#not to be a fucking sap
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wanna preface this by saying that i am. So normal. anyway i just spent the last week redrawing scenes from mystery skulls animated but as that hermitcraft au i posted about a couple times. you guys should watch msa it is. so so good.
#my art#hermitcraft#mystery skulls animated#geminitay#geminitay fanart#ethoslab#ethoslab fanart#falsesymmetry#falsesymmetry fanart#ignore the fact that etho's hair changes literally every drawing#poses + expressions are traced a bit; and backgrounds aren't mine(well; except for the second one; which you can prolly tell;; sksnsks)#and also (with the help of sap bc i'm bad at color theory) edited the truck bg colors a bit#but even so;; i am!! very very happy with how these turned out#mystery skulls animated spoilers#<- honestly that's mainly for the murder mystery one#granted anyone who hasn't seen the future at this point prolly won't have that tag filtered#etho's murder mystery form(no i don't have a name for it)'s collar tag is a mix between a mable leaf and a vex!#cuz reverb is cub in this au#hence all the blue and stuff;; skdhkdnkd#you'd think that last pic would have been the hardest for me to draw; with how complicated etho's design is#but surprisingly; it doesn't even place top three in terms of how long it took to draw#no; instead it was that Fucking. Truck.#WHY did that take me eight and a half hours#the second longest was only five!!!#the others barely even top 4!#also#WHY are the deadbeats(which are mini tillies here) so deceptively hard to draw#every time i struggle with them orz#anyway. images 3; 6; 7; and 8 are my favs <3#if false and/or pearl see this. o/ hoi
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A vampire and a werewolf walk onto a crime scene...
#perez: what the fuck was that#spoiler alert then they fall in love bc im a sap#also no one else knows they are creatures (except Perez knows Strahm is a werewolf) they just sense each other#drawing this nearly took me out#werepire au#hoffstrahm#coffinshipping#mark hoffman#peter strahm#sawposting#saw#saw fanart#drawing#saw au#srry im not good at real comics my brain only works in film or something i only do storyboard type thingies#also i feel like this more than anything is giving me violent flashbacks to running my old askblog haha#the desire to make a billion weird little comics of situations
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after buck and eddie get together, eddie starts giving buck absentminded kisses all the time.
kiss on the forehead after he passes him his morning coffee. kiss on the cheek while buck is cooking dinner. kiss on the back of his hand as buck drives them to bobby’s house for a family bbq. kiss on top of his head while they cuddle watching a documentary. kiss on his shoulder while they sit on the station couch reading in between calls.
but buck’s favorite kisses? the ones edde blows him from a distance. when no one is looking during a call and they have to separate, buck doing evac and eddie treating some minor burns. when buck is pulling out of the their driveway to go meet maddie and jee for lunch and eddie sees him off from the front porch. during their family night out at the movies with chris in between them before the action film their son chose and they’re both probably going to hate begins.
every single blown kiss is always followed by eddie mouthing “i love you” at him, and every single time buck feels himself start to blush, the butterflies in his stomach staging a very chaotic and uncoordinated flash mob.
there’s something so exhilarating about knowing that no matter how close or far away they physically are eddie always wants to be kissing him. like eddie knows just as well as buck does that his lips were always meant to graze buck’s skin and leave behind goosebumps for hours to come.
even when they can’t see each other at all, buck knows eddie is thinking about it too because eddie does not go more than 3 hours without sending him little 😘 emojis. he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t contextualize them because he doesn’t need to. it's just random 😘 throughout the day, scattered in between the rest of their texts.
buck [3:33pm]: got caught in traffic, chris and i will be there soon!
eddie [3:33pm]: ok, hen and denny just arrived
eddie [6:03pm]: 😘
&
eddie [11:27am]: can you write “chris dentist appointment” on the kitchen calendar for 10/17?
buck [11:31am]: done!
eddie [11:32am]: thanks, baby
eddie [2:16pm]: 😘
&
buck [10:08am]: we also need eggs!
buck [11:43am]: remind me to replace the lightbulb in chris’s bedside lamp
eddie [1:14pm]: 😘
eddie [3:09pm]: your amazon package just arrived
buck [3:09pm]: yaaaaaaay
eddie [7:24pm]: 😘
&
eddie [6:02am]: 😘
eddie [8:56am]: 😘
eddie [9:07am]: 😘
eddie [12:31pm]: 😘
buck [3:17pm]: 😘😘😘
#buddie#911#hey did you know eddie diaz is a fucking sap? because he is and when he and buck finally get together his sappiness grows exponentially#it just explodes!! and buck who is also a die-heart romantic just eats it up!!!! they're all about the kiss emojis and the hand holding an#post-it notes around the house and the flowers on a random sunday and the wearing shirts that match the other person's eyes and#the pictures in wallets and the slow dancing in the kitchen and the pet names and the feeding each other ice cream#everyone around them loves them and hates them so much. chris especially.#anyways sorry i woke up feeling some kind of way about them today wow
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love as sweet as honey (and lover, i’m hungry)
a/n: u can read me for literal filth in this piece, i won’t even lie to u lmao. it’s disgustingly full of praise and petnames and steve’s biggest turn on is being told he’s loved <3 big ups to em (@familyvideostevie) for literally being the reason this got written at all & if u haven’t guessed by now, practically ever single idea i have is consulted by kenny <3 (@hawkinsindiana) also thank u steve stans for being my cheerleaders love u guys sm (@spideystevie @harringtonbf) & sanne too (@sanguineterrain) bcos talking w you helped sm <3
word count: 6.9k hehe
summary: One Sunday, filled with too many kisses to count and a sureness in your heart that you are entirely in love with Steve Harrington. You tell him him for the first time in a flurry of love and lust, tangled in his sheets. [established relationship + smut, praise, petnames, + first i love you + fem!reader] MINORS DNI this piece contains nsfw content and is intended for 18+ readers.
It was often a question on your mind: How does one know when they’re in love?
For you, it was as easy as a Sunday.
When you wake on this Sunday morning, it’s in Steve’s arms. You’re in his bed, intertwined beneath the sheets and warmed by more than just the sun that peeks through the gap in his curtains. The room glows golden. His warmth creeps under your skin and his love finds you even when he sleeps, still snoozing against the pillow when you drift into consciousness.
He’s beautiful. Soft brown curls that crumple against the pillow, long lashes that you know even the girls at Hawkins High were envious of, faint barely visible freckles that hide under his tan. He’s beautiful and he’s yours. It makes you giddy to even think that.
You wake him with a kiss. It’s gentle, soft lips against the dozen tiny white scars on his cheek. Steve hums, a low sound in his throat, and even that makes you smile.
“Steveeee,” you whisper, cheek pushing against the pillow as you grin, unable to stop yourself. Grins come so damn easy with him.
Steve makes another noise, high and sweet, and snuggles closer to the pillow. You shuffle closer and dot another kiss on his face, this one on his nose. It scrunches up at the contact and finally, he drags his eyes open. You can read nothing by adoration in them.
“Mm,” he hums again, then speaks in that delicious raspy morning voice that drives you crazy. You wonder if he knows just how much it affects you. “Good morning to you too.”
His arms tighten around you, inching you closer until you’re pressed against him. He uses the closeness to bury his face against yours, nosing along your neck and placing sweet pecks paired with content sighs. You’re bundled together, lovers in the morning sun.
It’s cut short far too soon. Steve gets whisked away to his Sunday shift at Family Video and leaving you pouting, with a kiss in the doorway. He looks soft, with his hair still messed up from bed and a handsome grin adorning his face.
You smooth down the collar of his shirt, a nice navy long sleeve, and let your hands linger. You almost consider telling him to skip work and follow you back up the stairs, eager to jump his bones then and there. The side-effect of getting to see him in the morning, voice low and eyes lovely. You give yourself a quiet pat on the back for your self-restraint when you hold the thought, at least til later.
“Wish I could spend all day with you,” Steve says wistfully, planting a quick kiss into your hair. He’s stalling leaving, knowing he’ll be late if he dawdles much longer; Steve never can bring himself to leave on time when you’re here. Not when you kiss him in the doorway like it’s a promise you’ll be there when he gets home.
You smile cheekily. “Well, someone’s gotta be the breadwinner of the family. That’s the whole reason I’m with you, no?”
You tease, raising your brows with a smirk and Steve snorts, hands tugging you closer.
It’s a reference to some absurdly jealous girl who’d been head over heels for Steve since first glance in the Hawkins High’s Halls. As a result, his relationship with you had been viewed merely as an obstacle to getting with the love of her life. She’d gone to his work one day to try her luck and leaned over the counter on one of his shifts, shirt unbuttoned to reveal her cleavage. Then she expressed her heartfelt concern with a coy whisper.
“Steve, I hate that I’m the one who has to break it to you,” She’d said, voice all sweet and breathy as she cast a look at you across the store where you’d been joking with Robin. Steve’s brows had scrunched in confusion, following her gaze, unsure where she was going with this.
“But I’ve heard... just through the grapevine, that she’s totally with you for the money.” She had shaken her head, like she was ashamed of you, and plastered on her most sympathetic look, doe-eyed and entirely insincere. Laid a hand on his arm with a pout. “I’m so sorry you had to find out from me.”
Steve had barely been able to cover his laugh with a cough, ducking his head to hide his grin. Is that so? He wanted to ask, just to see how far she’d take the lie — Steve knew for a fact what she said wasn’t true.
Because you’d been there the day Steve’s father had cut him off for good, with a slap on the wrist and a few too many mean words aimed in spots he knew would hurt. But you’d been there. You’d kissed him softly, said so what? so earnestly he knew you meant it, and then pulled up the newspaper to help him begin searching for jobs without missing a beat.
“Mmhm,” In the present, Steve chuckles, his hand stroking down your arm as he continues the joke. “Total gold-digger you are. Everyone knows it.”
And then he’d left with you another kiss and a promise he’d be by your house just after six, when he finished his shift, to take you out to the movies. You busy yourself in his absence and try not to count the hours. Per his word, Steve swings by just after six, greets you with a kiss, and the two of you cozy up in the back of the theater for a film.
From there, the tension builds, hanging around you like a soft-scented perfume that you can’t shake and only fuelled by Steve’s lingering touches — ones that let you know he’s more than on the same brainwave as you. A finger drawing a line up along your thigh, a kiss too hot on your neck, his hands getting too adventurous for public.
So, when you tumble through his front door together and it quietly snicks shut behind you, there’s a quiet moment where Steve turns back to you, brows raised. Tension stains the air between you.
He’s so fucking handsome, you think. You want to kiss him stupid.
His cheeky smile grows slowly as if he knows exactly what is on your mind.
His hand moves to cradle your jaw, his lips pressing against yours hotly and without meaning to you back up and let him press you against the door. Steve groans softly into the kiss, his other hand coming up to grasp at your side, grip just a bit too tight. It gives away how wound up he really is. You crave the feeling it gives you.
It’s a flurry, his lips kissing, kissing, kissing, til you’re breathless and his hand is higher, thumb tracing higher on your ribcage, skimming but never quite where you want him. Your stomach hums, excitement dancing and stirring up til you’re sure the taste of his lips is your favourite in the world.
After a minute of fervent kissing, Steve finally breaks away with a pant, but his lips don’t stop. They trail down, a soft kiss on your cheek and then one your jaw, your neck. Your head tips back instinctively, giving him easier access. He hums appreciatively.
“Y’so fuckin’ pretty,” He breathes against your skin, quiet enough you wonder if you were meant to hear it. He dives back in, nips at your skin, and you feel his lips pull into a devilish grin when you keen at the lovebite, a soft noise passing your lips. Fuck, he’s always so good at this.
There will be a hickey there tomorrow, no doubt about it. But when his lips reattach and he gives a gentle suck on the skin of your neck, followed by the soothing sensation of his tongue, you really can’t bring yourself to care. Want builds in your stomach.
Your hands struggle to pick a place to fixate on, flitting from his chest to up around his neck. You decide on the latter and wind your fingers in his hair. When he scrapes his teeth against your neck, a little mean, you retaliate with a tug on his hair.
A groan warbles out his throat, a delicious noise that makes your stomach a little warmer, thighs clenching a bit.
With his pause, you seize your chance and tug his head back again gently and Steve lets it fall back, exposing the column of his throat to you. You dip in, dragging your lips against it, and grin when Steve lets another groan tumble out, the vibrations reverberating into you where you lips touch his skin.
You pause, just to tease him. Don’t make a move. Your breath fans out across his neck and Steve tenses, a vein standing out in his neck, his patience waning within seconds.
“Don’t tease,” He warns, voice raspy, but he already sounds a bit wrecked.
Then his hands reignite, as if he’s just remembered them, and the one cupping your jaw moves downward, fleeting touches against your boob that have you gasping against his skin. He kneads the flesh and pinches your nipple, his other hand gripping your hip tight.
Your lips find his throat again, a soft kiss that turns hard and hot. You kiss up along the skin, pull his hair a little, and find that sweet spot under his ear that you know he loves.
Steve lets out another groan, his hand dropping so he can grip your hips on either side and he presses himself against you. His knee navigates between your thighs, an enticing pressure that makes you quiver for a moment — you suck harder on his neck in retaliation.
His groan turns into a borderline whine as he inhales a sharp breath. Against your thigh, his hardness presses into you, giving away just how riled up you’ve got him.
“Sweetheart,” he rasps, between a pant. “Y’gonna kill me.“
His fingers pulse tighter against your hips for a moment. He drops his head forward, his forehead touching yours. “Let me take you upstairs, yeah?”
You force yourself to drag yourself away from his kiss-bitten neck, a grin curling at your lips.
“Jeez, at least buy a girl dinner first.” You jest, just to make him laugh. Like he hadn’t bought you dinner and paid for the movie tickets as well, because he loves to spoil you.
He does laugh, with a huff and a poorly concealed smile. His hands slide from your hips, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.
Like you can sense it right before he says it, some stupidly cheesy line, one of your hands shoots out to cover his mouth.
“Whatever you’re thinking of saying,” You say, voice doused in amusement. “Don’t.”
Steve’s eyes dance in delight and before you predict it, the wetness of his tongue splays against your palm and you squeal, winding it back.
“Save that for later.” You tease, scrunching your nose as you exaggeratedly wipe your hand against his shirt. Steve doesn’t seem to care, his feet beginning to backtrack, and bundled in his arms, you go with him.
“I hope you mean now.” He murmurs playfully, voice dipping a bit lower, just to turn you on, and it sends a delightful shiver down your spine. You speed up your footsteps, the itch to get him between the sheets increasing.
He spins, releasing his grip but still grasping one of your hands in his. Your footsteps thunder up the stairs behind Steve, a giggle of anticipation slipping out and nipping at your heels that pushes you both faster. Steve nudges the door open hastily, and in a flurry, your back meets his sheets.
The warmth of his body is a weight you’ll always welcome, especially when Steve’s lips trail back along your throat. His teeth sink in, his mouth hot and wet, kisses that draw a thread of breathy noises from you. His hips cant into yours, a slow roll that has your thighs falling further apart automatically, the beginning of a whimper forming.
His hands tangle with the edge of your shirt, fingertips skirting under. They’re hot, burning against your skin.
He halts his kissing for just a moment, to pull back and pant, “Can I?”
You��re nodding before he can even get the question out. He tugs it up, the fabric sliding up and the smoothness of the motion leaves you a bit breathless. Steve stares down at you, eyes a mixture of affection and a hunger for more.
“You,” his large hands splay against your bare stomach, one moving up and sketching a line of heat where his fingertips linger. He leans close, lips scratching a kiss into your collarbone. Whispers his sweetness into your skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful. M’so lucky. How’d I get you all to myself, hm?”
The question makes your body hum, like a live wire, your knees tightening around his hips. Your hands clamber up around his neck and you tug his head up, claiming his lips with your own. You grind your hips back up against Steve, pleasure licking up your spine at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against you.
“Please,” you tease, words a bit breathy. “Everyone knows I’m with you for the money.”
Steve faux gasps, a laugh slipping through his facade at the inside joke you both share. He pulls back a bit, a pout on his pink lips, sheened with spit. He’s sitting up now, hair already a bit ruffled, handsome face housing a grin you love so dearly.
“Is that so?” He asks, brows raised.
You nod, a giggle tittering out before you stop it. Steve can’t help his smile, a quiet joy quelled beneath his lust over the fact you’re both so comfortable with each other. Laughing in bed, jokes in between the moans — Steve feels his stomach pool hotter, his love for you somehow still ever-growing.
“Take it back.” He demands, dropping down closer — his hands plant on either side of your head.
You squirm against the bed, trying to grind up against him again but it’s futile, he’s pulled back too far. Steve grins deviously. You arch your chest out and give Steve your best bedroom eyes, lids low and eyes dark.
“Take this off first,” You counter, hands tugging on the ends of his own shirt. Steve doesn’t need to be told twice.
It’s nearly as smooth as the removal of your shirt had been, his toned arms twisting to yank the fabric up — until it gets caught on his head. Steve makes a surprised noise and decides to tug it harder, his arms caught above his head, face hidden in the fabric. You laugh without meaning to.
Steve tugs again, managing to free himself but not before he topples sideways and disappears in the mass of his duvet with an oof!
You laugh loudly, covering it behind your hands, and roll in his direction, amusement dancing along your features. Steve’s head pops up, hair properly mussed now, and he grins. His hand clutches the meddlesome shirt and he flings it behind him mindlessly. It lands on his bedside table, hanging off the lamp.
“Where were we?” He asks, with a wiggle of his brows.
You shift up and swing your leg across his lap, seating yourself atop him and the shape of him makes you hiss pleasantly. Hands creeping up his bare chest, teasingly slow, you smile and it borders a smirk. “I was… taking it… back?”
Your voice is coy, tone doused in suggestiveness as your nails dig in and rake back down his chest. Beneath them, you can feel the rumble of his groan and he wastes no time in getting his hands back on you. His fingers find the waistband of your pants, dipping in and you suck in a breath instinctively.
He doesn’t even get to ask before you’re nodding, already anticipating his question. Steve smiles, guides you down and peppers kisses along your neck with a half-hearted hum— all the while, his other hand works open the button of your jeans.
“Steve,” you say breathily. You don’t know what you’re asking for, why you’re saying his name, just that it’s right.
“Y’good?” He asks, hands not stilling but not delving any further into the confines of your pants. When you nod, fervent and a bit too enthusiastic, his tone turns a bit heavier. “You gonna be good f’me, yeah?”
The whine that comes out of you in response takes you by surprise, body reacting with a filthy grind down against him. Steve doesn’t even get a chance to look smug, pleasure shuttering across his face as he tilts his head back.
“Fuck,” he says, hands tight on your hips. He guides them, pulling you harder down against himself and bucking up. He presses into you at the exact angle to have you keening, a happy sigh tumbling out your throat. “Fuck.” He huffs against, voice strained.
“Please do just that.” You say, a bit cheeky, grinding down harder just to make him moan properly — his head buries further in the pillow, eyes clenched closed for just a moment and the sound he makes travels right to your cunt.
Steve grapples to control himself, his chest beginning to heave. He manages to respond, voice still smooth in that way you’ve learned is his specific Harrington Charm.
“As you wish, honey.”
And god, if that doesn’t do something to you.
You can’t deny how much it turns you on when Steve manhandles you, a swift turn of your bodies where you find yourself back on your back with Steve hovering above you. His hands toy with the edge of your jeans, shimmying them down and discarding them somewhere behind you both.
You pant a bit, stomach stirring at how Steve gazes at you — the way his fists clench slightly give away his utter desire for you.
“You’re entirely overdressed.” you rasp, aiming for seductive but accidentally landing closer to whiny.
A glow raises in your cheeks, face hot, but Steve seems to revel in your words, his hands making hasty work of his belt. Unwittingly, your mouth waters a bit.
He sheds the extra layer in a moment, leaving him in just his boxers. You take a moment to recognise them, the Batman logo printed all across them. He clearly hasn’t meant for you to see them. For the second time tonight, you laugh before you can suppress it.
“Hey,” Steve jabs a finger at you, cheeks a bit pinker than they were a second ago. “It’s laundry day, okay?”
It’s a bit meek, said too feebly for you to actually believe. You raise your brows and wait for him to crack. It takes only another moment.
“Oh my god, fine,” he sighs dramatically, scrubbing his hands down his face. He drops them and then away at his sides, his face still warm. “I didn’t want to assume I’d get to fuck you tonight. They were at the top of the drawer, alright?”
Your heart does a little kick at that. Your wonderful, hot, never-presumptuous boyfriend that you fucking adore — it never manages to not astound you with the new way he turns you on.
“Then clearly,” you begin, wiggling closer. Your legs move up, circling around his hips and you cross your ankles at his tailbone — and urge him closer, feeling your own wetness stain against the final layer on your cunt.
Steve’s cock fits snugly between your folds and he gives a delicious grind, brows scrunching at the sensation. You fight to keep your voice steady as you continue, “You don’t know me that well.”
Steve huffs, some half growl escaping his lips. He sneaks his fingers under the band of your panties on either side of your hips and begins to pull down. They slide down your thighs, tantalizingly slow, and you’re unable to do anything but watch him. Steve’s gaze turns heavier and he licks his lips, teeth sinking in to hold back another noise of approval.
Then unexpectedly, the next words out of his mouth come out in a poor french accent. “Mon dieu,” Steve mutters, already smiling because he knows you’ll laugh at this.
You do, a startled laugh— especially when Steve wrangles your panties off your ankles and repeats his earlier motions of the night, sending them flying behind him carelessly.
“Steve, what are you—“
“Mademoiselle,” He interrupts, voice huskier than normal, completely on purpose.
“Oh my god,” you say in exasperation, yet the love leaks into the work, obvious and undeniable. Steve grins, thankfully dropping the voice and instead working his hands back up your body. They crawl beneath your torso, fingers searching, and make quick work of your bra. It comes away with his hands, straps scraping against your arms.
“Oh, sweetheart.” he sighs contently. Like they’ve got a mind of their own, his rough hands meet the soft skin of your boobs, kneading and thumbing at your nipples. Beneath his touch, they harden and pleasure thrums hot in your core when he twists them lightly, a gasp pushing your lips.
“Steve,” you whine hotly, pushing up against him.
“What d’ya need, honey?” He murmurs, dipping closer and restarting his kisses against your neck. He suckles gently, the barest hint of his teeth, lips soft and tongue hot.
“Y’gonna tell me what you need?” He hums, but even as he asks, one of his hands creeps downwards, landing on your thigh. He inches it closer, his thumb rubbing against the soft inside of your thigh.
The pillow rubs against your cheek as you nod fervently, turning to press your face into the pillow. Even after all this time with Steve, there’s no quelling the nerves in your stomach. But even with your enthusiastic nods, you know Steve needs your words.
“You.” The word is a bit whimpery. “Please, Stevie, s’you I need. You— your-” you cut yourself off, shyness creeping in and stealing your words.
Steve senses it, a quiet chuckle against your neck, and his fingers draw higher, til they ghost across your cunt. “Mm? Sweet girl gonna tell me when she wants?”
His words both make your face warm and your stomach flutter— he loves to goad your shyness, drinks in the reactions when you give he pushes it.
“Don’t make me say it, please.” You plead softly, resisting the urge to burrow further into the pillow.
Steve had told you early on when you’d started sleeping together in your relationship that he wanted nothing less than for you to hide away from him. I wanna see your face, okay? Wanna see everything from you. And hear all those pretty sounds you make, yeah?
A sound like the one you make now when he doesn’t make you wait, a pad of his thumb tracing down the folds of your cunt. His fingers dip in, soft touches that draw out a gasp as he trails them back up, beginning gentle circles against your clit. A fire in your belly that’s never quite extinguished burns a bit hotter. Your legs spread open further.
“Oh, honey,” he coos, devouring every reaction you give. “You’re doing so good. All worked already?”
His thumb rubs a bit rougher, circles faster, and his fingers stroke back down to your entrance. A moan punctuates the air, dragged out of your chest as one of his fingers slips inside, a stretch that has your back arching up.
“Please…” You sigh, words lost to your breathy moans as the finger pumps in and out, far too in tune with the circles on your clit for you to think straight. “So good, baby, you’re so good at this, fuck—“
Steve’s mouth moves south, his lips curling around your nipple and adding to the stream of stimulation. It’s overwhelming, the heat of his mouth and the curl of his fingers in your cunt— you can hear how turned on you are, your slick gushing against Steve’s fingers, and it only fuels the fire under your skin. You’re unbearably warm.
“That’s it,” The soft praise falls from Steve’s mouth, pausing his licking and sucking. “Good girl. So fucking wet for me, huh?”
The words inspire a lick of heat along your spine, the coil in your stomach tightening even more. Your breath staggers and you whine in response to his words. Shit, at this rate you could very well come undone before you even get him out of those stupid Batman boxers.
You wonder if this is Steve’s plan; it sure isn’t yours. You want him now.
“Anyone ever tell you,” you huff, a bit breathless. It takes effort to formulate sentences, the words coming out a bit whimpery. “What a motor-mouth you have in bed?”
Steve’s kisses work up to your collarbone, before drops one swollen kiss on your lips and smirks from above you, “In more ways than one.”
Something about the cockiness in his voice only adds to the anticipation building beneath your skin, your head lolling against the pillow as sweet noises escape your mouth.
Steve watches, eyes fixed on where his fingers sink lazily into you, curling in a way that makes your breath hitch loudly — it only serves to add to the growing heat in his stomach, blood rushing to his cock, which twitches at the sight. He groans to himself, head delirious with his desire.
His name is the only word you can seem to remember and as Steve’s fingers pump faster, precise curls, it leaves your mouth in a flurry that is all too telling about how close you are. He nearly feels bad to take it from you, nearly.
A disappointed whine draws out at the sudden removal of his fingers and Steve chuckles, a confident drawl in his voice. Your brows scrunch together in frustration, hips up twitching ever-so-slightly, searching for the lost stimulation even as your building pleasure tapers off. Asshole, you think, not meaning it even a little bit. You pant lightly.
Steve doesn’t waste a second, using his freed hands to begin to dig in his bedside table for a condom.
“Why are you laughing?” You grumble with a pout, chest still heaving. As his search proves fruitful, proven by a little aha! and the glisten of the condom wrapper, your hands reach up to cup his face and tug him back to you greedily. His hands stumble and plant on either side of you, letting you pull him in for a searing kiss. Steve hums into it with a grin.
“You’re like some sort of supervillain,” You mumble against his lips, a smile already curling at your mouth.“Laughing at my misery.”
Steve breaks the kiss, dropping his voice an octave to rumble out a spooky “Mwahaha,” that tickles laughter out of you in seconds. You thwack him lightly on the arm just so you can kiss away the pout he makes - because you know him that well.
The kiss is sweet and saturated with adoration, kisses that break off just to steal another. I love him, you think. I love him so completely. The wonderful thought melts and curls up in your mind, like a cat purring beside a fire, like it had always been there and you had only just noticed it.
It only feeds the anticipation that thrums through your body, your prior disappointment already long forgotten at the sight in front of you, at the delirious thought still spinning in your mind.
All the while, Steve’s hands shed off his boxers and make quick work of the condom. When he’s situated, his slender fingers curve around his leaking cock and give a light tug to relieve the building tension, eyes fluttering for a moment.
His other rests on your thigh, soothing subconscious touches; Steve never could keep his hands off you for long. His eyes trail up, committing each detail of you to memory.
Seeing you like this, Steve swears it never gets old; he could find sunsets in the curves of your skin and melodies in every moan. It’s vulnerable, exposing yourself to him and trusting him, all the same, to take care of you. And fuck, if he doesn’t love taking care of you.
But tonight, you have a particular moonstruck look on your face. Enough to make him pause, thumb skimming atop your thigh. “What?” He asks, with a hint of a chuckle.
Your cheeks grow a bit warmer and you fight the urge to hide your face in the pillow. Holding his gaze, his amber eyes which only hold endless patience and love, it’s not even a choice to tell him. The words bubble up inside, golden and sweet like you’d just taken a swig of pure ambrosia, and they spill out of you.
“S’just,” you begin, teeth scraping across your bottom lip. “I love you, Steve.”
Steve seems to freeze, his thumb halting its motions on your skin but there’s not even a moment for panic to trickle in — not when he flushes, cheeks rosy, and a pure expression of elation overtakes his features.
“You do?”
It’s nearly a whisper, uttered like he’d worried you’d take it back the moment he believed it. You’re already nodding by the time your words catch up with you, nervousness making them fall out without thought. “A lot. I love you a lot. So much. So many.”
A wet-sounding laugh splutters out of him as Steve’s face splits into a beam and he’s on you in an instant. He’s hovering above you, held up by his arms, but his face crowds in close — kiss after kiss finds its way onto your skin.
“So many, huh?” He teases before his voice drops to a murmur, words thick with emotion, and another weak wet laugh comes out. “I love you so many as well.”
You groan at his mocking and tuck your face in the crook of his neck, hiding away your giddy grin.
“Don’t be mean,” you whine but still revel in Steve’s unstoppable shower of kisses, warm and wet, one after another. “I got nervous.”
His lips work along your neck until you’re forced to tilt your head out of your hiding place and he captures your lips with his without hesitation. It feels like home, the curve of his mouth that you could recognise in the dark you’ve kissed it enough.
“Nervous?” He asks against your lips, the question halfway between disbelief and happiness. His eyes search yours desperately, pools of affection shining in the chocolate colour of them, giving away his complete elation. “My girl.”
Another kiss, molten hot affection that melts into your skin, from Steve. Your arms tangle over his shoulders, bring him closer, til his chest scratches against yours and you’re pulling him closer, closer, you can’t get him close enough. The craving in your stomach twists up, a reminder of what your love declaration had interrupted.
You wiggle your hips slightly, knees bending so you can slide your legs up and encircle his waist, hot skin against hot skin. You kiss him once more and nudge your nose against his gently, to halt his kisses.
“Yeah, yeah,” you tease, all too fond. “You love me, I love you. Y’still gonna fuck me, hm?”
Steve grins, “Ouch, way to make a guy think you said all that just for the sex.”
He raises a hand to cover his wounded heart for a moment, but it settles on your thigh, pushing it back an inch. His other hand curls back around his heavy cock, lining it up with your pulsing cunt that quivers in anticipation - Steve groans a bit at the heat he can already feel.
“I already told you,” you grin at the inside joke, words all breathy. Your thighs tighten around his waist impatiently. “It’s all for the money, baby.”
Steve scoffs with a smile that melts away as he steals another kiss. His hips shift forward, burying himself in you slowly with a moan that sends shivers down your spine, fingers clutching your hips tighter. A high keening noise pushes out of you as Steve rolls his hips gently, a slow fuck into your wet cunt.
“Shit,” he curses, movements still gentle as he pulls back and sinks into you, a tortuously slow pace that has your hips moving back against him. “Honey, fuck, y’so wet, so soft.”
“Stevie,” You whimper, hands grappling for a better grip on his broad shoulders. Like he can tell what you’re asking for instantly, one of his hands travels from your hip and clasps atop yours. He tugs it off and presses it against the sheets beside your head, his large fingers moving to link with yours instinctively.
You clutch at his hand, squeezing your intertwined hands tighter as Steve begins to build his pace, your moans egging him on. His face drops lower, warm breaths fanning over your face as his other hand tugs your hips back on his cock strongly. He strokes in, giving and giving to your mounting pleasure. Your skin burns warm; your chest arches up and the nails of your free hand sink into his back.
“So good for me, yeah?” He grunts, but it gives way to a groan as you clench around him. “My girl, my sweet girl, you feel fucking so good on my cock.”
God, him and his fucking motor-mouth. Your breath is heavy, cunt blazing warmth, and the coil in your stomach begins to burn again.
“Steve,” you mewl like it’s a praise.
“I know, I know,” He murmurs. His hand squeezes yours as he gives a particularly deep thrust, the head of his cock finding the spot inside you that makes you squirm. Makes the blood in your veins turns to pure confetti; a long moan drags out your lips and you bury it in his skin.
“Feels so good,” you cry softly, fingers flexing against his. Your hips are moving without thought, meeting his thrusts and Steve moans brokenly when your cunt flutters around him. “Y’feel so good, baby.” You praise him with a whimper.
Steve‘s arms keeping him up stutter a bit at your words, more of his weight pressing against you and you welcome it, legs tightening their grip.
“Y’so. Fucking. Good.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, fucking you harder and beginning to lose his rhythm as he chases his pleasure. “So pretty, my girl, hm? Could fuck this pretty pussy all day. Fuck, I— nothing feels as good as you, sweetheart, I swear, nothin’.”
Through your pleasurable haze, you manage to scrounge up a halfhearted joke, a soft smile peeking through on your face. “What’d I say? Such a motor-mouth.” The final word is swallowed up by your gasp.
Steve grins, not slowing his motions in the slightest. He looks fucking beautiful like this; his hair disheveled and wild, cheeks rosy, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.
“You love it,” He bites back gleefully — he dips his head to scrape a kiss along your neck, up your jaw. You whine as he rolls his hips into you expertly, each thrust managing to steal your breath and make your stomach grow hotter. The beginnings of your orgasm trickle in.
“I do,” you agree, fond and voice sticky with bliss. “I love you.”
Steve’s cock twitches inside you, paired with a soft moan that Steve buries into your neck. His thrusts speed up, chasing desperately as he whines, the noise pathetic and whimpery, and he clutches your hand tighter.
“Fuck, I love you too.” He says, a sloppy kiss granted on your neck, then he laughs weakly. “Please tell me you’re close too.”
“I am,” you gasp, head nodding and eyes scrunching closed as the buzz of heat swells inside you, thighs twitching and clenching around him tighter. “I am, baby, please.”
“C’mon honey,” he urges with a pant, voice strained and face wrecked, contorted in his pleasure. His free hand shifts up, pushing back your hair so he can see your face and his nose nuzzles against yours. “I know you can do it. Y’gonna cum for me? Be a good girl and cum on my cock, yeah?”
His voice turns cooing like he knows exactly what it’ll do to you to hear him beg. “C’mon, be good for me. Cum for me, honey, please,”
You tense up as his words hook into the coil in your stomach and tug, unraveling it and you with a soft cry. Legs gripping him tighter, you arch and writhe as the ache in your cunt pulses so deliciously, pleasure flooding every nerve — Steve fucks into the tightness, low whines in this throat as he chases his own orgasm.
“Say it,” he rasps, hips snapping fast and milking every second of your bliss, dragging it out as you clench around him. “Please, honey, wanna hear it.”
He says it so low, you nearly don’t hear it but you know exactly what he means. Your fingers clutch at his tighter, your intertwined hands keeping you connected and you nod, breathless, and tell him exactly what he wants to hear.
“I love you, Steve. Love you, ah, love you so much. Want you to cum for me, please,”
He falls apart, breath stuttering as he releases a desperate moan which dissolves into a kiss, soft lips scraping yours. His hips move a bit slower, jerky motions, as he clenches your hand tightly and whispers all his ardent love onto you, a dozen i love you’s between a thousand kisses.
His forehead presses against your forehead and you revel in the final zings of pleasure that rush up your spine as he slows his thrusts.
Your free hand drifts off his shoulder, soothing through his hair as all motion slows to a stop, Steve’s breath warming your shoulder. He drops his weight a bit, energy spent, and squishes against you and you make a noise somewhere between a squeal and a laugh.
“Y’good?” You ask, fingers still stroking through his hair. Wordlessly, Steve nods, chest still heaving but you can spot the gorgeous grin that graces his face, eyes closed.
Basking in the warmth of your love, you stay interwoven together. You’re warm but not just from the hot press of his body against yours; no, you gleam from the inside, pure glittering light because you love him.
You break the moment, the glow hazing out to tiredness and you free your hand from his hair to pat his shoulder softly.
“Okay, gross, you’re sweaty, get off me.”
Steve laughs, even as he peels himself off you, biceps tensing as he props himself up. “Yeah, ‘cos I just rocked your world.”
A laugh bursts out of you, though you don’t deny his words. Steve eases himself out of you gently and the stimulation makes you gasp lightly, lashes fluttering. You slump into the bed, feeling slightly melted as Steve deals with the condom and you’re fairly convinced you could just drift off in a moment. Steve doesn’t let you.
A poke on your arm. Your eyes peek open, seeing your boyfriend back in his silly little Batman boxers and a smile pulls on your lips. “Go pee.” He says.
You groan, eyes sliding shut again and he pokes you again, a jab at your shoulder.
“Go pee,” He insists, shuffling off the bed to stand up. When you make no motion to move, his hands hook around your knees and he tugs. You slide forward with a yelp and Steve grins when you frown but relent, getting to your feet. Your legs wobble for just a moment, a tad unsteady, and it only feeds Steve’s shit-eating grin.
“Shut up,” you warn, without any real heat. Steve raises his hands, not saying a word, though his chuffed expression says enough. He holds out one of his shirts — old and softened, it’s one of his old swim-team ones — and you slip into it easily. The trip to the bathroom is quick, already eager to be bundled back up in his arms and you nearly skip back to his room.
He’s in bed when you push the door open, covers pulled back, and waiting for you to join him. The slight smile on his face blooms into a grin that he pairs with grabby hands in your direction. You don’t deny him for even a moment, feet dancing across the carpet to clamber in beside him.
His arms, strong and sure, pull you against his chest and you hum contently with a smile, settling against him comfortably. Steve tugs up the duvet to cover you both. Cheek against his chest, you can hear the thump of his heartbeat easily and it eases some part of your soul, like a finger soothing down invisible hackles that raise whenever you’re apart from him.
“Can you say it again?”
He mumbles the question against your hairline where his lips rest and it turns your heart inside out, both pained and pleased that he wants to hear it as much as you want to say it.
“I love you, Steve Harrington.” You say without faltering, nuzzling closer to him. You drop one kiss on his chest, above his heart, and grin. “You totally rock my world.”
Where you expect some dramatized groan, Steve only laughs, the sound light and easy. His arms tighten around you, his lips gifting another sweet kiss atop your head. “Yeah, you too, sweet girl.”
And it makes you love him all the more.
(dis is my first smut soOOoOOoo pls do indeed come tell me how i did)
#did i slay this? mayhaps 😎#considering everything in this appeals solely to me#like i took 'write for urself' and RAN with it with this LMAO#hopefully....HOPEFULLY this hits the mark with some of you guys too#it truly is the most vanilla of sex <3 but rlly i just wanna fuck him and tell him i love him#true sap over here :)#if u think this has too many jokes in it consider this: don't care#i genuinely think that if u can joke around in bed then u are 10x more intimate#LAUGHTER IS LOVE BABEY!!!#god he makes me insane#ruby writes steve#steve harrington#steve#harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve x reader#steve harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington smut#omg first time using that tag <-- who am i#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington fanfic#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fic#whew this was#A CHALLENGE
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edit bc who tf cares: here’s some spirk studies i colored when i was pining over vulcans
#oh my god#Zheng yi sap is so fucking hot#i would never betray her#also fuck guy#Izzy had me sobbing#my little rat dog#anyways get ready#my art#star trek#star trek tos#star trek aos#spirk#spirk art#star trek art#spock art#spock#james t kirk#jim kirk art#spock x kirk#art#artists on tumblr
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zoro giving luffy and sanji 2 of his earrings. that's like- marriage for him at that point
#sanji cries#luffy is excited af bc earrings cool#zoro is a fucking sap actually#i'm going to die and they're the reason why#one piece#black leg sanji#roronoa zoro#monkey d luffy#zosan#zolu#zolusan#zosanlu#lusan
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Hey DunMeshi gang, have we considered:
Falin has feathers now
Birds floof/puff up
Marcille kissing Falin and all her feathers puffing up
DO YOU SEE MY VISION, FARCILLE ARMY?
#LISTEN LISTEN I KNKW MARCILLES A FUCKING DORK AND WOULD GET FLUSTERED BUT HAVE WE CONSIDERED#EARLY MORNING CHEEK KISS AND ALL HER NECK FEATHERS PUFFING UP LIKE A LIFE VEST#MARCILLE HAS TO PAT THEM BACK DOWN TK KISS HER GIRLFRIEND#“where'd my Girlfriend go?”#SHED NEVER LET IT GO SHED DEFS CONCOT A PLAN TO FLUFF FALIN UP AGAIN#Chilchuck is exhausted (but secretly happy for them the sap)#hoky shit Falins pretty much a dinosaur now#bird of prey woman#dungeon meshi#falin touden#farcille#marcille donato#marcille dungeon meshi#falin dungeon meshi#theyre lesbians your honour#dunmeshi#dungeon meshi spoilers#dungeon meshi manga spoilers#tomb talking
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DAY 7: i miss my wife bonbon
#codacheetah#isat#loop isat#twohat spoilers#isat act 6 spoilers#SLIDING IN WITH 14 MINUTES TO THE CLOCK YEA BABY#this is like the dollar store version of what i had in my head but in my defense i was out all day. woopsiedoodle#its my personal postcanon headcanon that sif goes on like a several month 'i miss my dead wife' arc about loop bc he thinks they evaporated#into the either infinity war style after their fight. so theyre rlly sad and emo n shit about it but theyre like well. i hope loop is happy#at least. i hope they moved on and found peace :)#meanwhile loop does not know what moving on is they are clawing onto mortality with every last sap of their strength#always approximately 4 seconds from deciding to track down the party#but theyre scared so they spend all their time fuckin playing with birds and scaring kids or whatever#until one day siffrin's like stars i know they probably cant hear me but i miss them. and like does the handsign morosely#and then after several seconds loop picks up like ....hi stardust!!! wow you really didnt miss me that much huh!!!#siffrin voice: YOU'RE NOT FUCKING DEAD?!#anyways what heinous crime did the running one commit. leave your answers in the comments below#also. happy one week of this fucking guy!!!
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i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u
summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds.
tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k
much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often.
you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance.
he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.
and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be?
“where’s your girl?”
“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”
that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning.
“sure she’s not.”
it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting.
when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”. he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother.
there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise.
lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction.
he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him.
“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”
“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”
“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?”
he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again.
“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him.
he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites.
he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought.
“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth.
“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding.
“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”
he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”
he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.
“a drink? my—oh. wait.”
your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—
“forget it—“
“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”
he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you.
“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.”
you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually.
“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.”
he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off.
“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.”
he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself.
“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him.
“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous.
“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.”
you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up.
“can i meet him?”
he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall.
“c’mon then.”
it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy.
“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“
“oh, who cares. let me see him!”
he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—
and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting.
you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting.
“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”
“you—huh?”
“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”
“…yeah?”
“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.”
Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply.
“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”
that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish.
“i—uh. didn’t.”
you blink at him, processing, and then you frown.
“are you kidding me?”
he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment.
you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.”
as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor.
“why?”
“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.”
Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar.
“alright. Buck it is, then.”
you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit.
“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.”
he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead.
“see you Friday?”
he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright.
“okay. see you, Touya.”
“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.”
every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him.
you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy.
it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you.
you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you.
and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.
you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare.
it was even harder to get away with it.
“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.”
“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.
“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?”
“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”
he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response.
you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him.
“pick a color.”
“what?”
“i said pick a color, grandpa.”
the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?”
you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy.
“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.”
“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking.
another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.
there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them.
you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center.
you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space.
“whatcha thinking about?”
he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.”
“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch.
“made you something.”
“hm?”
you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”
his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands.
“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?”
he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”
you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them.
“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”
“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.”
you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering.
“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.
he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work.
customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor.
“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door.
Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”
you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.”
“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.”
“why’s that?”
you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment.
“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter.
you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks.
you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came.
you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately.
you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.
you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it.
you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break.
standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it.
sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal
received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage
received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?
sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it
sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?
received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?
sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone
received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow
you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family.
you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek.
you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.
you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier.
like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.
“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”
“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early.
“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—
“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”
your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth.
“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—
and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face.
you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look.
she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.
“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”
he blinks. “i–uh–”
“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”
she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house.
you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.
“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.
“you’re related to that dinosaur?”
you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”
he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light.
dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children.
“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this.
“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”
you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.
“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar.
“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”
the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”
he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”
“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”
he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”
you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”
you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it.
the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.
“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”
you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”
he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.
“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”
“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”
you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.
“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment.
“sometimes.”
you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know.
“are you angry?”
he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any.
“no.”
the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.
you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you.
you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.
“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once.
his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery.
“make it quick, brat.”
you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave.
“now go inside before y’get sick.”
you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either.
you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.
“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”
you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.
“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”
he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.
you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.
you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn.
“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”
Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.
“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.
“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”
he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch.
“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation.
“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”
he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”
“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t.
“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length.
she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.”
he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh.
“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”
Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened.
he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise.
the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely.
he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.
immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin.
“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”
the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”
his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny.
“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing.
“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered.
shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.
he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt.
“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”
you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.
“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”
he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.
but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire.
a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.
“come back to mine?”
you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret.
his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.
“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold.
“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.
“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it.
he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you.
“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing.
“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole.
“lead the way, old man.”
he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now.
he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.
your demeanor changes immediately.
you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch.
“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”
"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"
he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."
it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.
no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.
“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”
something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it.
"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits.
he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.
you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him.
"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.
"yes."
it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar.
through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager.
you seem to be aware of that, too.
you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far.
"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing.
"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”
you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way.
"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."
he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you.
"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.
you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"
he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him.
"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."
and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp.
"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now.
he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried.
adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.
what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems.
"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely.
he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue.
you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache.
"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."
he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it.
he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again.
you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t.
“need you, Touya.”
he could just die.
"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath.
"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."
he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory.
he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it.
"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.
as if you'd ever need to do that.
he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you.
"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"
he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.
"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.
in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.
"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"
he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can.
he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation.
he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand.
"you with me, kid?"
you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."
he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh.
"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep.
he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out.
he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.
he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that.
there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you.
it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting.
that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else.
“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”
you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves.
“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”
the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you.
it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too.
still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder.
“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”
“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”
you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”
it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it.
“you could’ve fooled me.”
he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple.
“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch.
“let me know if you see one, then.”
“hey!”
he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh.
“c’mon then, pretty lady.”
you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.
“you alright?”
it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.
you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down.
despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it.
he does.
“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?”
his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth.
“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”
you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time.
you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant.
“s’that such a bad thing?”
your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely.
“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts.
“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”
“i know that you don’t do this shit.”
he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear.
“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.”
you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration.
“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.���
“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“
“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it.
“you don’t—you’re not—“
“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”
“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”
you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this.
“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.”
you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there.
“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.”
his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud.
you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion.
“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”
he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.”
you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put.
“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest.
“i love you.”
epilogue—1 year later
Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now.
he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.
“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”
he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying.
walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh.
it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart.
“babe? you here?”
you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.
“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.
“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him.
“what did Mam need—oh.”
you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms.
you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.
“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve, “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”
you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners.
“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”
you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there.
“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again.
“do y’want to?”
you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”
he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”
you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”
“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—
“lunch meat.”
“...i’m sorry?”
“his name is lunch meat.”
you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body.
“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”
he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.
this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.
#am i....a sap?#i love him. oh my god do i love him#my baby deserves a good fucking ending#glares at horikoshi#todoroki touya x you#dabi x reader#todoroki touya x reader#touya fluff#touya x reader#fic: when fire doesn't burn
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Kirishima who likes that cheesy, shitty porn that makes you and Bakugou cringe, but you two can't help but indulge the big guy when he wants to role-play.
bakugou has been a swimmer since he was an infant, but pretends to drown in you guys' pool so Kiri can jump in and save him as the life guard on duty. gives bakugou mouth to mouth which always seems to devolve into tongue kissing and a cough from you to at least get back on script. it somehow ends up with you thanking the life guard for saving your boyfriend by offering up your mouth to him while he continues to tongue down Bakugou. its a little stupid, but everyone always gets off.
or, his other favorite one, where he's coming in for a massage and you and bakugou are both the masseuses. Bakugou works his back muscles and you flip him over to do his front. you always somehow end up bouncing on Kiri's cock while Bakugou fucks his mouth. you don't mind that one as much, because Kiri's chest oiled up always look so delectable, and the sounds he emits low in his throat when you play with his nipples is always worth the ache in your thighs the next morning.
you've done hero-villain-civilian role-play before too, where you're the helpless victim fallen prey to a mysterious blood riot and trying to be saved by dynamight. that one, despite how much you both complain about it all, seems to elicit the eagerest responses from all of you. its something about playing helpless while being taken from behind that does you in. especially when you're bent over in Bakugou's lap while he's tied down to a chair, unable to save you, his sweet little civilian. eye to eye with him, his mouth gagged, while Kiri fucks you so mercilessly that your drool hits Bakugou's chin and his evil laughs makes both of you close to orgasming.
now that one makes the role-play seem just a bit less cringy. but only when its you guys doing it, not the fake shit Kiri watches. if wants cheesy porn, then you two are willing to help him play it all out in real life.
#not that big of a fan of this but I thought about it this morning lol#also I hate writing tags on safari now its so fucking stupid#why is like breaking everything up letter by letter its distracting#anyway I think he's into roleplaying shitty p*rn but it always turns out well bc its with you two#bc its you two doing it with him!!#I think bkg would be more into like certain fetishy- stuff and home videos#specifically videos of you guys together lol#what a sap#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#krbk treats! 🍬
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they’re so happy and ok and good 👍
#fred’s reading tubbo’s letters to him like a FUCKING SAP#ahem anyways#and tubbo’s just passed out you know how it is#taking care of a whole child is tiring#thank god fred’s here 👍#<- willfully ignoring canon#qsmp#qsmpblr#qsmp tubbo#qsmp fred#tubbo#fred qsmp#q!tubbo#tubbo qsmp#qsmp shipping#tubbo fanart#qsmp tubbo fanart#qsmp fanart#sunny qsmp#qsmp sunny#qsmp eggs#frubbo#fred the federation worker#qpenpals#pen pals#qsmp penpals#penpals qsmp#my art
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one sided heartbreak
my art based off flowers grow out of my grave//On This the 100th Anniversary of the Sinking of the Titanic, We Reconsider the Buoyancy of the Human Heart by Laura Lamb Brown-Lavoie//I Know its Over the Smiths//Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe//Cold Solace by Anna Belle Kaufman// Louis Undercover
#web weaving#heartbreak#my fart#webweaving#BROOOO I FINALLY SAID FUCK IT LETS BE SAPPY IMMA DO A WEB WEAVE WITH MY ARt#so happy let’s goooo sorry people follow me for dbz and other stuff I’m also a sap wanna be deep
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just want to be held, held by my boy like im his most precious thing in the world, absolutely loved and just so happy with eachother in the moment covering eachother in kisses and so in love
#am i being a fucking sap?#for something far in the future?#absolutely#mlm thoughts#mlm yearning#gay mlm#mlm post#t4t mlm#mlm#mlm and nblm only#t4t yearning#mlm yearn#t4t
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with the state of this roster i think sharks fans have earned the right to have $2 beer and hot dog nights like a proper minor league team
#i would actually go to games if we did this#a $15 ticket the worst hockey you’ve ever seen and some cheap beers girl i’d invite everyone i know#consider hiring me to get sap back to full capacity thank you go fuck yourself mike grier
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katara was unapologetically an ecoterrorist and i will forever love her so much for that
like look at her and her goofy bf i love them sm
#atla#avatar the last airbender#atla book 3#katara#aang#katara appreciation post#honestly i love her SM#the painted lady#i support women's rights and wrongs#if they take out this plotline in natla#i will be so fucking disappointed#they've already sapped away her character#and her poor actress is so good they are WASTING her
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i’m so far gone~🎃
#if you guys haven’t guessed it already#it’s very much a Frank’s Smile appreciation day today#i’m just a fuckin sap today#and back to waxing poetic about his hair~#i fucking love him with longer hair#like i loved his short styles just as much#but Frank with longer hair just hits different#even though in this frimage he desperately needs to wash it#i would totally wash his hair for him#get him at one of those fancy salon sinks#i bet that’s his fave part of getting his hair done#honestly who doesn’t love that part#frnkiebby#frank iero#mcr#frnkiero#mcrmy#frnkie#mcr5#my chemical romance#my chem#ilhsm
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