dishes with you, has always loved the way you move around him in the kitchen, the way you eye his seasoning amounts even though he’s been cooking longer than you, the way you trail your fingers over his back and waist and chest any chance you get.

But you’re out of commission for now, so Mingyu sets the vegetables to sauté and chops up the salted pork to stir in later. The dish comes together quickly, and he calls you to the kitchen as he serves up dinner, setting the two steaming plates on the table and filling a pitcher of water.

Mingyu is starving, and wants to dig in immediately, but you still haven’t come into the kitchen so he decides to investigate first. He creeps into the living room, finding you in your rocking chair like he told asked you to do, but you’re not icing your arm, you’re folding the rest of the linens.

Mingyu’s head tilts back in exasperation, and he’s sure you can hear his sigh from where he stands in the doorway. He makes his way to your side, pulling the towel from your hands and leaning down to haul you over his shoulder. You protest, or try to, at least, but Mingyu’s not having it.

He hates when you get hurt, feels guilty no matter where he was or what he was doing when it happened, and what doesn’t help is the fact that you’re so stubborn. Mingyu knows you’re independent, loves that you are, but sometimes he just needs to take matters into his own hands.

You always pretend to mind, but he can tell you love it, the way your heart races against him gives you away every time. He deposits you in your seat at the table and slides into his own, staring at you until you pick up your fork, and starts to eat, chatting with you in between bites.

There’s never a lack of topics for the two of you to discuss, just something that comes with growing up side by side and running a ranch together.

Mingyu takes the hand of your injured arm and holds it palm up, so you don’t rest the inflamed skin on the table, telling you of his plans for the final harvest. You say his new sweater should be done by then, and inform him the smoked fish stores are getting low, so a trip is in order.

It feels a bit like whiplash, pure fondness for you melting into heat as he remembers how you seduced him into the river last time, the way you grinned as you felt him shiver against you, and ran your fingers up and down his chest to ‘warm him up’.

You wear the same grin now and Mingyu blushes, knowing you’re cognizant of where exactly his mind went. The hold you have over him is so powerful, he’s sure you’ll be able to tempt him into the cold water with just a look on this next trip.

Mingyu would be lying if he said he doesn’t love it.

Clean up is easy, Mingyu washes and you dry, and you head to the living room together to wrap up the chores for the day. Mingyu sets right the stack of laundry he knocked over before, and you finish folding the rest, ignoring the looks he sends you every time your arm lifts from the ice-filled towel he’d set in your lap.

He considers you for a moment, thinking on how well you’d behaved when he’d held your hand down on the table, and decides to test this thought further tonight.

It’s all Mingyu can think about as he leads you up the stairs. Most of the time, he just wants to make you happy, but tonight he wants you to listen to him. He wants to-

Goodness, he feels almost hedonistic saying this, but… he wants to fuck the stubbornness out of you.

Mingyu stops when he reaches the door, maneuvering you in front of him and stepping into your space, pressing you up against the hardwood. Your eyes grow wide, your head tilted back to meet his gaze, and he leans in to lay a gentle kiss on your lips, pulling away before you can return the pressure.

“Can you listen to me for a second, baby?” Mingyu asks softly, but firmly, his tone telling you he plans on dictating the pace tonight.

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, your chest filling with air and pressing against his, your hands rising to rest on his shoulders before he takes them within his own and holds them to the door above your head.

Your eyelashes flutter when he drags his fingers down your arms, skipping over the sore spot to rest his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs tracing your collarbones and dipping into the hollow of your throat.

He drifts them lightly over your breasts, fingers thrumming at your nipples and squeezing lightly at the flesh under his hands. They smooth down further to wrap around your waist, digging into the dips and curves of your body, pinning you to the door.

Mingyu can feel your ribs expand between his hands, your breath shaky beneath his palms, your eyes locked with his.

He has no doubt at all that you’re listening to him now.

“I want you to let me take care of you tonight, do as I ask, as best you can. Will you do that for me, honey?” Mingyu starts, waiting for your nod to continue. “But I need to know you’ll tell me if you don’t like something I do, or don’t want to do something I ask of you. Do you promise you’ll tell me?”

You think, but not for long, before resting your head against the door to return his gaze, twining your fingers together above your head, and sighing out, “I promise, Gyu. I trust you.”

Mingyu smiles and surges forward, cradling your face in his hands to bring you into a kiss, sliding his tongue along the seam of your mouth and dipping it between your lips to brush against yours. You open for him immediately, your body growing pliant under his and sinking back against the door, and Mingyu moves his grip back to your hands, tangling his fingers with yours and pressing your hands into the wood.

That just makes you softer, and Mingyu can feel every bit of tension leaving your body as you respond to his kiss, letting him take the lead and sucking in a sharp breath when he bites down on your bottom lip. His canines descend into the plushness, feeling the quivering of your lip between his teeth, and he moans into your mouth when your hips buck against him.

Mingyu knows if he doesn’t get inside you get you inside soon, he’ll take you against the door, and it’s not that he doubts his craftsmanship, but you deserve the comfort of a bed for what he has planned tonight.

One hand leaves yours to fumble for the knob, and your fingers twine around the hand that remains just as Mingyu gets the door open and starts hustling you inside. He pulls your hands down to guide you to the bed, crowding you up to the edge until you start to climb up, shuffling back when he crawls on after you.

Bracing himself on one forearm, Mingyu shifts to hover over you, and draws both of your hands up to rest above your head on the mattress. He gives you one last squeeze before rising and sitting back on his knees, straddling your thighs with his own.

You don’t move a muscle, you just breathe shallowly and stare up at him, mouth slightly open and lips looking plush. Your hands stay where he left them, and Mingyu decides to reward you by taking his shirt off, unbuttoning it quickly and flinging it to the side.

Mingyu watches your eyes as they trace the skin revealed to you, your gaze zeroing in on his bulging pecs and the way his abs flex as he breathes in and out. He exaggerates it a bit, feeling his accessory muscles joining in to make the movement of his chest seem even larger, and your eyelids flutter when he activates his trapezius and rolls his shoulders and neck, leaving his head tilted back to stare down his nose at you.

The sheets are gathered up in your grasp, your fingers tensing around the fabric in an effort to keep them to yourself, and Mingyu gifts you with his fingers on you instead. They meander from your shoulders to your chest, unbuttoning your dress and slowly pushing it apart, brushing softly against your skin as he moves along your body, dragging the fabric and your underthings off to leave you naked.

You wriggle under him, likely wishing he’d speed up, but Mingyu plans on taking his time. He went a bit hard on you last night, and he’s sure you’ll be sore tomorrow from the chores, so tonight he’s going to open you up slowly, get you wet enough he can just slide right in. He may not even move, may just keep his cock buried inside your slick heat and make you cum around him, over and over and over again.

The idea becomes more appealing with every inch of your skin he touches, his hands lovingly grazing your breasts, thumbs brushing back and forth over your nipples until they pebble.

Mingyu can feel his stomach clench at the way your flesh gives, little divots forming under his fingertips as he squeezes your breasts in his hands. Your back arches, pressing your chest further into his touch, and Mingyu brings his eyes up to watch your face as he leans down to suck a mark into the underside of your breast. He nips at it gently before licking a stripe up to your nipple, wrapping his lips around it and pulling it into his mouth.

Something about the way you taste always makes him groan, and you squirm at the vibrations on your sensitive skin, whimpering when he tests his teeth on you, your hips bucking up when he suddenly pulls off to lick his lips and smile.

You’re barely starting to smile back when Mingyu ducks down to suction his mouth around your other nipple and nibble at it, laving his tongue back and forth, his eyes half lidded as they stare into yours.

Mingyu pulls away and watches the path of his fingers as they drag over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He’s obsessed with how his hands look on you, the way your body feels under his, the way you open up so sweetly for him, your thighs trying to spread even trapped as they are between his knees.

He shuffles back until he’s off you completely, and he can see your fingers twitch in the sheets, knows you want to grab his hair and pull him back to you, but you twist them tighter in your grip and wait for him to tell you what to do.

You’re being so good for him, following even his unspoken instructions, and Mingyu wants to reward you, he does, but he needs to push you a little first.

So he sits on his knees and runs his hands over his thighs, fingers inching up to unbutton his pants and tug his cock out, tucking the waistband under his heavy balls. You gasp at the sight, your thighs clenching together between his when he drags his hand up the length, curving his palm over the head and smearing precum down. He thrusts into his own touch, sucking in a breath when he squeezes his hand at the base, and the image that rushes into his mind makes him groan.

Mingyu imagines his hand on top of yours on his cock, and God, your hand would disappear under his but he’d know it was there, be able to feel it, feel the way your fingers can’t touch, feel how much more skin he covers with his own hand, get to control the pace and make you appreciate every inch he has to offer.

It’s all yours, after all; Mingyu is all yours, and he hopes by now, you know that. You definitely will after he’s done with you tonight, he thinks.

“Baby, can you give me your hand?” Mingyu requests, waiting for you to hold out the hand of your uninjured arm before he takes it, pulling it down to wrap your fingers around his cock.

He was right, your hand is swallowed by his, and it just makes your touch feel even sweeter, the skin of your palm softer than his and contrasting beautifully. He’s already throbbing, twitching in your grip, and he knows he’ll need to make you cum at least twice before he gets in you if he wants to last. Your third always takes just a bit longer, and he’ll need all the extra time he can get.

Mingyu indulges for just a bit longer before dragging your hand away and returning it to rest above your head with the other. You whine, your hips shifting against the sheets, and Mingyu doesn’t have the heart to hold out any longer, lifting his knees over yours to set between your thighs and spread them. He slides down onto his stomach, resting the side of his head against your thigh and turning to bite at your soft skin before looking up at you.

Mingyu has an idea, but he doesn’t want to push you too far, doesn’t want you to have to tell him to slow down or stop.

But, it would make things easier, and he’s thought about it probably hundreds of times, and he figures now is as good a time as any to ask.

“Honey, can you do me a favor?” Mingyu asks softly, soothing you already with his hands running up and down your thighs.

You blink blearily at him and nod, waiting for him to speak.

“I want you to hold yourself open for me, so I can use both of my hands,” he says slowly, watching your face as you process his words. He can feel the sudden shyness coming off of you, see it in the way you adjust your shoulders, scrunch your brows together, shift your legs against the sheets. Your stubbornness works in his favor, he finds, as you set your jaw and offer him your hand, the same one he just had around his cock.

Mingyu holds your gaze as he arranges you, setting your palm on your pelvis and pulling your fingers apart to place your pointer finger on one side and your middle finger on the other. He presses your digits down, sliding them away from each other so you’re spread open, and Mingyu can feel the heat flooding his stomach as he stares at the picture you make.

He feels lightheaded almost as he takes you in, one hand held above your head, the other holding your cunt open for him, your eyes shy but your expression strong, and somehow, Mingyu knows he could never fuck the tenacity out of you, would never truly want to.

If anything, your strong will just makes your submission sweeter. The knowledge that you could push back, but instead allow him to take control of you like this is enough to make his head spin, and Mingyu sucks in a breath as he moves one hand down to dip his fingers in and out of your entrance.

You’re so wet, dripping, even, when he comes into contact with you, and the next breath he takes in smells like you, tastes like you. He wants more, so he sinks two fingers into you, scissoring them slowly until he can hold you open and slide his tongue in between, bringing his other hand up to rub his thumb over your clit. The rest of his fingers reach up between yours, tips pressing into your belly and middle finger sliding into your grasp where the rest of your fingers curl against your stomach.

Mingyu takes in a deep breath, a groan sounding at the back of his throat, as he tastes you again. He just had his tongue on you last night, but it already feels like it’s been too long since he got to be close to you like this.

That’s really what gets him, the fact that you trust him to stretch you open, hold you down, get inside of you. It’s still so wild to him, so special, and Mingyu thinks it always will be, never imagined he’d get to be with you in this way.

He promises silently to make the most of it each and every time, and decides he’s had enough of trying to draw this out, trying to make you wait. Your hips are bucking into him, your fingers wrapped tightly around his, and he can feel your walls throbbing, pulsing against his tongue.

You’re ready to cum, and he’s ready to make you cum, so Mingyu slides his fingers in deeper, curling them into the patch of nerves inside of you until you get wet enough that it starts to seep out around his digits. He coats his thumb in your slickness, draws it up to your clit to press hard circles into the swollen nub, watching with keen eyes as your back arches and you tear at the sheets with the hand still tangled up in them.

You haven’t moved it at all, and Mingyu feels so proud, so lucky, that he slides a third finger in and moves his thumb to the crest of your pussy, pulling the flesh up so your clit is exposed and he can suck it into his mouth. You cry out, moaning into the open air of the bedroom and rolling your hips into his touch, and he feels your walls clench around his fingers, fluttering as you cum.

He leaves his fingers inside, groaning at the way your muscles suck them in deeper, and the vibration on your clit makes you keen. Mingyu forces his eyes up to meet yours, quirking a brow and leaving his mouth on you, knowing you’ll read his question for what it is.

You nod, shifting your hand up to wrap around one of the rungs on the headboard, and Mingyu feels his cock jump against the sheets, precum dribbling out to dampen the linens. He barely notices, knows he’ll get to cum eventually, whether inside you or, if you’ll allow it, on you.

All of his attention is focused on the way you’re clenching around his fingers, the way you pulse under his tongue, the way your chest rises and falls with your gasping breaths.

Mingyu knows he can make you cum again, and with the way your walls are pulling his digits in deeper, it’ll be soon. His tongue slides up between your fingers, licking around them before focusing his attention on your clit. You don’t always love the same pattern, so he tries out a few different ones before he lands on a motion that makes your muscles seize, and concentrates on maintaining it.

Mingyu groans into you, fingers hooking inside and rubbing, tongue hard at work, and his eyes trail up your body to land on your face as you start to climb up that hill again. Your eyes clench shut before you force them back open to lock with his, likely remembering the way he’d told you eyes on me, baby, just last night.

Your walls quiver around his fingers, clamping down tight, and Mingyu moans when he feels your clit start to throb under his tongue, sucks your wetness down when it starts to gush out. He feels insatiable, like too much could never be enough, and he’s about to try for a third when he hears you calling his name.

“Mingyu,” you pant, chest rising and falling rapidly, and Mingyu slides his fingers out, wipes them on the sheets, before curving a palm around your cheek.

“What is it, baby? Is it too much, you wanna stop?” He asks, trying to catch your gaze, but your eyes are hazy and unfocused, and Mingyu worries he’s pushed you too far too fast. He can feel your hand cover his, the one that had been between your thighs, and if he wasn’t so concerned at the moment, he’d turn his head and suck your wet fingers into his mouth.

“No, no, don’t wanna stop, just- please, I need you in me, I feel so-” you suck in a gasp, pushing through your shyness to finish, “I feel so empty, Gyu.”

It’s like his heart stops in his chest.

Just last night, you were barely able to tell him you liked being spanked (something he definitely plans on exploring more at a later date), and now here you are, begging him to put his cock in you because you feel, fuck, you feel empty.

Without him in you, you feel empty, and Mingyu can feel his dick get harder somehow, feel his balls tighten, feel the heat climbing up his spine and into his throat, as he moves the hand on your cheek to rest on your neck and uses the other to line himself up. He notches the head of his cock in your entrance, your muscles still trembling, and he pushes past the initial tightness to slide in deep, until his hips meet yours and he’s buried in you to the base.

You’re so hot, and fucking soaking wet, that Mingyu can pull out with ease and sink back in with no resistance, and he starts up a slow and steady pace. You want him to go faster, he can tell, but he goes harder instead, snapping his hips into yours and rooting his cock deep inside you, the head rubbing against your walls with every thrust.

Both of his hands dig into the underside of your thighs and press them down into the bed, keeping you spread open and giving him more room to move, enough for him to angle his hips so he can grind his pubic bone against your clit.

You’re getting close again already, and Mingyu is right there with you, might be further along than you are, when he notices the subtle movement of your stomach. It bulges out a little with each thrust, and Mingyu feels like he might cum on the spot when he realizes he can literally see his cock moving inside you.

Mingyu’s big, he knows, and you’d been apprehensive at first, but you pushed through the nerves like you always do, and he’s beyond grateful for your stubbornness now, can’t believe he ever wanted to fuck it out of you when it's the very trait that means he gets to fuck you at all.

He moves the hand on your neck to lay right over the spot, pressing down and feeling your flesh bumping into his palm as he fucks in and out of you, and he desperately circles his fingers on your clit because now he knows he’s about to lose it.

“Fuck, baby, honey, please cum, please fucking cum,” Mingyu gasps, folding over to press his open mouth against yours, fucking into you hard and fast and feeling his dick push against his hand. He’s so deep inside of you, he almost can’t believe it, can’t believe how lucky he is, how amazing you are, that your body is able to take him like this.

Your hand delves into his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands to hold his mouth to yours, and he groans your name when he feels you cry out and clench, your cunt trying to suck him in deeper. Your walls constrict around his cock, and he pushes through your tightness until his balls press against your ass, drawing up tight before the dam breaks.

You’re still cumming, pussy milking the length of him and clamping down tight on the head, and his cock surges inside you, twitching as his cum shoots out. It floods into you, filling you up and running out of room quickly, gathering at your entrance where he’s still stretching you, still plugging you up.

Mingyu doesn’t try to pull out this time, not willing to risk making you cry like he almost did last night, and tries to catch his breath. His lips are still pressed against yours and you’re making weak sobbing noises, your breath sounding thready in your lungs, and he pulls away to check on you.

Your fingers remain wrapped around the wood of the headboard, and he gently peels them away one by one, massaging each of them until they don’t twitch in his hand anymore, kissing each fingertip before pulling your hand underneath his to press it flat on your stomach.

Your back arches when you feel it, your heady gaze meeting his, and Mingyu feels his cock stir inside of you when you push down, your fingers tracing over the bulge. His stomach jumps at the pressure, and his cum starts to leak out of you, dripping down his balls and onto the sheets.

“Can I move, baby? Get us cleaned up?” Mingyu asks softly, shifting onto his knees and sliding a hand under your ass so he can lift your hips into his, just in case you’re still not ready.

You nod sleepily though, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, and Mingyu feels his breath catch when his gaze finds the burn from before. It looks a little better, and it’s not blistered at all, thankfully, likely just needing some marigold salve and a bandage to keep it protected.

Mingyu didn’t realize he still felt so wound up about it until the tension left him, his shoulders dropping and his face smoothing now that he’s sure no serious damage was done.

You’re drifting off to sleep already, so Mingyu gathers you up in his arms and navigates carefully to the bathroom, wiping you down with a washcloth and rinsing his cum from between your legs before grabbing the jar of balm and one of the bandages you keep rolled up in the drawer.

He carries you back to bed first, tugging your nightgown over your head and gently pulling your arms through, taking extra care with your injury as he lightly smears the homemade salve on your skin, wrapping your forearm up in fabric and tucking the end.

He’s turning away when your hand catches his, pulling him down into a kiss and breathing, “Love you, Gyu,” into his lips. He whispers it back, three times, before pecking you on the forehead and ambling back to the shower.

He rinses himself off quickly and stumbles into his night clothes, climbing carefully into bed and inching closer and closer until he can get his arms around you to pull you into his chest.

Mingyu had already decided this morning that he was waking up with you tomorrow too, regardless of whether you’d split chores again, and he sighs into your hair, dreaming already of the smile you’ll grace him with when you wake to find him still next to you.

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PART THREE

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