People Turning Against Chappell Roan For Not Accepting Harassment & Stalking Of Her And Her Family, Saying

People turning against Chappell Roan for not accepting harassment & stalking of her and her family, saying Hozier is acting embarrassing for defending his girlfriend THAT Y'ALL WEREN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT after she got harassed online, calling Pedro Pascal names for.. apparently not greeting fans loudly in his own private time?

Y'all have GOT to get a grip on real life if you think celebs establishing boundaries is working against you. You do not know these people, you will not sleep with these people and they do not owe you anything!!!!!!

hey! hope your having a good day/night. i was just wondering how to make the sentences blend together better? and also any tips on like how to go into more detail? sorry if that sounds stupid lol. sorry if you already wrote about this!

I did touch on this on my writing blog @pygmi-says-hi (which has all of my writing advice/writing tips, go check it out!) on this post but I can also write about it here!

As far as details go - here are some do's and don'ts :)

don't: be too flowery.

too many adjectives or adverbs gums up the sentences and makes it hard to read. If you are trying to convey something's appearance while also describing important plot details, it's important to keep it streamlined and informative. The thesaurus is gonna be your best friend.

Keep the descriptions concise and separate from the plot sentences. My rule of thumb (not the law, do what you want, this is my process) is to keep action descriptions (fight scenes or movement montages) short and sweet, and spend more time on the exposition paragraphs. That way, the readers know what the setting looks like beforehand so that the action can still be fast-paced and easy to follow.

don't: worry about the little things

naturally, humans fill in the blanks with their imagination. You don't have to go into every nook and cranny to provide a well-rounded setting. Atmospheric writing is a way to convey the accurate mood/vibe of a setting that avoids 'white room syndrome' (aka not having any description and feeling lost without a location). Get the basics outlined and move on.

do: keep it consistent

overdescribing certain places/things and underdescribing others is not a good way to go. maybe your story works best with minimal setting and heavy emotions. or it has a sumptuous environment with richly detailed clothing and merchandise, but the plot is slowly meandering. as long as it conveys your story well, that's all that matters.

that being said - keep the style consistent. the audience will get confused if you hyperfixate on something and then ignore other things of potentially more importance.

do: prioritize

what really needs describing? what could do without the adjectives? outlining this reduces the 'heavy' feeling of paragraphs bogged down with setting descriptions.

do: maintain the vibe

group the descriptions and details together. find synonyms with a similar feel to them. example:

slimy, viscous, gelatinous, gluey, oily all kind of have the same vibe, but slippery, slick, gluey, sticky have a different vibe. the first set of words feel gross and alien. the second (to me) feel like an earthier description.

they might mean the same thing, but the sound and feel of the word has a different tone. play around and see what works!

xox hope this helps!

“all i see is smut” “why can’t i find fluff and angst and not smut” “how come fluff isn’t—”

yet when nonsmut fics come across your dash you don’t support it by circulating it with a reblog. smut is pushed because it’s the smut audience that tends to be more supportive when it comes to boosting the fics they read 💗

clever boy - MK x GN!reader

reader gender is not described could be literally anything. inspired by this post that made me giggle for ten minutes

sfw, no risky content, just silly cuteness. jake isn't mentioned sorry lockley stans but maybe I'll do another version w him <3

Steven and Marc, Marc and Steven. The two of them, peas in a pod. Keeping each other company in Steven's tiny flat.

Until, you.

You'd caught both their eyes, really, but Steven called dibs because he was fronting when you'd met. Though, Marc argued, he was feeding the poor guy lines because he was blushing so hard he couldn't think straight.

From the first day, Steven wanted to jump the gun and tell you how pretty you were and invite you over forever and gush and gush but no. Marc was patient, reminding him to breathe, to take his time. They were in this together, and he didn't want his hope for your affection to be crushed by his headmate's eagerness.

So Steven sat back, hands wringing his sleeves and a stupid smile smarting his cheeks. You thought he was the sweetest thing you'd ever seen. His sass made you keel over laughing, listening to his funny recounts of ignorant customers or mishaps on the bus.

He was sweet and pretty and so, so clever.

Which is what first planted the seed of doubt that he didn't like you the way you liked him. Steven, as much as he stuttered, was sharp as a tack. He loved puzzles and trivia and escape room games (though the real thing made his hair stand on end). You thought for sure he'd sniff you out in an instant; your growing crush wasn't discreet.

But he never mentioned it, never made a move, nothing. Marc, whom you'd met a few weeks later, was also very smart. He liked deeper conversations, and his warm gaze would be intensely focused on whatever subject you'd picked. Surely, if Steven missed your hints, Marc would give him a wink and a nudge and bam, game on.

Still, nothing but platonic smiles.

Little did you know, a tug of war was raging in your friend's mind the second you left his flat.

The three of you shared a wall, so Marc ensured his whisper-fights with Steven stayed quiet.

"Too soon," Marc hissed into the kitchen mirror. It was small and round, and you had left a little sticky note with a smiley face on it for them to see in the morning.

Steven was tearing his hair out in the small frame, eyes round and watery. Mate, I've never had this much courage to do anything in my life, you know that, please, it can't be that bad!

Marc gritted his teeth. Naive little Steven.

"What if you scare them off, huh? We've known them for a month and you think they'll jump in just like that?"

Steven paused his worrying, realizing for the first time the kind of fallout that might occur. His cow eyes saddened, imagining the empty space that would replace you, if you didn't reciprocate. He couldn't live with that.

"Just a bit longer," Marc sighed, rubbing his face. He needed to sleep. Steven continued to fume, for once at odds with his best friend.

You'd noticed his distance. Steven, always happy to see you, had withdrawn. He waved quietly in the morning, and mumbled a good night when you passed his door. It stung. Marc was stoic as ever, but his jaw was tighter and he didn't look you in the eye.

Something was wrong.

So, like any good friend would, you picked up takeout and a few movies and knocked on Steven's door.

It took a few moments, but your favorite mop of curls soon peeked out from behind the frame.

"Oh, erm, uh, heya, sorry, did we plan something? I, um," Steven still didn't look you in the eye, fumbling with the latch as he stuttered through an apology. You stepped forward and touched his shoulder.

Smiling what you hoped was gently, you eased his worry. "I just wanted to say hi. I brought snacks," you said, holding up the warm bag of food.

Still nervous, Steven nodded and beckoned you inside.

Bollocks, he griped. Marc was having a conniption, trying to come up with a reason to push you back out. It's raining, Steven pleaded, and we haven't hung out for ages and Thai smells really good and they've got that cute sweater on-

That's the problem, Marc tossed back, you'll trip all over yourself like a fool. Lemme front-

Steven had to bite his lip to stop from yelling his dissent. He'd been pestering Marc to invite you over for days, now was his chance.

You were dividing the curry and rice into equal portions while he poked through the movies and games you'd brought. There were a couple of his favorites, Clue, James Bond (The originals, of course) and some he didn't recognize.

"Hey, what's this?" He grabbed a small box and peered at it. You paused your chopsticks and leaned over.

"Oh," you said around a mouthful of rice, "I dunno, Rachel from work recommended it." You picked at your food as he flipped it over to read the back.

20 Questions, it was titled. Forty different cards, each with a subject. One person had the subject and the other had to guess what it was in twenty questions or less. Only three hints allowed and nothing made-up.

"Let's do it," Steven decided. He enjoyed a challenge and if it meant he could hear your lovely voice, he wasn't complaining. Marc had fallen silent, taking to brooding in the background. Probably for the best - he wasn't very good at puzzles.

You wiped your hands on a napkin and took the first card.

"A classic movie," you read. Steven rocked on his heels for a moment, fiddling with his plate.

"Got it," he said.

You knew what to start with. Steven loved classic movies, but none of the scary ones. Probably something historical.

"Does it take place in the last fifty years?"

He nodded, chewing. One.

"Does it have a female protagonist?" Two.

He shook his head gleefully. That familiar Steven sparkle was back, and it eased the worry in your head. He wasn't so off, then. Maybe just a bad week.

"Does the man have a whip?" You were grinning, sure you'd got it. Steven's lips twitched - he knew he'd been found out.

It took only two more questions for you to guess Indiana Jones, to his shock. You blamed it on luck rather than the adorable predictability of your friend.

Steven's turn next, and it took him halfway to guess "Fondue" at Favorite food. You went back and forth, giggling at each other on the floor of his rainy flat. Steven protested when you argued that he couldn't use himself for Favorite Superhero.

"I am a hero," he wheedled, gesturing to the Moon Knight stuffie you'd got him as a joke.

"Yeah, but you can't guess yourself," you argued. Nowhere in the rules did it say that, but it felt good to have your bickering sessions. You'd missed this - bantering over stupid issues with tummies full of food and a fun game to play.

Steven blushed when you mentioned it. "Sorry," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "I got busy, 'n Marc was being pissy 'cause - yeah you were, don't be a knob," he muttered to himself. Your grin twitched at the mention of your other friend.

"How is Marc?"

He swallowed thickly. "Uhm...he's, uh, he's swell. Hang on, sorry-" There was a pause as he flickered between scowling and mumbling.

You ignored his stuttering and resumed eating. He needed space at the moment; Marc was probably arguing over something. You didn't want to make them uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Steven said sheepishly. "My turn, yeah?"

Setting down your empty plate, you nodded. Flipping a card, you saw alarm flash across his face. You laughed nervously.

"What?"

He swallowed and smiled nervously. "Nothing, nothing. Ah, I guess, we can skip it if you want...?"

You snatched the card and froze. Longtime Crush.

Fuck. Stay calm, this will be fine. A door of opportunity glowed in your mind, and you smiled.

"No. Let's do it."

Steven, still wary, nodded and tried to push away the intense shame inside. This was going to crush him. He could feel Marc's annoyance through the barrier. Told you so. Not wanting to ruin your game, he soldiered on.

"Is...are they...a man?" You nodded, eyes glittering. God this was worse than torture.

"Have you known him very long?"

You thought about it. "Yeah, I guess. Feels like forever." Great, you'd had a childhood crush all along. He never stood a chance. Marc was burying his head in his hands. Steven wanted to push him to the front so he could have a good cry, but he needed to face it. His fault you were here anyway.

"Do you see him at work?"

"N....Sometimes," you added. He scrunched his nose.

"Whaddya mean sometimes? Either you do or you-"

"Next question," you laughed. Steven wracked his brain.

"Oh, bugger, uh...." he didn't want to pry, but he couldn't think of anything.

"Need a hint?" You were on the verge of cackling. Grumpily, he shook his head.

"Does he live nearby?"

"Definitely."

He pursed his lips, thinking of your small social circle. Your work was a tiny office, there had to be a few guys that he knew.

"Does...Is he friends with our friends?"

You nodded. "He's very close."

He had to be missing something. "Fine, gimme a hint."

"Well," you began, smile stretching to the moon, "he's very clever. He'd like this game, I think. He likes to laugh, but he can be quite serious too." Ignoring the fact that you'd given him two hints, Steven's heart wilted as he noticed the starry look in your eyes. Whoever this guy was, he was a lucky chap.

Marc was miserable, gloominess radiating. Steven felt awful, he hadn't meant for this to go so poorly. Just get through the questions, Marc grumbled.

"Where does he work?"

You tapped your chin. "Well...he's got two jobs."

His eyebrows raised. "Busy fella, huh?"

"Yeah." Your lips quirked. "Almost seems like he's two people."

"What's his jobs, then?"

"Let's see...it's very unconventional," you said slowly, a cute smile on your face, "Sorta self-employed."

Steven cocked his head at the confusing answer. Self employed? That's not really a second job. Marc shrugged. We're kinda self employed, so it could be.

It was strange how many similarities he found between himself and this mystery man.

"I'll give you a hint," you said after the moment dragged. Steven vehemently shook his head.

"No, I've got it, swear."

You giggled. "it won't count, promise. He's got a pet fish."

Steven threw up his hands in exasperation. "How've I never met this man?! We sound almost identical, I'm sure I'd remember him!"

You were bent over laughing now. He sat there, bewildered, while Marc watched with growing understanding.

Steven, he hissed. Steven, hang on.

Stop being a spoilsport, I know you're mad, Steven retorted, too invested in the game.

"Marc's met him," you said between fits, tears streaking your cheeks. Marc opened his mouth again but Steven waved him away.

"Nuh uh, I can do this," he said determinedly. STEVEN! Marc was shouting now, thumping his hands in vain.

You'd stopped laughing, grinning like a loon while you waited. He'd get it now, surely, you hoped, the fading laughter revealing your anxiety.

Steven had short-circuited, eyes flicking around like a pinball machine.

"You're clever," you murmured, "you'll get it."

He snapped out of it and raked a hand through his messy curls. "Hang on, hang on, what? This doesn't- how can he be friends with our friends when the only man friend you've got is me?" He was genuinely perplexed, triggering a sympathetic smile from you.

Marc was in fits now, and Steven was getting a headache. Oi, Marc, chill out a bit, yeah? I'm trying to-

Steven for once in your life listen this is important oh my God-

"What?" he relented, mouthing sorry at you. Marc heaved a breath and closed his eyes.

You. Us. Steven, it's so obvious.

Steven rolled his eyes. "Me? You've lost it, mate, really, you've gone mad."

He froze, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Oh my days, sorry, I didn't mean to guess so soon, sorry-"

You did nothing but grin, leaning closer. "Clever boy," you whispered, then pressed your lips to his.

Marc fainted.

Steven, sweet man, had frozen, too preoccupied with his internal screaming do understand what was happening.

Oh.

oh.

His hands found their way to your cheeks and he giggled, the sweet sound muffled against your lips. It was clunky and off-centered, but it was real and he was laughing and every insecurity he'd ever had vanished in a puff of smoke.

You pulled back for a breath, but Steven hadn't finished, chasing after you with a huff. Marc, finally back online, was sitting in a lovesick stupor. Your lips were soft and your hands were rubbing soothingly down his back. A quiet solitude had blanketed the flat, now dark. Steven leaned his head on your shoulder and you hugged him tight, smiling into his neck. The two of you breathed together, winding down from the excitement of your game.

Once you'd sufficiently relaxed, you pulled away and were met with Marc's twinkling gaze.

"Y'know, I was the one that gave Steven the head's up, so I think I-"

"C'mere you," You huffed, peppering his cheeks in light pecks. He preened, taking a heavy sigh of relief. Marc leaned in and captured your lips, licking gently into your mouth. He'd definitely had more practice, and your heart sang with joy.

Game over, plates empty and hearts full, you curled up and watched the rain pitter-patter in the warm comfort of your home.

yes i think steven loves james bond. he is the type to try and figure out the mystery along with the movie. also 100% knows all cinema trivia Ever To Exist. Marc hates it.

xox thank uuuu

part 2

My Lord

Prince John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 7: Slow and Soft

Summary: The ex-Prince is condemned to live out his days in exile.

A/N: Look, I know he’s got blue eyes in the film. But I have decided no. 

Warnings: one slap to the face, talks of marriage, oral (f receiving), dry humping, hand jobs, 'my love' as a term of endearment, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3178

Being exiled wasn’t as bad as he had thought. The weather was certainly better. 

No matter what he’d done, King Richard couldn’t bear to see his younger brother executed or locked up in some dank prison. So he’d stripped John of his titles and sent him overseas under the guardianship of the Marquess and Marquise.

Banished. 

Never allowed to return to England under punishment of death. 

It had taken weeks to get there, more than enough time for John to fester and drive himself to madness on the ship. Haunt himself with the imaginary horrors that were waiting for him. 

Instead, when they landed, he was treated well. Like a far-off, but still regal, cousin of the Marquess. Not that it stopped him from sulking for the first few months. 

However, the worst thing was, undoubtedly, you. 

At least at first. 

You were one of the head servants. Though you were treated more like one of the Marquess and Marquise's children, with the amount of freedom you were given. And the language you were allowed to use. The offhand and familiar way you spoke to them and him. 

It had driven him up the wall. Your snide comments. Your little eye rolls. The way you somehow managed to sidestep him, and challenge him, and completely get under his skin at every single opportunity. 

You had been the one to drag him out of his rooms in those first few months, not taking no for an answer. 

“It’ll do you no good moping around here all day, my lord.” The way you said the title always sounded like an insult. 

You took him on walks and rides, to markets and tailors, making him come with you to choose a horse. Demanding that he helped you prepare vegetables, making him carry his own bow and arrows when you both went hunting. Things that were beneath him. Things that he hated, dreaded. Until one morning, when you were accompanying the Marquise on a trip and had been away for a few days, he had woken up in such a foul mood. Realising only in the evening with a huff that he missed you. That he couldn’t remember a time when he had been happier than being in your presence. 

Not to say you still didn’t annoy the hell out of him. 

Originally, you didn’t even have much to do with the ex-prince. It was only when John’s spitefulness had upset some of the other servants, and in turn, the Marquess, that you had been sent to ‘deal’ with him. 

He had nearly been in exile for a year at the midsummer festival. Had become a little too intoxicated on barley wine and, as you helped him to his chambers, he had kissed you. Soft but demanding. Gentle but unyielding. 

You had pulled back like you had been struck by lightning. And smacked him across the face. Hard. Not some dainty brush of your fingers. Or a sharp sting of your palm, no, you had hit him with the heel of your hand. A bowl that would have nearly sent him sprawling even if he hadn’t been drunk. 

You had left without a word. Or look his way. 

The next morning John had risen late, memories of the previous night coming back in a rush, of him fisting his cock with tears of anger and self-pity on his skin. Quickly, he realised you had not come to wake him at the usual time. 

He had enquired after you, subtly of course. And the young servant boy, Lucas had told him that you had left instructions for the ex-prince to not be awoken, due to his previous intoxication and late night. That you had headed out into the woods early in the morning. 

He didn’t see you until late afternoon, having spent most of the day in his rooms, staring out of the window to the woods, waiting for your return. He bit at his nails until they bled, going back and forth with the idea of readying his horse and riding out into the forest after you. 

He had pretended to be in bed when you knocked and came into his room, bringing him white flower tea. 

You hadn’t looked directly at him, keeping your voice oddly cold as you explained that the tea would help with his hangover, and that the flowers were from the forest. 

His heart had nearly broken when he released you had spent most of your day collecting them for him. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Pain running through his heart like needles through fabric. 

You looked at him then, a small kind smile on your face. “For what, my lord?” Your normal tone back. 

John beamed, his eyes shining. 

You swallowed. “I am sorry, my lord.” 

“For what?” 

You tapped your cheek, mirroring the bruise on his face.

His smile widened and he shook his head. 

When during the evening meal the Marquess asked about the bruising, John had simply laughed and told him that he had had a small disagreement with someone at the festival who had a ‘mean right hook’. He made sure he caught your eye as he said it.

You both went back to your normal routines. Dancing around each other, while simultaneously spending most of your waking hours together. 

Nearly a month after the festival you had accidentally walked in on him after his bath, his hair still wet from the rose water as he sat on his bed and fisted his cock. 

Apologies had slipped from his tongue, despite the fact that you’d technically barged in on him. But you had simply walked around and sat down next to him on the bed. He watched you in a trance as you took hold of his length in your hand. 

“Let me help you, my lord.” 

He had tried to kiss you again, but you moved your face away. 

Wordlessly and without looking at him, you coaxed him further onto the bed and sat with him between your thighs, his back against your chest as you wrapped one arm around him and used the other to bring him to his release. 

You had left silently, leaving him to the dark night and slumber. But you spoke to him the following morning as if nothing had transpired between you. 

The next evening, just before bed, you came to his room again and stroked him until he found his release with a sob in your arms. 

You did the same the next night, and the next, and the next. Never allowing him to kiss you or touch you in a way that could cause your own pleasure. Always fully clothed while he was stripped bare. Over the next weeks, you slowly allowed him to hold your hand, arm or calf as you touched him. Let him grasp onto you as his orgasm overtook him. 

It hurt. Though he didn’t want to dwell on why. 

However, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept rotating back to you. Your soft skin, gentle hands and the sound of your heart when he pressed himself close to your chest. 

John leaned against the wall, looking out to the dark night sky. 

You came into his room silently, only looking to him once you’d reached the bed. You’d expected him to be sitting on it ready, unclothed. Instead, he stood, still in his attire from the day. 

You barely manage to raise an eyebrow before he moves towards you, taking hold of your hands in his. His skin is cold, desperate for your heat. 

“My lord?” You frown. 

He takes a step forward, his heart racing, eyes shining in the candlelight. Slowly he raises his right hand and touches your cheek, brushing over your skin with his thumb. 

His touch is soft, gentle. As if you were some precious thing that would break under the smallest pressure. Some skittish animal in the woods. 

You gaze back at him, his slightly parted lips, his dark eyes, unable to focus on any feature for longer than a second.

He leans forward, moving to kiss you and you step back, pulling your hand from his as if he burnt you. 

“My lor-”

“My love,” he looks at you imploringly. The thudding pain in his chest sharpening, beseeching. Like he had been gutted and strung out, his ribs broken and split outwards so that you could view his beating heart. 

“I am not your love.” You whisper, there is no heat in your words.

“You are.” He takes a step forward and drops to his knees when you step back. “You are.” He says brokenly, his voice thick. “Please, please, I do not need to be yours. I do not... I wish I was. But you are mine. My love. You will always be my love.” 

You swallow and stare at him, almost frozen by his words. 

“I... I...” he screws up his eyes, all the words he wanted to say mixing up and fleeing in the moment. “You do not need to return my feelings, but please, know that I will always love you until my dying breath.” 

You shake your head, pain tight in your chest. “I’m not,” you breathe deeply, your voice softer than he has ever heard it. “My lord, I am just your servant, I serve-”

“I love you.” His voice breaks slightly at the end. The weight of the words too much. “I love you,” he slowly takes hold of your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles and palm. “I love you.” He kissed your wrist, staring up at you imploringly and kissing up your arm when you did not move away. “I love you.” Cautiously he stands so that he can kiss your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, your cheek. “I love you.” He whispers. 

You hold your breath, searching his eyes for something he’s not sure you’ll be able to find. Carefully he inches forward, closing the small space between you. 

You don’t move, don’t lean to him, but you don’t back away. Softly he presses his lips against yours, almost sobbing when you finally touch. 

He pulls back a fraction after a second. “I love you,” he whispers against you. “Please, let me love you.” 

You shake your head, agony tight in your throat. You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is so soft, not when your body and heart are crying out for you to give in to him. “There are plenty of others who could warm your bed for you my lor-”

John rushes forward, kissing you again. This time his lips are demanding, pleading as he cups your cheek and slowly opens your mouth with his own. He groans when you part your lips and let him inside. “I do not want someone to warm my bed.” He kisses you desperately, stroking your tongue with his. “I want to give you my heart.” 

You moan softly into his mouth, grabbing hold of his arms and pulling him closer, pressing your body up against him. 

He groans against you, moving you back to press you against the wall and hitching your right leg up over his hip so that he can grind his aching cock against your heat. You gasp as he presses against your clit, focusing all his attention on caressing you where it makes you cry out the loudest, happily swallowing down your mewls and whines. 

He squeezes your breast with his right hand, pinching the pebbled nipple and moaning when you whimper and arch into his touch. 

He ghosts his lips down your neck, sucking a love bite into your skin just below your ear. His beard scraps deliciously at your skin and sets your nerves alight. 

You bite down on your lip, trying to muffle your cries. 

“Let me love you,” he whispers, his voice low and heavy as he ruts desperately against you. “Let me show you, let me make you sing for me.” 

He kisses you roughly, needily, all tongue and teeth as he pulls at your skirts, snaking his hand under the fabric. 

You want to give in, want to let him pull sounds and sensations from you as his heart desires but panic grips you.

“Wait,” you pull back. 

He stops, stops his kisses and his roaming hands but still stays pressed close. 

“My lor-” you bite your lips together when you see the flash of pain on his face. “My...” you touch his cheek softly. You want him, you want him so badly. “I cannot, I haven’t...” You swallow. “I...”

“I wouldn’t cum inside.” He mutters, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. Even as he says the words a slight groan escapes him at the thought of you spread out under him, full of his cock and spend. “Not until we’re married, you have my word.” 

Your thoughts stop for a second. “Married?” 

He nods and smiles. “If you’ll have me.” 

“My lord-” 

He presses his lips to yours again, kissing you languidly before he drops down to one knee. 

Your eyes go wide. Words escaping you. 

“I have asked the Marquess and Marquise. They have given their blessing; I can marry you if you wish it.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest, the way he phrased it. As if he were the servant wishing to marry a lord. 

Slowly he takes off the jewelled ring on his little finger, one of the few things he had been allowed to keep from his time as prince. “Will you take me as your husband?” He looks up at you nervously. “Will you take me as yours?” 

You nod, not trusting your voice for a moment. “Yes.” 

His eyes light up as you speak, a wide smile breaking across his face as he softly takes your hand and slips the ring onto your finger. He kisses each knuckle, and then the back of your hand before standing and pressing his lips back to yours, slow and soft. 

Gently he guides you to the bed, freeing you of your clothes and pressing you back down against the mattress. 

Uncertainty bubbles in your veins as he moves his hands down your body, slowly feeling every inch of you. He pinches your nipples with vigour, dipping his head so that he can take one into his mouth. Lavishing your breast with attention before moving on to the other. 

He groans, deep within his chest, looking up at you through his lashes when you gasp and moan softly. So determined to pull every ounce of pleasure he can from your bones. 

Languidly he kisses down your stomach, pressing your thighs apart. 

You nervously go to cover your sex, heat breaking out on your skin. 

“My lo-”

“Let me make you feel good.” He murmurs, his voice laced and heavy with lust. His eyes hungry and wild. 

You barely manage a nod before he dives to your core, licking a long, flat stripe through your folds with his warm tongue. 

You gasp loudly, quickly covering your mouth with your hands as he does it again, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

He’s a demon, possessed and ravenous as he devours you. Slowly sinking his tongue into you and then inching up painstakingly slowly. Ending each movement with a swirl around your clit that has your thighs shaking and stars building at the corners of your eyes. 

You moan against your hands, the sensation all-consuming as he erases any other possible thought. You can’t stop squirming, simultaneously trying to get closer, nearer, desperate for more pleasure, and trying to back away from the heady onslaught of your senses. 

He doesn’t let you escape, pressing firmly against your thigh and keeping you spread wide for him, his hand on your stomach keeping your back flat to the bed. 

“You taste so sweet, my love.” He looks up at you, his eyes dark, blown wide and drunk. 

You open your mouth, moving your hands away to speak when he leans forward, sucking your clit into his mouth and revelling in your cry of pleasure. In how your muscles tense beneath him. 

He gently presses two fingers inside of you and curls them upwards to stroke your walls. 

You shake under him, your hips bucking up against him unthinkingly as you gasp and sink into pleasure. 

John watches you intently through hazy eyes, sucking constantly on your bundle of nerves, watching your every movement keenly. Desperate to lift you higher and higher before you come crashing down. 

He strokes against a spot that makes you sob and focuses all his attention on it, your slick coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. 

The pressure begins to build uncontrollably, pushing you right to the edge. You grope around for his hand on your stomach, grabbing it firmly. He squeezes back and groans against you as fresh wetness hits his tongue. 

You moan loudly against your fingers, trying your best to dampen the sound as lightning runs along your nerves, your orgasm rippling through every limb. You gasp, contorting in your pleasure as John doesn’t stop, keeps stroking, keeps sucking, prolonging your bliss for as long as he can. 

Finally, your legs stop shaking and he pulls his mouth away, slowly pulling his fingers from your dripping folds. 

You mewl as he licks them clean and pulls off his clothes. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen him naked, but it feels different. Personal. A sight all for you. 

He leans down, kissing you hungrily and settling between your legs. 

The weight of his thick cock, hot against your core makes you gasp. You sink your hand into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls as he rubs his length against you, spreading your slick all over his aching cock and grinding perfectly on your clit. 

You sob against him, holding him close as he keeps moving, building up a deep and overpowering friction. That bottomless weight starts to settle in your belly again, the coil growing tighter and tighter as he rubs and ruts against you. 

You grab hold of his arms tightly and rock with him, trying to gasp out and warn him of your impending orgasm. “I... my lor-my love!” You gasp as he hits perfectly, his thick length massaging wonderfully over your bundle of nerves and through your folds and you gasp as you cum again. Pleasure blossoms along your spine, kissing every nerve as you cry out and are overtaken by ecstasy. 

John groans, moaning loudly as you call him ‘your love’. The look of bliss on your face, the fact that you are falling apart for him drives him to the edge and pushes him over. He kisses you sloppy, whining into your mouth as he spills against both of your stomachs. 

He doesn’t stop kissing you as you come back to yourself, breathing hard. Your skin is sweaty, hot, but you keep him in your arms as he presses close and whispers sweet words in your ear. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! (Using a different tag list for kinktober so I don't overwhelm anyone.)

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @campingwiththecharmings @minigirl87 @whatthefishh

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gone too long

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Prompt: Masturbation

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some angst (im sorry), masturbation, pillow humping, panty sniffing, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 3.2k

A/N: probably too long and emotional for kinktober but its my first time so bear with me please

You’ve been away for almost a week now. Steven tried to be good, he tried but it’s been so hard without you. He goes to bed alone, hard, surrounded by your scent and wakes up the same way.

He spends hours in the night writhing around in bed. He can’t sleep anymore, you always used to get him off after he came home from work and again before bed to help him sleep but now he just spends his time missing you, squeezing his throbbing cock, and crying for you as he palms himself to the edge of orgasm, unallowed to get himself over the edge.

He wakes up in more pain than when he went to sleep. His dreams are all about you, some sexual, some domestic, but they all make him hard. He cries for you some more before starting a painfully cold shower and setting off for the day. 

 If you were coming home tomorrow it’d be a different story. Steven would’ve stayed good, he would’ve waited for you, but he’s had a particularly hard day today, and amid all the commotion he forgot that you wouldn’t be there to comfort him. He’s thinking about you the entire bus ride home but it never clicks. He thinks about how he’ll stop you from cooking and order takeout, he’ll ask you to ride him as you guys wait, he’ll make sure you take it slow, savoring the way you guys feel together, how your bodies mold into one another perfectly. 

He fattens up in his pants as he unlocks the front door, he swears he can hear the TV on inside. He thinks about how you’ll tell him all about whatever new show you’ve found while he undresses you. 

He’s met with the most hollow feeling when he opens his door and reality stabs straight into his heart. 

Tears well in his eyes as he takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He keeps breathing slowly as he takes his shoes off, and as he puts his coat up. He starts breathing out through his mouth when the hollow feeling doesn’t leave, he keeps it up as he unpacks his bag, setting everything back in its proper place for the weekend, and he starts up a pot of tea. It’s all futile though, because his tears come pouring out the moment he sits on the bed, your faint scent gets pushed out of the cushioning and the hollow feeling becomes part of his bones. 

He can’t even function for the rest of the night, he turns the stove off through his watery gaze and buries himself in the blankets. Surrounding himself in your scent as he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s soft and sensitive when he wakes up, a state you know how to handle perfectly. But you’re not home. He has his usual morning delirium as he reaches out for you, reality slapping him as he feels your cold side of the bed. 

He rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in your pillow- the only thing on the bed that still smells like you. 

Three more days. 

His cock is already twitching against the mattress as he huffs your scent, he whines at the stimulation. He wants to be a good boy. You asked him to wait for you, you said he could touch himself but you wanted his balls full for you. But you must not have understood how hard this would be for him. His hips are already grinding into the mattress. 

She won’t find out. Can’t. She’s not here.

He reaches out blindly for your side dresser, knowing you keep spare underwear in there. He feels something a bit hard and his head raises quickly to see what it is. His cock spasms at the sight. 

His mind flashes back to two weeks ago. One night, you and Marc were a little too drunk and way too needy. He pulled your panties to the side, fucked you, and let you soak it in your juices as he came over your stomach. He was too tired to clean you up so Steven took over after Marc fell asleep. You were sleeping so in an attempt to cause less of a commotion he just threw your panties in this drawer. He must’ve forgotten to get rid of it. 

Fuck. 

His hand is shaking as he brings it up to his face. There are dried white streaks of your arousal running all over the crotch, a small circle of it from where your pussy cried for him. He can’t help but moan at the sight and brings the fabric to his nose. It still smells like you, like her. His tongue is darting out to taste it before his brain has even finished processing your smell. His cock spurts out loads of pre-cum into his briefs as he starts to thrust against the bed again. He pushes your pillow down to his crotch with one hand as the other holds your old, dried panties to his face.

He feels so dirty as he does this, almost disgusted with himself but pleasure clouds his mind over as he feels the softness of your pillow on his pulsing dick. It’s comparable to how your pussy feels to him, not as warm and nowhere near as wet but just as soft.

He’s face first on the bed, your panties directly over his face the way your pussy would be, his tongue prodding at where your pretty little hole should be. He’s groaning out your name in half sobs, wishing you were here, wishing you were the one touching him because as good as this all feels… you still feel so much better. 

He feels the molten pleasure work its way up his spine, he feels his balls begin to throb with the load they’ve prepared. He feels it coming, he can feel how much there’ll be and a pang of guilt that he’s not saving it for you. He knows how much you love when he fills you up, how whiny you get when you’re packed full of his load, how you mutter his name on repeat, begging him to fill you up. 

But the thought just works him further to the edge, he can feel his muscles tighten as his dick starts to pulse, he feels relief just out of reach, and a small guilty smile spreads over his face at how good this is going to feel. His mind races through scenes of you, unable to choose one to cum to, your name rests on the tip of his tongue as his hips stutter into the pillow one last time before

nothing happens.

He can feel his orgasm at the tip of his cock, right there and he wants you. He forms scene after scene in his head of how many different ways you’ll touch him when you get back. He thinks about how many times you’ll make him cum, how you’ll coo over his overfilled, swollen balls, how you’ll apologize to him as you fuck him into oblivion but nothing gets close to how he feels when your hands are on him. He needs you.

The realization is accompanied by a teary whimper of your name into the pillow.

The teary whimper is followed by an angelic sound of “Steven?”

His head snaps up and he’s scrambling out of bed before he can rationalize the fact that you’re not supposed to be home for another four days. 

But you’re actually here. 

You’re smiling at him as you place your coat on the rack, your boots already off and eyebrows raised as you wait for him to make his way over to you. He’s standing in the doorway frozen. He thinks he’s lost it, that he was right, all these days without you did drive him insane. 

I told her this would happen. 

His eyes well with tears as he tries to will himself to see the truth. His fists are bunching at his sides, angry at the hope he felt when he thought he heard you calling his name, having already been riled up at his futile attempt at relief. 

You’re growing concerned under his indecipherable stare. “Steven?” He gasps and his eyes widen. You approach him slowly and cautiously, worried at this odd reaction. He takes a hesitant step toward you and gasps at the small amused smile that blooms on your lips. 

“Are you okay, Stevie? I wanted to surprise you but you seem-” You pause to look him up and down, finally taking him all in and noticing the bulge and wet patch in his pants. Your expression changes from shock to sultry disappointment. “You seem like you’ve been bad.”

His eyes are still wide and watery. “Are you really here?”

Your mask drops with a sad smile. “Of course I am, baby. Did you miss me that much?” He envelopes you in a hug, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent with a shaky groan. 

“I m-missed you so much. I’ve been good.” He’s already got that distant, airy, aroused tone as he speaks. “I didn’t cum. I- ” He’s started to grind against you already, his bulge pressing itself into your thigh over and over as he grips your shoulders. He’s moved to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your conditioner. “I wanted to- I tried.” 

His voice breaks at the end and you can’t stand it anymore. You grab the hair on the back of his head and roughly work him to your lips, relishing in the loud moan that breaks from his throat as your lips meet his. He’s trying to lick into your mouth immediately and you let him, you’ve missed the way he tastes. Only, when his tongue presses into yours, he tastes different… something familiar but it’s not him. You pull away confused and Steven’s lips chase yours with a whine. You have to hold his face away from yours to get his attention. 

“Steven, what is that?” He’s too delirious to understand what you’re asking, he just tilts his head like a puppy. You try not to let your endearment show through, attempting to be stern. “What’s that taste?” You can see his recognition flash over his face as he realizes what you’re asking but he starts shaking his head slowly and pulling you back in. “It’s just you, darling.”

You let him kiss you as you process, his words paired with the vaguely familiar taste let it click. You’re moaning into his mouth and pressing your thigh back into his weeping cock, earning a grateful moan from him. 

You walk him back to the bedroom desperately. You’ve been yearning for him as much as he has for you. You spent nights rolling around in bed, clit pulsing for him, unsatisfied with your ministrations. You tried fingering yourself but your fingers were nowhere near as long or as thick as his, you couldn’t hit the same spots he could. You tried. You push him onto the bed with a grunt and notice a pair of undies where your pillow should be. Confusion flies over your face before you look back at Steven, noticing his red face.

‘I tried’ 

The memory of what Steven said earlier finally makes sense to you. It also explained his desperate, disheveled state, why he was leaking and yearning for you. 

Arousal shoots between your legs like a jolt of electricity as you picture the scene; Steven grinding against- your pillow it seems- as he sniffed and licked at your panties. 

That’s why my taste was on his tongue…

Steven’s face is still burning red, looking anywhere but at you, as his hips uncontrollably twitch up for you, it brings a fond smile to your face. You take off your pants, matching him in your bottoms, and place yourself on his clothed bulge with a moan. You meant to tease him but it was already affecting you more than you anticipated. His hips are already thrusting into yours, his hands on your hips to hold you- press you down into him. He’s moaning out for you, whining about how good you feel but still trying to hide his face in his shoulder.

You give in and swivel your hips against him, earning a whole new level of volume from Steven. His hands aren’t just resting on your hips, they’re running all over your body wildly, grabbing and groping anything he comes across. You lean down to his ear and begin your questioning.

“So what are m- shit. What are my panties d-doing over here, S-Steven?” His name accidentally comes out as a moan as he drags your clit right over the tip of his dick. He’s not even looking at you, his eyes are fixed on where he’s rubbing you against himself, the way his tip dips into your soft skin and leaves streaks of his pre all along the fabric. His jaw is dropped open and little pants make their way past his wet lips. 

You can see this feral look in his eyes that you’ve never witnessed. He’s told you drunkenly how badly he craves you but you’ve never actually seen it, you’ve never really believed him. Like this, though? You can see what he was talking about. You can tell that he’s zeroed in on how good you’re making him feel, you don’t think he even heard you, too entranced with how he’s moving you along his cock. 

Your pussy clenches at the thought and he can feel it. He falls back against the bed with a groan before propping himself up on his elbows to pull you both back against the headboard. He whimpers at the momentary loss of friction but smiles once he can collapse onto the board while still staring at you. His hands come back to grip your hips, upset that you’ve stopped moving your hips without his help but you stop him. You lean forward on him, pressing most of your weight on his tip, he gasps and grips your arms with a moan. “Please! Oh Gods-”

You silence him with a short kiss, pulling away before he’s satisfied. He starts to mumble pleas to you again but your finger is pressed into his lips, he licks them, tasting your finger in the process and moaning at the taste of your skin. “Stevie…” You pause and he sighs at the sound of his name on your lips. “Did you use my underwear to get off?”

His eyes widen and dart to where they lay, exposed on the bed. You feel his cock twitch under you and you have to bite your lip to hold in a whine at the way it rubbed over your clit. He’s embarrased but turned on at the fact that he thought you’d never find out but you still did. The way that he could never hide anything from you, the way you don’t seem upset at the fact you caught him.

“I needed you so b- bad an’ you- an’ everything smells like you. I- I’m sorry.” He drops his head onto your shoulder as his hips slowly grind into you. “ ‘M sorry, alrigh’?” His accent gets heavier as he grinds into you more deliberately. “I just- I jus’ -oh I needed you so b-bad.” He whimpers into your neck, trying to muffle himself in there. You’re lost in the feeling, in his words as he humps his cock into you. He’s kissing along your neck, sometimes just licking at your sweat and moaning at the taste. His hips were starting to twitch and stutter into yours, his moans pitched up and his hands began to bruise into your skin. “I’m-”

You lift off of him. “No- Wh-y? P-please.” You ignore his plea and pull your shirt and underwear off as he scrambles to do the same. “Are we gonna-?” You smile at him softly and prepare for your confession. 

“I couldn’t get off without you, Steven.” You shift your weight nervously as he just stares at you. “I- My fingers aren’t enough anymore.” You whine at him and his cock jumps, leaking onto the sheets as he reaches out for you. He pulls you into a kiss and fumbles to take your bra off. He lets you climb over him again and moans into your mouth as you line him up with your soaked hole. “Put it in. Put it in- shit. P- put- ” He’s cut off by both your moans as you sink onto him. 

“Fuck I can t-tell your- fuck.” He whines out as you as you squeeze around him. “Your little fingers aren’t enough t’properly stretch you f’me hm?” His eyes roll back and his eyebrows draw inward as you grind onto his cock. You try to keep a steady pace but his tip is slamming right into your G-Spot, pressing into it no matter what he does, no matter how you move. Your legs give out halfway through a thrust and your body slams down onto him. He groans your name and hugs your body close, planting his feet on the mattress and fucking into you slowly.

“S’it too much?” You moan his name into his ear and his cock jumps inside you. “Fuck I’m-mm” His words get drawn into a whine as his thrusts slowly lose rhythm. Your pussy begins to clench on him, arousal coiling in your stomach at the telltale signs that he’s gonna cum. Steven’s hand comes to cradle your head into his neck, stoking your hair softly and whispering soft assurances and begs for you to cum around him. 

“‘M right here. I’ll take care of ‘ye, keep you nice an’ safe. C’mon. Give it t-to me.” Your orgasm explodes inside you like a solar flare. It bursts in your stomach and ripples throughout your whole body, moans are shoved from your mouth, almost deafening Steven with their volume and pitch but they only push him over the edge. His cock twitches violently inside you before releasing a torrent of cum. He tries to stay semi-calm as his orgasm crashes over him, his stomach won’t stop tensing under you and his mouth can’t shut. He can’t hold any of his moans in as his balls empty themselves inside you. 

He feels like it’ll never end, he’s at his peak for what feels like years. He can hear you distantly whining about how full you feel, about how much he’s filling you up. His hips have a mind of their own as he ruts into you pathetically, doing anything he can to prolong his euphoric high. He feels tears spring to his eyes, unable to believe that you could make him feel so good. He feels your lips over his mouth that’s propped open on a silent moan. He’s panting out whines down your throat as you whisper praises to him.

“W- It won’t stop. It- f-feels so go-od” He’s gasping at you as he speaks, his entire body shaking as his cock spurts out more ropes into you. You’re leaking all over his thighs, unable to hold all the cum he’s pumping into you. He moans out your name one last time before his body goes limp, and his cock finally stops spitting into you. He’s incoherent for quite some time, fading in and out of consciousness. 

He always whines out for you when he wakes up, sniffing and huffing until some part of you comes in contact with him. Once it does he’s pulling you into a crushing hug and doesn’t let go for at least another hour.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!