#ALSO GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY TAGS THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND THIS FUCKING POST WHAT THE FUCK FUCK YOU IM SO UPSET

[steveseddie]

looking for something dumb to do

written for @steddiebingo 12 days of christmas mini event | prompt: proposal | rating: t | wc: 2,1k | tags: modern setting, past billy/steve, first meetings, flirting, fake proposal

read on ao3

Eddie sits at the restaurant, scrolling mindlessly on his phone, waiting for Wayne.

He laughs at yet another one of those hilarious videos of parents doing the Grinch prank on their kids. Seriously, there are so many and he finds them infinitely amusing. He just sent the latest one to Gareth, knowing he’ll get a kick out of it too, and is waiting for his reply when someone slides into the seat in front of him. 

He knows it’s not his uncle before he even looks up because he just texted Eddie to say he was running late– and ain’t that rich coming from the same man who’s always complaining about Eddie never being on time? 

Anyway. 

Eddie locks his phone just as Gareth’s reply comes in but he does get a glimpse of a string of laughing emojis before he looks up. “Sorry, man, that seat is–” 

But the rest of the words die in his throat when his brain momentarily stops working. It does that sometimes, especially around hot guys. Like the one sitting in front of Eddie, staring at him with a tiny frown between his eyebrows, probably wondering why Eddie stopped talking like he got sniped. 

“Taken. That seat is taken,” he finishes. Unlike me, Eddie thinks as he gives the guy an obvious once-over. 

“Shit, sorry, of course, but can you– can you hear me out for a second?” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, his interest piqued. The guy is hunched over himself like he’s trying to hide and his voice has a frantic tilt.

“Uh sure, man, what’s up?” 

The guy probably expected Eddie to tell him to fuck off because he lets out a relieved little sigh when he agrees to listen to him. Then he leans over the table, lowering his voice. 

“Do you see that guy with the mustache waiting at the entrance? He’s my ex-boyfriend and a dick and he just showed up with the girl that he cheated on me with,” he explains hurriedly. 

Eddie locates the guy waiting to be seated and the girl holding his hand. He’s hot and she’s hot but the guy sitting in front of him has them both beat.

“So I haven’t seen him since I caught them together and ended things with him and– you know when you break up with someone and constantly think about how things will go when you run into them again? How they’ll see you and realize they lost the breakup and made a mistake by letting you go?” Eddie gives a short nod and the guy keeps going. “Right so that was my plan, only there’s a problem because the guy I was meeting for dinner tonight stood me up and now I’m here alone and pathetic and fucking Billy is here with his fiancée! Yes, they’re going to get married! Even if he always insisted he would never do that and–” 

He keeps rambling but Eddie is stuck on the fact that not only did this guy get cheated on but also someone stood him up. What the fuck? 

If he ever went on a date with someone as hot as him, Eddie would lock him down faster than anyone can say–

“–help?” 

Eddie blinks. Shit. The guy just asked him something and he has no idea what it was. 

“Uh, s–sure, how can I help?” 

Despite his flawless attempt to make it seem like he was paying attention, the guy can tell Eddie zoned out at some point. It drags an amused chuckle out of him. “I thought I could sit here with you until they leave or until they are seated and I can sneak out without them seeing me,” he says, running a hand through his hair and giving Eddie a sheepish look. 

Eddie’s phone lights up with a text then. The guy’s eyes dart down, and even if he can’t read what it says, he makes his own assumptions. 

“Unless– unless your date is almost here and you need me to fuck off before they arrive?” He says, his expression turning panicked again. He moves his chair back as if to get up and leave, almost taking out the poor waiter.

Eddie reaches across the table and grabs hold of his sweater, stopping him. “Actually my date is just my uncle and he said he’s running late,” he says with his fingers wrapped around the guy’s wrist. 

His eyes flicker down, widening a little but he doesn’t pull his hand back. “So?” 

“So you can stay.”

The guy visibly relaxes. “Fuck, thanks so much–”

“Eddie,” he offers when the guy trails off. 

“Thanks, Eddie,” the guy says with a lopsided grin that makes Eddie’s chest flutter. 

Eddie nods and leans back until his chair is balancing on two legs. He has no choice but to let go of the guy’s sweater. “So what are we doing here? Are we friends? Are we on a first date? Have we been dating for a while? What’s the game plan, big boy?”

The guy sputters, adorably flustered. “We don’t– we don’t have to do anything like that, man.” 

“Why? I’m not pretty enough to make your ex jealous?” Eddie teases, pouting a little. 

“No!” The guy hurries to say then realizes what that sounds like and blushes furiously. “I mean– no, that’s not it. You’re definitely pretty. Handsome. Hot. Uh–”

Eddie can’t help the way his grin gets bigger with every compliment until he can feel his dimples digging into his cheeks. By then the guy’s face is as red as the tablecloth. “Oh keep ‘em coming, sweetheart. Flattery definitely works on me.”

He chuckles nervously. “It’s just– I can’t ask you to do that, man.”

“Do what? Pretend that a guy like me can get a date with someone as hot as you?” He leans forward again, resting his chin on his palms and smirking. “Oh, baby, it would be my pleasure.” 

“Jesus,” the guy mutters. Eddie’s blatant flirting doesn’t give him a chance to get his blush under control. “I guess we could pretend we’re on a date if you’re up for it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie notices Billy and his fiancée following a waiter to their table. They’re going to walk right past them and there’s no way he won’t see Steve. As they get closer, Eddie catches a glimpse of the engagement ring on the girl’s finger–

“I’ll do you one better,” he says as he gets an idea. “Do you trust me?” 

The guy lets out an amused laugh. “I just met you,” he says, and when Eddie shrugs like he’s saying– so? he adds, “Okay, sure, why not?” 

Eddie shoots him a grin. “What’s your name?” 

“Steve.” 

“Your full name.”

“Harrington,” Steve says, his face pulling into a frown. “Why do you need my last–”

“Steve Harrington!” Eddie says loudly, watching as Steve’s eyes widen almost comically. The people around them whip their heads in their direction, including Billy and his girl. Perfect.

“I was planning to do this after dinner but I just can’t hold myself back anymore,” Eddie continues just as loudly. He furtively removes one of his many rings before pushing his chair back and standing up. 

He shoots Steve a quick wink and drops down on one knee. 

“Oh my God,” Steve whispers disbelievingly as he understands what’s happening. His shock only makes Eddie’s plan more believable. 

“Steve, Stevie, sweetheart, I still remember the moment when we met like it was five minutes ago,” he starts, watching Steve’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly. “I remember thinking you were so fucking out of my league you shouldn’t even be talking to me, but fate willed it so, and now I’m lucky enough to call you mine. So now I ask you to let me call you mine forever. Steve, the love of my life, my Prince Charming, the best lay I’ve ever had, will you please marry me?” He finishes by holding up his ring, looking expectantly at Steve, wondering if he’ll play along. 

He does.

Wiping a fake tear, he leans forward on his chair, cupping Eddie’s cheeks between his hands. “Eddie, our time together might seem short but I’ve always known I was right to pick you,” Steve says and Eddie has to hold back a snigger when he follows his lead– sticking to the truth as much as they can. “Now I’m picking you again. Forever. Yes, I will marry you.”

The people around them start clapping when Eddie takes Steve’s hand and slides his ring on his finger. He presses a kiss to the back of his hand, earning some cooing from the two women sitting on the table next to theirs. Billy doesn’t clap and his nose wrinkles when Steve pulls Eddie to his feet and into a hug,  glaring at the back of his head.

Eddie can’t help but smirk against Steve’s shoulder. 

“You’re insane,” he mutters into Eddie’s hair. It should be weird hugging a stranger but Eddie actually enjoys it. It feels familiar somehow. “Thank you.”

Eddie pulls back and grins, his hands still on Steve’s hips. “Aren’t you glad you picked me, huh, sweetheart?” 

Steve lets out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Eddie?” A familiar gruff voice says and Eddie whips his head around to see his uncle approaching, his eyes darting from Eddie to Steve to Eddie’s hands on Steve’s waist and Steve’s arms looped around Eddie’s neck. 

“Wayne!” He says, his grin not faltering for a second. This isn’t the weirdest thing Wayne has walked in on when it comes to Eddie. “You’re just in time to meet your new son-in-law!”

Wayne’s eyebrows shoot up and next to him, Steve makes a strangled sound. 

Eddie signals a waiter and it turns out to be the same one who was guiding Billy and his girl to their table before. Billy is nowhere to be found, he probably scurried off to their table while Steve and Eddie were distracted with each other, hoping Steve wouldn’t see him. Serves you right, asshole, he thinks triumphantly. 

“What can I do for the happy couple? Congratulations, by the way,” the waiter says and Eddie beams, pulling Steve closer with the arm wrapped around his waist. 

“Thank you, kind sir. Can you get us another chair for my uncle?”

The waiter nods and goes to retrieve one. 

“Eddie, you don’t have to– I can just go–” Steve says, a faint pink blush covering his cheeks.

“I can’t let you leave, Steve. We’re engaged now, it’d look weird,” Eddie says, and it’s true but he also doesn’t want to say goodbye to Steve yet.

And maybe Steve doesn’t want to say goodbye either because he folds easily. “Yeah, okay.”

They explain to Wayne what he walked into and his uncle gets a kick out of it. He and Steve get along surprisingly well, and by the end of the night, it almost feels like Steve was part of their dinner plans from the beginning. 

Wayne leaves shortly after dessert but Steve and Eddie stick around for one more drink, neither of them wanting the night to end. 

It has to, eventually, but Eddie is pretty sure that this won’t be the last he sees of Steve, not after they spent the whole night getting to know each other and flirting up a storm.

On their way out they run into Billy and his girlfriend, and Steve almost seems surprised when they do. Like he forgot Billy was there, despite him being the reason why he talked to Eddie in the first place.  Their conversation is short but Eddie makes sure to hold Steve’s hand the whole time and call Billy ‘Bobby’ a total of three times just to annoy him.

After they leave, Eddie walks Steve to his car. 

“Thanks again,” he says, leaning against the door. “For helping me out. And for dinner.”

“It was my pleasure,” Eddie smiles. “We should do it again sometime.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Stage a proposal?”

Eddie chuckles. “Well, I was thinking about dinner but I’m always happy to get down on my knees for a hot guy,” he says with a wink. 

A slightly strangled laugh tumbles out of Steve’s lip but his eyes sparkle with interest. “Maybe let’s start with dinner. Just the two of us.”

They exchange numbers, promising to call each other. When Eddie turns around to start walking toward his van, Steve calls his name.

“Don’t forget your ring,” he says, sliding it off. 

But Eddie reaches out to stop him. “Keep it,” he says, “you can give it to me next time.” 

With a grin, Steve slides it back on. 

He ends up keeping the ring, but that’s okay because Eddie gets to keep Steve. 

[steddieas-shegoes]

new toy, new boy

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘new’

rated e | 517 words | no cw | tags: anal plug, semi-public sex, getting together, friends to lovers, coming in pants, coming untouched, super light implications of Dom/sub, Dom Steve, sub Eddie

🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕

Eddie bites his lip as he tries to move his legs under him. He needs a buffer, some distance between his ass and the couch. The plug keeps rubbing against his prostate every time he breathes.

Steve keeps looking at him over Robin’s shoulders, clearly trying to figure out why Eddie is so squirmy.

Eddie feels like a dumbass for even trying this tonight. He got the new toy a few days ago in Indy and he’d been waiting for the right time to try it out. Today, he was alone for an entire afternoon, and it felt right, and he was horny, and he was too busy thinking about what Steve’s fingers would look like going inside him to remember that they had movie night. He’d also forgotten he was in charge of pizza, so when Steve called to ask if he could grab some soda on his way over, Eddie already had the plug as deep as it could be inside him.

And now he was here suffering with every move he made, or any move anyone else on the couch made, or sometimes even just a slight breeze. Which shouldn’t even be possible inside. Maybe it’s everyone’s breath? He barely holds back a whine as his ankle brushes against the base of the plug.

Steve pokes his shoulder and he turns to glare at him. Steve widens his eyes to silently ask if he’s okay.

No, he’s not okay. He’s going to come in his pants surrounded by his friends because he’s an idiot and if Steve keeps looking at him like that, he’s gonna do it sooner rather than later. He needs water or beer or weed.

“Eddie, help me get refills for everybody,” Steve says quietly enough that only the people closest to them hear. They mostly ignore him.

When Eddie stands, he has to bite his hand.

When Eddie walks to the kitchen behind Steve, he has to dig his nails into his palm.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” Steve rounds on him, pushing him against the counter and making everything so much worse.

“I had too much soda?”

“You’re sweating, man.” Steve reaches up to brush hair from Eddie’s forehead, and Eddie’s surprised that he’s as sticky as he is. “Are you sick?”

“I bought a new plug!” Eddie says just a little too loud.

Steve’s brows furrow as he tries to figure out what Eddie’s talking about.

And then he realizes.

He smirks.

“Poor thing. You’ve been so close all night, haven’t you?” Steve’s voice drops low and Eddie’s cock twitches.

“Fuck. Yeah,” Eddie nods, gripping the edge of the counter.

“Turn around.” Steve shoves one of Eddie’s shoulders gently, turning him around.

Eddie yelps. Steve’s leg brushes against his ass, searching for-

“Fuck!” Eddie gasps, rocking back for more friction.

“Get yourself off. C’mon. It won’t take much,” Steve demands. “Use my thigh.”

Eddie’s never done it like this, but that doesn’t matter. He comes quickly.

“You’re…?” Eddie starts.

“Go up to my room and take the plug out. Borrow some pants. You can stay the night.”

[slut4christopherr]

—GHOSTFACE— 👻

MATTHEW STURNIOLO

pics by : @sturnlsstuff

warnings: unprotected p in v(don’t do this!!!), riding, cumming, aftercare, smuttt, pussy eating

(if i missed any please lmk!!)

summary: matt sneaks into your room at night, wearing a ghost face costume from the horror/gore movie ‘scream’

what happens will make you wet.

a/n: ive only just started writing, so anything i need to improve please lmk and also comment if you wanna be added onto my taglist! i’m tagging my moots atm 😞 i hope you guys enjoy! this is a 1 part story‼️

you talking = white

matt talking = blue

as i finish the food i just made, i place my plate into the dishwasher and close the door, the audio from the tiktok i’d left playing.

“so you got a boyfriend?”

“why? you wanna ask me out on a date”

“maybe? so, do you have a boyfriend?”

i pick the phone back up, seeing matt sturniolo, the guy who adores eating my pussy, getting edited with clips of ghost face.

i couldn’t lie, it did turn me on.

i clicked the repost button and set my phone down on the couch.

i walked into my bedroom. swearing id shut the door as it was open a little bit but i’d must of imagine shutting it

i turn on the LED’s that wrap around my walls, to a red colour

as i’m about to get in bed, i scream as i feel a pair of cold, large hands wrap around my waist

“shh ma, don’t need t’be screamin’ jus’ yet”

i recognised the voice almost immediately

“matt. i told you to stop sneaking into my fucking house!”

matt chuckles as i turn around, he holds a voice changer upto his mouth through the mask, speaking into it, his voice came out all static and raspy

“and i said i don’t care, ma, so whatcha gon’ do? hm”

the way his voice came out from that stupid little box made my legs feel weaker and weaker every word he said

“and also, why the fuck you wearin’ that? take it off.”

he points at my t-shirt, his hands grip my shoulders ever so slightly and move me back toward my mattress, i flip down onto my back as he grips the hem of the t-shirt and rips it over my head.

i go to grab his mask and pull it up and over his head and throw it across the room, the black cape over him and his jawline, making him look so good in the dim red lighting of my LED’s

his eyes darken as he focuses on my breasts, one cold hand going to cup one into it.

he rolls my hard nipple around between his thumb&pointer finger which makes me let out a quiet moan

“mmm, i fuckin’ love the sounds you make for me ma”

his pants grow tighter by the minute and he groans and slaps my tit, making me squeal.

he gets onto his knees on the wooden floor, gripping my thighs and pulling me towards the end of the bed.

i look down at him as he looks up at me with hunger written all over him

his fingers hook into my shorts and panties, as he looks up at me again, asking for permission

i nod quickly and he pulls them down at a very, very slow pace

“matt, please.. please..”

you aren’t looking at him but you can tell he has that shit eating grin on his face

“use your words ma, what do you want?”

i let out a shaky sigh

“please matt, finger me”

matt slaps my thigh as he lets my shorts & panties pool at my ankles

he rubs a finger up my slit, groaning at how wet i already am

“m-matt, stop teasin’ baby”

he takes a deep breath before diving into my slick folds, his tongue diving into my head as his perfect nose applies pressure onto my sensitive clit

i let out a moan

“mmm fuck-fuck don’t stop!”

matt doesn’t stop, all that can be heard is my moans, his groans and the slurping sound of my pussy being eaten by a man who looks like he hasn’t eaten in days

i felt a knot form in my stomach

“matt i’m gon- oh fuck- i’m-“

my words get cut off my the knot snapping as he laps my clit with his tongue, making my hips buck into his face, pushing him deeper into my heat

5 mins later…

i bounce up and down on matts large, hard cock, i used the precum as lubricant, knowing you didn’t need to use it as my pussy was literally dripping wet.

matts slender fingers dug into my skin, making sure to leave bruises

the only sounds heard is the hum of the cars driving outside, skin against skin slapping and both of our moans

“mmm- ma, m’so close”

my pussy clenches around him in response as he grips my waist and pulls me down harder onto to him

i moan as the knot in my stomach snaps for the 2nd time, my juices running down matts cock.

i feel his balls tense and his cock twitch then, hot strings of white cum colour my walls

we stay like this for a minute, catching our breath until he pulls me off of him and gently puts me on the bed and stands up, walking to the bathroom to grab a damp cloth to clean me up

“your still not allowed to sneak into my house matt”

he grins in response

“yeah? sure ma”

a/n: tysm for reading! and this was so so rushed 😭 any ideas leave them in the comments

with lots of love and big tits - mia!

taglist: @sturnshood @sturniololuv08 @sturniolosweets-deactivated2025 @sturniolospumpkin @chr1sslvtt @christmastreecake @chrisprettybaby @chrissturniolodailysluts @chrisweetheart @mattscoquette @mattsmedusa @mattsstarlet @mattybsgroupie @sturnsrecord @mattsobvimyfav

[msmk11]

okay so hear me out for an angst idea. remus x muggle reader. they’re dating and so in love and she doesn’t know he’s a wizard or werewolf yet. all of the sudden he shuts her out (cause he’s scared to tell them) and she’s stressing thinking he’s done w her and go from there where you please 😘

(also feel free to make gender neutral i just used she pronouns bc that’s what i use lol)

Magic Tricks

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

WC: 2k

CW: Angst; hurt/comfort; Remus doesn’t know how to communicate

A/n: thank you for the request lovely! I definitely tried to make it angsty, but I didn’t wanna prolong it cuz I know Remus would be trying to remedy the problem ASAP!! I hope you enjoy

The first day or so of silence you give him an out, figuring something is going on. But when he still doesn’t reach out after four days, a pit of dread begins to fill your stomach. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened to you. Not with Remus, obviously, but with other boyfriends. Disinterest was always the first step, and then silence, and then the inevitable “it’s not you, it’s me.” You just don’t understand what you could’ve done wrong. Things with Remus, at least you thought, were going well. Great, even. You were certain he was going to be the one you would marry. But now? Now you’re not so sure.

Instead of spending Friday night depressed and alone, you tag along after work to the company’s happy hour. You hope it’ll get your mind off your suddenly distant boyfriend and even help you loosen up.

You’re sitting at a table chatting with some girls from your department about one of their annoying neighbors when the restaurant door opens again and a chilly breeze blows through. You tighten your jacket as you look up at the brisk intrusion and falter There, getting seated by the hostess, is Remus. With another girl. 10,000 emotions are swirling through you, but the worst by far is shock.

Your shoulder is shaken, “hey, you okay?”

Your throat constricts in your chest and you’re not sure you can respond to your concerned coworker, “hmm?”

“You don’t look so good” another says.

“I- I’m sorry I just, I just saw my boyfriend, over there, and he’s with another girl.”

A plethora of protests and groans of disgust emit from your friends but you tune them all out. You’re hurt and confused, and before you know it, your legs have carried you over to where Remus and this redhead girl are sitting.

“Remus?”

You hate how hoarse your voice comes out, and your stomach twists in embarrassment.

The brunette’s head snaps up, eyes meeting yours and widening, “dove?”

Your eyes flit between the happy pair and you scoff, “funny seeing you here, sweetheart. I see now why I haven’t heard from you in days.”

The redhead chokes on her drink, cheeks turning a dark shade of crimson, “oh no! That’s not! We’re not!”

You glare at her and look back at Remus, arms crossed, “what the fuck, Remus? If you weren’t interested in me anymore you could’ve just said it. Instead, you’re going behind my back with other girls. That’s low.”

You turn around and begin to storm off, angry tears building in your eyes.

A warm, familiar hand grabs your wrist, stopping you, “dove, wait, no! It’s not what it looks like. I swear! Please give me a chance to explain. This is Lily! You remember her, right? I’ve talked about her before. She’s my friend from school.”

You stare at the love of your life disbelievingly, “seems like she’s more than just your friend.”

Remus shakes his head desperately, “no that’s not it. Please, let me talk. Just-“ his eyes flit around the room anxiously, aware of the many people watching the scene unfold, “can we go somewhere private to talk.”

“Now you wanna talk?” And damn it, a few tears start rolling down your cheeks, “Remus I haven’t heard from you in a week, and then I catch you with another girl. You have to know how it seems. Even if nothing happened, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve ignored me, and made me feel worthless. I- I can’t be with someone who ghosts whenever they feel like it!”

“Baby, my love, please,” he pleads, his hands trembling.

“Remus, I’m done. I can’t,” you pull out of his grasp and stalk back over to your table, grabbing your purse and leaving in a hurry of embarrassed tears.

You’ve been bawling your eyes out on the couch for the last few hours, wallowing in your own self-pity. You can’t believe it. You and Remus are really over. The love of your life is gone. You’re not sure you can ever recover. Your phone has been buzzing like crazy- likely Remus- but you choose to ignore it. You can’t talk to him right now, not after everything that happened tonight.

A knock on the door interrupts your thoughts and you stand, wrapping a blanket around you and wiping the remnants of tears from your stained cheeks. When you open it you’re surprised, but not, to see Remus.

“What are you doing here?”

“Dove. I came here to see you…. to explain….everything. I didn’t get the chance at the bar, and you wouldn’t answer my texts or calls. So I’m standing here now, before you, to just give me one chance to make things right. Please, sweetheart, I’m begging you.”

You concentrate on him, eyes scanning his form. His brunette hair is tousled and messy, his clothes are disheveled, and he looks unbelievably tired and stressed. Even though you’re angry and upset, you love him still, and your heart tells you to fight for any possible chance there might be to save this relationship.

“Fine, come in.”

You turn around and stalk into the living room. Remus’ heavy footsteps fall into step behind you and he shuts the door, sealing off the cold night. You take up home on your gray couch again, finding comfort in it amongst the most uncomfortable situation of your life.

He looks at you awkwardly and ruffles his hair, “can I sit?”

You scootch over to give him room even though your body craves to be closer.

“So, what great excuse do you have for tonight? For ignoring me?”

Remus coughs and turns a shade paler, “uhm, right, okay. Uh- I,” he curses quietly, “sorry. I. Okay I’m just gonna say it. I’ve been ignoring you because I’m- I’m a wizard. And I was scared to tell you because I thought you’d run away and think I’m crazy and I love you so much and. Yeah.”

Disbelief. That’s the only emotion you feel. You scoff loudly and glare at him, “are you fucking kidding me, Remus? A wizard. That’s your excuse? And what great one do you have for Lily, huh? Let me guess, she’s a vampire.”

“Well no she’s a witch actually and-“

Remus freezes, realizing that doesn’t really matter because you aren’t being serious.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes again and you stand up, wiping them away frustratedly, “Do you think I’m stupid, Lupin? Do you really discount my intelligence and dignity so much that you think you can use a bullshit excuse like that? I thought you’d at least grant me a mature conversation, but your behavior this past week should’ve warned me that wouldn’t be the case.”

“No, beautiful! I’m not lying, I would never, ever treat you so unkindly I- Well I know I’ve been unkind this week, but just let me show you.”

He fumbles in his dark brown coat and pulls out a long brown stick.

“Let me guess, that’s your wand. And where’s the broom?”

“I can’t afford one,” Remus says with a blush.

You only roll your eyes, “right then, let’s see you do a spell if you really are a wizard.”

He clears his throat nervously and nods. He flicks his ‘wand’ and a bouquet of red roses appears in his hand.

Your eyes widen and you’re impressed, but still not convinced. A flower- appearing-trick is an act you’re sure any skilled magician can pull off with some practice.

Remus extends them to you- “an apology. For being a right prick.”

A smile wavers on your face but you push it down and don’t accept his gift, “is that supposed to convince me, Remus? Any magician could do that.”

His hopeful gaze falters and he bites his lip, “right. Okay- okay hold on uh….Please don’t freak out.”

Remus stands up and moves to the middle of the room, and it’s not lost on you that you really feel like you’re attending a children’s magic show. He holds his hand with the wand to his head and taps twice and right before your eyes Remus slowly disappears into thin air.

Your heart quickens in your chest and you curl into the couch, “Remus! What the fuck?”

“Dove! I told you not to freak out.”

Something touches your arm and you scream, flinching away.

“Sorry, sorry, my love. It’s just me. I’m right in front of you.”

You tremble as your eyes dart around the room, brain not comprehending how you can hear but not see him.

“Baby, reach out slowly.”

You shake your head.

“Please,” he asks in a strained whisper.

With shaky hands you reluctantly reach out until your hands hit something. You flinch slightly, but when something warm wraps around your wrkdr you relax. Even when invisible you’d recognize that touch- the gentle, calloused skin of Remus’ hands.

“H-how? I- you- magic….”

Slowly Remus appears back in view and sits down, tentatively taking both of your hands into his. He almost sighs audibly when you don’t fight his touch.

“I’m happy to answer any questions you want, dove. Just, I want to know… do you still want me? Can you forgive me for lying and ignoring you? Do you think I’m a freak?”

You’re certainly dazed, but you’re awakened from your trance at those final words…. do you think I’m a freak?

Are you overwhelmed? Yes. Are you freaked out? Absolutely? Do you still not totally belive magic is real? For sure. Are you still mad at Remus? Yeah, maybe a little.

But do you think he’s a freak?

“Baby,” you sigh, eyes softening and hand moving to cup his face, “of course not. We… we certainly have a lot to talk about… both magical and communication based… but that doesn’t mean I love you any less. I’d love you less if you cheated or were a terrible person, or lied for a bad reason. But for being different than me… for being you, I could never, ever hate you. I don’t think you’re a freak baby. I love you, for all that you are. And I wish you would’ve trusted in me a little more.”

“I was just so scared to lose you,” he confesses hoarsely, his tired eyes dimming with sadness, “but I see I did that more by hiding than just telling you the truth.”

You hum and nod, running your thumb over his bony cheeks…

“Rem?”

He hums, brown eyes looking at you so softly you melt.

“I obviously have lots of other questions but first… Lily… you’re really not-“

“No! No! Dove, never. I love Lily, but she really is just a friend. She was actually lecturing me on the way to the pub tonight about how I was gonna mess things up with you if I didn’t get my act together.”

“Think I need to meet her formally…” you murmur amusedly, “we’d get along well…”

Remus chuckles fondly and carefully wraps you into his embrace.

You go nearly boneless.

“I really am sorry, my love,” he murmurs into your hair.

You inhale the scent of his sweater and the lingering smell of old books on his collar and sigh, “no more apologies, baby. Just promise me you’ll never do that again.”

Remus kisses your forehead gently, “never. But on that note, I should probably confess that I’m also a-“

[ropebunnykant]

#i personaly would say that style has the ability to be cruel#not just because he does a lot of stuff that would come accross very differently in a different genre#(as idk how much discussing this would even work. since he's not in a different genre)#but imo because he crosses some lines that are lines even in universe#the grief counselling group being a big one (and he does get punched for it)#style has his own grief and i found the scene funny but there's no arguing he wasn't thoughtless and self-centered#which is not a dig at style. i love him and i think he is ALSO a very kind and caring person#there's several sides to him#but i think ultimately he is incapable of being truly unkind *to the people he loves*#which is what he says to fadel in a way: 'now that i know you i love you'#idk. style a pretty multifaceted character and i think him being a mix of several of the og ones#(petruchio tranio but also katherine. since they all etc)#kinda strengthen that last point#he actually do contains multitudes#love your point about him not being a criminal and tranio being from a different class too#i feel it resonnates very well with your 'they turned the misogyny into assassinphobia'#because our only non-criminal lead is also the one who's the most free of his choices#anyway now i'm thinking about shakespeare's helpers characters and how they range from forces of positive change to truly sinister#style is very much a helper and he lands squarely on the force for a positive change end of the spectrum#in other plays he would have the fool role

tags by @hurlumerlu

i already told you in our dms i would be back to discuss these tags and here i am because i love what you've brought up here! i realized after i posted it the way that it likely sounds like i'm ridding style of his flaws by saying he doesn't have it in him to be cruel, which is not what i initially meant with that statement, so thank you for giving me the chance to kind of clarify, cause i think you brought up some good points!

like you pointed out, style does a number of things that are thoughtless and self-centered, namely the grief counseling thing which i 100% agree comes across as cruel and almost mean spirited. however, i think there is a difference between doing something with the intention of causing harm/doing something while actively being aware you are causing harm and doing something without thinking of the consequences of it. while there's obviously arguments to be made about it, my personal definition of cruel has everything to do with the knowledge and intent behind the act. if someone does something that hurts you but it wasn't their intention to or they didn't realize they were, it still hurts, but the punch doesn't hit quite as hard as if they were doing it purposefully.

and i think with style at least, that's why i say he isn't an inherently cruel character. like you said, he's thoughtless and self-centered, but he doesn't do things with the direct intention of causing harm - at least not in a lasting way. yes, his flirting methods for fadel is to annoy him, so on a certain level he recognizes he's causing fadel harm, but the sort of harm style aims to cause isn't deep wounds, it's paper cuts. yes, he causes more harm than a paper cut by showing up at the grief counseling session and making it about him, but i genuinely don't think style thought through the way that would come across. i think in his head, bison essentially gave him permission to crash the party there by putting it in his little to do list, so he doesn't think much about how it's a fucking insane thing to do. especially because style's definition of insane is very skewed from a normal person's lmao.

i do agree he is very multifaceted though and obviously he is still based on petruchio and therefore does cause harm to fadel to some extent in order to get to him. i do still think inherently, style is kind, though - not just to those he loves, but to everyone. i think he's annoying, obviously, and thoughtless and self-centered like you said. but i also think if he's not dead set on causing problems for someone like he was for fadel, he is kind to others, and i think that's proven when it comes to the people in the market. yes, he's annoying to them too, but there seems to be a fondness there for him as well, at least from the market lady - he is genuinely helping her out by working there! and while it's mostly so he can annoy fadel, i don't think it's necessarily an act, either.

also, love the callbacks to my other metas because yes, i think it ties into those things too. and he is very much a helper character which i adore! i think he also has some elements of a fool even as he is, but he's also a main character so that does negate it a tad skdhsdkf

was gonna say this in the tags of my last taming parallel but i think this actually warrants a post of its own. i think the thing that makes style a lovable character despite being based on such a horrific character is the fact that he’s not solely based on petruchio. he’s also based heavily on tranio, who if you’re unaware, is lucentio’s servant and dear friend. so, while he has the boldness and shamelessness of petruchio, he has tranio’s unwavering loyalty and hopefulness. honestly, i’d argue he’s more based on tranio than he is petruchio, because petruchio at his core is an inherently cruel character, whereas tranio is inherently kind, which fits style far better. i’d even argue that kant parallels petruchio far closer than style (not a dig at kant! its just that kant has the ability to be cruel and calculated when he needs to be because his hand has been forced, whereas style inherently just doesn’t have that in him).

i also think it’s interesting because style stands out from the others in a number of ways, not simply because of his hopefulness but because (to our current knowledge) he’s not a criminal. which is an interesting parallel because lucentio, bianca, and katherine all have a higher status, while tranio is a servant and therefore distinct from them. additionally, tranio’s plot in taming is that he is disguised as lucentio for most of the show, and i think that sort of parallels style needing to become a police informant by association in a way.

[gullemec]

Cross the Line

Golden Cage - Chapter Five

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Truth or Dare, Murder, and Sex. Or, you and Butcher go on a road trip.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, nipple play, dirty talk, creampie, discussions of previous murders, language, unsafe driving, attempted flashing, One Bed Trope™️, reader has poor self esteem and is Going Through It, straight up vehicular manslaughter, brief description of dead bodies

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Here she is!! My first ever f/m smut scene! Please be kind. Also a very action-packed chapter. Please read the tags before diving in because there's a LOT happening here.

Monday morning rolls around with an alarming speed, the pace of your days having taken a decided turn toward the speed of light. 

It had nothing to do with your apprehension around being with Butcher again, you were sure. 

Certain. 

The plan, not unlike the last plan, is supposedly simple. As the CytoGenix van carrying the vials of V2 makes its way upstate, you and Butcher will tail it at a distance, waiting until the time is right to strike and run the van offroad using a spike strip.

You've thought up about two thousand ways this could go wrong. You could probably think of a thousand more, but your brain started to hurt when you tried.

You pull your bag over your shoulder, every step to Butcher’s van downstairs weighed down by a strange mix of adrenaline and dread. He’s waiting for you, leaned against the driver’s side door with his usual cocky smirk, dark aviators shielding his expression.

“Look alive, sunshine,” he says as you climb in. “Big day ahead.”

You settle into the passenger seat, forcing yourself to play it cool. The hum of the engine fills the silence as you pull away, but within moments, the tension in the van feels as suffocating as the thick summer air.

The first two hours crawl by. Small talk feels like dragging a boulder uphill, each attempt to bridge the gap between you met with curt, monosyllabic responses. Weather. Traffic. A half-hearted quip about a roadside diner that doesn’t even earn a smirk from Butcher.

It’s maddening. Days ago, this man had kissed you like the world was ending. Now, he's talking about the possibility of impending rain. You feel insane.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

“Truth or dare,” you say, throwing it out like a grenade

Butcher glances at you, his brow furrowing beneath his sunglasses. “The fuck did you just say?”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath about it being a child's game. “And how exactly do you suppose we play truth or dare in a moving vehicle, hm?” He asks. 

“I don't know, but what I do know is that we have a four and a half hour drive ahead of us and if this awkward silence is going to continue, I'm going to jump out of the window right now.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “What are you, twelve? What’s next, a round of bloody ‘I Spy’?” He shoots you a look of bemusement before returning to the road, ignoring your request. 

He's not getting away that easy. 

“Look, it's either truth or dare, or we talk about the k—”

“Jesus Christ, alright I'll play your fucking game,” he relents. 

Success. 

You nod toward him expectedly. 

“What?” He asks 

“Truth or dare? You have to pick, it's kind of how the game is played.”

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “Fine. Truth.”

You pause to think for a second, racking your brain for a good question. You could, of course, go straight for the jugular, asking him why he pulled away from the kiss, why he didn't push you down on the couch and take everything you were willing to give him right then and there. But you think that might be a little intense for a first question, so you settle on something easier. 

“How many people have you killed?”

His reaction is instant, an incredulous laugh that’s more bark than humor. “Straight for the jugular, eh? You don’t muck about.”

“I’m curious,” you say, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole point of the game?

“Sweetheart, if knowing how many people I've kidnapped is a second date question, this has gotta be a fifth date question.”

“Okay,” you say thoughtfully. “Well, if you count all the late night stake outs, and if you count our first date, the one where you kidnapped, me as three dates, which I do, I think we're well past the fifth date by now.” You raise your eyebrows at him, laughing.  

“Alright, alright,” he huffs. The smirk on his face betrays the fact that he kind of wants to play, but his tough facade necessitates that he put up a valiant fight about it first. 

But once your laughing subsides, his grin falls, and you realize that this was perhaps not the best question to ask. His eyes are fixed on the road when he answers you. 

He exhales sharply, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I lost count. Got to twenty-five, maybe thirty, last time I bothered to keep track.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, but there’s no pride in it. “You happy now?”

His admission is like a shock to your system. You knew that he'd killed before, having tossed the idea around in your mind, considering the things you knew about the man you were unquestionably attracted to. He has killed, yes, but he has also lost. He has lost everything, and he has helped, and he has been kind, too. And yet, hearing the words from his mouth, putting a number, if only estimated, on the amount of times a life has been lost at the same hands that were wrapped tenderly around your body only days ago, sends a painful jolt to your heart. 

“I know what you might think,” he starts, his voice faltering. “You think I'm cold and evil, or whatever.” His fingers readjust around the steering wheel, an anxious tic you're picking up on. “But I had to do it. I believed it was for some… greater purpose, I guess. I believe that, but maybe because I have to.”

You're speechless. You weren't expecting this sudden moment of vulnerability in Butcher, this emotional nakedness. If you're honest, it scares you, because it causes the sand beneath the already unsteady foundation of your relationship with him to shake. You have to say something, anything. 

“How do you feel about potentially killing two more people today? Does it make you nervous?” You ask. You're vaguely aware of the van driving ahead of you, a pinprick dot of white on the endlessly winding highway. 

He sighs, then smirks, looking entirely too pleased in comparison to his somber expression only moments ago. “Uh–uh, your turn now.”

He's got you there. 

“Truth,” you say, and it's only fair that he throws you a hardball too. But he doesn't. 

“What’s your favorite memory with your mum?”

The question throws you for a moment, its tenderness blindsiding you. You have so many, you could almost argue that this isn't an easy question at all. All the same, your mind wanders to the same memory that always pops up when you ask yourself this question. 

“My seventh birthday,” you begin, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “Dad was off in the Bahamas for some meeting, and I didn’t have any friends because we’d just moved. So it was just me and her. She took me to Coney Island, and we spent the whole day there. Rides, games, cotton candy. It was the best.” A tear twinkles in your eye, but you wipe it away before it comes to fruition. 

He looks like he's about to say something, maybe offer some comfort or ask a follow up, but you're too quick for him. 

“Now you, truth or dare?”

He picks dare, following your lead and ignoring what you shared about your mom. You appreciate his ability to pick up on your nonverbal cues. 

You resist the urge to reach across the console and brush your fingers through his wild, wind-tousled hair. You let yourself imagine for a moment a scenario in which the two of you are out for a drive on a beautiful day for pleasure rather than business, where you might entwine your fingers with his on the center console. But these thoughts are dangerous, and you need a distraction. 

“Drive in the oncoming lane for ten seconds.”

“Are you bloody mental?” he snaps, glaring at you. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, and you want me to pull a stunt like that?”

You shrug, and you relish in the utter frustration that Butcher exudes, the way his accent comes out in full-force when he's this worked up. 

“You said dare,” you counter, your tone teasing. “A dare’s a dare.”

He groans, muttering a string of expletives as he slows the van. “You’re a bloody pain in my arse, you know that?”

“Slow down a bit, so they won't see us,” you suggest, your voice low to control the giggles that threaten to peek out. “Come on, Butcher.”

He hesitates. It's a sick kind of satisfaction knowing that, if it was anyone but you, Butcher would have probably just let you jump out the window at this point. 

“One, twooo… Threeeee…” You exaggerate your words, giving him every opportunity to acquiesce to your demands. 

Finally, you feel the van slow and dip to the left as Butcher careens into the oncoming lane. 

This is getting too easy. 

You count out the next ten seconds slowly, agonizingly. 

Ten. 

Nine

Eight. He shifts his eyes between you and the road, imploring you to call off the dare. Absolutely not. 

Seven. 

Six. 

Five. A speck materializes on the horizon. An oncoming car. 

Four.  The speck transforms into a white sedan. 

Three. “I'm switching lanes,” he yells. “Three more seconds!” You argue back. 

Two. You can tell now that there are two passengers in the sedan. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

One. The driver of the sedan lays on the horn, the loud bleat sending shockwaves through your system. 

Butcher swerves back into the right lane, a chorus of curses spilling out, the sedan’s honking fading out behind you. Your laughter spills out, obnoxious and loud and absolutely drowning out Butcher’s string of profanities. Shortly after he course-corrects, the white van falls back into your line of sight. 

No harm, no foul. 

Butcher’s breathing evens. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you retort, still grinning.

“You better pick dare this turn. I didn't realize we weren't playin' fair,” he smirks, and you're knocked back again. It's criminal how this man speaks, so deep and yet so melodic, his accent and charm breaking down whatever defenses you still had standing. 

“Do your worst,” you dare, and he smiles widely. For a moment, you feel a real flare of heat in your chest. You don't want to think about what you'd realistically do for this man right now, but the thought crosses your mind, sending a pang to your core. 

“Flash the next car that drives past us.”

Now it's your turn to blanch at the request, your face scrunching up in response. 

“You can't be serious,” you say. 

He simply nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead in feigned concentration. 

Well, the best way out is always through. 

You pull your seatbelt off, balancing on your seat and the console as you pull yourself through the van’s open sunroof. You pretend not to notice Butcher's right arm snaking protectively around your left leg. 

You watch as a dark green truck materializes before you, a lone cowboy hat wearing man inside. You pinch your fingers around the edge of your shirt. The truck speeds by as you begin to lift it up. Suddenly, the arm wrapped around your leg pulls down, forcing you back into the van. 

“Hey! What was that for?!” You exclaim, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion. 

“You weren't seriously going to flash that truck, were you?” He asks. 

You nod. “I mean, yeah? You dared me to do it. A dare’s a dare.”

He huffs and puffs, shaking his head intermittently. He's frustrated with you, and it's pissing you off. 

Time to turn the tables. 

“Okay, well it’s your turn now I guess. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he says smugly, and you laugh, because you know what you say next is going to shake him. 

You take a second to stare at him, an unabashed good look at him. The way the breeze tousles his dark hair, the angle of his jaw catching the golden hour light. The warmth in the glow softens him somehow, makes him seem almost human, almost kind. You can't deny that you want him, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

"Did you like it?" you ask abruptly, your voice low but clear.

Butcher furrows his brow, clearly puzzled. "Like what?"

"When you kissed me," you clarify, your heart pounding in your chest. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

The silence that follows is deafening. You hear him inhale sharply, see the slight hitch in his posture as the words settle between you. His face shifts, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. He stares straight ahead, jaw tightening, fingers curling around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

Your pulse quickens. Oh, God. Why did I say that? The weight of your own recklessness presses down on you. Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity as he struggles with something unspoken, his lips parting as if to say something—

Your heart stops.

—and then, with a sharp gasp, his hand slams the horn and his foot hits the brake.

"Oi! Cunts!" he shouts, jerking the van to a sudden halt. Both of you lurch forward, your seatbelt biting into your shoulder.

Your head snaps toward the road just in time to see the CytoGenix van swerving off into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

The spell is broken. The tension you’d built up between you vanishes, replaced by adrenaline and a sinking sense of inevitability.

At least he'd stopped you before you'd shown your tits to some unsuspecting cowboy. 

Butcher’s face hardens, his attention fully back on the road as he mutters a string of curses under his breath. He keeps driving for another mile, the air in the van heavy and stifling. It’s as though the cracks you’d glimpsed in his armor have sealed up entirely, leaving only the impenetrable man you met at the start.

Finally, he pulls off just past a mile marker, the van grinding to a halt on the side of the road. He throws it in park and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

"Out," he orders, his voice clipped.

You blink at him. "What?"

"Get out of the van," he repeats, this time more firmly.

Despite every instinct screaming at you not to trust him, you obey. He follows you out, slamming the door behind him, and gestures toward the dense line of trees. "Start walking. Don’t stop ‘til you’re deep enough in that you can’t see the road anymore."

“Now wait a goddamn minute,” you fight, “I want to be a part of this. You're not exiling me to the woods while you do the dirty work. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, his tone cold and final. “You don’t want this blood on your hands, love. Trust me.”

Your temper flares. "You’re such an asshole, you know that?" you spit, heat rushing to your face.

You're all bite, all fight, until you see the look on his face. The harsh lines of his face are softened, his eyes weighed down with something heavier than anger. Guilt? Regret? He doesn’t want to do this, you realize. He thinks he’s protecting you.

And maybe you just don't have much of a fight left in you anymore.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "But don’t think for a second I’m letting this go."

Without waiting for a response, you storm off into the forest, branches snapping underfoot as you push past ferns and brush.

You find a mossy rock and sink down beside it, hugging your knees to your chest. The familiar ache of being abandoned washes over you, pulling you back into yourself. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, closing your eyes and imagining the comforting embrace of your mother. The memories come easily, like they always do. Her laugh, her warmth, the way her hand always found yours when you were scared.

You lose track of time sitting there, flipping through those memories like pages in a well-worn book. Hours could have passed, or maybe it’s only minutes. You don’t know, and for a while, you don’t care.

It’s the crunch of heavy footfalls that pulls you back to the present. You blink up to see Butcher looming over you, his expression grim and drawn.

"If a van crashes in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it even make a noise?" you quip, smirking despite yourself.

He scowls. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"Either that was the quietest car crash in history, or you lost them," you say, crossing your arms.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "They never came through. They’re holed up at the motel for the night. We’ll head back, stake it out, and wait for them to move on." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the road.

He extends a hand to help you up, but you ignore it, pushing yourself off the ground and brushing dirt from your clothes. Without a word, you start walking ahead of him, back toward the van.

"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, falling in step behind you. 

The short drive back to the motel is silent, the energy between the two of you having soured considerably. You stare out the window, arms crossed, seething. You're pissed and you want him to know it, to feel it. The mission feels like a joke, like you’re a joke. No matter what you do, you’ll always be the inept kid getting in the way.

The Piney Point Motel comes into view just as the sun dips behind the pines, the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. You spot the CytoGenix van immediately, parked conspicuously by the entrance of the motel. As far as you can tell, it's empty. 

“Did they really just… leave it there?” You ask, incredulous. 

Butcher chuckles. “Your old man really should stop cuttin’ corners on security.”

A flurry of hope stirs in your chest. “So we could just break into the van and steal the vials, right? And then no one would have to get hurt?”

He gives you a look, one that’s half pity, half impatience, before gesturing to the motel’s facade. Security cameras dot the walls, floodlights primed for motion. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like your dad could learn a thing or two from Piney Point.”

And just like that, the spark fizzles. 

Butcher pulls the van into a shadowed corner of the lot and kills the engine. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed.

You stare at him. “Well, are we going in?”

“Nah. You can crawl in the back if you wanna sleep. I'll take first watch.”

He can't be serious. 

“You want me to sleep back there?!”

He shrugs. “Or up here, but I don’t reckon it’s any comfier.”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Or—and hear me out—we could sleep in the motel right in front of us?”

“And risk losin’ ‘em? Yeah, no thanks.”

You argue back and forth but the man is an infuriating, unflinching wall of stubbornness. Eventually, you give up, arms crossed as you glare at the moonlit motel. You consider going and getting a room just for yourself, but you reason that Butcher won't hesitate when he sees the men leave and you'll be left behind. Sleep tugs at you, but you refuse to crawl into the cramped backseat. Not after this.

The moon begins its arc across the starlit sky. Stars scatter above you, brighter and clearer than anything you’ve seen in years. You step out of the van, stretching stiff legs, the cool night air brushing against your skin. For a moment, you forget your frustration, gazing up at the wide, sparkling sky. It reminds you of Muskoka, your last vacation with both parents—before the office bedroom became your dad’s permanent home.

The ache of the memory lingers as you climb back into the van, only to find Butcher slumped in the driver’s seat, snoring. His chin tucked into his chest, a low rumble filling the space. You burst into laughter before you can stop yourself.

Butcher jerks awake, eyes darting wildly until they land on you. His expression shifts to a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Alright, laugh it up,” he grumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “Your turn to keep watch. Good luck stayin’ awake.”

You plant your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “I’m dead tired, and so are you. We need actual sleep, Butch. I’ll pay for the rooms. Final offer.”

He pretends to consider your offer like the thought of a bed, even a springy motel bed, doesn't sound downright heavenly right now. After a moment of feigned thoughtfulness, he pulls himself from the driver's seat and stalks toward the motel. 

“Don't look so pleased,” he mutters as he stalks past you. “We’re up at 4:30, no later. Understand?”

You trail behind him, hiding your grin. Right now, you’d agree to anything.

~~~

The reception area of the Piney Point Motel looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. The wood-paneled walls are warped in places, lined with crooked shelves cluttered with knick-knacks, miniature ceramic animals, a faded “World’s Best Grandma” mug, and a jar of mints that looks more like a trap than an offering.

Behind the counter sits a bespectacled woman in her sixties, a paperback romance novel in one hand and a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside her. The air smells like pine-scented cleaner and stale smoke. She looks up as you and Butcher enter, giving you both a thorough once-over.

“Hourly or overnight?” she asks flatly, like she’s heard every excuse in the book.

The question hits you like a slap. Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Butcher doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll take two rooms for the night,” he says, ignoring your mortification.

The receptionist shakes her head with a lazy shrug. “Only got one room left. One bed. Last two-bed went to a couple of truckers about an hour ago. It’s that time of year.”

You and Butcher exchange a look, sharp and synchronized.

“No,” you and Butcher say in unison, your sharp tone and immediate refusal surprising the older woman. 

But your mind wanders back to the van, it's aging leather upholstery and stiff cushions and lingering coffee smell. The weight of your eyelids expands tenfold at the thought. No way in hell are you going to be prepared for what tomorrow brings if you have to sleep in there. 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the key from the receptionist’s outstretched hand, replacing it with a stack of bills.

“What d’you mean, fine?” Butcher asks, trailing after you as you head to the room. His boots echo dully on the cracked linoleum floor. “We’re better off in the van. Safer, too.”

You ignore him, jamming the key into the lock and twisting hard. The door creaks open to reveal a shoebox-sized room with peeling wallpaper, a squeaky ceiling fan, and a bed that looks like it’s seen more fights than rest.

Still, it’s a bed.

Without a word, Butcher follows you inside, closing the door behind him. For a man so determined to sleep in the van, he seems strangely reluctant to leave now. You glance at him, confused but unwilling to ask.

“You’re not staying, are you?” you finally say, half-turning to face him.

“’Course I’m stayin’,” he replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not leavin’ you alone in some dodgy motel where the closest weapon’s probably that broken lamp in the corner.”

You blink at him, torn between irritation and a flicker of gratitude. Before you can respond, he smirks and brushes past you toward the bed.

“Dibs,” he declares, flopping onto the mattress with all the grace of a drunk elephant. The springs groan in protest, but he doesn’t care.

“No, no! Absolutely not!” You shout, but he's already stretched his arms behind his head, feet crossed. “You're not taking the bed, you didn't even want this room!”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, tucking his hands behind his head. The smugness radiating off him is enough to set your teeth on edge.

“You're an asshole, you know that right?”

“Yeah, you keep remindin’ me,” he says with a grin. “Now are you gonna stand there gawkin’ all night, or are you gonna make yourself comfortable?”

You grab the pillow out from behind his head and secure it alongside yours down the middle of the bed, creating a makeshift wall between your bodies. 

“What’s this, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Great Wall of Don’t-Touch-Me,” you deadpan, climbing onto your side of the bed and glaring at him over the makeshift divider.

He chuckles, low and amused. “You think I’m gonna bite?”

“More likely that I’d be the one biting you,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

The second the words leave your mouth, your cheeks flush hot. You busy yourself adjusting your pillow, pretending you don’t see the way his grin widens.

“Noted,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make you shiver.

You roll over, facing the wall. The bed creaks as Butcher shifts, and you’re hyper-aware of his presence. His scent, the warmth radiating off him, the way the air seems heavier when he’s near.

Neither of you bother crawling under the covers, facing away from each other to make it extra-clear that this is a no-nonsense, all-business sleepover. 

“Goodnight, asshole,” you mutter, hoping the bite in your tone masks the thrum of nerves in your chest.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice softer than you expect.

You want to savour this moment, but you're out in seconds. 

~~~

Suspended in a haze of warm sunlight, the cool edge of unreality covers you like a blanket of fresh snow. Strong arms wrap securely around your waist, across your chest, their weight pressing into you like a protective cocoon. The scratch of a beard grazes your neck, and the faint warmth of breath tickles your skin. Gentle snores vibrate against your back, a low, steady rhythm that lulls you further into the dreamlike state. You fight to stay there, curling deeper into the embrace, savoring the rare, fleeting serenity.

But serenity never lasts. A creeping discomfort nags at the edges of your mind, like an itch you can’t quite reach. The illusion splinters. The sunlight grows sharper, the weight around you heavier, the awkward press of something hard on your ass undeniable.

Your eyes snap open, reality crashing in. It’s blindingly bright, far too bright for what should be the early, predawn hours. Panic spikes through your system as you take in the scene, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You thrash instinctively, and Butcher’s grip loosens just in time for him to tumble unceremoniously off the bed.

“Bloody hell!” Butcher groans from the floor, rubbing the back of his head.

Your voice comes out in a frantic rasp. “Butcher, wake up! We slept in!”

The words are like a starter pistol. He’s up and moving in an instant, yanking on his boots while simultaneously reaching for the door.

“Shit! Goddamn it, move! Move!” he barks, his voice sharp and commanding.

The two of you are a blur of motion, grabbing, stumbling, swearing. Your bodies move on autopilot, faster than your sleep-addled minds can process. In seconds, you’re in the van, Butcher slamming the door shut and peeling out of the motel parking lot with reckless urgency.

Anxiety builds in your chest, each erratic swerve of the van feeding the dread coiling tighter inside you. As you glance back at the motel, the sight of an empty parking spot—a lone Mustang where the CytoGenix van had been—confirms your worst fears. They’re gone.

Butcher’s jaw tightens as he accelerates onto the highway, weaving through lanes with a focus that’s almost terrifying. The towering pines blur into streaks of green on either side of you as the van hurtles forward. You scan the horizon frantically, desperate for a glimpse of white metal that refuses to appear.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before Butcher finally slows the van, pulling into a deserted roadside gas station. It’s eerily quiet, the pumps sitting idle, the building dark and lifeless.

“This is the last stop for miles,” Butcher says, his voice low and grim. “That's the last stop they would've made before going to the lab.”

The weight of his words slams into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, panic tightening its grip. This was it, the window of opportunity to intercept them had closed. It was all your fault. You’d fought tooth and nail for the motel room last night, insisting you both needed the rest, convincing yourself it was a small indulgence that wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.

You were wrong.

Maybe he was right, maybe your father was right, maybe they're all right, everyone who's ever doubted you. It's cruel, the way that the frayed threads of meaning in your life seem to continually fall from your grasp. 

Shame and guilt crash over you in waves, heat rising in your face as your chest constricts painfully. You blink back tears, but they gather stubbornly at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Butcher, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your voice trembling. “I—I screwed up. This is all my fault.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he stares out the windshield. The silence stretches, unbearable. Fear claws at you, the thought of him cutting you loose from the Boys—or worse, giving up on the mission entirely—hitting like a punch to the gut.

“Please,” you continue, desperation creeping into your tone. “I know I fucked up, but don’t… don’t give up on this. Don’t give up on me.”

Butcher’s head swivels toward you, his eyes softer than you expect. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost unrecognizably so.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand. “Breathe. It’s okay. Hold your apologies, yeah? We’re not done yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, not the anger, the harsh words, the fury you thought you deserved. Instead, his calm confidence throws you off balance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Butcher…” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“Just wait,” he says, lips quirking into a faint, reassuring smirk. “Keep it together. We’ve still got work to do.”

With that, his foot presses down on the gas pedal, the van lurching forward and pinning you back against the seat.

You're certain you've never driven this fast before, not even during those rare joyrides with your father in his Bugatti. The van rockets forward, moving like a bullet out of a gun, the world outside warping into a blur of trees and sky as the tires scream against the asphalt. Your grip on the door handle tightens with every jolt, the tension in the cabin as visceral as the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Despite the chaos of the day, the abrupt wake-up, the panic, and Butcher’s uncharacteristic gentleness, the unbridled anxiety screaming inside you speaks only of the lives of the two men in the CytoGenix van, unknowingly hurtling toward their end. Anxiety claws at your chest, raw and unrelenting. You shut your eyes and try to focus on breathing, but it’s no use.

“Oi, cunts!” Butcher’s voice explodes, and your eyes snap open.

Thirty feet ahead, the CytoGenix van comes into view, its white exterior glaring against the green blur of forest on either side. To your right, the trees abruptly fall away, leaving nothing but a battered guardrail and a steep ravine beyond.

“Hold on tight,” Butcher orders, his tone calm but edged with a manic sort of energy.

Before you can question him, he floors the gas pedal. The van lurches forward, barreling into the oncoming lane to overtake the other vehicle. Butcher twists the wheel expertly, positioning your van just ahead of the CytoGenix one. Then, in one brutal motion, he jerks back and rams into the side of it.

The impact is bone-rattling. Your body slams against the seatbelt, the van shuddering violently as both vehicles swerve erratically. For a moment, you lock eyes with the other driver, his face contorted in a mix of rage and confusion. But Butcher’s already at it again, pulling back just enough to ram the CytoGenix van a second time.

This hit sends the other van wobbling wildly, the driver fighting to regain control. Your ears ring, blood rushing so loudly that you’re not sure if the scream you hear is yours or simply imagined. And then, with a final, sickening crunch, the CytoGenix van plows through the guardrail and plunges down the ravine.

Butcher swerves hard, narrowly avoiding the gaping hole in the guardrail. The side of your van scrapes against what remains, metal shrieking as sparks fly. He brings the van to an abrupt stop on the shoulder a hundred yards ahead, slamming the gearshift into park. The engine dies, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the cabin.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Holy shit,” Butcher echoes, his grin wide and reckless.

You both sit there for a moment, staring straight ahead, before the tension breaks. Anxious laughter bubbles out of you, and to your surprise, Butcher joins in. The two of you volley expletives back and forth between bursts of laughter, the absurdity of the situation sinking in.

When the laughter subsides, Butcher reaches for the door handle. “Stay put,” he says firmly. “You’re not gonna want to see this.”

That sends your adrenaline spiking all over again. You throw your door open and stomp after him, slamming it behind you. “No. You’re not doing this. Not again.”

He turns to face you, brows furrowed. You jab a finger into his chest. “I’m capable of this, Butcher. And if I’m going to be part of the Boys, I need to prove it. No more babying me.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. The tension between you is almost unbearable as you silently plead with him to understand. To let you have this. To understand just how important this is, how this transcends the circumstances you currently find yourselves in. Finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he gives a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

Together, you make your way down the ravine, the incline steep and unforgiving. Butcher offers his arm to steady you when you stumble, and you grudgingly accept. At the bottom, the wreckage comes into view. The CytoGenix van lies on its side in a shallow creek bed, its back doors hanging open.

You rush to the driver’s side, heart hammering in your chest as you peer inside. For the past week, nightmares have plagued you—visions of Adam and Emily lying lifeless in the wreckage. But when you see the two men slumped in their seats, necks twisted at unnatural angles, neither is familiar. Relief washes over you, mingling uneasily with guilt.

“They’re nobodies,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Butcher. “Collateral damage.”

His hand falls heavy on your shoulder. “The hard part’s over,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “It gets easier from here.”

You desperately want to believe him. 

You both turn your attention to the back of the van. Butcher grips one of the broken doors and yanks it free with a grunt. Inside, a sleek black lockbox gleams ominously. Without hesitation, Butcher brings his boot down on it, cracking it open.

Inside are rows upon rows of vials, their green liquid glowing faintly in the fading light. You pick one up, holding it between your fingers and marveling at its beauty. The liquid seems alive, swirling and shimmering with an otherworldly energy.

And then, without thinking, you hurl the vial at a nearby tree. You watch in awe as the glass shatters, the glowing substance splattering across the bark and dripping onto the forest floor.

“Shit—I don’t know what came over me—” you start, but Butcher is already laughing, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” he says, grabbing a vial and smashing it under his boot. You both gape at the way it explodes under his foot, staining his boot like a glow stick, before you burst into shared laughter. 

You both fall into a wild, unhinged rhythm, smashing vial after vial. The forest around you glows eerily, the remnants of V2 painting the trees and ground in streaks of neon green. Laughter bubbles out of you, uncontrollable and cathartic, as the absurdity of your destruction takes hold.

When only one vial remains, Butcher reaches for it, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. We should keep one. For testing. Just in case.”

He looks at you, then smirks. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You keep me around for more than that.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something darker, more intense.  The air shifts between you, the laughter forgotten as your proximity feels suddenly charged. Whatever force is behind the constant push and pull of your attraction to Butcher is now pushing in full force, the glowing green crime scene around you fading into nothing. It's just you and him and the screaming urge inside of you to untether. 

Butcher advances toward you, pulling your face into his hands, crashing his mouth into yours. This time you get the chance to react, the opportunity to reciprocate. And you do, wholeheartedly. You pull at the lapels of his jacket, fingers fumbling for purchase in his wild hair. His hands move over your body, down your back and across your ass, squeezing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are wild. “Someone’s gonna notice the skid marks and the guardrail. We’re gonna have company soon if we don’t move.”

“Back to the motel?” you ask, bold and breathless.

His answer is immediate. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he grabs your hand, practically pulling you back up the ravine toward the van.

You had a taste of Butcher's penchant for speeding earlier, but something about the way he races down the road back to the motel now has butterflies erupting in your stomach. His right hand is placed firmly on your left thigh, your own hand keeping his there. You're ashamed to admit that his touch alone is driving you crazy. 

Thank god you never had time to return the key this morning, because you both race back to the room, his mouth in your ear, arms encircling your waist as you fumble to unlock the door. The second the door closes behind you, he has you pushed up against the door, his tongue parting your lips and hands digging into your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lets a hand fall to your ass, squeezing tightly. He lifts you up, wrapping both of your legs around his middle. You moan at the way his hands explore you, the closeness of your bodies. 

“Do that again,” he instructs. 

“Make me,” you dare. 

He throws you down on the bed, both of you using the opportunity to work your shirts off. He spends an unabashed moment staring directly at your tits, chest heaving. Like you're a work of art he can't wait to defile. You unbutton your pants before Butcher pulls them off of you, leaving you bare before him, save for your underwear. He crawls up onto the bed, knees nudging your legs open, his imposing frame towering over you. 

“You have no idea how goddamn much I've thought about this,” he admits. Your eyes search his face, hands combing through his hair. He kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth, before moving down to place licks along your collarbone. He moves down to your nipples, your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up in silent request. 

“Please,” you beg. “Don't stop.”

And, with your permission, he practically rips the soft cotton as he pulls them down, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. You share a glance, both with bated breath, before he finally puts his mouth on you, eating you like a man starved. 

Your head tilts back involuntarily as he licks at you, alternating between languid, savoring strokes, his wide tongue exploring deep inside of you, and quick, tight little circles over your clit. You've never been the kind of woman to be particularly loud or vocal in bed, a complaint you'd heard from lovers in the past. But now the moans fall freely as you fall apart on Butcher's tongue. Your sounds only serve to egg him on, his fingers digging deeply into your plush inner thighs, his growls reverberating through your pussy, matching your low moans. You barrel embarrassingly quickly toward the edge. 

“‘m so close,” you whimper. 

He doesn't stop, every determined movement a silent encouragement for you to chase your high. 

Your hands reach down, tangling in his messy hair. He responds, deepening the push of his mouth against your core, rhythmically drawing his fingers back and forth against your inner thighs. Your fingers clench around the tendrils of his hair, pulling so hard you know it must hurt him. He doesn't seem to notice, his rhythm never stalling. Then, starbursts exploding behind your eyelids as you fall over the edge, legs clamping involuntarily around his head. 

Dizzying, pure, unadulterated bliss.

Head falling back against the pillow, you're sure you've never come this hard before. Your limbs are absolutely weightless, cheeks flushed. A euphoric smile on your lips stretches so wide you're certain you look deranged. 

But not to Butcher. 

“You're so bloody beautiful,” he says from between your legs, and you can do nothing but laugh deliriously in response. 

He gazes up at you, working his way back up between kisses to your stomach and swirling his tongue over your pert nipples. You grasp a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him up to kiss him on the mouth, your other hand reaching down to encircle his hard length. 

You're pleasantly surprised at how much of him there is, pumping his thick length several times before you position him at your entrance. 

You feel his body jolt involuntarily as his cock makes contact with the wetness he just created.

“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, words refusing to form on your lips. 

He shifts his hips forward and you gasp sharply as he breaches you. You reach your other hand down to caress his ass cheek, pulling him in deeper, desperate for more.

“Fuck yes,” you moan. “Yes, Billy, just like that.”

That's all he needs before he's driving himself deep, stopping only when he's fully seated inside of you. You gasp as he stretches you out, like he's splitting you right down the middle. He pulls your knee up, hooking it over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper. You whine at the fullness, earning a growl from him. 

“You like this, baby?” he asks as he pulls back, looking down to where your bodies connect before plunging himself back into you. “Fuck, because I really like this.”

“R‒really like this,” you manage to sputter out. “P‒please, please, fuck me Billy.”

“I got you, love,” his voice is raw. He sets a punishing pace, his cock filling you over and over and over again, pushing you toward the brink of something you've never experienced before. 

Your hands wander over him, tracing every scar, fumbling through his hair, squeezing his ass as you pull him in even deeper. You want to memorize everything about this, the sweet aroma of his sweat, the weight of him atop you, the stream of consciousness filth that flows from his lips as he falls more and more pussy drunk. 

He reaches down, thumb on your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His mouth explores your chest, dividing his attention between your nipples and sensitive, open neck. You bound toward your release, fingers scraping down his broad back. 

“Fuck, fuck, Billy, I'm gonna come,” you moan between huffs. He continues, pace unrelenting. 

Then, stars. 

Expanding blooms of light, full-body eruption. Sweet release, a dynamite stick in your core, exploding out your mouth in a silent scream. You heave around him, bucking your hips, impaling yourself deeper on his cock. He fucks you through it, half words falling from his lips into your mouth. 

Tha's right. 

Mm, baby. 

You go’ it. 

It's all too much, the soft moans escaping your mouth, the image of you in ecstasy before him, falling apart on his cock. He's too close behind you to stop now. 

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come. Where d’you want it?” he asks frantically. 

You can't help yourself. “Inside,” you beg. 

He really doesn't try to make it a habit of denying you, and he certainly won't start now. He groans, spilling himself inside of you. You moan at the heat that grows between your legs. 

He collapses atop you, the weight of him pushing you I to the cheap, springy mattress. You feel the wetness spill out onto the bed beneath you. 

“Holy shit,” you manage to get out between gasps for air. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit is right,” he agrees. 

Over the next eight or so hours, you and Butcher acquaint yourselves with each other, very, very, closely. On the bed, on the floor, against the dresser, in the shower, on the bed, again. You speak only a few times in rushed half sentences, too preoccupied with finding out just how many orgasms you can achieve in one go to think about much else. All of the tension that has stewed since the day Butcher first laid eyes on your dazed face has been unleashed in Room 206 at the Piney Point Motel. You stop only long enough for Butcher to drive twenty minutes down the highway to retrieve a bag of greasy fast food, hastily devoured fuel to allow you both to continue at least a few more times. 

By the time you both succumb to your utter exhaustion, you're sweat-sticky and bone-tired, with a soreness between your legs you know is going to have you walking funny tomorrow. You don't notice it though, because Butcher has you pulled in his arms, lips on your ear, your heart firmly in the palm of his hand. 

@bluemerakis @mystic-writings @imherefordeanandbones

[muwapsturniolo]

Let’s talk about it.

Tw! Mentions of suicide, slurs, rape accusations, triggering shit in general

As most of yall know there has been drama this past week that I was dragged into as well as rose. This drama started off as something petty that rose and I didn’t want to be involved in, and because I unfollowed the people involved, and told them it wasn’t right to drag rose and I into it, and rose blocked the people involved, suddenly one of the people is dead and rose and I are being blamed.

Now, death is a serious thing, however you’re not gonna blame someone killing themselves on me when I didn’t do anything to them. That’s horrible and disgusting, and it’s fucked up. Do you understand how serious of an accusation that is? Of course I’m not going to care if someone is dead and I’m being blamed for it.

Posts are being sent to me on anon and I’m seeing people say I joked about death. I didn’t joke about shit, I made a few insensitive comments and said I don’t believe she’s dead and I stand on that. I already messaged this acct but to make a video and say “this is just like telling someone a person faked a raped accusation, I’m gonna believe her until she is proven guilty” is actually crazy considering this is two different fucking things, and there’s actual evidence that I didn’t kill nobody.

(Convos with Aaliyah proving I didn’t say anything crazy to her)

This sounds harsh but idc because it needs to be said. If you kill yourself because you dragged two people into sum shit that they didn’t ask to be dragged into, and they react by telling you that you were wrong and they unfollow and block, there is something actually wrong with you.

This is giving the same energy as a manipulative toxic narcissist boyfriend/girlfriend/whoever the fuck, that threatens to kill themselves because you want to break up.

I was literally being harassed on instagram live, a person was watching the live and sending me anons calling me all types of slurs and responding to what I was saying. They kept accusing me of “killing their friend” and that’s bullshit.

How is it possible I killed your friend when them ending their life has nothing to do with me? Like honestly think about it, I’ve posted the messages between me and Aaliyah, nothing bad was said. So no, I didn’t kill your friend nor did I tell her to.

And also, as I was on live yesterday, I showed two accts, one that ik for a fact is Aaliyah, and one that I’m 99% sure is Aaliyah. The 99% one is 99% because I went through their old stories and they were speaking French (which Aaliyah was), was black (which Aaliyah was), had the name Aaliyah and followed me on both my instas, and also looked 13-14 (which is what people kept claiming her age was) After I showed the one I wasn’t 100% certain about, people in the live were getting blocked by that acct and the weird person harassing me on the live admitted they were on the acct and blocking people. The said it was cause I showed her face but there were no photos on the acct of Aaliyah nor was the pfp her. ALSO THE ACCT LITERALLY WAS POSTING EARLIER THAT DAY

Now, I’m starting to believe this was all Aaliyah because she didn’t want to take accountability, but part of me still believes it’s Lila because she has done odd shit in the past which was confirmed by someone.

(Confirming that Lila has made multiple accts to interact with rose and rose keeps blocking her)

Also Lila claims she never blamed me or rose and someone else claims bendetta never did. Is she didn’t, then what is this?

Is this not Lila trying to have a gotcha moment ?? Mind you, Lila unblocked me just to tag me in this post. Then when I called her out she blocked me immediately because she knew she was wrong for blaming me and rose.

So basically to sum up this post, I didn’t kill anyone, rose didn’t kill anyone, stop talking on shit you don’t know anything about, and don’t fake your fucking death and accuse people.

[dodgerkedavra]

Go Up to Gilead [H/D Erised 2024]

The Aurors are Harry’s whole world—right up until he carries Draco Malfoy out of Azkaban in his arms.

Harry can’t keep both, so he’s got to choose: forfeit the world, or forfeit his soul?

Word Count: ~106k

Rating: Explicit

Go Up to Gilead on AO3

Malfoy doesn’t move as Harry gets closer. Only his eyes follow Harry’s crouch-shuffle. Harry wedges himself into the corner next to Malfoy and slides his hand behind Malfoy’s back. There’s almost nothing to him. The striped grey-on-grey rags hang off skin and bone with so much fabric to spare that Harry’s knuckles don’t touch the wall. Harry repeats this process with his other arm, easing his hand under Malfoy’s knees. Makes his chest hurt and his eyes burn to feel the spindly, fucked-up joints hanging over his arm, and when he’s done, their faces are only a few inches apart. Malfoy’s eyes swim with tears. The silver-grey colour stands out, bright and feverish. “Malfoy,” Harry says, his heart sore and stinging. “Draco—” “Not Dementors,” Malfoy whispers. “Please.”

Tags and author's note under the cut ->

I really was on my phone at the moment I received my Erised match, and I really did lift my eyes from my screen and stare into the distance. It's 100% true that I thought about royally fucking up the blending portion of a soup recipe.

The parts I left out of my note on the fic: I was sitting on my front porch on that day in July because that's all I could do last summer. I kept hoping I would feel better and kept not feeling better. I'm pretty sure it was sometime in August that I looked up at my husband from where I had been napping (AKA lying in bed staring at nothing) all afternoon and said this is all I have left.

It sounded dramatic, but felt like nothing.

I had thought my increasing indifference to stuff like deadlines and paying bills was a good sign. By the time I realized it wasn't, it was like pinching the last smidgen of a balloon string between my fingers. In addition to my invisible balloon, I was also clinging to my daily walk around my neighborhood, and I just sort of understood that if I let go of them, that was it.

The invisible balloon was writing. It was (Drarry) fics. But it was also the idea of gifts, and making them, and giving them. And it was, like, profoundly important to me to maintain that practice, even when it made objectively no sense.

It's always been true that lots of things aren't clear to me before I write about them, and sometimes while I'm writing about them, but it's very clear in retrospect that I spent last year desperately trying to get a message across to myself at my bleakest, lowest point. Some part of me must have known, I guess.

Anyway, it was an honor to write for @tessacrowley and to be part of H/D Erised. I love gift exchanges and especially Erised. It's a rare experience to get to hold someone's wishes in your hands and know that someone out there is holding yours. It reminds me to hold things gently. Myself, also.

Thanks to the mods for a wonderful fest, to @vukovich for letting me talk about the Bible in the middle of the night, to @itsphantasmagoria for leaving at least 100 screaming comments, and to all my friends and betas for their thoughtful feedback and support with a special shout-out to @kamaela, @its-the-allure, and @phoenixortheflame. I am very sorry if you deserve a special shout-out and I forgot you! Pretty much all my remaining brain cells went to this story. It was worth it, though.

Read Go Up to Gilead on AO3

TAGS: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Pansy Parkinson, Healer Ron Weasley, Auror Theodore Nott, Auror Justin Finch-Fletchley, Curse Breaking, Curse Breaker Seamus Finnigan, Healer Dean Thomas, Unspeakable Blaise Zabini, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Prison, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con. Past Rape/Non-con, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Caning, Hallucinations, Mental Instability, Mental Anguish, Post-Prison, St Mungo's Hospital (Harry Potter), Healing, Injury Recovery, Caretaking, Bathing/Washing, Sentient Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Dark Magic, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Avada Kedavra | Killing Curse (Harry Potter), After Effects of Crucio | Cruciatus Curse (Harry Potter), Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), Masturbation in Shower, Anal Sex, First Time Bottoming, Magical Cock Ring, Vomiting, Chronic Pain, Chronic Illness, Weddings, Hogwarts Castle, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Self-Hatred, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, POV Harry Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hand Feeding, Dreams and Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Imprisonment, Godric's Hollow (Harry Potter), Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Kissing, Orgasm, Frottage, Gentle Sex, Children of Characters, Despair, Hope, Touch-Starved, Forehead Touching, Hair Braiding, Hair Washing, Weasley Jumpers, Expecto Patronum | Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), self-harm, revenge, vertigo, starvation

[freneticfloetry]

I know. I'm late. Who's shocked, at this point? The end of esta noche will be up this weekend (or before, if the odds are in my favor tomorrow). In the meantime, have a taste of the next thing in line (which I'm super excited about, actually), along with a shiny new header for 2025!

Thanks to @carlos-in-glasses @paperstorm @strandnreyes @bonheur-cafe @whatsintheboxmh @nisbanisba @carlossreaders and @heartstringsduet for the tags today. 😘

"Do you think this was his way of breaking the news that he doesn't want to live with me anymore?" Snorting, she snags the last strip of bacon from his plate. "Yeah, you've officially lost me." "Think about it. The guys he hooks up with, he doesn't even stay to see sunrise." He draws his shoulders up to his ears and lets them drop back again. "Now he's just gonna, what, live with one for the rest of his life?" "The rest of — wow, okay." She puts both eyebrows up in that particular way that means she thinks he's pathetic but thinks actually saying so is too basic. "Alejandro, I say this with every shred of affection between us, plus the brunch you're now buying because you've made my brain hurt: there are literal lesbians who move slower than this." "Nora, I'm serious," he hisses, snatching what's left of his bacon back. "He's noped out of the last three showings. He gets cagey whenever I send a link to a listing. At this point, I can't even come anywhere near him with an open browser." But it's also Henry, who hates confrontation, who gets anxious about change, who can pluck endless poetry out of thin air but struggles with words that will hurt to hear. Alex shakes his head. Regardless of Nora's trash take, the rest of his life feels pretty damn accurate. In hindsight, he'd sort of figured that they'd find a place and move themselves in and just keep going like this forever — the same companionship and cohabitation that some might call co-dependence, with Henry fucking his way through every dude with Daddy Issues until either his looks or his trust fund ran out, and Alex secretly, silently, stupidly in love with him until the approximate heat death of the universe. He'd never considered that Henry might opt for a secret third thing: moving on with his life, without Alex in it. The bacon crumbles to bits in his hand. He bites into his lower lip, instead. "What if..." He stops. Swallows hard. Starts again. "Nora, what if he just fucked me goodbye?"

Y’all were quick this week! Tagging in @never-blooms @liminalmemories21 @rmd-writes @reyesstrand @lemonlyman-dotcom @orchidscript @ladytessa74 @three-drink-amy @herefortarlos @carlos-tk @welcometololaland and @alrightbuckaroo.

[caruliaa]

staff still hasn't given me polls, what should i do?

🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 their moms 69%

🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 their dads 31%

grace image os i get to look at her

[lululeighsworld]

okay wait i got another post in me about the gala scene (yeah, im still not over it.)

also this might just be an excuse to drool over more frames from this jaw dropping moment

so the one thing about this that absolutely wallops me is just how quickly rogneto's dance escalates into. well. more than just a dance (you know if i were there i'd be fucking hooting and hollering until my lungs burst. GET YOUR OLD MAN GIRL.)

LIKE. it starts off soooo polite. magneto's hand is at rogue's waist. they're ballroom dancing, with the hands in the usual positions. VERY RESPECTFUL. they even do a lil spin!

uh. but then they--

THEN THEY--

OLD MAN WHERE IS YOUR TONGUE GOING--

for real though I'm kind in love with?? how rogue seems to take the lead in this entire sequence?? she's the one that invites magneto to dance. she offers her hand to him first (much in the same way that happens in episode 2). he follows her as they rise further into the air and acts every bit the gentleman until she encourages him to take it further. and then of course when he sees the green light the shirt buttons come undone, he's pulling out allllllllllllll the moves he's probably thought about for years now.

anyways. I'm so normal over this scene. thank you x-men '97 for blessing me with a new fave comfort ship and media.

[kit-williams]

Anrir Husbandry

Husbandry tags: @egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@ms--lobotomy @nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @the-raven-lady

@bispecsual

Edit: forgot to thank @justahuman1757 for help with some of the translations and other help

Song on repeat: Cradles by Sub Urban (also most of the remixes for this SLAP)

tw: smut, yandere, obsessive behavior, manipulation

Anrir cooed at the little human in his arms finishing up singing them back to sleep знішчыць.... знішчыць... His voice carried low and softly. It was naptime... they needed to sleep as it was good for them of course they didn't seem to realize that. His long back hair was tied back into a slightly messy bun as his nearly completely black eyes dart around the pastel colored room just looking for anything wrong. His Dragă wanted to work with children in childcare and perhaps it took a couple of years to get here since he had first found her.

She was so much happier since he had first found her... happy about their bond... no more worry in her eyes... no more stress making her hands tremble or her loosing sleep... no more worrying about her next meal or if her car were to break... no more crying... well no more senseless crying. He puts the child down looking around at the sleeping forms but he cant help but grin as this really was all possible because of him, Anrir purrs softly at the satisfaction of how well he has done his job... and how he has covered his trail...

5 years prior

Anrir was a drifter... he drifted around as he had yet to find his own bonded, which given how some legions seemed to be more inclined to get a bond; with Night Lords being one of the ones with very few "feral" Astartes it was only a matter of time before Anrir would find his. But Anrir in all definitions was a feral Astartes having been unbonded since he arrived forty years ago. However, it was fine as Anrir hadn't spent that time just moping about he spent a majority of his time politicking and reuniting with other Terran Night Lords long dead and of course reuniting with those who were under his knife when they were aspirants and scouts which he affectionately called them his kids.

He was also using this time to take a break, a forced break, from running his warband; not that he could run it right now anyway. But he would mull over plans for when he returned back to his time period... if he did was another thought. His eyes moved up to the sky as he could smell the water gathering in the air. Which meant that the group he was with would start a debate on if they were going to settle down or continue on despite the weather. He did not care too much and decided to wander off to look around at where they were.

He walked out of the tree covering that the group was skulking through as he looked at the abandoned parking lot he had walked out into. It was rotting away neglected and abandoned as the painted lines were faded and practically gone, the pavement was cracked with plants growing through cracks; with the asphalt under his feet turning to gravel as plants come to reclaim this section of human infrastructure. And Anrir... he savored this reclamation of nature and decay of it all. Compared to the prison pit he was born into on the other side of the globe; he had already made his pilgrimage to the eventual site of his birth... a town full of people whose existence was never known as a great chasm of the guilty was there.

But that dark pit in the ground was not there now... there were no babies being born in that dark hellhole... his neck tattoo had a phantom itch as he is reminded why it was put on his neck... as he is reminded that at some point he was truly innocent... he is reminded of the hand gently petting his head... the soft voice cooing at him telling him how brave he was being... as he remembers having tears in his eyes as the ink is shoved into his skin... he gently starts to suffocate the memories of a child long gone and a woman paradoxically long dead and yet had yet to be born. His eyes flick to the far side of the quiet parking lot as a car just sits in the dark. The only other thing in this lot, far from the flickering road light... he could hear the annoying buzz of the light as it flickered... the flick... flick... flick... as it finally goes out. He moves with soft steps towards the vehicle as the summer insects scream their sonorous songs it was almost overstimulating for some of his brothers with how alive this planet felt with no foe to focus down on. Anrir felt his gums itch like he craved an oral inhalant and the way the hair on the back of his neck rose as he wandered closer not giving into the craving.

Anrir had seen many homeless humans both back in his own time and here. His eyes looked through the windows of the car seeing how it was lived in, he could hear the soft breathing akin to how someone was asleep... the slow beat of a heart was barely audible to him as the insects continued to scream their songs. There was nothing special about what he saw as it was a baseline female just buried under an assortment of clothes, a towel, a jacket, and some blanket... a bucket with a strainer lid to collect the impending rain... he chuckled at the cleverness but he understood the need to just survive. He turned to walk back to the others but something rooted him in place. He could practically taste the misery mixing with the rain. His throat tightened as it silently moved in foreign ways but he knew what he was trying to do... to mimic the noises they make at humans.

He lets out a dark chuckle as they were right... it really was something that he would know when it happened. Worry soon festered in his gut as his eyes roamed over her vehicle and while he hardly knew about how it worked he could see the signs of disrepair. His nose wrinkled for a moment as he unclipped his helmet from his hip, slipping it over his head as the rain finally let loose. He listened to the rain slap against the metal roof of the car, the way she moved inside her comfortable cocoon for a moment, and the way water was gathering in the bucket... Anrir had to do something.

You did your best to ignore the Night Lord that was hanging around. Affectionate bastards you were told as you remember those videos of just them being friendly. You shiver at the memory of that one gang member who thought he was so big... being homeless you quickly learned how sleeping near warbands meant that you had to ignore certain things... certain sounds especially at night. Astartes always scared you... you couldn't point to any incident that had happened involving them just that you got bad feelings from them... a certain type of dread. So it wasn't exactly like a fear of dogs but the way they looked and acted they were so human... why were they here... you make yourself look smaller as the Night Lord with what looked like a metal spider on his back sat next to you.

You hear him coo and trill at you trying to get your attention, his head tilting slightly as you could hear the slightly distorted trill to his voice from his helmet, and you did your best to ignore him. Eventually he did leave you alone and you had hoped that would be the last you saw him. But, every day for the next week he kept finding you... he would click and coo at you beckoning you closer with those armored claws of his. It was the last day in the week that you broke and approached him as you chose to fill your car with gas over eating and he had shown up with food. You feel tears gather with each bite as he trills down at you and you feel him hold you close... you hear his purr... you've seen this display online it was a bonding display. You do your best to not choak on the hot food as you can feel tears gather in the corner of your eyes, really the last thing you want is an Astartes bonding to you.

You feel the Astartis petting your head as you eat, trilling at you and you're certain if he wasn't in armor he would be purring. When you look up at him miserably he coos at you trying to sooth the clear distress you were in. His hands flexing each time you try to pull away from him, "You don't want me to be your bonded buddy," You finally speak up and that just breaks something in you and you feel those heavy tears roll down your cheeks even as you try to use the heel of your palm to rub your eyes clean they still fall, "I can't give you anything." Your voice cracks as you admit that.

Anrir sat there silently as you tried to reject the bond… he could feel it fraying at the edges like a lighter had been taken to it. But Anrir was calm even as his entire existence seemed to reel on its axis as you try to push it away. Your voice cracking gave way to the tears that ran down your face, his black eyes darting over your face as baselines crying was familiar to him given what he was but it felt so different… so wrong. Why are you letting her cry Anrir? A soft voice in the back of his mind seems to say. He could feel it fray more and more… but Anrir was aware that when a bond frays… it never attaches back normally. There was also a small high for him as would this be how he tasted death? Not after millennia of being alive just some mortal woman would be the death of him? He would have laughed if it actually broke but he pulled her against him and you did not make the effort to pull away… and so the bond repairs wrong. He did not need anything from you except you. 

How you lean against him trying to hide away. So he was okay if you couldn’t give him anything now. He didn’t expect you to give him anything in the first place… but a wicked thought plants itself in his mind. Perhaps it was old fashioned… after all he watched the radical social changes in a mere 40 years and yet like always the Astartes remained unchanged. But… why couldn’t he provide for you? Anrir was a capable Astartes and he did not survive this long by chance but memories flicker by of how generous others were towards their humans. He grinned darkly as he could recognize the signs now… oh… he had intensely bonded to you… he had read the manuals and grimoires both in person and on the noosphere… he had helped write some of those too… so he knew what to look for in terms of side effects and was filing away mental notes about his deviances. And as much as he wanted to act on those feelings Anrir was patient, he was an Apothacarion after all, and his Dragă needed to be taken care of. He purrs and chirps at her to calm her down and gets her to finish her meal.

Thrones, credits, souls, cash… it was annoying dealing with baselines as most societies revolved around needing a good or currency for things and this was not their reality or time period where refusing an Astartes was suicidal. He noted his lack of desire to skin the man yelling at his Dragă to get him to stop “loitering”. But he, like most Astartes, relied on each other and the complex network and ecosystem they built like a parasite on the infrastructure of what was already there or was it the other way around? The Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists would say they laid out efficient infrastructure… but he found resources; since it was no longer allowed to simply take humans as serfs anymore and just have them live in a base full time… not that the Night Lords had one yet. It would be a few more years till the base was operational and that would be a mustering point for most Night Lords in the area. But Anrir noted how jumpy his precious Dragă got at the idea of getting help from Salamanders or staying in a shelter; he was fine with her choice. He wrinkled his nose as her car was falling apart and he couldn’t fit in it and him being a Night Lord did not help his goal of getting money. However, Anrir had a long reputation having worked in the Consortium with Bile too being a prominent figure in his legion’s hierarchy, no matter how much he tried to stay out of the politicking, so when the Alpharii approached him he wasn’t too surprised. 

There were treaties and edicts that any Astartes had to agree to if they wanted to stay near the humans. Besides the obvious of not killing any humans; which before Anrir was bonded was a surprisingly hard ask, but they were not allowed to mettle with them. Technology was to be kept away from them at all costs, no extending their life spans, no augmetics beyond simple necessary prosthetics, and a few others. It all made sense as it was clear they were not ready at all for the horrors of the wider galaxy… no they would not play a hand into accidentally smothering humanity in the cradle because they helped them reach the stars earlier than they were ready for. But just like how human killers existed… and Night Lord trafficker Hunts happened… there was always some bending and breaking of these rules.

The Alpharii couldn’t help mettle in the affairs of the baselines, it was their legion’s expertise, they were information brokers and information hiders… they modified records to hide the sudden birth of a child from a woman and a Astartes… to all the way of covering up when forbidden technology falls into the hands of baselines and there needs to be a raid. They had their fingers in many pies as the saying goes… and Anrir could not play the moral high ground for their request. They weren’t supposed to extend the baselines lives… there was the crude method of giving them a transfusion of Astartes blood and hope they survive all the way to getting the chemicals and components needed for rejuvenation treatments. The latter took time to get what they needed as they could only synthesis so much being limited to what was only on this one planet; and it was hard to keep the Iron Hands from getting eager in “helping” them be able to colonize the Sol system. 

But… Anrir looked down at the old corrupt man. Such greedy creatures humans could be and Anrir could never be like his kin who were able to see themselves as being above humanity… Anrir was far too aware of his own humanity and also his own lack of humanity too. “How do I know it will work?” The old man interrupts Anrir’s explanation of what he will be doing in transplanting his heart, “You could be some… con artist.” He says with malice in his frail voice.

Anrir never liked nobles… and he was always surprised at how… self important they could be. His smooth voice answers the question before one of the Alpharii can speak, “My reputation,” He had asked the Alpharii before this and he was not bonded to any of them… he was very much a pawn that the Alpharii weren’t ready to loose yet, “your… companions wouldn’t have gotten me if they doubted my skills. The heart is made for you so there is no chance of rejection.” He says truthfully as it was child's play growing the organ for him.

Anrir voxes one of the Alpharii, “As for my payment for this?” He hisses letting his displeasure bleed through as how dare he speak to Anrir in such a way.

“Everything is set up in ways that won’t tip off the government officials to the sudden influx of wealth. And conveniently set up so that if you choose to help us again…” 

Anrir waved his armored hand over his shoulder as his medical mechadendrites unfolded like a spider on his back, “Yes yes you lot have me for several surgeries,” He goes through the process of setting everything for fine movements and working on humans, “But please be aware should anything go wrong in the payments that I can be quite spiteful.” He threatens and enjoys the place of power he is able to come from given how specialists are in such short supplies here and he is certain there is only one other Consortium member on the planet… he knows his expertise is invaluable he is certain he is on many lists to be kept alive.

“Of course Anrir.” Is all one says and that was good enough as Anrir headed into the prepared room.

You were happy that Anrir returned as he did keep you safe and maybe you were feeling those good vibes that people always say they get around Astartes. But now? You looked at what was holding out to you with apprehension. You’re sure that it was a thousand dollars in his hand and you felt hesitant to take it from him as no one just gives people money and not expecting something back… your spine crawls at a memory… He just sighs looking at you passively and perhaps a little annoyed, “Dragă. Go get your car looked at and get it fixed.” He says and you take the money from him as your AC had died and you’re certain that also meant your heating was gone… “Unless,” Your eyes returned to his face as your eyes picked up the bit of white at the roots of his sideburns, “You want to get a bigger vehicle?”

“But I can’t-” You start.

“Don’t worry about money for a second Dragă.” He says putting his hands on your shoulders.

You squirm under his gaze as you considered rejecting it as Anrir gave you such feelings that there was something else he was after… then again you never felt truly comfortable around Astartes… always a lingering sense of dread but… “Maybe… maybe we get something you can fit in as well. Wouldn’t that be nice?” You say softly as you’re certain those cars are far beyond what you can afford and from what you heard basically never break down. 

You hold your breath for a moment as Anrir cups your face, you could hear him trill at you, as he grinned down at you with a smile that you’re certain the devil himself would envy, “What a thoughtful Dragă.” Was all he cooed at you.

After that, with much fussing from him, he made you use the money to stay in a motel for a week and you don’t remember when the last time you ate so much food. Anrir in the meanwhile took care of things. You were torn on letting him do such as wasn’t this the reason you had a fallout with your family? Your hands shake at the memories… he ruined your life. Yet while you’re certain Anrir is doing the same thing… it feels different. Anrir only suggested what you use the money for never using it to tell you what to do… Anrir confused you but you took comfort in the thought that he wanted something from you that he could get at your absolute lowest… everyone says bonds are precious things so maybe you should trust him more.

Anrir makes sure he always has enough money on him as he was making sure that there was a positive association in your mind that he was able to provide for you. The fuss you made when he got the car customized so that you could live out of it as long as you wanted, he hopped it wouldn’t be much longer, but it was your choice and all he could do was nudge his Dragă. The excitement he felt rush up his spine when he heard you say “Anrir” in a specific tone… a tone he associated with his Dragă needing something… Dragă needed him to provide. Sometimes you were like a skittish animal only staying for the exchange but sometimes you lingered like an animal and he could get what he wanted from you too. He felt that dopamine rush as you tolerated his touches, the joy he felt when you let him cup your face, how loudly he purred as you let him nuzzle you, petting your head, or rubbing your back. He could still see the hesitation in your eyes… he could tell you weren’t as (warp blind) (bond blind) as other humans were and Anrir is fine with that in fact it made this all the more enjoyable for him.

Winter always comes too soon and once again Anrir brings up places you can stay over the colder months and as hard as you try you still can’t get rid of the feelings that if you acquiesce he will want something. Anrir himself is disappointed that you wont ask him for much more; he does use winter to get something he does want. He finally gets to hold you for as long as he wants, usually your whole sleep cycle. He’s slept in far worse spots and just being a little cramped is hardly anywhere near the list of worst rests he has had. He purrs loudly as you’re glued to his side or his chest at night. Cooing to you as you drift off each night with a full belly in his arms. Its hard not to drift off with how he purrs and the rhythmic beating of his twin hearts… this feels like it’s going to be an easy winter for once so of course you get sick as a dog.

“Poor Dragă.” Anrir’s voice breaks you through your sick haze as the chills don’t help but Anrir being so warm helps. “I know you won’t like this suggestion but as a health specialist I do recommend that perhaps it is time for you to live inside more regularly again?” You can barely hear the quiet engine over the Heater going, Anrir not allowing you to fuss about anything right now once more saying he had it under control, “Arata mizerabil... (Miserable looking…)” He says in Nostroman letting his tongue click as you bury yourself closer to his chest, feeling those ports dig into your skin, “At least something temporary, yes?” He says sounding a little worried, “Wouldn’t that be nice? A temporary place to stay till you find what you want to do?”

“Daycare.” You croak out.

“Hmm?” Anrir looks down at you cocking his head to the side surprised you answered him. 

“I want to take care of kids. I like taking care of kids. Don’t know why… so I want to start a daycare.” You say but you soon get weepy, “But who is going to let me do that. Look at me! I’m living in my car running away from my family and I can’t -” You stop your distressed rant as you cough and your nose plugs up again making it hard for you to breath and you can’t help but squirm in Anrir’s grip.

“Shh Dragă, I’ll take care of  you.” Anrir says softly a uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice you weren’t expecting from a Night Lord, “You don’t need to worry anymore, Dragă.” Again it’s a soft and warmth to his voice you didn’t know he could have, “Do you trust me?” He asks in a tone you have trouble reading. 

Bonds are supposed to be good things… that’s what everyone says… you have a companion for life… and you can tell that they get so much out of what we give them as they were clearly made for something far more violent. But… did you trust Anrir. No… you did not trust him as that feeling never goes away… “What do you want Anrir?” You finally say after a minute of silence.

“You, Dragă.” Anrir says quickly breathlessly.

Again you lay there silently thinking… you didn’t know what he wanted… was it really just being with you? You’ve been with him for months at this point and you couldn’t figure out what he wanted. You did research on bonds from what little you could find and everything kept coming back to just wanting to keep their bonded alive and safe. You were scared to let someone in your safe little world but you were so tired of keeping everything so tight to your chest. Maybe it was because you were sick but you nod and let out a heavy sigh softly saying, “I trust you Anrir.”

His reaction was immediate as he pressed his cheek to yours and you could feel the purring in your teeth as it was so loud, your finger bones felt like they were vibrating, but you didn’t feel the quick kisses that he leaves on your skin. You whimper at the sudden affection. It was anrir’s quirk as he was odd with his affection as whenever you would seek him out for affection he would smother you in his affection but you were okay with it because it was on your terms… your gut wouldn’t stop at the feeling that sometimes it was on his terms luring you in… He presses a kiss to your forehead trilling, his accent thick, “I don’t want you to worry any more my Dragă. I will take care of everything.” His black eyes seem to glitter in delight as he makes his declaration. And you just let go of that tension a bit more.

You don’t know how Anrir found this place, it had a horribly short lease but you knew that it was just to get you out of the weather… you’re certain this place wasn’t built for Astartes in mind so usually that meant they weren’t allowed. You guessed that the landlord looked the other way if said Astartes was paying in cash. It was small and cramped... but it was warm and you could store more than just a bit of food. You were sitting in the tub as Anrir sat on the side shirtless as his hands were massaging shampoo into your hair. You didn't need help with your hair but that didn't stop you from leaning into his hands as he helped you feel clean.

Anrir chuckled at your gentle groaning and moaning as it was clear you were enjoying yourself. He enjoyed helping you feel this way helping you clean and take care of you in this small way... he shivered as he was cleaning his Dragă... he wrapped his Dragă in a nice fluffy towel... he carried his Dragă to the bedroom and savored the laugh that left your mouth as he just tossed you onto the bed with a bounce.

You just laid there, eyes closed, enjoying yourself... sure there was only one bed which was fine as you had spent most of the winter snuggling up to Anrir in the car, it was not the most comfortable mattress in the world... the apartment was quiet...no it was never quiet not with the thin walls... but Anrir was quiet. You became aware of how you were just laying naked on the bed... alarms were going off in your head as you feel his smooth hands run over your knees, feeling his thumbs push into the side as he spreads your legs open slowly. This wasn't normal... and yet this felt like what everything was building up too... but you were always told that bonds were selfless things, right?

Your skin trembles as his hands move over your drying flesh, your breathing shivers, you can feel the bed shift as Anrir climbs onto it. Your throat bobs as you swallow the nervous energy but your eyes open as you feel the bare skin of his legs as he had divested himself of his pants. Anrir's silent still as he presses his scarred lips against your cheek, his body leaning over yours as he settles between your legs, and you feel his hand move to your chin to slowly turn you to meet him. His lips dragging against your flesh as the scarred flesh presses against your own lips. You were close enough that you could tell that his eyes were not fully black... you could see the dark blue of his iris darting with micromovements as he took in your face. But, you could see the predator in his eyes... but it was something more the term hyper-predator comes to mind because what monsters would someone like Anrir need to hunt?

Anrir presses his mouth to yours more and you close your eyes allowing the kiss to deepen. Anrir had been nothing but good to you... but you worry... would he use this against you? You desperately hope that he wouldn't. "Mina..." His voice rumbles like thunder as his hands drag across your flesh in a way that feels dominant and possessive. You can't stop the shuddering moan that leaves your mouth as his mouth moves against the front of your neck, licking the way your throat moves in its swallowing motion. "Toate ale mele… (All mine...)" He says whispering to you in a language that you don't know, "Fiecare parte din tine… toată a mea… trupul și sufletul tău. (Every part of you... all mine... your body and your soul.)" He says again as Anrir presses his cock against your entrance. His mouth continuing its worship of your neck and chin as you open your eyes slightly and just watch Anrir with lidded eyes. He cups your face as his tongue presses hard on your lower lip before pushing his tongue back into your mouth just kissing you hard.

You knew you had fringe thoughts about Astartes... Anrir was just proving to you one thing... that they were far too human to ignore. Far too human and far too predatory... you could never get that feel good emotion from Anrir... from any Astartes really. They were all predators... they were man made monsters made to fight monsters that you didn't know would exist beyond the silver screen of Hollywood or the writings of horror writers. He pulls his mouth away trilling at you and pausing when he sees the look on your face. You were looking at a predator looking at prey a malicious looking thing that tried to play the part of a friendly thing... a wolf playing the role of a dog. "Anrir."

"Yes Dragă." He says as a hand cups your face.

"What do you want?" You again ask... because... you don't think he's lying about the bond but this wasn't normal? You felt everything rushing anxiously to a point.

"You, Dragă." He says devotedly.

You were tired... so tired of being on your own for years before Anrir came. Oh how much Anrir had helped beyond just the money he gave you and the food... just being here... even if it was wrong... even if... you were so tired. You pull Anrir into a kiss as you didn't want to think anymore! You didn't want to worry any more... you whimper as Anrir just purrs loudly as you decide to let Anrir take care of it... take care of you... just for today you tell yourself as you melt into the embrace.

You feel the slight discomforting sensation of your walls spreading open as his cock slowly pushes in. When it becomes too much your hand or foot pushes against his chest which makes him stop till your brow stops furrowing and you for him to continue. This continues until his hips are flush with yours and Anrir hisses in delight, "Atât de strâns atât de bine cu mine… draga mea… a mea. (So tight so good to me... my dear... mine.)" You once more don't understand him but you decide to not worry about it as he starts moving. Your thighs burn slightly at the stretch to have them spread open wide for Anrir to thrust into you. Your eyes close as you focus on the feeling and enjoy that he doesn't ask you to look at him but that doesn't stop him from talking, "Mă simți fată frumoasă? (Do you feel me pretty girl?)" He trills in that unknown tongue, "Te concentrezi pe penisul meu din interiorul tău? (Are you focused on my cock inside of you?)" He asks something else perhaps not realizing or caring that you don't understand him.

He picks up the pace as he pants down at you and you just yowl and moan in pleasure. Porn making everything feel so fake when real sex sounds so unsexy at times but you had no need to make things sound sexy or be perfect. You could hear Anrir chuckle at an unflattering noise you make as he slams his hips into yours again making you repeat it. Eventually things feel tighter and more anxious as Anrir tilts you slightly so his cock pushes into you at a downward angle and you just laugh at the unflattering squeak and squawk that you make. Anrir laughs with you at all those weird and all those distinctively you vocalizations but you just don't care as no one is telling you that you're being unappealing... you throw your head back and arch up as you earned the right to not worry. You moan loudly moaning his name as you feel so good! You earned this reward! You deserve this... you deserve to just let go... you orgasm with little fan fair... just a simple gasp.

You feel so good... everything feels so good as Anrir continues to chase his release, the feeling of a bed against your back, the fuzzy climbdown from an orgasm, the oily drop of sweat from Anrir that lands on your shoulder, and the comforting stutter from him that stutter causes you to open your eyes to watch his brow furrow and you watch how surprisingly expressive he gets as he cums.

The apartment is mostly quiet... as quiet as you can get with thin walls... you lay there with him not thinking about anything... not thinking as you feel his cock softening against your inner thigh. He lets out a loud breath as he lays back in bed in his spot as you meanwhile are pushing away the worry about the consequences of sleeping with Anrir. You cuddle against his side, his arm wrapping around you, you feel the cum ooze out of you ... you're still tired of thinking... you're so tired of it... so tired of worrying why and what Anrir was doing for money... You put your head against his chest over his hearts ignoring the discomfort of the ports against your face... you just listen to the way his hearts beat.

Present day

You were in a much better spot than when you were a couple of years ago... you actually came into money, no it wasn't a rich distant relative dying but it was another person you had camped with when you were homeless. They had actually won the lottery and were being smart with it, which you think was more so their Ultramarine had helped in making smart choices. Though you had your suspicions... the Alpharii... a few seem to come by every few months some to coo at the kids, eager to find a bonded, and some to talk with Anrir as you watched them take containers from your home. But being given money you sudden just kept finding yourself with more money and it was stupid how much money you got after investing some of it... you didn't want to question it and Anrir was very good at distracting you.

Oh speaking of Anrir... he got you so many gifts. He would still give you random bouts of cash but he was finally acting more and more like how a bonded Astartis is supposed to act. You also were seeing how talented he was with his hands as besides his occupation you discovered his macabre hobby that all Night Lords seem to have... bone scrimshawing and taxidermy. You could point out all the time that he acted like a normal bonded Astartis and yet at the same time... how many gestures were more. You got outfits, jewelry, wines, your current house, and hell even your job you know he had a hand in financing... it spiraled out of control with his gifts that your friends noticed and asked who your 'sugar daddy' was or rather if he had any friends.

You smile warmly and wave goodbye as the last child finally gets picked up. You head back inside letting out a soft exhale and start picking up the room not getting very far into cleaning up when Anrir wraps his arms around you and purrs into your shoulder... purring into where he tattooed you years ago. You feel him give a playful tug onto the choker collar that he made for you, expensive thing and you know he liked you wearing it. You were lucky that no one asked you what Anrir was... everyone just assumed he was a Raven Guard...

"I can smell your worry Dragă." He says nipping your earlobe.

"I'm just tired Anrir."

"Then lets go home." He kisses your cheek.

"But I have stuff to pick up-"

"And this is why we hire others to clean," He says gentle cocking his head to the side, "You're worried about something." Anrir takes the toy from your hands as you pick at the seams.

You let out a heavy sigh bringing your thumb to your lips, "I'm just scared everything is about to go wrong." Anrir takes your hand to stop you from biting your nails.

"And if it does... I will take care of it." Anrir says with such certainty and authority that makes you believe him.

The breath in your chest you let out with a heavy sigh, "Okay." You nod.

He tugs on your choker bringing you close for a kiss as he trills softly, "I will always take care of you my frumoasă dragă (beautiful darling)." And you chose to believe it.

[sluckythewizard]

'I wont cry for you, I wont crucify the things you do. I wont cry for you, see, when you're gone, I'll still be BLOODY MARY'

[blue-eli]

Skuld in quantum design :)

[elkkiel]

I'm so fucking exhausted today i'm having a hard time literally just operating my computer at work ;w; taking cuddle applications because I'm planning on hibernating for a year and it might get lonely :(

[theflopwonder]

Me, naively: Omg haha what if I wrote a fic abt the party at the fortress of solitude in superman/batman 26 as an excuse to do some Tim & Kon character study?

Me, after reading 4 separate comic runs from 4 different editorial teams who were OBVIOUSLY not talking to each other AT ALL to try and figure out the timeline & other logistics of this party: WHO THE FUCK FUCKED UP THIS HOUSE LIKE THIS GOOD GOD??????????