#Like how have they maintained long distance this long??
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mr schwartz: a line-by-line queer-coded lyrical analysis
warning: this is quite long but mr schwartz is one of my favourite songs off the car album (and one of my favourites of alex’s in general) and i’ve ALWAYS read it as super queer but have yet to dive into precisely what makes it queer and the themes within it. it’s TRULY such an understated lyrical masterpiece.
Put your heavy metal to the test
- this is a play on words of the phrase ‘test your mettle’ which basically means to see whether or not someone will carry on through something that is difficult. immediately, this indicates that the relationship between alex and the other person is a difficult one and requires strength/determination to move forward with
- it also could refer to heavy metal music (which isn’t a very traditionally romantic genre) as is played off of in the next few lines
Might be half a love song in it all for you
- the phrase “half a love song” is particularly interesting to me as there are many ways to take it: it could be half a love song because it is unfinished or because it isn’t fully a love song (and both interpretations tie into other lyrics in the song)
- if we go down the route that it’s only half a love song because it isn’t fully a love song, it implies that there is more to the relationship than romance or that the song/relationship isn’t meant to be viewed (solely) through a romantic lens (but the other person may see it as such)
- whereas the idea that the song is unfinished could either suggest a lack of passion or the feeling that the story isn’t done yet.
- it could also communicate that the someone else needs to finish the song for alex - which is somewhat implied in the previous line. this could also indicate that, like alex, the other person gets musical inspiration out of their relationship
Timing wise, it’s probably for the best
- the use of “timing” ties in with the musical references but also highlights that the relationship is heavily tied to the timing of what’s going on in their lives (invoking “right person, wrong time” in a way)
- alex is acknowledging that because of forces outside of their control (i.e. time) it’s probably best they don’t pursue a serious relationship (or, like the previous line, a “full” love song)
Come here and kiss me now, before it gets too cute
- he’s asking his lover to quickly kiss him before they can let the moment become sweet, implying that, while he is fine with the physical aspect, the emotional side of things makes him uncomfortable
- musically, he also wants to avoid being cheesy or overly sentimental which ties in thematically with the ultracheese as well
- it’s important to note that this is also the only explicitly romantic line on the entirety of the car album: this (and the half a love song line) is the only line on the album that cannot possibly be read as platonic
Mr Schwartz is stayin’ strong for the crew
- here we switch to discussing the persona/character of mr schwartz, which as seen later, is obviously meant to be an extension/alter-ego of alex himself
- the reference to “staying strong for the crew” directly after talking about his lover implies that there is a conflict between the two: that staying strong for the crew entails keeping an emotional distance from his lover
- he recognises that those around him rely on him to keep up his persona to do their jobs (in this extended metaphor of a film set)
Wardrobe’s lint-rollin’ your velveteen suit
- alex is known to emphasise his personas via clothing choices and the velveteen suit is representative of that here. the crew removes any imperfections, like the lint, off of the suit (the persona)
- this also ties into alex’s obsession with perfectionism and control and how, though he is wearing the suit (i.e. persona), there is a mutual reliance between him and the “crew” to maintain his image
- also have to mention that velveteen is a rather untraditional material choice for something as traditional as a suit, there is a bit of a clash here between the two (a fully velveteen suit could also be seen as quite camp - and is also very 70s, which ties into eycte’s aesthetic too)
And smudgin’ dubbin on your dancin’ shoes
- dubbin makes leather softer and waterproof: again, others are trying to prevent damage from occurring to the persona
- this could also refer to the musical direction that the band has gone to in tbhc and the car: their music is softer and more contemplative than it was before, especially since ‘dancing shoes’ is also a song off of their first album. this could be commentary on how alex’s personas have evolved and the mixed reactions he’s gotten from his audience over it
Gradually, it’s coming into view
- we move from music imagery to film imagery with the line “coming into view”.. things were blurry or unclear before but he (or the other person) are slowly coming to realizations about their situation
It’s like your little directorial debut
- having a directorial debut suggests that this is the first time they are taking control of a situation and telling others what to do, they are directing someone else instead of being directed - with the word little being used to emphasise that this isn’t a massive change yet
- but he’s also directing himself to behave in a certain way: alex is directing his new persona, mr schwartz, in his debut
As fine a time as any to deduce
- to me this line also implies that this realisation has sort of been a long time coming, they’ve been through this cycle so many times that they might as well come to the realisation now
The fact that neither you or I has ever had a clue
- going into the next verse as well, this hints that alex and his lover have had struggles with seeing where alex ends and the persona begins and have also never been able to get their relationship right as a result
And if we guess who I’m pretending to be
- here he is confirming what is obvious: alex is mr schwartz and the persona is clearly differentiated from himself as “pretending”. alex and his lover are both keenly aware that mr schwartz is a persona which almost becomes a joke to them in the next line
Do we win a prize?
- alex pokes fun at how obvious it is to him and his lover that mr schwartz is a character but i think he’s also pointing out here: do we get anything out of the persona that i’ve created?
- he’s questioning, perhaps for the first time, if in the end keeping the persona up will be worth it to him and his lover or if it is all meaningless
Having attempted twice, both incorrectly
- okay so obviously the majority of us reading this are immediately going to go to a certain side project of alex’s and the two albums they’ve released (with talk of there being a third to complete the trilogy)
- this suggests that there have been two attempts at happiness between him and his lover but both times there was something fundamentally wrong with the relationship that caused them to drift, which is likely related to the act that he is putting on
Do we get a third try?
- the phrasing on this line is interesting as well as alex doesn’t ask his lover directly like “can we have a third try?” instead, he poses this question more existentially: will a third try be given to the two of them? it implies that he and the other person aren’t in control of their situation to some extent, they have to rely on being given chances by others.
- though this also could be interpreted as alex shirking responsibility of the situation onto others instead of being straightforward. he simultaneously wants and does not want control.
The gloved hand’s reachin’ in to hit the switch
- by wearing gloves, there is the desire to avoid leaving fingerprints/evidence of the relationship. and because the hand is gloved it is intentionally anonymous: is it alex’s hand? mr schwartz’s? the other person’s? or someone outside of things meddling in the relationship?
- interesting also that a switch is a binary thing: either on or off (gay or straight, platonic or romantic, alex or mr schwartz) ignoring the possibility of things being on a more complicated spectrum as is implied earlier (“half a love song”)
- hitting the switch is sometimes used as a euphemism for triggering a permanent change but can also be seen as a temporary action (the switch can be endlessly turned off/on), highlighting the back and forth in their relationship.
There’s not one goddamn thing that you can do about it
- this is the only time alex curses in the song which highlights how frustrating the persona and lack of power can be
- he feels stuck in the situation, just continuously flicking the switch between persona and reality, and indicates that his lover is also likely frustrated at this too. though they want to help fix the situation, they can’t, or at least they feel like they can’t
But Mr Schwartz is havin’ tea with the grips
- again, he’s switching back and forth between the real him and mr schwartz: while alex is frustrated and insecure about the lack of control in his life, mr schwartz charms those around him and takes hold of the situation
- more film imagery with mentioning the grips (those who help with camera and lighting equipment on a film set): to me, this line is fascinating as we’ve seen that everyone (including the crew) is working towards keeping the mr schwartz persona up and through the metaphor of the film set they are creating something imaginary, however, behind the scenes the grips still get to be real people with real families while alex, or mr schwartz, has to continue to keep the persona up.
Askin’ after all the wives and the kids
- the use of the phrase “askin’ after” instead of “talking about” etc. implies that the question is not mutual: mr schwartz is not being asked about his wife/kids because he does not have any and the others know it. yet he knows that it is important that he shows interest in their nuclear families. this is also clearly commentary on how alex is the only unmarried and childless member of the band
- it could be seen as him directing conversation away from his personal life: focusing on others and letting them talk is more comfortable than discussing yourself honestly and breaking the act
It’s at the heart of what the business is
- the final line of the song breaks down the essence of why the persona is kept up: ultimately, it is a business decision. alex understands how closely tied together business and personal lives are as a celebrity and is invested in the persona to keep the two separate, though by choice or force is up for debate
- also poses the question of whether or not he’s genuinely interested in their lives or if it is just business to him. it could be read as bittersweet in the sense that the heart of the business is human connection, but if you don’t conform you aren’t allowed to drop the act without punishment
- finally, this line also ties back to “staying strong for the crew”: he has to keep up the persona so that the ‘crew’ can continue to work and take care of their families. and hearing about them is both a reminder of what he is denying himself and what is at stake for the others.
to summarise: alex is torn between putting on the straight persona of mr schwartz and being truly himself within the fractured relationship he has with his lover - which has been heavily influenced by external and internal pressures. gee i wonder who the song is about (rhymes with schmiles schmane.)
#may do some other songs bc this was fun#it took me way too long though 😭😭#if you made it to the end you’re insane and i love you#if anyone has any requests let me know lmao#alex turner#the car era#the car album#arctic monkeys#miles kane#milex#the car#mr schwartz#tlsp
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Stuff Nancy remembers to bring on a case:
Stuff she forgets:
#will we ever have ned in person? the world may never know#the consistency of the mom jeans makes me sooo very happy#bring them back#WHY IS NED NEVER THERE?#Like how have they maintained long distance this long??#clue crew#Its been like 80 years??#whats their secret??????#nd memes#nancy drew games#ned nickerson#nancy's suitcase
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[Tuvok & Janeway: Control, Distance, Duty & Connection.]
Sources: St Voyager Transcripts / Mitski 'First Love Late Spring' / Disco Elysium
#web weaving#star trek web weaving#st voyager#Kathryn Janeway#Tuvok#be the change you want to see in the world - make a long post about Tuvok & Janeway's similarities <- angel on my shoulder#I feel like a lot of people see them as 'opposites attract' sort of friends where Janeway is unhinged & Tuvok reigns her in#but in reality I think that while there is that element in there (exacerbated HEAVILY by their delta quad circumstances)#what I see most in their relationship is how they both value loyalty and duty above all and are extremely rigid with themselves#and the people around them. How they both have to maintain distance from others bc of their positions as captain & vulcan#I hate when people dismiss Tuvok as not being remotely interested in Maryana or Noss - it erases an interesting struggle that he and Janewa#both share - their desire to stay loyal to their spouses vs the 70 years of loneliness that that loyalty demands of them#But they BOTH triumph and they BOTH remain loyal (Tuvok until he returns to T'Pel and Janeway until Mark informs her that it's over)#and for both of them it's a little bit insane for them to do that.#Isn't it more interesting that Janeway and Tuvok both have feelings for people other than their spouses but don't give in#to that temptation?#They're both people who live very fastidiously by codes. Either written codes or moral codes - they very rarely if ever do things because#it's what THEY want to do. I'd say they're the least emotion-driven members of the crew and yes I'm including Seven because Seven#has a very...how to describe? It's a blunt and insular selfishness. She does what SHE wants to do and doesn't really care about others.#To me that's emotion-driven. Or...personal desire-driven? Not a bad thing at all but very different from Janeway & Tuvok who#are always more 'this is logical' or 'this is for the crew' rarely do they think 'this is what I want' bc they can't afford to#for different reasons (captain & vulcan)#they both also are in the most 'caretaking' positions on the ship from my POV. Security and Captain - both are directly in charge of#ship and crew safety.#Janeway & Tuvok#star trek voyager#st voy#when I say caretaking I'm NOT saying they're everyone's mom and dad or whatever - I'm saying they're in positions where they always#have to think about the greater good and the crew as a whole and how much danger is acceptable etc etc.#Janeway is always killing herself for the crew but Tuvok is right there beside her
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2021 just some guys celebrating pride
#world of warcraft#anduin wrynn#baine bloodhoof#2021 pride fanart#I think baineduin is cute but with how Baine has been written the last few years I just can't see it working outside fanfic#I just. really wish they'd shown more strain in their relationship in BFA#And I wanted Baine to be more active in SLs#Have Baine confront Mawduin at some point#I drew that ill post it next#Anduin and Baine could've been a really interesting friendship in canon exploring what makes ally/horde relationships so hard to maintain#and yet these two of all of them would be able to power through their differences and fights and dissagreements#But I think its just too late to really properly capture that in canon which sucks#In my fanon of them they're never able to be a close couple more long distance but they hoard cute love letters from eachother#and when lucky they may meet in secret#but in the end no one ever knows that theyre more then friends#prehaps other then jaina#jaina knows everything i think#if your curious my main ship is wranduin but honestly i think anduin is just a little dork who crushes easily#I could see him with a few different people given the fanfic is written right#but also as an ace i do like the idea of Anduin as ace#honestly I just think of Anduin as a piece of playdoh i make him into whatever i want at the moment
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.
#i have a hard time making friends because im extremely picky and then if i actually like someone#i get embarrassingly obsessed and possessive of them#i can literally count on one hand the people i consider to be my friends and most of them are people who just weaseled their way in#and so while i certainly am fond of them i dont feel comfortable enough to completely be myself around them#im also not good at maintaining long distance friendships so i rarely talk to those people now#and when i make friends with someone that i really really like those end pretty quickly because well#anyway it's been two years since college started although ive never physically been there#and i dont have any friends and it's probably my fault because i dont really like any of my batchmates#and i dont want to be ostracized#especially since the next semester is gonna be offline#so im kinda terrified and it's not like ive not talked to anyone because i have but its usually related to academics and i#refuse to participate in any social events#and my sister says that i have a superiority complex which i suppose is true to some extent but at the same time#i have a crippling inferiority complex too#so shouldn't that balance stuff out T_T#oh and i dont have instagram and the other crap that comes along with it but apparently that's how people these days 'connect'#i just want to meet a person who's into the same things as me and likes me as much as i like them is that too much to ask#is it true that college is the place where people make long term friends#and also is college life significantly different from what highschool is like#i am not looking forward to this at all
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takara-kun to amagi-kun is an actual work of comedy genius
#and at the same time is so fluffy and cute#but also at the same time is one of the best portrayals of young love esp in this high school setting#everything about their relationship feels new like it really is a first#but also in a very specific gay way like the keeping things lowkey the distance they have to maintain with their separate friendship groups#the longing stares and the innocent smiles and waved and takara looking away so that he doesn’t ruin his cool guy image by getting blushy#the simplicity but absolute pure joy of walking home together holding hands and sharing hugs#that kind of contact that you very specifically you only get from a romantic partner and they’re slowly exploring it#takara being just the best in respect of not wanting amagi to be uncomfortable and always being there to comfort and reassure him#amagi very rightly voicing how he feels about progressing to doing stuff and how he needs time but to also take things slowly#and takara’s very fitting and realistic isolation and boredom he feels around his friends and how that’s erased when he’s with amagi and he#can he himself like him taking ballet and not liking it as a kid just fits so well bc he probably was that shy precious kid that wanted to#do something different even if he ended up not liking it#and the comedy omg the way takara walked away when amagi’s friend was asking about him then doubled back#that is comedy gold but still doesn’t beat last ep and amagi’s reveal wearing takara’s clothes#that shit gets me every time#fuck I just adore this show it’s wholesome in a way that doesn’t feel watered down or softened at the edges#it’s like the purity and fluffiness of it is real it properly conveys that want to be close to someone in an environment where it feels#weird but you try to go after it anyway but with the absolute purest heart and best intentions#bc you’re always terrified of fucking it up at any point#agh it’s just so how that young late teen love feels I can’t even with words anymore it’s just fantatsic#takara kun to amagi kun
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hello gamers minor life update I have been doing Real bad lately so I will likely continue to be very inactive, but hey on the bright side I have been fleshing out some eternal gales lore I reworked a while back and I can happily say that Dodie no longer completely contradicts the very nature of reality in eternal gales and the fog tower™ officially has a real reason to exist again so hell yeah to that
#rat rambles#eternal gales#oc posting#this is a piece of lore I technically updated a while ago but I mostly just relocated dodie home to a different piece of worldbuilding#but now Im fleshing things out a bit more and Im so glad that I set myself up such an easy way to jump ship on the old stuff#it also makes my life easier because it means that I have an actual reason for mase to be the first person dodie encounters in person#also an actual reason to trap him at first sorry dude it adds to the suspense#longggggg story short dodie lives in the universe's core of sorts#its where all the other characters are transported to at the beginning of the story due to other stuff#I already had it as a thing that the core attempts to replicate the casts home and food and such to help maintain them#but the fog tower™ had its core echo in place since forever basically#mostly because the narrator wanted to get dodie a home set up in the core instead of having to find a way to house her in notmal society#now the tower wasnt exactly meant to be found but it still had to be real enough to actually get echoed so it was real enough to be found#hense why mase's family lives in the lower half of it#the top half is fully reserved for setting up stuff to be echoed to dodie's tower#this is mostly handled my cup aka dodie's long distance mom figure#but most of that stuff was done before dodie was properly created and as such cup had to fight for their life to figure out how to best get#this child growing up in fucked up situations as happy and stable as they could with limited budget and time#they were also dealing with doing a lot of this behind the backs of mase's parents as the two wanted them to provide just the bare basics#despite this cup managed to sneak in a shit ton more video tapes than they were supposed to and attempted to cover as much as possible#ofc dodie still ended up incredibly unstable and fucked up anways but she still loves her long distance video mom dearly#up til she was like 12 or so those tapes were the only way she could see and hear another person#but yeah in the echoed version the lower half of the tower is mostly consumed by plantlife and the such#hense why dodie avoids the area like the plague she has hashtag issues regarding plants#oh yeah Ive also been thinking abt fydd a lot lately#I have been slowly developing a bit of a side plot for him in my head that Im not 100% sure Im going to commit to but Im mivrowaving it#basically I was thinking abt each of the human casts sort of quote unquote domains are#by that I mean the whole reason they get drawn to the universe core is because theyre all sorta connected to universe functions#fydd is one of the weird ones because his place in the system is the basic software ig would be the best way to put it?#hes connected to the very base of the system that the rest of the functions are built into
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Omg bro yk whats been on my mind for do long?? A demon king trying to court a hero reader. Like the hero has already fought and defeated the king but somehow he comes back and he's desperately trying to get the hero to join him (in more ways than one). He wants the reader to be his spouse and leader of his army against the corrupt human race and the reader (now fallen from stardom due to the evil kings defeat) just wants him gone and to be left alone. Idk if this makes sense but I need to see SOMEONE write abt it before I lose my last marble.
-Doll
This is giving me Dragon Quest vibes, haha. Not a trope I'm too familiar with, but it sounds interesting nonetheless. I shall do my best! Sorry for the delay, I hope it's close to what you imagined. :)
Yandere! Demon King x Hero! Reader
As it goes with villains, they always find a way to return. This time, the Demon King has a different plan in mind. You were prepared for anything, from evil schemes to ancient conjured weapons...except for a wedding ring cordially placed before you. Do you say yes?
Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, 🔥proposal (literally)
[Part 2]
You still remember everything so fondly. How you crawled out of that enormous crater, body battered and weak, as everyone watched in horror and held their breaths. Finally, you raised your fist victoriously. The Demon King had been, at last, defeated. The people cheered and cried and pulled you up under thundering waves of applause. Peace was no longer just a dream.
A sweet, innocent memory, even more so given its fleeting nature. The genuine smiles of gratitude quickly turned into crooked grins asking for favors. Before you knew it, you became some sort of political accessory to convince the masses. Posing for photos, shaking hands, being interviewed with bizarrely planned questions reeking of propaganda. You suddenly felt burdened, heavy, disappointed. This was not the kind of fame you envisioned for yourself.
Thus, you gradually vanished from the limelight, keeping your distance from everyone else and spending most days in solitude. Better than having to look into those unscrupulous, opportunistic eyes measuring up your worth. You had fulfilled your job and purpose.
This morning you're woken up by the sound of your belongings rattling in their shelves. The wooden frame of your bed is creaking, and you struggle to get up. An earthquake? A wave of nausea flushes over you. You recognize this feeling all too well, though you never expected to deal with it again. This is a disaster alright, yet the forces of nature have nothing to do with it.
You rush outside, swinging the door open and nearly tripping in your hurry to confirm your suspicions: the demonic creature is approaching your humble adobe with heavy steps, as the ground crumbles and shatters underneath. The Demon King himself, in flesh and blood. Although the blood splattering his armor is most likely not his. Same for the visceral remains threading his weapon. Regardless, your jaw tightens nervously, and you stand back, in a defensive pose. "You're a stubborn one", you say smugly, trying to maintain your composure. "Can't say I'm a fan of dying, that is correct." A ragged, monstrous voice erupts from the tall, armored figure.
"What brings you back?" You demand. The surroundings are too peaceful for him to have tampered with the city. Did he stop by to formally announce his destruction? "I have an offer that might interest you." The Dark Overlord has closed the distance between you, now looming above your much smaller body. You shiver. "I don't barter with Demons!" You conclude, turning around, prepared to leave. "Even when your precious people are on the line?" The horned beast warns with a grin. "If there's nothing better to do as a Ruler of Realms than killing petty humans..." You swiftly retort, going back into your house and slamming the door shut.
He stands for a moment, speechless. "Y-your Majesty? Should I take care of the humans, or (Y/N)?" Only now he notices his scaly butler, bowing to his side with claws resting over the weapon. The Demon King raises a hand, shooing the servant away. The annihilation of the human race can wait. There are more important matters to deal with presently. He'd expected your rejection, naturally, but not in such fashion. The indifference, the flat voice, the empty eyes devoid of emotion. Have the city dwellers tampered with his hero? He expected to see your fierce rage and in return he was met with a hollow shell.
Bright blue flames erupt from the openings of his armor, resulting in a menacing show of lights. He's known it for the longest time, of course. Humans are rotten to their very core. Vile, deceitful creatures that have slithered their way up, exuding undeserved arrogance. He's been trying to show you this very fact, yet you were blinded by naive faith. Your unwavering, honest heart that won him over has turned out to be your early demise. Not anymore. His vengefulness knows no bounds when it comes to traitors.
The sudden spike in temperature alerts you. Was it your rudeness that angered the Demon? You don't care anymore. Whatever happens to the city is out of your hands. And yet...you're buckling the straps of your old suit made for battle. Sword in hand, you gaze at your reflection. What could the Beast want? The fortified city no longer holds the value of its olden days. Just like you've left your hero days behind. Without much contemplation, you run out and head for the main gates. The path is paved with ash and rubble and your grip on the weapon tightens. Regret immediately wells up in your chest, ready to burst out. Is it too late? The entrance is engulfed in fire, charred corpses toppling against the ruins of the walls.
You reach the town hall - or rather, what remains of it - and face the Demon King. Has he gotten stronger since your last encounter? You hold your breath as the horned monster turns towards you. "I've tried to tell you, again and again. Time after time." He sighs, defeated. "Between the two of us, I'd say you were the stubborn one all along." His voice is softer than what you would've expected from someone that had just massacred an entire settlement. There's not a single scratch or sign of struggle. Was he merely holding back during your last fight? One thing is certain: you're his final obstacle. You raise your sword, determined. Hot sweat trickles down your face as the flames surround you. "Well, at least you've convinced yourself now, I hope. There's nothing left for you here." The Demon King lowers himself, extending a fist towards you. A spell? Secret weapon? Your leg muscles contract in anticipation.
His fingers open and stretch out, slowly. In his palm, a barely noticeable ring. Given the ridiculous size difference, you assume this is better fitting for a human. You stare at it in confusion, discerning the wedding vows carved in the noble metal. "What's the meaning of this?" You mutter, glancing at the Beast now resting on one knee before you. "What? Is it not your human custom?" He looks away for a moment, clicking his tongue. "That useless butler. He told me- Forget it! You are to return with me to my Kingdom. As my spouse."
Of all the things you've prepared yourself for...Your brows furrow and your mouth hangs open in shock.
What is your answer? The Demon King will not leave empty-handed.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x darling#yandere headcanons#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere monster#yandere monster x reader#monster x reader#monster x human#yandere demon king#yandere male x reader#gender neutral reader#monster romance#monster boyfriend#yandere oc
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Courting (Letters from Lt. Riley)
tags: regency au, Ghost x f!reader/OC, courting, letters, Ghost flirting and also being so weird with it, courting gifts
summary: You told Ghost he could write you. He does.
The maids drop off the letter while you're in the study. The wax seal on the front is unbroken, which you find strange. Aren't parents normally supposed inspect courting letters? You suppose you should be thankful your mother isn't a noble by birth, she doesn't have the same care for propriety you know others do. She's always maintained that love is for the people involved and no one else. Though, love is a far stretch for your feelings as far as you're concerned.
Ghost seems to go out of his way to aggravate and annoy you. You will say... you've never enjoyed conversations quite so much as you enjoy them with him, and you've never had a man entertain your debating so well, and you suppose his eyes are rather warm and honeyed enough to catch attention. You like that you can see the curve of his lips under his mask when he smiles, and that the lines beside his eyes crease when he looks at you. And you like his hands, you suppose, if you had to pick something.
You break the seal of the letter and unfold the thick paper. There's a thin sheet of silver paper covering the actual writing and you scoff at the precaution. Surely the man isn't saying anything so scandalous as to need more protection from prying eyes. Still, you're careful removing the tissue-y layer.
Your breath catches in your throat, fingers hovering to trace carefully over the lines of charcoal covering the page. It dirties your glove and you're quick to avoid touching the paper directly, lest you sully the careful work of portraiture. It's you, your profile staring determined off into the distance, a slight frown on your lovingly shaped lips and a gentle crease to your brow. You wonder what your charcoal double must be thinking to have such an expression. You recognize the necklace he's haphazardly rendered, a gift from your mother you wore at the first party of the season.
How long has he been thinking of you?
There's tight cursive at the bottom of the page, "I have nothing to say, except that you're the most beautiful creature I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. -Lt. Riley"
Your heart flutters so hard, batters so aggressively against your rib cage, that you don't even notice the heat in your cheeks. You call rush to find pen and paper to write back.
-
You're having breakfast with your parents when the maid brings you a letter. You recognize the red wax seal immediately and slide your fingers under the paper's fold to break it quickly. The crack of wax fills the silent room, and you look up from your work to see your parents watching you. You father rests his chin on his laced fingers, and your mother quietly sips her tea. The letter is carefully placed to the side and your mother smiles, setting down her cup to draw one of your father's hands into her own grip.
"Don't let us keep you," You father rumbles, you can't tell if he's upset or pleased. His voice carefully neutral.
"It can wait until after breakfast," You tell him peaceably, picking up your fork again.
"Give it a read now dear, you'll upset your stomach rushing through meals." Your mother, ever the doctor, encourages. You tamp down your smile and unfold the letter, your fingers feeling for another sheet of silver paper. You're almost disappointed not to find one. You suppose you can't expect a gift of that quality every time. Once again the actual letter is short and neatly penned,
"Arguing with me won't make me march down there princess. Not that the idea hasn't crossed my mind, but I'd be gone as soon as I saw you, lost as soon as you opened your mouth. You make me lose all rational thought, and yet you consume my every waking moment. There is no distance I could travel that I would not still be haunted by the memory of you. If I'd never been assigned to your escort I would have been a saner man, miserable for never having known you. Argue with that.
Did you miss every one of your penmanship lessons?
Lt. Riley"
You smile to yourself, your thumb rubbing against the paper. He's pressed little flowers into the folds, their colors bleeding into the page and their petals falling into your lap. You pluck them carefully from your skirt, dutifully avoiding thoughts of your suitor, and place them back in the folds of Ghost's letter. You'll have to write him later, you know he's egging you on, but really he should know better than to criticize a lady's calligraphy.
You look up from your work and meet your parent's stares. Your mother's thumb rubs against the back of your father's hand, you've always hoped for a match like theirs.
"Something nice?" Your mother asks, and you smile at her.
"Never," You tell her, "Lieutenant Riley is as rude in his letters as he was as an escort."
Your father hums, but you think you see the edge of a smile under his beard.
-
There's very little awkwardness in the letters between you and Ghost. He writes better than he speaks, but the bluntness is still there, the charm that made you first agree to this courtship. He makes your stomach clench, makes your heart flutter. He's rude and argumentative, and you find yourself hoping for every letter he sends you.
He's sweet.
He's terrible.
You hide his letters under your pillows, the ones that talk about kissing you, "Everywhere but your mouth," he writes, "so that I can still hear you." You sit on the chaise and chew your thumb reading the letters that promise you devotion, "you'd never worry where I was, I never wish to stray from your side." You hear your friends discussing suitor gifts, the scandalous things that pass through their aunt's inspection first, that their fathers shake their head at.
You think of the modesty panel laced into your stays, the carefully inked words along the edge of the gift, "if my lips were here they'd never leave."
You pluck Ghost's letter from the tray before your maid can even offer it. Your fingers quick to break the wax seal before you even find a place to sit. He never writes as much as you do, but he's purposeful with his words in a way that makes your heart sing.
"If it's the Scot I think it is your friend is fine. We can discuss when I pick you up this afternoon. Wear walking shoes. Love, Lt. Riley"
You snort, quite a way with words your lover. You nearly trip on your way up the stairs staring at his signature. "Love" be still your heart.
#x reader#simon ghost riley#cod x reader#x oc#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#cod x oc#ghost mw2#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#ghost cod#oc: goose#regency au#return of ghost being an artist which is my personal favorite thing
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One day I'm gonna kiss the character designers for rise of the tmnt.
Yeah shape theory and all that, it's super neat but IT GOES SO MUCH DEEPER.
Since the beginning of tmnt, the turtles have always been hard to distinguish from each other. Especially in the 1987 show, but all the way up to 2007 movie, the one thing the turtles have really had to distinguish themselves is their color of their masks, their weapons, and usually some minor design changes like the letter on their belts, height, and skin tone. But even those have been subtle.
The 2012 series is really the first tmnt iteration to change up the turtles in a significant way. Not only is their skin different shades of green, but their heights are a more significant difference. Donnie towers of the other turtles, and Mikey's height really solidifies him as the youngest brother.
That isn't where the differences end, though. Raph has a crack in his plastron, Mikey has freckles, and Donnie is much lankier and skinny than the others. The main problem with this though, is that they are still fairly subtle. From behind and without their masks on, it's impossible to tell whether its Mikey, Leo, or Raph on screen. Not to mention, Leo is sort of treated as a 'base', and the other three turtles are just alterations made to his design.
Rise, on the other hand, said "hold my beer."
Not only do rise turtles have the different heights, skin tones, and masks, they have different body types.
And not only are these differing body types useful in telling the turtles apart, they have genuine meanings. So I'm gonna infect your brains with my brainrot.
Starting with Mikey.
Mikey has always been the silliest of the group, the party dude, if you will. Rise uses shape theory to give this playful, young vibe to him. Not only are his markings circles, but so is his head and shell. His design is very rounded overall.
The other thing about rise, is that all their fighting types are different. Their weapons influence these styles along with their personality. Mikey's style of fighting is very acrobatic, very showy. He is very in touch with his sense of balance and the space around him.
It can't be a coincidence that Mikey's body type is also very similar to an acrobat or gymnastic athlete. His muscles are small but compact, and rounded like the rest of him. His limbs are small, but clearly strong and well maintained. Acrobats often have these types of hidden muscles, where they almost disappear when not in use because of the function of them. They aren't using the muscles for heavy lifting or grueling tasks. Acrobats use their muscles for balance and manipulating their own body.
Next is Leo. Unlike 2012 where Leo is used as a baseline for the other character designs, he most definitely has his own unique look. Overall, he's very sharp. His crescent moon markings on his face and limbs, his swords, and his overall stylized body shape leans into this pointed, sharp look.
Leo attacks quick in the series. He is often one of the first to strike, and thinks well ahead in battle to preserve his energy. His battle moves tend to also continue throughout the fight with a large blow in the beginning and end, with smaller strikes in between.
Leo is also the leanest of the turtles, with a small waist and the lithest of the turtles' limbs. All of this points his character design towards a long distance runner. They often start and end races with bursts of energy, and then pace themselves throughout the rest of the race. They have to think and consider their speed. Long distance runners also have very lean muscles. It has to do with the actual proteins in the muscle that make them thinner but perfect for pacing and persevering throughout long lengths of time.
Similar to Leo is Donnie. The disaster twins, as the fandom has named them for being the same age, are the most physically similar. They are nearly the same height and, when Donnie had his battle shell on, their shells are very similar in shape. However, they are still very different. Donnie has a rectangular build with his purple pixel-like markings and big ass forehead. Him and Raph also are the only turtles in rise with full head coverings, and they are also both square shaped.
Donnie tends to put all of his energy into one, well timed blow. Usually using his tech to discombobulate the enemy and then backing off quickly. (The only time this doesn't hold true is when he's fighting with April, where it's only the two of them. However, he still does tend to attack and then back away.) His muscles are the second most defined of the turtles, being thick and bigger than both Leo and Mikey.
For this reason, Donnie I believe is built off of a sprinter. A short distance runner. The perfect match to Leo (the twins ever bro)
Sprinters have to save up all of their energy in order to use it all in one short length of time, often just a few seconds. Exactly how Donnie attacks. Sprinters also have much larger, more defined muscles than long distance runners. I think it has something to do with storing energy and oxygen to be used all at once.
Finally, there's Raph. Raph is big and bulky in the show, with the biggest muscles and is *physically the strongest. He lifts giant boulders and can carry all three of his brothers, April, and Splinter with ease. His shape is a square, with his head and chest being large and boxy. His fighting style is the least ninja-y out of the four, being more related to actually just throwing hands with someone. He fights physically and often times without his weapons, preferring to attack with his body. He gets in the enemy's space and uses his larger size to overpower them. His ability to make himself bigger with his mystic powers furthers this idea. He attacks hard and doesn't let up, not allowing his weaknesses to be exploited by keeping the enemy from never getting a hit in.
I believe Raph is based off of a wrestler or boxer. They fight physically and roughly, preferring to never allow their opponent get a hit in if it allows. Their act of defense is also similar, as boxers generally use their weapon as defense instead of offense. (Raph does this in the train battle and the shredder fight pre-karai death.) Even some of Raph's moves are essentially boxing moves. It also makes sense why, in the show, Raph loves wrestling so much. It may not be boxing, but it's a very similar sport.
Boxers also have large, bulky figures similar to Raph. Their entire body is muscular as opposed to just their legs or arms because of how physical their sport is.
*Mikey throws a lot of super heavy stuff like the top of a sky scraper, a loaded cargo ship, and a semi-truck, but he does it with the help of his mystic weapon.
Hahaha I'm so. Normal.
#rottmnt#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt raph#rottmnt Mikey#rottmnt leo#rise of the tmnt#tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#teenage mutant ninja turtles
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Scars – A Joel Miller/Reader Oneshot
“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair.
“Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel.
“Show me.”
Summary: When Joel stumbles into the kitchen at 2am, restless and tense, he doesn't expect to find you at the table, nursing a cold mug of tea. He certainly doesn't expect to end up tracing the scars on your skin, explaining how he got his, your hands mapping the contors of each other's old wounds until something new emerges.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, mutual pining, kind of angsty but also fluffy?, descriptions of old injuries, explicit sex, PIV, fingering, dirty talk, body worship, flirting, yearning, mentions of alcohol.
Word Count: 3.3k
It’s late, and the rest of Jackson is asleep.
A single street lamp lights the dark kitchen, casting a soft orange glow over the table and your half empty mug. The tea is long-since cold, but you keep your hands wrapped around it anyway, trying to soak up the last of its heat. There’s a microwave behind you, and a coffee machine, and enough hot water to fill several baths, but after twenty years of surviving by fire light and camping stoves, these modern conveniences still seem like the technology of your childhood, distant and unrealistic. And so the tea remains cold.
You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the normality of Jackson: the routine and order and kindness that seeps into every interaction, every town meeting and evening out. It’s been four months since you arrived – limping and half-dead, frozen almost solid by the bitter Wyoming winter – at the town’s gates.
And now you’re inside on a mild spring night, sharing a house with a man and his not-daughter, healthy and almost whole again. The town council were apologetic about housing you with Joel and Ellie: it was the only house with a spare bedroom at the time, but in truth it had been a relief. There was something overwhelmingly comforting about being around other people again, sleeping only a thin wall away from another human being, sharing meals and chores.
Joel’s quiet and serious most of the time, but you see cracks appearing in his hard exterior when he’s with Ellie, or his brother Tommy. Something of the man that existed before the world ended. And more recently he’s started opening up to you, too; rolling his eyes at you behind Ellie’s back when she swears or insults houseguests, chuckling at your bad jokes, letting his guard down when he gets home from a hard day’s construction work, allowing you to make him hot drinks and massage his sore shoulders.
You’re careful not to push anything too far, but the slow roll into familiarity with Joel has bred something less familial, too. Something wanting and churning that settles deep in your belly when you’re around him. It makes you want to press yourself against him, settle yourself in the crook of his shoulder, lick the thick tendons of his neck. Whether he feels the same is a mystery. He’s older than you by a couple of decades, not that that matters to you – you’re both adults – but he maintains a distance. Lets you massage his shoulders but never makes a sound while you do it. Holds the door open for you but keeps a respectful distance when you walk side-by-side through town. Allows you to rest your feet in his lap in the evenings on the sofa, but doesn’t touch them, or acknowledge them. You’ve heard him moving around in the night, restless and fidgety, but he never comes to your room on those long dark nights seeking comfort or companionship.
He's been quiet since he went to bed several hours earlier on this particular night, which is why it’s a shock when the kitchen light flickers on, illuminating Joel’s broad silhouette in the doorway. You scramble out of the chair onto your feet, heart thumping. He holds a hand up, calmingly, doesn’t move as your eyes adjust to the light.
“Fucking hell, Joel. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” He takes a step into the kitchen, feet bare on the terracotta tiles.
He’s still in his clothes from today, dark jeans under a thin grey tee, both slightly crumpled as though he’s slept in them. He always does. Undoubtedly it’s the same ritual that makes him keep a pistol on his bedside table, leave a packed go-bag by the front door; the same anxiety that casts dark shadows under his eyes, fuels his insomnia and maintains his habitual whiskey drinking. He’s ready for anything, always, because he’s been through shit and he thinks at any moment it’ll happen again. You understand. It’s why you’re in the kitchen at 2am, cold tea clutched between shaking hands.
“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask, as he opens a high cupboard and pulls out a tumbler.
You move around him, tip the dregs of your tea down the sink.
“Something like that,” He replies, voice croaky.
He pours the whiskey out into the glass, swirls it in thick fingers and then rests back against the kitchen counter opposite you, eyes finally finding yours. They hover for a moment on your face, dark and penetrating, then flick to one shoulder, the other, down your arm.
You keep them covered, normally. Wear long sleeves even in the heat of summer, never undress around anyone. You’ve avoided the swimming pond that opened three weeks ago, even though the water looked heavenly in the warm April weather, unwillingly to bear the scars that litter your body to the town, afraid they’ll show the community who you really are, reveal the terrible things you’ve done to survive. But unlike Joel you don’t have a habit of sleeping in your clothes, and the thin vest and shorts you’re wearing now reveals those long-hidden scars to him in the bright kitchen light.
The bullet wound is the worst one; a puckered, deep purple starburst across one shoulder, skin wrought into something alien and terrible. It’s this one that his gaze linger on, dark eyes making heat roll up your spine. His fist is gripping the whiskey glass so tightly that the tips of his fingers and knuckles are white with the strain of it.
“They’re awful, I know.” You say into the silence.
“What? No- God, no. They’re not.” A pause, his eyes flicking away from yours, over to the far wall, back across. “I’ve got ‘em, too. We all have.”
You scoff at this. Move your hand up, place it on your shoulder. His hand twitches where it rests on the countertop, but he doesn’t move.
“You cover them.” He says. It’s not a question, but you feel like you have to answer anyway.
“Yes.” A breath, shaky on the exhale. “They’re ugly.”
“No.” His voice is firm, commanding in the quiet kitchen. Despite yourself, you feel heat pooling between your thighs and you fidget, pressing them together, crossing your feet. The movement makes his eye dart down to your bare legs. You watch the apple of his throat as he swallows thickly, eyes trailing up to the hem of your shorts. There’s a scar there, too, bisecting your upper thigh. Thin and white, a reminder of a long ago incident with barbed wire.
“They’re not…” His voice trails off, eyes searching your face. “Nothing on you is ugly. Not even the scars. Especially not the scars.”
“No?”
“No.” He shifts, puts the whiskey glass down on the counter behind him and lifts his hand to your shoulder. Fingertips trace the edge of the bullet scar, and you feel goosepimples rise in their wake despite the warmth of the kitchen. He runs his hand up past its end, to your throat, along your collar bone and to the other arm. The scars there are paler, older. Shrapnel and grazes from a fall. Each one his fingertips trace reverently, as though they’re a holy text written across your skin. When he reaches the last, the one that loops around your wrist, the indent of a handcuff, you’re sure your heart is thumping so loudly he must be able to hear it, too. Slick is pooling between your thighs, hot and wet against the thin shorts you’re wearing.
“There are more,” You say, so quietly that it’s almost a whisper.
“Show me.”
It’s like a dance. You pull off your vest and Joel’s hand follows the curve of your waist, thumb dipping to press the small coin-shaped scar just below your rib cage. You sigh and he lets his hand run over your ribs, fingertips finding the spaces between like piano keys. When he reaches the curve of your bare breast he pauses, the weight of your flesh resting in the valley between his index finger and thumb. You don’t say anything, just lean into him, holding his eye contact, the pleasure and warmth of his hand making you bold. He moves slowly, carefully, rolling the bud of your nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching just so, pleasure blossoming in your chest, down your spine and to your cunt.
“This okay?” He asks, eyes flicking up from his hand to your face, tracking the pull of your eyebrows as they pitch together, the move of your mouth as you answer him with a shaky exhale.
“What about this one?” He asks, hand leaving your breast to trace across the scar that laces up your thigh under the hem of your shorts. “Can I?”
You’re not sure what he’s asking but you know that you want him to, want him to do whatever it is he’s asking so you nod. His hand grip your waist to lift you, setting you down on the kitchen counter. You grasp at his shoulders, the solid breadth of him hard under your hands. The counter is cold against the back of your legs, but before you can complain his hot hand is wrapped back around your thigh, thumb tracing the scar there again, fingertips inching up to the apex of your legs. He moves to stand between your open legs, still keeping a few inches of distance between you, the extra height of the counter making your eyes level. His burn into your face as he slips his hand higher still, fingers seeking out the wet heat of you, dipping inside, gathering slick and gliding it up to your clit.
“Joel,” You say into the aching gap between your lips and his.
“You’re fucking perfect,” He says, the words hot on your mouth, his breath mingling with your needy sighs. “All of you, you understand?”
You can only nod into his shoulder, head dropping to rest against the broad heft of it, his fingers thrumming a steady rhythm against your clit that has pleasure ratcheting up inside you. You’re still in your tiny sleep shorts, Joel’s hand forcing the crotch aside to palm at your drenched cunt. He slips two thick fingers into you, presses his thumb to your clit, and that tips you over the edge, pleasure coursing through you like fire.
He talks you through it, keeps up the firm press of his fingers, praises falling from his lips like prayers.
Good girl, that’s it, such a good fucking girl for me, taking what you need, so fucking perfect.
It’s only then, as you come down from the high, that he finally kisses you, tilting your head up with a gentle hand and fitting his lips to yours. They’re soft and dry, plush against your own. He slides his tongue against the seam of your lips, into the wet heat of your mouth, pulls back, before driving forward again, breathless and frantic. You thread your hands into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him against you, teeth clashing in your mutual desperation. His pulls his fingers from your wet heat, smears your slick up your sides as his palms your breasts, his earlier gentleness gone. But when you slip a hand between your bodies, seeking out the hard length of him in his jeans, he pulls back. His eyes are dark despite the bright kitchen light, pupils eating up the thin sliver of brown at the edges, but there’s a reticence there.
“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair.
“Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel.
“Show me.”
He steps back, out of the circle of your legs, pulls at the neck of his t-shirt and drags it up, over his head and off. His eyes are fixed on you, watching you as you take in the broad bulk of him, the sloping plains of his shoulders and chest down to a softer stomach. He’s all strength: hard where you’re soft, his scars stretched across thick muscle and tanned flesh. There’s one at his side that canters a jagged line across his stomach, and that’s where your hand goes, holding his waist to rest your thumb against its uneven edge. It looks fairly fresh, no more than a couple of years old, still red.
“What’s this from?” You ask.
“I was stabbed,” He replies, “while I was with Ellie.”
“It looks like it was bad.”
“Well, she stitched it up, so,” He smiles, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes, growing bolder as your hands map his chest and stomach.
“And this one?” An old one, hardly noticeable in the light, to the right of his belly button.
“Appendicitis, when I was twelve.”
“These?” A collection of four or five small white gash marks, peppered across his shoulders and along his collarbone.
“Makeshift grenade.” He says. “Went off in my hand.”
You lean forward, press your lips to the first of the scars and kiss it, drag your lips along to the second, and then the third. At the fourth you let your tongue dart out, tasting the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, salty and warm. He stands stock still as you do so, hands resting at your hips, fingertips gripping the flesh there tight enough to leave bruises. He sighs at the feel of your tongue against his skin, the insistent press of your mouth to his collarbone, your teeth, scraping at the tendon that jolts in his neck.
This time, when you reach for the button of his jeans he helps you, pops the first button, drags the zipper down and pushes them off his hips, revealing thick thighs corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair. He kicks the jeans the rest of the way off, steps forward again into the circle of your hips, letting you knead the thick flesh of his ass, pull him against you so that his hot length is pressed to the crotch of your shorts, two pieces of thin cotton the only thing separating you.
You kiss up the column of his throat, press your teeth to his ear lobe, and are rewarded with a soft groan that sends pleasure sparking up your spine again, cunt clenching down on nothing. His cock twitches against you when you lick a stripe along the underside of his jaw. You fit your lips back to his. This kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, teeth clashing, his strong nose pressed to yours, one of his hands fisting in your hair, gripping tight at the ponytail at the base of your neck, holding you to him. You shuffle on the counter, pull your shorts off and down to join his jeans and shirt on the tiled floor.
“Take them off,” You say into his mouth, needy fingers sliding into the waistband of his briefs, seeking the length of him.
He does as you ask, bending to push them down, cock dipping and slapping up against his stomach as he frees it. He’s big, thick and beautiful, veins standing out against the shaft, precum beading at the tip. He hisses into your open mouth when you wrap your fist around him and stroke slowly up and down, thumb seeking out his slit, spreading his arousal and yours over it and down his length.
“Jesus, darlin’,” He sighs against the side of your neck, stubble rough against you, his hands seeking out the weight of your tits again, pressing open mouthed kisses against your skin.
You pull him back against you, press the blunt head of him to your slick entrance and watch him watch himself sink inside you, inch by inch, stretching you open. The burn of it is intoxicating, his thick length opening you up, pressing inside deliciously, white-hot pleasure blossoming up through your body.
“Feels so good, Joel,” You tell him as he shakes against you, bottoming out and dragging himself out only to press back inside.
“Pussy’s so goddamn perfect,” He says, his voice almost cracking with the effort of it.
“Please, Joel,” you hiss, “harder, please.”
The sound he makes then is animalistic, something between a grunt and a growl, teeth clenched, jaw pressed hard to your neck. He tightens his grip on your hips, anchors you to the counter and starts pounding into you. The strength of him is something to behold, his hips snapping into yours, muscles of his back shifting and clenching beneath your grasping hands.
“So fucking good,” he groans, “wanna stay inside you for the rest of my fucking life, darlin’.”
You don’t know how he’s so articulate; it’s all you can do to hold on to his shoulders and let him fuck you, whimpers and moans pouring from your open lips as he does, the slap of his hips against yours filthy in the otherwise silent house. When he slows his thrusts again he pulls back from you to watch where you’re joined, eyes dark, perspiration beading on his forehead. There’s a vein in his neck that’s pulsing visibly, a drop of sweat trickling down beside it, charting a course through patchy stubble. He reaches between your bodies, splays his hand over your mound and presses his thumb to your clit.
“Yes, Joel, please, God.”
“I can feel how close you are, darlin’” He says, “can feel you gripping me so tight.”
He strums his thumb over the swollen bundle of nerves, drawing small, tight circles that have you seeing stars within seconds, tension coiling inside you, ratcheting up until it breaks on a hard thrust of his hips, his cock hitting that spongy place inside you that sends pleasure right down to your toes. You come hard, fingernails digging into the hard flesh of his shoulders, Joel’s mouth clamped to your throat, teeth worrying the skin there, repeating the same phrase over and over as you come down.
There it is, there it is, good girl, I’ve got you.
He thrusts lazily into you as you slowly relax again, little aftershocks continuing for several long minutes, the blunt head of him hitting that same spot inside you again and again. You can tell he’s close now, his hands shaking where they’re gripping your hips again, face set in concentration, squeezing his eyes shut every few thrusts as though he’s desperately trying to hold himself back.
“Let go, Joel. Please,” You whisper, and he hisses through his teeth, pulls you bodily forward on the counter so that the angle changes and he can drive up into you, his pace quickening again.
“Jesus fucking Christ, darlin’” He rasps, thrusting into you once- twice- three more times.
He pulls out then, fist gripping the base of his cock as he paints your stomach and cunt with his cum, hot and thick. His face is a rapture, eyes pitch black, teeth bared with pleasure and need, the strong set of his jaw holding together what little restraint he has left.
He kisses you again after, drags kitchen roll from the holder to clean you up, presses sweet lips to your cheeks and temples, down your neck, across your chest, like he’s trying to taste the ecstasy that’s written across your heated skin.
Outside, dawn is quickly approaching. The weak rays of sunlight that filter into the kitchen illuminate the tan glow of Joel’s face and paint the scars on your bodies in pale yellow light. You don’t think anything’s ever looked more beautiful.
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#joel x reader#joel x you#the last of us fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfic
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I wanna say best friend Steve, who doesn’t get why you’re insecure and wants to hype you up…
Reflections
Best Friend!Steve Harrington x Fem!reader
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, friends to lovers, light angst from body image issues but it resolves, PIV sex / mirror sex, praise, groping, a LOT of fluff
You’re getting ready for a party and he’s waiting for you but you’re taking foreeeeever and he’s so BORED. He’s flopped on your bed with an arm over his eyes moaning about how late you two will be. But then he realizes you’ve been in your closet for a long time and you’re really quiet.
“Babe? C’mon, what’s going on? Get outta there.”
When you finally do, Steve’s eyes go wide. He’s never seen you in something so form fitting. Something that hugs every delicious curve and exposes the hills and valleys of you. His mouth goes dry and suddenly he’s feeling all hot and clammy like a fucking teenager again.
Keep it together, Harrington. You used to run shit and now you’re getting stiff over your best friend? He swallows thickly at the thought and wrenches his gaze up to your face, startled to find you frowning.
“What’s wrong?” he asks and you throw your arms up into the air.
“What do you mean what’s wrong?” you huff, walking over to the mirror. Steve steps up behind you, doing his best to maintain a respectful distance. Your hands grab meanly at the rounded parts of you and your frown deepens. “This doesn’t fit how I wanted it to and I look awful and -,”
You’re cut off suddenly by the massive snort of a laugh Steve let’s out behind you. You glare daggers at him over your shoulder through the mirror.
“What the fuck, Harrington?!”
Steve continues chuckling but puts his hands heavy on your shoulders, good natured and soothing.
“I’m sorry but you’re fucking crazy if you think you look awful. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg here, babe.”
Your jaw tenses as it does every time he calls you ‘babe.’ Reminding yourself that he’s your friend and nothing more, regardless of the way his fingers are digging into your muscles, you shake your head petulantly.
“I look like bag of lumps,” you argue.
“Nah, you look like one of those paintings we saw on that field trip to that museum in Indianapolis,” he says wistfully, no longer pretending to not be appraising you in the mirror. Despite your lingering trepidations you can’t lie to yourself. You like the feeling of his eyes on your body.
“You calling me Rubenesque?” you ask, finally quirking a smile. Steve’s answer grin is huge, glad you’re no longer frowning.
“Look, I have no idea what that means but if it’s good, then yeah.” He shrugs and takes you in again, scanning your figure with eyes that finally settle on your ass, no longer looking in the mirror. You feel heat spread through you while he licks his lips unconsciously. “But really I’m calling you sexy.”
“Sexy?” you groan, ruffling with discomfort and squeezing your eyes shut against embarrassment. “Shut up, Harrington!”
Steve’s eyebrows shoot up.
“What?”
“Just shut up, will you?”
“Why? Because I called you sexy?” he asks defensively.
You curl in on yourself covering your ears.
“Stop fucking saying that word.”
“No. I won’t, you weirdo,” Steve laughs, grabbing you by the waist and wrestling you back to full height. You fight against him weakly by wriggling in his arms but his grip is firm. He locks eyes with you in the mirror and forces you to hold the contact. “You’re fucking hot, okay? Deal with it.”
“Ok fine, hot is a word that, while an exaggeration, I can maybe live with,” you respond, rolling your eyes. Steve shakes his head. It’s not lost on you that his grip tightens on your waist.
“But you’re also sexy,” he continues to insist. When you loll your head to the side in discomfort he has to steel himself so he doesn’t lean down and inhale the scent of your perfume on your exposed neck. He shakes you a bit and your head lolls to the other side. “What’s your problem with that word.”
“Because, Steve,” you harumph, slapping your hands over your eyes to hide your face. “Calling someone ‘sexy’ implies that people would willingly have sex with them.”
Steve is momentarily silent but the puff of air that you feel on your neck from his sudden and harsh exhale makes goosebumps erupt on your skin. It’s his turn to frown darkly at you.
“Is that a joke?”
“The idea of people willing to have sex with me?” you ask, reaching to dig and elbow back into his ribs. “Yeah. A big joke. Haha Ho Ho. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Steve’s mouth flattens into a tight line.
“Lots of people want to have sex with you.” He says it bluntly. It’s not an argument. He’s not trying to convince you. Just stating it as if it’s fact.
And now it’s your turn to snort.
“As the sexual object in question, who has been so celibate it’s like her virginity has been reinstated, I’m gonna have to beg to differ with you, buddy.”
Steve stiffens behind you. You’re best friends. He knew about your dry spell, but he hadn’t realized the extent to which it had messed with your confidence. It makes him almost shake with a sudden rage he doesn’t understand. Not at you, of course. But at the situation. At the male population of Hawkins who clearly don’t have fucking eyeballs let alone brains to comprehend what a catch you are.
He’d been nursing his own pathetic crush on you since that first day you’d waltzed into Scoops Ahoy and immediately turned down his over the top advances. You’d laughed him off as completely unserious and the two of you began an unlikely friendship born of teasing, complaining, and messing with Dustin and Robin. Steve had swallowed his attraction to you, letting it surface only in moments when he could appreciate you without you noticing. Which means “appreciating” your ass when you bend over to pick something up. Or “appreciating” your tits when you bend over to pick something else up. The fact that you haven’t noticed how consistently Steve drops shit is honestly concerning.
Steve’s not a particularly eloquent guy. He can be smooth when he wants to be, but if his current season of striking out constantly has taught him anything, it’s the fact that he isn’t getting any better at speaking. All he knows is he’s desperate to change the look on your face that says you don’t believe in your own looks.
He doesn’t think. He just pulls you against the front of his body roughly, closing the gap he had been maintaining.
“Steve, what - oh!” you gasp when you feel it. Him. Hard against you, his fingers digging into your sides to keep you pressed to him. Steve lowers his head to speak in your ear, all the while maintaining eye contact with you in the mirror.
“You’re more than a sexual object,” he says roughly. Then his hands drop to the sides of your thighs, applying pressure as he slides them up to map the slopes of your curves. “But if that’s what you wanna be, believe me. You’ve got takers, babe.”
“Steve…” you mumble under your breath. Your eyes are wide and fixed on him. Lips wetted and parted as you inhale shallowly.
Well. At least he’d managed to get the frown off your face.
Steve does his best to analyze the look in your eyes through the mirror. He doesn’t want to make you more upset accidentally. You gape for a second, remaining silent, and his hands follow the same path back down your curves, sliding around to press into the roundness of your lower belly to push you more securely against his erection.
“You’re…you’re just trying to make me feel better…” you finally say weakly. Steve’s hands slide back up to hold your hips, pressing into the dip of your waist to savor in a supple roundedness present there as well. Your eyelids flutter for a second at the touch.
“So are you saying this is making you feel better?” He asks. You don’t respond so he rolls his eyes. “You think I got hard just to make you feel better? Seriously?”
“Well I don’t know how it works…” you sputter indignantly. Steve laughs into your hair.
“Yeah I don’t believe that for a second. I think you know exactly how it works and that’s why you find it so fun to mess with me all the damn time.”
Your brow furrows and Steve shakes his head.
“Cut the crap. You do shit to turn me on every single day. It has to be intentional at this point.”
Your mouth opens and you struggle to respond.
“I don’t know what you’re…I’m not doing anything.” Then your face screws up in frustration. “If you’re making fun of me, I swear to god, Steve, I’ll -,”
“Does this feel like I’m making fun of you?!” Steve says abruptly, grinding against you. Your dress is so short that this time it rides up with the pressure, making it so that his clothed cock presses between the plush of the backs of your thighs.
You want to protest, but the moan that rips from your throat doesn’t sound much like a protest. Steve groans in your ear and your eyes whip up from where they’d rested on his hands to find his face. The hunger in his expression steals your breath.
“You cant…you can’t really want this,” you mutter. You can’t want me, is what you mean. It makes a lump form in Steve’s throat. Makes him want to hold you even closer, so he does.
“I do,” he contradicts, rocking himself against you consistently now. He’s encouraged by the way you shiver and grip at his wrists. Not pulling him off you but anchoring him to you instead. Steve brings his face to the side of yours, staring till you turn your head to look at him. In real life this time and not through the mirror. He’s disconcertingly close and your breath stutters in your chest. His eyelids are half mast as he takes you in. “The question is…do you want this?”
You kiss him before you can think any deeper about what’s going on. You kiss him before you can convince yourself that this is a prank or a pity kiss or anything else other than an attractive man you care about lavishing you with physical affection. Steve’s eyes slam shut easily and he holds you close in this awkward position. Craning your neck around as his front is pressed still to your back. His lips are insistent and hot and wet and quickly he’s forcing yours open so his tongue can slip in.
You practically swoon over the combination of his hands and his lips and his tongue. His dick presses more insistently against you and you find yourself pressing back. Shimmying your was a bit to create more friction. Triumph shooting through you when Steve let’s out a quiet, low “Fuck” in response.
When you finally pull away for a oxygen, you straighten up and look at Steve and yourself in the mirror again. You look absolutely debauched out of no where. Eyes hazy, lids low, hair and dress askew, chest rising and falling in a restless pant. Steve ignores the opportunity to breathe, instead using the pause to start kissing your neck.
You watch him work at your skin. His jaw moving and throat tensing and releasing. His hair wild and disheveled in a way that makes him look even more sinfully delicious than normal. It really isn’t fair.
You’ve always been attracted to Steve Harrington. You have eyes and a healthy libido after all. But you’d never believed someone like him could want someone like you. You did believe, however, that you were a perfect match in every respect other than aesthetic. He needed someone to challenge him. Someone to keep him humble while also supporting him and building him up. You had plenty of confidence in your humor, intelligence, and overall personality, so him becoming your best friend made sense when you both fell into it.
But with his body against yours now, it’s the first time you’ve ever even considered the meaning behind his flirtatiousness. The intent behind the hands he places comfortingly on your shoulders or thighs. Hope bloomed hot and hesitant in your core as you watched his hands begin to roam and grope at parts he’d never dared touch before.
“This…this okay?” he asks into your skin as he tentatively cups one of your breasts. He cracks an eye open to look at you in the mirror and when you nod, he allows his hand to close tighter around you. You swallow another moan.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?” he whispers back, not looking up from your tits which he’s begun massaging through your dress. You grasp at his wrist and shake him to get his attention.
“Steve.”
The strain in your voice has his eyes snapping up to yours and his hands stopping immediately. He looks sheepish.
“Do you not like that? I can stop -,”
He goes to remove his hands from your chest but you slam your hands down over the backs of his to keep him fondling you.
“No!” you say hastily. Steve seems confused so you continue. “Remember what you said about there being ‘takers’ for me?”
Steve bites his lip, not enjoying the thought of how many other guys would find you thoroughly fuckable. But he nods.
“Yeah?”
“Well…” you say before you can overthink and ruin this. Your mind is reeling and your body is aching. The signs are too clear to question and even if this wasn’t what it seemed to be, you didn’t feel strong enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. You bite your own lip. “Would you…would you take me?”
Steve stops breathing. You can tell because his breaths were coming in heavy before and now suddenly his chest is still against your back. You don’t let yourself question it. Instead you widen your stance and lean over, flattening your palms against the wall on either side of the mirror. In the reflection of the glass Steve gets a good look down your dress into the cleavage below. Looking behind you he gets a good look up your dress where it’s ridden up, revealing a pair of dainty lace panties.
The groan that rips through him seems to restart his lungs because suddenly he’s practically hyperventilating behind you. His hands land heavy on your hips and he grinds against you with even more purpose. Steve’s instinct is to ask again if you’re sure, but you hum a low “yess” and drop your head to hand between your arched shoulders.
You’re into this. Maybe even as much as he is. It’s time to man the fuck up and take what he wants. What you want to give him.
So Steve places his hand on the dip of your lower back to encourage a deeper arch. You oblige him, sticking your ass out further in the process, and he groans.
“I’ll show you how you should be treated, babe, don’t you worry,” Steve says hoarsely. A thrill runs through you at his words but he continues. “But you have to do one thing for me.”
“Anything,” you answer breathlessly. You’re surprised by your own enthusiasm but you can’t help it, visions running through your mind of what he could ask of you. You mentally prepared yourself to drop to your knees, mouth already prematurely watering.
“Acknowledge how sexy you are,” he says, suddenly wrenching you upwards so you can see yourself more fully in the mirror again. Your back is once more flush with his chest and you moan at the sight of his hand wrapping lightly, delicately around the base of your throat.
“That....I’m...” you struggle with the words and then shake your head. Steve’s hand slides down and pulls at one strap and then the other, letting gravity do the work of exposing your breasts to the air and him. Steve’s eyes roll back and he bites his fist.
“I mean come on,” he moans. He gestures to your chest. “What the fuck is this? You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”
You can barely meet his intense gaze in the mirror but try your best.
“You...wouldn’t have dated me in high school.”
Steve blinks. Completely taken back by the juxtaposition of your sudden vulnerability and the absolute fantasy of having your body against him, tits out and ready to be fucked. It takes a second for his brain to work through it but then he’s laughing.
“We wouldn’t have even been friends in high school. I would have made fun you and Robin if we’d ever crossed paths. Probably would have beaten the shit out of Dustin if he’d been old enough. And you know why?” he asks. You’re confused by his laughter so you shake your head and he continues. “Because I was an absolute asshole. It’s a me problem. High school Steve was a dick and honestly you’re better off not even knowing him.”
His tone is flippant but you can see the strain in his features. He feels guilt about his past and you know that. You suddenly feel guilty for letting your insecurities drag up an ancient history that you know he’s more than happy to move past. Comforted, you squeeze one of his hands that now rests on your hip and smile.
“And these days you’re only sometimes a dick,” you tease. Steve’s smile becomes more genuine, but his features screw up when you catch him off guard and bend over again, grinding against his still present erection. His fingers dig into your hips harshly.
“I’ll show you a dick,” he hisses, pressing into you in a shallow thrust. It’s absurd and it makes you laugh, finally free of the tension that had coated everything up to this point.
“Please do, Harrington. You’ve kept me waiting,” you respond, impatiently wiggling your hips. Steve abruptly pushes the bottom of your dress up, exposing your ass and leaving all of the material bunched around your middle. He lands a slap against your right ass cheek that has you squealing, finding his eyes in the mirror. They glint with mischief.
“I know you liked that. You forget you’ve told me what gets you hot,” he says simply. You flashback to the weed fueled honesty session in the Family Video parking lot you both had had one night and tingles erupt at the thought of what else he might remember. But then you remember what he’d said.
“Yeah well you like it when a girl touches herself, right?” you say cockily, lifting one hand from the wall and brining it to slide from your jaw, down your neck, to cup your breast and play with your nipple. While doing so you accentuate the curve in your back. Steve watches, swallowing audibly, but then fast as lightning rips your hand away from yourself and presses it back to the wall. His full body doubles over yours. You gasp.
“Usually I do, yeah. But I’ve waited so long that right now only I get to touch this body, understand?” You’re nodding before you can even think about it. When he trusts that you’ll leave both your hands pressed to the wall, Steve let’s his hands return to you. He slides up from your knees to grip fully at your inner thighs. He manhandles your hips, moving them side to side in order to grind your ass against his tented jeans. He palms up your soft stomach beneath the bunched dress. And then he cups your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, making you gasp again. His chuckle is low.
“See this is better. I’m the one who appreciates this body anyway. I should give her what she deserves.”
Your eyes are heavy lidded as they hold one another in the reflection. There’s hunger there that you’ve never known in your short lived sexual experience and suddenly you know for a goddamn fact that if this man is not inside you soon you will combust.
“Steve can you…can we just…?” You move against him impatiently and he leans in to kiss your neck with a chuckle.
“I’ve got you, babe. No need to beg.” The cockiness makes you roll your eyes but you hate that a fresh wave of wetness coats the tops of your inner thighs.
“I wasn’t gonna beg.”
“You weren’t gonna beg?” Steve asks, feigning shock. Your hands ball into fists against the wall.
“Pull your fucking pants down, Harrington.”
“Can do,” Steve says with a big grin. He unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans swiftly, in spit of how tight they are, leaving them and his underwear bunched at his thighs. He pushes you down farther and you have to strain to look up and watch him.
Over the curve of your ass you are treated to the sight of Steve Harrington stroking his massive cock. He hadn’t been called King Steve for nothing, that was for sure. His fist moves over it smoothly and with a familiarity that has you jealous of his fucking hand. Your eyes are wide and he seems pleased by your reaction.
“This work for you?” he teases. You bite your lip and consider your response.
“You’re sexy, Steve Harrington.”
A flush spreads across his face and down your neck and you’ve never been so smug in your entire life. But to his credit Steve clears his throat and grins.
“Thank you, babe,” he says before leaning over your body and rutting his cock against your core, leaving you gasping. He chuckles in your ear. “See, that’s how you take a compliment.”
“It’s not a compliment when it’s a fact, Steve,” you argue. But then he’s pulling down your panties and your legs begin to shake in anticipation.
“I don’t know because this is both a compliment and a fact - you’re fucking soaked!” he groans, running two fingers through your folds to collect the slick there. He flashes you a smile in the mirror that you can’t return because he suddenly sinks two fingers into you, causing your jaw to drop. “Which sexy thing in the mirror did this to you - you or me.”
“Shut - fuck. Shut up, Harrington,” you grit out.
He laughs and starts kissing your neck in tandem to his thrusting fingers. You bite back a moan, especially when his free hand lifts to play with your nipple. As someone who’d never been afforded much foreplay, you probably could have taken him two minutes into your argument, but Steve Harrington is warming you up. Getting you ready for him. And the realization makes you want to melt into a puddle at his feet.
When he adds a third finger and your hips work overtime, practically riding his hand, Steve finally pulls away, pressing a swirl into your clit that has you spasming as he takes his hand from between your legs.
“I think you’re good and ready,” he mutters, almost to himself. You nod feverishly up at him, swiveling your neck to try and see him directly. He shakes his head and nudges you back to the mirror. “No you’re gonna watch. You’re gonna watch me fuck you and see how well you take it.”
His words almost have your eyes rolling back in your head, but you hum an affirmative and go back to watching him in the mirror. Steve rubs the head of his cock through your folds and the way his face crumbles in pleasure has you absolutely preening. Then a sudden thought has your back rigid.
“Steve. Condom,” you say softly but urgent. His eyes snap open and he’s nodding immediately.
“Yeah sorry. Sorry!” He leans down and nips at the swell of your ass playfully and you yelp at the casual intimacy of it, heating up further as he reaches into the pocket of his bunched up jeans and pulls a foil packet from his wallet.
“How old is that?” you challenge with a cocked brow. He studies the packet for a second before looking up at you grinning.
“New enough that it’s not expired but old enough to have been collecting dust in there for a while,” he says, ripping it open and rolling the condom over his length. You bite your lip at the subtle confirmation that he hasn’t been with anyone else for a long time, trying to tamp down how good that makes you feel. Steve notices. “You like that? The fact that you’re the only one?”
You roll your eyes and repeat the refrain of the night.
“Shut up, Harrington.”
Steve pushes forward, one hand wrapped around the base of his dick, the other hand grounding on your hip. He spreads your folds with the head to cover himself in your slick. You sigh at the feeling.
“You’re not the only one whose been in a dry spell,” he says with a chuckle. You groan, letting your eyes slide closed while the hand that’s on your hip slips between your thighs to rub circles into your clit. He’s making you wetter. Prepping you further to accommodate his size. Again you feel overwhelmed by his attentiveness and how different this is from all your previous experiences. “You know the difference between us though, right?”
“Hm?” you ask, fully distracted by the pressure of his cock at your entrance and his finger on your bud.
“The difference is my dry spell is cuz I was waiting for you.” He says it simply. As if he’s not dropping a bomb on you in an incredibly intimate moment. Your eyes fly open and find his in the mirror and he’s grinning but this isn’t a joke. Your mouth opens to respond but the only thing that comes out is a moan when he chooses that exact moment to push all the way into you.
The feeling is otherworldly. It’s a stretch you’ve never felt and it’s got your legs turning to jelly and your face crumpling just on the line between pleasure and pain. You search for Steve’s face again in the mirror like a tether in a storm and he looks as overwhelmed as you feel. His eyes are screwed shut and he’s biting his lip so hard you’re worried because you sure as fuck want to kiss those plush lips again.
“St-Steve…” you all but whimper. He finds you in the mirror and looks almost distraught.
“Sorry yeah I’ll move it’s just…fuck.”
The desperation in his tone is such a boost to your ego that it’s got you rocking back into him.
“Feels good, Steve.” It comes out in practically a slur, but it seems music to his ears with the way he leans forward, gripping your waist and pulling out inch by inch.
“Feels incredible,” he contradicts before slamming back in. The suddenness of the movement has you clenching around him with surprise and he groans, fingers digging into your soft flesh. “Baby. Baby.”
Baby.
Not babe. Baby.
You hear the word ringing in your ears and your entire body reacts, letting him drive in even deeper somehow. It punches the air out of your lungs and you don’t let yourself think before responding.
“I like that.” It comes out in a rush. Steve huffs a laugh and starts finding a regular pace.
“You like that, huh? That the spot?”
“No,” you try responding but cut yourself off with a gasp. “I mean yeah, but no. I mean I…like you calling me baby.”
Steve’s eyes melt watching you. Saying sweet shit like that while taking his cock so well.
“Good. I wanna keep calling you baby,” he says quietly.
Your gazes connect and you could swear your hearing cuts out. Time stops and everything in your view fades into fuzzy blurriness, leaving only room for him. Steve had slowed his thrusts, but as you focus on one another he renews his efforts. Not going faster, per se, but harder. Deeper. Your hands do what they can to keep you propped up against the wall, but soon your cheek is mashed against the mirror. You’re completely unable to stop the momentum of his thrusts from driving you forward with each upswing.
“Defeats the purpose - fuck! Of the mirror if you’re not watching the show, baby,” Steve grunts out after a few minutes. Sweat has begun beading on his forehead and he’s losing patience with the distance between you. He’s enjoying fucking you from behind - it’s usually his favorite way of fucking - but there’s something missing. Before long he’s pulling out, much to your vocal protestation, and hauling you over to your long empty bed.
“Wanna do this now,” he says as explanation. You don’t care. All you care about is the relief you feel when he sinks back into you. He has you on your back now, knees pushed up to your ribs. But you do care when everything comes into focus and you realize his face is right there. And the weight of his body is on you and around you and suddenly you need nothing more on this earth than to kiss him.
So you do.
Steve hums into your mouth when you lurch up to press it to his. Your tongues fight for dominance and a line of saliva connects you when you finally part enough to pant for much needed air.
“Holy shit, Steve. Fuck!” You slam your head back down against the pillow, doing your best to lift your hips to meet each of his thrusts.
“I’m kinda mad we haven’t been doing this all along,” Steve admits with a grunting laugh.
“We were friends,” you reason, bucking against him when his fingers find your clit again. with the way he has you folded in half, the added stimulation has you rocketing towards orgasm at a breakneck pace.
“Aha, ‘were?’ So we’re not friends anymore?” Steve asks.
“How many friends have you been inside?” you ask, but then your eyes widen. “Never mind, I don’t want to know the answer to that.”
Steve barks out a laugh, shaking his head before pressing his forehead to yours.
“Only you, baby,” he says good-naturedly. “Don’t think I can settle for just friends now, though.”
“No?” you ask absently. You’re beginning to ascend and losing yourself in the feeling. He can tell by the way you’re beginning to spasm irregularly around him.
“No, I need the whole sexy package,” he teases. You hear even more than before at the implication. That he might want all of you, and for more than just this, in this moment. You bite your lip and don’t say anything but his lips find your throat and you whimper. Steve sounds impatient when he speaks again. “Tell me you want me, too.”
You blink up at the ceiling and sputter.
“Wh-what?”
Steve pulls back, his thrusts slowing to a roll. He looks a little more tense. A little more vulnerable.
“You’re not the only one who needs to hear it, you know.”
You almost laugh at that but swallow it when you see he’s serious.
“Of course I want you,” you respond firmly. “Obviously.”
“It’s not obvious to me…” he mutters, dropping eye contact. You crane your neck to follow him.
“Steve, you’re hot as fuck - ,”
“That’s not -,” he tries to cut you off dismissively but you continue over him.
“AND you’re my best friend. I love being with you. In any way.” You roll your pelvis and look shyly up at him when he meets your gaze again. “But I’ve been wanting this way the most.”
Steve perks up, his hand grabbing yours.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanted this?”
“Since that first time we spoke at Scoops Ahoy,” you confess. Steve’s thrusts come in faster now so your breathing picks up again. He snorts indignantly.
“I asked you out that day! You turned me down!”
“Well yeah, cuz I thought you were still a dick back then, Steve,” you reply with a massive smile. “We’ve been over this. Oh god…”
“You like this dick now, though, don’t you baby,” he intones, nothing but smooth Harrington charm. You don’t have it in you anymore to laugh or disagree.
“Mmmmhm…”
“You know you’re beautiful, right?” You seem just fucked out enough at this point that you finally won’t protest and he’s right. Your head lolls around on the pillow and you blink up at him dumbly. Steve takes in the bouncing of your breasts and the way your curves jiggle with each impact and he swears under his breath. “Gonna remind you how beautiful you are till you believe me, baby.”
He drives himself in all the way to hilt, holding himself there deep inside you till you’re clawing at him and clinging to him, moaning around gasps. Steve’s huge, but even better than that is the fact that he knows what to do with it. You ache with the supreme stretch of him. Pulse around his throbbing length in a way that makes you dizzy while you look up at him with glassy eyes that show you’re at least kind of understanding the depth of what he’s saying to you.
Steve can’t even begin to comprehend how he was lucky enough to finally find himself in this position. With you beneath him, staring up at him as if he hung the moon and the stars rather than simply stating plain, painfully obvious facts. He sees the crease in your brow as you wrestle with all the emotion he’s making you feel, however, and he wants to ease it. There’s been enough agony tonight. Right now, all he wants you to feel is pleasure.
“Hey,” he whispers suddenly, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose against yours as his thrusts start up again. A hazy smile lights up your features.
“Hey,” you respond weakly.
“Still worried you’re not fuckable?” he teases. You huff a laugh that barely sounds like one because Steve chooses that moment to return his fingers to your clit, making you whimper.
“You seem to…mmm. You like…oh fuck…”
“Easy for you to say,” Steve chuckles, but the heat’s not lost on him either at this point. His face is screwed up in pleasure and the arm holding him up beside you is beginning to shake. He’s so fucking close, he just needs you to cum first because no matter the growth he’s gone through, he’s still King Steve and he’s gotta break you first for his ego, damn it.
Finally you whimper the magic words.
“Steve! Oh…’m so close…there…”
Steve knows what that means, so he changes nothing about what he’s doing, just focuses on doing it better. A deeper push against your sweet spot. A harder swirl against your clit.
“Come on, baby, c’mon,” he talks you through it and then you’re crashing over the edge. Seizing in his arms and clamping down on him in every way possible. Constricting your arms and legs around him. Pussy spasming and locking him in, making it hard to continue to steadily pull in and out.
The sudden onslaught of pressure has Steve toppling over soon after. He lets out a guttural grown and buries his face in your neck, his hips stuttering into yours as he spills into the condom. Though it accepts none of his cum, your pussy milks his pulsing cock for all its worth. His shuddering breath matches your own and you gasp and cling to one another as you slowly come back to earth.
It’s quiet for a few minutes in the aftermath. Aside from your combined slowing pants, of course. Steve’s face is still buried in your neck and it takes a while for you to regain feeling enough to recognize that he’s administering soft kisses to the skin there.
It all floods back into focus. The fact that you had been getting ready for a party (one that you were now astronomically late to). The insecurities you had exposed to your best friend. The insecurities your best friend had exposed to you.
You want to be worried about it. You want to feel stressed about what this will do to your friendship and about how he will look at you when he finally pulls back and sees you sweaty and disheveled and…and…and…
And Steve pulls back to give you the softest smile you’ve ever seen. And he’s sweaty. And disheveled. And luminous. Before you even realize it you’re stretching out your hand to touch his cheek. His eyes slide closed as he leans into your touch. Turns to press a kiss into your palm.
Your lip quivers and you do your best to swallow any of the negative self talk that had tried to bubble to the surface. When Steve’s eyelids float open again he sighs.
“I know you were thinking about it, but we’re not making it to that fucking party. I don’t care what you say.”
The laugh you let out is strangled. Rocketed right back to old times and the root of your teasing friendship. You go to swat at him and he grabs your wrist, nipping at the back of your hand.
“Hey, it’s your fault for being so sexy. Think I got my fill fucking you once? Not a chance, baby.”
His grin lights up the room. You manage to match it.
“Shut up, Harrington.”
~*~
#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#stranger things smut#best friend!steve harrington
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thinkin about the one bed troupe with coworker!nanami
contains: fem reader, manhandling, degradation, choking, size kink, mean nanamin, the knee thing :p, dom/sub undertones implied, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, gentleman nanamin at the begining<3
MDNI
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔
finishing up with a mission that took a little longer than expected and having to book a room last minute at some run down motel with nanami, the only room available only housing one bed :(
after a long back and forth conversation with lots of protests from nanami insisting he would sleep on the floor, you both end up taking the bed,
both of you laying on your sides facing the wall, your back to nanami, his chest towards your back
he tried his best to maintain a respectful distance away from you, proving futile as his large body alone took up more than half the twin bed
“goodnight’s” have been said, getting all settled in under the covers after nanami flicks off the light on the bedside table
feeling the heat from his body radiate against your back, realizing just how close you were in proximity, silence filling the room, save for his deep breaths that reached your ears, making goosebumps run down your arms
rubbing your thighs together as subtly as possible, gaining the courage to push your ass back into his crotch, sayin, “sorry nanamin, ‘s just so cold..” and he believes you because you’re his sweet little coworker, why would you lie to him?
he feels absolutely awful when his dick twitches at your cute little voice, cock now tenting in his pants
squeezing his eyes shut he tried to think about anything other than your hips wiggling back into him every couple seconds
he knows he shouldn’t feel like this, you’re just trying to get comfortable! the mattress is stiff and it really is cold in here! he’s praying you don’t feel how hard he is, cock now standing under his clothes at full attention
little does he know his filthy coworker knows exactly what she’s doing
biting your lip, growing wetter as you get exactly the right reactions you wanted out of him, trying not to moan as you feel how fucking big he is between your cheeks
he places a big hand on your hip and grips hard, when your subtle grinding gets a little too obvious, “are you doing this to me on purpose?” his deep voice whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine, suppressing a whine
“thought you were cold but you’re just a little slut, huh?” he harshly rolls you onto your back, pinning your smaller frame underneath his much larger one, sliding a knee between your legs he pushes right up against where you needed him most,
“had me feeling so guilty for getting this fucking hard,” he emphasizes by reaching a big palm between you and rubbing himself over his slacks, “i was trying to be respectful.” he continues, releasing the strong grip on his cock and roughly grabbing your neck,
you gasp, using both your hands to grab his thick wrist, feeling lightheaded from the strength he was showing off
“but you don’t wanna be treated with respect, isn’t that right?” he seethed, leaning his face down inches from yours, emphasizing his point by squeezing your neck, your jaw dropping open, whimpering at his rough treatment,
“you think i’m an idiot? huh?,” he pushes his knee into your core and you snap your legs shut around his rippling thigh, “think i’m some dumb whore like you? huh?”
and what happens next has you sealing your own fate,
you fucking smirk, and he swears he’s never felt the need to put someone in their place as bad as he needs to put you in yours now, “oh you think this is funny?” he growls releasing your neck opting to grip your jaw and make you look directly at him, veins bulging on his hands, “let’s see if youre still laughing after i fuck the brat out of you.”
#nanami pls be mean to me#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk nanami#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jjk smut#jujutsu nanami#nanami kento#nanami smut#nanaslutt#jjk kento#kento nanami#kento x reader#kento x y/n#kento smut#kento x you#nanamin
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can i request rafe x fwb reader where reader finds out hes dating sofia and she goes to confront him that he didnt even have the decency to let her know their arrangement was over and he says "who said it was over?''
stuck in the middle - RAFE CAMERON
authors note as you guys may notice i'm finally publishing requests that you guys sent me. super sorry this was very late to publish. i hope you like what i wrote and it was what you hoped. so, thank you for sending this requests.
requests are still open so feel free to send them my way and i will get to them and put them into my docs :) if you click on the bold red ink it will take you to my ask box lovies!!!
summary you find out through people and social media sofia and rafe are together. you go to confront rafe about this since he never thought to tell you that your arrangement was over.
warnings friends with benefits, mentions of sex, cursing
Lately, you've been having this weird gut feeling in your stomach. No idea what the meaning behind it means but you want to find out what it could be. You started feeling this way whenever you were with Rafe on a random Wednesday.
Rafe and you have been friends with benefits for about three months now. When you two came to this agreement, you agreed that it was solely for your sexual pleasures and not to establish feelings for each other, and that the most important thing was to let each other know if one of you became serious with someone else so that the bargain could be broken off.
You overheard a rumor at a party this past Friday about Rafe and Sofia being together for a month. You couldn't believe your ears and wanted to vomit. Sofia works at the island's country club, and Rafe visits it from time to time.
The next day, you decided to do some research to be sure this was accurate. Even as you looked at her Instagram, the emotion returned. You checked her story highlights and discovered what you were looking for. Your stomach sank.
She had a couple pictures on her highlights that you knew were of Rafe, including one with his right hand on her thigh in his car and another with his back to her as he looks out into the distance. Based on what you discovered, they appeared serious.
What made you upset was the fact Rafe and you have been seeing each other for three months which meant he'd been with Sofia for who knows how long before he asked her to be his girlfriend.
"Why didn't he tell me?" You asked yourself, setting down your phone and running your hands through your hair, upset that you found out at random person at a party.
There's a part of you that doesn't want Rafe to be with Sofia. There's a part of you that wants him all to yourself. Regardless, he should've told you the arrangement was over.
That was the deal.
After thinking about what you should do, you decide you are confronting Rafe about this, tonight. You are gonna make it seem like you want to hookup but really you are telling him what you found out.
you- are you busy tonight? i wanna see you
rafe- funny you say that because i wanna see you too
rafe- meet me at the spot at 9pm.
"I'll be back in an hour or so," you tell your mom as you go past the living room, holding your keys. "I'm going to hang out with Samantha."
"That's fine, sweetie; please stay safe tonight, I love you," your mother adds, smiling.
When you get to the spot you see Rafe sitting in his car on his phone. You parked your car next to him so he knows it's you- when he sees you get out, he unlocks the car.
You sigh casually as you sit in the passenger seat.
Rafe says smiling "Hey pretty girl" in a tone that makes you weak in the knees, leaning over the center console to kiss you but you pull back.
"We need to have a little chat, Rafe," maintaining eye contact.
His smile fades, and he looks at you, puzzled, "What do you mean?" His response indicated that he was nervous or knew what was going to happen.
"Why didn't you tell me you and Sofia were together, Rafe? You never once said to my face, "Y/N, we can no longer meet up like this anymore because I have a girlfriend now," mimicking Rafe's voice, "we've been hooking up this entire time while you've been in this relationship that I had no idea about until I heard someone talking about it," you explain frustratedly in your voice and expressions.
In the midst of your rant towards him, he places his hand over his lips, chuckles, shakes his head, and looks down at his lap.
"Why the fuck are you laughing?" You ask, folding your arms, leaning back against the passenger door, annoyed.
He glances up from his lap, licks his bottom lip, and smirks: "Who said it was over?"
Before you could respond his lips were already on yours.
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#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron imagines#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron x you#rafe x reader#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe fic#rafe imagine#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron blurb#drew starkey#drew starkey imagines#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey imagine#totalswagrequest!
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Friends with Benefits with Jax
Pairing: Jax x Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, friends with benefits, protectiveness, jealousy, rough sex, marking
A/N: More of this silly, chaotic rabbit man.
FwB!Jax is very clear that yes he considers you his friend, but no he isn't your boyfriend nor will he ever be. This is just fucking each other and it's all that it will ever be. Inside each others bedrooms you can dirty talk all you'd like but once you step out it's back to friendly banter.
FwB!Jax never lets himself get into a scenario where he could catch feelings for you. There's no romantic teasing, there's no talking about the two of you as more then friends, not even his other friends can do that, he shuts that down real quick.
FwB!Jax teases you a lot in front of other but a lot of has to do with bragging about his skills. How you look like you need him to help you walk straight, how raspy your voice sounds, how tired you look despite the fact that you don't need to sleep. Getting to see you all flustered about it is just a bonus to the ego boost he gets from his own pep talk and the looks the two of you get.
FwB!Jax entertains the idea of you being his and his alone but only when he's cock deep in you. That's the only time where his guard is truly down and he'll let you say anything you want to him. It's also the only time where he feels comfortable enough to admit he loves you, even on a purely physical level.
FwB!Jax makes sure he fucks you hard when he sees you being friendly with anyone else. You can have friends of course, he does too, the same ones in fact, but touching them like you touch him? That can't happen you understand? He doesn't want to entertain that idea, so he makes sure it's his name you scream for everyone to hear, so loud that your rooms had to be modified to be soundproof.
FwB!Jax is a rabbit in this world and as such he has a lot of stamina when he gets going. He can take you away for a whole day of fucking and then the next day talk to you like it didn't happen even though proof of it is all over the two of you. It's pretty to see in his opinion.
FwB!Jax doesn't care how much you mark him up, he doesn't have clothes that can hide much anyway. He also doesn't want to restrict you sexually, he's a very adventurous guy when it comes to sex and he's happy that you are too. In fact he is so comfortable he will ask to have different things manifested for the two of you and then pretend that he doesn't know why everyone else calls him a pervert.
FwB!Jax never stays in the morning, for him it feels to intimate for friends. He's either gone immediately after or the first one to get up in the morning. At first this was so the two of you weren't seen together but after everyone figured out what your relationship was it became more about maintaining that non-romantic distance between you.
FwB!Jax can get very protective over you when a new person comes to the Circus because he's actually a little afraid that someone might steal you away. It's a stupid thought because there are only so many people here and the two of you are the only ones who are also fucking on the side but still, he gets a little more protective for a period of time.
FwB!Jax lets you know that he won't ever fuck anyone else as long as he has you. No, not because he likes you romantically but because you're already friends, he doesn't need to go through the trouble of explaining himself to someone else, it's easy to be with you, it's one of the most comfortable things about this place.
#the amazing digital circus#tadc x reader#tadc jax#tadc#jax#the amazing digital circus jax#jax x reader#tadc smut#jax smut
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Wanted It Forever
Genre: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort
Pairing: Seungmin x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2k
Warning: argument, crying, depression
Summary: After a fight unresolved, you’re left to wonder if there is even a relationship anymore to salvage
A/N: based on this request!! I hope this is what you were looking for <33 love when I get asks!!
“Oh my god, Y/n! Please, how many times are we going to have to go through this?” Seungmin asked you with wide eyes, his hands running through his hair for the nth time that night making it look wild and unruly.
“Until you prioritize me for once in your life!” You shouted back at him. Your voice was strained, and it came out sounding more like a plea, desperate to get him to understand how you felt.
You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been fighting for, but it felt like hours of just going in circles. You weren’t even sure what exactly started it, but the second you got to the root of the problem, everything seemed to unravel from trying to pretend that it was all fine for so long. You were in a standoff in the middle of the kitchen with him on one side of the island and you on the other, creating the distance that you had been starting to feel inside. You had tried to be patient with Seungmin, but it felt like the more you ignored it, the more he stopped even trying.
He let out a long and frustrated sigh, “why are you being so needy and unreasonable? You know that I’m an idol. You know that I have a lot of responsibilities. I try to give you as much attention as I can. Why isn’t that enough for you?” Seungmin was always trying to maintain an even tone during an argument, but you could tell this one was wearing the both of you thin. It scared you a bit as the thought of this being the final argument played in the back of your mind.
You scoffed disbelievingly at his words. You had no time to feel hurt by his accusations as you only felt anger simmering inside you from him not willing to see it from your perspective. “Needy? Unreasonable? Seungmin, you really think this is all about attention? This is the third time you’ve stood me up on a date. We haven’t properly gone out as a couple in over a month!”
“You think I want to? I’m busy, Y/n! I thought you knew what you were getting into when we started dating.” He threw his hands up in frustration as he offered you the same excuse as he always did.
“The Seungmin I started dating actually made me feel like his girlfriend! You put me on the backburner for everything these days, not just work. Am I so wrong for wanting to feel important to you?” All of your emotions were starting to bubble over, and you could feel the hot tears welling in your eyes. You swallowed thickly and clenched your fist, trying to stay in control.
Seungmin leaned back against the cabinets with his arms folded. He was silent for a moment with your collective breathing being the only sound in the room. His head was bowed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “You are important to me, Y/n.” He said, stressing each word firmly before looking at you again. “I don’t know what else you want me to do. I can’t just ignore my career for you.”
You dragged both hands down your face, “You’re not listening to me!”
“I am listening to you, but you’re not being fair!” he volleyed back defensively.
You laughed sardonically as you took in the absurdity of looping back through another circle. “I can’t do this anymore,” you rubbed your temples as you started to pace.
“Do what? This relationship?” Seungmin asked you bitterly. You froze in your spot, and the tension in the room was palpable. Were you both really calling your relationship into question? Had it really gotten that far?
Your heart was quickening in pace at the thought, and it was getting harder to breathe. You were trembling from all the pent up emotion, and you tried to take a deep breath before facing Seungmin again. He was watching you closely with his eyebrows furrowed, and the hurt you saw reflected in his eyes made your anger slightly recede. “No, Seungmin,” you started defeatedly, with your shoulders slumping. “I just need a break.”
“A break,” Seungmin repeated before it was his turn to laugh sardonically and shake his head. “You know what, fine. I’ll go.” He grumbled as he grabbed his keys with urgency and stalked over to the doorway.
You just watched as he quickly slipped on his shoes and paused as he reached for the door handle. He tilted his head up, and you could see his eyes were glossy as his bangs fell away from his face. It felt like a knife was twisting in your heart as you clearly saw how torn up he looked in that moment, seconds from breaking down like you. You wanted to reach out to him, but you couldn’t say anything as he took a deep breath and walked through the door.
The air was stiff with finality as the sound of him harshly closing your door reverberated off the walls. As soon as he was gone, you crumpled to the floor and hugged your knees to your chest, and you purged yourself of the tears and frustration. Sobs wracked your body as you thought back on everything that had just happened, and how much it hurt you that Seungmin couldn’t just tell you what you needed to hear. You just needed to know that your relationship was worth making time for to him, but he did little to reassure you.
The feeling of Seungmin’s absence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t do anything to ease the sense of dread from the thought of losing him. You felt as weak as a puddle on the floor as you cried until you could only hiccup, and your head was pounding. You mustered up the strength you could to get yourself up only to bury yourself under the covers in your bed to block out the rest of the world. Not even sleep offered you comfort as your dreams were plagued with memories shared with Seungmin.
~~~
Seungmin and you were alike in so many ways that he made you believe in twin flames and soulmates. You both have the same way of thinking, you both reach the same conclusions, and overall you both just have the same perspective. You understood each other on a level that you had never felt understood with anyone else, but it also meant you shared the same flaws. Right now, you were worried that being such mirrored souls would be what caused the end of your relationship.
You were both stubborn and hated admitting when you were wrong, so making up after a fight was always another struggle until eventually you both caved in. This fight had been different though. When you and Seungmin had parted ways, you weren’t even sure if there was still a relationship to be mended. You were hesitant to reach out as you replayed the argument in your head, but the moment that stuck with you the most was the look in Seungmin’s eyes before he walked out, making you doubt if he even wanted you to reach out. So you waited, and when a week went by without communication, you were feeling like you had your answer.
You had just been going through the motions of life ever since then, and if you did feel something other than miserable, it was just numb. With each day that passed that your and Seungmin’s relationship was still in the air, you felt that hope slipping further and further away from you that it was just another bump in the road. You had been with him for over a year, and you couldn’t just forget the plans and promises you made together. For the first time, you had wanted it forever.
Some of the members had guessed that something was wrong between you and Seungmin with how long he was staying at the dorm and tried to check up on you, but you didn’t have the energy. You were just tired, and everyday you came home and crawled right back into bed, hoping to finally get some proper rest. However, your heart didn’t agree with your head as it couldn’t stop waiting for Seungmin until your eyes welled with tears and spilled down your cheeks. That’s where you were when you heard another knock on your door, and you groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed. Assuming it was one of the members again, you quickly tried your best to make yourself look presentable.
You took a deep breath to open the door, only to have it stolen by who greeted you on the other side. “Seungmin?” You asked tentatively, your voice barely a whisper, almost afraid that he was just a mirage curated to console your heart ache.
“Bubs,” he said, voice just as delicate and wavering slightly. The pet name made you feel a pang of sadness in your chest, but also a sense of relief in the same moment. He took a shaky breath, “can we… can we talk?” He looked up through his bangs with wide, pleading eyes and a tilt of his head that made him look like a wounded puppy.
All you could do was nod and step aside to let him in, still trying to process he was here, and you felt a sliver of hope for the first time since he walked out. You softly closed the door and took a second to gather your courage as you turned to face him. You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for him to continue, but you could tell that he was nervous from his hands fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. When his eyes met yours again, they looked tired and sad.
He looked as afflicted as you felt inside, and you wondered if he’s been going through the same struggle as you had this week. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he started, shoulders slumping as he looked deflated. “I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately, and I’m sorry for not listening to you.” His eyebrows were furrowed and lips parted as he collected himself to continue. “But I meant it when I said you were important to me, and if you forgive me…” He took a cautious step towards you and gently took your hand in his, “I’ll do everything that I can to prove that to you. I love you, Y/n. Please forgive me?” His voice slightly cracked as he asked you the question, looking up at you with tears welling in his eyes.
“I love you too,” you said softly, looking back at him with round, vulnerable eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up a little in a small smile, and your heart picked up pace with how much you’ve missed him. “I want to make this work with you.”
At your words, he pulled you into a tight embrace, and your body fit perfectly against his as he wrapped his arms securely around you. He cradled your head softly with his fingers tangling in your hair, and you buried yourself in his neck, letting his comforting scent wash over you. He let out a shaky breath, and you felt his body shiver against you as he laughed in relief, “I want to make this work too, more than anything. I can’t lose you, bubs.” His voice was still raspy with emotion.
You pulled back to gaze into his eyes again, seeing nothing but love filling in the deep dark depths of them. You cupped the sides of his face with both hands, “never.” You reassured him before leaning in to give him a sweet, tender kiss on his soft lips, conveying all the love and longing you have felt. It was balm for your soul as you felt him kiss you back, warm hands gripping your waist with a familiarity that you craved. You finally felt peace in his arms, knowing this wasn’t the fight that ended everything, but the one that would make everything stronger in the end.
#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#stray kids x y/n#stray kids seungmin#stray kids fluff#stray kids angst#skz#skz x reader#skz x y/n#skz seungmin#skz fluff#skz angst#skz imagines#kim seungmin#seungmin imagines#seungmin x reader#seungmin x y/n#seungmin fluff#seungmin angst
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