#its so interesting how he talks about him as one would a dog they have to train

[blood-mocha-latte]

Hi, I need an outsider's pov of postwar luztoye please, if that seems interesting enough to distract you from other tasks. 😅 Maybe a little old lady who lives next door and brings those nice boys a pie sometimes because George fixed her radio while Joe let her talk his ear off about her son who doesn't visit?

bestie i took this and RAN with it, so i'm hoping this is okay and/or what you were thinking! it got... longer, than i was expecting, but i hope you enjoy <3

---

It’s been lonely, since Lulu died.

The mutt managed to make it seventeen years before kicking it, so she counts it as a victory as best she can. 

Still, the apartment is often too quiet, so she’s grateful for the book club, even if her guest is quieter than the dead dog. 

Book club is probably pushing it, as at best it’s a mangy meeting to discuss books that neither of them necessarily enjoy. 

Still, they’re classics, and she’d like to read them at least once before she herself kicks it. Toye doesn’t seem prone to disagree with her, anyways, just sits grudgingly in the chair across from her, one crutch propped up against the armrest and the other in his lap

She looks over at him, amused. There’s a dark dip between his brows, a telltale sign of focus where focus isn’t necessarily wanted. 

“You can just pretend to read it, you know.” She says. It takes him a moment to look up at her, to pull away from the page.

“What? Oh.” He looked down at the open book in his lap. Her own was kept steady with her palm to its spine. “No, it’s fine.” Silence, for a beat. A pause. “It’s okay. It’s — this is George’s favorite.” He goes back to reading. 

She’d figured as much. The copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray that he’d shown up with was obviously well-loved: the spine cracked and pressed white, yellowing pages littered with pencil markings. Toye treats it like a landmine, like it's liable to break completely in his hands.

She presses back her smile and looked down at her own copy, newly bought. “Alright.” She murmurs, and that's that. 

---

They’d moved in maybe a year and a half ago, and the only reason she knew who either of them were at all was because she’d tripped down the last two steps outside of her own building and the one with two legs had seen her and helped her back up and to her own place.

The rest didn’t really matter, and she found it rather boring. What matters is that she invited the one with two legs up for dinner as a form of gratitude and he’d shown up with the one with one leg that looked a little rougher around the edges and that was that.

---

The one with two legs was Luz, who worked every day, and the other one was Toye, who worked every three days. On Fridays, Toye would come over for her self proclaimed book club with whatever she’d deigned best to read.

“I think it’s a load of crock.” She tells Toye on one of these Fridays, flipping through her pick of the week distastefully. “Overall written alright, but underall it’s garbage. What a worthless read.”

Toye is always generous enough not to mention that she’s always the one to choose the books. “I think there could be a point to it.” He says, always hoarser than she’d think he’d sound, and he talks so very little that she should probably be less tetchy. Still, bad habits are hard to break, and she scoffs.

“Yeah, and what would that be? Fate or God’s plan? Because neither seem to be good and neither are anything close to happening, no matter how much you pray.” She flipped through another few pages disdainfully. Toye’s own copy sat carefully in his lap, and he deigned not to touch it, tapping his fingers instead against the wood of the crutch that stayed across his lap.

“I don’t know.” He said, glanced out of her window. She knew why, and didn’t have to follow his gaze. The only reason that Luz had seen her at all when she had fallen was because they lived directly across from each other, right down to the building's story and window make. “There’s a testament to things falling into place.”

There’s something fragile resting along the lines of his face, and she has to pause for a moment, remind herself how utterly young he is. How young the both of them are.

She has a husband in a cemetery she isn’t able to get to anymore, because the streets are too crowded and her knees are too bad, and a son that’s lost forever in the mud in some godforsaken island in the Pacific, and if praying could have prevented that, they’d still be with her. 

She doesn’t say any of that. She watches Toye’s face carefully before huffing and looking back down to her own book. “I want to read another Shakespeare, next.” She says. “I think he’s an overrated rats’ ass, and you can quote me on that.”

---

On the same Friday’s where she hosts book club, Luz will come by after he’s done at wherever he works with some sort of tupperware of something and they’ll eat dinner with her.

She’d never tell them, but it feels less like an embarrassing sort of pity, when one of them only has one leg. 

“I think that he was a hack, God rest his soul.” She tells them one day, because they’ll listen to her, and she was thinking about it earlier, and there wasn’t even Lulu to tell. “I mean, do all you want and bow to him in whatever, but he was a right fool. I think that it was that wife of his that kept him in line, more than anything.”

Luz is smiling into his own bowl of food, and he’s prone to doing that. He won’t look at her, like he’s worried he’ll burst out laughing if he does, but she doesn’t mind. She came to the conclusion a long time ago that he just likes laughing, and she won’t care much if he does so because of her.

Toye’s always more serious, nods and is able to meet her face and send annoyed looks at the man at his elbow, who usually sits on the floor next to her stuffed armchair. “Eleanor’s a hell of a lady.” He says, and she nods at him, approving.

“She was the real one, if you ask me.” She says, and Luz coughs a bit into his bowl and coughs a bit more lightheartedly when Toye’s hand comes down to shove at his shoulder.

---

On the days that Toye works, and only in the wintertime, Luz sometimes visits by himself.

She has a sneaking suspicion that he’s intimidated by her, in some way, or something about her apartment is off putting. She doesn’t care all that much. He’s a nice enough boy, and he helped her back up the stairs, but she’s always had more of a proclivity for the quiet ones.

In the winter, he tends to be more of one of those himself, paler and usually scruffier than usual.

He looks so on the day that he knocks on her door and when she opens it, he looks like he hasn’t shaved in three days and eaten in six. 

“Dear God.” She says, and steps back from the door to usher him in before he can freeze her apartment. “You look like a transient.”

She never paid much attention to what was going on in the Atlantic, other than the newsreels (which she never went to) and by word of mouth from her friends (which she didn’t have) and newspapers and magazines (which she rarely left the house to get).

Her war, like it was her boy's war, was with the islands, and when he died, her study of it died with him. 

Still, she knew enough to recognize that Europe could get cold and that hollow eyes are often related to that ice. 

Luz doesn’t laugh nearly as much in the wintertime, or smile, and she can’t even get him to crack half of one, even when she deigns to instead criticize Toye, which usually works.

“Oh, for Gods’ sake.” She ends up saying today, hips aching and irritated. “Now I have to waste coffee on you. Perfectly good waste, most of it is going to end up in that… thing, on your face.”

She doesn’t like beards. Never did like it when her boy grew one, said it made him look more grown-up than she’d allow.

Luz still doesn’t smile.

Fifteen minutes later, she sits with him in the overstuffed armchairs and wonders about what boys still find funny when he asks her, quite out of the blue, “What do you do when you miss someone?”

She blinks.

“Well, I’m sad about it.” She says, and when Luz just stares down at the mug she’d pushed onto him, rather desolate looking, she sighs and tries to think of something else to say. “I get angry. Or I knit. Or I look through my photos. Missing someone isn’t a glove. Why?”

Luz huffs, but it isn’t exactly happy. She doesn’t like it when Toye has to leave. He always seems happier, when the other one is around. The creases around his eyes aren’t so frustratingly deep.

“Nothing.” He says, and his voice is hoarse. “Just thinking about people who’re gone.”

She watches him, critical. God, she hopes he shaves before she sees him again. It’s really just improper. 

“They never found my son's body.” She tells him. “Or they did, and they lied to me. Either way, he left and he’s gone and I barely have anything of him but what I remember and what he wore. So you find things that help you do more than obsess over those things.” She thinks of Lulu, of her soft fur and the way that she’d lick at her face. “And that’ll be gone before you know it, too, so you have to appreciate it all. You can’t afford to stop loving things in the world just because someone you love is no longer in it.”

She stares back down at her cup. 

Luz clears his throat, and when she looks up, he cracks half of a smile at her awkwardly. His eyes are dark, there isn’t much light there. “Thank you.” He says, and she wishes she hadn’t told him about her boy. Still, she feels warm.

“Good god, child.” She says, anyways. “Go home and shave. You look like some sort of Hungarian.”

Luz doesn’t laugh, but looks like he might have, if it wasn’t wintertime.

---

Later on in the same night, they’re up later than they usually are, and she only knows it because she’s trying to get through a chapter for book club on Friday and she can see their silhouettes through their lit up window, light and orange and slightly blurry.

She doesn’t watch them for long, doesn’t want to pry.

Luz’s arms are around Toye’s neck, his face dropped down to his shoulder. Toye’s arms are wrapped fully around him, maybe more for balance than anything else. The way they’re turning, it looks like they're dancing. She wonders to what music.

She used to dance like that, with her husband. That was how she taught her boy, as he stood on top of her shoes and she held his little hands. 

She shuffles back over to the armchair and goes back to reading her book. She doesn’t like this one either.

---

One day, she thinks they might be arguing. 

Toye comes over on a Thursday night, instead of a Friday, and looks rather tired. It’s springtime, which is why she’s more hesitant about letting him in, but he’s shaved, so she allows it.

“Could I stay over for the night?” He asks her, voice raspy. “I’d – I hate to ask, but—”

She squints at him. “You’re the one with one leg.” She says. “Shouldn’t he be leaving?” Toye coughs. He shifts on his crutches, glances vaguely over his shoulder in a way that makes him look rather guilty.

“No, it’s—” He starts, and cuts himself off. “I want him to stay in the apartment.” He looks vaguely embarrassed. She squints at him again, but in the end just starts moving back towards her armchair.

“Fine.” She says. “I like you better than I like him, anyways.”

---

She tosses a bunch of moth-eaten blankets from the closet onto the floor and tells Toye good luck with standing back up and gets to bed. Toye looks strangely pleased about her rudeness, so she keeps that in mind and makes note to tell him that he needs a haircut tomorrow.

---

Toye stays over the whole day and helps her with small things and she tells him that he needs a haircut, and needs to shave, and needs to go outside more, and needs to get a better job, and needs better crutches, and should wear his fake leg more often, and a dozen other things before they sit down to read and do so for hours.

Book club lasts much longer than it usually does, but when there’s the usual knock at the door, albeit more tentative, Toye looks up and looks, again, so painfully young that she sort of wants to smack him for it.

She doesn’t. She pushes to her feet and complains the whole way to the door.

Luz doesn’t have food, and he barely says hello, just looks right past her to Toye, says in a soft, hoarse voice that she thinks means that he’s been smoking and that he wants to talk.

She looks from him, to Toye, to him again, and decides to stay out of it. “Get out of here, the both of you.” She says. “And clean up, before I see you again. You both have jobs, you know.”

---

She doesn’t see them for maybe three or four days after that, doesn’t even see them entering or exiting their own building. She wonders if one or both of them are sick, but thinks they might just be locked up in their own apartment for some godforsaken reason. 

They don’t emerge for days and Luz is the first one that she sees, looking more relaxed than he has since the wintertime. He waves at her, but doesn’t spend too much time outside. Just pitches a cigarette over his shoulder and skips back up to the apartment, and that’s the last she sees of either of them for another two days. 

She supposes they’ve made up.

---

She only goes over to their apartment once. 

It’s alright. Rather homely.

There’s only one chair in the sitting room, which is rather ridiculous, though every time she’s seen him, Luz usually insists on sitting on the floor, so she supposes that may be a part of it. The kitchen is small, rather boring. A whiteboard sits on top of the fridge, tracking something by tally marks that she’s not privy to knowing. They don’t let her into either of the bedrooms, and she doesn’t care much to investigate.

“You, uh.” Luz tells her awkwardly, hands in his pockets, mouth quirked up in his forever-grin. “We could start eating here, if you’d like.”

She wrinkles her nose at the cracked open fire escape and the dishes in the sink and the crooked blanket on the chair. “I’m quite alright.” She says, and decides not to come back. 

(There’s one of those song-players on a table off to the side, however. It looks more expensive than anything else in the apartment. Underneath it is a basket, and the only vinyl she’s able to make out is one of Billie Holliday.

Ugh. Figures.)

---

They come over every Friday for two years and she sees them more often than that, and as soon as something changes, she can tell immediately. It annoys her.

She knows right off the bat because Toye’s wearing his prosthetic, which he never does, and Luz is shaved, which doesn’t matter much, because his hair is still much too long. 

“Where’s the house at?” She asks him, after barely another two minutes, because she’s connected the dots and doesn’t want to wait for them to be explained to her. 

Luz is the one, for once, to pause. Toye turns to look at him, face doing the same sort of lined, barely held back guarded emotion that it often throws up around the other man before he looks back at her, hesitates.

“It’s, uh.” He says. She sighs, wants to tell him to knock it off with the pausing. “In Bedford. It’s—”

He keeps talking, and she deigns to ignore him to instead watch Luz, the way he looks at Toye. It’s the same sort of emotion, barely lined, making him heavier.

She wonders if her boy got to care so much about someone, before he was killed.

“Alright.” She says, maybe with a sigh, holds up a hand and decides that’s that. She’ll miss book club, but if she truly gave a rats ass, she’d join a real one. Maybe she will, now. “Make sure you pack enough. And shave. You have jobs.” 

Toye’s smile is a crooked curve, and Luz’s takes over his whole face. She looks at both of them, unimpressed. 

“Write to me, if you want.” She says. “Or visit. God knows I’m not going anywhere.”

She’s not, either. Maybe she’ll get another Lulu.

---

They leave on a Wednesday, which annoys her only because it’s such a random day to leave somewhere, with some sort of boring car packed with trunks in the middle of the summer.

She watches from the steps of her own building, arms crossed, and gives them advice on how to best stack the luggage, which they don’t follow. 

“They’re all going to fall out and you’ll be left with broken and dirty things, and then you’ll see who’s in the right.” She tells Toye, who’s closer, annoyed. His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t say anything.

Luz looks back at them and smiles, but she knows he’s not looking at her.

---

She stands on the steps until it’s time for them to leave, and she hates dilly-dallying, so she rushes through the goodbyes by patting Luz’s cheek and grimacing at the stubble there. He looks like he might laugh at her. 

She lets Toye get a step further and give her half of a hug, which she’s also not a fan of but allows anyways.

He watches her with those careful, dark eyes and says, very punctually, “Thanks, Moira.”

She waves him off. “You should be thanking me for trying to help you with the luggage.” She says, pointed. “Off you go. Get a dog. God knows there’s enough of them running around.”

From a few feet behind Toye, Luz laughs. 

---

She can see their silhouettes, as they get in the car. Can see what looks like Toye kissing Luz on the cheek. She grimaces.

It must have been a horrid kiss. He never does shave enough.

#rie writes #okay i won’t lie to you. this is probably my favorite hbowar drabble ive written #band of brothers #luztoye #george luz #joe toye #joseph toye #hbo war

[habeascorpseus]

qbbh, on qcellbit:

"cellbits mental state is a huge problem, i needed him to be sane for part of my plan"

"ideally, i need cellbit to leave the workers alone, but i also need to take the blame for the workers"

"but he is an old friend and he was kind of my responsibility all those years ago, so i should probably help him out"

"nobody can find him because hes hiding away right now... just like in the hunger games... hes always been good at that... its nice to see he hasnt lost his touch"

"i only wanted him to have the skills to survive... i was only there to watch over him. how it turned out is kind of disappointing."

"this is the issue with having so many attachments, they start to conflict with each other."

qbbh and cellbit's relationship is soooo....

#habeas speaks #qsmp liveblog #qsmp bbh #qsmp cellbit #cellbit #badboyhalo #its so interesting how he talks about him as one would a dog they have to train #theres a level of care but its mostly masked by obligation and the assertion that cellbit is supposed to be Useful #just like him telling cellbit to kill tina wasnt cellbit being serious so much as like a dog being told to play fetch

[chuchuscoolhat]

Is Chuuya a cat guy asking for maybe a cat girl or no

❝ Nah, I'm more of a dog kinda person. If I had the time, I'd take nine of them but as how things are going, I'd rather give that chance to someone else. ❞ Money wasn't an issue after all, yet even he was aware that things like that couldn't just be solved with money or cheap love. With arms sprawled around the back of the sofa, he throws his head back as his gaze wanders lost in the ceiling, pondering for a bit about the poster of puppies he saw hanged on the town's headboard not too long ago. Call it a longing for some sense of normalcy in his life or perhaps something tied to that unconscious aptitude he had for protecting . Caring . It didn't end up mattering much as it all ended up feeling strangely finite and distant.

Tilting his head slightly to the side, he looks up from under his hat at Ashmi's eyes ❝ However by the look in your eyes, somethin' tells me you are searching for another answer, doll. ❞

#predeition #;c.huuya #/me on the side: UMM UMM UM UM UM UM UM UMMM UMM- #/LISTEN!!!!! in this spin off of b.sd; there's this episode where c.huuya walks past an adoption post about puppies and HIS EYES SPARKLE FO #*FOR A LIL #and he mentions how he would like to adopt them all but not having the means to do so #AND THEN AT A DIFF POINT THAT- if he saw one shriveling out in the cold;; 'i'd take care of it for life' -EYES SPARKLING- #and then i also jump into it in association for him taking in the role of protecting those around him and being the one who cares #like if in all the groups he's ever been he had a role (besides being very smart/clever + the brute force) #it would be of the protecting one; despite his circumstances he always cares even if it never ends up working out #its like in a pack of dogs; the strong one making sure the rest are ok #i dunno i neverhad a cat but dogs always gave me that pack feel #(not talking about large cats and their whole pack okko i mean regular cats) #ANYWAYS!! #also i remember u talking about how a.shmi's pupils dilate when something/someone she's interested in appears and #i assumed that she's;; -bats eyelashes at c.huuya- #he can notice a lil sparkle there; he isn't dense in that sense heh #/dw miss a.shmi im sure that he would have a spot for a catgirl OIHETRUT #/also unrelated but i find it cute their height difference even while sitting

[woolydemon]

one of my fav things abt shaggy from Scooby Doo is that he is a skilled ventriloquist. He's really good at throwing his voice to make other things sound like they're talking, and also he has a talking dog that's unrelated to that

#rando thoughtz #it would be rlly funny if he's been voice acting his dog this entire time #but its even funnier if these have no relation to each other. he just has a talking dog thats it #no explanation why. no logical reasoning #(besides mystery inc which explained hes a descendant of a cosmic god or whatever but thats canon only in that show not overall) #i had a friend joke that shaggy learned it for a bit but now nobody believes him when he says his dog can talk for real #which is also rlly good #do many different opportunities for comedy with canon shaggy ventriloquist #which is only a thing bc casey kasem was super talented & could also throw his voice #much like how they made shaggy vegetarian bc casey was also vegetarian #ok one more shaggy fact i rlly like since im on a roll here #shaggy has an extensive collection of belt buckles & wears a different buckle each episode. #it just so happens they're always covered up by his shirt #sorry sorry i just love scooby doo. like unironically. its one of my interests akshdkjflfjfkf #ppl dont realize this sometimes i knew someone who was like ''i didnt know u were This Into scooby doo i thought u just causally liked it'' #like no i didnt watch every direct to dvd scooby doo movie in existence for me to come out the other side normal about this cartoon #anyway this was prompted bc im dressing as shaggy for Halloween. again #its an easy costume & wont give me trouble to wear it on campus #i just gotta have my scooby plush with me to complete the costume #though this time im also wearing a hoodie around my waist + a mask that both have scooby on them #i think shaggy could be the kind of guy to wear merch of his own dog

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

.

#girl i have so many teshes thoughts its INSANE #me starting with haha actually this ship has no basis i just want to Put Tesilid Through It #but over the past few months of brainrotting their dynamic is now like. #what if we were doomed from the start and there was never anything either of us could do to save the other #(not even talking about the regression but rather the stigma bearer thing and how they have no social power) #(but also the regression thing) #what if we loved each other throughout all the lifetimes but there could never be a happy ending. tragedy dogs our footsteps #what if we were 'guy who has a good head on his shoulders and recognises our low social positions and looks out for his friends in similar #predicaments' x 'guy who is way too giving and this is bad bc the world is out to get him and he loves ppl too much to care about #the danger to himself' #what if we were 'guy who is way too giving' x 'guy who wants to protect him but Cant' #doomed ships..... #swings hestio around i like you SO much. i need to put you under a microscope and in a fish tank #(statements that should not ever be viewed by people outside of tumblr) #some of my fic outlines has notes that are like 'wow if they had the transmigrators privilege this wouldnt even have been a problem' #and im suddenly very appreciative of canon #god bless canon tesilid may you be happy. not my fanfic tesilid though im making him miserable #anyway. the more i think about it the more interesting hestio's internal conflict could be #it's about being so acutely aware of how shit their lives already are that he knows having a r/s that is frowned upon would just #make things worse #also i am very much hooked by the fact that like. nowadays i keep seeing ship posts about 'killing myself in front of you to change the #trajectory of your life forever' #for teshes its the opposite. hestio is desperately trying to make sure tesilid doesnt off himself #and also its not hestio dying that changes the trajectory of tesilid's life forever it's hestio confessing #and somehow this inflicts more pain on tesilid in the long run #which is extremely funny bc for all the notes that ive written abt teshes hestio has only confessed like umm. checks notes. 3 times #1. drunk (tesilid is not in the room) 2. the world is ending #like if hestio had managed to take this to the grave like he had originally planned then this could have been avoided #but the tragedy is that tesilid lives thru this multiple times so at least ONE time hestio's going to blab and that forever changes things #crying in fic writing being stupidly hard

[bella-goths-wife]

How would the Vs react if their pet died in hell, forever?

The Vs reaction if pet died in hell

(This is not canon to the au!)

This is disturbing and gross so please be mindful of the media you’re choosing to consume!

Warnings: description of dead body, disturbing keeping’s of dead body, Vs sick version of mourning, grief, mentions of previous abuse, drug use mentioned

You probably would have died during an extermination

Maybe the Vs got too busy to remember to reinforce the safety precautions for the tower

Or you were accidentally downstairs when they sealed their upper level off

In any case, you are killed by an angel in cold blood

But the Vs didn’t know that yet, they were too busy at their viewing party that spies on the hazbin hotel to watch in case alastor dies

They assumed you were just in your room and decided to leave you be since they were so interested in their little spy drones

So when Vox goes to your room to check up on you and doesn’t see you in your bed, he panics

He searches all his cameras while he sends the other two to search for you

Eventually they find your body thrown across the rubble and cut open

It all happens in a very saltburn fashion

Vox doesn’t know how to react as he just drops to his knees and holds your head up while muttering about how you must be feeling cold without a jacket

Velvette just stares before mentioning how it’s almost time for breakfast and that they should all head inside, choosing to live in denial and push her feelings down for the meantime

Valentino stifles a few cries as he just stares at your dead body

They wait for someone else to get rid of your body but as soon as another demon touches your body, vox snaps and shoves them away and picks you up himself

They had to decide what to do with your body

Velvette suggested stuffing you like a doll and keeping you in her office so she could choose a new outfit for you everyday, but Vox and Valentino refused

Not because it’s disturbing and disrespectful for your dead body, but because she’d have more time with you then they would

Valentino suggested having your body burnt and fashioning accessories out of your ashes, but the other two said it would be a waste of your body

Eventually Vox had an idea, and he searched for a demon he met many many years ago

This demon had the ability to restore an item to the original condition it was in 24 hours before

It wouldn’t be able to bring you back to life since they had just missed the 24 hour window when finding your body, but they could keep your body in its first stage of the effects of death

That means your body would remain warm and soft, as if you were just sleeping

Vox had your wounds stitched up to make you look like you were just asleep and he placed you in your bed and commanded the demon to come every day and restore your body so you wouldn’t rot away

He chose to deal with your death by throwing himself into denial

He’d pretend you were just sick in bed and would still visit your corpse every night to ‘check up on you’

He’d watch you through the cameras in your bedroom in case you needed him

He started finishing work earlier to spend time with your corpse and calming ‘his daughter was sick so he had to get going’

If someone tried to point out you were dead they would receive a threatening glare and even more if they weren’t Valentino or velvette

Velvette refused to go along with that plan for the first few months, and chose to deal with your death by pushing her feelings down and finding a replacement

She assumed it was like buying a new dog after her old one had died, and refused to believe she had any emotional attachment to you

So she tried finding your replacement

She’d hire assistant after assistant who either shared your physical looks, your personality, your ability or your mannerisms

But none of them could match you in the way she needed, so she’d end up killing them or firing them

So she gave in to voxs fantasy, and began to talk to your corpse like you’d respond and began to dress your body in a new outfit every day

This worked for her, she could pretend you were here and she could still deny ever having an attachment to you

Valentino was surprisingly the one to not live into the fantasy that you were only asleep

He was the one to care about you the least in life, but he was also the one to mourn you the most on death and feel the most guilt

He drowned his sorrows in his drugs, his alcohol and his employees

He thought about how he treated you in your life, and while he didn’t feel guilt for how he abused you he did feel like a part of his missed having someone around who he could pour his frustrations into

But now you were a dead, and that somehow humanised you to him

He sometimes would get so drunk that he’d wander into your room and sit beside your corpse just to vent about how angry he felt that you’d died

How dare you? Who gave you permission to leave?

He’d just stare at your corpse and scoff, not buying into the delusions that the other two were about your dead body just being asleep

He held a funeral for you which just had him and angel dust in attendance since the other two Vs refused to believe you were dead

Angel dust was only invited because val wanted something warm to hold as he felt the complicated feelings your death brought out in him

And even so, angel dust was sure that however sad your death was and how tragic it was

You were better off dead then living with these people

@corvid007 @buttercupfangirl @lilyalone @ivebeenthearchersstuff @repostingmyfavs @the-faceless-bride @fandomaddict505 @hazbinhotelxreader @perkypeony @sparkleyfishies @idontreallyexistyet

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[cannibaled]

wicked game

to be honest, i just knew i wanted to finally write something with felix. so i just started writing and this is what happened so, hopefully you like ! 🥹 —

☆ warnings: none, slight nsfw — just making out, ass and thigh grabbing, hickeys

☆ premise: jealousy.

being felix catton's girlfriend was most comparable to riding a rollercoaster blindfolded.

your dynamic was interesting and unique, and everchanging. at times, he was the wolf, mouth watering and snarling as he cornered you, his prey. a bunny. vulnerable and stripped helpless with nowhere to go. at times, you would be the wolf, but instead of hunger compelling all of your senses, it was instead jealousy. what made this dynamic worse, arguably, was that he was unaware. you would be upset, or even angered after a girl practically threw herself at him. he was a natural flirt, but would react kindly but withdrawn. he would stare at you with his big, brown, puppy dog eyes when you were frustrated and prepared to speak, but nothing ever came out. instead, you would brush messy chocolate curls from his freckled forehead and press a rouge kiss to his tanned skin, the red painting him beautifully. then, that starved wolf would suddenly morph into the sweetest little dog you've ever seen. prancing up happily and licking slobbery kisses into its supposed prey.

you knew you couldn't keep things bubbled forever. considering he was popular and you often attended parties together, it grew difficult. it started to become so stressful that even farleigh or venetia couldn't offer advice any longer. farleigh spoke his mind, as usual, telling you to just suck it up and talk to felix, but part of you felt like you would burden him.

alcohol burned your throat, fiery eyes watching the scene before you. he was practically surrounded by women, a swarm of a horny, desperate ocean attacking his person in waves. you began to think. was he really all that unaware?

you briskly looked away when his bright hazelnut eyes met yours, his cute, gap-toothed smile making your heart singe. as safely and quickly as possible, you stumbled off, pushing through hot, sweaty bodies towards the bathroom. surprisingly, there was no line - save for one person, who was able to get in as soon as you arrived. leaning against the vibrating, booming walls of the hallway, you huffed softly. you should be able to talk to him about anything. truth be told, he was your best friend, and, hell; to a certain extent, you could talk to him about anything. but it was difficult for you to admit you were jealous. that, you couldn't understand why. maybe it was because it would be something affecting his social life. were you afraid of sabotaging that?

the sound of a toilet flushing and the shrill squeak of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you rushed into the bathroom. ignoring how your shoulder grazed the previous user's, you locked the door after yourself and did your business. scrubbing at your hands until your skin was raw, you avoided looking at yourself in the mirror. you knew you probably looked a mess, and, frankly, you didn't need to see such a sight right now. twisting the lock on the door, you pulled it open, only to be met with large, warm hands on your shoulders. you cried in confusion as you were pushed back into the bathroom once more, the door slamming shut and clicking locked.

felix stood before you, a red cowboy hat hanging lazily from his head. you two stared at each other for a minute until his lips stretched into that cute, toothy smile of his.

"so this is where you were," he drawled lamely, his accent soft.

"you had to have known, considering you were waiting for me."

he clicked his tongue and stepped towards you, and you unconciously stepped back, until your lower back made contact with the hard, cold porcelain sink. his fingers grazed your sides, and he lifted you easily onto the sink, long digits playing dangerously with the hem of your short dress. your noses brushed one another, and despite your annoyance, you wrapped your arms around his neck. there he went again, cornering you. not only cornering you, but he was sure to get a bite. it was difficult for you to stay upset when he was in an affectionate state like this.

"you seemed upset." he mumbled softly. his breath smelled of alcohol and mint - which you assumed was from the gum he carried around. you remember asking him about that once, in which he just grinned and held up his pack of smokes. cotton mouth, you recalled.

"yeah, well." you responded avoidantly, hooking your legs around his hips and yanking his body closer to yours. he was warm, skin damp with sweat and hot to the touch. you knew it was from dancing. "you seemed quite busy hanging out with your groupies there."

felix's eyebrows raised in surprise, his hands gently squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs. "you're jealous? love, you know they're just friends."

"c'mon, felix. you know they want you." you whined, and you could tell he was biting back a chuckle.

"well, that's too bad." god. you hated when he talked like that. coolly, and without a care in the world. he was always good at defusing situations when his temper wasn't present. maybe he knew just how likable he was.

"i just don't like that you let them hang on you like that. follow you like a bunch of lost puppies. they think they have a chance because of shit like that. i can't stand it. i want to be able to spend time with my boyfriend at parties he brings me to."

he was silent, letting you vent your frustrations. his half-lidded gaze met yours, long lashes fluttering as he searched your eyes. you assumed he was watching for tears, so he could pounce onto the opportunity of comforting you and wiping them, or kissing them away. he was sweet like that.

"i admit, i know they flirt or whatever. and maybe i flirt back. sometimes. but, i belong to you. they'll never be my (Y/N)." you weren't satisfied with his answer, your eyes narrowing. and he knew you were still angrier, if not more than before. but, then, he pressed his soft lips to yours, capturing them in a desperate kiss. you could taste the nicotine and beer on him, and although you wanted to yank his hair in retaliation for his stupid fucking excuses, you kissed back.

it was heated, clumsy, passionate. his teeth grazed your flesh, allowing blood to seep through the wounds he inflicted. his tongue swept it away before tasting you properly, the sweet tase of iron clouding your senses. when he pulled away, you assumed he was finished - instead, he pressed feverish kisses along your neck, yanking your smaller frame into his with possession. "brand me," he breathed against you, and just when your mouth was about to part and your eyes flutter, they opened wide in confusion. "huh?" you gasped when he grazed a sweet spot in your neck with his teeth before pulling away, his pink lips darkened with small traces of your blood and swollen. "brand me." he repeated, slipping his hands under your skirt. he didn't dare touch the warm desperation between your legs, instead pressing his fingers into a bruising grip on your upper thighs and ass. "show them who i belong to, darling." you swallowed, manicured nails grazing the nape of his neck.

the thought of it alone was exciting. they knew already he was yours, to an extent, but once they saw him bruised up and pretty with marks caused by you, you knew that'd be the end of it. because, while felix catton was known around oxford for hookups, it was rare for him to allow his fleeting girlfriends the pleasure of giving him hickeys. it was always the other way around, him marking them up with lovebites and bruises on their thighs. for however long he pleased, they belonged to him. never him, to them. but now, he was yours.

so, you did just as he requested - because how could you deny him when he was nearly begging you? finally gripping his curls, you latched your lips onto his neck as if you were starved. he threw his head back to allow you more space and access to your canvas, and you happily painted him red and blue. deep, shaky groans reached your ears, rewarding you for your work. he was always so pretty. his moans and gasps were never an exception when it came to beauty. sex and intimacy with felix was like appreciating art, because he often looked like a painting. no matter where, or what time of day. his muscles would flex, his skin glowing warm and his lips parted. if you had the skills, you would properly copy him onto a canvas or piece of paper and officially, truly, make him your muse. you knew that there was no way physical art would do his beauty justice, though.

you stopped when your lips began to feel sore, instead sinking your teeth into his skin for one final gift.

"fuck," he all but whimpered. and though his voice was deep and he was still bigger than you, you knew were now the wolf. he was the putty in your hands now, bending and softening from a simple weakness.

you pulled away and admired your work, slipping your hands from his head, to his neck, and then, finally, his cheeks. your thumbs brushed along his flushed skin, and when he opened his eyes, you saw nothing but love. his pupils were dilated and his eyes sparkly, and if you didn't feel so dizzy with affection for felix, you would have cried. you placed one last kiss to his pretty lips, and he slipped his fingers from under your dress to cradle your back.

your kiss was cut short with an angry bang on the door, and you jumped away from your boyfriend, smacking his broad shoulder when he laughed.

"guess we kept 'em waiting." he teased cheerfully, gripping your thighs to help you off of the sink.

"okay, ladies first."

"you suck, lix."

"rather," he corrected, carefully guiding you towards the bathroom door with a hand on your back. "if we can make it out of here and to my room, it'll be you instead."

before you could shriek at him out of embarrassment, he opened the door for you and delivered a playful smack to your bottom, paying no mind to the annoyed stranger that stared at him in disgust as they walked past.

#felix catton x reader #felix x reader #felix catton #farleigh #farleigh start #saltburn #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader #oliver quick #barry keoghan #oliver quick x reader #oliver x reader

[handful0fteeth]

hot for teacher

summary: you’re going on your first date with steve harrington, and hours before he’s due to pick you up your best friend gives you some rather unsavory information.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, explicit language, dirty talk, (slight) rough sex

words: 13.6k

EDIT (09/24/2023): i am not a “no beta we die like men” person, but this?? she was not up to my standards. so i fixed her! enjoy ya horny bastards

"You know I heard Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?"

This announcement from your best friend is enough to make you choke on the mouthful of sandwich you're chewing on and spew chunks of it all over the table.

You drop your food noisily back onto its plate and reach for your drink, struggling to breathe while there's still turkey and lettuce lodged in your esophagus. The diner's patrons ogle you as you attempt to collect yourself, some concerned, some plain annoyed.

"Christ, dude!" Kelsey laughs, leaning over the table and thumping you hard on your back. You wave her hand off and guide your straw into your mouth, desperately gulping down Coke with one hand pressed to your chest as if that’ll ensure the food doesn't take a wrong turn on the way down.

"You have to - fuck, dude - you have to give a girl some warning before you just say shit like that, Kels," you sputter. You wipe a hand across your damp eyes and take a couple of steadying breaths, and finally, the reality of what Kelsey just said hits you. You look up and blink away the tears to get a clear look at her.

"Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?" you ask quietly, not wanting to attract any more attention. Kelsey nods, a smug grin plastered across her face. "Apparently, it's like a dog trying to drink water," she giggles. "Katie Kaspbrak went out with him last week, and she's been telling everyone how God-awful he is at head."

"Katie Kaspbrak? The same girl who swore half of the staff at school was in love with her?" You lean back against the cool vinyl of the booth and cough lightly, suddenly less interested in this gossip now that you've learned the source. 

Katie Kaspbrak would lie about what she had for breakfast if she thought it would make her seem more interesting. Actually, now that you think about it, she has done that.

"That's what I thought too," Kelsey continues, "until Belinda Carter and Donna Greene overheard her, and they said the same thing. Belinda said she was so shocked that she just faked it until he thought she came and then made an excuse to leave."

You pause. Katie Kaspbrak is one thing, but two other girls? That can’t all be a coincidence.

But… it's Steve Harrington. Every girl - and some of the boys - you've ever spoken to have the hots for him, whether they want to admit it or not, and how could he be so sought after if he gives such a piss-poor performance at something so fundamental? You pick at an errant lettuce leaf that juts out from the edge of your disheveled sandwich, pretending to find it fascinating so you don't have to look at Kelsey's elated expression anymore.

"Why are you waiting until now to tell me this?" you ask. Kelsey leans back in her seat and pops a french fry in her mouth, glancing at the dusty clock that hangs in the diner's lobby.

"Just wanted to give you something to look forward to before your date, Y/N," she says with barely contained glee. "I can't wait to hear all about it tomorrow." You shoot her a dirty look.

"Who says we're even gonna go that far tonight?" you counter, but you both know you're full of shit. You look down and pick at the skin around your fingernails to avoid Kelsey's knowing gaze because if you meet it, she'll see the uncertainty written all over your face. 

She loves messing with you like this; she's done it for almost every date you've ever gone on, regardless of who it's with. You pick up your sandwich and take a too-big bite to avoid having to talk anymore.

"Yeah, right. You've wanted to bang Steve since the moment you saw him, but you'll magically dry up the second you get the chance. Sounds legit."

 You stick out your tongue, letting Kelsey get a nice view of the smushed-up chunks of meat and bread hanging off it, but it doesn’t deter her snickering.

Her smug declaration is all you can think of for the rest of the day. It's so distracting that, while getting ready, you accidentally kiss the burning hot barrel of your curling iron to your temple and put your shoes on the wrong feet twice.

Who says that you have to go down that path tonight, anyway? Who says Steve is even the kind of dude to want to fuck on the first date?

Well...everyone who attended Hawkins High says, actually. Son of a bitch.

Perhaps you could just go down on him and insist he doesn't have to return the favor; it's not like most of the guys you've been with haven't leaped at the opportunity to skip the preamble and shove their dick in something anyway. The only problem with that is…you really wanna fuck Steve Harrington.

Really, really badly.

And you want it to be as good as it possibly can be. You've wanted this for years, and now that you've both graduated, who knows how long Steve plans to stick around in Hawkins so you can have your chance?

The time Steve promised he'd pick you up rolls around quicker than you'd anticipated. In the mirror, you smooth down your skirt one final time and fluff up your curls.

Kelsey doesn't know what she's talking about, you decide. Who were you to listen to gossip spread around by Katie Kaspbrak anyway? You practice smiling brightly in the mirror and notice a smear of lipstick across your front teeth. You lick at the stain and then rub it away with your index finger. It would be fine. 

Everything would be fine…right?

A car horn beeps twice before you can successfully reassure yourself.

He's here.

Oh, God.

You fly down the stairs two at a time, briefly worrying about how humiliating it would be to crack your head open before your date and snatch your purse off the kitchen table as you say goodbye to your mother. She reminds you of your curfew, and you give a vague acknowledgment as you pull the front door shut behind you.

In the faint evening light, Steve's maroon BMW is almost black, glimmering in the sour yellow streetlight like the shell of a beetle. Your heart leaps into your throat, but you croak a "Hi!" around it. Steve Harrington climbs out of his car gracefully, and his easy smile, accompanied by the bouquet of flowers he has clutched in his hand, is enough to make your knees wobble a bit.

"You look really pretty," he says, eyes flickering up and down your body. You're grateful for the dim outdoor lighting as your face flushes scarlet. "Thanks. Are those for me?" you ask, pointing at the bouquet. You wanna kick yourself as soon as you finish saying it. Of course, they're for you, you absolute buffoon. You’re on a date - who else would he be carrying flowers for?

Steve chuckles chuckles under his breath and extends them toward you. "You said these were your favorite, right? I saw 'em while I was getting stuff for tonight, so…Yeah." You gingerly take the flowers from him and bury your nose in the petals, inhaling their fresh scent as you look up at him through your lashes. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his sides, though his expression remains as casual as ever.

Is he…nervous?

He reaches in front of you as you walk up to the passenger side of the car and opens the door, bowing his head and gesturing for you to come inside exaggeratedly. You giggle and sink into the leather seats as he scurries around the car's hood. As he swings the door shut behind him and settles in behind the wheel, you silently draw a few steadying breaths.

The inside of his car smells distinctly of cologne and floral soap, so much so that you have to briefly wonder if he got his car detailed in anticipation of your date. His cologne is woody and sweet, not so strong that it stings behind your eyes, but you know the scent will stick to your clothes whether he lays a hand on you tonight or not. The thought makes your stomach flutter a little. As he revs the engine, you absently twirl the stem of a flower around your finger. 

"By the way," he says as he pulls out of your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. "If you hear something clunking around back there while we drive, that's just Lucille."

You cock an eyebrow. "Lucille?"

You swear you see the ghost of a knowing smile creep across his lips, but an evening shadow cuts across his face before you're entirely sure. "Just a safety measure, that's all."

~~~

The date is more perfect than you could have ever imagined it to be. Steve takes you to a restaurant near the video store where he works, a little Italian place that's surprisingly upscale - at least, upscale for Hawkins. Your fingers don't get the opportunity to graze a door handle or the back of a chair the entire time, as he's always right behind you, reaching around your body to beat you to it.

His gaze never leaves your face when you talk, and he's so clearly hanging on every word you lose your train of thought a few times. It's jarring to have the guy you've been obsessed with for so long give you his undivided attention - in a good way, of course, but that doesn't stop the words from getting caught in your throat. 

He’s so pretty it's hard to maintain a coherent thought; all you want to do is stare at him and memorize the details of his face. The way his hair gently curves over his forehead, and he pushes a hand through the soft fringe to get it out of his eyes; the way his eyes sparkle in the warm, low light of the restaurant, transfixed on you like you're the single most intriguing thing he's ever laid them on.

You're not even halfway through offering to pay for half of the meal when he informs you he slipped his card to the host before you were even sat, and it's already taken care of. You insist he at least let you cover dessert - a small square of tiramisu you both nibble at - but he waves you off.

"You can pay for the next date," he says coolly, smiling behind a sip of his drink. You pull the cloth napkin from your lap and pretend to dab food from your mouth so you can hide your giddy smile and blushing cheeks. Next date, huh?

After dinner, he drives you to the outskirts of Hawkins, parking in a clearing in the forest that overlooks the blinking lights of the small city below. You have a perfect view of the moon as it gleams in the sky, full and white, and the stars glitter against the black velvet of the night without all the light pollution.

You sit on the hood of his car, legs crossed under you, picking at a loose thread on the hem of your skirt as it pools in your lap. You tug a too-big jacket tighter around your shoulders, a gift plucked from his trunk once he saw you shiver from the autumnal air against your skin. 

Steve is leaning back on his palms, head dropped between his shoulders as he stares at the sky. Goosebumps ripple across his skin, and every so often, his body twitches forward with a slight shiver, but he seems content enough in his short-sleeved shirt.

He catches you staring and chuckles when you avert your eyes and pretend to be fascinated by the paint on his car.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he asks.

"A cute guy," you respond, your voice smaller than you intended. You clear your throat.

"That's so funny; I was just looking at a cute girl!" he exclaims, and you laugh. "Crazy how that works, huh?"

"Aren't you freezing?" you ask. Steve shrugs.

"I'm alright. It's refreshing. Keeps me awake," he murmurs.

A few minutes of silence pass comfortably. You listen to the sounds of the forest around you, only slightly concerned when you hear a twig snap in the distance or something rustle in the foliage beyond the car. But Steve's lack of interest in either puts you at ease. After a while, he points at a random spot in the sky and announces, "Found it!"

"Found what?"

"My friend Dustin - total nerd, by the way - was talking my ear off yesterday about constellations, like, how to find them and shit, and I found one!" He gestures for you to scoot closer without taking his eyes off his discovery, apparently not wanting to lose his spot. You do so, body hovering close enough to his that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin, and his cologne wafts pleasantly back up into your nose. You follow the direction his finger is pointing in, scanning the inky blackness of the sky.

"Do you see it?" he asks excitedly.

"Did your nerdy friend happen to tell you what this constellation was called?"

"Uh. Ursula…something…I think. He said it was "the littler one" of the two."

"Ursa minor?" you posit. Steve snaps his fingers and points at you affirmatively.

"There you go! Do you see it?"

You shake your head. The name is familiar, but you don't remember what it's supposed to look like. You mostly slept through your astronomy class in high school. 

Suddenly, an arm drapes itself around your shoulders and pulls you in, and warm fingers caress the sides of your jaw, tilting your face further upwards. Apparently, Steve has decided that the best way to help you see what he sees is by manually guiding you in the proper direction, so he's pressed your bodies together and is trying to angle your head in just the right spot.

Your stomach flips, and your heart jumps into your throat. This time, you're worried you'll choke on it. You're sure Steve can feel the blush in your cheeks burning beneath his fingertips, but he's either too engrossed in Ursa Minor to care or is choosing not to mention it.

"Right…there. See?" Steve says, voice notably lower than before and now right against the shell of your ear. A shiver walks its fingers down your spine.

“O-Oh, yeah,” you stammer. You do see it, a tail of shimmering dots curling into a small rectangle of stars, but you're more focused on Steve's mouth right out of the corner of your eye, his lips parted and quirked up into a smile. His hair brushes against your cheek as he turns his head toward you, and his index finger presses itself against the curve of your jaw to encourage you to look at him.

His eyes shine in the moonlight, dark and kind, as they flit over the details of your face, lingering the longest on your lips. He's warm and solid against you, and you tentatively place your fidgety hand on his knee.

He's so beautiful, you think to yourself. It isn't a word you've ever used for the other men you've dated, but it fits Steve well. A square jaw still soft at the edges with youth, wide brown eyes framed by lashes so thick and long that they fan across his cheekbones when he blinks, full pink lips barely parted and pursed like he has something to say. Beautiful.

Steve’s finger slides down the edge of your face until it reaches your chin, pinching it between bent thumb and forefinger. He leans in close enough that you can feel his breath wash over your lips.

You, on the other hand, forget how to breathe entirely.

He hesitates, and you feel a tug in your stomach as the thought of him pulling away from you occurs. Does your breath offend? You did eat a lot of garlic bread at the restaurant. Maybe you should've packed gum in your purse -

"Is this okay?" he murmurs. You blink, a little caught off guard by the question.

“Huh?” Very astute.

“This,” he says, and his thumb presses itself briefly in the center of your bottom lip as if to punctuate what he means. “I mean…can I kiss you?”

You swallow hard to avoid swooning at the question and clear your throat. "Yes. Yes, please kiss me."

He barely even has to move to capture your lips, so softly at first, like he’s afraid you’ll suddenly change your mind if he applies more pressure. Electricity thrums beneath your skin, zapping every nerve you have until your entire body is lit up with excitement. Your free hand trembles as you rest it against his chest. His heart thumps wildly beneath your palm, indicating that Steve Harrington is just as nervous as you are right now. This helps you to relax a bit, strangely.

Steve's arm slides down from your shoulders to wrap around your waist and pulls you firmly against him. He smiles against your mouth as a contented sigh escapes you and pulls away just enough to mumble, "Still okay?"

You bunch up the fabric of his shirt in your fingers and bring your lips back together, kissing him with more fervor. He hums against your mouth, satisfied with his answer, and his smile grows almost imperceptibly.

When he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, you gasp, and his hand slips up to the nape of your neck and buries itself in your hair. He doesn't pull, just holds you firmly in place, and though the act is relatively small, its possessive nature makes you unconsciously sink into his touch. Your mind races with thoughts of what it would feel like if Steve did pull, just a little - how your neck would bend forward, how your eyes would be forced skyward, and how you'd have no choice but to arch toward him as he kept you where he wanted you.

He keeps you still as he pulls away, chuckling at the little mewl that falls out of your mouth at the lack of contact. He soothes you with kisses peppered down the expanse of your neck, pausing only to nip and lick at random spots of flesh. You moan breathily into his hair as he sucks on a patch of skin just above the neckline of your shirt, and your hand creeps even further up his thigh.

"If you give me a hickey…my mom will kill me," you breathe, and Steve snickers against your neck.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks. The thought is enough to make your stomach sink with dread. You shake your head ardently. He grazes his teeth against your throat, his satisfied grin tangible against your buzzing skin.

"I didn’t think so."

He makes his way back up to your lips after sucking another hickey into your flesh, this time thankfully below where your clothing can cover, and doesn't waste a second slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You swear you'll turn to liquid any second now and slip straight through Steve's fingers. Steve tastes faintly of tiramisu still, and you eagerly chase after the taste, your tongues sliding against each other. The hand in your hair glides down your spine and pauses above your ass. His fingers twitch hesitantly against the hem of his jacket, hiking it up only to smooth it back down several times. He waits for you to move to give him some indication that you want to go further.

So, you oblige him.

You pull away, a thin line of saliva connecting your lips. It's Steve's turn to whine at the empty space where your mouth used to be, and it's a sound that resonates right into the fingers still curled against his chest. It makes a feral heat stir in your belly, and you make a brief mental note to find what else elicits that noise from Steve Harrington's lips later.

You decide if there was any moment in your life to be bold - it's right now. You use the hand on his chest to nudge him up the hood of the car so his back is flush with the windshield, and before he can question what you're doing, you swing one leg over his lap and sit, straddling him.

He takes a surprised breath and smiles at you, the moonlight making his eyes shimmer like liquid bronze. You kiss him again, and he boldly reaches down and grabs two generous handfuls of your ass. With a groan, you roll your hips back into him, urging him to grab more, grab harder. 

Your hands grip either side of his slim waist and dip below the edge of his shirt. His skin is so warm compared to the chill of the evening, and you find yourself wanting to do anything to obtain more of his heat.

"Do you…wanna head inside the car?" he asks breathlessly, kissing the corners of your lips and down your jaw. "It's a lot more comfortable."

"I'm pretty comfortable right here," you say, and Steve laughs. He sits up straight and slots his hands under your knees, pulling you forward and down so you sit directly on his crotch. Despite the multiple layers of clothing between you both, you definitely feel something hard nudging at your inner thigh, and you let out a noise that's half surprise, half arousal.

"He's getting a bit restless if you catch my drift," Steve drawls, capturing your chin between his thumb and forefinger again. Your eyes flicker downward as if you’d be able to see with your legs and his jeans in the way. God, you want to see it, though, need to see it.

"'Course, if you're uncomfortable, we don't have to,” he says quietly, earnestly. “It’s up to you, Y/N.”

Your answer is to grind down on his dick hard enough that he pushes air out through his gritted teeth and grips your ass tighter. "Like I said," you purr against the shell of his ear, "I'm plenty comfortable."

Though Steve helps you back onto solid ground gingerly, there's a tautness to his muscles, a stiffness in how he moves that belies how desperate he is to get you into the car. He tries to adjust the front of his jeans casually, and you pretend to be staring into the treeline when he glances in your direction. You cock your head a bit in confusion when you notice him pull something long and thin out from below the backseat. It appears wooden, and the flared nub at the bottom is familiar enough that you realize it's probably a baseball bat. However, the top of the bat is oddly lumpy and seems to be covered in something spiky; you can't tell for sure what that could be because it's wrapped tightly in a tattered blue towel.  

He pops the trunk and throws it inside, acknowledging your puzzled expression after slamming it shut with a calm smile. "Lucille," he says simply. You decide you'll ask about it later. If you remember.

What you do remember, as soon as your back is nestled against the interior car door and Steve slots himself between your thighs, fingertips pushing the fabric of your skirt further up around your hips, is the conversation you had with Kesley.

"You know Steve Harrington can't eat pussy?"

You try to push the thought from your head by carding your fingers through Steve's hair, marveling at how soft it is while he plants kisses along your inner thighs. His lips brush across the intersection of your hip and thigh so gently that it makes you squirm a bit. Steve, despite your efforts, takes notice.

"Ticklish?"

"Uh. No?"

It's a lie. A bad one.

Steve smirks up at you and pushes your skirt past your pelvis, over your panties. Before you can stop him, his mouth is latched down over the sensitive juncture of your thigh, and you squeal in protest. Your breathless laughter and pleas for him to stop go unheeded, and he pins your writhing hips to the leather of the backseat so he can continue sucking a bright red hickey into your skin. Seemingly satisfied, he pulls off with a pop and strokes a finger over his handiwork. You bump his head with your knee, a halfhearted attempt to get him to stop prodding.

"Cute panties," he says lowly, and his finger follows the thick tendon that runs from your inner thigh to the edge of the cotton fabric. He drags the tip of it just underneath the seam of the gusset, pulling it far enough from your skin that it snaps back and makes you flinch. You remember agonizing over which pair to wear while you dressed - everything was too itchy, tight, plain, or extravagant for a first date. You only settled on the blush pink pair currently hugging your hips because they were the least offensive thing you could find.

You swallow hard, your hands fidgeting from their place atop your chest, and reflexively try to shut your legs. You're suddenly painfully aware of Steve staring at you, your most intimate part. A thin scrap of cloth is the only thing that separates your pussy from Steve Harrington's eyes, and while it's not like no one has ever seen you in states very similar to this, this time is…different. 

The butterflies in your stomach are hammering against your ribcage and fluttering into your lungs, threatening to cut off your air supply entirely. You're sure you're going to suffocate before he can make any further moves, and you're gonna pass out right in the back of Steve Harrington's car before he's even really done anything -

“Y/N?”

Steve's warm hand squeezing your hip pulls you from your thoughts. You pull the pooled fabric of your skirt up against your stomach so you can look at his face. His expression is hued with concern.

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?" His thumb rubs in small, soft circles above the purpling hickey on your thigh.

"Yeah! I'm totally fine, I just…sorry, I kinda got lost in thought."

"Are you sure? I can stop if you need me to, yanno, if you're feelin'...like, weird about any of this."

You shake your head and smile, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. "I'm absolutely fine, Steve. I promise you. Did you say something before? I didn't hear you."

"I, uh…" He curls the tip of his finger beneath the gusset of your panties again, this time tugging experimentally. "Just wanted to know if I could take these off."

Your face is scorchingly hot, and if it weren't for the shadows cascading over the both of you, you’re sure Steve would laugh his ass off at the shade of red your cheeks have achieved. Any verbal response you might muster is lodged impossibly tight in your throat, so you just nod, let your legs fall further apart, and lift your hips off the seat so he can work your panties down your legs.

He does so with something akin to reverence, inching the fabric further and further off your body until his warm breath unfurls over your bare skin in deep, measured breaths. He carelessly tosses your panties somewhere in the front of his car, eyes transfixed on the spot between your legs. You're torn between wanting to yank your shirt collar over your eyes so you don't have to look at the deferent expression on his face, the damn near worshipful look in his dark eyes, and wanting to sit up to get an even better look at him.

"Wow… you're…fuck." Steve Harrington is at a loss for words because of you. You keep the glow of pride you feel at that fact to yourself…for now. You pull your legs back toward your chest, hooking one hand under your knee ditch to hold it steady and give him a better look. 

"Are you, uh…can I, like, eat you out?" he asks, and though part of you inwardly leaps for joy at the request, another part wants to suggest he do literally anything else.

You're being stupid, you chide yourself. Who gives a shit what Katie Kaspbrak or her stupid friends say? They're probably full of it anyway. Why are you entertaining the idea of telling Steve fucking Harrington he can't eat you out?

"Yes, please," you hear yourself breathe out despite your internal reservations. Steve smiles and raises a hand to replace the one keeping your leg pulled back. You take note of the way he licks his lips before he brings his mouth down against your pussy.

It's…well…it's interesting.

His tongue bypasses your clit completely and instead presses against your urethra, of all places. It isn't flat or relaxed; instead, a stiff pinpoint of muscle grinding uncomfortably into a spot that is decidedly not meant for that kind of stimuli. You shift, uneasy, but he seems to interpret it as a pleasured movement, which only spurs him on. He digs the tip of his tongue harder into your flesh, and you're grateful he can't see how your face is screwed up in distress.

Oh, God…oh, God. It really is awful. It's almost excruciating, and Katie Kaspbrak was fucking right. What do you do? What will he say if you tell him it's not good? Will he get embarrassed or hurt or even angry? Has anyone ever tried to tell him that this was wrong before?

You're conflicted and debating on just letting him finish up and possibly lying for the rest of time that Steve Harrington is a champion at eating pussy, until his tongue flicks upward and the unrelenting nub of his tongue stabs into your clit. You yelp involuntarily and yank your leg out of his hand, tightening your thighs. You press your fingers against your slit, hoping to soothe the throbbing ache Steve's harsh ministrations have brought on.

"What, what happened?" he asks, frantic, sitting up as much as he can in the confined space of the backseat.

He looks so much like a kicked puppy it's physically painful, maybe more painful than the burning sensation in your clit, and you consider for a moment just brushing it off as a leg cramp and letting him continue as if it's the best head in the world.

But you can't. You won't. If Steve doesn't know what he's doing wrong, he can't fix it, right? You just hope he's genuinely ignorant of how unrefined his skills are and not just overconfident and uncaring. The apologetic expression he's wearing is encouraging that it's the former.

"I…that hurt," you hiss between your teeth. "That hurt a lot."

"I'm so sorry," he says, reaching towards you instinctively, but then he seems to reconsider and takes his hands back. They rest atop his knees, clenching and unclenching, just like when he picked you up. "I…I thought that's what girls liked. I haven't…no one's told me any different, and I don't, like, have a bunch of practice - I mean, I've had practice, but no one's ever said anything before. I had no idea I was hurting you. I don't…I don't have to do that if you don't want it. I can do something else. I mean, Nance never really liked it when I did that either, so-"

He stops, eyes widening once it dawns on him what just came out of his mouth. Admittedly, you're a little shocked yourself. You attempt to keep your expression neutral to not make him feel worse, but you clearly fail because Steve cringes away when he catches a glimpse of your face.

"Shit…sorry. I shouldn't… it's not cool to bring up your ex on a first date. I know that. I'm sorry…Look, if you wanna go home, I get it. I kinda messed shit up, so I can-"

He's so fixated on his contrite ramblings that he doesn't notice when you sit up, nor when your hands cup either side of his face, and he only stops talking once you've pressed your lips against his, making it physically impossible. You feel the tension melt out of his body, and he tentatively grips your elbows.

"I'm fine," you start, leaning your forehead against his. His breaths escape in panicked, warm bursts against your lips. "I don't need to go home. I'm absolutely perfect here, with you. You didn't stab me with a burning hot poker or anything, so I'm doing pretty alright." The corners of his lips twitch upward in a sad suggestion of a smile. You should know better; you shouldn't ask about Nancy Wheeler even if Steve accidentally brought her up first, but you can't help the question that ripples from your lips.

"What do you mean, 'Nance never liked it?'" you ask carefully, and his muscles flex beneath your fingers. You're treading on thin ice. You rub your thumbs over his cheekbones, attempting to put him at ease and have his eyes meet yours.

"It's… it's stupid," Steve mutters, eyes downcast at his lap. "She…Nancy really, super hated it when I went down on her. I never thought about it too hard, I guess. I chalked it up to her being kinda uptight and just moved on, but now it makes way more sense. I suck. Of course, she hated it." He offers a dry, humorless sound you suppose is his attempt at a laugh.

"Did she ever, like…tell you what you were doing wrong?" you ask softly.

"Yeah…well, no, not exactly. I don't know. She'd usually just sit up and tell me she wanted to do something else, and when I asked what was up, she would just dance around the question, and we'd do something else and…I stopped trying after that. I should've asked questions."

"Well, you can ask them now. If you'd like."

Steve finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and his eyes are markedly brighter than before. "If it's not too astoundingly lame…yeah, that'd be great. What exactly hurt about it? Was I too rough?"

"Partially that, and partially how rigid your tongue was," you giggle. "It feels much better if you loosen up. Think more like licking a lollipop than Vlad the Impaler."

Steve laughs sincerely at that one, and his head tilts forward to rest on your shoulder. "Vlad the Impaler, huh? That's pretty bad."

"It is, but it's nothing you can't improve on. I'll even let you practice if you want." Steve sits straight, his once crestfallen expression replaced with wide, hopeful eyes and a hint of a genuine smile on his lips.

"Seriously?"

"Mm-hm. I'll guide you through it, like, uh...like a pussy-eating professor."

 Steve snorts and kisses you briefly. His hands move to your hips in twitchy anticipation, unsure whether or not he should settle on your bare flesh or the hem of your skirt. It's almost like he suddenly doesn't know where to start. You decide for him; you lay your hands over his and guide them toward your body, bringing them up beneath your skirt and settling them on the bare skin of your hips.

"Give me a reason to tangle my fingers in that famous hair, pretty boy."

Without warning, you're pulled forward hard enough to fall unceremoniously onto your back, nearly thumping your head against the door handle. Steve almost concusses you in his excitement, but you can't bring yourself to care once you feel his breath washing over your exposed slit in warm, quick puffs. You sigh contentedly and thread your fingers through the hair at his temples.

"Loosen up, right?" he hums, and you make an affirmative noise high in your throat when you remember he can't see you nod.

"Start at the bottom," you say quickly, "and work your way up. Don't go straight for the clit, just-"

The sensation of Steve's hot, wet tongue licking a flat stripe up your cunt, slowly and carefully, makes your brain short-circuit. The instructions fizzle and die on your tongue, and you forget why you were speaking for a moment.

"Like that?"

"Huh? Yeah…yeah, like that. You don't have to just lick, either. You can like, um…suck on certain areas, like the lips and the - fucking shit -"

Steve is, apparently, a fast and very ambitious learner - before you can finish a complete sentence, he's applying your advice fucking beautifully. He licks another long, languid stripe up your pussy and sucks gently on your labia, tugging lightly with closed lips. Shifting his face upward, his nose grazes your clit, eliciting an unexpected moan. One hand flies above your head, fumbling for the handle on the car's roof for purchase, and you keep the other firmly planted in his hair.

"Still good?" His voice has an edge, much cockier now than it was just a few moments ago. He's so entertained by your reactions, and you don't know if it makes you mad, turns you on, or both. You decide that's not important because his mouth isn't on you anymore, and you can't stand for that.

"Fucking fantastic."

"Any more lessons to teach me?" he asks smugly. His hands are splayed across your inner thighs, spreading you open just slightly, and his thumbs are massaging your outer lips as he talks. His tone ignites something defiant within you. You push yourself up on your elbows and stare down at him evenly, meeting his eyes. His rediscovered confidence is undoubtedly hot, so hot you can feel your arousal starting to leak onto the upholstery beneath your ass, but it's in your nature to want to challenge him a little bit.

"Here's one," you rasp. You fist a hand into Steve's hair, gripping it tightly by the roots, and shove his face deeper into your cunt. You toss both legs over his shoulders and lock them at the ankles.

"Give that mouth something useful to do other than fuckin' talk."

You swear to everything holy, you hear Steve Harrington growl.

He dives into your pussy with renewed fervor, fingers still keeping you opened up for him, and laps at the rivulet of slick drooling out of your hole. Once the taste hits his tongue, he moans into you and pushes his face so deep you can feel the light stubble on his cheeks grazing your sensitive folds. 

Your back arches, lifting you almost entirely off the seats, and you bite your lip to stifle the noises threatening to burst from your throat. It's not to spare whatever stranger may or may not be lurking in the bordering forest but because your moans sound downright embarrassing. His tongue burns a wet trail from your weeping hole to your clit, where it laps experimentally at the swollen bud.

You twist and shudder beneath him, your body operating without input from your brain, but the feeling of Steve's hands slamming your hips down into the seats snaps you back to attention. You lift your head from its position against the car door, struggling to focus your eyes. Steve has laid himself as flat as he can across what little space remains in the backseat. His arms coil tight around your thighs, which keep both legs hanging limply over his shoulders. He stares up at you through his thick lashes, eyes gleaming hungrily, while he licks and sucks your pussy like it's the last meal he'll ever eat. His ordinarily perfect hair is trashed, sticking to his damp forehead in dark clumps.

You gnaw on your bottom lip stubbornly, clinging to what little rebellion still smolders inside you. Steve laughs; the vibrations feel like heaven against you, and you fling your head back down.

It isn't until his mouth has formed a near-vacuum seal around your clit that you unabashedly squeal into the humid air, unable to contain yourself anymore, pleasure wracking your body in unrelenting waves. Steve doesn't let up, swirling his tongue while he sucks, somehow keeping you glued to the seats without much apparent effort. You knew he was strong; he was an athlete the entire time you were in high school, but you didn't imagine his slender frame belied this much strength. The ease with which he's made you almost immobile is unexpected and very, very sexy.

"S-Steve, Steve - fuck - okay, God, you're getting me close already," you wheeze, voice straining high and desperate in your throat. You don't usually get close this fast unless you're alone and rubbing out a quick orgasm before bed or out of boredom. Still, the combination of his greedy suckling and licking, the sheer amount of enthusiasm he's displaying toward pleasuring you, and the fact that this long-held fantasy is coming to life right before you are making you hurtle toward the edge.

You inhale sharply, your body tenses, you're so, so close, you're about to cum -

Steve pulls off you, his lips making a wet, obscene pop before they curl into a fiendish grin. You whine, and he chuckles at you, rubbing your thigh apologetically. "You taste so fucking good," he says breathlessly.

"Why'd you stop?" you whimper. "And…thank you?"

"I'm having too much fun and didn't want you to cum yet," he says simply. "Plus, I wanted to ask something."

"Go for it."

You can't see them, but you can feel Steve's fingers on your pussy; his thumb makes a few small, tight circles around your clit before two more digits glide down the length of your folds and stop right at the entrance of your hole. They nudge around the rim as he speaks.

"Do you like getting fingered at the same time?" he asks, hopeful. "I know I'm at least good at that."

"Yes, please, do that," you beg, hardly letting him finish the sentence. You pause as the last part of Steve's sentence registers in your lust-addled brain. I know I'm at least good at that.

The corners of your mouth tug downward into a frown. Just as Steve ducks his head down again, you cup the sides of his jaw in both hands. He looks up at you, and the way his eyes flash nervously in the darkness doesn't escape you.

"By the way," you murmur, rubbing your thumbs into the stubbly flesh of his cheeks. "You've proven to be very…very good at…yanno, all this. Not just fingering."

"Yeah?" The hope in his voice is so genuine and sweet you could cry.

"Yeah. You just needed a little guidance, that's all."

He turns his head and kisses your palm, tracing circles into the back of your hand with his own before pulling it away and lacing your fingers together. Your interlocked hands rest next to your bare hip, and he presses a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. "Want me to get back to the, uh…fun part?"

You giggle. "I'm having a ton of fun, personally, but if you mean the eating my pussy part…yes, please."

"Gotcha."

Steve wastes no time reclaiming your swollen clit in his mouth, but he's decidedly gentler as he trails his two middle fingers around the rim of your hole. You can't tell if he's teasing you or testing the waters as he dips the tips inside you a few times, never edging past the first knuckles before pulling them back out again.

If he keeps this up, you’re going to go batshit insane. You're milliseconds away from telling him so before he swipes his fingers through the slick puddling beneath your pussy, and plunges them inside you up to the last knuckle.

"Oh my fucking God," you moan, writhing as much as possible while trapped between Steve's body and the car. His fingers curl, brushing against a spot that makes sparks fly behind your closed eyes, and he rubs against it purposefully once your voice pitches up and your breathing quickens even more. Both hands tangle in his disheveled hair, and you're torn on whether to push him away with how overwhelming the pleasure is becoming or pull him closer so he never stops. You settle on knotting your fingers at the roots and holding on for dear life.

Steve's fingers make lewd wet sounds as they pump in and out of your hole, and his free hand rests on the soft mound of skin above your clit. He pulls back just slightly, a stringy line of saliva connecting his tongue to your body, and his index finger stretches your skin up enough that the hood of your clit shifts backward. He chuckles.

"You should see how much of a mess your pussy is," he says. His tongue darts out to lick the slick shining on his lips. "It's so cute."

"Cute?" You don't know if that would've been the word you'd have picked to describe yourself right now, nor had anyone ever done so before. Despite the flush rising high on your cheekbones, you pretend to be more offended by it than you really are.

"Adorable," Steve coos, a smug smile sprawling across his handsome face. "And the noises you're making are even cuter. Have you been saving those just for me?"

You're speechless. You can't deny it, but you sure as hell aren't going to confirm it for him, either. His head will get so big you worry it'll fill the car's cab until you're both suffocated by the sheer mass of it. You sit up as much as you can against the car door, tugging the hand still woven with yours and smiling audaciously at him. You cross pinched fingers in front of your lips in a zipping motion, twisting them at the corner and flicking your wrist over your shoulder. My lips are sealed.

Steve scoffs. "Oh? We'll see how long that lasts, pretty girl."

Steve thrusts his fingers deep inside you again, fluttering them against your g-spot, then spits on your exposed clit. He dips his head and licks up the saliva trickling down your slit in one slow, hot strip, eyes never leaving your face.

You press your lips together tight, screwing your eyes shut and exhaling hard through your nose. Your legs are trembling, you're gripping his hand so tightly you're surprised he isn't complaining of bruised bones yet, and your chest is heaving with the effort of staying silent, but you're winning.

Or, at least, you think you're winning.

That is until he stuffs his fingers so deep inside you that it causes his hand to curl upward, almost cupping your cunt in his palm and grinding the heel of his hand into your tender clit. You can't help but gasp as he outright abuses your g-spot, rubbing circles against it with such pressure that even if you wanted to make noise, you can’t - the pleasure radiating from your core has snatched your voice away. You can't even draw in a satisfying breath and only manage a few sparse, shallow gasps.

"You done acting like you're not gonna give me what I want?" Steve asks, voice dripping with sweet condescension. You sob. It takes a stammering, whimpering, tear-filled moment before you gather enough oxygen to reply.

"U-Uh-huh, I'm - shit - I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, Steve…."

"Atta girl." Though his fingers don't relent in the brutal pace they've set, he does bend his hand down enough so he can lap at your clit again. Tears eke out of the corners of your eyes and drip slowly into your hairline, and when you find your voice again, it bursts out of you in a broken scream.

It takes thirty seconds of consistent attention before he's got you close again, and you warn him of that fact by whining and tugging on his hair.

"You gonna cum for me?" he huffs, breath washing over your sensitive skin.

"Y-Yes, yes, yes, fuck - oh fuck me, Steve -!"

"Soon, baby," he hums.

Your orgasm crashes into you full force, and your throat burns with the force of your wailing as you arch off the backseat; you guarantee you're pulling some of Steve's hair out with how tight your grip is, but he is decidedly unfazed. He milks this moment for all its worth, never stopping or slowing in his ministrations.

Tears flow down your cheeks freely, soaking into the neck of your shirt and wetting the hair you'd spent so much time on. The pleasure crescendos into something too intense to handle quickly. You choke out a few half-assed pleas, your brain melting out of your ears at this point, far beyond being capable of intelligible sentences, and Steve ignores you.

Clearly, you don't decide when Steve Harrington is done - he does.

Your orgasm seems to go on for days, months even, and just as the pain begins to nip at the edges of your earth-shattering pleasure, as you almost snap your legs shut and beg Steve to please just give you a small break, you feel it. 

Your second orgasm. Building, apparently in secret, riding the tails of your first one and sneaking up on you to the point you don't notice you're going to cum until your cunt spasms around Steve's fingers again.

"C-C-Cumming, cumming again, fuck, oh God, fuck, I can't - Steve, I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Steve assures, fingers working impossibly faster. You're astonished he doesn't have the mother of all hand cramps right now. Perhaps he does, and he just doesn't care. You don't think you care, either. "You can cum for me again, Y/N. Come on. Cum on my fingers, pretty girl."

This time, you don't even have the strength to scream. You weep and sag against the car door, body tremoring and barely managing a few pathetic pleas between hiccuping breaths.

You're drenched in sweat, and you're sure your makeup is fucked because of it. That and the tears, of course. You must look utterly trashed, but when Steve finally pulls off your poor, sore pussy with a pop, he looks at you like you're the single most beautiful creature on the planet.

He goes to wipe his lips with the back of one hand, and you notice slick shimmering down his chin and even splattered onto his neck. It's only then you feel the absolute lake of cum that’s accumulated beneath your ass, and your entire body burns bright red with embarrassment. He raises himself up on his palms, his arms boxing you in tightly.

"You are so gorgeous," he says, cupping your cheek in the hand that isn't glistening with your cum. You laugh shakily and lean into his touch.

"Sorry… 'bout your seats," you offer weakly, and he shakes his head. "You can ruin my upholstery anytime."

Steve leans down, dark eyes scanning your face, and smiles. It's a sweet, lopsided expression, nowhere near the self-satisfied, almost sadistic grin from earlier. They both quicken your pulse, but this one assures you you can at least take this moment to recover from possibly the best orgasm of your life.

First and second-best orgasms. Wow.

He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. He slots his leg between yours, narrowly avoiding the puddle you've made, and cradles your head as if he's the only thing keeping it from flopping sideways. Frankly, he is. When he pulls away, he kisses your forehead before leaning his own against it.

"You okay?" he asks. You nod, sighing and swallowing despite your parched mouth. Your hands rest atop your chest, curled up into each other meekly as you try to regain any semblance of strength in your extremities. You bump your lips into him again briefly.

"You're a remarkably fast learner, Steve Harrington," you mumble, voice hoarse. He chuckles. 

"It's easy when I have such an incredible teacher.”

It takes a few minutes to clean you - and the car - up. Steve digs around in his glove box for some old fast food napkins and gingerly sops as much of your cum out of his seats as he can while you lay on your side, curled up and heavy-lidded as the adrenaline slowly dribbles out of your system. He dabs the sweat from your brow, following the rough, cheap napkin with gentle kisses to soothe your flushed skin. Afterward, he bunches the napkins and shoves them in his passenger side door before rejoining you in the backseat. 

He hoists you up onto his lap and guides your head onto his shoulder, allowing you to nuzzle your face into his neck and inhale his scent as he rubs your back.

"Any more pointers?" he asks just before you've dozed off. You smile and shake your head.

"None whatsoever. You've exceeded my greatest expectations, dear pupil." He laughs and thumps your back appreciatively. It's not until you're readjusting slightly to get more comfortable that you realize something - Steve is still hard. Achingly so, it would seem, as you can feel the rigid denim stretched over his bulge so tightly you're surprised the zipper hasn't popped clean off. Heat stirs in your belly, and you make a soft, serene noise in your throat as you grind your bare pussy into his lap.

His hips stutter upward just enough for you to bounce slightly, and you giggle into the crook of his neck. "We still haven't taken care of you yet." "We don't have to if you're too tired," he assures you, voice little more than a deep hum against the shell of your ear. "I'm happy just makin' you feel good."

You consider it. You know you'll be sore tomorrow, regardless of if you choose to have more of Steve Harrington stuffed inside you, and your clit is throbbing and achy to the touch. You could fall asleep on his chest right now; he could keep you in this beautiful, dreamlike space for the rest of time if he wanted to. But there's a part of you, a part much, much louder than the part complaining about your sore slit or exhausted body, that is dying to know what Steve's dick looks like.

You leave a trail of kisses up from the hollow of his neck to the curve of his jaw and blink at him happily. Once your faces are close enough that his eyelashes are nearly tickling your cheekbones, you snake one hand between your bodies and trail a finger over the cold metal teeth of his zipper.

"Just 'cause my cunt is sore doesn't mean I'm totally out of commission," you purr. "And since you did so well with your mouth on me… don't you think it's fair I return the favor?"

You feel, rather than hear, the low moan that rumbles through Steve’s chest at the insinuation. You hook your nail through the eye of his zipper and give an experimental tug.

"Can I suck your cock, Steve?"

His lips are on yours almost before the question rolls off your tongue. His fingers tangle in your hair, keeping you still as his tongue explores inside your mouth. Steve's natural taste mixes with the taste of your slick in an intoxicating way, but just before your head starts spinning, he breaks the kiss enough to breathe, "You're gonna have to move, baby."

Of all the lewd, downright filthy things Steve Harrington has done and said tonight, the way he slurs the word "baby" against your swollen lips is the thing that makes you blush the hottest.

He reaches behind you and opens the car door, and you both shiver slightly as the cold air rushes in from the forest and cools your sweat-soaked skin. He pats your thigh and juts his chin forward, so you awkwardly clamber out of the BMW despite your wobbling legs. You lean one hand on the car's roof while Steve scoots to sit on the edge of the backseat and swings his legs onto the ground.

He brushes past you as he emerges from the car, planting a quick kiss on the top of your head before he pops the trunk and struggles with something inside for a moment. With a victorious smile, Steve waves the same raggedy blue towel that had been wrapped around "Lucille" before assuming his spot in the backseat again. He folds it in half once and lays it out between his spread legs atop the mud and sparse grass you're standing on.

"So you don't get your legs all dirty," he explains, observing your mildly confused expression.

"My legs?"

"It'd be killer on your back, sucking my dick while you're bent at the waist, wouldn't it?" Steve laughs, undoing his belt with deft fingers while he watches the realization dawn on you. "The least I can do is make you more comfortable and keep the mud and crap off your legs, right?"

“Yeah…totally…”

Words escape you as you watch the metal of Steve's belt buckle glitter in the moonlight while he slips the leather out of the loop. His shirt is riding up just far enough onto his stomach that you can see a dark thatch of hair leading upward from the hem of his jeans, and at that moment, you are determined to follow Steve's happy trail with your tongue at some point. As he pops the button on his pants, you release your grip on the car and collapse to your knees. You grab his hands and pull them out of the way, splaying your fingers across his thighs and squeezing.

"Let me," you say, eyes darting between his mostly undone jeans and his face. He chuckles at you, and you try to commit his crooked, sweet smile and warm brown eyes to memory. He's beyond handsome, drop-dead fucking gorgeous - and he's letting you suck his cock. You take a moment to thank whatever deity or greater cosmic force that's brought you to this exact moment in your life.

"Be my guest," Steve says, leaning back on his palms and staring down the bridge of his nose at you. You lean forward, using the grip on his legs to keep balance and capture the end of his zipper between your teeth. You drag it down agonizingly slowly while keeping complete eye contact with him. You can't look away from his amazed and steadfastly aroused face. Pants fully unzipped, you think you can make out that Steve is wearing dark red boxer briefs.

Very normal, all things considered, but you know in the back of your head that this particular shade of red will always make you horny now - Pavlov's dogs had their bell, and you drool at the sight of Steve Harrington's underwear.

Steve lifts his ass off the backseat just enough for you to tug his pants and boxers down to his knees. You could pull his cock out through his underwear, but no, you want to see all of him, every last inch. Fair is fair, right? 

Steve is…fuck, he's big. Bigger than you ever even fantasized about. 

His cock springs upright fully after you've freed it from his boxers, and with a hard swallow and a fluttery feeling in your gut, you realize it's big enough to touch his navel. It curves toward his belly, an angle so perfect it's impossible not to imagine how it'll feel inside you once you can handle it. The head is flushed a dark red and slick with precum, and you watch in reverence as a milky bead forms at the slit. It's all you can do to not surge forward immediately and lick it off. The hair covering the base of Steve's dick and balls is dark, nearly black, and unexpectedly curly compared to the other hair on his body.

You reach a tentative hand out and wrap it around his shaft. He's so thick your fingers barely touch once you've made a fist. Steve hisses at the feeling and drops his head back a little.

"You're…so fucking big," you say breathlessly. Steve laughs and cards a hand through your hair, brushing sweaty strands away from your forehead. 

"You think you're gonna be able to handle it?" His voice drips with fake sympathy, so you nod your head despite being unsure. The head is so big you worry you won't be able to fit it in your mouth without your back teeth accidentally scraping it, let alone have it go down your throat. But the cocky, smug look he wears makes you want to suck his dick until he cries, just like you did. 

You nudge his shirt further up his torso, noting how solid his abdominal muscles feel beneath your palm, and dip your head down to his happy trail. You lay soft kisses amongst the thick, coarse hair, and Steve subtly squirms.

"Ticklish?" you ask. He narrows his eyes.

"Don't even think about it."

You chuckle, sorely tempted.

You copy his actions from earlier and lick a long, hot stripe with your flattened tongue up the entire length of his cock, stopping only to swirl around the head and lap up his precum. The salty taste blooms across your tongue and your mouth embarrassingly floods with drool as you suck and lick more of the flavor into it. You inch carefully down his shaft, opening your jaw as wide as possible to avoid an encounter between his dick and your molars and twirl your tongue around the length in your mouth to make up for what you can't wholly swallow yet. One hand wraps around the base to make up the difference, stroking up and down slowly as you bob your head.

It's an interesting, intricate dance, trying to fit Steve Harrington's monster cock in your mouth without outright biting it. You persuade your gag reflex to let him go down your throat a bit more, your quick strokes getting slicker and slicker with the drool that pours freely down Steve's dick and wets his pubic hair. Breathing through your nose proves difficult when his massive cockhead obstructs the back of your throat entirely, but you manage well enough.

Steve is absolutely beside himself. He's moaning unabashedly, and it's like music to your ears. He's the first man you've ever been with who makes noises outside of oddly paced-out grunts or a random curse word here or there, and it's having more of an effect on you than you ever could have imagined. You press your thighs together as more slickness drips from your throbbing cunt, free to gush almost to your knees without the interference of your panties. 

"Fuck, baby, fucking shit…fuck yeah, just like that… you're sucking my cock so good, you look so fucking hot right now, oh my God," Steve babbles, eyes fluttering and head lolled over to one side. He bucks his hips, probably involuntarily, and his cock bumps the back of your throat just hard enough that it makes you gag.

You cough and pull off him far enough to take a breath, your hand still firmly locked around his base and wet with spit. He laughs breathily and caresses your cheek as you pant.

“Sorry…sorry…I didn't mean to choke you. You're just… you're so good…."

"You can, uh…like, do that again if you want," you say shyly. Steve cocks an eyebrow.

"Do what?"

"That. What you just did. Again."

"You want me to gag you like that again?" It's said with genuine surprise, not judgment, and you smile sheepishly at him.

"Kinda, yeah…only if you're okay with it too, I just…I can handle it…."

He considers it, absently twirling a few strands of your hair around his fingers as he mulls your request over. Then, both hands slide to the back of your head and gather your hair into one large, tight handful that makes you sit up straighter. Cold air gusts against your freshly exposed skin, and you shiver as Steve leans forward and kisses your forehead. He uses his other hand to pull his jacket tighter around your body, tucking the collar against your throat.

"If you can handle it," he says, and with one smooth push, he's shoved you back down on his cock. The head bumps the back of your throat hard, and though your entire body jerks forward as you gag, Steve doesn't relent. He seems as determined as you were to fit the daunting length of his dick down your throat, and the fact you practically begged him to facefuck you appears to have dissolved any lingering inhibitions he may have had. He keeps one hand securely fisted in your hair, and the other moves to feel where his length is bulging through your throat. He hums lowly and strokes his fingers over your taut flesh.

"You can take more than that, can't you?"

You haven't even begun to respond before he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his way past your uvula, and you can only gag and shudder as your nose gets buried in the thick curls at the base of his cock. He guides you back by your hair only far enough that his head isn't bullying into your airway anymore, then pushes you back down - he does this over and over, hardly letting you have a moment to breathe while he chases his pleasure. You moan as you realize you've essentially become a means to an end, a method of reaching an orgasm, a warm, wet hole for Steve to fuck his cock into, and your fingers sneak down between your thighs to rub your aching clit.

Though you try to be discreet, you're soaked, and you can't do a thing to hide the obscene squelching sounds your pussy makes as you grind into your hand. Steve, with sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and drunk on lust, laughs.

"You're so fuckin' cute. You like bein' my cocksleeve that much, pretty girl?" You attempt a nod and a noise that leans toward acquiescence, and it's good enough.

Steve sets a rigorous pace, bringing you down far enough to kiss his pelvis every time, moaning a little louder when the muscles of your throat contract around his thick shaft as you gag. You are, admittedly, worried you'll puke at some point, and the thought of having arguably the best sexual experience of your life ruined by you blowing chunks all over Steve Harrington's penis does, unfortunately, cross your mind. But before you can dwell too long on it - and before the building nausea becomes too much for you to handle - Steve pulls you off his cock.

Your lips pop wetly as they leave his shaft, and you gasp shakily, the sudden influx of oxygen almost dizzying. Drool drips freely from your aching jaw and the thick strand of saliva that connects your mouth to the head of his dick glints in the moonlight overhead. Your fingers never stop working your clit, though your orgasm ebbs away after your throat ceases to be utterly abused.

"Why'd you stop?" you rasp.

"Was gonna cum too soon," he chuckles. You whine and surge forward, but you're stopped by the firm hand still ensnared in your hair. You crave the taste of Steve's cum on your tongue so intensely, and the fact he isn't letting you have it right away fills you with tantrum-level frustration.

"What, you want it?"

"Yes, Jesus Christ, please."

"Aww. You can beg much better than that." His fingers curl, tugging your hair at the root and jostling you back and forth a little.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as he starts dragging you further away from his shining, dark-red cock. Drool and precum ooze from the tip and you can see it twitching every few seconds, and though your throat feels raw and sore, your jaw aches, and your legs are alight with pins and needles, you need it back in your mouth. You could kneel here all night, and you would swear you were in heaven. The brazen fire in your belly has been snuffed, replaced with the most thrilling need you've ever experienced, so you can't think of anything snarky to say in response. Instead, you do as Steve says, and you fucking beg.

"Please, please give it back, Steve."

"Give what back, baby?" he purrs.

"Your cock."

"What about my cock?"

"Please give me back your cock, Steve. Pretty please, I need it."

He clicks his tongue at you, giving your head a little shake again while your eyes are helplessly fixed on his glistening shaft. "Hmm, I still don't believe you."

A broken sob falls from your mouth before you can help it, and you paw helplessly at his thighs. "Please, please, please, fuck my face, Steve, please. I need it so badly. Please give it to me. I'll do anything, just please...."

He smiles and coos at you, bending down slightly to kiss your forehead softly. "You sound so pretty and pathetic for me, baby," he hums.

Your mouth is full again in a flash, and this time, it's evident that Steve has surpassed any pretense of being gentle with you. That clumsy, nervous boy from earlier has melted away, leaving this commanding, exceedingly bold, and surprisingly dominant man in his wake. His voice has lowered to just above a growl, rough with lust. The way he's reclining back and fucking your mouth like he's pumping into his fist, the way he teases and mocks you and eggs you on - it's fucking intoxicating. You can't get enough. You want him to go further; you want more, more, more.

"Fuck, fuck, 'm cumming, I'm fucking cumming, fuck Y/N," Steve gasps, placing both hands on the sides of your head and driving his cock down your battered throat. The heat of your impending orgasm begins to pool between your hips, and you rub your clit furiously as you gaze up at Steve, trails of mascara-riddled tears tracked down your spit-wet cheeks.

The exact moment his cock pulses and the first hot, thick rope of cum shoots down your throat, you push yourself over the edge of your third orgasm of the night.

You moan as much as you can around his dick, body spasming uncontrollably, and the vibrations from your noises make him grip the seats beneath him so hard you think he’ll shred the upholstery. You try to swallow as best you can, and Steve does mercifully pull out just enough that the head of his cock rests against the middle of your tongue, allowing you room to breathe. His cum is salty and heady, and you're immediately addicted to it, and you hollow your cheeks to greedily suck more of it into your mouth. He looks at you with worshipful adoration, like you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Your hand drops from your overstimulated clit as your orgasm abates, and you use it to hold onto Steve's thigh for balance. You distantly feel embarrassed about smearing slick on his jeans.

When Steve pulls his spent cock from your mouth and releases your bunched-up hair, you fall forward unceremoniously into his lap. You pant raggedly into the fabric clustered around his upper legs, trembling like you've been tossed in the snow. He praises you under his breath, almost like he's not entirely cognizant of what he's saying.

"You did such a good job, God, that was amazing…you did so well, baby…fuck…."

You smile dreamily, glowing under his praise. He pets your hair absentmindedly, and after a while, he gingerly guides you back so you're sitting on your haunches, the rough terrycloth of the towel digging into your knees. He looks beautiful in the bluish light of the evening, hair mussed and sticking out at odd angles, cheeks still dusted a light pink, lips swollen and red and wet with his spit. Steve cradles your face in his hands and rubs at the greyish tear tracks streaking your cheeks, almost embarrassed of their presence.

"Are you okay?"

You nod sluggishly, nuzzling your cheek into Steve's surprisingly rough palm. He smooths the frazzled hair he'd been tugging on so enthusiastically back away from your damp forehead, fluffing it apologetically once he realizes the style you'd sought to achieve is thoroughly ruined. You're sure you look destroyed, to be fair - most of your lipstick is smeared messily on the lower half of Steve's softening cock, so you imagine the rest of it is smudged down your chin and across your cheeks. When you wipe the back of your hand beneath your jaw to catch a few stray tears, your skin is stained blackish from the mascara-laden liquid. Definitely not Harrington-proof, you note amusedly.

"Lemme help you up," Steve says, scooting forward off the backseat and bending toward you. One arm snakes around your waist and tightens against the small of your back; the other hand knits itself against your right hand, and when Steve pulls you to your feet, you're pressed flush against his chest, bodies entwined like partners gliding across a dance floor. Despite everything that's happened in the last hour, you still giggle nervously at the lack of distance between your face and Steve's. He smiles sweetly, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

The hand clasped in Steve's twitches toward your lips reflexively. Your mouth still tastes like his cum, and while you certainly don't mind, you aren't sure if he will. He notices your hesitance, and after a moment, the reason seems to click for him. His smile grows imperceptibly.

Steve takes your face in both hands and kisses you deeply, licking your bottom lip before sliding his tongue against yours. Your already weakened knees wobble, threatening to let you drop like a ton of bricks right back to the rumpled towel beneath your feet. The tangy taste of your cunt still lingers on his tongue and mixes with the salty flavor coating your mouth; it's addictive, and for a moment, it tricks you into thinking you could go just one more round. The way your clit throbs painfully at the mere insinuation, however, quickly dispels that idea.

Steve presses a final, sweet kiss to the tip of your nose after he pulls away from your lips, and the way his eyes sparkle at you in the moonlight dashed across his face makes your stomach flip excitedly, a sensation you're almost embarrassed to feel. It seems too innocent, too chaste after everything you've done tonight, but your cheeks flush hotly regardless.

"You…are something else," Steve says quietly, affectionately rubbing his thumb over your cheek.

"You're one to talk."

You turn your head toward his palm, kissing his warm skin. The yellow-green light of his watch glows out of the corner of your eye, and when he twists his wrist a bit to the side, you catch a glimpse of the numbers.

No. No, that can't be right.

Steve makes a discordant sound as you yank his arm back toward your face, pushing his sleeve up to his elbow. You must've read the time wrong; it can't be that late.

But there it is, clear as day, in blocky electric numbers. Your curfew, which you've never broken, passed almost half an hour ago.

Your heart plummets down through your stomach, and you swear you hear it plop into the dirt at your feet.

"I'm so dead," you murmur, and Steve cocks his head quizzically.

"What?"

"I'm dead!"

You scramble toward the rearview mirror and tug it upward. You look absolutely wrecked. How will you explain why ninety percent of your makeup is gone? Why your hair looks like you've just gone through a tornado? Steve huffs out a confused laugh.

"Am I…missing something?" he asks, leaning casually against the side of the car. You tug the collar of your shirt up and scrub at your mouth - it makes your lipstick look worse and stains the inside of one of your favorite tops. Shit. You frenziedly try to work the buttons on Steve’s jacket closed, desperately tugging the collar up in an attempt to conceal the rapidly deepening red blotches he’s sucked into your skin. They’ll bruise by tomorrow, and if you weren’t in a blind panic, the thought would turn you on. Admittedly, it still does.

"I'm so, so late. My mom is gonna kill me," you say frantically. Maybe it'll be dark enough that no one will notice your lipstick…but they'll definitely see the black trenches carved into your cheeks. Shit.

You turn to the side, trying to tame your hair into a halfway decent shape. It doesn’t work, and you exhale roughly through your nose; the scrunchie you always wear around your wrist is snatched off, and you twist your hair into possibly the sloppiest, worst bun you’ve ever created, but it’ll have to do. Every single aspect of your appearance is like a bright red, flaring neon sign blinking above your head, ready to announce I HAD HOT SEX, AND THAT’S WHY I’M SO INCREDIBLY LATE.

You know it shouldn't matter; she doesn’t have much recourse since you're an adult, but fear still pangs in your gut so hard it makes you nauseous. You can picture it now, tiptoeing into the living room just to have the lamp in the living room flicker to life, your enraged and concerned mother silhouetted in the dim yellow light. You're sure you'll be able to see the steam rolling off her body in waves from where you'll be standing at the landing of the stairs. You'll be lucky if she lets you leave for the supermarket after this, let alone on another date.

"Shit, is it really that late?" Steve asks, and how his voice pitches up in genuine confusion only aids your panic. He bounds to the driver's side of the car, almost tripping over his feet as he fumbles the keys from his pocket and slams them into the ignition. Your butt barely touches the passenger side seat before the engine roars to life, and Steve slams on the gas.

Apologies tumble freely from his mouth as you clumsily clip your seatbelt into place, and you assure him it's alright as best you can while licking your fingers and scouring the mascara stripes off your cheeks. It doesn't work and tastes weird, but it's all you've got.

~~~

When Steve screeches up your driveway, you are an hour past curfew, and that’s only by the grace of God and Steve’s disregard for speed limits. 

You sling your purse strap over one shoulder and almost kick the passenger side door off its hinges as you get out of the car, but just before you're about to bolt up your driveway, you pause.

It wouldn't kill you to be just a little later, right?

You whip back around, and Steve stares up at you, a little breathless, flushed, and still so beautiful. You grip the edge of the window and bend down, poking your head inside the car.

"I had an amazing time," you say, and you wish Steve wouldn't smile at you the way he does because it makes you want to say, "Fuck it," and hop back in the car. But he does, and you don't, and he nods.

"You wanna do it again sometime? I mean, not, not it, like a date - well, we can do it again if you want to. I'm just saying we don't have to…."

He sighs, and you pretend not to notice the flexing and unflexing of his hands on the steering wheel. It's endlessly endearing how nervous he is when he isn't jamming his cock down your throat or eating you out like a starving man. Something in your mind wants to see how flustered you can make him, but you silence it.

"Such a way with words," you tease, and you cup his cheek in your hand. You kiss him tenderly, hoping it encapsulates everything you want to say but don't have time for right now. Fingers slide up the nape of your neck and ensnare themselves in your hair, keeping your lips locked for a few moments longer. Your mouth is swollen and chapped, but you'd kiss him all night if he'd let you. Maybe one day he will.

"I'd love to do this again, by the way," you hum against the corner of his mouth. "Assuming I live past tonight, that is."

"Looking forward to it, Y/N. Oh, and, by the way…."

He grips your hair, not too hard, but just enough to where you stiffen and let out a soft moan. He peppers kisses along your cheek, to your temple, to the shell of your ear.

"I'm keeping your panties. Maybe next time I'll shove 'em in your mouth if you try to play the quiet game again with me."

He releases his grip on your hair, and his hand purposefully slides along the curve of your jaw until it reaches your chin. He pinches it between thumb and forefinger and kisses the bewildered, now painfully aroused look off your face before leaning back, giving you a wink, and revving the car's engine.

"See you soon, baby," he calls. His car crunches back down your driveway, and you're left standing there, brain short-circuiting and threatening to melt out of your ears, hyperaware of the cold night air nudging against your bare pussy under your skirt. You press your thighs together and jam fabric between them self-consciously, hoping against hope that you won't flash your poor, unsuspecting mother, who is undoubtedly waiting for you to chew you out.

You turn unsteadily, gazing up at your house. The living room light is already on, and you can see a lithe shadow flitting anxiously from within the windows. You're going to get an earful.

It was so. Fucking. Worth it.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington / reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #fem!reader #f!reader #smut #my writing #somebody to love series

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 2.

Summary: Felix and Y/N's first year of university means being more open with how close they are, while perhaps growing a little more distant than Felix would like. Also the Catton family have bestowed Y/N their own title, which Felix hates, and Y/N and Farleigh have a moment of connection over Christmas.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader with Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh in this chapter. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: Smut (reader bottoming but their gender is not made explicit), Degrading language (reader is referred to as as dog & pet)

A/N: 3071 words. i definitely meant to get to the start of their second year/first run in with Oli..... but this chapter got long enough, so instead we'll meet Oliver at the start of the next chapter and instead we get Felix and Reader at university, best friends who hook up shenanigans, Venetia being a pot-stirrer because she likes to rile up her brother, and Farleigh and Y/N bonding and boning. i feel like the pacing is a bit strange so id love some feedback <3 ALSO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UK COLLEGE CALANDERS IM SO SORRY LOL

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy @callsignwidow @moviequotes23 @325575 @bonnieblue0606 @osoqueen125 @hot-dino-nuggies @darkness-falls-xo

----

To absolutely no-ones surprise, least of all yours, Felix takes to the social aspects of college like a duck to water. Neither of you missed a single day or night of activities during first year orientation, and you both left the various pubs and bars with a different hook up each night.

Felix sees a poster for a band in town, and crows with laughter as he talks about how his mother would hate if he ever got a piercing, but you know the look in his eye too well, and tell him there's a piercing place a block away.

"God I miss Farleigh," you sigh with a smile, watching him size himself up in the mirror of the tattoo parlour where the piercer had drawn approximate dots to mark his soon-to-be eyebrow piercing.

"Oh he'd love this, wouldn't he?" Felix agrees, grinning from ear to ear, catching your gaze in the reflection. Despite the piercer's reassurance that it doesn't actually hurt that bad, Felix plays up the bit of being concerned, insisting that you hold his hand.

It's easier in this environment to be affectionate. Perhaps its the way that all nights liked to blur together, lips and teeth and tongues and hands, and you find yourself invited to parties and into bedrooms and Felix is in the crowd, pupils wide and drugs in his blood and knowing you can take care of yourself.

Fruit flies mistaking his light in the night for the rot they're used to.

That being said, while of course Felix is gorgeous and the life of the party, your own magnetic aura and love features draw in your own crowd of admirers; you proximity to Felix was merely a perk.

You yourself find yourself blooming at college; with a far stronger sense of identity than you'd had for most of your teenage years, you shed many of your adolescent insecurities and begin to embrace yourself and the people around you as more than just Felix's friends.

"I miss you," he teases, eyes shiny and pupils huge, looking at you with that look that made everyone else weak in the knees. The two of you are crammed too close in a booth at a club, everyone else having left to dance or find something interesting to snort in the bathrooms.

"I'm always around, Fi," you murmur, just as high, lips twisted into a bleary smile, your finger beneath his chin to lift his face to you.

"They love you here," he grinned, lips inches from yours, skin glowing with sweat from the adrenaline and high of the night, "knew they would," it's not especially jealous, more proud, and you sigh against his lips with the kind of warm contentment his praise always brings you.

"Don't care if they love me," you say, very tellingly, voice low and flirty. Anyone could see the two of you, but the unspoken rules of high school had fallen away; the rules of college seemed to prioritise a lack of judgement, especially with the people you surrounded yourself with. Felix giggles, flushing red, leaning into your touch, leaning even heavier against you in the little, otherwise empty booth.

"You miss me, Fi?" You prompt, letting his face go as you wrap an arm around him, drawing you in close to him. Despite his height, he folds himself up to lean into you. Felix giggles again, mostly to himself, clearly shitfaced, without answering, he angles his face up to press a kiss to your neck, "we see each other every day, we still fuck around, we -"

"Do you think I could live without you?" He asks suddenly, and surprisingly frankly. His chin is on your shoulder, eyes wide and demanding an answer. It's not a joke, nor some strange attempt at flirting, and your throat turns dry as the lights spin around you both.

"You're drunk," you tell him gently, "and high."

"Why would I ask that?" He frowns, suddenly, sitting up, as if he's talking more to himself than you, "that's a fucked question actually, sorry Y/N, I shouldn't have -"

"I think it's more about how you feel about it." You tell him gently, "we should get water. You sit here, I'll get it."

You're unsteady on your feet when you head to the bar, collecting two cups of water, almost overflowing, from the end, trying not to think about it all. It didn't matter either way, how he thought or felt about it. It was a foolish, drunken question, it doesn't matter. Right?

Except he's bopping back and forth in his seat, tapping the rhythm with surprising success on the table top, eyes shining in the light where all he seems to look at is you. Felix grin wide and bright, thanks already in his smile before the words reach his lips as you sit back down next to him.

You could live without him, but you know you'd never want to, so long as he'd want you around.

"Think I'd rather die than live without you," he says with little prompting, holding the cup with both hands as he downs half in a single gulp. What?

"What?"

He turns those perfect, brown eyes upon you like you don't already live your life in his shape, like he hadn't validated every choice you'd made since you'd met him. He smiles.

"You're my best mate, you're always good to me and help me with shit and never get mad at all the dumb ideas I have and you've made sure I haven't gotten kicked out of any schools, even if I probably deserved it," he rambles and takes another drink, this time choosing to look out at the nauseating crowd of haze and lights and bodies, "I love you, I don't think I could live without you."

"Is that why you miss me?" Your voice is barely audible above the music, but Felix still hears it. Putting his mostly empty cup on the table, he shoves his shoulder against yours, refusing to let up until his full weight is against you, the two of you toppling down in the booth, him draped over you wearing the absolute goofiest grin. It's a good reminder that you're both incredibly drunk.

"Just miss you."

You stumble out of the bar together, and back to the dorms. Felix is insistent that you stay with him.

"No funny business," he mumbles against your ear, breath hot and smirk in his voice, "promise."

"You couldn't get it up if you tried," you snorted, "whiskey dick." Though he tries to protest, you gently elbow him in the ribs and he sulkily admits that you're probably right. Still, in the warmth of his room and the two of you stripped to your underwear, it's kind of irresistible to not make out like teenagers for a good while. You get you both glasses of water to put on the nightstand, and Felix tells you he loves you while on the brink of sleep.

"Love you too, Fi."

"Couldn't live without you, meant it," he hiccups, cracking an eye to smirk up at you from where he's splayed out on the bed, "probably."

"Don't think I could live without you either," you shuffle yourself into the bed beside him, letting him roll over to wrap an arm around you, "even if you are a fucking wanker sometimes," you grin, and hear him laugh into his pillow.

Felix has more game than anyone you've ever met without even trying, stealing and breaking hearts from all areas of the university. You watch it happen with amusement as you find your own slew of pretty guys and girls to keep you company when you feel like it. Still, for all the charisma and charm Felix had been blessed with, his touch-starved nature becomes both a blessing and a curse when he finds himself drunk and tactile and desperate for touch.

A desperate, affection Felix loses all of those carefully-curated social barriers that the two of you had put between yourselves as teenagers in public. Girls are more open and supportive around here; perhaps you should be offended, that many, once they learn he's prone to clinging to you, to kissing you, they end up rationalising it. It doesn't count.

Or perhaps they think they can shift the affection to themselves. Felix always learns to be more affectionate to them, but will find himself with you more often than he's not.

And those girls don't even know about the sex.

"I think about you," he huffs between short, jagged breaths, with you bent over the end of his bed, "is that weird?"

His latest breakup isn't even twelve hours old yet, but when you'd showed up at his room with a six-pack of beers and the offer to let him vent, he'd taken it without hesitation. While they hadn't been going out for long, she'd been pretty, but an apparently lousy fuck. When you'd jokingly offered to remind him what a decent lay was like, Felix had genuinely jumped at the chance.

"A bit - ah," you mused for a moment, hips rocking back to meet his in a pleasant rhythm. He takes a pause to tap one of your ankles with his foot, and you adjust your stance to be a bit wider, "what context? Just in general - fuck, Fi, there," and you find yourself lost for words as he presses his hand against the small of your back. His pace remains steady as he fucks you, and you obliging lean further down; he knows you well, know how to fuck you just the way you both enjoy.

Then you're in his bed, straddling him, riding him with his hands on your hips, your thighs, bouncing as his nails dig pleasantly into your skin.

"Think about me?" You finally continue, breathless, and something about the way he holds you steady, lets you pause as he laughs, flushed cheeks growing even more read, makes you grin too, "you mean like this, don't you?" And you rolled your hips, eliciting a groan from him that was like music to your ears.

"Shut up," he'd laughed, giving you a squeeze, unable to meet your gaze.

"Did you ever call out my name?" You lean down, across him, and for a moment his hands slide up your body to wrap around your neck, bringing you in for a gentle kiss.

"Thankfully not."

"Still, those poor girls," you teased.

"Poor me," Felix argued, "having to try and power through terrible sex while thinking about someone who's not even there, just because I know you're better at it," and he played at pouting for a moment, looking for sympathy.

"You really didn't have to tell me all this," you laughed, sitting back up and setting a gentle pace, smiling down at him, "you're such a perv." When his fingertips trail down your body, a shiver runs down your spine. There's this look in his eyes for just a moment, something knowing, something teasing, something you'd seen on occasion that made you feel so wanted and seen and -

He likes you knowing.

"You gonna give me something to think about?" That tone of voice, the teasing, the faintest hint of authority, like he's pretending like he doesn't know all the ways you'd debauch yourself if only he asked.

Venetia gets you a collar for Christmas, and Farleigh's already been kicked out of several universities by the time your first Winter break had arrived.

"Oh Pet, that's so cute," Elspeth coos at the designer, velvet collar that Venetia had smugly handed over while Felix had scowled, "is that Cartier?" Much to Felix's dismay, Elspeth and Sir James have apparently taken to calling you Pet as a pet name. He blames his sister entirely.

"Pet's easier, sweetheart," Elspeth had tried to argue when you'd sat down at your first breakfast of the Winter break at Saltburn, and she'd asked Duncan 'don't forget about our dear pet'. Naturally Felix had frowned the entire time while arguing with his parents, who insisted it's easier to use Pet than a whole new set of names and pronouns.

"It's been years mum, how have you not adjusted?" He demands, while you have shrunken in your chair and tried to divine life's secrets from your breakfast.

"What do you think, Pet?" Venetia said with a venomous kind of sweetness. Looking up at her, she's wearing this smug kind of smile, directed not at you but at Felix next to you. When you look to him, you see Farleigh across the table trying to hide his amusement in several pieces of toast eaten with no break in between.

"I think," you paused, looking past an annoyed Felix to his mother at the head of the table, "that if you want to call me Pet, you can, I think it's sweet, but please don't expect Felix to refer to me as such," you said with a surprising amount of firmness. Then after a beat of surprise from the rest of the table, you took a deep breath, "and for events and guests, I really wouldn't appreciate being introduced as such."

"Of course," Elspeth quickly amends, adding, "Y/N," for good measure.

"It's a pet name, Pet," Sir James gives an awkward little smile, nodding in agreement. Farleigh met your gaze for a moment, and you could see only the bread was keeping his laughter from spilling out. Beside you, Felix relaxes, and finally you look at him. Dark, serious eyes, with something grateful shining faintly in the morning sun.

Of course you let him throw Venetia's collar gift in the fire in front of her, despite her protests.

You get used to the sweet way the Cattons refer to you as Pet; as much as Felix despised it's connotations when it came from his sister, there was something comforting, something almost secure about the way the whole family had picked it up so easily.

"Was wondering where I'd find you," Farleigh's voice is warm while you're raiding the expansive kitchen for some kind of easy midnight snack. You could have asked one of the many staff members who reside on the property, but you hadn't wanted to bother them over probably some crisps.

"Farleigh!" You light up upon hearing his voice, turning, refrigerator door still open in your hand. He approaches, and you close the refrigerator, hugging him tightly, "oh this is great, it's been so long since it's been just us!"

"Darling pet," he says with a surprising amount of gentleness.

"You should come to Oxford, Fi and I miss you terribly," you tell him, leaning into his touch with a sincere smile as he holds your face gently, while you still hold him is a loose embrace.

"I've already been accepted into another college; you'll be fine without me," and he grins, kissing you on the nose, pressing a kiss to each cheek, "pet." He adds, almost to himself, and your face falls as you think about what he'd said.

"Everything's better with you," you insist, "and you'd love it; we could party like we did that Summer in France, but every weekend -!" Farleigh cuts you off with his lips against yours; you can taste the sweet smile he's wearing before he deepens the kiss.

Later, in Farleigh's bed, bathed in moonlight and the afterglow, you light up a cigarette and open his window.

"Fucking freezing," Farleigh mutters.

"Sorry," but you don't close the window. Silence stretches out between you both. You hope Farleigh enjoyed himself, hope he's happy -

"You don't need them," he says quietly, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, you breathe out a lungful of smoke and turn to him with a frown, "this family; we all know where you're from. You don't need them." There's something strange about his tone, clearing his throat when he finally looks at you, "but you still want them to love you."

"They're good to me," you finally say, dropping your gaze as you reach back to offer the cigarette, "to us," you tell him, and he hums with the smoke in his lungs. Then, taking back the cigarette, you inhale the sour-sweet smoke and tap off the ash off the window sill.

"I'm not their fucking dog, Farleigh," you mumble, surprising frustration escaping you, anger you hadn't even realised you were holding on to.

"I know, pet," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, "you'll let them think they have you kept, but you're not their dog, I know."

"I like you, Farleigh," you say with a faint smile, leaning back to see the way he's grinning too, "and I love you a bit as well I think."

"I know, I love you too, Y/N."

"We miss you a lot." There's something about the quiet that follows your words that you know all too well; Farleigh's about to tease you for something. Probably Felix related.

As if on cue;

"Does he know you like being his dog?" Grin widening, Farleigh gives you a slight shove, though the truth of his words has you hiding your own embarrassed smile.

"He thinks it's an insult to me, which is sweet of him," you chuckled, and Farleigh eases the cigarette from your fingers, "but it's like he has no idea the effect he's had on me for over a decade now. Yeah, I'm my own person, I have hobbies and friends outside of him, but -"

"You're a service bottom and desperately in love," Farleigh cuts in with a surprisingly sage tone, nodding like he hadn't absolutely called you out. Shocked with his vulgar kind of accuracy, you practically shove him out of the bed, laughing that he needs to fuck off, and the discussion is left at that.

The next morning, sitting down to breakfast, Duncan quietly informs Sir James that there had been a disturbance during the night. Immediately you throw Farleigh under the bus and declare that it's his fault.

"Hey!" He shouts back, grinning, "it takes two to fuck in the kitchen!" Which has all four of you, Venetia, Felix, Farleigh, and yourself, cracking up with laughter as Elspeth and Sir James were exasperated by your collective antics.

There is so much affection in Felix's eyes in this moment, this simple, strange moment of admitted sexual deviance. Except it's never felt like that to either of you. It's one of the ways you've both shown love, and he loves that you love those closest to him.

And you love to make him happy.

Farleigh was right, not that you'd ever tell him.

#felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start imagine #farleigh imagine #farleigh start x you #farleigh x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[queerfables]

Alright GO fans, let's talk Sodom and Gomorrah. This biblical story comes up a few times in Good Omens canon, a kind of offhand mention each time, and the most interesting part to me is the implication that Aziraphale was there.

If you only know the cliff-notes version, you've probably heard it as the story of God condemning homosexuality to the point of wiping out several cities over it. Maybe you've heard this too, but - that's not exactly what happened. Look, I'm an atheist, I have no dog in this race. If I thought it was about smiting people for homosexuality, I'd be happy to call God a wanker and move on. But I've read the story of Sodom and Gomorrah (You can too! It's very short!) and I've read other parts of the Bible that reference it, and I think a much more straightforward interpretation is that it's about offering hospitality and protection to strangers. It's also about the consequences of wanton cruelty, and God laying waste to those deemed beyond salvation.

In Good Omens, the book, Aziraphale and Crowley discuss Sodom and Gomorrah this way:

"Come off it. Your lot get ineffable mercy," said Crowley sourly.

"Yes? Did you ever visit Gomorrah?"

"Sure," said the demon. "There was this great little tavern where you could get these terrific fermented date-palm cocktails with nutmeg and crushed lemongrass-"

"I meant afterwards."

"Oh."

According to the book, then, Aziraphale at least saw the city after it was destroyed. Maybe Crowley saw the aftermath too or maybe he just heard about it. They both understand it as horrific.

The show is more direct, and suggests that Aziraphale was there during the actual destruction. Gabriel asks if Aziraphale remembers Sandalphon. Aziraphale does.

"Sodom and Gomorrah. You were doing a lot of smiting and turning people into salt. Hard to forget."

Aziraphale regards Sandalphon warily during the conversation. I believe we're supposed to interpret this scene based on the popular understanding of Sodom and Gomorrah as cities that God wiped out because of the inhabitants' sins. The obvious implication, then, is that Sandalphon is the heavy, the one called in to deal with disobedience. He's trigger-happy, relishes violence, and Aziraphale has seen what he's capable of. From the careful way Aziraphale discusses their prior acquaintance, I think he feels the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah was a tragedy and believes Heaven's actions were disproportionate and unjust.

I'm confident this is how we're supposed to read the scene. In the context of the story, we're supposed to understand that Aziraphale doesn't approve of the smiting, and that he feels threatened by Gabriel and Sandalphon coming into his bookshop and pressing him about Armageddon. But I'm fascinated by what it would mean if Aziraphale and Sandalphon's history really tracks onto the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. Because if Good Omens' version of Sodom and Gomorrah is at all biblically accurate, and if Aziraphale was there... it's kind of mind-blowing, actually, that he still feels so much compassion for the people who died and still thinks Sandalphon was wrong.

I'm going to explain why, but fair warning, it gets ugly. I promise nobody is actually raped, and I think that promise in itself says plenty.

According to the Bible, Sodom and its surrounding cities are accused of being overrun with sin. God sends two angels to Sodom to verify this, intending to destroy everything if they find it to be true. In the world of Good Omens, I think one of these angels must be Aziraphale. The other one is likely Sandalphon, but in the Bible it's God rather than either of the angels who rains down burning sulfur on the cities so it's possible it's someone else, and Sandalphon is only on smiting duty. Without anything else to go on, though, let's assume it's Sandalphon.

So our two angels arrive at Sodom in the evening, and at the gate to the city, they meet Lot. Lot is an immigrant who has made his home in Sodom, and I think the implication is that this is why he's not completely steeped in sin like everyone else. In any case, he immediately offers to put the angels up for the night, and although they'd planned to stay in the square, Lot is really insistent. He is a good host! Also, he knows the city is dangerous. So the angels go to his house and he makes dinner for them, and then before they can go to bed, a mob shows up at the door.

See, the men of Sodom have heard about the strangers staying with Lot. They surround his house and demand he hand them over. The New King James Version puts it this way: And they called to Lot and said to him, "Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us that we may know them carnally." Several other translations say that the men wanted to "have sex with them". But I mean. It's a fucking mob. They've surrounded the house. We all get what this is, right?

So Lot goes out to meet the men, and he says "Don't do this terrible thing." Off to a good start! Then he says, "Tell you what, I have two virgin daughters. Do what you like to them and we'll say no more about it." Oh boy. Dad of the year award, right there. But still, he insists, "The angels are under my roof and my protection."

The men outside Lot's house are pissed. They say, "You're an outsider, who are you to judge us?" They threaten to do worse to him than to the angels. They swarm him and almost break the door down, but the angels pull him back inside.

The angels then strike the mob with blindness to stop them getting into the house. They say to Lot, "Look, you gotta take your family and get out of here. God sent us to see how bad things were and, uh, long story short, we're burning it all to the ground. You get it, right?"

Maybe you know the rest. Lot's son-in-laws don't believe him and won't leave the city. Lot's wife looks back and turns into a pillar of salt. Lot and his daughters take shelter in a small town called Zoar, and from there flee to the mountains. Everything else is destroyed.

It is a tragedy. The plains are leveled down to ash, until there's nothing left that can even grow. Was there really no one innocent in those cities? No children or animals? (You can't kill kids). Still, I think about that awful night under Lot's roof and I don't think I could blame anyone for giving up on all of it.

So what if that's the story? There were two angels in Sodom before it fell. What if it really was Aziraphale and Sandalphon, trapped through the night in a stranger's house, surrounded by men who want to rape them. Whatever their power as angels, that has to be terrifying.

If it was Sandalphon there with Aziraphale that night in Sodom, I have to wonder what he was like. There isn't any kinship or understanding from Aziraphale. Despite knowing the circumstances better than anyone, he still sees Sandalphon as a threat. Given that, I think Sandalphon must have taken a truly disturbing kind of joy in raining down vengeful fire and brimstone, beyond what you might expect from someone who was afraid or angry. Maybe he was never afraid; maybe instead he revelled in the violence building through the night as the reason he needed to tear everything down. Maybe he was afraid in the terrible way that exposes the depths someone will sink to to protect themselves (maybe offering his daughters was never Lot's idea). Or maybe Aziraphale just tried to reach out to him afterwards, to offer understanding and ask for some in return, and Sandalphon shot him down so coldly and viciously that Aziraphale knew immediately this wasn't something he was allowed to have feelings about. Whatever happened that night, it left Aziraphale feeling more of an outsider from Heaven than ever.

But if it happened that way, it happened this way too: Aziraphale survives a night like that, and when he looks out into the breaking dawn, he thinks, these cities don't deserve to burn. He sees the good in a place that's just shown him its absolute worst. I think that says everything about him as a character, actually. Of course he won't give up on Heaven. Of course he'll fight tooth and nail for his home on Earth. Whatever the worst is, there are still things worth saving. There are still, always, people worth protecting.

On that note, before I wrap this up, I want to go back to Lot's words to the men of Sodom, and draw a parallel that makes me feel some kind of way. Because when Lot declares the angels under his protection, what he says is essentially, "Do not do anything to these men, for they have come under the shadow of my roof for protection." And all I can think about, reading these lines, is Aziraphale standing in his bookshop as it's surrounded by hostile demons, and telling the angel under the shadow of his roof, "You came to me. I said I would protect you. And I will."

#good omens #good omens meta #fable talks good omens

[shrimphearted]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY R- what the hell do you mean I’m two days late

[ID: A Mob Psycho 100 comic set post-canon. Mob, depicted with chin-length hair and wearing a skirt, says to Ritsu, "I just haven't been able to think of a gift he'd actually like. And I want it to be special, cause this time he'll expect the party."

She looks down with a frown. "Especially since Teru accidentally added him to the group chat." Ritsu laughs with a "Hah!" and says, "I do have an idea, if you want to hear it." Mob smiles tiredly and says, "Please." Ritsu says, "Okay, but it's a pretty big gift so we should check in with everyone."

Teru, shown with hair past his shoulders, exclaims happily, "Yes!! I think he would love that!" Tome grins and says, "Oh my gosh, yess! Maybe we'll actually see him cry this time, hah!" Shou looks interested and says, "Oh for sure! I actually know a place we can find one!" Serizawa smiles, "I'm pretty sure his new lease allows pets!" Dimple squints and says, "… How do you know that," and Serizawa says, "How about we stop talking for a little while."

Next, marked "a few days later:", we see Reigen opening the door to Spirits and Such. The door creaks open, and he screams with terror when people loudly go, "Happy birthday!" We see scenes of the party: Reigen sweating and grimacing as Tome offers a cake with Ritsu laughing in the background, Serizawa and Reigen smiling fondly at each other with a heart floating between them, and Reigen looking dead-eyed as everyone photographs him and his cake-covered face.

Reigen, now cleaned of cake, flops on the couch and smiles, "Wow! All that's missing now is a present!" He sweatdrops. "… I can feel you all staring. Then he exclaims "Oh!" at the sight of all the kids looking happy and excited. Mob is in the center, smiling with anticipation and holding a box about the size of a large shoebox.

Reigen takes it with a fond smile, saying, "Aw, kids… I was joking but this is really--" He breaks off with a shocked sound as something shifts within the box. He holds the box away from himself and says flatly, "Is this a prank--" but is cut off by a laughing Tome shouting, "Just open it already!!!"

Reigen, frowning, exclaims, "No way! I'm not falling--" As he speaks, a canine nose pokes out from the boxes lid, and his expression turns to shock. "-- for that?"

We see a small puppy excitedly wagging its tail from within the box. The kids all talk. Teru: "Surprise!!~" Shou: "It should be a Shiba but since it's a rescue it's probably not pure bred." Mob, nervous: "… Do you like it?" Tome: "Who cares!! It's adorable!!"

Reigen stares down with silent shock. Making a hiccuping noise, he looks at everyone with an overwhelmed expression that moves to tears as he picks up the dog, making wordless wavering noises as he does.

The puppy licks Reigen's cheeks, and Reigen scrunches up his face as he tries not to cry. The kids exclaim: Ritsu, grinning: "Oh my god." Teru: "Awww." Tome, surprised: "Holy shit, he's speechless!" Mob, happy: "So you like it?"

Reigen sniffs loudly and says, "You guys…" Everyone looks at him eagerly. Once again crying, Reigen says, "Get out of my office." The kids looks surprised, and Serizawa sweats and wryly raises his hands, saying "Reigen--" Reigen cuts him off by shouting so hard he motion blurs. "I said-- get out." His shout is also blurred, and it's bold and in large font.

The final page shows Reigen lying down and blubbering while holding the puppy, who keeps wagging its tail. Narration says, "After everyone left, Reigen proceeded to weep in the privacy of the Spirits and Such office." Ritsu is shown facing away fromt he camera, arms crossed behind his back as he mutters, "Man." Narration says, "Ritsu was blamed for the whole ordeal even though for once he was trying to do something genuinely kind for Reigen, even if it was just for Mobs sake." End ID]

ID by @princess-of-purple-prose thank you so much!

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #reigen arataka #shigeo kageyama #ritsu kageyama #teruki hanazawa #serizawa katsuya #tome kurata #mp dimple #happy birthday reigen #and rest in pieces ritsu. amen. #yes that is girlmob wahoo #\

[recreationalfanfics]

Yandere Bachira/ Yandere Shidou + Obsessing Over Their Agent

Giving into their egos at the end of Blue Lock, they're used to getting everything they wanted and what they wanted next...was their cute little agent who handled their public relations and contracts♡

Characters: Bachira Meguru, Shidou Ryusei

Bachira:

"You're staring again."

Bachira blinks at your words, dazed as he slowly was brought back to reality. Huh, he must've zoned out staring at your face again. Your sharp (e/c) eyes focused on your phone, your stoic expression making his heart beat a bit more quickly in his chest, and your hair which was all fixed up and neat was just begging for his fingers to come through it with how it looked. He tilted his head to the side cutely and closed his eyes, flashing you his most charming smile.

"Can you blame me?" He chuckled, moving his way over to you. With lightning fast reflexes, you stuck your foot up in the air to stop him while still focusing on your task at hand as he whined and tried to pinch your cheek. He pouted after a few unsuccessful minutes and frowned, "Aw! You're no fun, (Y/n)-chan!"

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes but you did respond to him.

"Sir, don't be misinformed; this relationship is purely professional. I am your agent, you are my client. That is all." You spoke sternly to him as if he were a child, "Now, let's get you ready for that commercial shoot."

Just a client, huh?

Bachira sighs and holds his chest where his heart would be and looks at you with his big yellow puppy dog eyes: "That hurts, (Y/n)! After everything we've been through!"

Again, his attempts were met with silence and he frowned, seeing that you were still focused on your phone. That's not fair, (Y/n), so many people would've absolutely killed to be in your shoes in this moment and you have the audacity to brush him off? Fine, he'll just have to make it clear that there was no one else but you.

- He makes everything difficult for everyone if it doesn't involve you, he's still likeable, but everyone just talks about how he's a bit too energetic to stay still. You can't tell how many times make up crews, directors, and training coaches or even other players had to shyly come up to you and make Bachira comply with their wishes because "he behaves when you're around".

- Many times Bachira tries to make it appear you two are a couple; telling you that he loves you as you do his foundation for his upcoming interviews, excitedly running at you in between commercial breaks to ask you if he did well, and often wanting to take you out for casual outings as celebration but you declined. You didn't want to feed into whatever delusion he had in his head about you two.

- You tried to be a bit personal and suggest he try out some sports modeling, casually mentioning how a current model heart throb was interested in collaborating with him in hopes that it'd be enough to get him to move on but he frowned and shook his head. NO! He's not posing for pictures with anyone, especially not for some random model, if its not you!

- Even though you're in charge of his social media; he will still post pictures of you to his own account, admiring how cute you are when you're in the zone, or just captioning the photo with a simple: "Mine♥️💕" and even though you tell him to delete those photos everytime, you feel a bit uneasy when you realize you didn't even notice him pulling out his phone and getting these photos until he tagged you in them. You just hope he doesn't have anymore photos of you that you didn't know about.

- Bachira is without a doubt obsessive, he gets giddy when you call him because he believes one of these days you'll wake up and realize you love him back just as much, only to be slightly dissapointed when you are merely calling him to discuss contract details. That's fine, though! One of these days you're going to have to face the reality that you two were meant to be together♡

- You're just like him after all! It's just that you want to dominate a different field than him. Your goals are similar, be the best that Japan has to offer, making sure that Bachira succeeds on and off the field helps ensure your own success, and while you didn't want to deal with his annoying behavior all the time; it'd be a foolish choice to quit working for him. You think that he knows that too because he'll always try to test the waters of your relationship, never really believing your threats of switching to a different player.

- Because even if you didn't love him, you needed him, just as he needed you. Surely you'll end up loving him back, though, after all: there was no one else in his eyes besides you. So he'll work hard to be the best, not just for Japan, but for you. Each goal he makes, he looks at you and sees the briefest smile on your face and it drives him wild the rest of the game to keep scoring and scoring.

- Don't think you've tamed the monster inside of him, though. Because it'll never be truly satisfied until it finally has you. All of you.

Shidou:

"Why're you buying flowers for that asshole?"

You felt a shiver go up your spine, feeling Shidou's sharp chin resting on your shoulder and feeling his warm breath on the back of your right ear, he was still a little sweaty from his daily drills and workouts...technically, he should've been working out still but his fitness coaches knew the moment you stepped into the room that he wouldn't be able to focus on anything but you.

"Technically, you're buying him flowers," You corrected, moving away from him. He raised an eyebrow but kept a deadpan face as you turned around to explain to him, "Shido, you're already controversial. You played way too hard and broke that man's ankle. Sending flowers is the least you could do."

Aw, give him some credit...he could've done a lot worse if he wanted too but he managed to restrain himself from doing that, all for you. Plus, it was entirely the other guy's fault anyways. That asshole was eyeing you up and down when you weren't looking and jokingly told Ryusei that he wished he had an agent that was as hot as you were instead of his current old and grumpy one. Shido knew he had the best things: the best cars, the best shoes, the best career a soccer player could ask for...but you were different. You were one of the things he had that made him the best, flipping his controversies into picturing him as this passionate player whose just motivated to represent his country, but you were meant for only him to admire. Everyone else is allowed to stare at you two with envy and jealously but that's ALL.

"I'm not sending him no damn flowers and neither are you." He scoffed, taking your phone from your hand and canceling the order. You frowned and tried to grab it back from him, he raised it above his head am to force you to reach for it and when you raised one arm and stood on both your tippy toes, he used his free arm to hook it around your waist and pull you close to him. Pining you against the wall, his pink eyes focused on you in a way that a predator would eye its prey.

"Quit thinkin' about some nobody player. You're MY agent."

- Before you, Shidou went through a lot of agents. Agents who quit on the spot because he was impossible to work with, agents who just stormed out of the doors because they couldn't take anymore, agents who still badmouth him to the public and feeding into his reputation.

- Then you walked in through those doors. Steely gazed, chin up and proud. You were cute, that's for sure, but you weren't gonna be any different then the rest of them. At least, thats what he had originally thought. You never lost your mind over the way he played, you never complained about how he was making your job impossible, and you never lost your cool.

- You were a professional at your job, you knew how to make him appeal to the audience and frame him in a better light while also making sure he didn't have to change too much...because he would never change. So you would work with what you had, how did the saying go? There's no such thing as bad publicity.

- Unlike Bachira, you just being there isn't gonna make him behave. If you're gonna make him do some lame ass photoshoot then he better be getting something out of it. At first it was just things like arranging a deal with a brand he liked, setting up a soccer match with some good players only for him to absolutely ruin them. He started to like you because of those things.

- However it escalated one day when he asked for something that took you off gaurd. A kiss. It was for an interview and he refused to let anyone touch him so they all ran crying to you, he instantly looked at you as you put a gentle hand on his shoulder and asked him what he wanted this time so you both could get through this.

- He didn't even really think about it either, he was a little shocked when he said it himself but he was just mesmerized by your lips that he wondered what it'd be like to kiss them. So he wanted to find out. You were flustered, rightfully so and tried to bargain with him but he was dead set on that kiss...oh well...it was one measly kiss. So you kissed his cheek and he frowned, not exactly what he wanted but you did give him what he wanted technically.

- But yeah, that just kinda sparked his obsession with you and his obsession isn't what you should be concerned about. It's his possessive nature, you work for him so you belong to him. He doesn't like you talking to other people most of the time, constantly grabbing your phone and hanging up important calls when the conversation goes somewhere he doesn't like or deems isn't as important as him.

- Shidou knows he doesn't love you but love isn't exactly on either of your radars since your focused on your career, which only does well as long as Shido's does well. It doesn't stop him from looking at you tying his tie for him, imagining you doing something more intimate than a mere kiss on the cheek, to take you out on fancy dates and buy you nice things and all the crap (he's tried before but you always refuse) and when he wakes up in the morning, he wonders how different it would be if you were next to him. He might love you but overall, it's a matter of possession. You belong to him. No one else.

#yandere bllk #yandere blue lock #tw. yandere #tw yandere #yandere bachira meguru x reader #bachira meguru #bachira x reader #bachira x y/n #Yandere Shido Ryusei #shido ryusei #blue lock bachira #blue lock shidou #shidou x reader #shido x reader bllk #bllk shidou #FERAL FOR SHIDOU OKAY #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #yandere #yandere male x reader

[mocolococoffeesimp]

Hii, can I request laios (dungeon meshi) relationship headcanons please? Ty!

Ye shall receive, anon!

-Laios being Laios, is extremely dense and blunt when it comes to relationships. He wouldn't even get it, when you flirt with him. Even, if you were being open about it. Everyone else, but him got the hint. Even, when you two were on date he didn't realize it. You had to sit him down, to have the talk about dating. He just had thought you were really good friends. Holding hands, you calling him nicknames.

-Laios gets easily excited about things he likes. Monsters, dogs to mention few. Especially, monsters. He wants you to taste monsters, even if its odd. To him, it is a normal thing. So, he doesn't mention what he is cooking, if you don't ask. Not, because he wants to try to trick you... He is just dense, that he forgets not everyone is accepting eating monsters. But, when you do actually like the food, he will go on a lengthy talk about how he cooked it and what else monsters you two could cook.

-Laios would be delighted, if you wanted to explore the dungeon with him. He enjoys exploring the dungeons, so if you were exploring with his squad he would be overjoyed. He would be protective of you. He doesn't think you can't defend yourself, if anything he would love to see you protecting yourself and others. Protective in the sense, making sure you're fine and not overworking yourself.

-You have to often listen to Laios, info-dump on you. But, it is endearing. As he is sharing his interests, with someone that doesn't think his interests are odd. This does mean, whenever he learns something new about monsters, he wants to share it with you. To add to this, he shares his monster guide with you. He does hope, some of his enthusiasm for monsters will rub on you. If, you start to add notes on his monster guide he will be overjoyed. Finally being able to have a conversation about monsters, with someone other than Senshi and Falin.

-Laios wants to teach you how to handle a sword. He would be patient with you about it... But, he doesn't know how to teach about it. He knows how to handle a sword, but at this point for him its muscle memory. So, its less of Laios teaching you and more of him giving pointers, as you swing the sword around. If, you do know how to handle a sword, Laios would start practicing with you using wooden swords. It was good way for you two, to get closer and to workout.

-Laios has a small wardrobe. He has only few clothes, one casual pair and one more formal. So, when you bring this up with him you have to go clothes shopping with him. Nothing extreme, just some more clothes for him to choose from. He thought, it would be cute to have matching clothes. So, he does just that and got matching pairs of clothing.

-Laios loves to snack, like a lot. He will have snacks on him all the time. Not to mention, he likes to make his own snacks. From monster bits to actual baking materials. He just likes to cook. So, he will share his snacks with you. He tries to keep it a reasonable, so when the mealtime comes around you two will be hungry. Although, sometimes you can't help yourself but snack on them and feed them to Laios.

-Laios doesn't really get how he is supposed to act in a relationship. So, his guide is Marcille... Whose knowledge largely bases on her reading romance books. So, Laios at first tries the most romantic stuff, flower, chocolate and the usual romantic gestures. Once, you told him you appreciated the gesture, but would prefer him to try his own romantic ideas. So, that led to him bringing you monster parts and doing monster mating rituals (I think, that's the right way to put it.) Which, were bit odd. But, it was Laios' who was doing it. So, it was cute either way.

-Laios tries to sing every-now and then. Unfortunately, he can't sing. Not in the smooth velvety way, more of soprano voice. He can reach high notes, which he uses to sing the siren song to flirt with you... Which works. You find it charming, that he sings the song he has practiced for awhile. Even, if everyone else thought he was just wailing.

-Falin and Marcille are important people in his life, so it means a lot to him, if you got along with them. Falin and Marcille are pretty easy to get along at the end of day, but he still stressed out about it prior to you meeting them.

-Laios snores, so you have to turn him to his side in his sleep to make it stop. Only for it to continue a moments later. You get used to it, but others do wonder how you are sleeping with him, when even the monsters avoid his snoring. When you hear Laios counting, satyrs/fauns as opposed to sheep. It was cute and still is.

#delicious in dungeon laios #delicious in dungeon headcanons #delicious in dungeon laios x reader #delicious in dungeon laios x gn reader #dungeon meshi

[cheriladycl01]

Fast Cars on the Island - Oscar Piastri x LoveIslandContestant! Reader Part 2

Plot: Your an engineer for Mclaren and you were asked as a PR stunt to go onto Love Island. You would keep your job of course but Mclaren wanted some more media traction.

A/N: I know they would never do this, and that's why its fiction!

Credits to brawn-gp for the GIF

Conversations around the Villa:

You all had your time adventuring around before you were pulled to one side by Charlie.

“Hey look, I just wanted to talk about why I chose you earlier!” He says leading you onto the balcony and shutting the door so no one else can interrupt the conversation.

“Hey it’s okay. You had to choose someone I get it” you smile trying not to be rude.

“I actually know off you, that’s why I chose you because I know your real” he smiles and you cock your head to the side not understanding how he knew you. Was he and F1 fan, and had seen you in the garage fixing up the car.

“Oh? You do?” You ask.

“Yeah, im a physician but for Endurance Racing. I work with Porche” he explains and you smile a little.

“So you’ve seen me around the paddock in F1?” You ask intrigued.

“Mmm yeah, I mean I sometimes get tickets to go… but we’re both in the Motorsport world” he grins as if trying to convince you that you’d guys would be a good pair.

“Charlie look, I don’t want to close myself off from Aaron” you sigh, knowing there was an ease with you and Aaron that made you feel comfortable.

You felt a little tense around Charlie like he had expectations about you because he knew you before the Villa.

“Im not asking you to, but I don’t think you should be wasting your time on a guy like him” he admits moving closer to you making you move back a little.

“Charlie, I can’t do that. I owe it to Aaron and to myself to see what is there” you admit, and he sighs getting up and taking his water bottle labelled with your name on it.

“Hey that my water bottle” you cry out and he just turns round, smirks before taking a long swig out of it, your mouth dropping open in shock.

You walk into the dressing room, standing there in shock for a second watching where Charlie had walked off too, down the stairs.

You hear the flush of the toilet, making your head turn at the sound to see Aaron coming out the bathroom and walking across to the sink.

“Aaron?” You ask looking at him.

“Hey” he smiles softly in almost a whisper. He walks over to you, a small smile on his face as he looks over your puppy dog eyes and the pout on your lip.

“Aaron im so so sorry. I thought we’d stick together and I wanted to, I still want to. I” you try and ramble out making him chuckle a little bit before pulling you against his chest. He now towered over your 5ft 4 stature making you feel secure in the hug.

“It’s okay, whatever happens tomorrow night I don’t want you to feel stressed or pressured to choose me. But I want to still have you open to the idea of me” he smiles still holding you against his chest.

“Of course you are. I already told Charlie I wouldn’t stop getting to know you” you smile up at him. He nods down at you.

“Mmm but don’t feel like you can’t you know keep your options open either. If you want to get to know Daniel or Chris or Jai it’s on you” he smiles looking down at you with a serious look.

“I don’t w-“ you start but he interrupts with a finger on your lips and a shake of his head.

“What will you do? You have to keep your options open then” you say wanting him to know that it was equal.

“Your it for me Y/N, you tick all of my boxes. I’m only interested in you now” he smiles and you nod.

If anything solidified your thoughts on who to choose tomorrow, this would do it.

Lando and Oscar Reactions:

“Man I can’t believe he took her” Lando grunts watching as you go with all the girls and gossip about the boys to them while checking out the pristine dressing room and bedrooms where you’d be sleeping tonight.

“Mmmm” Oscar says still focused on the fact you’d already seemed interested in three boys that weren’t him.

He just had to remember it was all a game and a massive PR stunt from McLaren.

They watch on as Charlie pulls you away onto the balcony for a private convo.

“WHAT” Lando exclaims looking over to Oscar.

“Yeah I think i recognise him. He was at Le Mans last year with Matt Campbell, he’s an Aussie endurance racer. I’m guessing that’s who he currently is Physio for.” Oscar says showing Lando the guys Instagram that already has a ton more followers than he expected.

“Damn, so he’s like aware of who she is. Isn’t that a little … I dunno creepy?” Lando asks watching Charlie and you interact and sees you move away from him on the balcony seating.

They watch the rest of the awkward interaction both cringing when he steals your water bottle and winks.

“What a cringey bastard. Y/N get away, i tell you get away” Lando says swatting towards the TV with his hand. Oscar also had bad vibes from the guy, did he say in his interview that he knew Y/N to help him get a spot on there. Was he a raving stalker or was he being honest? Oscar really couldn’t tell.

They watch your cute interaction with Aaron and Lando is giggling and kicking his feet watching the whole interaction. You were his best friend after all so he was really routing for you, and this Aaron guy seemed like a nice genuine lad.

Oscar on the other hand was currently planning Aaron’s mysterious and coincidentally accidental death. He hated seeing that look on your face and they way you looked up at him.

He wanted you to look at him that way.

However, Oscar is oblivious and you’ve looked at him like that many times before when you feel like your engineering wasn’t great and messed up his race, or when he nicks some of your ice-cream, or when you get a hug from him after stubbing your toe on the wheel.

More conversations around the Villa:

Charlie walked out, still holding your bottle as he wondered around the outside of the Villa. He notices Jai and Zavi, and thinks it’s best that he moves over there and tries to strike up some conversation and make some friends as the late comer.

“Mind if I take a seat?” He asks pointing to the beanbag, Jai and Zavi nod from the loungers. Jai takes note right away of the misnamed bottle in his hand.

“You wrangled her then bro?” Jai asks with a little laugh nodding his head down to the bottle in his hand. Zavi catches on, sitting up wanting in on the gossip.

“Oh my gosh! That’s her bottle!” She gasps quietly in a whisper placing her feet on the warm tiled floor.

“Nah, not yet but I’ve gotta make my stamp there right?” He asks with a cocky smirk.

“She still wanting to talk to Aaron?” Zavi asks, looking behind her to see if anyone else was spying in on their conversation but they seemed to be alone.

“Yeah, unfortunately but it’s not to worry. I’m sure she’ll be wrapped around my finger by tomorrow night” he assures leaning back and putting his arms behind his head.

In the hub with Jai:

“Like you’ve gotta respect his grind, my man’s in confident with getting Y/N but I dunno there’s something different about her that I don’t think Charlie will be able to tame the way he wants too. But I’m rooting for my brother” he smiles as he talks to the private camera playing with the chain on his neck.

More conversations around the Villa:

“Hey guys!” You smile heading over to Daniel, Millie and Auriela who were all chilling in the kitchen away from the setting sun and all talking.

“Hey girl! We were just talking about you!” Auriela grins with a pearly white smile.

“Good things I hope!” You joke, slicing some mango that was in the fridge ready to be cut up. As you do you offer some around the table.

“Of course, we were actually wondering what you did for work! Daniel thinks your a model, I think your an air hostess and Auriela thinks your like a CEO to a global cooperation” she says making you giggle at all of the possibilities.

“Mmmm you my friends are all wrong” you say biting into a slice of mango.

“What do you so then?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out!” You grin wanting to keep it a mystery for a while.

“‘Mmm Mrs Mysterious I like that” Millie grins with a playful growl and claw of her hand making you all burst out laughing.

Dinner was quick where you all shared stories, Charlie getting the memo you didn’t want to share your career just yet, and not wanting to get into your bad books decided to remain quiet when asked.

You guys all call it in for a night, the girls all take their makeup off while the boys take turns showering. Before all the girls take their turns in the shower too. Charlie happened to be brushing his teeth while you were washing your hair making him smirk as you lifted your arms a little too high showing him your naked boobs.

A wolf whistle sounds from him making you shake your head and roll your eyes turning away from him as you continue to wash the shampoo out. You end your showering changing into some cute pijamas for the first night.

As you walk through you see Aaron right next to the doors as you walk in from the dressing room. He beckons you over and you kneel over on the bed he’s laying in.

“Goodnight gorgeous” he whispers to you before kissing your forehead making you smile at him. You kiss his head back before jumping into your bed which is next to what should be yours and Aaron’s bed.

Charlie isn’t there. Neither is Chris. After about 30 seconds you hear two bodies run up the stairs one after the other, one being Chris the other being Charlie.

“The C and C bros” Daniel whispers shouts across the room making everyone laugh. Charlie climbs into bed with you, on the opposite side so he isn’t near Aaron whose currently looking up at the ceiling.

You roll over, facing his way as Charlie snuggles in closer to you wrapping his arms around you. And with that you and Aaron fall asleep way after everyone else, somehow communicating to each other just through your eyes…

Taglist:

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#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #oscar piastri series #oscar piastri masterlist #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #op81 x you #op81 fluff #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bulbie

Debut: Pikmin

Pikmin 4 has a doggone good time being as doggy of a game as it can! I'm sure you are well aware by now of the new Funny Weird Dogs!

And I love these weird dogs! They are wonderful. I'm glad they are so important and beloved. But I would like to focus on a different dog, the very first Pikmin Dog, who we have known about since the very first game! Olimar's dog, Bulbie!

With this, I have shown you both official images of Bulbie that exist. I wish there were more! Bulbie is a dog even weirder than Oatchi and Moss, a whole different kind of critter that also happens to get called a dog. Isn't that great? These people have the concept of "dog", and so far we've only seen it used to refer to these funny bipeds! Olimar has no problem referring to both Bulbie and Moss as dogs, so I am led to believe that "dog" is more of a category of creature to these people, rather than a distinct species. Like how "mole" is a category of creature to us!

We know a precious little bit of Bulbie Lore. He is lazy, and able to sleep anywhere. He loves carrots. He farts a lot. That's about all we know. Awesome! Sure sounds like a Dog to me! And of course, Olimar loves Bulbie very much. Just like he loves his whole family! He is a Family Guy, complete with Funny Dog!

You may already know, or you may have noticed yourself, but Bulbie looks quite like a Bulborb. This is because Olimar named these creatures after Bulbie, due to their resemblance! It is also for this reason that they are members of the Grub-Dog Family. You see? Bulborb is just like a dog! While it is sweet of Olimar to name the species after Bulbie, it must also make his encounters with them even more disturbing. Not only is this a (comparatively) massive, hostile beast that could easily eat him whole, but it looks like his beloved little friend! That's like a nightmare! Especially with other, scarier Bulborb variants! I am happy to know that his Bulborb experiences do not affect his love for Bulbie one bit.

As much as I love and talk about invertebrates and funny fish, dogs have always been among my favorite animals, and always will be! They're an extremely conventional animal to love, and for very good reason. They're wonderful! And on this post about Weird Dogs, I would like to talk about how dogs are, in fact, weird in their own ways.

They're always sniffing with their wet noses, which they keep wet to smell even better. They love to lick, and lick to show love. And that love is such an important thing! Dogs are creatures of love! It is our love for dogs that shaped them into what they are today! It is what drove us to shape this single subspecies into countless distinct caricatures of its noble ancestors. All still members of the very same species! The amount of dog customization that has occurred is ridiculous. Need a better way to hunt badgers? Make a Long Dog. Yeah sure! Why not!

Obviously, most dachshund owners today aren't interested in hunting badgers. They are interested in having a Pet. And a Pet Dog is such a truly incredible thing! There are not many animals that should be kept in a house around humans, but then there is Dog, literally born to be among humans. Born to be loved, and born to love! If you don't think that's one of the most wonderful things ever then get outta here!

This is an animal that runs around and spins in circles because it sees an ape that it loves so much. An animal that ends up learning snippets of human language, because those are the snippets that make it happy. An animal that gleefully exposes its vulnerable underside, because it trusts a member of a different species to rub it in just the right way that feels so nice.

Even with the general consensus on dogs being pretty dang favorable, I feel that it's easy to take a lot of their behavior and history for granted, to see them as the "default animal", when they SO aren't. The default animal would be a parasitoid wasp, silly!

If I was not able to convince you that dogs are weird, then just look up canine transmissible venereal tumor, obviously using your own discretion, because there will be graphic photos. If you ask me, this one medical anomaly easily makes dogs a contender for one of the weirdest animals EVER! Bet you didn't know dogs could be contagious!

I like funny dog Bulbie

#bulbie #pikmin #bulborb #dogs #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

[mitsies]

FUMBLED! ; okkotsu yuuta > yuuta's never been good with words. it's no surprise that he's even worse with confessions.

okkotsu yuuta is a pacifict at heart. sure, he's committed his fair share of violent crimes, but as was the life of a jujutsu sorcerer. in practice, he was cruel. in actuality, he'd never hurt a fly.

yuuta took extra long on rainy day walks to avoid stepping on worms. he made sure to never dog-ear pages on his books, and he always set out extra meals in case his friends didn't feel like making their own dinners. okkotsu yuuta was kind as he was gentle- a peaceful spirit in totality.

things might change today, though, because he is genuinely considering strangling his friends.

well, not actually- he thinks he'd rather run away and cry than strangle anyone. running away and crying would be a lot less awkward than murder. and god knows that he couldn't handle even more tension. the air was thick with it now- a heavy sort of smoke, so present that he could taste it in the sky and it suffocated the people in its vicinity.

no one spoke for a few beats before panda laughed awkwardly: "well, i think that's our cue to leave!"

yuuta watches helplessly as panda grabs maki and toge by their collars before hauling them away, effectively leaving you and yuuta alone in the courtyard of tokyo jujutsu high.

the words from the previous conversation still hung in the air like a cloud. he could practically read them in the wind: maki's jovial teasing, toge's interesting additions, your pretty, pretty laugh- and panda dropping a bomb.

("what, do you have plans this weekend?" maki had interrogated yuuta when he declined the group's request to grab dinner in town on the upcoming weekend. he was about to reply when panda cut him off- "he's probably waiting to ask you-know-who out."

yuuta remembers freezing and hearing maki laugh, not noticing how you approached with toge by your side. "you need to do it already."

yuuta is again cut off by panda's exclamation. "i know, right! y/n's so cool, and you like them so much it's sad. plus, they won't stay single forever-"

"what did you just say?" your voice took everyone by surprise. the quiet following was hollow and still. that was what led up to this- the awkward silence. the stand-off. what very well might be the end of the world, in yuuta's eyes.)

"you like me?"

you're the first to talk again, breaking the boy out of his mind. he thinks you look so pretty, even when you're just standing there, even when you're confused, even when you might turn him down.

right now, there is no warzone more chaotic than okkotsu yuuta's mind. there is no nuclear warfare as destructive as the storm thundering through his neurons. there has never been a no man's land as deathly and ghastly as the folds of his brain are at that moment. there are a thousand thoughts buzzing around in his head- all of them say the same thing. i like you, i like you, i like you, his brain chants in a million ways.

he breathes in. and then out again. here goes nothing.

okkotsu yuuta opens his mouth and puts every ounce of trust he has into his words. 'i like you,' he repeats to himself in his head, waiting for his tongue to echo those syllables out loud.

yuuta has never been lucky. he should've expected the wires of his mind to be crossed. because of the dozens of trains of thought traveling at breakneck speeds around his head, the tracks of 'do you like me back?' and 'can i kiss you?" cross paths. he is so, so unlucky, because all he ends up saying is "do you kiss me back?"

you blink at him. he blinks at you. "do i what?"

it's then yuuta realizes his mistake. "oh. oh, oh no. wait. i meant- i didn't mean- i didn't want to say that. no, no, you don't have to kiss me- i mean, i wouldn't, like- wait, no. no. i'm sorry. i'm so- i am so sorry. oh my gosh. i didn't mean to say that."

yuuta's gaze is fixed hard on the ground, so he doesn't see you moving to close the distance between the both of you. his own mind is racing so he can barely register the feeling of your warm hands cupping his face. he's going so insane that he thinks he might be imagining how you promptly slam your lips against his with a conviction he thinks he could fall in love with.

he doesn't realize what's happening at first, but as soon as he does, he's kissing back. it's messy, and decidedly not neat- he's not sure what he's doing but it feels so right that he thinks he'll let himself fail for a little bit- but it's perfect to the both of you.

"you talk," you say when you pull away, "so much. like, a lot."

he looks at you like you hold the sun in the sky and brought fire to mankind. "you kissed me."

"i guess i did."

"so.. you do like me back?"

you purse your lips and move your arms around his neck, shifting even closer. your lips ghost his cheek and you can feel the shiver passing through him. "maybe just a little," you can't help but tease.

"i'll like you enough for the both of us, then. i kinda already do, i think."

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompts they’re nervous to confess so instead of saying ‘can i kiss you’ or ‘do you like me back’ they say “do you kiss me back?” + kissing to get them to stop talking

[⇥ 3K EVENT MASTERLIST] [⇥ 3K EVENT INFO]

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