#I'm suffering!!! do NOT give me tips I'll make it through
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Crazy how much you can suck at a game when you have no idea what the fuck you're doing
#Hi :thumbsup: so. Ultrakill Layer 7 huh#<<< Has been playing for almost 3 hours. has not gotten past the start of the second level#look. when I first played ultrakill. I watched. a streamer play it first. so I already knew the jist#and boy does it show with these new levels oh my god#I'm suffering!!! do NOT give me tips I'll make it through#sjsdhshdsdh#ULTRAKILL#Android.txt
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𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary jealousy makes people do crazy things. when steve finds out you’re going on a date with eddie munson, he devises a plan involving one pair of binoculars, one robin, four adopted children and an important question. [7k]
warnings gn!reader, ditzy reader, protective steve, childhood friends to lovers, pining steve, mutual pining, fluff, love confessions, slight hurt/comfort, soft steve, steves pov, eddie fucking munson ♡ tw for toaster bathtub joke
𓆩❤︎𓆪
Steve knows you're outside not because you told him you'd be visiting him at work today, but because you're talking to yourself. You quieten as you pull open the door, a smile on your face that hasn't changed since he first met you in the third grade. Some kid had pushed you down and when he'd asked if you were okay you'd smiled just like that, like you hadn't been pushed at all.
"What are you talking about?" he asks lightly.
You stop in the middle of the store and blink. "What?"
He skirts around the front desk and wraps you up in a hug. You're still at first like you usually are, though you slowly relax under his touch and hug back.
"What were you saying? Before you came in?" he asks, rubbing your back with both arms.
"Um… I don't really remember."
Steve holds you at arm's length to assess your face. You're lying to him. He can tell from the way your top lip twitches towards your nose, almost pouting.
You drop your arms from his waist and take a step back. Steve has years of knowledge on your whims and whiles and is reluctant to let you move away from him just yet, his hand clasped loosely around your wrist.
You smile and your hands float at your sides like lily pads bobbing in the air. He decides not to pry, returning to his station behind the Family Video desk. You hop up onto the counter and watch him from over your shoulder.
"Where's Robin?" you ask.
"I'm starting to think you like her more than me."
You smile at him softly and he doesn't know what it means. It's alarming. Robin appears from the backroom before he can work himself up over it, a crate of tapes in her arms.
She groans as she puts them down on the counter. "I miss Scoops Ahoy."
"Cute uniforms," you mumble.
"It's not the uniforms I miss," Robin says, letting her forehead fall to the counter. "My arms hurt. I'm not cut out for manual labour. If Steve were a better man he'd do all the heavy lifting for me."
"Where's the equality in that?" Steve asks, looking to you to see if he's made you laugh.
He has. Your lips quirk up into a startled smile as a rush of breath escapes you, a lilting miracle of sound.
He realises then that he's doing something he's not allowed to do and decides to be a better man. "I'll do the rest, Robs."
Robin looks up, surprised at his charity. "You will?" she asks, not trusting his genuineness.
"Sure. Keep Y/N entertained while I'm gone."
Once he's securely in the backroom he starts to freak out. He's been harbouring a mess of feelings for you ever since he hit puberty but has discarded them time and time again. Your friendship is longstanding and special to him, even when closeness with you has been hard to obtain. Not because you're purposefully distant, but because you're a total dreamer.
Head in the clouds your entire life, Steve has wrangled through hoops to try and protect you from bullies, from bad friends, from your own distraction; you forget to eat, you're lucky you graduated because your attention span for anything that doesn't interest you is non-existent, and you hate parties so your circle is a closed loop consisting of just Steve.
Now you've both graduated there's a lot of time to be spent together.
Steve is suffering through it. His life feels like a constant game of look but don't touch.
That might be unfair. He's definitely very touchy.
You're giggling to yourself as he carries the second box of tapes in and heaves it down by the first. Robin's laughter is much more evil.
"What's funny?" he asks suspiciously.
"I'm giving Y/N tips."
"Tips?" he asks, so used to Robin's absurdity that he starts to unpack his second box, elbows brushing Robin's as she hums.
"Mm-hm." She taps her nails over a plastic case and leans towards him. "Boy tips."
"And what would you know about boys?" he asks her.
"I'm not stupid. Boys are like… frogs."
"Frogs," Steve repeats dryly.
"Slimey. Predictable. Easily disected."
"Green," you say seriously.
Steve chokes on a laugh and drops the tape in his hand back into the box of new arrivals to cover his mouth with a fist.
"Babe, what?" he asks.
You look at him and shake your head lightly. He knows he's not gonna get any answers from you, trying for nonchalance as he asks, "Boy tips? For who?"
"They have a date."
"You do?" Steve asks you. He almost snaps his neck. Robin coughs to cover a laugh.
A knife in his chest. Twisting. Steve's definitely been stabbed. He looks down to his sternum and doesn't find a wound.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, pretending that's why his lungs have exploded. He's gonna suffocate to death any second now.
"I didn't think you'd have any boy tips," you say, clearly surprised at his surprise.
Whatever. Steve takes a huge breath in through his nose and becomes your friend again, rather than a jealous idiot.
"Y/N," he says, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I am a boy."
"I've noticed."
"So I know what boys like."
"No, you know what you like," Robin says. "You don't know what Eddie Munson likes. You're different genres."
"You're going on a date with Eddie Munson?" he asks you, almost shouting. Not his smoothest moment.
"Friday," you say, in the sometimes infuriating way that you do, like you have no indication that he's shocked. And he's shocked.
"When did he ask you out?" Steve asks.
Robin smirks behind her hand. Steve would love it if she had, like, a miniscule amount of compassion. An atom's worth, for his struggle.
"I asked him," you say.
Steve needs to flee. He can't because he would look insanely obvious so he cracks on his customer service smile and tries to stop asking questions.
He fails. "You like Eddie Munson?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm going on a date."
An insane wave of jealousy sloshes around inside him. Or maybe the slurpee he'd had a half hour ago. Whatever it is, he's nauseous.
He's also confused (a common theme when it comes to you.) He'd had no clue you were dating, or looking to date, no clue this was a lane that was open. And you're so pretty, so magnetic, so disgustingly special and this Munson kid is gonna snap you right up if he has any sense at all.
Steve isn't proud of anything that he does next.
"I heard he's a drug dealer," he says.
Your eyes are wide. Not in horror, as he'd hoped, but puzzlement. "Is he?"
"For sure. The devil's lettuce, Mary Jane, marijuana, everything."
"I thought they were all the same," you say, perplexed, your voice like an ebbing wave.
They are all the same. He was hoping you didn't know that. "Right. What if he gets you hooked on something?"
Robin frowns at him. "Since when are you so judgemental? We've been high together. Like, fifty times."
He steps on her foot. Robin, unused to him fighting back so quickly, gasps in outrage and steps on his foot right back. What ensues is an undignified battle of shoes that has him throwing his arm out and hitting her in the stomach.
"What's your problem?" she asks, eyebrows pinched.
He holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry! I think you broke my foot."
He flinches when he remembers you're there and watching, only you're not there and you're definitely not watching, having made your way to the two boxes of new movies on the counter. You're sorting through them slowly and singing something to yourself under your breath so quietly he can barely decipher the words. The loudest part is your inhales, familiar, small intakes of air.
"I told them boys like it when you slip them the tongue," Robin whispers smugly.
Steve steps on her foot again and gets promptly slapped in the arm, hard enough to ache.
Later, when Robin's left and the store's finally closing and you're waiting at the door for Steve to drive you home, he tries to slander Eddie again. He almost feels bad.
"You know he's still in high school, right? Isn't that a little young for you?" he asks.
He flicks up the collar of his jacket and switches off the neon lights. You hold the door open, leaning against it with your back arched, like a doll that's fallen down. He pokes the naked skin you've accidentally exposed, a taunting sliver of hip, as he walks past you.
"He's twenty."
Again, Steve knew that. He was just hoping you didn't.
"The whole still being in high-school thing doesn't bug you?" he asks as he locks the door.
You shift from foot to foot beside him, cold now that the sun has disappeared for the night. You shove your hands deep into your pockets and kick the floor.
"I don't know," you say.
He feels bad for trying to dissuade you when you sound like that, insecure.
Despite his selfish wants, he says, "No, I mean. It's totally fine. You're the same age."
"Right," you agree quickly.
"Right," he echoes.
The two of you climb into the BMW and the silence feels unnatural. Conversation between the two of you has always been easy. Now it's stilted.
He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair furiously and starting the car.
"You know… I've heard he's really nice," he says.
You perk up. "Yeah?"
"He's in a band, too. A rock band. You like that stuff. You'd be good together," he says, unconvincing even to himself.
Each word could be demonstrated as a plier held to his teeth, slowly pulling. It's agony to stick up for his competitor. No, he corrects himself, not a competitor, because you don't like him. Steve's alone in his pining.
"I don't know about all that," you whisper.
"You don't have to be nervous, okay? I'm sure he's a nice guy and that you'll have fun."
You don't seem very cheered up.
He unclenches his jaw and sneaks a look at you. You're picking the hemming of your long sleeve with a thoughtful look in place. Steve thinks, Fuck, they must really like him.
"Seriously, babe."
You drop your head against your shoulder. "Can I sleep at your place?"
He should say no. "Yeah, of course you can."
"I think there's a racoon living in my attic."
"I'll come take a look tomorrow."
"Thank you."
You tumble out of the car and up the gravel to Steve's house, unlocking the door with a practised ease before running up the stairs. Steve follows with little urgency behind you.
"Babe?" he asks, closing the door behind him.
"I need the bathroom," you call.
Steve nods and beelines for the kitchen, looking for something to make that you'll enjoy and that won't take a year off of your life expectancies. If Steve were by himself he'd skip dinner or order something greasy, but he thinks you should have a proper meal.
He's got a can of soup warming over the burner when you come back down, having switched your outfit for something comfy, clothes you keep in the bottom of his wardrobe for such occasions.
"Pee your pants?" he asks, grinning.
You hit your hip into his on purpose and hoist yourself onto the counter to watch him stir.
"Watch it! Can't you see I'm performing a culinary miracle?"
"It smells nice." Your face floods with happiness.
"It's your favourite one."
"They don't sell my favourite in Bradley's anymore."
"It was at the back of the cabinet. Might get food poisoning," he says.
He's lying through his teeth – he'd gone up to some fancy Indianapolis grocery store and bought a fuck load. He prays that your attention stays on him and not the cabinet behind your head where evidence of his affection hides in wait.
"Yum," you say.
"There's ciabatta in the bread bin. Do you want, like, the works?"
"Balsamic vinegar," you nod your head sagely. "Yes."
He feels a tendril of fondness curl around his heart.
-
Fed and watered you crawl into Steve's bed like you always do, smack dab in the middle, sheets pulled up to your nose. Your moaning nonsense to yourself about being greedy and evil demons that cause bloating.
"I told you to slow down," he murmurs as he climbs in beside you, the two of you smelling like spearmint toothpaste.
Your hands smell like soap as you bat at him uselessly. "Shut up, Steve."
He moves onto his back and sighs. "You have such an attitude problem."
"I do not."
He throws his hand out fast and squeezes your sensitive waist. You gasp and pull away, giggling as his hand chases you. He digs his fingers into your ribs until you're panting for air, your legs kicking him away from you.
"Stop, Steve. Steve, Steve, Stevie, please stop." Your words are garbled with laughter.
"I can't hear you."
"Stop!" you cry out. "Please."
He pulls his hand away and feels smug at how little effort it took to get you that badly. "I didn't know you could shout that loudly, babe."
"Only for you," you say, catching your breath.
Steve feels his cheeks go red. Physically feels the blood blossom under his skin. He clears his throat and turns away from you, flicking off the light fast so you can't see his embarrassment clear as day.
You calm your breathing and Steve calms his heart. After a few minutes there's a dead silence. Not even the sound of a passing car.
"It's so quiet," you say.
"It was."
Your hand at his back. He suppresses chills as your knuckles move over the dip of his spine and then over, your palm smoothing down his arm until you find his hand. Another one of your quirks when you're tired and dizzy with content, you search for his fingers and twine them with your own as you talk.
"Thanks for dinner. You're a better cook than you'd think, Steve. S'like being at Enzo's but with none of the tables and chairs. Or the music."
He rubs his thumb gently over the back of your hand where it rests on his thighs and chuckles. "I'll give the chef your compliments."
"Thank you."
Another stretch of silence, broken up only by the sound of your breathing. Steve's more familiar with your breathing than his own. He thinks of nights where he'd feigned sleep and watched the rise and fall of your chest through barely parted lashes.
With his back to you it's easy to pretend you're more than friends. He pulls your joined hands to his chest and worries your skin with the pad of his thumb, a thousand thoughts rattling around his brain.
"Y/N," Steve says suddenly, unsure if you're still awake.
"What?" you ask quietly.
"Don't listen to Robin, okay? Don't… don't try and tongue kiss Munson the first time."
You inhale weirdly. "I won't."
"Good." He moves your hand back to your chest and drops it gently. "Goodnight," he says.
You don't say anything back.
-
Dustin sits under the Family Video desk with his radio contraption that Steve doesn't understand, him and Robin having entered a surprisingly easy conversation. Less surprising upon discovering the topic: Steve's ineptitude, Steve's idiocy, Steve's hopelessness.
"I feel sorry for him," Dustin says conversationally.
"Really sorry for him."
"Because it's his third snub in as many years-"
"And that's not counting each Scoops Ahoy disaster-"
"Exactly. And, it's like, going on how many years of being friends?" Dustin asks.
"Twelve," Steve says, resigned to his fate and feeling very pathetic where he manually ticks through returns on the computer. He doesn't even look up.
"Twelve years to make a move and now he's too late," Dustin says.
"Well, never say never," Robin says, her voice high.
Steve frowns and looks through the screen for a moment before turning his gaze over his shoulder to where Robin lounges on the floor, legs crossed and a book between her thighs.
"What?" he asks.
"What?" she repeats.
They stare at each other. Steve's expression changes from depressed to incensed.
"Oh my god, you know something."
"I don't know anything."
They stare at each other more. Steve doesn't believe her even slightly. He knows Robin. They've been friends for an entire year by this point. Steve would even say that they're best friends. He knows when she's lying.
"'Never say never?'" he quotes.
Dustin has stopped messing with his technology to watch. His head moves one way and then the other like he's following a tennis ball, his brown curls bouncing around his ears.
"It's a common saying-" Robin defends.
"But why did you say it?"
Tense silence.
"You do know something," Dustin says. Excitement gives his face a boyish charm.
Robin closes the book between her thighs and smiles awkwardly. Steve feels his heart leap into his throat when she tilts her head to the side guiltily and sighs.
"Shit," she mutters.
-
Operation Stakeout is redundant, according to Mike.
"An operation and a stakeout are basically the same thing," he mutters.
"That's not true," Dustin says, know-it-all tone in play. "A stakeout is always an operation but operations aren't always stakeouts."
Lucas eats a handful of chips noisily. Max groans.
"It feels redundant," Robin says.
"It's about to feel jeopardised," Steve says scathingly, forcing her head back down where the six of them hide behind a trimmed hedge outside Enzo's.
"When's it my turn with the binoculars?" Robin asks.
"Never," Dustin says. There isn't a trace of sympathy in his voice.
"Sexism?" she wonders to herself.
Max snatches the binoculars from Dustin’s hand and brings them to her eyes, looking through the painted window of Hawkins best Italian restaurant for any sign of you and your date.
They must look like a group of idiots. Half the gang are in dark clothing where Mike, Robin and Max had all refused to bother. Dustin had brought a camouflage net and strewn it over their heads, though most of them had shrugged it off, holding it to their shoulders like a terrible blanket.
Steve waits impatiently for Max's report.
"There they are," Max says.
He can't himself as he springs up and searches for you. They'd all watched secretly as you'd arrived and met Munson outside. He scrubbed up well. It boiled Steve's blood. In a totally fun, carefree way because he's being very normal about this whole thing. You know, if you ignore Operation Stakeout.
"Where?"
He holds his hand out for the binoculars and Max drops them heavily into his palm. Steve almost blinds himself as he brings them to his eyes, squinting for a glance at you.
"Toward the left."
"They're ordering," he says.
"They're on a date," Mike says.
Lucas makes a sad sound and eats more chips. Steve feels a sharp wave of pity for him though he quickly forgets it in favour of the look on your face. You're smiling wide but insincerely.
"Y/N is not having a good time," he says happily. "Is it evil to feel relieved?"
"Yes," a few voices say.
Dustin shrugs. "Let's hope Eddie makes them cry. Or the other way around."
"Dude." There's a silent conversation that Steve isn't privy to then that ends with Lucas and Dustin shoving each other.
"Why are we expecting this to end badly?" Max asks. "Because I'm still not convinced."
Steve watches you reach for your drink and tries not to recant his explanation with any bias. Tries. "Y/N doesn't like Munson."
"We already knew that, to be fair," Robin says, still trying to defend you now that she'd possibly exposed your secret. Guilt is a new look on her.
"Right, but not liking Eddie and liking Steve are two different things," Max says.
"Well, why wouldn't you like Eddie?" Dustin says.
"If you like him so much why don't you marry him?" Steve asks, deadpan.
"Shut up."
"I know who I'd choose," Max says.
Steve waits for a follow up because he has no clue who Max would choose. When she doesn't answer he peels his gaze from your upturned mouth and finds that the rest of the group are giving Max the same curious look.
"What?" she asks furiously. "One is clearly more attractive."
"Which one, Maxine?" Steve asks.
"Eddie," Mike and Dustin say.
"Steve," Robin and Lucas say.
Max is saved from having to answer by the ensuing argument. They can both drive. Steve is wealthy - "Generationally!" - where Eddie's less so. Steve graduated - "Barely!" - and Eddie's in his third senior year.
"He's in a band," Robin says unhappily, like she's sad that Steve isn't measuring up.
"Have you heard them play? Steve's definitely winning," Lucas says.
"Steve doesn't know who Gollum is," Dustin points out. "He's, like, socially misplaced."
"Does Y/N?" Max asks.
The group ponders. Robin takes the binoculars from Steve's hands and aims them at you again. "Wait, did Eddie get the carbonara? That's a point for Steve."
"It's an Italian staple!" Dustin defends.
"You'd think a cult leader would order something a little more adventurous."
"Hellfire isn't a cult, Steve, don't be fucking offensive."
"Okay, watch your mouth, Henderson," Steve says testily.
His knees ache from hiding and his hands are frigid. It's dark enough for Lucas to switch on a torch as he offers Max his pringles. She wrinkles her nose in disgust and the poor guy looks dejected beyond words.
A disgruntled old lady complains behind them at having to walk around them. Mike complains louder. "This is pointless."
"It's not pointless," Steve says.
"Yes, it is."
"No, it isn't." He glares at Mike.
"It totally is! You're wasting our night to perv on someone who couldn't be less interested in you."
"I didn't ask you to come!" Steve shouts.
"I wanted to see you be wrong in person," he says.
Steve sighs because maybe he is wrong. He doesn't know what he believes anymore. He's working on the tiniest evidence that you like him, a slip of the tongue.
When you'd walked into Family Video a few days ago and asked Robin for 'boy tips', you'd said something suspicious. Steve doesn't think you know what you said. Robin thinks you're both idiots, though she thinks you're pathetic in the loveable way and Steve the pathetic way.
"Why Eddie?" Robin had asked you while he was hidden away in the backroom. "I didn't know you liked the rock and roll type. I was thinking, like, Steve's calibre. Homegrown boy next door who's a little misguided."
"Well, Steve's never gonna ask me out," you'd said.
"Thank god for that," Robin had joked awkwardly. Steve doesn't hold it against her.
When she'd relayed the conversation to him he'd been happy at first, because in most situations this would imply that you're waiting for it. That you want him to ask you out.
But you're not like most people, and you might've meant Steve in place of someone like Steve.
"I don't think he's wrong," Dustin says now.
"You're the same IQ," Mike says.
"You might be right, Wheeler," Steve huffs, holding his hands out for a turn. Robin passes them obligingly. "Y/N's so literal. They might've just been stating the obvious."
"Or maybe they thought Robin was implying they liked Steve and got defensive," Max adds.
"Or maybe it's exactly like it sounds and they have a crush on Steve," Lucas says. He wilts under Max's fierce scowl. "Or maybe they were being defensive."
"Defensive isn't really their style," Steve says, not sure what side he's on, sick with hope.
"What is their style?" Mike asks. "Delusion?"
"Shut the fuck up, man," Steve says.
"You're such an asshole sometimes," Max says.
They dissolve into bickering and Steve spies on you, watching through the binoculars with one eye pinched closed as you set down your cutlery. You're laughing.
Steve pulls the binoculars from his face and feels maybe every stage of grief as he hands them off to Dustin. "Mike's right, we're wasting the night here. If Y/N liked me, we wouldn't be camped outside Enzo's right now under the world's most threadbare throw blanket."
Mike clears his throat, and Steve knows he must have sounded pathetic when he, at odds with the cold indifference he usually sports, says, "I mean… People are complicated. El broke up with me last summer because my grandma died."
"That is not why," Max says. She sounds like she wants to be mad but can't manage it. She sounds about as happy as she has all year, so Steve decides maybe the night isn't totally wasted.
"Your grandma died?" Lucas asks.
"No."
"He just grabbed Y/N's hand," Dustin announces, one eye pressed to the binoculars.
His head is smushed against Lucas', who peers into the binoculars with his opposite eye and hums thoughtfully. "More of a caress than a grab."
Steve snatches the binoculars. "Give me that," he demands.
"You still haven't explained the spying," Max says.
Steve finds you in the restaurant. Your hand is extended across the table. You're twisting the rings around Eddie's fingers, saying something he doesn't have the talent to lip read.
"I thought that," he starts, morose, heart stomped on with every second you spend fawning over Munson's rock star hands, "if Y/N likes me, the date would be a total failure."
"Right, like halfway through the date Y/N was gonna have this amazing epiphany and come crashing through the doors, like a rom-com," Robin continues.
"That's stupid," Mike says.
Steve agrees with him. It's stupid to expect you to throw away a good chance at happiness and keep a candle burning for him instead when he's never showed any interest in you before. But, in his defense, he didn't know he was allowed.
"Whatever," he sighs. "I'm sick of thinking about it. Let's just go home."
There's an awkward silence then where everyone feels sorry for him and nobody knows what to say.
"Plenty of fi-" Lucas starts, voice lilted up in question until he's socked hard in the arm. He clears his throat. "Plenty of time left. On the clock. We can go get food?"
"Steve needs ice cream," Robin says cheerily. He scrubs his face until his eyes hurt as she continues. "He needs to eat through the heartbreak. Ice cream, pizza, moon cakes, cheese balls." She turns to him fully. "I'm really sorry your love life is so sad, but look on the bright side! You now have an excuse to watch Splash on repeat."
"Oh, goodie," he says.
He gets a round of sympathetic shoulder pats and then everyone starts to pack Dustin's spy equipment and the snacks away. There's a pounding headache between Steve's eyes and his back pops in three places as he stands. He's getting too old for shit like this. I need to go home and sleep for twelve hours, he decides. And have a self flagellating bubble bath. With a toaster.
"Shit, they're coming out."
They dive back behind the bush. Steve locks eyes with Robin. She holds her hand over her mouth as the door to Enzo's creaks open.
"What size are you?" Eddie's asking.
"I don't know. Do I have to wear the shirt?"
A handsome laugh. "No, you don't have to. It's just for club morale. Plus, it's pretty sick."
"It's not sick, it's cute."
"No, no." He's being so nice it makes Steve feel terrible for wishing bad things upon him. "Not bad sick. Good sick, like awesome."
"Right," you laugh.
Robin starts to lift her head. Steve shakes his vehemently, begging her not to. She does anyways, her eyes shifting up over the green hedge line. He tugs her shoulder urgently.
Robin starts to push against his face with her hands. It's increasingly difficult to fight her silently, especially when she smacks him straight in the soft part of his nose.
He winces and covers his face with both hands. God, are you there? He thinks urgently. It's me, Steve.
Robin gasps.
Five sets of eyes whip to her and Steve yanks her hard to the ground, covering her mouth with his hand. She licks his palm and Steve throws himself back, sprawled on the ground with his elbows stinging, his heart hammering because there's no way you didn't hear all that. He waits to be caught.
"I'll get it printed for you. Everyone has one. Like a uniform."
"Thanks for dinner," you say.
"You're welcome. I'll see you on Friday, yeah?"
"Yes. Thank you, Eddie."
Your voices stop. Steve lets himself collapse onto the sidewalk beneath, hair crushed under his neck. Your date must've gone pretty fucking well if you're going on another.
Robin's face above him. Her hair hangs down, blocking slices of her face from view.
"Don't sulk, Steve."
He glares at her. "You heard that, right? They're going on another date. Leave me here to die."
Robin's beaming. "Steve."
"It's too late. I should've- I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. I'm a loser."
"Could you stop feeling sorry for yourself for a second?" she asks.
"What's the point?"
"Steve," Robin laughs. "They didn't kiss." He swallows around the dryness in his mouth. "They didn't kiss," she repeats. "Eddie tried it, but…"
"Total head turn," Dustin says, the top of his head touching Robin's as he comes to stand over Steve, his shoes at Steve's shoulder.
"Doesn't mean anything. They're still going on another date," Steve says.
"Dummy," Max says, joining the two hovering above him.
Mike and Lucas join soon after. "You're definitely a loser-" Mike says.
"Dude."
"If you don't try," Mike finishes.
Steve looks up into the circle of their faces. They look super weird from this angle. Too happy. It's never a good thing when they're all smiling the way that they are. Hope in this family turns into stupid decisions.
"The head turn was on purpose?" he asks.
He's crushed by their hesitation.
"Well, it's Y/N," Robin sighs. She rolls her eyes at his expression. "Nah, I'm messing with you. It was definitely on purpose."
He covers his face with his hands and stares at his friend's through parted fingers. "Shit."
A ruckus of laughter and smiles as Robin offers a hand to pull him up off of the ground. "Alright, come on, dingus, we have work to do."
"Work?" he asks.
"T-minus six days and… twenty two hours until their second date," Dustin says, checking his watch. "Six days to make a move, Harrington. Can you do it?"
-
It only takes him three.
Saturday and Sunday are spent feeling sorry for himself and sick with worry that he can't make a move or that his move won't be reciprocated.
But then he sees you on Monday and can't really stand it anymore. You'd turned your head. You hadn't let Eddie kiss you.
Steve needs to know if you'll let him.
You're all in blue today with your eyebrows pinched up, looking sad. He knows from experience that you aren't sad at all, only thinking, sitting on the hood of his car with your legs pulled up. You're demure. You're probably an angel.
"How long have you been out here?" he asks, coming to a stop in front of you.
"I'm too afraid to come see you," you say. It's more honest than Steve had been expecting. Certainly more straightforward than you tend to be.
"You're seeing me now."
You look up into his face. The sun behind you, your face in shadow and your hair kissed by golden light, you open your hands over your thighs. Steve thinks of Lovers Lake, the Victoria flowers bobbing on the surface. Green, soft cups over dark water.
"I'm seeing you," you say.
You twist your fingers together and the lily pad turns to a water lily, your fingertips a tight bud.
You're nervous.
Steve crosses his arms over his chest and leans back slightly to take you in.
He lifts his chin at you. "How did your date go?" he asks.
"It was okay. Eddie's a nice guy. He's… interesting."
"Yeah?"
You hum. "Why are you asking me?"
"We're friends. I want to know if you had fun."
You shrug your shoulders and turn your haze to the hood of the BMW, scratching your nail over an imperfection he can't see.
Steve's unnerved to see you so still. He waits for your legs to kick or for your hands to fidget, to wear holes into the hem of your shirt.
"I don't think we're friends, Stevie," you say finally.
He actually feels mad. It shocks him, but he does, and he won't shy away from it. "Why did you ask Munson on a date?"
"He can drive. He's nice to girls. He's good looking." You stop scratching but don't look at him. Your ankle swings towards his car, stops before it hits the front bumper.
Your answers hurt his feelings, little pinpricks of annoyance? Jealousy? He doesn't know what he feels. He was hoping you'd say something reassuring.
He kicks himself quickly. You're not going to reassure him because you don't know he needs to be reassured. You don't know anything because he hasn't told you.
You mumble something too low for him to hear.
"What?" he asks gently. "I can't hear you."
"I asked him because I thought if-" You stop. Steve watches your hesitation turn to distress and steps forward to take your wringing hands into his.
"Don't do that," he says quietly.
You stop rubbing your wrists. "I'm trying to tell you."
"I know you are. Don't wind yourself up over it. Tell me slowly." He doesn't like this expression you're wearing. So unlike you. He wants to see your quiet face again, your features settled, your eyes bright. He bends at the waist to talk to you. "What did you think?"
"I thought if anybody in the world could make you jealous, it would be Eddie."
He works your clenched fingers open, rubbing his thumbs over the small creases in your skin. His heart thrums in his chest.
He smiles at you. "Now why do you wanna make me jealous?" he asks fondly, a hint of smugness creeping in.
You raise your eyes to his and squeeze his hands. "Steve," you say pleadingly. "Don't be cruel."
"About what?" he asks, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion.
"I know that I'm- I'm stupid, and distracted and-and I miss things, and-"
"Hey. That's not true."
You overflow.
"No, it is, it's true." You pull your hands out of his grip and cross them over your torso. Your eyes squint in efforts to stop the tears he can see gathering from spilling over, and your mouth twists up into a bitter smile. "Everyone says so. I- I don't know why I thought you would like me back."
"You like me?" he asks weakly.
You stop. "I thought you knew."
Steve's eyes flit in disbelief from your eyes to your lips, wondering if you've truly just said what you said.
Fine, whatever, he can be brave too. "If I tried to kiss you, would you let me?" he asks.
The upset wanes from your face and is replaced by a lighter kind of lovely. You pout. "Why would you ask me that?"
"Do you want me to kiss you?" he tries again.
"I don't know what the right answer is."
"I could…" Steve taps under your chin with his knuckle and lifts your face to his, eyes skipping between yours, the circle of your pupils dilated and shining. "I could never be cruel with you."
You wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow.
Understanding moves between you. He can pinpoint two realisations on your face as they happen. The first, that he isn't toying with you. That Steve had no idea how you felt, and that he hadn't known you were trying to make him jealous. The second, that you're about to be kissed.
"You were right," he says, his thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek.
"About what?" you ask, your eyes restless, clicking over each of his features in turn and getting caught on his lips.
He leans in, your mouths an inch apart. "Your date with Munson – I was jealous. But it's not about him. It's about you. You could've," he stops to laugh, bringing his second hand to the curve of your neck, "could've gone on a date with Keith and I would've been sick with it."
"Really?" you ask.
"Mm-hm," he hums lightly.
Your eyes close. Steve hesitates still, can't believe that he hasn't moved in, but he needs to say it.
"If I tried to kiss you, would you let me?" he asks again, voice barely louder than a whisper.
"Yeah, I'd let you."
His hands tremble with anticipation, a long time spent longing. He moves in, his ears pricked at the sound of your sweet inhale. A hitch, the same sound you make when you sleep beside him. The same sound you make when you're dreaming.
He spreads his hand over your thigh and kisses you.
Your lips are soft as a downy feather beneath his. You're shy, moving back as he moves forward, pliant under his guiding. He pets the juncture of your neck soothingly and pulls back fast, a short, chaste kiss. His lips burn.
"Again?" you ask.
He wades in carefully, worried to overwhelm you. You're like a wave cresting sand, falling back to push forward quickly. He's so elated to have his kiss returned that he sighs into you, palm spread wide over the dough of your thigh and squeezing carefully. He can feel your smile grow, your lips parting with it, the kiss inadvertently deepening.
You pull back. "I'm sorry."
His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. "For what?" he asks, rubbing your thigh.
"Boys don't like it when you slip them the tongue on the first kiss."
He blinks owlishly and has to step away from you to stop from laughing in your face, never at you, but laugh all the same. He smothers it with a cough and then doesn't bother, chuckling as he stands between your legs and throws his arms around you in a steel-armed hug.
You giggle and bring your forearms to the back of his head. Your wrist craned, you sift your fingertips through his hair, nails running over his scalp fleetingly.
"Right," he says. "Duh."
"I remembered," you say, sounding infinitely pleased with yourself.
He feels the heat of your body sink into his and wants to scream. The indescribable heat of your kiss plays over his chest, snaking tendrils. He feels weightless.
"The second kiss though," he says. Strictly informative. "They don't mind it, the second time."
He moves his head away from yours to meet your eyes. They're lit with mirth.
"Don't mind it, huh?" you ask knowingly.
His cheeks ache with a grin as he pulls you back in.
-
"You know, I saw you spying outside Enzo's," you say much later, your head tucked into Steve's chest.
He didn't know but he's not surprised. "Gonna cancel your date?" he asks.
"What date?"
"On Friday?"
"That isn't a date. I joined Hellfire Club."
Oh my god, he thinks. Eddie fucking Munson. "You're gonna have to kiss me again," he says morosely. He cheers up considerably quickly as you lift your chin, beaming.
𓆩❤︎𓆪
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#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington drabble#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things 4#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction
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What about like Step!dad Jake w oblivious reader. So like she doesn’t realize that Jake is flirting w her until she hears him jerking off while calling her name (she thinks he’s hurt or something cause she’s innocent but walks in to see his hands wrapped around his cock)
IM DROOLING OVER THIS (I LIVE FOR UR WRITING)
I blame my mutuals for getting me into this... more specifically Kells and Eden because now I'm suffering from stepdad Jake brainrot
Tw: stepcest, daddy kink, pet names, teasing
God he's sick on you. Obsessed with the way you're so painfully naive to his casual flirting and the way you walk around in your tiny little outfits around him; skirts that end just below the cusp of your ass and pretty pink crop tops that your perky nipples poke through. And jesus, he swears he's losing his mind.
Sometimes he thinks you're doing it on purpose, making your way down the stairs in a baby pink mini skirt and top, bows clipped into the thick of your hair. And Jake's immedielty calling you over from the kitchen, asking where you're headed so dressed up; and it's the way your eyes get all big and round, so blissfully unaware of the blood rushing to his cock, pressing a tent into the fabric of his pants.
Its when you saunter throughout the den, necklaces adorning the pretty blue of your soft skin, that he hisses a "fuck" under his breath.
He watches you bend over to pack your purse, palming the swell of his cock as your skirt rides over the plush of your ass, pretty pink panties on full display as your tail swishes back and forth, gently grazing the backs of your thighs.
With a groan, Jake makes his way over to you, pulling the tip of your skirt down, "Change your clothes," he scolds through clenched teeth.
immediately your cheeks flush with heat, "Oh, I-" you're too embarassed to speak, tripping over your words under his sharp gaze. "M'sorry, I-I didn't realize-"
"Walkin' around these tiny little skirts n'thongs," his voice is deep with strain, "Fuckin' ridicoulous." Shaking his head, he pulls you up by your braid to push you onto the couch.
you're jolted by the rush of it, blood rushes to your head as he pins you to the couch, scrambling over your words, "I don't-"
you're cut off by a large hand grabbing at your jaw, squeezing the plush of your cheeks. "Shut your fucking mouth, young lady," Jake seethes, pressing his free hand into the soft of your thigh, massaging the plush of it, pushing your legs open. "Don't act dumb, kid," he moves to cup your heat, palm slick against the soaked fabric of your thong.
immediately you grasp a hand around his wrist at your jaw, other around his forearm before he's scolding you, "Put your hands down."
retracting, you dig your hands into the cushions beneath you with a shaky whine. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes drift to the door, suddenly aware of just how open you are - legs spread in the middle of the den where your mother could come back from her outing at any minute. Jake doesn't miss the way you unknowingly clench your thighs around the thick of his hand between your legs, fabric of your thong wet against his fingers.
"What, y'worried someone's gonna walk in?" he teases, slipping his fingers under your dainty thong to sink into your soaked pussy. He smirks against the puffy lips of your cunt, moving to bite the inside of your thigh with his canine, "scared your mom's gonna see you gettin' your tiny little pussy fucked by your stepdad?" his finger curls along your gummy walls, petting at the spongey patch in you with strokes that send shivers down your thighs.
you nod, whimpering in his hold, drool spilling over your swollen lips, lifting your legs some to press your heels into the couch, "Daddy, please-!" you're choking on sobs, tears spilling over your cheeks as he scissors your cunny.
"Yeah, I know." you can hear the eyeroll in his voice, "Stop fuckin' whining. I'll give you what you want."
Jake kicks your feet apart enough to kneel between your thighs, hand dropping from your jaw to slip your legs over his shoulders. You go to grab at him, but he catches your wrists in one hand, pulling your arms to the side, "keep your hands to yourself." the warning in his voice is enough not to test his patience.
He watches you for a moment, gaging your reaction before he drops your wrists to the side, pushing you to lie back against the couch with his hand, "Let daddy take care of you."
Keeping a blue hand at your chest, massaging your breasts through the fabric of your top, he presses his mouth to the soaked lips of your cunt, inhaling the scent of you with a hiss.
"Hnghh," your breath hitches when the rough of his nose nudges the button of your clit, digging your hands into the cushion beneath you with a moan.
Clicking his tongue when your cunt pulses around his digit, Jake groans, "You're such a good girl." he kisses your clit, eyes jumping to the door teasingly before he's pulling back with a smirk.
"M'gonna tear you apart." meeting your eyes, he places your feet to the ground again, moving to sit one knee on the couch beside you, pulling your skirt up over your hips to expose your cunt. Sliding his hand between your thighs again, scissoring you open.
"Look at that," he hums, "Gonna let me in there, sweetheart?" his free hand still massaging into the fat of your breast, "Gonna let your stepdaddy fuck your little pussy?"
you can't help the way you moan at the vulgarity. head falling back to rest on the top of the couch, grabbing at the wrist of his hand at your chest when you cum, jaw dropping in a silent moan.
He laughs, watching your thighs shake under his hold, "Good girl," Jake leans down to kiss you, biting at your soft skin as you dwindle from your high.
And suddenly he's standing between your shaky legs, cupping his large hands under your thighs to press your knees into your chest, forcing you to slip down the couch some.
Squatting onto the couch above you, feet on either side of the plush of your ass, he's sinks into you with a groan.
"God, you're fuckin tight," Jake's brows furrow, thrusting in and out of you gently, resting a hand on the soft of your tummy when he bottoms out.
teary-eyed, you grasp on to his striped forearm with a sob, "Hnngh, ahh,"
Jake speeds up once you've relaxed some, cupping a hand behind your head, "good girl," he kisses you softly, pressing his forehead against yours.
your voice wavers, choking on the heat of it all - and it's almost too much; the stretch of his cock against your gummy walls, his thick hair tickling the soft of your hot cheeks, his hand behind your head as well as the one that pushes into the couch beside you.
Jake pants shakily above you, hissing a groaned "fuck," when he bottoms out again, "God, you're so pretty," he presses a kiss to your forehead and you squeal, "Daddy's pretty girl, huh, sweetheart."
"So deep, so deep," you chant, swollen lips parted in a silent moan, "fuck, daddy!" you cry, digging your nails into the blue of his ankle, "Haa...haa"
Jake drops a leg to the ground, hiking your legs over his shoulder with a heavy thrust. The girth of his cock stretches your heat so deliciously that you struggle to breathe, gasping through choked sobs and broken moans.
"M'gonna cum," Jake circles your clit gently, "Gonna let your step daddy cum in you, fill ya'up?"
It's all so fucking vulgar and God he wants to eat you alive. Wants to consume you and fill you and rip you apart all at the same time.
His swollen length stretching your soft walls isn't enough. The claim he has on you serves as merely nothing in his mind when you're beneath him, thighs spread and cunt stretching around the girth of him.
The way he can fucking feel your cunt throbbing when you cum around his cock is all too much.
The heat of him spilling into you pulls a sob from your plush lips and Jake's ears fall back in a hiss, cock still thrusting into your pussy as his seed spills down the soft of your ass.
"Jesus Christ," he chuckles through a hoarse pant, thrusting his cum deeper into you. He bottoms out once more, fat balls resting against your soft folds before he pulls out to stand over you.
still shaking, you bring your fingers down to scoop the cum that's spilled out of you back into your swollen pussy with a giggle.
Jake's cock throbs at the scene, bringing a hand to your jaw, he pulls you up to rest on your knees against the cushioned couch. Kissing you, he brings a hand down to cup your cunt, teeth grazing your bottom lip, "Who's pussy is this?"
you nearly melt at the heat of his words, shifting side to side on your knees in his hold, "S'yours, daddy."
"Go upstairs and clean yourself up and maybe daddy'll fuck you again later, how's that sound, kid?"
you nod at that excitedly and Jake smiles wamrly, "Yeah, thought you'd might like that." He pinches your thigh softly before realseing your jaaw.
Moving on shaky legs, you make your way off the couch and up the stairs to your room, Jake's eyes on you from his seat at the couch.
#jake sully#jake sully x reader#avatar#dilf jake sully#jake sully smut#stepdad! jake sully#tw stepcest
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The Edge Game
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You never really know the effects edging has until you actually do it. I know there is that dumb tradition that guys do where they don't nut in November. And believe me, I've done it and I have never felt suffering until that moment. I can be convinced pretty easily. I'm the type of person that'll follow along if you say, "If you do it, I'll do it.". Damn. If you offer me food, I would probably do it. Gets me thinking though if I ever were to make such a pact with a girl bestie.
That being said, I can get pretty competitive. I mean it's just whoever breaks first right? It shouldn't be that hard. Little did I know, it began a chaotic series of events that would test my mental strength. She really is a mischievous one. Longer hugs. Asking for cuddles. Rubbing up against me. Wearing that short little skirt I always liked. I fucking hate her. And I know damn well, she'll pull some other shit when she sleeps over for the night.
"Speak of the devil... Are you ready for movie night? And please for the love of god, don't do anything? I really just want to sit through this movie and get some sleep... Yeah yeah... I made sure to set up your futon... Hey! And again no funny business!"
Seemingly enough, it was a pretty normal movie night. A cuddle was requested, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was about time to go to sleep and thankfully enough I was able to go to bed without any trouble from her. I quickly dozed off. I'm pretty heavy sleeper. Although, I do have the tendency to wake up in the middle of the night to get some things done. Water. Piss. And then, something felt a little off. Something soft. Something wet. I could feel it on the tip of my fingers. A silhouette of my best friend hovering over my hand that was hanging off the bed. She was completely drenched probably from fingers gliding and curling and twitching against her slit.
"D-dude? What the fuck are you doing? Okay okay, this isn't fair... Okay, I did say that you weren't allowed to touch yourself but... using a loophole to get off? And using me? Out of all things? Are you crazy? Really? That's enough... I think we've dragged this competition for far too long... So why don't we end it? You're going to lay in my bed... and cock warm me the entire night... The first to give in or cum loses... Excuse me? I don't think you have a choice after using me in my sleep..."
Pulling her down into my bed and throwing the covers over her. Yanking my underwear down to reveal my twitching boner and pressing it against her opening. Slowly guiding it in and pulling down on her hips to get every inch into her.
"Now... Don't you dare... fucking... move... If you do... you lose... If I move... I lose... Got it?"
Shallow deep breaths hitting each other. My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness revealing her eyes. If I've ever seen those eyes before. Those would be "fuck me" eyes. My cock twitching like crazy against her. Her pussy squeezing against me. Neither of us giving in. My hands made their way to her face. Getting a good look at what my best friend has become. A slut only for me. Her hands grabbed mine; inviting my fingers into her mouth to suck on them. Clearly not breaking the rules. I can't take my eyes off of her.
"If you don't pull me out... right... now... I really will fuck you and get you pregnant... Please... I'm begging you... "
She already reached her limits. There wasn't a single thought behind those pretty eyes; all she wanted to do is be fucked by me. She didn't care anymore. She couldn't think let alone speak. All she could do was kiss me gently and look at me with those fucking eyes. Without hesitation, I grabbed and pinned her wrists down as I topped her. She wraps her legs around my waist. I knew the consequences, but god did I want to fuck her silly. I wanted this brat to know what fear was. What it really meant to be fucked. I kiss her one last time giving her the last taste of what it meant to be gentle before thrusting my hips in the most animalistic way possible. I don't even remember what happened that night. I woke up the next morning. The sight of her, worn out, leaking out my cum. I could hardly stand the sight without getting another boner. One more time wouldn't hurt, would it?
"Hey... Good morning... Shhh shhh... It's okay... Just let me use you, alright? I really need this... I really need you right now... I'll be as gentle as possible... I know I know sweetie... I know you're sensitive, but I need this right now... "
Barely awake, I fuck her gently pumping back her cum-filled holes. Appreciating every inch of her body. Seeing every scratch, bite, or bruise that I may have inflicted on her as I fucked her senseless. I could never imagine someone else doing this to them. It filled me with anger. Men are filthy. They are animals. And I'm no different.
But I learned something. I would never ever share her.
She's mine. All mine.
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Forever yours,
Honey
#cnc k!nk#bd/sm community#corruption kink#bd/sm blog#degrading k1nk#cnc free use#humiliation kink#breeding k1nk#nsft story#edging kink#edging and denial#bd/sm breeding#submisive and breedable#risquéhoney
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Vessel and the New Lore
So the new messages got me thinking and connecting dots. I don't know coherent this will sound, but I think there's something here? Anyways. Something about the relationship Vessel has with himself vs. The Mask.
I thought it'd be interesting to link the parallels between the Room Bellow show and the Fall For Me video messages, with the new ones and the album. Long post ahead so I'll put a cut somewhere.
(This is the second time I'll be writing this cus tumblr decided to be a hoe and deleted my entire draft so if it seems weird, you know. Pro tip: never use the app for long posts.)
Disclaimer: I'm in no way endorsing or encouraging any type of discourse about Vessel's irl identity and/or other [Redacted] and such. Unfortunately I do know things, but not everyone does. Respect the band; don't spoil it for others. If you know, keep it to yourself.
So, starting with the first message:
Mask: Why am I here? What is my purpose in all of this?
Vessel: Your purpose is twofold. You protect me, from them, and you also protect them from me.
Mask: How is it that I serve to protect anyone from anything, that makes no sense.
Vessel: In order for all of this to work there has to be a certain boundary in place. They need to be able to project themselves onto this, without anyone else's identity getting in the way. In turn, I need to be able to show my true self to them in a way that does not compromise their ability to connect.
Mask: So that's what I am? A boundary?
Vessel: Yes.
We have here a confirmation of what he has told us many times before, either indirectly or not. The Mask/the Vessel persona serves as a way for him to connect and engage with us, while keeping both parties safe. We get to project onto and take from him some sort of comfort and catharsis, without any external factors to influence and skew the way we interpret his music, and He gets to expose and deal with his pain and negative thoughts in a protected environment. Who he is is irrelevant, we're merely here to share and understand each other.
Through the anonymity the mask offers, he is free to be as vulnerable and open with us as he wants, while keeping his identity safely stored away. The Mask serves as the physical reminder of how much we are allowed to know about him, and in return, how far he can (or should) expose himself without compromising his true identity. By living as Vessel and forgetting himself, he is ironically free to bare his most fragile and imperfect parts of himself on display (much like how we're all infinitely more honest about our struggles behind a fake online name than in irl.)
(curiously, this seems to be a contradiction to Higher's second verse, which feeds into the idea that Sleep is not the protector Vessel sometimes claims Them to be - "With all that you believe / You still refuse to shelter me")
From the Room Bellow:
"I experienced a great deal of pain in my life, however I do not believe I have suffered as you have suffered. Perhaps that Is another reason why we are here.
At the very least, we have all suffered."
Lore wise, we are told time and time again that Vessel is a "sacred guardian", a messenger, a weapon, a tool - a physical vessel - for Sleep and Their message. He is the answer to Sleep's necessity for connection with us. And for that to work, he willingly gives up his identity for Sleep. For us.
Mask: I don't believe you. I believe there is more to it than that. I believe you are afraid of something.
Vessel: We are all afraid of something, are we not?
Mask: What is it you are so afraid they will see?
Vessel: That I am exactly like everyone else.
...
Vessel: I think I am afraid of becoming you.
Mask: What does that even mean?
Vessel: My life is becoming gradually consumed by you. Before long, all that I am will be contained within you. Then, one day, when I no longer wish to wear you, there will be nothing else left.
"I am afraid, are you afraid? I want to understand what it is to let go." (Fall For Me)
At the end of the day, Vessel is just some guy - he fears, and aches, and bleeds the same as us. We're equals. But as Vessel, he can't allow himself to crack, to break the illusion. As Vessel (and to connect to the lore, as the vessel of a god), he poses as someone we can look up to, someone who's there to carry our pain for us, almost like a symbiotic relationship of sorts - we feed on each other's emotions and energies.
From the Room Bellow:
"To love oneself is not the easy task we are sometimes told it is. (...) My own path towards greater self acceptance is paved with the art that I create. It is a path I continue to stumble down at the expense of everything else."
Without getting too much into it, it seems Vessel/Sleep Token were created as a sort of coping mechanism to deal with whatever it is that He went through. And he seems to have achieved that - he escaped his former self and became "Vessel", someone who's allowed to cry and rage and let his feeling loose. Someone who receives praise and comfort for it, someone who is finally understood.
Except that somehow, that same safety the Mask offered him backfired. Because how can you tell what's you and what's not? It appears that the lines between Vessel vs. Him have blurred beyond recognition. Because "Nothing lasts forever", so once ST ends, and Vessel is no longer a necessity, who does he become? Can he go back to his old self? Is there even a self to go back to?
Do you ever believe that we can turn into different people?
It's getting harder to be myself.
Do you wish that you loved me?
Could we ever release? Is it better to just not feel?
I think it's worth mentioning DYWTYLM. Usually when I listen to it, I just interpret as being about self-love/esteem, suicidal thoughts, insecurities, yada yada yada, BUT! I think it kinda fits this right?? Like a conversation between Vessel and Him, the guy behind the mask.
And really, if you think about it, I think this dialogue is the basis of what TMBTE is. It's Vessel facing all these different facets of himself, the past versions, the ugly sides, coming to terms with them and learning to move on. And in the end, we see he finally does realize, albeit somewhat reluctantly, that there is more to it, than he can "be someone new", even if it means he needs to shed and let go of past versions of himself.
(of course, this is putting aside the whole trilogy and the story we've been told about Sleep/Vessel/Whatever romantic entanglement he was involved in. i'm merely giving this some other meaning and choosing to look through a very specific lens. call it a parallel universe if you want)
It's him accepting that although there may not be a version of himself to come back to, his Eden so to speak, there is finally something more waiting for him. But I'll get more into it later.
Also worth mentioning, this part of conversation-
Mask : Do you think they want you to cry? Do you think they like it?
Vessel : Not as such, I think they just want to know that I am feeling something, feeling what they are feeling, perhaps.
Mask : Do you think that this amount of crying is healthy for you?
Vessel: I don't know. But at least I feel something, if I don't feel anything than why would I even do this?
-seems to be directly co-related to those lines on DYWTYLM. He wonders if maybe would be better not to feel at all, as if really asking himself, "should I continue to live as Vessel?", because that is his/The Mask's function.
(I almost forgot to mention the "Smile back at me" / "I can only ever see them smiling. That's good, I want them to smile." co-relations, but you see where I'm going right?")
Mask: It seems you have forgotten who you are. Before you had me you were nothing. All of this artifice, all this pathetic conjecture about your identity, it is nothing but a manifestation of how short-sighted and solipsistic you have become. I lifted you from misery and obscurity. You would be better to become me. You are nothing without me. You always were nothing without me.
"I am nothing without this music. I am nothing without this mask." (Room Bellow)
Sleep is a dickhead. And there it is - another confirmation of what we all assumed, of what he has also told us many times before in different words. Vessel, or better yet, Him, struggles with imposter syndrome, and a part of him seems to believe his worth is exclusively tied to his ability to create music and perform. Because who matters is Vessel, not Him. The praise and adoration, the glory, belongs to solely Vessel (in-lore, to Sleep).
He does not matter. He is insignificant. He is nothing.
So it makes sense to see how much he wishes to be someone else. How dependent he on his Mask (on Sleep). He can't shed that new identity away, because somehow, it became is ONLY identity. And yet, he knows that one day that must happen. And from a creative/artist standpoint, when you expose yourself the way he does into your art, almost bleeding into it, if that outlet is taken away, you really are left with nothing.
(yall, read the poem "about the PEN conference" by Bukowski).
"The truth is, I am ugly, I am inadequate, I am lost. I am no God." (Fall For Me)
And can I just say, how incredibly heartbreaking it is to hear him talk about himself like that? I have so, so much love and respect for Ves, it's almost ridiculous to think he is only worth the weight of his mask. I would give him a million hugs if I could. Whether or not he still believes that, I hope he one day can look at himself the way we do, and be proud and happy of the amazing human that he is.
I also think that, and this is just me rambling, their sudden explosion to fame must've taken some sort of toll of sorts. It must be SUCH an amazing feeling to see this many people connect and dedicate themselves to something you created, to be able to read between the lines of you thoughts, but it must just equally as scary. Suddenly there's SO many eyes on you, demanding and picking apart every gesture. Viciously clawing at the mask for a glimpse of the fragile soul within. It must not be easy to cope - and this goes to everyone in Sleep Token. They have to deal with so much unfairness, it's disgusting.
Vessel: You. Are. Wrong. In the end, my fractured sense of self was only another piece of fuel for the fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us. They too are pained. They too not know who they truly are. They are each stood alone on a stage of their own. And yet, they are here. United by that sense of never truly belonging. They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now. To reflect their joy and to serve as a conduit for their anguish. To swallow their fear. To Worship.
"So for now let me serve as a living drama of your pain. If we are to be submerged then let us be submerged together." (Fall For Me)
And this is the part that really breaks me. He knows how much we need this, how much we rely on his music, on his words. He fights against his own claims that he has no value - he serves a purpose and that purpose is to serve the audience. Us. To take our struggles, our desires, and make it his own. To basically serve as a sacrifice for our well-being. To suffer, to feel together. To serve as a living drama of OUR pain.
"I will smile through the agony for you".
Because in the end, we're all equally broken. Because that's what the Mask is for, the anonymity, the mystery, the band - for us to "project ourselves" onto him, onto them. They are vessels, servants, worshippers of a god who shelters them; much like how we interact with their music, much like how Vessel thinks his purpose is for.
(and I could expand on this weird worshipper vs worshipee cycle, but i'm tired and i can't ramble on for too long. someone more clever than me feel free to expand)
(a post edit: peep that "fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us" vs "those eyes like fire, I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre" parallel. Vessel sacrificing himself to us, for us. Performing and being Vessel as something he cannot but feel compelled to do.)
From the Room Bellow:
"We are here to silently collect. To project ourselves onto one-another. We are here to remember. We are here to forget."
WHICH BRINGS US TO EUCLID.
No, by now
The night belongs to you
This bough has broken through
I must be someone new
If we are to take the messages as a complement to the album, then this definitely marks the "shift" in Vessel's perspective. He CAN be more, and he NEEDS to be more. To be new.
The night does not belong to god - it belongs to US. To Him. Not just Vessel, but Him. Obviously this is all speculation, but it really feels like he's ready to let go of so many things, and move on. To renew himself, to stand up and fight. To finally "bite back". He doesn't seem to be completely changed, as there are things he still seems to hold on to (just listen to Euclid). But it´s different now. The "vicious cycle is over."
"They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now."
Vessel seems to emphasize the "collectiveness" of what Sleep Token is and represents quite often. So in a way, it´s him saying "We´ve all suffered together, we've all experienced so many things together, so let us reach for something better as one. Let us all become new. You are not alone in this, and neither am I, so hold on to us and be happy."
WHICH IS!!!!! JUST!!!!!
I think this shift represents something important. My guess, like many others have said, is that Something Big is going to happen in/after Wembley. I don't know what, I don't know if it's truly the end of the road for ST, as many speculate, but something is definitely going to happen. Whatever it is, I hope this is a positive change for them, and specially Vessel, and I am just so so grateful to be part of this amazing community of ours.
(if you read the whole thing, I love you and thank you and I'm sorry. My brain was itching real bad and this had to be let out. Don't take this a proper analysis or whatever, this is me squeezing excess water off the old rag that is my mind)
#unhinged moment#damn you vessel and your cryptic messages#if it reads weird i apologize#there's a lot more i wanted to say but i forgot. the 1st draft had much better takes but alas#sleep token#sleep token vessel#sleep token worship#long post#insomnia thoughts#sleep token lore#darya is unhinged
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on authenticity
My mood in the recent months keeps going from bad to worse. Today I randomly fell into the rabbit hole of checking out other patreon artists, which always grounds me in reality and cheers me up, perhaps in a weird way. Essay incoming \o/
Authenticity is a blob of a word that sounds almost pretentious nowadays. It gets sneered at. You either sell your soul, or you don't earn with your art.
What's authentic, being true to yourself, will vary from person to person. It's like a sliding scale of suffering that you will tolerate in exchange for a coin, while convincing yourself that you have fun.
The harsh truth of modern world is that if your art pays for your living, you've already reached success, no matter how you may feel about the type of content you actually make for that money. Insert the meme furry nsfw art here. Or not furry. Or even sfw, but comms, lots of comms every month. Or merch. Anything that sells. Products first, art second.
Marrying passion and profession is virtually impossible, yet I'm doing it, only thanks to your support. I'm acutely aware that, even as I choose to be "real" and talk about an artist's money-making in a raw way, it's still patreon talk, and yes, I'll plug the link as well, so technically this entire post is an ad *fingerguns*
I just feel so privileged being able to create whatever the fuck I want, literally, I take no comms/requests/guidance on what and how should I draw/write, I post experimental, sometimes provocative stuff, and still make enough to survive. This sole fact should get me through the day, whatever other struggles I may be facing currently (I am. I don't wanna talk about it rn, instead I distract myself with this text), I should always remember the unique place in life I managed to carve for myself.
There are madmen (gender-neutral) who toss $10-20 at me every month. The majority "only" pledges $1, the notorious tier that gets treated as a tip jar with no rewards by many other creators. All of my rewards are the same at $1 and $20 (save for the one-time digital artbook download at $10, just to be perfectly clear), it's a conscious choice and a risk I continue taking because it's how I am. I used to split rewards between tiers in the past, before xiv, and it was a lot of busy work while it made me treat my art less as art and more as product. This pic goes into the cheap box, this pic goes into the expensive box. Every month. It's. Definitely not for every artist.
Logistic hell of splitting and delivering rewards, different posts with less comments per post, also my discord roles/channels would have to be split, nowadays it's just patron, whether you give me $1 or $20, there's no visual disparity, you're hanging out in the same cool kids' club, and collectively making happy noises on Fragments Fridays.
Could I be making more money if I got rid of the $1 tier? Yeah. But, mercifully, after 2 years I don't need to. I legit make enough currently, my only worry is to keep what I have. Patrons don't stay forever, 2-5 people would leave every month, about the same number would join (hence my patreon ads, I need to keep people reminded of it, even if it makes me feel guilty every damn time). I did Research (tm) in the past to find out that my "bleeding" numbers are below average, i.e. it's good, people generally tend to stick around.
I put a lot of emphasis on the $1 because I'm kinda proud of what I managed to accomplish while staying self-detrimentally humble. Literally doing an impossible thing in a world that keeps burning down. So yeah if you've been feeling bad for only giving me $1, what matters is that there's enough $1s to make a difference. Together you're creating a phenomenon, and you should be proud.
There are many stupid little principles, hills that I'll die on, that make up my authenticity. I chose to speak of it here and now in order to sorta sell myself, so it feels hypocritical x'D But if I don't shine a spotlight on this, who will. I'm old and jaded and increasingly terrified of how insincere the internet's becoming. Everything's fake, sugarcoated, polished for sale. My art's always been a scream of defiance against all that, now that I'm more or less established, I wanna scream louder. Thanks for hearing my screams. You can scream with me too if you want.
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Hi! I really love your art! The lines are so bold but the colours so natural that it feels distinct but grounded?? I'm obsessed with the shapes in your work
I was wondering if you had any advice for drawing bodies? Whenever I try it either my proportions are off or an arm ends up looking like a calf or something.
First of all, thank you <3 That's so nice and I think "lines bold, colours natural" is some truly aspirational words to say about my art, I'll strive to be what you say I am <3
I do not, unfortunately, have any great tips on drawing bodies - it's a very wide topic and fundamentally just really bloody hard. I fail horribly 9 times out of 10. How to approach it I think varies a lot with like...HOW you are struggling, and who you are as a person.
For proportions and anatomy there are definitely books to look at, and some rules of thumb that can help you - anything from "the shoulders are about 2.5-3 heads wide" through "feet are the same length as the forearm", "elbows are in line with the navel and the navel is two sternums down" etc etc. For me, realising just how big the ribcage actually is and learning how to use that as a unit of measure was a big event (the torso is about two ribcages long). Look at references, Draw over low opacity references and try to look for patterns that help YOU. Like...
"Hm, do the shoulders line up with something useful?"
Having a good ref model to double check things helps too. The pen is pointing to about the bottom of the ribcage.
But there's also stuff like maybe you're getting too hung up on construction and then it might help more to try to draw from references by ONLY blocking in a silhouette first. This helps me sometimes still:
Or you could be like me, struggle with all of the above and then some - like how to make poses look natural and/or dynamic?
Weight distribution is a whole other topic.. gah, it never ends, but it's fun to learn.
Lastly, this took me way too long to realise and I think it should be said: Do not fret too much about STUDYING.
The unfair thing is that the better you are at something, the better you will be at actually learning from doing studies and exercises or reading books. We accept this with many other disciplines and sports but rarely art. Mileage is king, and mileage is best gained from having fun and enjoying what you do. If you find studies suffering and frustrating you're probably better off just drawing what you enjoy and fuck it if it isn't "pushing your boundaries" or whatever.
Eventually you'll get to the point where studies start to give more than they take, and then you're home free.
I'm not gonna recommend a billion resources you likely won't enjoy but here are some things I genuinely found helpful lately:
* a physical anatomy model, they're pricy and not necessary but being able to just look at it every now and then, turn it over etc helps.
* The "Morpho" series of books, they do not teach anatomy, but they are very useful quick reference books and much more easily digested than most anatomy material. Just try to find a real anatomy book to read once your appetite is up as well.
The zig-zag/Lightning bolt method for arms and legs, fuckin' thing revolutionised how I sketch:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCkmB030GpQ
Gottfried Bammes "The Complete guide to Anatomy for Artists and Illustrators"
This thing is insane, it's from the 50's and like 600 pages long. You could absolutely kill someone with it, but a lot of the pages are more philosophical or art history you can skip and despite its age and fear factor this dude writes in a witty, clever and just wonderful way that I've seen nowhere else. Fantastic photos. By far, FAR the best anatomy book I've ever seen. It's not a book I'd recommend for someone starting out, I would not have been able to digest it like four years ago, but once you get to a certain point it's amazing.
That's a lot, uhhh, feel free to ask me for more specific tips this was a bit of a rant. Hope some of it was useful!
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Sean Diaz x Reader Oneshot:
Reader has a crush on a Mexican Character!
fem!reader
You, Sean, and Lyla are best friends
Everyone knows you and Sean have a crush on each other but you and Sean
(very cliche, I know. It's still cute tho)
You're scrolling through Twitter on your phone while Sean and Lyla are joking around at the lunch table. Lyla looks at you from across the table and reaches over to poke your nose. "Hm... what's got our Y/N so occupied?" Lyla says, peaking at your phone.
"Hey!" You hold your phone against your chest defensively; however, Lyla has already seen your screen.
"Ooooo is that fanart of the character you keep texting me about~" Lyla teases you.
You playfully swat her away, blushing slightly. "Girl! Mind your business!"
Sean is now intrigued. "Why are you teasing her over a character? he asks.
Lyla grins devilishly. "Because, Sean, Y/N has a giant crush on him~"
You bury your head into your hands. "Oh my God," you groan, "Let me be in love with fictional men in peace."
Sean is now extremely curious. "Who's this character that you have a crush on?" he asks. '. . . and what could possibly be so great about him?' he thinks to himself, before mentally slapping himself in the face. 'Dude, this guy isn't even real. God, I'm stupid.'
Your face darkens quickly, a bright red blush on your face. "Oh! Uh. . . just someone from a game I've been playing. . ."
He doesn't let up. "Show me."
You blush. "What?"
"Show me. I'm curious about what your type is."
Your entire body is hot now. "Nope! I'm not showing you."
"Why?" he asks, mocking offense. "You trust Lyla but not me? Wowww I see what game you're playing."
"Oh nuh uh, Diaz. Don't you play the guilt-tripping game with me!"
Sean scoffs. "Why don't you wanna show me then?"
You blush. "Well. . . um. . . uh. . ." you stutter. 'How do I get out of this? Oh no.'
Lyla watches this unfold in front of her.
Sean pokes your side. "What are you so afraid of showing me?" he teases. He usually isn't so persistent on things like this, but, because it's you and who you like, he's extremely curious.
You finally give in -- you're afraid that if you continue hiding it and he figures out, he'll find you out. "Okay fine!" You pull up the character's page on Google. "Here, happy now?" You hand your phone to him.
Sean looks at the character page. He reads information about him and then notices one small thing-- the character is Mexican-American. He's Mexican-American. Does that mean. . . he's your type? 'No, that's just a stretch' he thinks, but that doesn't stop him from gaining a boost of confidence.
With this slight boost of confidence, he decides it would be very fun to tease you. "Ohhh okay. . . your type is Mexican boys?"
Lyla chokes back a laugh and you glare at her. You feel blood rush all over your face and to the tips of your ears.
"Oh my God, Sean. . ." you groan, burying your head in your hands.
Sean chuckles seeing your flustered state. His newfound confidence gives him the boldness to do this:
"Awww Y/N, I didn't mean to humiliate you~" he coos. He gets close to your ear and whispers, "Pero, puedo ser tu chico mexicano si me quieres. . ."
You squeak and lay your head down on the table, hiding from the entire world. While you're not a fluent Spanish speaker, 3 years in Spanish class helped you understand what he just offered.
Sean laughs at your reaction. 'She's so cute' he thinks.
You, however, find a sense of determination. You will NOT suffer a humiliation like this. You rise and look Sean straight in the eyes.
"Okay, I'll take you on your offer."
Sean looks at you inquisitively. "What?"
You smirk. "You just offered to be my personal Mexican boy? Yeah, I'll take you on that offer."
Lyla looks between the two of you, jaw on the ground.
It is now Sean's turn to blush. He was NOT expecting that response-- hell, he did not expect you to even understand what he just said. However, Sean does not want to lose this battle.
"Well, to accept the offer, you have to make me yours."
You sputter. "W-wha- how- What the fuck are you implying, you perv!"
Sean chuckles. "Well, if you want me to be yours, you have to have me. Drop by my house after school to accept my offer." Sean fucking, WINKS at you. "I'll be waiting for you, mi chica hermosa~"
You are at a complete loss for words. All you can do is stare at Sean because how the hell are you supposed to respond to that?
Lyla is damn near pissing herself laughing, but the two of you could care less about the entertainment the little gremlin is gaining from this debacle.
"Okay, bet. I'll meet you after school." You look at him, face red and eyes determined.
Sean is taken aback by your response but recovers. "I'll be waiting for you then~"
The bell rings. "See you after school, Hermosa."
"Yeah, and we'll see who chickens out first, asshole."
Sean chuckles to himself as you two part ways. Lyla walks with you to your next class to mercilessly tease you about the shameless flirting that just occurred.
You are mentally screaming at yourself, wondering what the hell to make out of the interaction.
I guess you'll find out after school.
Read Pt. 2
#sean diaz#sean diaz fluff#sean diaz x reader#life is strange 2#lis2#lis2 sean#life is strange x reader
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Unconventional Pain Reliever
Summary: you got a bad headache after going back from a mission and Loki offered an unconventional way to cure the pain.
Word count: 1057
Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut, fingering (f receiving)
You woke up with a throbbing headache and feeling nauseous. It always happens after exhausting your powers, and you have just gone back from a death-defying mission.
You popped in a few painkillers and hopefully go back to sleep but the pain was so intense you just end up tossing and turning, writhing in pain for god knows how long in your dark and cold room.
You were extremely exhausted at this point when you heard your door unlocking and you squinted and saw a silhouette of a tall man entering your room.
His soft voice then spoke, "Stark wanted me to check in on you to see if you're still alive,"
"Barely...bad headache, meds don't seem to be working" You mumbled
He closed and locked the door as he drew closer to you.
"That's no good. I can help you out if you want," he suggested, his voice seeming seductive.
"Fine, whatever it takes to take this horrible pain away.." you mustered
Slowly, he crawled from under your thick duvet, which surprised you. His hand started caressing your inner thighs. Norns, you were only wearing a thin silk nightgown underneath and no panties that day. You felt his warm breath on your mound which made you flinch and peeked at him under the cover.
"what the hell are you doing?" your eyes wide at him.
"Well, the best way to cure a headache is through an orgasm. And that's what I'm doing for you, my dear," he grinned, face inches away from your womanhood.
You wanted to retort in protest but before you could answer, he licked your pussy and started sucking on your clit. Your body gave in, leaving you wordless and succumbing to the pleasure he was giving you. You moaned as he started reaching out to caress your breast too.
He left your breast and licked his fingers. It made its way to your slick folds, and slowly inserted his digits inside. Your body slowly relaxed, opening your legs wide to accommodate him.
He continued to suck and circle your clit with his tongue as he rams 2 digits inside you in and out. You felt your core heating up and you started to grind your hips toward his face.
Norns it was so good that the pleasure was now overcoming the pain you were suffering from.
"oh, Loki I'm close... I'm coming.." barely a whisper.
"good girl, come for me darling.. come from my lips and fingers" he responded
You felt the sensation building up in your core and shortly releasing it in a warm flood, squirting it on Loki's face and fingers. You shuddered before your body went limp, the pain was now gone. You felt your body getting lighter and you felt better in an instant.
You deeply sighed, "thank you, Loki. It was a bit unconventional but it worked. I'd do anything to repay you," you declared.
"anything? I guess with you feeling better now, I can collect my payment" he responded, pulling the covers out and licking his fingers from your squirt
You raised a brow, "what are you thinking?" You were suspicious of his grinning face.
He looks down at your almost naked sweaty body on top of him, in your bed and you see his bulge about to burst out from its confines.
"turn around and bend over for me, love. Hand behind your back, and lift your pretty butt up towards me. I'll make sure that your headache won't be coming back anytime soon."
You turned around, face smushed in the pillow with your hands behind your back. You were embarrassed when you arched your back, your gaping pussy and butthole straight for him to see.
He pulled down his trousers, his cock raging to be inside you. He wet the tip with his saliva before brushing it teasingly onto your still-wet folds. You winced, you wanted him inside you so bad now.
"tell me what you want, darling." In a commanding voice.
"fuck me, please. Ram your filthy cock inside my drenched pussy, make sure that this headache doesn't come back any time soon" your muffled voice responded.
"good, good" he slapped your ass before driving his thick cock inside you. You wiggled a bit to accommodate his huge member but it only stimulated him to drive himself deeper inside you.
His balls slap your clit as he pistons inside you. You could barely lift your head as your eyes rolled out in pleasure. He held you by the wrists with one hand and used his other to slap your reddening ass.
You felt his member throbbing, about to burst. He lets go of your wrists and proceeds to grab your waist to make sure you take everything of him inside you.
"I'm about to come again, Loki" you grit your teeth, whimpering.
"go on love, come for me" as soon as he said that, you bucked your hips towards him, his cock hitting your cervix drove you into a climax as spurts of fluid coated his cock, and overflowing outside your pussy, dripping and drenching your bed.
"amazing, darling. I am about to burst too. Let me fill you with my seed," he groaned.
He climaxed inside you, and you felt his warmness filling you from the inside. He pulled out and slumped beside you. Both of you are now covered in sweat and sex.
"you did great, darling," he said, planting a lazy kiss on your forehead.
"mmhmm .." you responded as a mist of seidr cleaned you both.
He stood up shortly, now back into his regular clothes.
"at least, you know who to call now in case you need a headache reliever" he smirked.
"thanks again," you faintly smiled from your bed.
"and oh, Stark wanted me to give it to you. He knows you get a headache when you come back from your mission but I know better" he hands you a pack of stronger painkillers.
"Loki!" You screamed at him, processing what just happened.
"See you around, darling," he winks as he hurriedly exits your room.
"jerk" you mumbled under your breath as you held the medicine Stark wanted to give you. I guess you could choose a natural option of ridding your headache now that Loki's around.
You shuffled under the cover and finally got some well-needed sleep.
#loki smut#loki fanfic#loki x y/n#loki laufeyson#loki x reader#loki fic recs#loki fluff#loki fanfiction#loki fic#loki laufeyson imagine#loki laufeyson fanfic#loki x female reader smut#loki x female reader#loki x you#loki x reader fic
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do you think you could write something similar where reader was abused with rhea but this time with damian priest? it doesn’t have to be a full story just a one shot! but i would really love to see how damian would react about the person he loves being abused, just fluffy and smutty where he teaches her to love again maybe? thank you so much 😊
Heal My Wounds Oneshot. What If Rhea Turns Out To Be The Bad Guy?
Bad Rhea Ripley x Reader
Damian Priest x Reader
"Why didn't you do what I told you to do you useless piece of shit?!" Rhea yells at you and you huddle in the corner of your bedroom between the bed and the wall. Tears are streaming down your face as you realize what a terrible mistake you made.
"What are you crying about now huh?! It's your own fault, you could have just done it!" your girlfriend keeps shouting at you. "Stop crying now or I'll give you a reason to!" she slaps you hard on the cheek and storms out of the room.
You take a moment to gather yourself before heading to the bathroom to wash your face. After that you walk into the kitchen to find Rhea prepping some dinner. She looks at you and you give in and say what she wants to hear. "I'm sorry Mami, you were right, it was totally my fault and I'll never do it again"
A victorious grin claims your girlfriend's lips and she opens her arms for a hug. You return the embrace although you're feeling very uncomfortable. "See, it wasn't that hard darling" she mutters and kisses your forehead. She let's go of you and you eat dinner in silence before going to bed.
You wake up in the middle of the night to someone kissing you and playing with your breasts. "What the- what are you doing Rhea" you mumble half asleep. But suddenly you're wide awake from the stinging pain on your thigh. Rhea hit you hard once again. "Don't call me that!" she dares you. "And you know exactly what I'm doing, I want you and you're gonna obey, no matter the circumstances!"
"Sorry Mami. Yes Mami." you whisper, feeling as your eyes tear up again. It wasn't the first time that she would rape you or use your body against your will while you were sleeping. You didn't understand why she did it, all you knew was it turned her on, seeing you suffer and whine from the pain she did to you.
You lay in silence, letting her do everything she wants as you knew from past experiences that it would only make it worse when you tried to get her to stop. As she moves further down to play with your clit and shove two fingers inside of you, you surpress a scream.
"That's right, don't let anyone know what's going on here" Rhea grins. After a few minutes she stops and you think she's done, but quickly realize she just paused to get a toy. To be exact, the biggest strap on she could find. "No no no no Rhea please!" you beg as the moonlight from outside shines on her and you see what she got.
"You were a bad girl and bad girls get punished. Don't tell me you forgot about that?" she dares you again. You press your eyes shut and shake your head "no Mami, I didn't forget" "good, now turn around"
As you realize what she's about to do you beg her to stop "Mami please, anything but that!" you say on your knees. "I said. Turn. Around." Rhea repeats through anger gritted teeth. You start to sob and she forcefully grabs you to turn you around.
You feel her lean forward and take something out of the drawer next to the bed. You knew what she kept in there. By now you gave up and just hoped it wouldn't be too painful and over soon. Rhea ties your hands behind your back and pushes your upper body down against the bed so you ass was sticking up.
She aligns the tip of her cock at your entrance and smacks your butt before slamming into you. You scream on top of your lungs at the pain it causes you. Rhea moans something inaudible about you having to shut up or so. She thrusts in and out of you until she cums, but you don't notice anything anymore as you've fallen unconscious.
You wake up the next day at around 11am. Rhea already headed off to work so you were alone. Gladly. You took a quick shower to try and get that disgusting feeling off your skin but it didn't work. Afterwards you looked for your phone and found it in Rhea's nightstand. She probably tried to hide it from you there.
There was only one contact you could call without risking others to find out. You dial Damian's number, and although he was at work he immediately picked up.
"Hey y/n, what's up?" he answers the phone.
"Damian I- I need your help please" you start sobbing as you think about last night. She raped you before but never like she did last night. That was too much.
"Expect me in 20" Damian says and hangs up. He knew how cruel his coworker could be, but didn't expect her to be like this with you as she always seemed so blessed to have you in her life.
He quickly gathers all his things and let's his boss know he's gone for today because of an emergency. He rushes out to the parking lot and drives off to your and Rhea's house.
Just like he promised he was standing in front of your door exactly 23 minutes later. You open the door and fall into his arms crying. "I'm so scared Damian, please help me!" you sob and he rubs your back until your a little calmer. "It's alright, I got you" he whispers "but we should get your stuff so we can get out of here before Rhea comes back. She's got a short day today."
You and go back into the bedroom to get your suitcase with the few belongings you packed while waiting for him. Damian takes the suitcase out of your hands to carry it to the car and takes one of your hands with his free one.
You arrive at his flat and get out. He leads you to his guest bedroom and you begin to unpack your suitcase. Ten minutes later you join him in the kitchen. You embrace him and lean your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"Wanna talk about what happened?" he whispers and returns the hug. "She raped me" you mutter against his shirt, he's barely able to understand you. "that doesn't sound like it happened the first time" he mumbles and strokes your back. "it didn't. But it was the first time she did it so brutal, I even fell unconscious because of the pain" you start sobbing slightly again. "shh, it's okay I got you now.. But you don't want to call the police am I right? You still love her somehow" you nod and hum in agreement.
Damian sighs "okay anyway, you're gonna stay at my house for the next few weeks" you nod again and hug him a little tighter before going to your guest bedroom to sleep.
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The following day you wake up to Rhea blowing up your phone. 37 missed calls, 99+ messages.. you knew she was furious and you were too scared to deal with her so you let Damian handle it. He tried to calm her a little, telling her she's gone too far and that you needed a break. But that you still loved her and are willing to talk it out.
She agreed to leave you alone for the following days.
"can I speak to y/n alone before we hang up?"
Since she's on speaker you heard what she said and nod, walking out of the living room with your phone to get some privacy.
"okay what is it?" you ask in a cool tone.
"Listen y/n, baby, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry I didn't mean it! I didn't mean to hurt you like this! I love you and I don't wanna lose you but I know I fucked up and what I did was wrong and cannot be excused in any way! I was just so furious in that moment i felt like I was in another reality. Please forgive me, I promise you I'll change!"
It's silent for a few minutes until you prossesed her words and found the right ones to respond.
" I love you too but I need time and I don't know yet if I can forgive you. Sorry Demi.." you mumble the last part and hang up.
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A few weeks later you still haven't figured things out with Rhea and if you were honest, you didn't even want to anymore. She's hurt you too many times in the past few months, plus, you began to fall for her friend and coworker Damian. He was always so caring and sweet and understanding towards you it made your heart soften.
You also started to secretly hint it to him since you didn't dare to make the first move. For example, last night when you were watching a movie you let your head rest on his shoulder and slowly cuddled closer to him.
You could tell he liked it too. He knew what you've been through and always wanted to make it up to you. Damian eventually made the first move and one day he asked you to speak with him in the evening when he got back from work.
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"Okay uhm.. Listen I know I might just have gotten the wrong clues but I think you like me more than a friend am I right?" he carefully asks, not wanting to pressure you into something. You slowly nod, keeping your head down in order to hide your blush. Damian smiles. "I just want you to know that i feel the same towards you"
You can't hide the grin on your face anymore and jump up to hug him around his neck. He chuckles as he didn't expect that reaction. He wraps his strong arms around your waist and you look up at him, pulling him down for a kiss.
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After a few weeks you made it official. Of course Rhea didnt like that, but she accepted it, knowing it was her fault and she might never be able to make it up to you again. Your new boyfriend even helped you overcome your fear of getting intimate.
"Damian stop, I- I don't know if I can do this" you whisper and look up at him with tears in your eyes. "It's okay darling, I promise I won't hurt you" he smiles reassuringly and cups your cheek. "But of course, if you don't want to, we don't need to do it". You nod. After a few seconds you add "go on but give me a little more time"
He nods and you continue kissing and making out, your hands roaming each other's upper body until you accidentally brush over his cock. "Sorry" you mutter in between kisses. "Don't apologize, you can touch me wherever you want" he smirks against your lips.
You hesitate a little but begin to stroke him. You're nervous at first, but seeing him enjoying your touch and the quiet but delicate moans he let out made you more confident. "Fuck yes" Damian breathes out and you decide to go even further and give him a blowjob.
"Oh my god" his head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut, as he feels the tip of your tongue swirling around the top of his dick. You take his full length into your mouth and watch him squirm in pleasure, trying not to make too much noise because his neighbors were literal Karens.
"Ahh I think I'm about to cum" Damian presses out. You stop and he looks at you confused and a little disappointed because he was so close. "Sorry babe, but this just turned me on so much I want to feel you inside of me" you say and wipe away some saliva drooling from the corner of your mouth.
"I won't complain" he grins and flips you over. He keeps eye contact as he carefully pushes inside of you. He gives you some time to adjust before slowly starting to move. As he's going faster and faster you feel the knot building inside of your stomach.
With one last push you both cum "Ah fuck yes daddy" you shout and dig your nails in his back. He pants heavily as he lays down next to you. "What did you just call me?" he breathes out. "What do you mean?" you smile.
"Never mind, I probably just misunderstood you" he brushes it off. "No, tell me. It's about the daddy part isn't it" your turn to face him and smirk. He blushes slightly but tries to keep his cool. "Ha, you liked it, admit it" you say cheeringly. "Dickhead" he chuckles and kisses your forehead.
You take his hand and look him in the eye. "Thank you Damian. For everything" you both smile and kiss again before drifting off to sleep.
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Heal My Wounds Oneshot, what if Rhea is the bad guy and Damian your Savior? Whoever requested it, I hope you like it :)
#demi bennett#rhea ripley#wrestling#rhea ripley x reader#wwe x reader#gxg scenarios#damian priest#damian priest smut#damian priest x reader#damian x reader#wwe smut#the judgement day wwe#wwe#the judgment day#rhea ripley fluff#rhea ripley smut#mami rhea#daddy k!nk#mommy k1nk#mommy#abuse recovery#abuse survivor#physical abuse
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Summary: Just a short little thing I wanted to write since my back is hurting again (which naturally means Roach's back is hurting again). This is technically a mini-sequel to Replacement, which I wrote a long while ago, but you don't have to read that to understand this! Enjoy!
"This is it," Roach groaned, feeling pain shoot up his spine as he shifted, "I'm done for. I love you both, split my items amicably. Make sure the worlds best son mug goes to Eddie, just to see Johnathan pout about it."
There was a small laugh from next to him, "You're not dying bug."
"Besides," Ghost chimed in from the other half of the room, "you wouldn't be dead for long, I'll drag your ass up from hell. No getting rid of me that easy." He didn't look up from his stack of paperwork.
"You would force me back i to a world of suffering and pain?!"
"You're being dramatic," Soap chimed. He took Roach's hand in his own, rubbing circles onto his skin with his thumb. "You've just thrown your back out again. Dr. Sanchez said you'll be fine in a day or two."
"My own boyfriend, doubting the depth of my suffering." Roach threw his head to the side dramatically, only to groan again as the movement jostled his back.
The heating pack he had on was helping a bit, but it couldn't erase all of the pain he was feeling. Not even the Tylenol could really help with that. It was just something his body would have to deal with and fix on its own. Just as it had caused the problem on its own.
On the bright side of things, Roach had the privilege of being doted on by his darling boyfriends for a few days. The two hadn't been willing to leave his side after his rather dramatic moment of his back trying to kill itself.
He'd just bent down to pick up his dropped keys, then the moment he'd started to rise back up and there had been a shooting burning pain down his spine. The pain continued on, flooding down through his legs until it felt like it was at the tips of his toes. His knees had given out then, and before he'd even had time to realize that for himself, both Soap and Ghost were at his side checking on him.
"Why do I have to have these issues?" Roach gave a whine, finally done with his dramatics. At least for the moment. "I'm not that old yet!"
Soap gave another laugh and moved into Roach's side, cuddling up to him with his head on his chest. "You know thats not why your back does this."
Roach gave a huff, "You get hit by a car one time and now you've got to deal with lifelong back problems." He shook his head, "Sick and fucking twisted."
Soap gave a small hum and Roach knew the man was likely agreeing with him. After all, Roach knew that Soap had his own issues and recurring pain with his shoulder. He remembered well enough the panic he'd felt when Soap had taken a bullet to the shoulder. Then the panic that came after that when months after healing Soap had a few days where even lifting the limb slightly would cause him pain.
Ghost didn't say anything, but Roach figured the man dealt with much of the same issues as them. He was certainly better at hiding it, but Roach always noticed when he was favoring one leg over the other or would give a wince under that mask because he'd stepped a bit wrong.
It was part of the job. Roach knew that, and he knew that they were all lucky to have only those slight problems, rather than lost limbs like Alex and Jackson, or worse like the many men he'd seen fall in battle before him.
He gave a final sigh, deciding that it would be more beneficial to just enjoy the warmth of his boyfriend next to him rather than complaining further. He needed to take the opportunity to relax anyway. And what an opportunity this was.
Bonus:
"So are you guys gonna blow my back out like you did the last time I was bedridden or what?"
#yes all the boys have some level of disability#because I say so#and also logic#just wait until i start taking my rage on workmans comp out here#gary roach sanderson#call of duty#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghostroach#soaproach#ghostroachsoap#soaproachghost
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Hey sweet hera
First and foremost you are my favorite blog from loa. You’re so sweet, smart and iconic and you’re like the only blog I want to send an ask to.
Do you have tips on how you would deal with difficult circumstances? I read everywhere on twitter etc you should have a life and that you should also enjoy your 3D, but to be honest my dream life is completely different from my current life. Things are currently going wrong on every level ( outgrow friends, break up with sp that I'm still in love with, studies that I don't like to do, family problems,…) so I often fall back on my imagination and focus on what I do want (through acceptance and feeling), but I just get triggered so hard constantly. Do you sometimes do breath work or mediations to calm yourself down?
it's just like some bloggers ( not you ofc) do like the law is super easy, but some people have suffered from depression for years (like me), are lonely etc and it just makes it harder to persist. Sorry about the trauma dump
-
I mentioned in my pinned post that I have no experience with difficult circumstances so I might not be the best person to ask about related matters. Nevertheless, since you chose me to turn to, I'll advise you to the best of my ability and I apologize in advance if I display ignorance.
About manifesting in difficult circumstances, here are some points worth remembering:
Thoughts and emotions do not manifest. You are neither and you are above them.
Let yourself be sad. Cry it out and don't force yourself to be anything else. Don't fight with how you feel.
Take it easy on yourself. Nothing can "ruin" your manifestation, it's okay to waver.
It will not be like this forever. So many people have been able to do it and you will be no exception. It's going to be okay.
Whenever you feel like the 3D is too much (and if you are able to), take some time to yourself and sit alone, meditate, you can even recite some affirmations to yourself as a self-soothing technique. Sit in silence and remember that you will get out of this. When you feel calm, go back and face the world. Do this as many times as you need to.
Go to bed every night feeling fulfilled. Bring yourself back to that feeling and fall asleep with it completely clouding your mind. That feeling will follow you into the next day. If you get into the habit of doing this (persist), you will find yourself caring less and less about the 3D.
Have faith and don't give up. Remember that you deserve the life of your dreams. Please don't give up on something you rightfully deserve.
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I see a lot of Eddie taking care of reader when their sick but what about the other way around? 👀
sick eddie <\3 cw weed ment ♡ fem!reader | 1.2k words
You sit cross-legged on the end of Eddie's bed, waiting for him to wake up with one of his many books in your lap.
He's curled in on himself and snoring. The sound should be irritating and for the most part it is, but it's also a nice reminder that he's alive. From his pallor, you'd assume he was close to death, your poor boyfriend pale as snow.
You're silent. You don't want to wake him up. He needs as much rest as he can get to fight his awful flu.
You don't worry about catching it because you'd already suffered through it, Eddie diligent and doting at your side the entire time. You intend to return the favour and so far you think you're doing a pretty great job.
This comes into question when he groans like he's in pain. You let the book fall away as you slip onto your feet, rounding the bed to stand above him. "Hey, baby," you say softly, eyebrows pinched in concern.
Eddie groans again. The sound is smothered by his pillow.
You bend at the waist and drop your hand to his bare shoulder, rubbing a line up and down the length of his upper arm soothingly. His skin is burning hot.
"Eddie," you duck down to kiss his shoulder, "what's wrong?"
He takes a little while to come around. You can pinpoint the moment where he realises he's awake and sick and in bed, like a soul slipping back into his body. He reaches around his chest to clasp your hand where it lies in the crook of his elbow but doesn't look up. Doesn't move.
"My-" He cuts himself off to cough, his voice scratchy and weak. "My head's fuckin' poundin'."
You give his shoulder another kiss. "Want me to get you some more Tylenol?"
"A joint."
You giggle at him and slide your hand between his cheek and the pillow where it's pressed. You hug him, a precious hug, kissing the clammy skin of his forehead where his bangs have fallen aside lovingly. "Maybe later, okay? You need something to eat, I think."
He sighs, sounding almost happy. "You smell nice," he mumbles.
"Thank you. You smell nice too."
"No, I don't."
He doesn't. He smells sick. But he's your boy and he's aching and the last thing you want to do is make him feel bad about anything. "Can I make you some dinner?" you ask gently, pulling back just enough to tuck a limp curl behind his ear.
He fights to open his eyes. You know from experience how sore they are and go to pull away to get him a hot towel.
His hands jump to your arms and hold them. "No, don't go," he says, squinting at you. There's a hint of desperation there and it's enough to melt your heart.
"Eddie," you murmur, "just getting you a towel for your eyes, okay? I know they're hurting."
His eyes are so brown and soft. You wipe under his eyelashes sympathetically.
"I'll be right back," you promise.
He closes his eyes and lets you go slowly. "Okay," he says, swallowing against his sore throat.
You get him a warm wet towel, some Tylenol and a fresh glass of water.
He's managed to sit himself up by the time you return, hands pressed to the sheets and head dropped into his chest. You climb over his leg carefully and sit more close than you have any reason to, telling yourself it's for his sake when really it's for your own. It hurts you to see him so miserable. Being near helps.
One leg thrown over his thigh, Eddie instinctively pulls you close. You almost tip his water down your front.
"Here," you say, pressing the glass into his shaking hand.
You pour out two Tylenol and hand them over, too.
As soon as he's taken them his head drops back to his chest. "Fuck," he complains, "I feel bad."
"I'm sorry," you say quietly. It's your fault he's sick, and if it wasn't you'd still be sorry.
You fold the small towel in your hand into a neat square and bring it to his face, rubbing under his closed eyes gently.
"Not your fault," he says, palm squeezing your thigh weakly.
You smile. "You caught it from me. Open your eyes?"
He opens his eyes.
"Thanks, handsome." You wipe all the mess from his lashes on either side. "Close them again?"
You unfold the towel and hold it over both of his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asks hoarsely.
"Is it helping?" you ask instead of answering.
He hums. You take it for yes.
His hand smooths a sluggish line down the length of your leg. You appreciate it more than you can convey; he's sick as a dog and still trying to love on you.
When the towel is more wet than warm you pull it away from him and bunch it into a ball.
His eyes blink open, much clearer than before.
"Hey," you say fondly.
He clears his throat. "Hey, beautiful."
You push your damp hand into his and he reciprocates, squeezing your fingers between his own until they ache. "Ah," you gasp, a startled laugh, "stop, you sicko."
He does as you say, pulling your joined hands to his abdomen. You don't speak for a while, looking at one another no differently than you usually do.
Eventually he smiles. "You look really pretty," he says.
You beam at him. "That's the fever talking."
"Not. You always look pretty." And I always tell you, he implies, raising his eyebrows at you.
"If you weren't so sick I'd be in your lap by now," you say.
"I know."
You lean forward and he lets you kiss his cheek. You try to catch his mouth and he turns his face away from you.
"You'll get sick."
"I can't get sick, I already had it."
"I might not even have what you had."
"Please, Teddy?"
He closes his eyes and sighs. You wait. He doesn't bother opening them again as he says, "Well?"
You take his face into both hands and kiss him very sweetly. There's a certain relief to be found in it. You know he feels it too when his breath catches.
Your hand moves over his cheek, behind his ear and into his hair. You kiss the corner of his lips, his chin, his cheek, and then push yourself under his face to kiss his neck, a tiny press of your lips as you wrap your arms around him and hug his shoulders. You're cautious not to put any of your weight on him.
Eddie's head drops on top of yours. He slouches against you, into you, exhausted.
"I love you," he says. It sounds like a thank you.
"I love you, too," you reply. You're welcome.
You rub your nose into his skin. He smells undeniably like himself, under everything.
#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things 4#stranger things#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fic
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What Once was Mine
Chapter 15 - Fraying Threads
Genre: Childhood friends, Eventual Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Love corner/love triangle, love rivals, Series.
Not all chapters will be proofread!!
Warnings: 18+, mdni, mentions of sex and alcohol consumption, additional warnings will be added to individual chapters as needed.
Previous • Main • Next
“I don't have any problem with you going to see him,” Changbin answered honestly, albeit tiredly, not even bothering to open his eyes as the morning sun streamed in through your blinds, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip.
“I don't have to go see him alone,” you offered, your face nuzzling into the dip where his shoulder and chest muscles met. Despite his clear statement, you still felt the need to give him as much space to be involved if he so chose, “You could come along and be in another room while we got into it, or… or something.” You felt stupid for how timidly you spoke, gently scratching patterns into Changbins chest as a way to semi distract yourself. You hated how nervous you felt talking about this.
“Bunny, it's okay, really.” Taking your chin between his fingers, Changbin tipped your face up to look at him, his eyes opening for the first time all morning. “I told you I trust you. If you're really worried about him, then go do what you have to do. I'll be here for you when you're done.”
Just like that, Changbins' steady gaze and gorgeous sunlit features dispelled any worry you were carrying. You couldn't do anything other than smile and kiss him silly, your fingers combing through those curls you were all too fond of. Changbin didn't protest, chuckling at your affection as his free hand rested on your ass - his favorite place for him to put it.
“When do you plan to go see him?” Changbin managed to ask between kisses, his hand on your rear drawing you in closer.
“Assuming he answers my call? As soon as possible,” you replied, noticing a familiar buzz start to hum under your skin again as wandering hands began trailing over your bare skin. “Again?”
“Yes, again. You can call him later,” Changbin said in a hungry tone, flipping you onto your back and trailing kisses down your neck. “Hell, go see him as soon as I leave for work for all I care.”
“Wait,” you cut off Changbins’ lowering kisses by propping yourself on your elbows, “you're still going to work today?”
Shit. Changbin bit at his lip, turning his gaze away from you.
“Yeah, I can't just leave the guys hanging. We're swamped.”
“Not even for a little bit?” You did nothing to hide the disappointment at the shake of Changbins' head. That's all you get? Sure, you said you'd take whatever he could give, but you were still hoping to get more than just a night with him to yourself. As hard as you tried, you still couldn't help but feel upset and disappointed.
You gave a little huff as you plopped back onto the bed. You wanted to whine, you wanted to pout, you wanted to make him stay. But you knew that wouldn't be fair. His torn despair was more than apparent on his face as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, as if the gesture could make up for him leaving you so soon.
“I'm sorry bun, I really am. I'm trying to give you as much of my time as I can, but the guys need me.”
“I know,” you said flatly, hugging him tightly, trying to press his warmth into your skin, wanting to neatly tuck this moment into your pocket to save for later. “Don't apologize, it's okay, I just wish we had more time.”
“I know, baby. Me too.”
Above being selfish, you wanted to be supportive. Changbin felt horrible, he knew he wasn't giving you enough time, that he wasn't giving you the attention you deserved, but he also couldn't just leave his friends hanging or expect them to pick up his slack. It was obvious, not only to you, but to everyone, that everytime poor Changbin spent time being there for his friends - at his job - that time with his girlfriend, who he liked so, so much, would suffer. If he spent time with you, he couldn't help but feel guilty that he was the only one getting a free pass to goof around and relax while his friends kept grinding away at the studio. No matter what, Changbin suffered a sense of guilt he just couldn't shake.
It's what made you swallow your disappointment and smother him in kisses instead. It's why Changbin tried to give you all his attention and treat you like a princess whenever the two of you were together. The both of you were doing everything you could to focus on making up for lost time, to fill every moment stuck to each other's side, instead of dwelling on the loneliness you both felt when you were apart. It wasn't sustainable, the both of you knew it, but it didn't have to be. This onslaught of demand couldn't last forever. All you had to do was wait. Things would calm down soon enough. Right?
○●☆♡☆●○
Lee Minho had known Hyunjin a grand total of two years, meeting the overdramatic man a meager two weeks before leaving his job at his little dance studio for a better offer.
Minho never wanted to admit this, but he liked Hyunjin immediately - although, if you were to ask him, he'd deny it. This is entirely the reason why the two kept in touch after Minho left the dance studio he and Hyunjin both worked at. Yeah, Hyunjin could really get on his nerves, but Minho could never deny the amount of care he had for the younger guy. They clicked too well. Despite any friction, they would always be there for each other - which is why Minho even bothered to say yes the day Hyunjin came to him, asking for help.
Every year, without fail, the dance studio Hyunjin worked for held a showcase during the spring. This showcase was pivotal in earning funding from investors and from the general public via donations and ticket sales. It also was the main way the studio drew in more students, as it was a way for people to not only see exactly how talented the staff were but also to see how far a student could progress.
This showcase was vital, which is why it was so detrimental that the studio was short on dancers this year. One had left, one got fired, and one was out on maternity leave. The studio wasn't big, not by any means, so while other studios could get by despite missing three bodies, this studio suffered.
The owner of this small company, Seungmin, was a good guy, and over the years, he and Hyunjin had fostered a pretty solid friendship. Hyunjin hated that his friend was in such a bind. That, paired with the fact that he still really loved his job and cared for his students, was all the drive Hyunjin needed to go above and beyond - it was also a much needed distraction for him.
Hyunjin did his best, giving as much of his time as he could to Seungmin, who was always there for him despite having little free time of his own. Not only was Hyunjin teaching his usual set of classes, but he was even covering the classes of the dancers who were gone, he was staying late to give extra help to anyone struggling, he was helping choreograph dances for the showcase, he was even looking for people to fill the open job vacancies.
It wasn't just him going above and beyond for Swungmin and his company, though. It was a group effort, everyone on the staff doing their part, pulling from their reserves, and giving as much extra time as they could. But it wasn't enough. They were coming up short. They were struggling to find dancers who had the necessary skill level they needed to perform the more complicated routines and who were also willing to double as dance instructors for daily classes.
It made sense why everyone in the company was having so many issues filling the three slots. The requirements were a pain to meet, and everyone was spread thin.
Eventually, Seungmin decided that for the sake of the showcase alone, he would outsource. He needed those spots filled as it was way too late to rechoreograph the whole show. The moment Seungmin announced this to the staff, Hyunjin immediately thought of Minho.
It took a bit of convincing, but that was mainly for show on Minho's part. He was a fast learner and often had evenings off - he only ever came home late from the studio because he wanted to refine his skills, never out of any sort of necessity. Hence, he saw no issue in taking that time to instead help his friend and former boss. It’s not like the choreography was hard either, not for Minho. The real trick was helping the other two temps get up to speed.
“Where did Seungmin find these guys? They suck,” Minho groaned, his hands rubbing roughly over his features to hopefully help ease the tension forming behind his eyes. It had already been a little over a week since Minho agreed to help, yet the two other people who were also brought on had yet to even memorize half of their routine.
“They were sent via a temp agency. They were the best we could come up with on such short notice,” Hyunjin replied through a mouthful of food. “It wasn’t anybody’s first choice, but nobody was picking up Seungmin’s ad.”
“Well, that explains it,” Minho said flatly, flopping back on the grass below him and taking in the nice spring breeze. It was the first week of the year that the weather had finally stabilized into consistent warmth and sun.
“Don’t sweat it, I’ll whip them into shape, even if I have to work with them all night to do it.”
“In other words, you’ll pour all your time and attention into a distraction so you don’t have to think about Y/N,” Minho replied in a deadpan, not taking his eyes off the clouds floating above.
“... No,” Hyunjin said petulantly, taking another bite of his sandwich and avoiding Minho’s pointed gaze that was now locked right onto him.
“Have you heard from her?” Hyunjin took a moment before bothering to respond.
“She called and even left me a few texts. I haven’t texted her back.”
“You can’t keep ignoring her forever, you know?”
“I'm not ignoring her! I've just been-!
“Don’t even start Hyunjin,” Minho said sternly, sitting up and leaning into Hyunjins face, staring the younger man dead in the eye. “When are you going to learn to stop avoiding all your problems, man?” A part of Minho knew better than to push Hyunjin, but with all the frustration from the past few days of working with absolute morons, Minho was a bit on edge and unfortunately not in the mood to pull punches with Hyunjin today.
“Every time things get uncomfortable or rough, you try to push your emotions down as far as you can. You never deal with things. It's why you’ve never confessed to Y/N even when you could've had her. It's why you didn't fight for her when some other guy came to take her away. Even now, you're burying yourself in work instead of facing those yucky feelings you felt when you saw her kissing someone who wasn't you. Hell, even now, you’re working so hard for Seungmin and this showcase because you're scared of how things will change if you can't find replacements for the staff you lost. Because all change scares you.”
“But-”
“No ‘buts’ Jin, you don't have to be working yourself as hard as you are for Seungmin or the studio. They'll be fine. You know who won't be fine, though? You, if you don't stop running from your feelings and from Y/N.” With a huff Minho once again flopped back onto the soft, warm grass, his frustration glare pointed towards the sky. “No, I take that back. The only one who's not going to be okay is me if I have to correct those temps one more time on the same damn move! Aaauuhg!”
Hyunjin chuckled at Minho's frustrated scream but was quite otherwise. He didn't quite know what to say, he didn't know what to feel either at Minho's outburst, all he knew was that his phone alarm was going off.
“Back to it,” Hyunjin said simply, gathering his trash and making his way back inside with Minho in tow.
○●☆♡☆●○
The two of them acted like Minho's little speech outside didn't happen while rehearsals continued. Individually, both had decided it was more imperative that they focused on practice - specifically in helping the two temps who were struggling severely. It wasn't their fault, neither of these two guys specialized in dance, but after a few hours Hyunjin could see that Minho was getting frustrated having to repeat himself over and over again only for the temp he was partnered with to repeatedly make the exact same mistake.
“Maybe we should take a break,” Hyunjin suggested to the small group. It was only Hyunjin, Minho, and the two temps in one of the smaller practice rooms of the studio. Hyunjin had volunteered to teach the group of recruits but had more than enough experience to not need any assistance, and he memorized the steps quickly. This gave him plenty of space to act effectively as another mentor as the small group drilled the routine incessantly.
“Yes. A break, I need a break,” Minho huffed as he booked it to the door, trying to keep his frustration in check. His capacity to be understanding and forgiving only stretched so far.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to get the hang of this…” Minhos’ partner whined the second Minho left the room, a look of worry twisting the boy's features.
“Hey, don’t sweat it. Minho just gets like that sometimes,” Hyunjin said reassuringly, a kind smile on his face. “How about we trade partners for a bit?” Hyunjin suggested, ignoring the obvious pout that the girl he was partnered with gave.
“Really? You don’t mind it?” The boy replied hopefully.
“Yeah, I'll let Minho know, rest up in the meantime.” The boy nodded enthusiastically at Hyunjins’ words, going off to the corner to warm down while the girl huffed and busied herself with reviewing the choreography.
“Hey,” Hyunjin called gently, first poking his head out of the practice room before fully stepping out once Minho bothered to make eye contact.
“Hey,” Minho replied flatly, turning his attention back to the water fountain. “Sorry, I just…”
“You don’t have to apologize, I get it. It can be hard teaching someone else.”
“Especially when you’re telling them exactly what to do, and they just won’t listen,” Minho groaned, once again rubbing at the points of tension on his face. “I don’t know how you do it all day, and you make it look so easy. When you explain something to someone, they listen, even if they don’t nail a move right away, they still improve.”
“Hey, it was hard when I first started too,” Hyunjin chuckled, pulling Minho to a nearby bench. “You figure out what works with time and, to be fair, you’re not really here to be a teacher. So don’t be too hard on yourself for getting frustrated, especially since these two seem to be having a particularly strong affinity for messing up their moves.”
“And stepping on my toes!” Minho quipped with a small grin.
The two boys shared a laugh before settling into a comfortable silence. It was nice for Hyunjin to hear Minho acknowledge how difficult it could be to be a teacher, it was even nicer that Minho was trying anyway - so Hyunjin didn’t have to do everything all on his own. Minho really was a good friend. He always looked out for Hyunjin, even if the two of them could bicker like there was no tomorrow, always there for him, ready to speak his mind or tell the truth even if Hyunjin didn't want to hear it. Especially when Hyunjin needed to hear it.
“... I hate to admit this. You were right,” Hyunjin said suddenly, staring off into space.
“I'm always right. You need to be more specific,” Minho replied instantly, doing the same. Hyunjin gave a rough sigh and a shake of his head but couldn't help his smile.
“About me and Y/N… mainly about me.” Minho turned his gaze to Hyunjin, giving the younger guy space to speak at his leisure while showing that he was paying attention. “I am avoiding her,” Hyunjin continued, “and I am avoiding my feelings… seems to be my main problem... I'm just scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Like you said, of change, of losing her for good, of fucking things up so royally that I could never go back to any semblance of normalcy.”
“And you watching as she builds a life with someone else while you pine from a distance is ‘normal’?”
“Ouch…”
“I'm not wrong and you know it.”
“Yeah… I know…” Hyunjin sighed, leaning back and gently hitting his head against the wall behind them a few times. The two fell into silence once more.
“The way I see it,” Minho began gently, after the silence stretched a little too long for him, “you have two options. One - you tell her how you feel and hope she gives you a chance, or two - you move on.”
“How the hell am I supposed to even do that?”
“That… that you'd have to figure out for yourself. But you need to make a choice, the sooner the better, because how you're handling things now isn't healthy. And it's downright painful for me to watch.”
The words Minho used were cold and precise, but the way he spoke them conveyed his care. Of course, it was painful to watch. It was painful because Minho had to stand by and watch Hyunjin suffer, and he hated it. What he hated the most was not being able to really do anything to help. All he could do was speak his peace and hope Hyunjin would follow through. Little did he know exactly how heavily his words carried with the auburn haired man
---------------------------------------
You know, something nobody ever really talks about is how hard it is to name chapters! Jesus, why did I decide to do this to myself? I didn't have to 😭
In any case, I said we'd be seeing more of Hyunjin, and here he is! I hope y'all don't mind the perspective shift. It's going to last into the next chapter, and maybe the following one as well. It all depends on how long i want the next chapter to be, don't wanna ruin the flow of what I have drafted up. I'm really enjoying the Hyunjin/Minho dynamic I have (even though its hard to write) and I'd like to keep those moments together if I can.
Taglist: @groovygroovyhyunjin @hhwangsmoon @luvyblossom @doggezz @kayleefriedchicken @hyunjinhoexxx @zadkielr @bincxtesworld @jisunglyricist @kpop-kink @amarecerasus @its-kitten-now @antisocial-socialbutterfly
#stray kids fanfic#bang chan#han jisung#what once was mine#skz stay#changbin x reader#hwang hyunjin x reader#seo changbin x reader#hyunjin x reader#lee felix#angst#lee minho#minho
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im not sure if you've already done it but would you write a dom reader?
maybe growing disinterested in nanami kento is a given.
you try to think about him at night, calling out his name right as he steps through your bedroom door. slipping your panties to the side, you make him watch in between your spread legs. fingers working over your clit in patterns he knows by heart. and he sees every bit of the action, eyes narrowing behind glinting glasses. he steps closer, so close he could push his hips up and make you feel the heat of his bulge there under khaki-coloured slacks, a hardness, a weight you desperately long for...but you stop completely.
all the ways he's perfect and yet, it isn't the same. he just...doesn't do it for you anymore. doesn't do you...period. you've tried to understand where he's coming from, he's stressed, it's been hectic, his dick and mind aren't in sync. all very valid reasons he exasperatedly, repeatedly, emphasizes on.
it's nothing personal, just a phase that shall be forgotten and left aside the moment the two of you get over this itching, dreadful, dry spell. conjured up with every inch of distance that grows, every uncomfortable silence that lasts a little too long, the heavy sighs when he's forgotten the details again, missed the good spots just by an inch, every "not tonight, i'm too tired," and "i'll just take care of it myself," that pierces right through your pride, your ego. especially when he's standing right there with a tent in his pants, his boxers, or his towel. one he's grabbed immediately. almost too quickly at the sound of you walking in on him jerking himself off in the shower. guilt and shame plastered across his face.
it used to sting a lot more back when the rejection was still fresh. now it only makes you look at him without second glances, without thought. a gaze devoid of warmth or wanting. giving him a sympathetic quirk of the lips and a pat on a sweaty shoulder—while he's still atop you and shaking in frustration from how absolutely nothing works. this isn't sexy or sensual, you know it isn't— 'there, there, it's alright that you can't make me come,' the gesture speaks without words, he feels the way you try to comfort him, like you almost pity him.
it's not your resigned sighs he wants, like you know exactly what he's lacking, but that sadistic part of him wishes you'd make him suffer the same urges that you bury deep down. make him feel the need and know you'll never give him the satisfaction. not for now at least, not until he begs and whines and pleads. not until he sobs the words 'im sorry' and means it. punishment in the worst form but...
he looks even better like this. on his knees and flushed red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you chuckle at how he's suddenly gone speechless. "careful now, they were expensive," you tell him, pressing the point of your heels to his chest and pushing him back, telling him, ordering him, "you know what to do."
nanami's obedient hands cup your ankle, slowly grazing it up your shin, your calves, and your thighs. feeling the skin he's so longed to touch, then slipping off the shoes before planting a kiss on your knee. he starts to whisper something unintelligible, "you saying a prayer?" you grin, hair a mess, falling down your shoulders as you unclasp the clip keeping the tempting locks in a neat do, fluffing it out and watching his pupils grow twice in size.
"just a short one," he answers breathlessly, "i have the rest of the night to worship you," and you deserve it. you know you do. it's not even about obligation, not about what you're owed but this is how it should have always been. a temptress coming alive. you've been walking on eggshells, both of you. nanami has to always perform, to be the one on top. his wish to control he releases slowly now into your hands. the restrained, repressed urge to bend to your will, to follow after your beck and call now realized.
nanami who is so accommodating, so subservient...it doesn't even occur to him that in the midst of trailing his lips down and leaving sweet pecks of persuasion behind, he's grown hard, so hard he's practically leaking through the fabric of his very expensive trousers.
"forgive me, i'll make it up to you," the words taste so good on his tongue, like he's meant to say it. your dress he's gently pushed up and away from where his tongue longs to be, hands on each thigh, he parts them and goes in like he's been dying for it, lips kissing, sucking you in, clit throbbing to the deep hmmmms he groans out, rumbling from his chest. the taste of you familiar and addictive and oh how he's missed this.
there you go again with the not-so-gentle tugging of his hair, blonde locks grasped between your fingers, how pretty it was styled just a few moments ago. he's spent a while getting it to lay just right, but you don't apologize for it. not when you pull his face up, hearing his gasp for air, then to the guttural wail he grits out, all from the delicious ache in his scalp. to see his lips swollen and eyes dazed, heavily lidded and glassy. "please, let me make you come," he pleads so nicely, with bated breath and a hopefulness, eagerness laced in his voice.
still, you remind him, "you haven't been able to do that for months," grinning at the whine he lets out, pained and restless. he's still fully clothed and the sweat starts to saturate the fabric. you'll let him take it off, but slowly, he has to wait for instructions. he knows you have rules. one being that he's not allowed to finish before you, and the other is alot more hard to comply to.
there will be no missionary or doggy style or any of his usual favourites. he'll only be bound and gagged by a licorice red rope. arms up and torso flexing, each and every muscle on display. you drag a finger down the ridges, tutting when he tries to maneuver his way out, fighting knots so tight and he loves the way it rubs against skin, against his hardened nipples, his cock standing upright and leaking like a faucet, bobbing and sensitive to every brush of soft, supple skin as you straddle him.
the bonds dig into his wrists, his chest, stinging and scaring. some part of him hopes you'd kiss the chaffed marks and soothe them with aloe vera later, just like he does with you. maybe hold him close for a little while. he doesn't want to ask, doesn't think he could after all those months he's left you unsatisfied. but you squeeze down on him, loving the tight furrow of his brows, the sweat that runs down the side of his temples, shaved undercut glistening in it. "that's it, just like that," you praise him.
you sound so lovely, like a balm over a wound. "i'm sorry," he croaks, the words come out hoarse and helpless. teeth biting into the weaving and saliva dribbling forth. nanami yearns for your release just as much as you do but he won't last, won't be able to salvage whatever scraps are left of his composure, his resolve, it's all too much. he begs and begs, exhaustion teetering, limbs numb and aching. "i just wanted to—" he gasps, words choking in his throat before he realizes he's crying, "—to love you right."
when had he started to fail you, when is it enough to make up for it. the tears spill in a sticky mess, clumping his lashes, and painting his eyebags in a wet glow. his stomach coils, building up into something big, something he's been dying to release for ages, and he feels like he's about to pass out. baring his teeth, he places his feet flat on the mattress and desperately ruts up into you. thrusts erratic and sloppy and just rushing to get there. to the end of all that worthlessness he feels.
with foreheads pressed together, he notices your tears too, barely keeping up the dominant facade. "you're so good, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," you whisper, and he doesn't know if it's the honesty in your voice, his own trust reflected in your eyes, or that it's so obvious now, that you absolutely, wholeheartedly adore him, care for him, love him still. yes, you're still interested. just like that nanami's orgasm hits, sending you over the edge too with a final thrust so deep, so hard, he doesn't hold back. rope breaks and so do the legs of your bed frame, nanami releases a with a cry and white flashing behind his eyes, a jolt shooting up his spine and you feel it just as much when his seed settles inside you.
#ugh fine i'll write nanami again#didn't finsh my nanami bday fic in time so heres a short tidbit to make up for it#nanami kento#nanami kento fic#nanami kento hcs#nanami smut#ask#anon#sunpiece#saturated#nanami kento x reader#dom reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic
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Do you have any writing tips for newbie fic writers? Your descriptions are gorgeous. Thank you for pieces BTW, it's my favorite 'piece' of writing ❤️
hi anon, thank you for the kind words!💞💞 I'm flattered that I'm someone that you'd think to ask this question, so I'll do my best to answer! I've put my response beneath a keep reading cut to prevent it being a long post :)
I wasn't sure how to interpret this question, so I'll focus on 'technical' (?) tips mostly. Hope any of them help, in some small way!
my main tip to new fic writers is: write, first and foremost, for yourself, and to feed yourself. I've seen this perspective get put through the disk-horse ringer of late, so take it or leave it, or take it with as much of a pinch of salt as you need. But truly, from the bottom of my heart and from my position of sudden newfound popularity, this is the most important lesson I was ever given and so I have to say it. Popularity is not guaranteed. Even a popular fic will have haters and people who think it objectively sucks, and the readers who like you will never be fully pleased with what you've delivered. This could all be very depressing and cause an author to lose motivation.... if you make it the criteria for success in the first place. If you make the criteria for success your own happiness (or perhaps the happiness of you and a few close pals), providing yourself with what you, specifically, want to see, you will probably want to keep writing regardless of all other factors. Produce fics that you want to reread when you need comfort, when you are sick, and when you want to see your blorbos exactly the way you want them. This will make any fic worthwhile to you, regardless of stats, and prevent you from writing things that will suffer if your heart isn't in it!
(this doesn't preclude gift fics/prompts! sometimes your heart can be 100% in providing food for others. find your key motivators, and feed that - a healthy amount - if you're trying to get into writing as a hobby!)
Now, onto my writing tips! I don't consider myself an expert and these are more lessons that have helped me, specifically, to improve my writing. But maybe something in here will be of use!
Bc you say you like descriptions... I tend to go into detail only when it's an essential thing that needs to be described. Leave wider details for readers to fill in with their own beautiful mind-palaces, and this gives you permission to go ham on what matters. What is it that matters? maybe it's a piece of the environment (say, a soul jar) or maybe it's just how hot one part of your ship is, in their hot clothes or out of them. If you focus on the important stuff but leave the rest to background, this not only creates a good balance of action to description, but it also shows the reader what they should prioritise in the scene.
I also google '[WORD] synonyms' a lot, for descriptions specifically. Which seems like it might be condescending advice, but it both helps you find different words if you're worried you're repeating yourself, and sometimes confirms that yes. You are using the best word actually, as you were.
Get a good balance of complex/simplistic words, as well as a good balance of complex/simplistic sentences. Sometimes you need a flowery description, sometimes you just need to state explicitly what is happening or the way things are. Tone will shift depending on your balance of these two things, so test the waters and see what works for you!
If you feel like you've written too much dialogue, the answer is probably no, you haven't written too much dialogue - for fic specifically. Most people are reading fic bc they want their faves to interact more. You are giving them more interaction and they will probably love it.
If you find phrases you like in the books/fic you read, it isn't plagiarism to use them so long as you recontextualise them. I'm certain I've used other people's words multiple times, particularly for my descriptions/imagery, and this is totally ok so long as the context is original. If you're worried, or its a whole sentence/interaction you like, examine the sentence/interaction and work out why you like it so much. Is it the sentence structure? Is the character dynamic? Is it the way the kiss plays out? Take the things you find sexiest in other people's writing and find ways to incorporate it into your own work!
I proofread by reading aloud. Yes, I sound mental and unhinged. My cats are worried about me. But this not only helps you catch mistakes, it helps to test the flow of a sentence! If you're ever worried a sentence is too long/a line of dialogue doesn't sound in character, read it aloud! This will help you work out if it's flowing or not, and if it isn't then you'll get some clues as to why!
Don't be afraid to take risks, if you want to take risks! This can apply to anything: being brave enough to put in a joke you're not sure people will find funny, describing something in a way you're worried people will find weird, tackling something from a perspective or POV that you find challenging. This may be a more intermediate tip, but you can start with small risks, and experimenting helps you find your writing voice! Taking risks makes your writing unique :) and I can't explain how much better my writing has gotten since I gave myself specific challenges. You will not get it perfectly write 100% of the time (there are some parts of Pieces that are weak compared to other parts) but it will always help you improve.
#asks#anons#my writing#writing tips#I guess??? i'm really not an expert i truly just read a lot of books and then i vomit words onto a page
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