#but in-universe there could be. so the fact it doesn't come up surely means something... right?

[pocketramblr]

I don't know if you're still doing it, but an AU where Gran Torino raises Kotaro.

1- as Shih put it, Sorahiko's an all-or-nothing guy. Nana tells him that Kotaro isn't safe anywhere near her, that she can't handle losing her son to AfO. Sorahiko nods, and asks if he should hide the boy, or go with him. Nana asks him to stay with Kotaro, and cries a lot. Sorahiko holds her, and then goes inside to tell Kotaro that he's going with him, and needs to pack up, and tell his mother goodbye.

2- Kotaro Yamada is raised in a strange way. Sorahiko can't cook any better than his mother could, but he doesn't try anymore. He knows Sorahiko used to be a hero, like his mother, but when he asks all the man tells him is he got his license because he just wanted to use his quirk, and now he keeps it in case whoever is after his mother comes for the boy. And oh, is Kotaro conflicted about his mother- he certainly can't say a bad word about her in Sorahiko's earshot. He knows she loves him, and is likely going to die trying to protect him from something. But he doesn't like it. *Yamada is just a common name, since Sorahiko is sure that AfO would know to look out for any Shimuras or Torinos.

3- When Kotaro is twelve years old, Sorahiko gets a call from a phone number he hasn't in years. He answers it, and there's a young voice on the other side, rough from tears, saying that Shimura-sensei told him to call the number after she died. Sorahiko knows this means Nana needs something else from him- the last thing she needs from him. But he has to help the first way too. So, he sneaks to UA during the day, and trains Toshinori while Kotaro is at school- Toshinori is excused for personal training, for "meetings with the school counselor after losing his teacher", and makes up classwork in the evenings after Sorahiko leaves. Toshinori stays in an altered apartment in one of the fake cities on UA grounds, alone when he isn't training. When Toshinori once tells Sorahiko that Nana was like his mother, Sorahiko asks quietly if Nana ever told him about her son. Toshinori just says she lost him, a bit of sadness in her heart no matter how she smiled or spoke of romantic dreams. Sorahiko tells him (Toshinori) that it's his (Sorahiko's) fault Nana never saw her son again, and that he's going to train Toshinori to make sure he can kill AfO, not the other way around. Which means he needs to leave the country. The last training session the day before graduation is the last time Sorahiko speaks to Toshinori for decades. And it will not be Toshinori reaching out.

4- Kotaro goes to high school, then university. He becomes an architect. He falls in love. He's surprised when Sorahiko is happy to hear this- weren't they both hurt so much by Nana? Isn't that why Sorahiko closed himself off from anyone but Kotaro? But he's encouraged. He marries Nao, builds a house for her and her parents and him and his. Eventually, they have a little girl, Hana. She looks so much like Nana. Sorahiko and Kotaro never say this fact outloud.

5- Eventually, AfO finds Kotaro. Hana is eight, too old for him to spark a quirk awakening in her without suspicion. But with enough eavesdropping quirks he hears that Kotaro and Nao are considering another child, so he starts setting up coincidences to nudge them along the line. When Tenko is born, four years later than in canon btw, AfO moves. Hana sits down at the dinner table, and when she touches her mother's arm, the woman turns to dust. Everyone starts screaming- except Sorahiko, who moves. He grabs Hana and breaks the window to the backyard, leaves Hana floating above the grass in terror, her jacket falling to dust as she hugs herself. Then he goes back, and grabs baby Tenko. He looks up to see Kotaro, covered in Nao's blood, looking to the front door, that also fell apart. A tall man stands behind it, reaching out a hand to the wall. Kotaro looks back at Sorahiko and tells him to go with the kids, now. Sorahiko breaks into Might Tower about half an hour later, with a child and a baby, and tells All Might these are Nana's grandkids, and he needs All Might to arrange tickets to I-island for the three of them, as quickly as he can while keeping it secret. He leaves a report in a file behind them. Toshinori only tells David to protect them, and Dave does. The baby's a year younger than Melissa, he has to help. Over a decade later, he finds that Hana's headaches seem to be from stress for her two quirks, the sort of opposite problem with Toshinori's decreasing power. But maybe he can build something to help- Melissa the engineer and Tenko the programmer are eager to help too, anyway they can. Sorahiko, feeling as useless as he always has, thanks them.

#pocket talks to people #anon #ask game #fine. i'll let the dual quirk thing hurt people in one au. because maybe they can stop it

[strqyr]

bashing my head into concrete cinder. cinder cinder cinder. "make no mistake, cinder, you hold the key to our victory." cinder goes against salem's direct orders, fails, and salem... takes the blame. after a small, subtle reminder that she's not to be trifled with, yes, but still, she takes the blame for holding cinder back.

(like comparing salem's treatment of hazel in V6 and cinder in V8, the difference is staggering.)

why? why cinder, of all people? she holds the key to their victory, but... is that just because of the maiden powers? it's not like cinder is the only young woman in the world who might want power and is willing to go to great lengths to achieve it; by all means, she should be replaceable, so the question really is if salem is willing to set her plans back for a while (time is on her side, but who knows how time sensitive her current plans are) if cinder becomes unmanageable.

but despite cinder's rebellion, salem makes concessions. despite cinder very blatantly lying—which salem absolutely hates—salem looks the other way as long as she gets relics out of it. cinder is getting such a special treatment and i'm just—

why why why?

is it down to her being the key to their victory? what does that even mean? trust love mentions it, too: all you have to be / is here in reality / leave your fantasy / you'll find the key / to victory, so what's up with it?

how did cinder end up working for salem in the first place, and why her?

#like narrative wise cinder isn't replaceable bc there's isn't exactly anyone who the shoe fits #(i'm. not sorry for that one.) #but in-universe there could be. so the fact it doesn't come up surely means something... right?

[ryukatters]

9:18 PM — s. geto ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

content: fluff, friends to lovers, sort of self-ship coded, reader dates (shitty) men

pairing: suguru geto x gn! reader

a/n: got suguru on da brain rn. my first work for him! hello geto nation how we doin?? also i had to fight my autocorrect bc it kept changing geto to ghetto 😔

“Surely, you must lack respect for yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me," your best friend scoffs. 

It's not uncommon for you to end up at Suguru's doorstep, teary-eyed and sputtering after another failed attempt at romance. But he's hardly ever this mean. 

"What's so great about these guys? Tell me."

"They're...nice."

He sighs out your name in exasperation. He never uses that tone on you, ever. "You're literally miles out of their league. And they can't even afford to pay for both of your meals. How many times have you had to pick up the check for you and your date?”

You open your mouth to retort but wisely keep it shut. Suguru merely raises an eyebrow. 

"Exactly. How can someone be ugly and broke? Then still have the audacity to reject you? Pick a struggle."

"Well excuse me, mister 'I don't need dating apps because everyone just comes to me.' Not everyone is as fortunate as you are when it comes to romantic prospects." 

You're starting to question why you even came here in the first place. Indignation fills you as you slump down on Geto's couch, utterly defeated. 

He sits down next to you, placing a gentle hand on your knee with an even gentler look in his eyes. Your best friend's always been so kind, so thoughtful. That, paired with the fact that he's pretty easy on the eyes makes it easy to understand why he has suitors flocking from left and right. 

"Hey," he calls out, giving your knee a light squeeze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"'s fine."

"No, it's not. It was insensitive of me.”

You know what else isn't fine? Geto wants to ask. The fact that you don't know what kind of guy you deserve. He wills himself to keep quiet, for both of your sakes. 

"Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something. That you have some karmic lessons you need to learn and all that. You say that all the time."

"I don't know. Maybe...maybe love just isn't in the cards for me, Suguru. I mean, what else could all of this mean?" 

You sniffle, and Suguru can feel his heart break into a million little pieces. He wants nothing more than to scoop up the shards and present them to you, in hopes that you can somehow press them back together to make it whole again. The same way you always come running back to him, the same way you trust him to mend your own heart time after time with gentle praise and reassurance. 

"Maybe every heartbreak is just bringing you closer to 'the one,’" he offers, the hand that was previously on your knee now rubbing comforting circles on your back.

"Do you honestly believe in that shit, Suguru?" He doesn't blame you for being so cynical. He would be too, he thinks. 

"I do," he professes without missing a single beat. 

"How?" Not why, but how? How could he possibly understand? How would he know if fate's thrown his so-called one and only his way?

"Because I've felt it," he hums. 

“You… have?” You’re not sure why you feel so disappointed all of a sudden. Why should you care if your best friend’s in love with someone?

“Why do you feel the need to look so far for love?” He counters.

“I…”

“Why don’t you try looking at what’s right in front of you for a change?”

That’s about as far as Suguru’s willing to lay it out for you— he hopes you can read in between the lines. Call it insurance— a way for him to spare his own feelings in case you decide he’s unworthy of your affection and toss him to the side of the road.

“Suguru, I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to say…”

Yes, you do. Suguru wants to say. Just think a little harder. 

There’s a pregnant pause.

When he realizes that you’re unwilling to take another step forward, he figures he needs to just take the leap. Fuck the insurance. He needs to do as he says and prove to you that the trail of heartbreak behind you is all going to be worth it. Because you have him. Suguru can only hope that his love will be more than enough to heal you from a lifetime's worth of pain. 

“Give me a chance,” he whispers, his hands enveloping yours as he brings them up to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles. “Please. I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated, how you deserve to be loved.”

You gasp, unsure how to receive such a confession— especially one from Suguru, nonetheless. The two of you stay frozen for what seems like an eternity. You— afraid, inexperienced with being on the receiving end of anything remotely romantic. Suguru— tense, confession lying heavy in the room. It weighs down his soul with each passing moment he’s not yours. 

“Please,” he pleads, feeling the way your hands tremble in his. Or was it the other way around?

Fear begins to gnaw at Suguru’s insides, thoughts of losing you plaguing his mind as he wills himself to stay calm. He wants nothing more than to shrink into himself— until he hears you speak, tone light and teasing.

“Promise you won’t make me pay for our dinner on our first date?”

Suguru allows himself to let out a genuine chuckle, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

#suguru at some point probably: alexa play you belong with me (taylor's version) #originally written for g*jo but suguru deserves to be in the spotlight too #kat's writing #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #geto x reader #getou x reader #getou x you #geto x you #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru fluff #geto fluff #suguru geto fluff

[woso-dreamzzz]

Puppy

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get a four-legged friend

After your contract with Arsenal runs out, you have a lot of options.

You could have had your pick of the WSL - United wanted you, City wanted you, Chelsea had made an expensive offer that you were more than happy to turn down. The NWSL had expressed an interest as well but America wasn't something you wanted.

It was only when you were wrapping up your last training session at Arsenal before the World Cup did you get a call from your agent.

"Barcelona," He says," They're interested. They're rivalling Chelsea in the amount of money they're willing to pay you."

You couldn't care less about the money. "Set up the meeting."

The meeting was merely a formality and soon, you were packing up your things from London, saying goodbye to Arsenal and flying to Barcelona.

Momma and Morsa come with you, helping you move in.

Morsa laments about the flight times. "It's a lot further than London," She tells you like you don't already know," Almost five hours from home."

You roll your eyes as you unpack another soft blanket. "Morsa, I'll be fine. If anything happens, I'll call Tia Tana or Alexia. I'm not completely helpless."

"Your Morsa is just having a hard time adjusting," Momma assures you," She doesn't like the fact that you're leaving properly."

You roll your eyes again. "I already left properly."

Momma cradles your face. "Try telling her that. You're always going to be her little girl."

You huff but don't argue any longer, preoccupied with placing little knick-knacks on your shelves. At the bottom of one of the boxes is your childhood pet, Rocky the rock. You look at him fondly before giving him pride of place next to your medals.

"You still have that?" Morsa laughs as she joins you.

You roll your arms. "Hey! The bond between a girl and her pet rock is indescribable. Rocky is an important part of who I am."

"You and that rock-"

"His name's Rocky!"

"-Are so cute. You used to take that everywhere with you."

You roll your eyes. "You wouldn't let me get a puppy or a kitten."

"I think a puppy or a kitten would have been too much for the three of us," Momma says," We already had our hands full with you."

You scoff. "I was an angel."

"Hmm," Morsa says, pressing a kiss to your temple," Most of the time."

She and Momma exchange a look briefly and you're instantly suspicious when you catch Momma's phone getting a notification that you instantly see her clear from her screen.

"What are you two up to?"

Both of them smile even more suspiciously as there's a knock on the door.

"This isn't finished."

"I think it is," Momma murmurs behind you as you swing open the door.

"Hola!"

"Hola, Tia Tana," You say before suddenly falling silent.

There's a wriggling puppy in her arms and you coo softly, hand out for it to lick.

It's a Spitz of some kind. You're not sure which but it's definitely a Spitz. Those are your favourite kind of dogs. It's got a kind of reddish fur that looks really pretty and he's full of little wiggly energy that's absolutely adorable.

"He's so pretty, Tia Tana," You say as she lets him loose," I didn't know you got a dog."

"I didn't."

You sit on the floor with the puppy. "He's so cute. It is a he, right?"

Tia Tana nods. "It's a boy."

"You're so cute," You say to him, letting him jump up on your lap," Yes, you are. A very handsome boy. Like a little prince."

"A prince for our princesse," Morsa says," How do you like him?"

You don't quite understand what she means so you just coo over your new friend. You wished he was Tia Tana's so you could see him more often.

"Are you puppy sitting?" You ask her," He's so sweet."

Tia Tana laughs. "In a way," She says," I'm handing him off to his owner today. He's had all of his shots. He's been neutered and everything."

"He's so cute. I'd love to have a word with your owner. You're too handsome to let go."

"That's good," Momma says," Because he's staying with you."

You look up in shock, brows furrowed. "What?"

"We'd feel better if you had some company," Morsa explains," So we got into contact with Aitana before you moved to see if she could find a puppy for you."

"He's a Finnish Spitz," Tia Tana says with a smile," His Mami was very sociable and his Papa goes on runs with his owner. I'm sure he could keep up with you."

You look between the three of them. "Really?"

"Yes," Momma says with the smallest of smiles," He's yours, princesse. Why don't you give him a name?"

"Prins," You say instantly and your mothers start laughing.

"What's funny?" Tia Tana asks.

"His name means prince," Morsa laughs," Truly, a little prince for our princesse."

Prins barks, his little tail wagging. You stroke your fingers through his fur.

"We need to go back out," You say suddenly," We have to get him food! And a bed! And toys!"

"Already done," Tia Tana says," It's all being delivered soon."

You look down at Prins. He looks up at you, curly little tail wagging happily as he nibbles at your shirt sleeve with his little baby teeth.

"This is the best gift ever!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

[healmyhrt]

I have an idea. So there is a cowboy hat rule. And it basically works like this : when the cowboy gives a girl his hat he like "chooses her" and when she gives him his hat back (she have to return the hat to his HOME) they usually fuck or smth. So my idea is that the y/n gives Chris the hat on tik tok, live or yt vid and chris is confused and doesn't know what that means but fans freaks out and he finally learn what that means and return the hat. Or something like this idk

⌗ like the cowgirl you are, c. sturniolo

chris x fem!reader

summary: chris had given you his hat back in the summertime, now it was finally time for you to return it at your university’s halloween party. except for the fact that you and chris had broken up since the school year started. but cowboy hats do have rules, don’t they?

disclaimers!: smut, kissing, angst, oral sex (fem!receiving), good girl/boy kink, cursing, use of y/n

a/n: i changed up the request a little bit bc it kinda confused me idk 😭 hope the submitter enjoys this though! | also i had to make up her friends name but “eden” is not a special character to the story guys

it was october 31st, and it was my university’s annual halloween costume party. and also the day that the cowboy hat rule comes to an end.

there’s this tradition to get the freshman at my college to fuck their first year. the boy gives a girl their cowboy hat anytime after summer starts, and they have until the halloween party to have sex. after the halloween party, you’ve lost your free fuck.

chris and i had been dating since sophomore year, and we attended the same school this year too. he had given me his cowboy hat during summertime, but we broke up right after school started.

and i guess today is the last day that the cowboy hat rule is valid. i didn’t want chris to be the person id have to do it with but… we’ll see how tonight goes.

“y/n, lets go!” a voice calls through my door.

“one second! i can’t find my bandana!” the costume was last minute, and i was matching with one of my new friends, eden, who was a sophomore. she wanted to do a matching costume, but the only sexyish ones left at the costume store were cowgirls. ironic, isn’t it?

i see a bright red piece of fabric hanging on the corner of my bed frame. “coming!” i smile, tying the bandana around my neck.

i grab chris’s hat, holding it in my hands, and staring at it. i slowly put it on in the mirror, and sigh. “here we go.”

“i need a drink.” eden sighs. we enter the sorority house that was throwing the party, and she tightly grips my hand, guiding me to the drinks table.

she hands me a red solo cup, and i push her hand back to her. “designated driver? hello?” i raise an eyebrow. she rolls her eyes. “it’s halloween, lets just get an uber or sleep here or something. live a little.” i sigh.

“pleaseeeeeeee.” she dramatically frowns. i cross my arms, and she gives me a look. “fine.” i chuckle.

“im the best fucking drink mixer there is, you wait and see.” she smirks. i shimmy in place next to her. “gotta pee. where’s the bathroom?” i question. eden points to the line of girls waiting next to a wooden door.

“fuck.”

“use the master bathroom. that’s the one for the people in sorority only, but im friends with half the group. tell ‘em i said you could go.” she smiles, licking spilled alcohol off of her finger.

“you sure?” i give a scared look to her. “go, y/n.”

“which door is it?” i bite my bottom lip. “last door on the left. be aware for socks on door handles.” she chuckles. i roll my eyes.

i nod. “i’ll be here when you get back!” i give her a thumbs up before disappearing upstairs. there weren’t really a lot of people upstairs. some people talking in the hallway, some couples sneaking off into bedrooms, or hogging bathrooms.

i arrive at the last door on the left, and i look around to make sure i was at the correct one before entering.

it was so much quieter in here. despite the now muffled music from outside, i’d stay in here for the rest of the party if i could.

drying my hands, i hear muffled sound from the other side of the bathroom door. i slowly open it, hoping i don’t walk out on a couple.

i see a fitted cap sitting on the carpet, and i walk over to it. picking up the hat, i realize exactly whose it is.

“long time no see.” a familiar voice says from behind me.

fuck.

i slowly turn around, preparing to see him. “y/n.” chris smiles that familiar smile.

“christopher.” i stare at him. he smirks, walking closer to me. “y’know, i always loved when you called me that.”

i scoff. “yeah?” he clears his throat. “yeah.”

chris leans against the sofa in the middle of the room, not taking his eyes off of me. i sit on the ottoman a few feet away.

“you look good.” he smiles, bringing his cup to his lips.

“you look… like you.” i fidget with his hat in my hands. chris places his cup on the floor next to his feet, and leans forward. “is that my hat?” he questions.

“yeah, here.” i stand up, and immediately walk over to him. i hold out his cap, and his eyes stay on mine.

“thanks… but not this one.”

i freeze in place. chris stands, towering over me, and takes his cowboy hat off of my head. “you still have this?” he says through a chuckle. “yep.” i sigh.

“we broke up.” chris says, still looking at the hat. i nod, and scoff. “yep.” i say again. he looks at me, and stares.

i sigh. “well, you returned it.” he smirks. i scoff, moving past him, and sitting on the couch. i can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. “im gonna go.”

i hear his steps get further and further, and then stop at the door. before he gets his hand on the handle, i stand.

“why?”

chris turns around, a confused expression across his face. he shrugs. “why what?” i swallow before speaking.

“why did you kiss her back?” i ask, my voice breaking slowly. chris’s face drops, and he looks at the ground.

“i don’t know.”

i scoff. “you don’t know?” chris slowly steps toward me. i stand, arms crossed, as he arrives in front of me.

“i was wasted. i wasn’t thinking straight. i don’t know why i did it, and ive never forgiven myself, y/n.” he says.

chris slumps down on the sofa next to us, holding his head in his palms. i bite my bottom lip, debating whether or not i should sit.

chris sounded genuine. i truly do believe he didn’t mean to kiss her back. but knowing it happened still hurts.

i sit next to him, my outer thigh rubbing against his the denim that covered his legs. chris rubs his eyes, and drags his fingers down his face. “i really am so sorry.”

i shift in my position, and he looks at me. i try not to hold eye contact because he never looks away. ever.

“please believe me when i say this, i never would do what i did ever again. im so sorry.” he keeps staring.

i sigh, and lean my head against his shoulder. he leans his head on top of mine, and exhales heavily. i smile.

“i still love you.”

my eyes widen, and i slowly lift my head up, his as well. i look chris in the eyes, and he nods. “i mean it.”

i pull on my bottom lip with my teeth, and stand. i take the cowboy hat from his hands, and begin walking to the door. “i love you too.” i say, my hand on the door handle.

chris doesn’t turn around, he continues to face the wall before him, sinking into the couch. and i hesitate. i do still love chris, i never stopped.

but could we really just go back to normal after that? i’m not sure. but right about now, some sex with him would definitely clear the air. although, i’m not sure i’m entirely drunk enough to do that. eden and i pregamed before we left, but that’s about it… fuck it.

“wanna show me how much you still love me?”

chris’s head snaps toward me. he raises an eyebrow. i smile, and raise the cowboy hat above my head.

“i mean cowboy hats do have rules, don’t they?” chris stands, slowly walking toward me with a smirk across his face. “they sure do.”

he lifts me off the ground like i weigh nothing, and i wrap my legs around his waist. chris holds both hands under my ass, and i stare into his eyes. “you sure about this?”

i smile, and place the hat over his long hair.

“yes ma’am.” he replies, instantly laying me down on the master bed beside us, kissing me uncontrollably.

“i missed you,”

kiss.

“so,”

kiss.

“so,”

kiss.

“much,”

and he places one more kiss on my lips, and pulls away, staring down at me. i exhale, breaking the eye contact.

“well, if you missed me so much, prove it.” i smile.

chris’s expression turns into a smug smirk, and he leans forward, kissing me again, and gripping my waist with his pale hands.

he kisses down my neck, leaving notably visibly hickeys as he moves. i breathe heavily, trying to contain myself as he kisses and bites at my skin. “chris, please…”

“so needy. have you been waiting for me to fuck you?”

there was no point in denying. i nod, as he begins to unbuckle his belt. “use your words.” i exhale heavily.

“yeah.”

“yeah?” he pulls his belt out of the loops on his jeans, and tosses it onto the marble floor that surrounded us.

he leans back down, and begins removing pieces of my costume. chris slowly unties the red bandana from around my neck. he looks at it, then at me. “useful.”

chris takes his time removing his t-shirt. he holds eye contact with me, moving as slow as possible. “chris..”

he brings his finger to my lips. “shhh… patience.”

i throw my head back in irritation, and before i know it, two hands grip my thighs and pull me to the edge of the bed. chris spreads my legs, kissing and biting my inner thigh. “don’t need these.” he says, stroking a finger across my underwear before removing them.

he grips my hips, and moves his face closer to me. softly planting a kiss on my clit, i feel him smirk against me.

he moves his head up and down, licking from my entrance and back up to my clit. "fuck—" I moan out as he starts to lap at my clit, sending pleasure everywhere throughout my body.

cheis places his hands on the top of my thighs, making me grind against his mouth, guiding him.

his grip gets tighter, and my breathing heavier.

he continues to lick up my arousal, and i place my hands in his hair, moving it out of his face.

chris stands up, and catches his breath. i do the same, and we finally look at eachother again and he smiles.

“what if i kissed you right now?” “gross.”

he laughs, and begins to unbuckle his belt. chris holds eye contact with me the whole time. “you ready, baby?”

i nod, and chris pulls a wrapped condom out of his sock.“what the hell?” i say, through a chuckle. chris returns a laugh, and rips the top of the wrapper off with his teeth.

“gotta stay prepared.”

he pulls down his boxers, revealing his cock, which oozed with precum. i stare, my eyes getting dry, and chris smirks, placing the condom over himself.

he aligns himself with my entrance, and gives me another look for consent. “ready?” i nod. “positive.”

we both gasp as chris begins to slide in, and an immediate moan leaves my mouth. “shhhhhhhh.”

“we can’t have the whole party hearing you.”

chris glances at my red bandana, and grabs it quickly. he folds it over and over until it’s long, and looks at me.

“head.” he says, i lift my head up as best i can with him thrusting into me, and he ties it around my mouth to the back of my head.

“good girl.”

chris places both hands on my waist again, gripping it tightly. he plunges into me, making a murmured moan leave my lips every time.

chris bites his bottom lip to hold back the moans that threatened to escape him. he throws his head back, and squeezes his eyes shut.

the bed creaks consistently, and it’s pretty loud too, so it’s very obvious to everyone outside what we’re doing.

chris’s thrusts start to slow, and he begins to catch his breath. “so close… gonna—” i feel him turn warm inside me as the condom fills up.

chris leans down, untying the bandana, and placing his head next to mine. i finally breathe, and shut my eyes.

“you’re so good, baby. always so good.”

he lays down next to me, breathing heavily. i just stare at him. and he stares back.

i couldn’t help but think that this was maybe a mistake?

but whether i liked it or not, we had sex, and that’s a pretty difficult thing for two ex’s to get away from.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #chris x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

[adore-laur]

HOME IS A FEELING

— former high school sweethearts reunite for a conversation about what went wrong 🌃

——

"Don't turn around." 

The vague statement thrown your way sends speculations trickling through your brain. Those three words usually never mean anything good. What is it? Or who is it? Whatever the mystery, it makes you anxious based on your friend's wary expression.

"Just tell me," you say timidly, becoming tense in the diner booth with a forkful of red velvet cake halfway to your mouth. "Tell me so I don't have the urge to actually turn around." 

"Your ex," she mutters, never one to beat around the bush, much to your appreciation. "He just walked in. Don't kill me for saying this, but he looks really good." 

You kick her foot under the table and sink further into the leather seat. "Why is he here? He's supposed to be in another country." 

It's not an exaggeration or falsity. Harry is supposed to be in not only another country but also another continent entirely—the Netherlands, to be exact.

Your friend risks another glance at the front door. "Well, he's back, and it's like he never left. Look at them..." She shakes her head slowly. "Hyping him up like he's a goddamn hero." 

You assume she means the people you went to high school with. A hometown get-together with a small crowd of classmates from nearby colleges is being held at everyone's favorite local retro-style diner to celebrate the last week of summer break. It was going swell until Mr. Marine Biologist, who probably makes studying abroad his whole personality, waltzed through the door. 

You cradle your left cheek with your hand to create a shield for your face in case he happens to look over. "I'm almost done with my cake, and then we can leave." 

"Good luck," she sings. "The only booth open is the one right behind us." 

Of course. Sighing, you silently pray that Harry won't come near you. You doubt he'll try to talk to you anyway since it's been complete radio silence on both ends for over two years. You're really hoping the breakup doesn't get brought up. 

A sudden and forceful compulsion tells you to catch a quick glimpse to see how he looks, what he wears nowadays, and how he acts when you're not around. It's hard to resist. 

"He's coming this way," alerts your friend through a spoonful of vanilla ice cream. 

The universe must be listening, and you can't combat the urge anymore. Someone as beautiful as him begs to be looked at. You sure as hell didn't break up with him because he was unattractive. 

Subtly peeking to your left, you see Harry in person for the first time in what seems like forever. It's only a short window of time where you can take in his presence as he walks closer to sit with a group of people in the booth behind you. 

Black skinny jeans. Nothing has changed there. 

Chelsea boots. Since when does he wear those?        

A gray, tattered sweater, and a blue beanie. It's summer, for crying out loud.

Most surprising, however, is his hair, which now falls just a tad below his jaw. The same soft curls you would run your fingers through until he fell asleep. 

You continue picking at your dessert, your mind running a mile a minute at the sight of him. The fact that he's behind you—thankfully facing the other way—but still inches away nonetheless is nerve-wracking. If you move your head back even the tiniest bit, it'll touch his own. 

Did he notice you? Does he know his ex-girlfriend is in the same room and thinking about everything he could be thinking? Like how you never forgot about him as much as you tried to? 

He's speaking, but you can't piece together what he's saying because you're too distracted by how his voice has deepened over the years. The rasp and British drawl are still there, and the warmth and comfort of it still make your heart race.

Your friend keeps stealing glances and looking at you with apprehensive eyes that cause prickles of anxiety on your skin. "What?" you whisper.

Before she can reply, you feel something nudge the back of your neck. You strain your peripheral vision and see Harry's elbow resting on the top of your booth. 

"Oops, sorry," he says, twisting around in his seat. 

You automatically turn and look at him. It's impossible not to since he's like a human magnet for the eyes. His face is so close to you now. Have his eyes gotten greener? Why does he have such beautiful lashes? Does he have more freckles on his nose since you saw him last? 

Snap out of it! 

"It's fine," you mumble, shaking your head and quickly turning around. Your heart feels like it's in your throat. 

Finishing the rest of your dessert, you lean forward so he doesn't accidentally bump you again. Your friend raises her eyebrows at you and taps her foot against yours. 

"So, your brother is coming to visit soon?" you ask, ignoring her questioning look and attempting to make any sort of conversation to distract from Harry. 

"Yeah, tomorrow. My mom is going to weep happy tears."

"Aw. Remind me to visit her before the semester starts." 

The leather seat suddenly squeaks behind you, and your breathing goes uneven for the third time tonight. 

"You guys want anything to drink?" Harry asks his group of friends. 

They all tell him their desired orders, and shortly after, you see him walk past your booth. He heads toward the counter with long strides and hands he doesn't know what to do with. His back is turned, so you use your chance to shamelessly observe him. He looks different but familiar all the same. He has the same body, although he looks buff. Same friendly personality, although you've missed out on it lately. Same gentle presence, although it wasn't that way the night you separated. 

"Didn't you once tell me that he always ordered ginger ale at restaurants?" 

You look at your friend, processing her question. "Yes. He never mixed it with anything, either. Just drank it straight up like a freak." 

"Gross," she says with a wince. "I think he just ordered one." 

Once again, the counter is your focal point; this time, you notice the glass of creamy yellow liquid on it. You internally gag at how Harry could still drink that. Harry then walks back to his booth, skillfully carrying two glasses in each of his hands like he worked as a waiter in his past life. You don't even try to hide the fact that you're staring. 

Eventually, he catches your eye and abruptly stops in his tracks. You watch him blink a couple times before he continues to the table and sets down the drinks for everyone. 

"I'll grab some napkins," he murmurs, leaving again. 

You slide your empty plate toward the center of the table and watch him fumble while taking out napkins from the dispenser. Why is he so nervous all of a sudden? 

When he walks by for the second time, he jerks his chin up to the ceiling. You furrow your eyebrows in response. 

He nonchalantly repeats the gesture as he starts passing napkins around. You shake your head, nonverbally telling him that you have no clue what he's conveying. 

His jaw clenches before he mouths, "Come with me." 

"Absolutely not," you mouth back as you fiddle with the sugar packets. 

Harry huffs and sits in his seat. 

Everything used to be so easy with him. 

                                             —— 

                                  Two Years Ago

It was graduation day, and you were inserting a silver hoop earring in the pierced hole of your earlobe when three thumps gently rattled your bedroom door. 

"Knock knock." 

In the reflection of your vanity mirror, you grinned giddily. "Come in! It's unlocked." 

Harry opened the door with a pout on his lips. "You're supposed to say who's there." 

"Wha—" you stammered confusedly, turning around in your chair. "I hate you." 

He shuffled inside and immediately bellyflopped onto your bed. "Wow. I missed you too." 

"Just kidding," you said, flashing him a winning smile. "You left your laptop charger here, by the way. I set it on the kitchen table." 

"Thank you, baby," he mumbled into your pillow. 

"Don't fall asleep."

"Mm, c'mere." He lazily patted the space next to him. "Let's cuddle before we have to sit far away from each other for the rest of the night." 

"It'll only be for a couple of hours at most," you replied, putting in your other earring. "Don't be so dramatic."

After tidying your vanity area, you stood and slinked into bed with Harry. The lavender-colored sunset filtered through your sheer curtains and created a serene ambiance. Harry's body rolled over on top of yours, his weight providing the perfect amount of warmth and comfort. The scent of his almond oil shampoo reduced your nerves. You reached for your phone and set an alarm for fifteen minutes from now so he would have enough time to get ready, then pulled the blanket over both of your heads, not caring if the hair you spent precious time on became tousled. It would mostly be hidden under the immensely unflattering graduation cap anyway. 

Harry's clean-shaven cheek rested on your chest, and he planted a chaste kiss on your collarbone. He had always been the affectionate type. Touch was his love language, and he never failed to fulfill it with you. 

Every touch strengthened your love for him. Every touch left you longing for more. Every touch felt purposeful. 

—— 

You swear he's doing it on purpose. You know he is. 

Harry keeps leaning his head back until it faintly touches yours. Nuzzling it, if you will. That, or he'll clasp his hands behind his head and loosely twirl a strand of your hair. 

This time, he pretends to yawn and stretch his arms before tickling behind your ear. He knows goddamn well it's the place where you're the most ticklish. You pretend to have an itch and bring your hands back to slap his burning touch away, but of course, he takes the opportunity to be a pest and capture your fingers. 

You yank them away and clear your throat. "I need to go to the bathroom," you tell your friend before getting up and making a beeline straight to the back of the diner. 

When you open the door, you sigh relievedly when you find all the stalls open, and no one is lingering. You pace toward the farthest wall and rub your hands down your face. Two years without Harry, and not a single call or text, only the occasional picture you'd see of him when you caved and scrolled through his social media during particularly lonely nights. Yet tonight, he acts like you're best buds who can tease each other and initiate playful touches like you didn't end on a terrible note that made both of your hearts shatter into smithereens. Maybe this is some bizarre dream you'll wake up from and laugh about later. 

You blow out a sharp breath and wash your hands before splashing cold water onto your heated cheeks. 

"Were my hands dirty or something?" 

Your whole body flinches. Now, he's just plain annoying. How long has he been standing there? 

"Why are you in here?" you ask monotonously. 

Footsteps come closer. You keep your back turned. 

He laughs softly and says, "How've you been?" 

Such a master at avoiding questions. "That wasn't what I asked." 

"That wasn't an answer," he replies smugly. You can practically hear the satisfied smile in his voice. 

"I've been fantastic, Harry," you say, your words laced with petty sarcasm. "What about you?" 

"You sound stressed." He's right next to you now. "Is it because of your job? I heard you're an assistant teacher at the middle school." 

Your hands grip the edge of the marble sink. "Who told you that?" 

"I knew you'd be here," he says, as if it were obvious. "I had to ask people what you've been up to since you clearly weren't going to tell me yourself." 

He asked about you? No, that can't be right. Turning to face him, you let your guard down just a little. "I'm helping with the summer school program." 

Harry smiles. If you analyze it enough, it almost looks like a proud one. "That's amazing. What grade do you want to teach in the future?" 

A conversation with your ex-boyfriend about career aspirations is entirely too casual for your liking. Doesn't he have friends to catch up with? Some ginger ale to drink? 

You shrug and truthfully say, "I haven't decided yet. It's a big decision." 

He nods, crossing his arms. "You've got time." 

Silence hangs except for the drip of the faucet. 

"So... I assume you're still studying marine biology?" you ask, already knowing the answer. 

He hums an affirmation. "I'm almost done with my bachelor's degree, and then I'll be on my way to becoming one with the ocean." 

You almost let a laugh slip out. "Well, I'm sure it's beautiful in Europe. I can't imagine the view every day." 

He nonchalantly plucks a stray strand of hair off your sleeve, making your blood rush. "It is, yeah. It gets a little lonely sometimes, but it's been nice to live somewhere so different from what I was used to." 

"You don't have a roommate?"

"Nope, just me. I don't really like sharing my space." 

Only if it was with you. He's told you that before. Not that it matters now.

"I know. Don't know why I even asked." 

It's a bold statement but a tenuous breakthrough in the barrier of the inevitable and awkward breakup conversation you're dreading. 

Harry inhales and takes a step closer. "Come up to the rooftop with me. I don't want our first conversation in two years to be in the women's restroom." 

You give him an apologetic look and say, "I'm sorry, but I can't. I have to head home soon and get up early for work tomorrow." 

He toys with the bottom of your shirt. "Please." 

It's a soft whisper that echos in the empty space, a begging tone chipping away at the walls built around your heart, paired with pleading eyes so clear and tender. Harmless.

"Okay." You'll kick yourself later for giving in so easily. "Okay, fine. Let's go." You pull out your phone and send a quick text message to your friend about where you'll be. She'll understand the weight of the situation. 

Harry walks out of the bathroom, with you following behind. He takes a sharp right toward the concealed metal stairs leading to the diner's roof. He leaves some room so the two of you can walk side by side, your clothes rustling against each other in the narrow space. The rusty door opens, and you step out onto the flat concrete. 

Little squares of light shine from the city buildings far away. They cause a strange feeling to wash over you. It can only be described as a powerful wave of hometown nostalgia, even though you never left. You wonder if it's hitting Harry as well. 

He stands by the edge and leans his forearms on the railing, glancing at you with an unreadable expression. Is it reminiscence? Yearning? Regret? All could be the reason for the melancholy shift in energy. 

"What did we do wrong?" 

                                           —— 

                 Three Months After Graduation

The party turned sour out of the blue. Harry's friend hadn't just said what you think he said. It was loud, so you must have heard him wrong. Why didn't he tell you? Why did you have to find out from his drunk friend who's not even close to him? 

Harry definitely saw your face drop because he instantly pulled you into an unoccupied bedroom upstairs. You'd been arguing for the past half hour, neither one of you inebriated funny enough, but still throwing words that were more like weapons at each other—launching arrows at the heart, shooting daggers at the eyes, and slashing swords in the Achilles heel. 

Your weak spot was him, and you were his. 

You stood your ground as you spoke your closing statement with frustrated tears. "I'm never going to see you if you're abroad, so what's the difference if I just leave now and never see you again?" 

"Will that make you happy?" He was being stubborn; you were, too. "Because obviously, I don't make you happy enough for this to continue. For us to at least try." 

He did make you happy, but anger blindly leads people to say what they don't mean, especially in cases of love. 

"Obviously not." Lies, lies, lies. "It's useless when we know it'll end badly." 

Harry released a bitter laugh. "Fine. Have it your way." 

"Fine," you repeated. 

You should have fought for him, but what would have been the use if you had known it would only hurt you in the long run? 

He roughly swung the door open and then turned around one last time. "You can come pick up your stuff at my house this weekend. I won't be home." 

The door slammed shut, and reality sunk in. 

—— 

The open sign of the diner flickers below. 

"We did a lot wrong," you declare defeatedly, standing beside him. 

"True, but we were eighteen and didn't know anything about communication or how to balance adult shit." 

The conversation is heading toward a place you don't want it to go. "I really don't want to talk about our breakup, Harry. It's in the past. We've moved on." 

He shakes his head. "Why? There was no closure whatsoever. I think it'd be good to get some now that we're face-to-face." 

In the distance, you watch birds flock on the wire of a telephone pole. "Why didn't you just ignore me tonight? We've been doing fine without each other." 

He scoffs quietly and leans his body against the railing. "Really? I was homesick for months because of you. You felt like home to me, you know that. The feeling never disappeared no matter how much I pushed it down." 

You throw your arms out. "Then why didn't you call or text me? I would've replied, Harry. I'm not that cruel." 

"I thought you hated me," he says. "I wouldn't have blamed you. I just couldn't stand having you hate me, so I thought it'd be easier not to talk to you." 

It's the classic tale of a high school mindset. You think you're doing the right thing until it slaps you across the face with the hand of cluelessness. You wonder what would've happened if Harry had reached out. Maybe you could've figured it out. 

"I didn't hate you," you admit. How could anyone hate him? "I mean, I might've thought that I hated you, but if anything, I still loved you for way too many months after." 

Harry looks like he wants to say something, but you continue. "Like you said, we were young and didn't know how to balance a relationship and our lives outside of it. Two years can really mature a person, and we both needed to do that without each other." 

He nods while stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Yeah." 

The conversation stops at a dead end. There's nothing else to say since it's a mutual understanding of what went wrong. 

The breeze picks up, and you shiver before asking, "How long are you here for?" 

He clears his throat. "I'm staying with my mum, then I have a flight back to the Netherlands in a few days. I have to go back for an ecology camp." 

"That's nice," you say. A couple of days. That knowledge causes an unwanted sinking feeling to take place in your stomach. 

"Do you…" He raises his thumb to his mouth, nervously biting his fingernail. "Can we maybe talk more before I leave?" 

It's an open opportunity, but what would it lead to? What would come of it? Would it be worth the pain? 

"What's there to talk about? You're leaving soon, and then we'll never speak again." 

You've taken logical truth more seriously over the years. You've learned that holding on to false hope is dangerous for the heart and mind.

"That won't happen," he replies with a pensive gaze. "We've grown and know how to communicate now. There's so much we've missed in each other's lives that we can talk about. I don't know where you live or the places you like to go anymore, who your friends are, or what new songs you like to listen to. It kills me." 

A shaky breath escapes you. "It doesn't matter. We're not right for each other. Call me selfish, but I don't want a relationship where we barely see each other. I'm sure that's not what you want either." 

"So, that's it?" he asks, staring at the sky. "Do you not want to give this another chance?" 

You can't imagine a more complicated question to answer, but it seems you've known the answer for a while. Gently grabbing Harry's chin and tilting his face down, you say, "Right person, wrong time. It would never work with the distance, and you know that. Deep down, we both know, as much as it hurts to admit."

"What now? We're back to being strangers?" 

"Harry, I don't think we'll ever be strangers. I know too much about you." 

You're trying to lighten the mood, but Harry's sad eyes aren't helping at all. Instead, you focus on the stars twinkling brightly across the black sky and the single car driving by on the otherwise empty street. Every second that ticks by, he seems to move closer to you. 

"If this is the last time I see you," Harry says apprehensively, "can I hold you for a little while? Give me that, and I won't ask you for anything else." 

It'd be foolish to say no, wouldn't it? You need to feel him just as much. He's too significant of a person to let go of without a proper goodbye.

"You can hold me." 

And so he does for the last time. 

Harry closes the distance and embraces you like he always used to — his cheek resting on your head and his arms completely winded around you, squeezing the sides of your body. Breathing you in like he's scared of losing you. It's just you and him standing on a rooftop and holding on to any last bit you can get of each other. 

You're tucked so far into his chest that the only thing you can hear is his heart pounding. He's warm and sentimental, and the nighttime chill makes you melt into him even more. He eases you — every laugh, every tear, every moment you share with him was brought about by the ease of being around him. 

"You still feel the same." A pang ripples in your heart because of your own words, and a sob desperately tries to crawl up your throat. 

Harry nuzzles his nose into your hair. "Yeah? You still smell the same." 

You laugh, but it's choked with sadness. "What, like shitty teen store perfume?" 

"No, you smell like home. Like when I used to go to your house for sleepovers, and you'd always light those vanilla candles." 

Another pang, this time from his vulnerable confession. "I should go," you say, deterring the conversation from any more agony. 

He doesn't argue. "Yeah, me too. I never really liked those people in there anyway." 

You smile, stepping away from his arms. "I'll walk you to your car." 

He nods, and the both of you retreat down the stairs, exiting the building through the back way to avoid any distractions. After reaching the front of the diner, you find his black Jeep sitting alone in a parking space. It's nice to know he still has it, considering it's a car with good memories, like Harry driving you to school every morning and picking up coffee. Or eating fast food outside the high school after a football game. Or nights of endless kissing and professions of love before he walked you to your doorstep.

Facing him under the moonlight tonight, it's time to officially move on. 

"Bye. It was really nice to see you." A tear unexpectedly falls from your eye. Maybe it's due to the chilly temperature, but you know better. 

Harry's face crumbles. Your composure shatters. 

"Please don't cry," he pleads, biting his lip to stop it from wobbling. However, it's too late, and both of you give in to the misery and drama of it all.

"Now we're both crying."

He rubs his eyes and leans against his car door. "God, this fuckin' sucks." 

"We'll be okay," you say weakly. "It's fine. We went two years without each other. You'll forget about me soon enough, and it'll be like this never happened." 

You're only trying to convince yourself at this point. 

"I never forgot about you. You were the first person I fell in love with. How do I move on from that?" 

His choice of words isn't something you gloss over. Is he insinuating that he hasn't moved on yet? Should you tell him you haven't either? 

Logical thinking, you mentally tell yourself. Don't say something that will make it harder to leave.

"I have to go home now." But isn't home standing right in front of you? 

"Okay," Harry says. "I guess… good luck with everything. I hope teaching goes well for you." 

You kick away a pebble on the pavement. "Thanks. I hope you become one with the ocean." 

He laughs breathily, his dimples popping out for the first time tonight. He then inhales and gazes somewhere far away as his smile dies. When he looks back at you, he nods once before getting in his car. 

"Wait."

He freezes. "Yeah?"

Don't make it harder.

Leave. 

Don't hurt yourself. 

Yet the way he looks at you is enough to ignore those logical thoughts. You lean forward and kiss his cold cheek, and it's like his entire body deflates under your hesitant touch. "Thank you for making me happy during the time we had together," you say against his tear-stained skin. "I never got to tell you that."

Harry sniffles and nods, then kisses your cheek a little longer and softer.

A lasting pang. A lingering sting. A sharp twinge. 

Why? 

Because the words he whispers to you cause silent tears to fall down your face when he finally closes the door and drives away. 

You still mean so much to me. 

—— 

Opening the door to your bedroom, the silence echoes louder than usual. The small space is where memories with Harry can still be found. There's the blanket he used to lie on, the desk he would sit on to help you study, and the dresser you used to keep his shirts in to wear when you missed him. The most tragic thing is an empty photo book on the top shelf of your closet that was meant to be filled with future road trips that never got planned. Next to it are unused polaroids for dates that stopped happening. 

Piled at the bottom are a few that actually got used. A picture of Harry when the both of you went to a homecoming afterparty, and you didn't want to drink alcohol, so Harry drank orange Hi-C cartons with you to make you feel better. A picture of Harry on a floating water bouncer at the lake by your uncle's cabin when you went on summer vacation together after junior year. Your favorite picture of him is when he's turned around in the seat of the school auditorium, smiling widely. It was back in high school when nothing could separate you from him. 

The pictures remind you of a time when you were in love—not only with him but with life. They feel like home to you. 

That feeling of home seems impossible to catch now. It's like chasing a butterfly that keeps escaping from the loose grasp of your hands because you don't want to hurt it. 

Are you the hands, or are you the butterfly? 

—— 

The journal on top of Harry's suitcase mocks him. He shouldn't open it, but logical thinking has never been his strong suit. 

The first page has pressed and dried lavender taped onto it from the first date he took you on. The next has your drawings in the margin from when you would steal his journal while he studied. Yet most of the pages are filled with lovesick entries about you. 

- January 29th - 

Last night, I told her I was falling in love with her. She said no one had ever told her that before, and I couldn't believe it. How could someone not instantly fall in love from the moment she walks into a room? 

Then she told me that she loved me too. I swear I almost cried with happiness. She's the one for me. I see us being together for the long haul. 

I hope she sees the same thing. 

- June 6th - 

We graduated! We're finally done with high school!

When they called my name, my eyes went to hers first. She looked so proud of me. I wonder if I could convince her to rent an apartment with me instead of staying in different dorms. 

College will be strange, but we'll get through it together. I have no doubt we'll adapt and find time for each other. 

I always have time for her. 

- August 2nd - 

I think I'm going to tell her about the college I chose. She's not going to take it well. It's abroad, but it's the best school for marine biology. 

She wants to stay close to home, but I want to get out and travel. There's nothing hard about talking through some of our differences, right? Long-distance relationships can work if you put in the effort. We can do it. 

If this ends up biting me in the ass, you'll never hear from me again. 

Harry stopped writing in his journal after the breakup. It's almost funny, he supposes. He jinxed it in the last entry. He thought of the worst-case scenario, and it came to fruition right before him only days later. 

Blissful ignorance is what he'll call it. Two high school sweethearts who didn't know what would hit them. Foolishly in love and blinded by reality. But the thing is, it's not easy to just move on from it. Especially when he brought those damn vanilla candles from his dorm room to his mum's house so he could sleep better at night. 

So he can be reminded of home. 

It was never a place when he was with you. Home became a feeling that bloomed without warning. It took him by surprise when he found himself wanting to be around you all the time. His home was entirely, ultimately, and unconditionally you. 

Harry closes his journal and brings it with him as he heads out the door to search for a drop of that feeling in the places you used to go. 

The places he will write about until his hand aches as much as his heart. 

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles #adore-laur #home is a feeling

[weepynymph]

I gotta talk about this moment even though it's been discussed a million times

Zuko, opening up to someone about his scar for the first time (from what we’ve seen in the show at least, but we can reasonably assume he hasn’t spoken about it like this since he got it) and explicitly stating that whilst he's always associated it with with failures ('the mark of the banished prince'), he's finally ready to take control and change his life for the better. And whilst he has accepted that he can never change his scar, it’s ok because he still has the power to change his destiny.

And despite this assurance, Katara, the healer, still jumps in and offers to heal it anyway, understanding that this is still a burden she could lift from him - 'What if you could be free of it?'

She knows it won't change his life in the same way taking control of his own destiny will, but still, it's like she can't help but try to ease his pain. Even if it's a pain that's long since become a permanent part of him, something that might seem surface level or cosmetic to others - 'It's a scar, it can't be healed.'

And then we have this

'I've been saving it for something important.'

This. Healing Zuko's scar. A wound that has, for all intents and purposes already healed and is not longer a threat to his life, but still burdens him emotionally. That has come to represent all of his trauma. This Katara considers important enough to use her limited and precious supply of spirit oasis water. In the middle of a war. In the middle of a dangerous journey to save the world in which she and her friends might be seriously injured at any time (including in this scene, where Ba sing se is literally under attack as they speak).

And if that weren't enough

'I don't know if it would work'

Now, I don't know the mechanics of spirit water in the atla universe, but it seems to be pretty heavily implied later in the episode when she uses the water to heal Aang, and for a moment thinks that it hasn't worked, that it's sort of a one-time deal.

Which means that she's willing to potentially waste the spirit water just on the off-chance that it might remove the scar. Which in the context of the wider story seems utterly insane.

But Katara thinks it's worth the risk.

And presented with this opportunity, this beautiful, selfless offer to ease his suffering, even on a purely physical, surface level, Zuko wordlessly submits, and lets her touch his scar.

Now, Katara doesn't know quite how significant this touch is (although she's very emotionally intuitive so I'm sure she has some inkling of the gravity of this action) but we do. We know that Zuko doesn't let anyone touch his scar, ever. So what this communicates to us as an audience is that Zuko is allowing himself, for the first time, to put his complete trust in someone. To be completely, 100% vulnerable with them.

And the moment of touch is all the more significant because, in many ways, it isn't even strictly necessary.

Katara's hands are empty, she isn't putting the spirit water to his face, to attempting to heal it here. And while I'd argue this touch could be a practical one - assessing the damage of the scar with her hands to see how to proceed before she uses the water - the moment after, right before they are interrupted, isn't one of practical, medical assessment, but of intimacy.

The way Zuko waits, patiently, eyes closed, and the way Katara pauses, just for a moment, doing what I can only describe as gazing at him, and that slow blink in the middle- Again, not examining his scar or reaching for the spirit water to begin, but just taking it all in.

It's so breathtakingly intimate and vulnerable - a point of connection between these two people who are supposedly so completely different but are, here, somehow so alike in their openness and understanding of one another.

That Katara offers to heal Zuko's scar even when he's said moments before that he's made his peace with the fact that he's never be free of it. And the way he accepts her offer without words because she's right, part of him does want to be free of it.

It's just an absolute masterclass in creating an immediate and powerful connection and bond between two characters in an incredibly short space of time from a start point of complete opposition without rushing it or making it seem implausible.

#I don't know how to end this is just needed to talk about this scene #they really send me into a feral frenzy #because how could this not be endgame when this scene exists??? #anyway #zutara #Zuko x Katara #zutara meta #zutara analysis #my meta #atla #avatar the last airbender #my gifs

[jymwahuwu]

Cloud Knight!darling makes a bet with their fellow cloud knight friends that if someone in their group gets a high profile partner, they have to get married and have kids first😆😂

TADA! Darling gets 😱 General Jing Yuan?! And shockingly the exiled Blade! What luck to get TWO matches?! Unaware of the General's gaze on you (from behind you), you shrug it off and turn around to tell your friends that it's a pipe dream-

Uh oh- The general is standing behind you🧍‍♂️and wraps his arm around your waist to tell you that it's ok, you'll be given time to accept the match... But he didn't tell you that you're relieved of your job to serve him and be his little precious housewife nor the fact that he's requested for Blade to come back so you three could have a tiny wedding... With a small bump on your tummy of course🥰

-💦anon (that's constantly horn knee for blade and Jing yuan, I mean who wouldn't 😔)

Your brain has so many interesting ideas!! I LOVE THIS!! Would be freaking out and be so happy 🤣😳😳❤️‍🔥Think this matching service could be more dystopian, ostensibly consensual, but actually forced marriage...

CW: yandere, forced marriage, kind of dystopian

"Oh come on. What's so special about that matching service? I'm sure they'll match me with someone who doesn't even know how to fight."

"Huh? If not?"

"Hmph, getting married and having a baby? okay. Anyway, I'm of the marriageable age in Xianzhou."

Luofu recently arranged for people to go to a matching service to increase the proportion of the married population (loneliness in the universe is already one of the afflictions of long-lived species)… even though you are part of the army is no exception. You fold your arms, discussing the service with your cloud knight companions, curling your lips indifferently. You guys bet that if one of you is lucky enough to find a high profile partner, get married and have a baby first.

A few days later, you receive an electronic report on your phone and walk over to your companion. You were joking and clicked on the results together.

Matching Result: Jing Yuan, Blade (Warning: This person is wanted by Xianzhou. For your safety, the result has been backed up to Seat of Divine Foresight) Suitability for Marriage: 90% Suitability for Reproduction: 95% The results are based on rigorous scientific analysis, as detailed below: … *The system has automatically sent your information to your matching partner(s). We wish you happiness and look forward to seeing you get married soon!*

You opened your mouth slightly, and a big "?" appeared on the top of your head. You swipe the screen with your fingers, and checked it several times before you realized that it was not the person with the same name as General Jing Yuan, but the real General Jing Yuan… And that Blade you saw on the wanted poster? This is your matching result? And why can this service invade your privacy and automatically send your information to them? Too much confusion fills your mind.

Okay, this must be a pipe dream. You shrug and turn your head away, planning to tell your friend that you're going to ignore this.

Something is gently placed on your waist, it is a hand. Your back shivered from the close contact, and you let out a little scream, and turned around to find that it was…General Jing Yuan!?!? Jing Yuan was amused by your reaction, squinting his eyes, and Say hello to you. Cloud Knight's friends were petrified.

"It's okay," the general said softly. "I will give you time to accept the matching result. By the way, I have already booked the venue and date, for the wedding, you know. And Blade, he also expressed his willingness to return to Xianzhou."

"What-what?" Your mind is in turmoil.

Under the gaze of everyone, Jing Yuan kissed your forehead and left in a good mood. "I'll be visiting your house tonight, darling."

As for Blade, he is returning to Xianzhou from somewhere in space, and is checking your profile. Kafka is encouraging him and telling him what to pay attention to when meeting his future partner. Silver Wolf is telling him that he can refer to visual novels 💀

#[💌.from💦] #yandere jing yuan x reader #yandere blade x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere jing yuan #yandere hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #blade x reader #hsr x reader #hsr blade x reader #blade x you #hsr x you #alani.answers

[esamastation]

lil bit of AC x Temeraire

"Translation error," is Clay's verdict.

"Translation error," Desmond repeats dubiously, staring down at him.

"Yes."

"Uh-huh. And that means what, exactly?"

So many things that he doesn't understand, it turns out. Stuff like how Animus code works and how badly it was originally designed, Abstergo trying to derive from the First Civilisation's work and how it was bungled up. Add into the mix human DNA - Clay's - being translated into Animus simulation which was then translated into whatever the Grand Temple had going on for itself which was then translated yet again into the background processing of the universe, plus the delightfully unstable addition of stray thoughts and the fact that Desmond has slight Piece of Eden infection and apparently the placebo effect is actual fucking magic -

"What?" Desmond asks helplessly.

"Stalk it up as a glitch in the Matrix, times a thousand," Clay concludes. "And don't worry about it."

"Um. No, I don't think I can," Desmond says, emphatically, and motions at him. "Clay, you're a dragon."

Clay looks down at himself, at his sinuous body of pale gold and burnished bronze. He's not a very big dragon, about the size of a big dog maybe, but he's still very clearly a dragon. Wings and tail and talons and all.

Clay looks up at him, and his voice is sardonic. "Wow, your Eagle Vision must be levelling up, Desmond, your observational abilities are off the charts!"

Desmond folds his arms. "I'm also observing that there's something wrong with the Grand Temple," he says flatly.

Clay swings his long necked head around this way and that, taking in the ancient volcanic cave around them. "Looks the same to me."

"All our stuff is gone, Clay. And I seem to recall that part having collapsed. It looks pretty uncollapsed to me. Also, the barrier is up again," Desmond points at the glowing Isu-tech barrier between them and the device Desmond is pretty sure he just activated. "Are you seeing the barrier, Clay, the barrier I spent the last week's of my life opening?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Seventeen, you're not dead yet."

"Clay," Desmond says, even flatter.

The dragon blows out an acrid smelling breath. "Okay, fine, I did maybe attempt a little bit of time travel," he says defensively. "You would've too if you realised what the Grand Temple could really do!"

"Which is… time travel?"

"Pretty much anything that your little mind can come up with, actually."

Desmond gives him another one over and folds his arms. "Like turning you into a dragon."

"Manipulating probabilities is one hell of a thing," Clay agrees and nudges his side with his nose. Snout? "But the dragon bit is definitely a translation error. I was trying to recode myself into an Isu," he adds, very quickly under his breath. "Not a winged reptile with an upset stomach."

"You - what?"

Clay avoids looking him in the eye and huffs out an embarrassed breath. "Also you're not dead. You're welcome for not being dead," he says pointedly.

Desmond stares at him for a long moment before letting out a sigh and letting it go. "Thanks. You have an upset stomach?" he then asks.

"It kinda hurts, yeah," Clay murmurs, shifting his weight a little, and just then there's an audible gurgle from somewhere within him, his draconic belly rumbling.

Desmond lets his hands drop to his sides. "You're hungry?" he asks incredulously.

"I haven't eaten anything in almost a year, Desmond, have some sympathy."

"Yeah, well, you were dead," Desmond says, making a face, and then hesitates. "I should be dead."

"That's what Juno wanted to happen anyway," Clay agrees and unfurls his wings tentatively. "Again you're welcome."

"Right. You… saved me. And brought us back in time," Desmond says slowly and frowns  "When exactly are we?"

Clay spreads out his wings and shakes himself. "If I didn't mess up the calculations, maybe two hundred years back in time."

"Uh. Why two hundred years?"

"It's enough time to fast forward industrial revolution without breaking history too badly," Clay says almost flippantly and gives him a look. "And all your major ancestors have procreated and died and so if we mess up time, there's still a good chance you will be born."

Desmond blinks. "That's," he starts to say and then isn't entirely sure how to continue. It's not exactly comforting, not exactly worrisome. It's something in between with a little bit of existential horror thrown in. "Okay," he settles on saying, feebly. "And what are we going to do? Just cause an early industrial revolution?"

"That and some other things. I have some plans," Clay says, not quite modestly.

Desmond isn't exactly reassured by his tone. "And how does becoming a dragon feature in those plans?"

Clay hesitates and looks down at himself, shifting his weight on his taloned claws. "Well," he says and his stomach grumbles again. "I think it might change the first step. Get food, instead of find riches. Do you think we could get some food? I'm really hungry, Desmond. You know how to hunt, right?"

Desmond eyes him for a moment and then hums. "I know how to hunt, yeah," he says slowly and looks away, towards the entrance to the Temple. Or rather the exit from their point of view. "But, uh."

"What?"

"You know, we needed Minerva's Apple to get in here. The door was pretty well shut - and had been for tens of thousands of years." Desmond points out and nods at the sloping cave, leading away from them. "How do you suppose we're going to get out?" 

Clay stills and then tucks his wings back in. "Oh," he says.

"Yeah. Oh."

-

What if Travel Winds but with Clay and more crack?

#Fanfiction #crossover #assassins creed #Temeraire #desmond miles #clay kaczmarek #Hey look writing #That hasn't happened in a while

[twelvemonkeyswere]

I re-read Good Omens via audiobook and I just collected my favorite details

"Crowley rather liked people" is a quote I still love so much. Even though he is a demon with the job of making people upset each other, he likes humans. The contrast between what they make him do and how he experiences Earth.

That scene with the ducks where Crowley almost drowns a duck and Aziraphale is like "I say, my dear" and Crowley is like "Oh yes I forgot myself" and allows the duck to return to the surface. Crowley is usually very polite about the most unhinged things which I just find endearing

All the times Aziraphale calls Crowley "dear boy"

The fact Aziraphale has "exquisitely manicured" hands lmao. I like to think he does go to the manicurist, same as he has a proper barber in the show

Aziraphale blushes sometimes and often gives mean looks to customers to push them out of shop

I like the on-going theme in the Good Omens universe of wanting to build a better world for loved ones, but how that drive, when taken to an extreme, is self destructive. Adam says he'll make the earth good for the Them, and will make sure the Them will be protected and happy in it. But the Them don't want it, they understand Adam is acting out and is not thinking things through. There is no point in trying to possess something and bend it to will forcefully. It wouldn't be good. It wouldn't be of free will. It would make them just another of his whims and no one, either the Them or Adam, actually want that

Aziraphale thinks Crowley is a creature of God when you "get right down to it", which is a thought both meaner and kinder than he realizes

Crowley is described to have "a voice so laid-back you could lay a carpet on it"and it's my most favorite thing ever lmaooo

"You're seducing women here!" /"I think perhaps you got the wrong shop" is always a brilliant line

Even though everything in the Bently turns into Queen's Greatest Hits, I love that Crowley actually loves music, and keeps his collection of records highly organized

Also love the fact that Crowley keeps his apartment orderly, though that's probably in big part because he doesn't really live there

I do appreciate that Crowley sleeps because he wants to, not because he needs to. Truly a relatable guy.

There's a big HOLY SHIT moment in the audiobook - the speech the American evangelist gives about the apocalypse. It's fucking incredible. The actor is amazing, delivering fire and brimstone and absolute hatred and certainty until Aziraphale pops inside of him.

Death really is Azrael, literally the angel of death

Aziraphale comes up with the solution at the end but ONLY because of Crowley, who challenged Aziraphale about the difference between the great plan and ineffable plan at the very beginning of the book

There are many moments where both Crowley and Aziraphale are thought to be a gay couple, but it really made me laugh that they are at the end of the world, telling each other it's been a pleasure to know each other all this time, and then Shadwell interrupts to call them "Nancy Boys"

Everyone in the Good Omens fandom is right, I do love that in the book, the wings of demons and angels are the same color

Crowley thinks the biggest battle will be heaven and hell vs humanity. This has got me thinking a lot. I figure this is because at some point humanity will rebel against any divine intervention, once we figure out that heaven and hell have been playing dice with us. But we'll see.

It does warm my heart that the story begins and ends with a garden and with the eating of the apple - Adam doesn't know why the old man hates people touching his apples so much, but the world would be a lot less interesting if he didn't. It's a fitting end for a fitting beginning.

#good omens #wendy reads #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #good omens 2

[the-heart-of-leo]

Nick's so far under the bus that they might as well change the oil while they're under there.

Okay, because I'm a bit of a masochist and I have adblockers...

I'm going to count how many times James throws Nick under the bus:

@2:40 – 'This fell upon Nick as well, as a non-binary person on the ace spectrum, they wanted to include asexuality and non-binary representation to our videos. But because Nick's experience is not universal – There is no universal experience – people felt that we were delegitimizing their own experiences because we focused on Nick's.' (The reason we were acephobic was because we (meaning Nick) didn't think other ace people had problems and when it was pointed out to us by The Ace Couple that ace people did, in fact, face discrimination and conversion therapy, we (meaning James) accused them of homophobia and sicced their followers on them.)

@6:38 – 'The work Nick and I were doing on the channel...' (Because Nick was here too! Not just me!)

@10:46 – 'I was much more interested in the production of the videos than the writing of them, at this point. So after three or four videos, I brought Nick on as a main writer for the channel. The idea is that they would write the vast majority of the scripts. I would film, voice, and edit the videos and we'd split the money that came in.'(Nick was the main writer for the channel! In case you forgot...)

@14:40 – 'And then my mom died... and I became completely useless. I couldn't think straight, at all, so Nick had to completely take over writing duties.'(DID I MENTION NICK WAS THE MAIN WRITER. ALSO MY MOM DIED; FEEL SORRY FOR ME)

@19:44 – 'When Nick got back, he believed the script needed a first page rework. This was also when he told me he was going to be moving back to Ontario permanently soon as he wanted to live closer to family and live in a bigger city with more opportunities. This was a punch to the gut for me. We'd been living together since 2015 and had become quite dependent on each other. I felt like there was no way I could make this movie without him.'(We couldn't make the movie we promised because SOMEONE DECIDED TO MOVE and since I'm co-dependent on him, I moved with him and screwed up everything. Oopsie.)

@26:32 – 'But by accepting as many sponsors as we did, which became very important when Nick and I started living apart and suddenly had two rents to pay, we ended up needing to produce even more videos. Which, along with the work on Telos and making sure everything was okay with my dad while living thousands of kilometers away meant I had even less time for writing – putting more stress on Nick and leading to even more copy and pasting from me.' (See what you did, Nick?! We have to pay TWO rents now and we need to make even MORE videos. I'm not creepily co-dependent on my asexual ex-roommate at all!)

@32:50 – 'I know what misinformation had made its way into our past videos. That was not something we intended; in some cases it was information I was told by people I considered experts. In other cases it was information that we had researched. In other cases it was things that Nick had learned in university.'(Nick told me some of this stuff! ((which is fair because NICK ADMITTED HE DOESN'T DO RESEARCH)) In other cases it was because I assumed I knew what happened because I'm the smartest person I know so of course Lesbians had it easier! I just forgot that Radcliffe Hall's books were banned and destroyed because of that head injury I talked about earlier.)

And here's an honorable mention where the smug “I'm smarter than you” BS comes to visit:

'To those who say I plagiarized the plot from the novel Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix – Read the book. It's nothing like the plot of the movie. And 'The Final Girl' is a trope in horror movies so if using the Final Girl trope is plagiarism then basically everyone who's made a slasher movie since Texas Chainsaw Massacre owes the Toby Hooper estate some money.'

So, much like how James doesn't understand why people aren't upset at him because of citation issues, he doesn't understand that it's not the fact that he's using the 'Final Girl' trope... it's the fact that he stated the book as a favorite of his and then... suddenly he's writing a movie about the aftermath of the Final Girl. And given the plagiarism, it can not be taken in good faith.

First off, if you just google 'First Final Girl', it just says Texas Chainsaw Massacre is one of the earliest examples. Another possibility for the 'First Final Girl' was actually Black Christmas which was released the same day in Canada so it is literally tied.

Secondly; the final girl trope is not required for slasher movies. One of the first 'proto-slasher' movies was actually Psycho so there were a few good decades between that and Texas Chainsaw Massacre. (I could try and make a case that Lila Crane should count as a Final Girl; maybe even Mrs. Bates/Norman as a subversion... but I'm not that invested or interested.)

So... James was true to form, he just wanted to be a smug asshat and try and seem smart over something easily googled.

#James Somerton #*Face palm*

[cinnamonest]

Lena thank you for the spanking bit, has to be one of fav kinks ever because it just... fits every single yan regardless of who they are??? Kinda like a "universal" thing, just top notch. Do you think we could ever get headcanons for it?

Thank you for this anon, you're absolutely correct it is a top-tier kink

Also I've been wanting to write more about god-era Morax so thank you for the opportunity to do so, I rambled way more about him than the others here sorry lol

As for those who fit the kink best imo I’m going with Childe, Diluc, Ayato and Morax

//major spanking kink material (obviously) but gets kinda bad in severity/intensity, also mentions of hair-pulling, biting, throat fucking, anal, two cocks for Morax again (as always 👌)

--------

Childe is probably the best one here to end up at the mercy of here for once, for the sake of your poor ass at least.

Not that it isn't still awful and painful — he’s a sadist at heart and just adores making you squeal and cry. What at least makes it comparatively at least bearable is that he tends to use his hand — although that does make it more personable, more humiliating.

He tells you, though, exactly what he intends to do. You're being such a little brat today… come over here…

He doesn't even seem angry, but rather excited. He's all smiley and cooing in a way that feels so utterly humiliating and degrading.

Oh, but please do run. Please, please make it so much more fun for him, run away and try to hide. There's virtually nothing in the world that turns him on as much as either a game of chasing you or hunting you down wherever you're hiding. The fact that you're that scared of getting your ass beaten is kind of cute, actually. Are you that sensitive to pain, or is it more protecting your pride that gives you so much resistance? Not that he's complaining or anything.

He'll even give you a very wide opportunity to run, make sure you have plenty of avenues to do so. His heart rate begins to go up seeing the look of realization in your eyes when you spot an opening to run off, and he'll give you a minute or two of a head start. It doesn't take him long to find you nonetheless, hauling you up over his shoulders and carrying you back to your room with obvious excitement, like a predator dragging squealing, still-living prey back to its den for its inevitable fate.

That being said, doing that will make it worse for you — at that point you probably do deserve a belt at least, you know? Regardless of the instrument of choice though, he keeps you bent over his knee — he can feel your squirming more that way, and he can grind his hard-on into your stomach as you thrash around and squeal. Each strike still lands on bare skin, but rather than having your lower half naked, he likes to sometimes move the hold on your back and grasp at the waistband of your panties instead, jerking them up to wedge between your cheeks, effectively holding you in place and baring your skin at the same time.

He's so mean about it, taunts you that same voice you hate so much—

Aw, are you actually crying? Maybe I'll stop if you beg for something else…

There's no set number or standard of how much you'll be punished for any particular offense, which can be more torturous than anything. At least if you were given a number, you'd know how much more you had to endure. Instead, you just lurch and squeal each time his hand or the leather comes down... you kick your legs and thrash about, to no avail. In fact, you're pretty sure it just makes him hornier, you feel his cock twitch and his breathing grow more ragged the louder you cry out, and his hand on your back forces you down harder.

He’s actually totally shameless about getting off to it, too, so you can’t use that against him.

God, you're so cute when you cry like that... squeal louder for me...

The only real upside is that it's usually abruptly cut off at some point once he's too aroused by it to continue, and needs to just bury himself into your holes. You get slid off his lap onto the couch or bed, barely getting any time to recover — still sniffling and whimpering— before being contorted to whatever position he wants and rammed into without warning… thus for once, him being perpetually horny and having virtually no self-control actually becomes a positive. It still doesn't help, though, that the sex makes his hips smack against your sore ass with each thrust, but crying out about that only makes him go harder.

You know it could be much much worse — he makes sure to remind you that he could easily keep going until you completely break down, but he's so nice and you should be grateful for that — but you're still sore, and it leaves a pinkish-reddish tint under your natural flesh tone — something he likes to point out to you later, groping at your ass and laughing when you jolt at the sting. Your nose wrinkled with your expression of disgust as you jerk your head away from him, and you mutter under your breath.

Bastard...

And then, you squeal and lurch forward as one more harsh smack lands on your backside. You try to ignore the chuckling that follows as your eyes well up with embarrassed tears, and you bury your face beneath the covers of the bed.

-------

Diluc’s punishments are awful in terms of pain, but thankfully they're over fairly quickly because it's largely an act of momentary fury and irritation, and once he gets that anger out of his system, the punishment will be over, too.

He's still very intimidating about it, and it doesn't help that it's always a sort of spontaneous thing he decides on in the heat of the moment — thus you see the exact moment you know you've crossed a line, but also know (or at least, quickly learn) that there's nothing you can say or do at that point that will get you out of being punished. His eyes narrow and his voice lowers and he tells you to get over here in a voice that makes you feel like your heart just stopped, and your stomach feels as if it twists into a knot when you see the confirmation of your dread when he takes his belt off.

Running is not advisable — it's not like you'll succeed, and you'll just make him more mad. He's rough with how he handles you, dragging you by your clothes and hair over to bed, counter, or the back of a couch, forcing your head down.

How bad any one particular spanking is varies a lot depending on how mad you've succeeded in making him. He's not merciful at all, so he hits with force based on the level of his frustration. Thus, your attitude is important — you can technically commit a lesser offense, but if you keep backtalking and being bratty and fighting it, you'll likely get a worse punishment than you would for a worse offense for which you were apologetic and submitted to punishment easily.

What does change with the severity of your offense is that if what you didn't isn't so bad, you can keep your clothes on, but for particularly egregious transgressions, even in spite of the heat of the moment, unfortunately, he doesn't forget to pull your clothes up or down and off to make sure you're bared first.

He virtually always uses a belt, much to your dismay, and prefers to bend you over various surfaces since he can strike harder that way. It’s painful, you always end up in tears quickly, begging and pleading and spilling apologies for whatever you did, but he never has any mercy on you.

Much like you can’t get out of it to begin with, there’s also nothing you can do that will make it end any sooner than he feels like it. Over and over, grumbling with each strike about how you’re such a brat, how you can’t just behave, how it’s your own fault, until your flesh is reddened and burning badly enough that even when it’s over, all you can do is slump forward and cry.

If he went really hard on you, he might feel a little bad afterwards, getting you a wet cloth to soothe the burn… but he’ll still remind you that you wouldn’t be lying there all shivering and sobbing if you just learned to behave yourself properly.

For him, it’s more of an actual punishment first and foremost and not really an intentionally erotic thing, at first he’s too mad to think much about the eroticism of it… but seeing you lying there sniffling with your butt so heavily marked and welting, admittedly he does quickly get hard… and he’ll get incredibly flustered and embarrassed if you accuse him of getting off to it.

But be careful — push him too much on that matter, and such antagonism might be grounds for a round two on your already-stinging ass.

-------

Ayato’s punishments are particularly unpleasant, but the thing is that if you're in that situation, you deliberately chose it. Because he's gracious enough that you get a lot of warnings before reaching that point.

If you're being bratty, temperamental, rude, or whatever other behavior he doesn't like, you get a certain look first. The standard half-lidded eyes, unpleased expression, the universal ‘stop that right now’ glare. Maybe a passive aggressive comment if he can slide one into conversation.

If that fails — in other words, if you keep being a brat regardless, deliberately ignoring his warnings — you then get a verbal warning. He'll address you directly if it's just the two of you, but gods forbid you’re digging your own grave by misbehaving in front of others, he waits for a moment where everyone else's attention is on something else before pulling you close in a faux gesture of affection (with a grip harsh enough to ensure you get the message but not enough to alert anyone else in the room to his quiet fury), lowering his voice, whispering directly into your ear.

We’re going to have a talk about your behavior when this is over. Do you understand?

You know by now what a "talk" actually means, and hearing the words makes you stiffen and swallow. Granted, by the time it reaches the point that you've been that bad, you won't escape without at least a few swats, but if you persist, you'll just make it much worse. All you can do is nod your head and wait in dreadful anticipation.

As soon as the company you had leaves, you try to slowly back away, looking for an opening to run, but he has you grabbed by your clothes or hair and is dragging you off before you can even try. The total silence on his end as he drags you over to your room only serves to amplify your dread, and thereby your little whimpering protests.

The primary thing that will make it that much worse is what he uses to punish you, because from the day he brought you home, he anticipated a need for discipline at some point, and thus had a whipping cane custom-made just for you. One of those thin wooden canes designed for no other purpose than infliction of pain and punishment, which he leaves sitting out in your bedroom at all times, making sure it's always within sight as a subtle threat, a reminder of his power over you and that your behaviors have consequences.

He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t get heated, yet somehow that makes it so much worse. He’s perfectly calm as he holds you down on his lap, a hand wrapped into and grasping your clothes on your back to ensure you’re not going anywhere with each sharp pain on your bare skin. He’s very disciplinarian about it, ensuring to emphasize the reason and intention of the punishment itself—

Remember that you had every option of avoiding this. This is only the consequence you deserve. Do you realize that?

You nod and whimper and try to apologize, but it doesn’t make each swat any lighter. He’s rather harsh about the severity too, the degree of pain, duration, number of swats and outright humiliation often feel disproportionate to what is in your opinion a mild offense, although you know better than to voice that thought.

You beg, sure, you cry and whimper and say you'll take any other punishment, but it goes in one ear and out the other, your words have no effect, and while his voice has that characteristic gentleness to it, he's still cold and firm in his reply, if he even gives you one.

You're not getting out of this. Hold still.

He does take care of you afterwards, so lovingly and gently it makes you angry. He reminds you again that it wouldn't have to happen if you behaved, that you have no one but yourself to blame, all while kissing your crying face, holding you close and gently massaging the newly formed welts.

He also likes to make you gauge how many lashes you deserve beforehand, often making the total number a certain multiple of how many times you mouthed off or did something against your rules. And of course, whenever there's a fixed number, he makes you count.

Listening to your voice grow more and more shaky and begin to crack, your speech becoming slurred with sobs and oh, how precious is the sudden panic in your voice when you realize you've lost count. The way you tense and start begging and whimpering when he replies—

I suppose we'll have to start over...

-------

Morax’s punishments are always by far the worst.

That's largely because there's a maddening element of psychological torment involved. It's slow, drawn out, the dread and anticipation are almost worse than the punishment itself. He actually employs a variety of corporeal punishments, each of which make your stomach churn just to think about, but unfortunately, putting you over his knee and beating your ass until there's a deep red hue to your skin is a personal favorite of his.

What makes his style of discipline so unbearable is that you’ll be punished for literally anything. There is no possible offense, no rule to be broken, that won’t earn corporeal punishment of some kind, most usually on your poor ass. You get a very clear set of rules, rules you’re expected to know and obey from day one. Countless little rules, so many of them meticulous and pointless. Things you must do, things you must not do, and rigid standards for your attitudes and behaviors.

Each and every violation is its own offense — not to mention, things like lying when asked about what you did, objecting to punishments, even talking back or trying to defend yourself when accused count as individual offenses too. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’ve broken a rule until he tells you you’re going to be punished for it, and any protest or whining counts as another offense.

Really, you’re lucky if you can go a few days in a row fully able to sit without any stinging pain, and it’s not uncommon for you to earn back-to-back punishments one day after another. You know for a fact that your record of days in a row without ending up laying in bed, whimpering and crying and clutching your backside in pain is a single digit number.

Sometimes, if it’s severe enough, you’ll get put over his knee right then and there, but he’ll also tally up the small offenses and, at the end of the day, punish you cumulatively for every small offense you’ve made, because he can’t allow even the slightest offense to go unpunished.

It’s not limited to things you do in his presence either, because he has ways of finding out everything you do.

Every day that you can't accompany him, he has an established routine for when he returns. Firstly, of course, you're supposed to greet him when he comes in (any attempts to be petulant by giving him silent treatment or hiding away will result in further punishments), but then, as he sits you down, holds you close, he asks you the same question.

Have you done anything you should not have today?

It's a torturous question.

On one hand, you could have very well been very well-behaved, in which case you can answer honestly with at least some confidence (although even then, part of you hesitates thinking maybe you committed some offense unintentionally).

But when you haven't been well-behaved and you know it — that's what's torturous.

It's a gamble. He asks every single day, so him asking itself is not a dead giveaway that he knows what you did. If he doesn't know — well, you might be able to lie and get away with it. Inversely, how unfortunate would it be if you told him, and it turned out he didn't know, and then you had to suffer when you could have gotten away with it?

On the flip side, if he does know — well, you'll soon be squealing like a stuck pig regardless, but things are much, much worse if you try to lie. You would know — you've taken that gamble a few times now and lost.

He seems to have ways of finding out everything — you only lied when you were absolutely confident, thinking there was no way anyone saw the thing you did, only for your stomach to lurch when you feel the soft stroking against your thigh stop, and are met with a low voice—

…Is that so?

And the tone, the way he says it, you immediately know you've messed up.

Of course, you could hypothetically keep denying it, but entrenching yourself further in a lie is, by that point, the worst decision you could make — you would know, you tried that once and you couldn't sit down normally for over a week. The best thing to do now is to confess… you won’t get any mercy or a lighter punishment, but you’ll avoid the additional punishment you’d get for doing anything else.

But even then, he can’t even give you the decency of forcing your body to bend and getting it over with. It has to be drawn out, torturing you to the greatest degree possible — sometimes, he does this by delaying it, telling you he has something else to do first, leaving you to sit around and wait in anticipation for an hour or more. If an offense is bad enough, one session might not even be enough, and you're told that you'll get another one tomorrow, adding to your dread.

But most of the time, the torment comes from forcing your own participation. He keeps you firmly in his lap, reaching down to grope at the flesh where your butt meets your thighs.

What do you think you deserve to have happen to you?

Another test, a question for which you’ll only receive something worse in addition to whatever will happen already if answered incorrectly. There’s only one right answer—

…Y-you should... punish me...

On the bright side, he’s genuinely pleased once you start learning well enough to know what the right answer is.

You’re stood up, guided over to the drawers, hands firmly on your shoulders to ensure you don’t get any ideas about running. You hate that one drawer, it makes your stomach churn just to look at. He has a damn collection for you— leather straps, whipping canes, paddles with holes in them just to hurt that much more. He tells you to pick one.

That, too, is a test— you know which ones hurt more. You're supposed to gauge what you deserve based on the severity of your offense, and he'll be that much more displeased if you go too lightly on yourself, and will consequently be more forceful, which you do not want. Eventually, you manage to make your choice, biting your lip, pointing with a shaky hand, tensing as his hand runs motions that would be soothing in any other context up and down your thigh, pausing to grasp at the fleshy part of your backside.

Then you're led back— sometimes to face the wall or bend over a counter, but most often he prefers to keep you over his lap. Not that you'll be forced down either— not unless you make that necessary, which of course, you do not want. Unless you want it to be that much worse, you follow the commands— pull your robes up, the waistband of any underwear down, bare your skin (always, no matter how mild the offense), lay down on your stomach, put your hands behind your back so he can grasp your wrists.

And even then, even then you have to be tormented further.

Now, what did you do to deserve this?

You recall to the best of your ability, hoping you didn't forget anything, lest you be accused of trying to be deceitful in hopes of escaping consequences, which will add another tally to the list.

It’s painful. It always is. You've reached a point where your resolve to not cry and squeal is defeated pretty early. You used to try your best not to for the sake of your pride, but you know by now that it will go on long enough that your tears and crying out are inevitable.

He manages to somehow be so stoic and calm and yet somehow so, so cruel about it.

Does it hurt?

Your shoulders quiver with little sobs, you go tense as he gropes and kneads at the raw flesh.

Y-yes, it hurts, it hurts so bad, please no more, please—

You cut off with a high-pitched cry as the stinging pain strikes again. And again. And again. It's always so much, so unfair compared to the weight of whatever you did. That slight pinkish undertone isn't quite satisfying enough either, he never stops until there's a deep, deep red tone to your flesh.

If you've been especially bad, you may have to count… but he actually tends to prefer not giving you a set number. You're more fearful that way, uncertain of how much more you have to endure.

You're certain he gets off on the pain for one thing, the sound of your cries and the way you jolt and squirm, but the humiliation is worse than the pain itself, for you. He knows that, revels in it. He's told you before—

You're such a prideful little thing… that will certainly need to be fixed.

Repetitive subjection to something so inherently humiliating and vulnerable, and being made to break down, any semblance of toughness and dignity being torn away at his hands, is a way of slowly breaking down your pride. You know that, it makes you so angry, but you can't help but let that vulnerability be exposed every time, to act in such a way that ensures he knows how badly it humiliates you.

Your go limp with exhaustion when it finally stops.

What have you learned?

You can barely speak, voice hoarse from the strain of your cries and speech muffled by sniffles and sobs.

I'm sorry… I won't do it again…

And then, he has the audacity to be so, so sweet to you. Looking down at your tear-streaked face, smiling— no, smirking, a belittling, amused expression— leaning down to kiss your forehead.

Poor thing.

Kneading at the sore flesh in spite of how the touch makes you wince. As if it isn't his fault, as if he had any mercy on you the whole time you were begging for it to stop.

It only makes you angrier. More than once now, you've earned a second round for how you reacted to his undeserved kindness. So ungrateful.

It's never a solitary punishment either, always coupled with something else, always something equally humiliating and discomforting, if not painful. You know he gets off to it, because the second punishment is almost always a direct sex act of some kind.

You'll take his cocks down your throat, grabbing your skull and fucking your face without any restraint, forcing you to swallow every last drop of seed, even forcing your head down to lick up whatever you spill off the floor. Your saliva just provides the lube to force you to bed and fuck you until you can't even stand, and all the while his hips bounce off your poor ass, each movement stinging against the sensitive flesh. He'll bite your flesh, unnaturally sharp teeth even piercing you skin, leaving you covered in marks. If he's feeling really, really mean, you don't even get the semblance of pleasure of it ramming into your poor sore, raw pussy— you'll take both cocks into your tight little ass instead, a stretch that makes you squeal and thrash and cry. Your legs kick and you lurch forward, desperate to pull yourself off, but you're jerked back with a growl as he slams into you, completely bottoming out. Eventually, you give in as the stretching pain ebbs away and trying to take whatever pleasure you can from the faint stimulation to spots of pleasure through the walls of flesh. But the act is utterly humiliating nonetheless, your hole left twitching and gaping for hours as cum leaks out and onto your skin. You can't even sit for days, both your poor asshole and backside sore and tender.

Your embarrassment and resentment builds. You loathe him for it, feel so humiliated and angry at yourself and how deeply you dread the punishments that it makes you nauseous.

And thus, in one particular incident, fed up and filled with spite, you made the greatest mistake of your entire time trapped with him— you decided to run, seeing that for once you had an opening to do so.

A stupid choice, really. You don't get far. Not even a full ten steps.

You know immediately that you have severely, sincerely fucked up. The sheer harshness with which you're grabbed, the back of your clothes grasped and twisted with unprecedented force, the draconic growl to his voice that makes your blood run cold.

Oh, dearest, you have no idea how badly you've just stepped out of line.

His other hand latches onto your throat.

You're going to be sleeping on your stomach for quite some time, won't you?

The statement alone makes tears well in your eyes, any bitter pride quickly crushed. You shake your head profusely, start begging for forgiveness, but you know in your heart that it's far too late for that… it still doesn't stop you from whimpering and apologizing as you're dragged back down the hall, no doubt to one of the worst punishments you've endured yet.

#man this was unholy levels of degen even by my content's standards #from what little i know i feel like the two new guys would also fit this so maybe ill add them later

[uninformedartist]

So hey long time no see, just popping in to say that this video by Official_TVC is bullshit.

So summary + thoughts:

Video starts off with defintions on different types of stalking & they say Vivienne has experienced all this kind of stalking. Then goes on to say its 2 individuals doing this stalking and they we the viewer doesn't need to know them, Official_TVC has done a lot of research on them and we should should trust Official & their word without evidence because apparently they retweeted something on twitter & it was a tumblr post thats supposedly exposed Vivienne's siblings, personal things ect. All this is hearsay by you, it shouldn't make the average viewer trust your word. Yes I've seen things but that was from posts I've seen.

Aside -honestly Official should be questioning the anon asks we get on here, some of the asks contain some questionable info like how do you get that info. People get asks on here containing info, people don't go out & hunt all Vivienne's private life, we receive stuff thats how things come to light, OTHER PEOPLE SEND US STUFF.

All the background of the video is helluva boss/hazbin scenes coupled with music from respective shows. No evidence, not even heavily censored evidence to protect Vivienne, just Official_TVC talking & basically saying "trust me bro I did research, believe me". This is heinous accusations, individuals you are talking about & you give nothing. It could be lies for all people know, I don't even believe & I've seen the things you're referring to.

Continued, the stalkers, the 1st one is a "troll" according to Official_TVC & the second is supposedly so bad they were quote " has been 15 ft from vivziepop", no backing on that 15ft statement, Official_TVC just states this. All this stalking, entire pages made is because of a ship. Leaking show stuff (aside again, is GIVEN TO US VIA ANONYMOUS ASKS).

They carry on to say essentially all this hate talk on Viv on YT is cos she's popular, they got nothing of meaning to say on Viv cos they hate her so much they can't talk about her positively. They then mention a person has a never ending stream that just feeds misinformation other YouTubers & quote "on the precipice of wanting to strangle a woman (Viv) who made the crime of making demons gay". Wtf does that mean, who has this never ending stream of feeding misinformation to other YouTube, who & wtf are you talking about.

Anyway, goes on to compare spindlehorse workplace allegations to Amazon (yes ironic) & how Amazon treats its workers really bad... do I need to say more. Goes on to say everyone ragged on Viv because hazbin hotel is on Amazon, Amazon is bad & quote by Official_TVC is cos "everyone looks for an excuse to hate". Ok now I'm giving evidence on why people ragged on Viv for prime since you give jackshit.

Amazon/prime is currently being boycotted, its on the bds list why people were saying to pirate hazbin. Not some bullshit reason Official gave on it being mindless hate. Here is a video explaining why people are boycotting Amazon:

Vivienne also like this post from a fan, do I need to spell out how fucking disgusting this tweet is and the fact that she liked it.

Official carrys on to say stalker 1 did 3 things, doxxed Vivienne, & in their words if you go to said person's page Official states "im pretty sure they know where vivziepop lives". That is speculation, thats your opinion cos no evidence is provided or can be for that matter cos this is what YOU think. Dropping as Official says "nuggets" of info on Viv's siblings University, their work (this info was from a sibling's linked in page, public info). Can I say aside, I know her sibling's names. Why, not from stalking but from them leaving comments on Viv's speeddraws and Viv publicly naming them on her PUBLIC socials. And if you know someone's name you can easily find out what uni they went to, if you know my name & search me up you know what uni I go to its in the public on their linked in, social posts ect.

They go on to talk about how terrible leaking Viv's shows are, which idgaf. Amazon is a zionist corporation I'm pirating anything of Vivienne. Even invincible which I love, pirated it. Fans should too (since I see a lot of fans with free palastine in bio but still pay for prime). Anyway thats on them.

TW: talks of sexual harassment. So Official doesn't want to give more info on this individual which I respect & understand. However they say stalker 1 is sexually harrassing this person, sending content of a sexual nature all because the victim in this situation didn't agree with stalker 1 on the stalker's sentiments on hazbin hotel. I understand protecting the victim but my soul you're literally protecting the perpetrator. Expose them, you keep staying stalker 1 & 2 CALL THEM OUT. Protect the victims but expose the perpetrators.

They go on to stalker 2, who know stalker 1. Stalker 2 supposedly went to the hazbin premiere. They were there to keep an eye on vivziepop Official quotes. No evidence of this quote or info just them relaying it. Again this is all your words against what. Yeah that is concerning it really is but substantiate this evidence & quotes. This is the 1st time I'm hearing about this so I would like to know more on this & this heinous person. But you don't give any evidence. Official says " these people need to be stopped", how can they be stopped. You give no names, no info or evidence, its wishful thinking you saying this. I'm harping on and on on about Official gives no evidence but its so flipping frustrating hearing them spout all this WITH NOTHING to back their words.

TW again: Mentions of suicide and Shay a fan bullied by the fandom who then took their own life. Know a lot of people are still saddened by what led to Shay's passing why I mention this.

Official says stalker 1 is using the death of Shay to entice fruther harrassed on Vivienne. Its "apparently now", huskerdust fans went after Shay with heinous harassment & Shay subsequently ended their life, may they rest in peace. Official claims stalker 1 says Vivziepop is directly responsible for Shay's death. Shay's death was worded as "apparently" but stalker 1 using Shay's death to pin it on Vivziepop is stated as a fact. How disgusting can you be someone died & its apparently so to you but your word of mouth should be considered fact, fuck off. Official then goes on to say... sighs quote "we do not hold politicians accountable when they massacre people of other countries... bloodlines don't exist but we don't blame the politicians pushing the buttons".

Ok wtf, yes we do we blame Biden & other politicians & presidents for pushing the figurative & literally buttons on massacring Palestinians & other minorities, WE DO so wtf are you talking about. I honestly hate Official at this point because wtf are they saying. I don't blame vivziepop on Shay's death, even though when there was attempts to reach Vivienne on what was happening to Shay, maybe the channels they used like email didn't get the message across unfortunately. What I absolutely hate is when fans, like official now use Shay's death as a pawn in relation to people hating on Viv. No one that I've see & I'm saying it now I know who these stalker 1 & 2 are not even they were as disgusting as Official & fans to use Shay's death as to further hate on Vivienne. What Official_TVC is saying is bullshit.

And I disregard everything Official_TVC says after they hearted this comment, fuck you Official_TVC for hearting this vile comment.

I link a screenshot of the outreach to Vivienne via email on Shay aswell as the document on Shay's.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vSfCoyn81fp83pycx5eyS4oxryRpFnVnHdEeyEyouigrKSWAZ5iEgTjt7Q63n68S_PcZK7_klB-9dH1/pub

In all this video is a load of nothing, bullshit actually & just vile on the parts of Shay. They ended of once again reiterating they won't give proof because people just want names & evidence for the tea/gossip & they want to protect Vivienne, shoo shoo. Again trust me bro, I did the research so trust me.

I want to reiterate I condone no actions if provided true on stalker 1 or 2. But from what I've seen of them is all out of context, lies spread by the fandom & things just made up down the grapevine. I don't do this for likes, clout or other bullshit the fandom says. Wouldn't be of me on my nature and the work that I do. Come with substantial evidence, then we discuss & make conclusions but for now

...

I hate Vivienne and this fandom, bye all.

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #spindlehorse critical #my post #hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss fandom critical

[claudemblems]

Cloud + Reno Flirting Headcanons | FFVII

Summary: How they flirt with you at the beginning vs. a long time into your relationship. Fem!Reader.

Notes: I've been in a huge Cloud Strife loving mood (probably because I recently finished CCR) and I'm also just coping with the fact that I don't have a PS5 to play Rebirth AAA

Cloud Strife

Beginning of the Relationship

Honestly, he's not even sure how he managed to win your heart in the first place. Poor boy is confused

He has absolutely no experience when it comes to romance, much less flirting but that's what happens when your life is full of unresolved trauma + Sephiroth

And, in his own words, he has "no good qualities" besides knowing how to swing a sword

A lot of time is spent in his room practicing pick-up lines in the mirror and then cringing at himself because oh gosh he's just so AWKWARD has he always been like this???

He only tried learning how to flirt in the first place in order to impress you and because that's what "normal couples do" but he soon realized he's not normal and it's best to just leave it at that

Eventually he just gives up and treats you like he normally does. Soft glances, lingering touches, and the occasional smile when he's feeling especially fond

Thankfully you don't seem to mind his, but part of him still feels guilty that he's not as romantic with you as he could be

Established Relationship

Over time Cloud's figured out how to flirt with you in his own way

His quiet observations have led him to figure out what sorts of things you like and what specifically makes you all flustered

On that note, one of Cloud's favorite things now is making you turn into a blushing mess

He's not usually so bold, but the sight of you hiding your face in your hands and stumbling on your words makes his heart do backflips

He's not saying it out loud, but internally he's crying over how cute you are

And he's not even doing anything super flirty. He just does his usual thing but turns it up a notch, and it works like a charm

Soft glances turn into unabashed stares. Lingering touches turn into hands trailing down your waist or jawline. Smiles turn into lips pressed against your cheek, already over and done with before you can register what happened 

Without fail, you're left wearing a flustered expression, unable to form the right words in response. And it inflates Cloud's ego. Just a little bit

Reno

Beginning of the Relationship

It's no secret that Reno's universally known as a shameless flirt, but now that he's involved with you, he becomes even more shameless than before

He pulls out all the stops to elicit a reaction from you. Not only does it fill him with pride knowing he has such effect on you, but he also just finds your facial expressions to be incredibly adorable. And he WILL tell you that

Whether it's a hand on your thigh during meetings or whispered words against your ear in the hallways, he never passes up an opportunity to make you flustered

However, you should know that none of his words are shallow or spoken half-heartedly. When he calls you lovely or breathtaking, he means every word he says

He would never tell you something he doesn't mean, so no rejecting his compliments, okay? You deserve to have nice things said about you

And he always makes sure to say something sweet to you every single morning

Just seeing that gorgeous smile appear on your face lifts his spirits. He wouldn't trade your happiness for anything

Established Relationship

After a while, Reno tones down on the flirting, but he's still the same suave romancer you know him to be

Now that he's with you, he just feels like he doesn't have to try so hard, you know?

It's not that he didn't enjoy flirting with you at every given moment in the beginning. It just sunk in one day that you're his, and no one is ever going to take you away from him

Now he knows that all it takes to make you flustered is a sincere "I love you" falling from his lips. What you want is something real and genuine, and the same goes for him

He still pulls tricks on you if only to see you glaring at him all red in the face, but his romantic gestures have become much more natural

It's a quick kiss on the cheek when he has to go off on a mission, a hand on your waist as you sit on his lap, or a gentle ruffling of your hair when you're playing coy with him

At the end of the day, he knows he doesn't have to prove how much he loves you. You already know you have a place in his heart

And, without question, he knows that he has a place in yours, too

#I just wanted to write for FFVII again :3 #these boys do something to me #🪻 - kat writes #ffvii x reader #cloud x reader #reno x reader

[m3talmunson]

Any reasonable person would think, with the sheer length of Eddie's hair, that he would have the slightest idea of how to care for it.

If you thought that, you'd be wrong. He was flying by the seat of his pants, with a bonus of simple luck. It was astonishing that his hair didn't get matted throughout day to day life, let alone the end of the world.

Yes, Eddie obviously went to a hospital after it all. Nobody could have survived that level substantial of injuries without it. But no matter the NDA's, or the "freedom from prosecution," as Dr. Owens puts it, it didn't come with a clean-wiped slate in the public eye.

So Eddie chose to lay low. He got the treatments that were deemed necessary by the doctors, and then he got the hell out of there.

At least, from all of this, Eddie learned only to run when he needed to.

Part of him was scared he and Wayne wouldn't be able to swing the bill. That part of him was satiated when Owens's team swung the bill and replaced the... mangled Munson trailer. These government reparations didn't anywhere near touch the damage that was done, but Wayne and Eddie would take what they could get. Like they always had. Of course, the universe saw fit that Eddie take a little more.

Eddie was told -putting it politely- to stay the fuck out of that trailer park. Just because his name was cleared legally doesn't mean he should be anywhere he would normally go about his business. Not for the next couple weeks, at least.

And Steve Harrington, ever so giving, offered up his home as sanctuary.

And of course, Eddie was immediately trying to find a way out of it. When that didn't work, he started asking how soon he needed to leave. He didn't want to feel like a burden, especially not to Steve.

"Stay as long as you need, Eds. Forever, for a little while, on and off, literally anything as long as I don't have to carry you out of hell again. That's the one condition."

Sure, living with Steve had it's perks. He had some semblance of privacy, walls with ANY soundproofing, and company. What more could a boy ask for, you would think.

Not living down the hall from his crush while looking like a walking nightmare, Eddie thought, was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask for. He did not get that.

Despite living in the same house as him, he avoided Steve like the plague. Steve had made it clear his 'what's mine is yours' attitude was open to Eddie, but Eddie preferred his room. His boxes from the old trailer were there, his guitar, his sanity (or what remains). The moment he limped his way out of that door, he was in the realm of Steve. And he did not feel up to the task of being presentable in front of his literal crush.

Still, Steve came into his room every so often. Eddie went to the hospital, but he wasn't magically better. Steve changed his bandages, helped him when he needed it, brought him homemade soup? Because, somehow, Eddie is in an alternate dimension where Steve Harrington is making him his grandma's chicken noodle soup recipe for him. And it is PHENOMENAL.

Eddie could have never expected any of the past month's events. He was still grappling with the fact that life would just... return to normal somehow after the end of the world.

He had enough on his plate. However, the universe thought fit to throw some more on.

During one of his Steve-check-ups™, Steve just absentmindedly mentioned something Eddie was dreading.

"How have you been dealing with all that hair? I mean it's been in a new bun every day this week but you can barely lift your arms?"

"Well, actually Steve," Eddie started, "I haven't. This is the same bun you put in on Wednesday." He tilted his head down, he didn't really want to look Steve in the eye when he said that.

"Well shit Eddie, what can I do to help?"

And wasn't it oh so nice when Steve looked up at him with those big eyes, knocking on the door of his soul. How could Eddie turn his gaze from that?

"What can be done? I can't wash it until these fuckers-" He pointed at the sides of his abdomen, to the bandages that Steve had just finished replacing, "have healed enough for me to lift my arms, which should be almost any time now. Then, we can take these bandages off, I can get out of your hair, and I can clean my own."

It was pretty obvious that neither of the men liked that agreement, but Eddie saw it as the only option. Wait a week, lift his arms, get the hell out of dodge. Easy enough.

"I could wash your hair. You know I know how to." Steve replied, a genuine offer, not a throwaway or handout that was just a kind gesture.

"No, Stevie, you don't need to worry about m-"

"Checkmate, I already do. You lock yourself in here except for food, I don't even feel like you're enjoying yourself! What's the point in breaking out of hell, fighting tooth and nail, just to sit in your room? C'mon Eddie, let me do one thing to make your life easier." Steve was interrogating him, but for his own good? And only two weeks ago he thought Steve was just some highschool douche that he just had a little crush on once upon a long time ago. Here he is, caring for him like they've known eachother for years.

"You do enough for me." Eddie hid the blush building on his face by looking to the ground across from Steve. Steve just moved his head there.

"I want to do more. I'm offering to do more."

"You're not going to let me say no, are you?"

"It's your hair, your body! But no, not really."

"Let's go," Eddie said, swinging his legs carefully over the edge of his bed.

And that's how Eddie ended up in a T-shirt and boxers, head laying back in the kitchen sink. He hadn't really gotten to the standing-for-long-periods-of-time point of recovery, so Steve pulled up a stool and a towel for Eddie's shoulders, and got ready to work above his head.

"I'll tell you when to put your head back, don't want to freeze you with the water."

Steve turned the faucet to the hottest setting, then throttled back a little. He carefully took Eddie's hair out and brushed through the ends. It had been in a bun for ages, so at least it didn't get knotted.

"I don't really know much about how curly hair works, but-"

"Oh me either," Eddie interrupted. "Barely even knew I had it. Don't worry about me big boy, no special treatment needed."

"Oh you're getting special treatment, whether you like it or not," Steve said. "Tilt your head back."

And so Eddie did. And he would be flat out lying if he said that he didn't love how gentle Steve's hands felt running across his scalp. He would be lying if he said he didn't like being pampered, just a little. He would be a liar if he told you that this wasn't somehow sensual, or that he wished it had more meaning.

Something about the way Steve was massaging his scalp made him think there could be.

"I'm gonna block your forehead from the water, just warning you." Steve used a cup to get the water to the base of Eddie's scalp, he was thorough with the details and everything.

It made Eddie feel loved. That's new.

Eddie nearly blacked out until it was done. He just soaked it all in, feeling cared for. He had felt cared for before, but never loved, not by someone who wasn't obligated to.

"Why do you do all of this for me?" Eddie truly wanted to know.

"Why shouldn't I?" He replied, as if it was nothing.

"Nobody does." Eddie wanted to say more, but now wasn't the time to throw a pity party and cry in front of Steve Harrington.

"All the more reason to."

"Harrington," Eddie tried to sit up as he talked, "you don't-"

Steve pushed him back down by the chest, conditioner and water soaking into his shirt.

"Don't strain yourself, seriously. Let me rinse this out, then you're free to go back to whatever you were doing." He left one hand on Eddie's chest, not keeping him down, but just resting there. Like he forgot about it, but it felt intentional.

Eddie dragged his hand up to Steve's on his chest.

"Thank you. Really," was all he could muster up without those tears rushing back.

"Of course, Eddie. Wouldn't rather be anywhere else." He continued to work around the ends of Eddie's hair, slowly turning the water off and doing some final slow scrunching motions with the towel not around Eddie's shoulders. "You're all done. Let me help you up."

Taking Eddie's hand in one of his and lifting from Eddie's back, he got Eddie sitting up right. The hand on his back let go, but not the hand in Eddie's.

"Well? Anything you usually do that I can help with?" Steve asked.

"You've done enough," Steve got ready to cut him off, but Eddie beat him to the punch, "I can't do any more without bending over, which is off the table. Seriously, Stevie, you've done more than enough. You've been insane amounts giving and patient with me. You've given me enough."

"I wish I could give more."

"I know."

"I could give more." Steve offered, ready to give all he had in the world.

"Steve," Eddie said, some type of begging look in his eyes, "I don't want to read too much into this but you've offered me more than I could reasonably take. You've given me sanctuary, food, care, what more is there?"

"Love."

Steve laid it all out on the table. All he had left to give was hope that Eddie would take it.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie asked.

"Please."

And when Eddie took it, it was magical. Just for a moment, all the pain, and bad memories, and nightmares, they just stopped. Suddenly, for a second of time, their was no ring of pain around Steve's neck, no searing, or scorching, or stabbing in Eddie's sides.

Maybe Eddie won't live in Steve's house forever, but he might live in this moment forever.

~~~~~

Thank you to @warlordess for giving the prompt in the comments of my last post! SO sorry it took so unbelievably long, but my show finally closed! Everyone, feel free to leave any prompts in my asks from now on! All of my previous posts as well as this one will be on AO3 soon, then I'm going to make a pinned post with my account! Thank you all so much for the patience you graced me with, hopefully it won't happen again!

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve stranger things #eddie stranger things #steddie blurb #steddie drabble #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #st4 spoilers #st4 fanfic

[sparrow-in-boots]

so i think we can agree to some degree that, the carrot is a lie. right?

(Intermezzo spoilers ahead!)

we know Kayne is perfectly capable of keeping his deals, but we also know that he's far more capable (and willing) to Not keeping them. and even of proposing deals that he has no intention of going through with.

Arthur getting Faroe back isn't a real deal. just because he stopped one Faroe among countless from death, doesn't mean that deal won't have consequences. he did say "even try continue being friends", which implies A Lot.

first of, what happened to that universe's Arthur? surely nothing good or stable. who's to say Kayne won't put John inside that Arthur as "a body" for him? and also, Kayne has made it very clear he's got access to all the strings here, he can very easily keep toying with them Just Because, making their lives actual hell.

John and Arthur don't have their divorces over nothing, Shit Happens and it causes them to react poorly due to any number of issues they have in their own noggins, but we've seen that a good number of them have been thanks to Kayne's meddling in some way or another. One could even say that all of S3 happened because of him.

"no matter what I throw at you, you just seem to come out better for it", wasn't it?

but also, we can just as fairly say that the stick is also a lie. sure, Kayne's anger is nothing to scoff at, he's a god given greater power than any god in this universe had any right to after all. BUT, he still needs Arthur. he has very little to gain from impossibly torturing someone who he knows has something Special (plot armor) that keeps him from going under entirely, might even become greater than he can handle because of said torturing.

Arthur is at the end of the day, just a human, but he's also an anomaly that he can't grasp, and Kayne isn't an idiot.

it's all smoke and mirrors, lures and trickery. his hard power is very real, Kayne is an entity of his own caliber, but his soft power, it's all on keeping people on their toes around him and go along with his schemes to keep him appeased. that's what the whole bit with keeping Arthur playing because "he didn't say stop" is, flexing that he can keep Arthur cowed enough to keep doing what he says. and that was also why he proposed that deal for John too, to keep him on thin ice and scrambling over pacifying Arthur rather than let them both scheme over how to one-up him when he isn't looking.

carrot or stick, you dont actually need either. sometimes, the illusions of a gift or a punishment are enough motivators, even if they are lies. Kayne never ends a deal freely, there's always Something More, a twist of the knife that he sprinkles in at the end. he has no intention giving Arthur and John a happily-ever-after, and i also think he has no intention of dooming them to turbo Hell or whatever.

if you ask me, the fact that we don't know what exactly he does plan however, is far more disconcerting and scary.

#malevolent #malevolent spoilers #malevolent podcast #malevolent meta #pardal rambles