#vanilla writing
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Hello! I'm a new content creator on this platform and would like to address some things first, I do apologies if my grammar is incorrect, it's not my first language 💙
☆I do art and accept commissions!☆
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•Things that I am able to draw•
-NSFW (not too explicit) / SFW art
-Chibi's / People / cute animals
-Random and weird ones (but not too complex)
-Meme art
-Sad / Serious art
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•Things that I cannot draw•
-People with complex poses
-Realistic people and animals
-Nakey people
☆I do fan fiction and accept requests!☆
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•Stuff that I am able to write•
-NSFW / SFW
-fluff
-Angst (not that good tho)
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•Stuff that I'm not willing to write•
(TW: The things I'm abt to mention might be sensitive to some people)
-R#pe
-Kidnapping
-Things that include Reader being hurt (Depends on how much damage)
-A really large age gap between the Reader
♡People that I can write abt♡
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-Pedro pascal | and his roles
-Gustavo Fring | Breaking bad
-Henry Emily | From Fnaf
-William Afton | From Fnaf
-Ghost | From Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2
-Anyone from Arcana | The dating game
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(Might add more but this is all for now)
#Pedro pascal#William Afton#Henry emily#Fnaf#the arcane game#smut#Pedro pascal smut#william afton smut#Henry Emily smut#the arcana smut#new writers on tumblr#new artist#soft content#Vanilla writing#william afton x reader#henry emily x reader#Pedro pascal x reader#The arcana x reader#reader smut#Pedro pascal x reader smut#william afton x reader smut#Henry emily x reader smut#The arcana x reader smut#breaking bad#gustavo fring#gus x reader#gus x reader smut
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Barbara made a promise to Jim on his fifth birthday, and it was that she'd be there to help him out when things get rough. How unfortunate that promise she made kept slipping away more and more.
Would ya look at that, I finished something. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to mimimir back to sleep :)
#tales of arcadia#barbara lake#jim lake jr#vanilla writing#I didn't but the entire fic onto this post like I normally do cause I just.... don't wanna right now#ye
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woke up and someone spilled vanilla extract all over my dash, so as punishment you strange little beasties are getting all the VANILLA FACTS i know:
vanilla is the 2nd most expensive spice in the world (2nd to saffron)
which is why more than 99% of what we call "vanilla extract" is actually vanillin (vanilla's dominant flavor compound) and is not extracted from real vanilla.
luckily, even professionals struggle to tell the difference when it comes to things like baked goods. but there is a distinct difference in non-heat treated products like vanilla ice cream. real vanilla has a more complex, individualized flavor profile.
why is vanilla so expensive? because it is a ridiculously delicate & demanding crop. complete primadonna.
vanilla beans come from vanilla orchids. these crazy flowers bloom for A SINGLE DAY and have to be HAND-POLLINATED in a process that is exhausting, delicate, and requires specialist knowledge passed down over generations.
then, if you're lucky, you get vanilla beans.
which then require months of further specialized treatment.
the entire process takes about a year and can go wrong at any stage
vanilla has been cultivated for over 800 years (possibly much longer). the first known cultivators are the Totonac, an indigenous people of Mexico.
the Aztecs used it as a sweetener to balance out the bitter taste of cocoa. it was popular in a drink called xocolatl--the precursor to modern hot chocolate!
it is only pollinated by a very specific orchid bee!!!
which is why no fruit could be grown outside of Mexico until the 1800s
Edmond Albius, born into slavery, invented the pollination method we still use today--launching a global industry when he was just 12 years old.
today, the majority of the world's vanilla is grown in Madagascar
if you want real vanilla, read the labels carefully--it's harder to find than you think!
in conclusion, those tiny black specks you see in fancy vanilla ice cream? those are vanilla bean seeds! itty bitty orchid seeds!!! they are delicious and also a PRISSY BITCH!
(src)
#Vanilla Extract#i open the tumblr app and immediately my nostrils are invaded by the overwhelming stench of vanilla#also if you want real vanilla extract at a discount: check out stores like HomeGoods TJMaxx Marshalls etc#the foodstuffs section tends to have fancy nonperishables for much cheaper than upscale grocery stores#you can get things like saffron truffles fancy oils at surprising prices#still expensive but like. 50% cheaper#or just shoplift if that's your thing i won't tell you how to live your life#did i just spend an hour writing this? yes. why did i do that? i don't KNOW
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I've been working on this on and off for like a long time and honestly I kinda hate it now, but this is like a revamp of these but with the Beasts too lmao
This also has a headcanon I have of if the Legends had virtues like the Ancients and Beasts
Also yes I'm aware Fire and Moon might fit more if they switched but I have lore reasons leave me alone
#sea fairy cookie#moonlight cookie#fire spirit cookie#wind archer cookie#millennial tree cookie#pure vanilla cookie#hollyberry cookie#dark cacao cookie#golden cheese cookie#white lily cookie#shadow milk cookie#eternal sugar cookie#mystic flour cookie#burning spice cookie#silent salt cookie#canon will for sure beat this up in a dark alley but idk what to tell you#also fire's virtue to me is actually also passion#but it felt repetitive to write it twice so i found a synonym that fit better lmao#can you tell where i started and where i lost steam lmfaooo
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Honestly belly rubs are peak affection. Not even in a kink way (though they are excellent in that context)—it’s just very tender and intimate, you know? Like, that’s a vulnerable area. On an instinctive level letting someone touch it takes a certain level of trust. And the idea of that trust being met with such a gentle, compassionate touch just makes me so soft.
#I’m writing a vanilla fic right now that involves it and I keep reading over that bit like 🥺#cute shit if I say so myself#red's thoughts
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No heterosexual explanation for this
#cookie run kingdom#cookie run#shadow milk cookie#pure vanilla cookie#pureshadow#shadowvanilla#vanilla milkshake#god I love this ship… it is so silly#there’s angst potential sure but I’m not really one to write that stuff#there’s something about the way he looks at him. indescribable. I just know it’s extremely gay
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𝐘/𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒
➯ A VANILLA LIME EXTRA.
✰ demon!harry valentine’s day fluff. sexual content. mild degradation. mocking and teasing. minors dni.
𝑤𝑐 3.4k
ッ vanilla lime masterlist
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Y/N blinks in a way that she can only assume demonstrates befuddlement. She turns around half-expecting Harry to shove something less than pleasant in her direction. Flick her nose or smack her arse. But he stands rather sheepishly before her, hand hidden behind his back and a hint of a redness spattered around his cheeks despite the harsh line of his mouth.
She frowns, “What’s this? What did you say?”
“It’s February 14th,” he states, surveying Y/N as if to make sure she reacts in a way that doesn’t catch him off guard. When she raises his eyebrows, silently expectant that he explain himself, Harry presents the object behind his back. He’d procured it only minutes before.
“It’s—”
“—a bouquet.”
Y/N bites her lip to curb a teasing smile—although she feels the pleasant warmth filling her chest unreservedly—stopping herself from saying I can see that. “Starting to like these human holidays, huh?” reaching for the flowers without hesitation, quick to melt in front of him contrary to the front she likes to display.
He plays dumb. “Holiday? Is a holiday obligatory to be able to give your girlfriend flowers?” He slings a cocky arm around her shoulder, now that his offering has been met with obvious tenderness, and presses a kiss into the side of her head. “Something about this Valentine’s made me want to celebrate it… can’t think what.”
A giddy giggle bubbles from Y/N’s throat, “Okay, softie,” she smiles, only slightly startled by the realisation that— “I didn’t get you anything,” looking up at him with apologetic eyes widened in adoration.
“Oh, well I’ll have these back then.” Harry’s paws hardly have to uncurl to make space for the stems, blindly reaching from over the curve of her shoulder.
“Ah! No!” Y/N shrieks, pulling them away from his thieving fingers. Her body is no match for the strength of his but she tries her hardest. “They’re mine now, you can’t have them back.”
“I could kill them,” his eyes darken around the edges as he threatens to curl the edges of the petals and turn them a sorry wilted colour.
“You wouldn’t dare.” And she’s right. No, he wouldn’t.
Their morning is no different to any other—aside from the blooming petals decorating Y/N’s kitchen table, and she’s certain Harry keeps leaving new flowers inside the vase. She’s half worried she’ll blink for a moment and her entire bedroom will be filled with an assortment of foliage; she’d be able to open a garden centre from the comfort of her own home.
Harry has seemed a little softer lately but Y/N would never say anything—worried he might amp up the bullying in an embarrassed retaliation. It’s not as if she doesn’t love the way he plays with her, but it is undeniable that seeing her demon becoming sappy and fuzzy around the edges makes her heart all mushy just the same.
It makes her think back to a different time—when she pretended to hate the way he made her feel, and Harry relished in the grumpy outbursts he elicited. It’s why when he asks her, “Is there anything you want to do today?” that Y/N thinks—yes, yes there is.
“Can we— I was wondering…” It’s not scary to ask but…
A smile tugs at the corner of the demon’s lips, “Mhm…”
Only through fear of embarrassment does she stutter, “Would you like to… I don’t know— I was just kind of thinking it might be nice to go and see the cottage.”
Harry tilts his head for a moment, like a patiently awaiting dog that’s heard their owner ask them if they want a treat. And once it registers, he doesn’t react the way Y/N expects. He frowns, trips over his own words like he’s sure he’s misheard her. “Are you— Really?”
“What? Is that bad?”
“It’s just— well, no. I’d have thought that place would haunt your nightmares or something.”
Oh. That’s… that’s unexpectedly thoughtful and overwhelmingly distressing all at once. “You really think that?” Did he? Was it a regular worry of his? Does he look back upon a moment in time that Y/N cherishes but see it through glasses tinted with the overcast of a grey sky.
“I don’t know… maybe.”
Y/N’s eyebrows dip slightly—sadly, “Oh, Harry—”
He cuts her off before those pitiful eyes pierce through the skin over his chest, “—Okay, Bambi.”
But she’s determined now—to make new memories and relive old ones. “I love that little cottage. Can we go back? Only if you want to.”
“Of course, I want to. I want what you want.”
The saccharine timbre of his voice soaks into the flesh of her cheeks—warm and buzzing—and it’s hard not to bite her lip as she starts to get excited. “So we can go?”
Harry smooths a palm over the top of her head, mussing the hair there just so he can watch her fix it, mumbling out a soft, “Yeah, we can go, sweetheart.”
It’s like nothing has changed.
Y/N and Harry appear at the doorstep and it’s as if the cottage has been sealed inside a bubble—unaffected by the hands of time. She supposes it is entirely possible that time does move differently here; it is glistening with magic after all.
She can see the ghost of herself storming off, tripping over a rogue root and being cushioned by the wrap of Harry’s body. She can see the side of the cottage peeking out, its pathway yearning for footfalls, the lake rippling underneath the canopy of the magical willow tree and the memory of their first kiss emanates a glow. A sense of calm washes over her—her home away from home—a part of herself connected to this place in the same way she is to Harry.
As soon as her counterpart opens the door, Y/N is barging her way inside, desperate to see that everything on the interior is just the same as the exterior. It’s like falling headfirst into a memory, and once she’s given a head start, her feet carry her away in a rushed and giddy sprint. Harry doesn’t use any magic, he follows her slowly, lets her run whilst he calmly walks, and still makes it to the bedroom only a few seconds after she’s arrived.
He watches with an amused smile as Y/N jumps onto the bed, Harry’s bed—the one he’d slept in when they’d stayed here all that time ago. Watches as she inhales less than subtly and nuzzles her face into the sheets when she happily finds that they still smell of him. He watches but not for long because his automatic reaction is to gravitate towards her, climb up onto the end of the bed and flatten his body out on top of hers.
She lets out a girlish grunt from the weight, squawking in a pitchy cacophony, “Urgh! Heavy.”
A mere grumble is all she is returned with—full of fake disdain as he lets his limbs relax—“Don’t hurt my feelings.”
“No, no, ‘m not. Heavy and strong. Big and strong.”
They can feel each other’s ribs expanding with each breath; Y/N’s lagging some with the weight but not enough to warrant disrupting the sudden peace.
“Good.”
A silence falls upon them, only occasionally interrupted by inane thoughts spoken aloud. Y/N thinks she can somehow push herself further into the mattress when she sighs out, “Love this bed.”
And Harry, sleepy but not quite as much as her—demonstrated so brazenly as he quirks a smile into Y/N’s hair. “Yeah? Love the way I fucked you in it.”
There’s something so dry and cut-throat about the way drowsiness makes her sound, “You didn’t even stick it in.”
Admonished, Harry snorts, “Stick it in? Where is your decorum, Bambi? We should change that, hm?”
“Later,” she sighs, indeed melting further into the bed with a dreamy noise.
Harry kisses her cheek, shifting his weight off of her so that he can tug her body into his side instead. “Y’tired?”
“A little. I wanted to do something though.”
“What’s that?”
“S’ a surprise,” words slurring—tangling together in the haze of her dwindling consciousness.
They sleep for a while—thirty minutes, an hour, maybe—Y/N loses track of the time in this place but it’s never been less of a problem. Everything is the way it is meant to be when they’re here. And when the pair uncurl from around one another Y/N mewls in delight as the memory of their destination washes over her once more. It fuels her with bubbling energy, body twitching to burn it off but Harry doesn’t release her waist the way she hopes for—his sleepy brain unguarded in its blatant likeness to someone’s old, grumpy cat that hisses in distaste if ever awoken.
Y/N tries to slip out from beneath his ironclad grasp but she’s met with a grumble, low like the distant hum of an engine. “Let me out.” It’s a meek request—not the most persuasive she’s ever sounded in her life—almost as if… perhaps… she doesn’t really want to leave the warmth of Harry’s body and the smell of his soft clothes.
“Stop talking.”
“Come to the kitchen with me.” Her voice whispers like they’re not the only two people to be existing for miles upon miles.
And that’s how she lures him into baking an attempt at coquettishly shaped cookies—hearts (that Harry is less than impressed with, “Not even your heart is shaped like that, Bambi.”) and bows, flowers and bunnies—with a palette of pinks to smother their tops in. Y/N is so delighted in her mischief, watching Harry like a hawk to gauge his miffed reactions, although deep down, both of them are aware of a level of playful annoyance. Their penchant for getting on each other’s nerves only fuels the gears of their affections for one another.
“I could just… y’know, give you some cookies—we don’t need to go through the whole process.”
Y/N thinks he’s just grumpy for the sake of it—grumpy and old. Like a cat. “That defeats the whole point, Harry. It’s fun! Aren’t you having fun with me?” She widens her eyes, purposefully big to tug on those demonic heartstrings of his.
He only frowns, nose crinkling ever so slightly to indicate he sees right through her. But whether he does or not never makes much of a difference. “Yeah, no. Of course. Of course, I’m having fun,” he raps his knuckles on the table impatiently, “I love…” drumming out an annoying rhythm, “...spending my finite time on this planet waiting for tiny, wee biscuits to bake that’ll take me five seconds to inhale.”
He thinks it’s funny because he’s immortal. Y/N doesn’t laugh. “You’re such an old fart, oh my god.”
Harry hums, unperturbed by the slight mockery she makes of him as he slinks his arms around her middle and mumbles into her neck, “A certain little human lady is teaching me bad habits.”
“What does Mr. Impatient want to do whilst we wait?”
“I can think of something…” fingers teasing at the bottom of her soft cotton t-shirt, slender digits dancing along the line of skin he discovers.
“Of course you can,” she rolls her eyes to herself, trying to dampen the smile that dictates the shape of her mouth. “That’s for later, Harry.”
“Huh?” She’s inclined to believe that he’s drunk on her already—from a brush against her midriff. His warm body presses against her back and Y/N is nearly convinced to lean into his embrace and encourage his hands to explore across her front.
“You can’t seduce me.”
“Think that’s what I’m doing right now.”
“I won’t let these cookies burn because of you.”
“We don’t have to go anywhere—you can keep an eye on them the whole time… I don’t need to take your clothes off to make you cum.”
He nearly gets her. So very nearly. Made obvious by the lag in her reply and the catch of her breath that only someone like Harry could possibly hear. But Y/N wins for now, painfully stubborn as she pushes her head back to lean on his shoulder whilst simultaneously denying him. “No, you can wait.”
Harry makes sure she pays for her questionable prioritisation.
“You made me wait. Now it’s your turn, isn’t it?” His lips curve upwards into a satisfied grin as he undresses her—after a gently firm shove to push her to the bed—cruel to do as such whilst he promises not to touch her. “Oh? What’s this? Got all dressed up for me, did you?”
“No,” she grumbles. “S’for my other boyfriend.” The white lace shudders against her ribs as Y/N exhales shortly; the air punched from her lungs as Harry traces the pads of his fingertips along each bump. She resists squirming.
“Mm, that is such a shame. He won’t get to see it,” Harry juts his bottom lip out in a condescending pout. “But seeing as I’m here to admire… let’s make a few changes, shall we?” Y/N has no time to agree or disagree—to even ponder upon the question for a moment before the colour of her skimpy lingerie transforms before her eyes.
Angelic white swirls into midnight black, blossoming from the centre of her chest and swirling outwards to swallow all traces of innocence. Y/N lets out an astonished gasp—never quite expectant of Harry’s free use of magic. It seems her innately human vessel will never grasp the ease in which he procures objects, feelings—moods and senses alike.
“I liked the white,” she huffs, unable to appropriately convey her frustrations when she knows, really, that nothing Harry does is irreversible. Everything is impermanent when you can wield magic. Well… nearly everything.
“Something darker… is a little more fitting, don’t you think?”
Y/N didn’t assume that this Valentine’s would necessarily end in a passionate romp between her and Harry—she knows that the holiday is sort of an excuse for partners to have sex but… they’ve never needed one before. However, had it been playing on her mind, she’s not sure she would’ve had edging on the cards for this romantic date.
No one is to blame but Y/N for being so careless in her thought process—because it’s Harry. And Harry is cruel—cruel yet sentimental in the strangest of ways.
“You remember what happened in this bed, don’t you, Bambi?”
Yes. Yes, she remembers all too well. How could a person ever possibly forget such a night? He tortured her. It was blissful delirium.
She’d tried to beg, she really had, hoping that maybe a surrender may win him over but—no matter how much his sharp edges have become smooth curves—he is still a demon, and the prospect of squeezing tears from the corners of her eyes was too much to surpass.
That was nearly an hour ago, and Y/N is at her breaking point.
“Listen. Listen to me. Hands—” he shoves them roughly above her head, “—up.” Y/N doesn’t want to listen to him. Harry has been all lewd strokes and overexaggerated groans for at least fifteen minutes… his fingers coated in the remnants of her arousal—and her resolve is weak. She wants to touch him; caress the ruddy head that beads with precum, that slicks down his shaft and makes him shine. Her mouth waters for it and her arms struggle to stretch out. “Yeah—yeah, keep trying, keep trying baby. You’re so fucking crazy for it. Such a desperate little thing, hm?”
Frustration bubbles in her throat, sliced in half by a whimper—pathetic and needy. “Not again, don’t do this again, Harry.” Her cunt pulsates, the gusset of her newly dyed panties soaked through. He hasn’t even ghosted a breath over her warmth. She throbs with the memory of the first time he’d done this—made her cum with a few thuds and glides against her clit. He would be evil to do that again.
Harry twists his wrist on every stroke, humming out a feigned agreement, “Okay, alright. What should I do instead?” Y/N knows it matters little what she says, but she doesn’t even part her lips before he continues squeezing himself to the sound of his own voice.
“You want me to touch that pretty pussy, do you?” Y/N nods anyway—despite everything. Harry pouts, “Oh, why’s that? S’all achy?”
“Please, Harry,” her words topple out in a sigh. She doesn’t want to whine, she wants to hold out and appear completely unaffected by everything that he does but— “Please?”
“My girl’s all helpless f’me. Helpless and wet, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah,” she’s reduced to a whisper as Harry leans down, crowding her space with his broad body. The promise of his silky skin hangs above her, imprisoned in the palm of his hand. Her eyes trail down his front unashamedly, silently wanting.
He smothers her lips with his own and they taste like sugar. Sugary sweet from the cookies he’d moaned lavishly over; only half a performance, the other half satisfied to have waited for them to bake after all.
But now, Harry doesn’t think of confectionery—not in any sort of edible form anyway. Or in the traditional sense, at least. Right now, Harry licks all the flavour from Y/N’s mouth. He’s messy and he’s unhurried, sliding a palm up to curl around her patiently awaiting hands—locked up in her own embrace above her head. Their digits entwine with one another and all lingering thoughts, had there been any to begin with, just drift away.
Y/N barely registers the rip between her thighs as Harry tears at the seams of her underwear without even a hitch of his motions. Her gasp is delayed—only permitted when the demon pulls back an inch to allow her a short inhale—and then all she can do is whine into his mouth as the familiar teasing pressure buds at her entrance.
It’s unlike Harry not to draw out every drag and watch the sensitivity wash over Y/N’s face. It’s unlike him but Y/N can’t say she dislikes the snap of his hips against hers and the force in which his body nudges her up the bed. Sounds are forced from her lungs like angry fists to a punching bag, eyes wide open and tied to the magnetism of Harry’s own—a mirror image of two mouths dropped open in dumb pleasure.
“Cum around me,” he pants through short shuffles to frame his forearms on either side of her head as he cups the top of her scalp in an overwhelming desire to carry the weight of her. “Cum around me, baby. Let me feel you.”
And it’s hardly a chore. Not when her insides were already tightening, teetering on the edge as if waiting for those words of permission, his blessing, his yearning. Eyes roll back and knees jerk, souls reach out to wisp and curl around one another if just for a second, as Y/N pulls Harry along with her and over the edge.
They’re a harmony of ecstasy, a single soul comprised of two vessels—as their blood rushes through their veins and thrums underneath the surface of their warm skin. Harry settles on top of her, nestled snugly inside like there could never possibly be another option. They won’t be finished for the evening; that goes without saying.
He fusses over individual strands of her hair, smoothing them down and silently ridiculing the sweat that misplaced them. Y/N breaths quietly beneath him, eyelids fluttering closed in an unmistakable image of a happy fatigue. She speaks in sleepy murmurs, lips heavy to move but she tries her best. “You know you don’t have to celebrate human holidays just for me, right?”
Harry’s hum vibrates through her chest, “I know… but I heard a rumour that they’re not so bad,” he dips down to her ear, making her squeal and tilt her head to try and hide in her neck, “if it means seeing you so happy.”
”You’re such a romantic,” it’s meant to be teasing but as she forces her eyes open, they practically cast out holographic hearts. Y/N won’t admit it but, she’s always wished to redefine Valentine’s day—to spend it with someone who actually matters, who won’t make her resent each year that it comes around, to celebrate each other with tried and true simplicity.
She thinks they’d meet in another life—without all the magic—her and Harry. It’s a feeling so strong when she looks into his eyes, a feeling that makes it feel possible to will things into existence just by dreaming about them hard enough.
And Harry always seems to understand, as if he might be doing the same, as he dips down to whisper into her parted lips, “I spent a long time yearning for a companion like you, my little love. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
#harry styles#vanilla lime#harry styles x reader#harry styles smut#harry styles one shots#harry styles blurbs#harry styles imagines#harry styles fanfiction#writing#demonrry#demon!harry
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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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"...We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"
The whispered confession falls clumsily out of Pure Vanilla's mouth, almost dragged out, bitterly sweet and strange on his tongue. The words are addressed to his own stained candy glass visage, spilling tendrils of bright blue light across the Solarium of Unity despite the almost suffocating darkness invading the rest of the space.
He knows this isn't really the Solarium of Unity, and he knows he isn't just speaking to a window. The lurking shadows, thick like molasses and blinking every once in a while, give that away. Even if it didn't, there is a haziness here that exists only in dreams, and a lack of the deep tiredness that has been plaguing him as of late.
"Oh, are you finally ready to admit that?" Sure enough, Shadow Milk Cookie's voice comes from all sides, far too cheerful. The candy glass melts and warps before him, the blues darkening until Shadow Milk stands in his place, far more detailed than the artisan silhouette he replaced. His grin is mocking as he looks down at Pure Vanilla, who cannot help but feel uncomfortable at the sight of their appearances blurring together like that, even though he had been expecting something along those lines. "Too bad though – you can't admit something that's wrong!"
"Huh?" It catches Pure Vanilla by surprise. It had been difficult emotionally, but logically straightforward to admit they were two sides of the same coin. He couldn't imagine how that could be wrong, and acting upon an old habit from his student days, he finds himself frantically unravelling that conclusion in his head again to figure out the issue.
Shadow Milk doesn't give him the chance, tutting as he shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You must have a brain in there, can't you use it?" He laments theatrically, contorting himself into an odd shape against the edge of the window pane. Then, again barreling on before Pure Vanilla can reply, "Look, think of it like this. To say we're two sides of the same coin means that we have similarities, even if we are otherwise opposites. That is true to an extent, but it makes our differences sound way more clear cut than they actually are. It may be easier for you to believe, but we aren't really opposites. That would imply I am not whole, and I can assure you, Soul Jam aside, I am just as I always was!"
Ah, so it's a matter of wording. Pure Vanilla isn't sure why he is entertaining this - no, it's because he doesn't want to give Shadow Milk the satisfaction of turning away from the truth. Even now, Shadow Milk's eyes squint cheekily at him, daring him to try and end the conversation.
"Then... we are made of the same components in a different composition." Pure Vanilla tries, a little frustrated with his own hesitance, but it is difficult to tell how Shadow Milk wants him to answer when he isn't making it blatantly obvious.
"So close!" Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he snaps his head to the side so sharply it makes Pure Vanilla wince, imagining the cracks that would cause on any other Cookie. "But you're relying on technicalities. It's much simpler than that."
It dawns on Pure Vanilla, then, exactly what Shadow Milk is aiming for, the realisation making his insides crawl. He doesn't have to say it, not really, but he isn't sure what Shadow Milk will do if he doesn't, and he unfortunately doesn't have the ability to wake himself up on command.
So he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his staff as he says, even less than a whisper yet twice as loud. "We're... We're the same. Is that what you wanted me to say?"
"Ding-ding-ding!" Shadow Milk trills, suddenly reaching through the candy glass to grip the window frame and lurching forward across the threshold, leaving a mess of shattered glass behind his head like a halo. It startles Pure Vanilla, who instinctively shifts his foot back, only to be instantly locked in place as the reaching shadows soldify around his legs, its eyes winking up at him playfully. His grip on his staff tightens, willing it to shed its light, the beginnings of panic stirring within him at the restraint. The staff does, but the shadows seem to eat the light without a problem.
Pure Vanilla is so distracted by the shadows that he doesn't notice Shadow Milk's hands until they grab his face. His heart jumps in alarm, and his eyes dart up to find half of Shadow Milk leaning down out of the window, far too close. He is grinning at him, wide and self-satisfied, and his hands are cold and harsh. "See, I knew you had a working brain! Yes, the right answer is that we are one and the same."
He pinches and pulls at his cheeks, and Pure Vanilla tries to cringe away, tries to manuver his staff between them. It doesn't work, if only because hands emerge from the darkness to anchor his staff too.
"But that isn't true." Pure Vanilla mumbles when he isn't able to wiggle his way out and Shadow Milk still shows no signs of stopping, hoping the argument will make him lose interest in his face. "I admit that there are similarities between us, but we aren't really the same."
Shadow Milk pauses, his grip tightening until it borders on pain, and for a moment, Pure Vanilla thinks he may have miscalculated.
But then Shadow Milk snickers to himself, releasing his face entirely and pulling back, his hands resting lightly over Pure Vanilla's shoulders. The brush of weight keeps Pure Vanilla from relaxing, but it is a bit of added distance, at least.
"Aren't we? Well, you are the biggest liar, so I should have expected you would lie to yourself too." Shadow Milk hums, almost sounding delighted at this turn in conversation. It unnerves Pure Vanilla, because he had assumed his disagreement would annoy him.
Instead, Shadow Milk smirks, his many eyes glinting gleefully at him. "Listen carefully, Vani, because here's the truth." He says, his voice dipping into a wicked purr that seems to shudder through Pure Vanilla's whole body. "All the things you hate that I have done, you have the capability of doing too. After all, you've already used people for your own gain, haven't you?" Shadow Milk leans closer with a condescending lilt to his words, shifting his hands so he can wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders, and Pure Vanilla freezes under the touch. "Oh, I know you think it was necessary, but you still sent those naive, tiny Cookies off to carry out your errands for you, regardless of the dangers. That's only a few steps behind what I've done, you know, making people dance to my tune. The only difference between us is severity and time."
The words sink heavily to Pure Vanilla's stomach, not quite true but not quite not true, and he feels a little lightheaded, fingers twitching against his staff. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because of his discomfort from the close proximity, but he finds himself distracted by the way Shadow Milk is talking. He carries his usual air of showmanship, but it is nowhere near as exaggerated as during his brief takeover of the Faerie Kingdom. With his insistence of specificity, his mention of technicalities, his structured method of explaining things, he almost sounds like a–
"We are the same," Shadow Milk repeats, tilting his head to the side, the glow of his eyes burning holes through Pure Vanilla, "and one day, you'll end up just like me."
A scholar.
That makes sense – at some point, his virtue had been Knowledge, and nobody seeks it out as fervently as a scholar – but it still feels like a surprise. Pure Vanilla had always known that Shadow Milk was different, once, but only in the sense that the fact existed in the back of his mind.
"No rebuttal, hmm? Are you ready to accept that?" Shadow Milk asks smugly, slightly impatient with Pure Vanilla's lack of response, but mostly watching him expectantly, as if waiting for a bomb to go off.
Pure Vanilla has never thought about what Shadow Milk might have been like, before he became like this. There was no reason to even consider it. But now, he can't help but wonder, because while he cannot imagine this chaotic, brutal Beast, this great unknown evil, as anything else – Shadow Milk still carries echoes from a past life that he doesn't seem to notice enough to hide with his lies.
"...If we are the same," Pure Vanilla finally scrapes his thoughts together enough to reply, carefully, "then doesn't that make the opposite possible too? That, one day, you will become like me and return to the light?"
Shadow Milk blinks once, his face falling blank. He blinks again, all of his eyes in quick succession.
And then he throws his head back and laughs, the movement jostling Pure Vanilla in the process with his arms still firmly around his shoulders. It sounds unhinged, ricocheting across the room, but it is openly amused. It makes Pure Vanilla antsy, especially with how it rings in his ears like an explosion from their closeness.
He wonders if Shadow Milk's laugh was different, before everything. It must have been. He wonders what it sounded like, and immediately realises that he's being ridiculous. The realisation that a before exists seems to have opened the floodgates in his mind, and now thoughts of hypotheticals can't help flitting in.
"You say such silly, silly things." Shadow Milk bites out offhandedly as his laughter winds down, the lingering remnants still dancing on his tongue. Without warning, he pulls Pure Vanilla even closer, the darkness that had been keeping him in place swirling and shoving him forward. Pure Vanilla gasps, the sound catching in his throat, and one of his hands fly off his staff to reach for something to steady himself on. It finds an edge of shattered candy glass, flinching back and falling down to scrabble against its smooth, intact surface.
Shadow Milk is giggling at him and Pure Vanilla is mortified, horribly so. They are far, far too close, Shadow Milk's face taking up the near entirety of his vision and their upper bodies almost pressed together. It feels claustrophobic, which should be impossible in such a wide, open space.
Shadow Milk makes matters worse by pressing their foreheads together, the gesture weirdly tender and doing nothing to make Pure Vanilla any calmer. His bright blue eyes look directly through him, dissecting him piece by piece.
"Why don't you cut down the Silver Tree and find out?" Shadow Milk coos, his voice overlapping with the Light of Truth's in a deeply unsettling way. His presence is overwhelming.
Pure Vanilla's eyes flicker downwards to escape his piercing gaze, and finds their chests so close that their Soul Jams are overlapping. Overlapping, and not touching, because Shadow Milk's Soul Jam seems to fizzle out of existence where the other makes contact with it, as if it were an illusion. Behind it is an empty space, black as the abyss. With the way they are lined up now, it is obvious that Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam would fit perfectly into the crevice with a little turning. He knew that already, but it still feels strange to see it.
Pure Vanilla sighs, a long, thin, shuddering sound. "...You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"
In the edge of his vision, Shadow Milk smiles tauntingly, all teeth, but he doesn't say a word.
And Pure Vanilla wakes up, off kilter, exhausted and oddly cold.
[next]
#sm flirting: hey wanna debate the fluidity of ur identity and morality and have a crisis? wanna make out over it?#if ur confused dw i was confused writing this too. sm strikes me as the type to say the most convulted stuff for funsies#also he is scheming. idk what exactly but he certainly is!!#and poor pv is just along for the ride#pure vanilla cookie#shadow milk cookie#shadowvanilla#vanilla milkshake#echo paradox au#the biscuit library
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“Alright, Iskall, pay up. You know the price. Three diamonds,” Stress says gleefully.
“That doesn’t count!” complains Iskall, from where he’s stretched out on the floor, rubbing at his poor, poor ankles. He’d misjudged a jump while building and, despite being a pro gamer, hadn’t managed to throw his water bucket out in time.
“Well, why not?” Stress says. “You told me I needed to help incentivize you to acclimate to vanilla again, you did. It’s important to make sure you don’t do silly modded things and get hurt. So, pay up. Three diamonds. Hurry up!”
“It doesn’t count,” Iskall says. “I don’t use Stonefall. I’m a professional. I use a water bucket.”
“Well you didn’t there,” Stress says.
“I don’t understand why I’m letting you do this. You tried to Dash earlier too!”
Stress huffs. “Yeah, which means neither of us paid. I’m sympathetic. That’s why I’m doing it.”
“You? Sympathetic? To me?”
“That’s what I said,” Stress says. “Three diamonds.”
“And I’m not paying! I didn’t use Stonefall! I just missed a landing. Because you distracted me. You’re a distracter,” Iskall says.
“I wasn’t talking about Stonefall anyway,” Stress says. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I’m not out of sprint yet?” Iskall says, baffled. Sure, now that she says it he’s plenty hungry, but there’s not really a purpose if he’s not out of sprint yet. There’s…
Wait.
“That doesn’t count either!” Iskall shouts.
Stress cackles. “I think people normally eat when they’re hurt in vanilla, love, pay up!”
“No! Nein! No! That doesn’t count! It’s a bad habit in the overworld in modded too!”
“I don’t know, sounds like you thought you could just Heal the injuries.”
“You’re bleeding me dry! This is—this is highway robbery!”
“Yep! Welcome back to Hermitcraft!”
Stress grins at Iskall a while longer. After several seconds staring, he grumbles and fishes for the diamonds in his pockets. “I’d been playing early game. I’ll adjust faster, I thought. I won’t have as many skills and talents and busted gear to get used to not having, I thought. Even with her silly scheme, I won’t be paying, no sir.”
“Well, you are a bit of a moron,” Stress says.
“Hey! I’m giving you free, undeserved cash! And you mock me! You mock me!”
“Just telling it like it is.”
He grumbles in mock offense.
(…yeah, he’d missed Hermitcraft.)
#hermitcraft#Iskall85#stressmonster#I just wanted to write a silly stresskall thing#and also my persistent headcanon that vault hunters adjust Badly to switching back to vanilla because. well.#THE POWER SCALING IS A LITTLE. DIFFERENT…#a bee fic
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ohhh i love your facets of knowledge au!!! it's giving me immense brain rot but i want to ask, after the ancients sealed the beast inside the soul jam were there any complications afterwards? i would imagine the first few days of being sealed, some (sm most likely) would throw a fuse at being sealed again, and how do the ancients handle during that??
wagh thank you so much!! Brain rot 🤝 And yes, you're right on the money- the first month or so was agonizing for most of the Ancients, whose willpower is all that's standing between the Beasts and the Soul Jam. Most tried all they could to gain control, Shadow Milk cookie especially - "blowing a fuse" is putting it lightly, really. The fit he throws in canon is nothing compared to the hours of angry insults and jabs that began the two's sharing of a body, and even worse, Pure Vanilla can FEEL every inch of deep-seated vicious anger emanating from Shadow Milk. It's not long before he realizes the other isn't as affected as he'd like by the outrage, so he switches to and utilizes most what he knows best- trickery. For their early time together, Pure Vanilla is constantly subject to visions and other hallucinations induced by Shadow Milk, doing everything possible to manipulate, guilt trip, traumatize, and break him into submitting his soul jam. PV doesn't fully give in, of course, but that doesn't mean it isn't harrowing. It's all he can do to keep his sense of self and not snap under it- he's certainly the type to have dealt with moral intrusive thoughts before, but this was on another level. It's unfortunately pretty easy to figure out what makes PV tick and what'll hurt him most, which SM used to his advantage fully for a while.
Eventually Shadow Milk does bore of this too, letting up on his relentless attack, and Pure Vanilla is inspired by Hollyberry to try and help the corrupted. However, for the time the Beast had almost full control over the Truth-bearing Ancient's shoestring mental state.
#cookie run kingdom#crk#shadow milk cookie#pure vanilla cookie#cookie run#facets of knowledge au#shadowvanilla#i should write some of my vision for their journey to not being toxic soon#prism art#our art#digital art
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During a relaxing day, Phos notices a strange piece of paper nearby with writing on it. Unbeknownst to them, reading it summoned a celestial monkey, the Six Eared Macaque. Unable to leave, the two try to figure how they can fix this inconvenience. However, Macauqe may have gotten more than he bargained for once he gets attached to the young gem and has to deal with the inherit tragedy that Phos' fate entails.
#lego monkie kid#houseki no kuni#land of the lustrous#phosphophyllite#lmk six eared macaque#vanilla writing#I totally didn't forget to post the link to my fic here haha no sir :D
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kim is such a funny little guy like he emphasizes how little the rcm salary is when you ask about it (5500 reál annually- 460/mo) but here he is with his nice electronic sports watch and his little instant camera and his fancy revolutionary cosplay for plainclothes and he's living in the GRIH which can't be cheap and he's got his fancy little mnemotechnique notebooks which are like the moleskine of elysium i guess and his fancy little ballpoints that he does NOT want to share with you which i bet is because they cost him like a week of salary. and this is the rcm he's not getting stipends for supplies or watches or housing or probably even the gas for the kineema. poor as fuck but he is going to buy himself his little treats god damn it. if he lived in our world you know he'd be out getting himself a $9 vanilla soy milk half caf dirty chai iced latte every morning on the way to the station and eating instant noodles every night to claw out room in the budget for it
#'kim is a black coffee kind of guy' false he drinks black coffee at work solely for appearance#given the choice he's like the typical iced latte extra caramel sauce 27 pumps of vanilla and whipped cream type of girlie#he won't admit it though. so he drinks it black at work. with one (1) sugar if he's feeling zesty#kim buying himself extremely nice and overpriced notebooks every couple weeks justifying it with 'it's for work'#he will justify any purchase to himself with 'it's for work' wherever possible#which results in insane feats of mental gymnastics. and yes that would include the $9 soy chai lattes#harry is broke bevause he spends r400 a month on booze.#kims budget is r110 kineema gas and mods r150 stationery r150 rent r20 pen ink refills r20 tailoring supplies and r10 food & misc#creature of pride indeed. love you kim#kiwipost#kk meta#kim kitsuragi#harry makes fun of the expensive pens until he writes with one then hes like no yeah this is a nice pen. im sorry for ever doubting you#actually even better if harry thinks its shitty. he'd prefer the cheap dollar store bulk pack 50c plastic ones#kim gets really defensive of his pens too. unreasonably defensive. personal insults may or may not be slung at this point#kim is sooo funny yes sir you are so so normal average sane mundane usual orthodox plain unremarkable spoilsport etc. whatever you say babe
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Now that I’ve left Florida of course I got a content writing job at a Florida based boating company 😂 Spent the day researching Marco Island. Definitely miss the 90 degree sunshine but haven’t felt homesick for FL yet.
Keep up with me on tiktok if you want ✌🏾
#academia#studyblr#study aesthetic#studyspo#study mode#autumn#cozy space#writing#English major#am studying#amwriting#amreading#romance books#bookblr#coffee#vanilla latte#latte#cafe#cafe vibes#uni#university#contentwriting#new england aesthetic#fall leaves#stars hollow
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If Desmond ever ended up in the Persona 5 universe, I wonder what he would think of the Phantom Thieves? Would he be a confidant for Akira/Ren/Joker, be a neutral party? Become a Phantom Thief himself? I can't help but think that because of his Bleeds, he'd end up having his ancestors show up as Personas to help him fight in the Metaverse.
Ngl, I wanna make Desmond the Sun because of my penchant of giving Desmond something related to the very thing that killed him but based on his ‘situation’, these are the Arcanas that Desmond can be part of in my opinion:
Aeon (many of the Aeon Personas have an affinity to light and a common theme for Aeon representatives are that they are unfamiliar with the world they are in and are struggling to find their place in this world which describes Desmond’s current predicament and also… there’s no Aeon confidant in P5 so Desmond won’t be sharing this spot with anyone or, worse, won’t be removing an existing confidant)
Sun (A character in a lonely and most of the time terribly situation, signifying the hopelessness of them succeeding with the end results being them having to reflect on their situation and coming to peace with themselves and what is happening to them)
Moon (being attuned subconsciously to the world around someone, gaining the ability to sense things without being told about them, or without anyone else knowing, this arcana is also sometimes called the Arcana of Lies and Deceit which Desmond would be doing anyway because there’s no way he’ll tell the truth)
Death (metamorphosis and deep change, regeneration and cycles… which can also hint on Desmond’s origin as someone not from this world)
Personally, I do see Desmond as a Phantom Thief and acting like the cool older brother type to these teenagers. But being a neutral party seems more like his style, considering… everything.
So I would suggest we make Desmond a neutral party the Phantom Thieves meet up with in the Metaverse from time to time, mostly in Mementos because, in his own words ‘something calls to me here’.
The Phantom Thieves don’t know he’s the same bartender that works at Crossroads who would always give Joker a Shirley Temple whenever he’s on break. Lala told Joker that Desmond looked ‘lost’ so she helped him out (in more ways than one, Lala actually thinks Desmond is undocumented and helped him be an ‘upstanding citizen’…)
Desmond, for his part, is just happy that, for some reason, he knows Japanese? He has a feeling it’s one of his Bleed and many people tell him he speaks like he’s from a period drama so yeah, there’s that (it’s one of his Ibn-La'Ahad ancestors who knew Japanese because they chased the Mongols to Japan)
As for Desmond’s Persona…
It would be funny to give him Minerva or Juno as a Persona but we’re not that evil. Another idea would be to give him Dionysus for our usual ‘Desmond could totally be Dionysus’ Sage’ idea that pops in and out XD
Although…
So we’re going to make Desmond special because he’s our blorbo and we’ll use the Persona 1 and 2 plot of how the characters get their Persona.
He does the Persona game because he was bored one day XD
And that’s how he starts to hear Mementos’ call.
And while he journeys in Mementos by himself, that’s when he encounters the Shadows… of his Bleeds.
Confronting them (which always ends in a boss fight) ends with him receiving their Arcana and his Bleeds become his Personas.
His Bleeds’ Arcanas:
Altaïr: Hermit (wisdom, introspection, solitude, retreat and philosophical searches)
Ezio: Judgment (associated with realizing one's calling, gaining a deep understanding of life and a feeling of acceptance and absolution)
Ratonhnhaké:ton: Hanged Man (sometimes self-sacrificial or self-loathing, but are more often notable for being caught between two different extremes, parties or stages in life of which they have little to no control – always in the middle of two opposing forces and he’s doing his best to protect his people given what’s happening) or Strength (associated with the morality about the stronger power of self-control, gentleness, courage and virtue over brute force)
Haytham: Emperor (desire to control one's surroundings, and its appearance could suggest that one is trying too hard to achieve this, possibly causing trouble for others; some elements in life are just not controllable)
Desmond’s real Arcana and his own Persona (which may or may not be some biblically accurate angel-like figure with all of his Bleeds around a small orb similar to the Apple of Eden in the same veins of the Norns design) will only awaken after Joker reaches max level with him.
Also, the Phantom Thieves don’t know it’s him because his form in the Metaverse is always hooded with the robes changing depending on which Persona he uses (at the start, they thought it was different dudes until Desmond changed Personas in midbattle)… and yes, that includes Haytham. Desmond gets a hood too even when he’s using Haytham but he also has Haytham’s tacohat. Them’s the rules.
Arcana symbolism from megamitensei.fandom.com
#if it wasn’t clear#i really want desmond to be an aeon arcana#because it works so well for him#but no romance with joker XD#he thinks of joker as a younger brother#maybe even be reminded by ezio’s recruits#ngl#this made me want to play royal#but i really don’t wanna#still annoyed i can’t use my 100% vanilla p5 save =_=#assassin's creed#desmond miles#persona 5#persona series#ren amamiya#akira kurusu#p5 joker#teecup writes/has a plot#fic idea: assassin's creed#ask and answer#do i tag the others?#sure#but only joker#altaïr ibn la'ahad#ezio auditore#ratonhnhaké:ton#connor kenway#haytham kenway#fic idea: crossover#fic idea: persona
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I want to clarify that when I say “Javert is a furry” I mean that he’s canonically an anthropomorphic dog. (In his introduction he’s literally described as a dog that happens to look humanoid.) But, I don’t mean that Javert would ever be a furry in the sense that he would be “part of the furry community.”
Because openly accepting you’re a furry requires a level of introspection, playfulness, rebellion, and imagination that Javert simply doesn’t have. It means being part of a niche “rebellious” subculture that proudly likes things mainstream culture often views as weird, and Javert would never like things mainstream society would shame him for. Accepting you’re a furry means you have to think about yourself and what you enjoy and Javert is never going to do that. A lot of furry culture is also about forming connections and making friends and Javert would also absolutely never do any of that. He would never do something for fun outside of work. As an authoritarian who derives all his self-worth from crushing outcasts, he would never get involved in a community that likes to bond over being proudly “countercultural” or fringe or niche or queer or weird and artistic.
It’s ironic. Javert is at once the ultimate furry but also the polar opposite of the weird countercultural things that the furry community (theoretically) is supposed to stand for.
Javert is the kind of person who goes around growling about how his hands are “claws” and he’s got a “dog-wolf soul” …..but if you asked him if he was a furry he’d snarl “what’s a furry? Sounds rebellious! I don’t think furries are permitted by the government!” And then his whiskers would bristle up, like a dog backed into a corner, and he’d bark at you. The paradox of Javert.
#les mis#I only write important thoughtful meta on this blog#les mis letters#it’s like how javert is obsessed with dominance and submission#but at the same time worships things being Normative and Following Society’s Rules#making him both extremely kinky and the most vanilla person in France at once
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