#I know I’m scraping the barrel

[scruplescripture]

Why good sir! Allow me to ask, what ship has been plaguing your mind? Curiosity has stricken me and I simply must know!

I’m afraid of this question but I must answer. It’s Prismo and the Lich …. Or as I call it “death wish” (I don’t know what it’s called) Came back to me when I watched the episode where the Lich is just sitting in the time room like a dead robot, I have seen no content for them in FOREVER! its its its.. its. It’s got potential in there somewhere.

[dashiellqvverty]

we NEED to get weirder (hornier) about royjamie

[peapod20001]

Haha don’t pay me any mind oho

[amandacanwrite]

I would like to share a few head canons for Gale Dekarios being in love with tav/you. If you liked this one and have a request for another character let me know. These ones have just been percolating for a bit.

In Battle

He tries very hard to stay near you. He doesn’t like it when you go off on your own. He knows he doesn’t quite have the strength of Karlach or the sure footedness of Astarion, but he’s not just going to let you fight everyone on your own.

Sometimes he gets a little hurt that you always put yourself in harms way/take so much of the damage on the battlefield. Don’t you know that losing you would destroy him?

You have never witnessed it, but according to the other party members he goes feral if you’re knocked unconscious.

When you wake up it’s always with your head cradled in his lap as shadowheart works on the worst of the wounds.

He does this thing with his magic where he makes his hands really cold. It feels nice on your feverish skin as he gently smooths your hair away from your face, you don’t know why you feel so nauseous and sweaty after you black out but this little gesture helps you come back smoothly.

He has a hard time sleeping after a rough encounter. He keeps waking up and making sure you’re still breathing. In the end he gives up on sleeping and just reads by the fire, calming his nerves to the sound of your steady, stable breathing.

In Camp

He is hilariously fussy about what you eat.

“No, you ABSOLUTELY CANNOT subsist off of a loaf of bread, three olives and a bottle of wine. We are no longer young scholars barely SCRAPING by—“

Very resourceful when it comes to what you can scrape together out of barrels around camp. You were very skeptical when you watched him putting a variety of different bones into a cauldron as you left him back in camp one day. But you came back to a rich stew full of potatoes, some wild rice and even some cut up apple in the mix.

He likes it when you play with his hair. But he has to very pointedly avoid it if he’s in the middle of reading up on something.

“Darling, are you certain you’re not practiced in the arcane arts? I do think you’ve got some magic in those fingertips of yours, at the very least, with how quickly they can put me to sleep.”

When You’re Alone

It’s simple. He worships you. Perhaps it’s because his last lover was a goddess but it seems to come easy for him; the reverent words, the gentle touches, the utter devotion. Sometimes you catch him just… looking at you. His eyes softly hooded, a relaxed curve to his lips. It’s your favorite to ask what’s on his mind when he looks at you like that.

“Hm? Oh, nothing much. I’ve just been observing. Did you know you purse your lips when you’re reading something that you disagree with? Yes—hah—just like that.”

He loves to read WITH you. Especially loves to show you some of his favorite tomes. He’ll get you all nestled up against him and hold the book down in front of you. He reads much faster than you, so he busies himself kissing behind your ear or playing with your hair until you turn the page.

Gods does he love it when you ask him questions about something to do with magic. He loves watching the glint in your eye when he’s helped you understand something.

You love it when you get him rolling on a topic of theory that you know he doesn’t get to talk about much. Sometimes he loses you when he gets into the minutiae, but he’s so damn cute when he’s ranting about the wonder in the world.

In Intimate Moments

(Potential NSFW below.)

Of course it is not a surprise that he’s a generous lover. What is a surprise is how demanding he can be when he feels like it. He knows you are no stranger to a challenge and he loves to make things more exciting by presenting you with one.

“Of course I’m aware of our companions in camp. But it’s not as if we can afford ourselves more privacy. You’re just going to have to quiet those lovely little sounds you make while I touch you… let’s see… it was here wasn’t it? Ah, ah… shhhh, my love. Those pointy ears of Astarion’s might pick even that tiny sound.”

Gods does he know how to string words together to leave you completely undone.

Sometimes foreplay is mostly talk. He can get you going without even touching you.

“My love, I’ve not been able to stop thinking of the ways I want to touch you all day. Shall I tell you what’s been on my mind?”

His breath tickles against your ear as his hands smooth over your clothed body, telling you how he wants to take you. It’s all the more flustering when you know he always keeps his word.

Love making always starts with a kiss, deep and slow.

You feel him smile into the kiss when he slips his fingers into the front of your trousers and he feels just how aroused he’s made you.

“You are exquisite. A delicacy of the highest quality. Do you know that?”

He’s not one to bang it out for a quickie. He doesn’t like to feel like he’s stealing his time with you, or like he’s a young man again and hastily getting whatever he can before heading back to the dormitories. Every touch, every word, every thrust is slow and deliberate. He wants to relish the feeling of it all. He wants to soak you in.

Somehow, he always smells good. Like cinnamon and tea and… some earthen, herbaceous scent you cant place.

So many cuddles after you’re done.

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

changes

dbf!loganxgrown!reader

a/n: my first resquest! i hope you like it <3 send me more requests pls pls!

wc:2.5k

FLUFF, AGE GAP, TABOO RELATIONSHIP

summary: you've had enough of the tension between you and Logan, your dad's best friend, so you decided to go confront him about it.

It’s funny how the past creeps up on you. One minute, you’re just a kid with scraped knees and big dreams, and the next, you’re staring down the barrel of decisions you swore you’d never make. But life’s got a way of pushing you into corners, and before you know it, you’re crossing lines you didn’t even know were there.

Logan’s always been a fixture in my life, like the smell of cigar smoke that clings to the walls long after the flame’s been snuffed out. A constant. Steady. Safe, in a way that most people never are. My dad’s best friend, the man who taught me how to throw a punch and how to take one. He was always there, just on the periphery, watching out for me in that quiet, gruff way of his.

But things change. People change. Or maybe, it’s just me. Because somewhere along the way, the way I look at him shifted. The safe, familiar lines blurred, and now I’m seeing things I wasn’t supposed to see—feeling things I wasn’t supposed to feel.

It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing full well that one wrong step could send you plummeting, but you can’t bring yourself to step back. And Logan… he’s the kind of danger you run toward, not away from.

I know better. I should know better. But when I’m around him, all that common sense goes up in smoke. Just like the end of his cigar, burning slow, smouldering—until there’s nothing left but ash.

You put down your pen with a heavy sigh.

Your diary, the safekeeping for all your thoughts and worries, had recently become your go-to place for your impure thoughts as well.

A part of you wished you could go back to the way it was before. It was simpler, more moral, and occupied a lot less of your mind than it did now.

But something had shifted between the two of you when you became a woman. 

The way you looked at him was a big one. Now that you were in the adult dating pool as well, you couldn’t help but notice that Logan was an attractive man and a single one too.

You obsessively questioned why that was because, to you, he was the complete package; More than just tall, dark, and handsome. 

You would catch yourself stealing glances when he wasn’t looking, the way his chest and abdominal muscles flexed beneath his shirt when he moved. The protruding veins of his forearms and hands, how his fingers were covered in callouses from work.

You had memorized the way his voice dipped into a low grumble when he said your name, how his hazel eyes darkened with something unspoken when they met yours.

The way he spoke to you also took a drastic turn. Keeping the conversation preferably to small talk, or once in a while he’d tease you and call you those annoying pet names from when you were little:

“Watch your mouth, sweetheart.” 

“Come on princess, take a joke,” 

“Kid, you’re gonna be the death of me.”  

Another thing was the way you interacted with each other; you weren’t jumping into his arms as soon as he stepped through the door or being picked up and settled into his lap anymore, it was just a nod of acknowledgement or a slight touch on your lower back if he needed to pass by you.

Even the littlest amount of contact didn’t stop you from imagining what it would feel like if he didn’t stop himself from touching you. What it would feel like if he let go of that last thread of restraint that keeps him just out of reach.

When you lay alone at night, you couldn’t help but think about sitting on that lap again one day.

The lines between right and wrong blur every time he’s near now. It’s dangerous, this game you’re both playing in your heads.

The last time he’d been over, fixing something for your dad, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you a moment too long. How the air seemed to crackle with tension when you were alone in the room together.

“You alright bub’?” he’d tried to play it casually but his eyes… his eyes told a different story.

Bub, the nickname he had given you when you were younger.

“Yeah, just watching you,” you’d bit your lip, keeping your gaze locked on his. 

He nodded, but the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands gripped the wrench a little harder, told you everything you needed to know. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your back as you left the room, your heart pounding in your chest, knowing he felt it too—the pull, the magnetic force that kept you two stealing glances here and there. 

You close the diary with a soft thud as if shutting the book could somehow lock away the thoughts swirling in your head. But the truth is, there’s no escaping them—not when every interaction with Logan leaves you trembling with a flame you cannot control.

And now, sitting in your room, your diary clutched to your chest like a lifeline, you know it’s only a matter of time before something gives. 

There is no better time than the present after all…Fuck it.

With a deep breath, you push yourself off the bed and glance at the clock. It’s late, but you know Logan’s still awake—he always is.

 Part of you was set on going to see him now, to see if the tension you’ve been imagining is real, if he’ll react the same way as you will.

But another part of you, the part that remembers the little girl who used to jump into his arms without a second thought, holds you back. 

Because once you took that step, there was no going back to the way things were before.

And maybe that’s what scared you the most.

You slipped out of your apartment, clutching your car keys so tightly that the metal might bend under the pressure.

 What were you doing? You weren’t entirely sure yourself, but it felt as if your body was on autopilot—drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Finding your car, you slid into the driver’s seat, your fingers trembling as you shot Logan a quick text.

Y/N: You up?

Your leg bounced nervously as you waited for his reply. How would he react? Would his voice of reason prevail, or would he finally admit to feeling the same pull that you did?

A moment later, your phone buzzed. Logan responded with a simple thumbs-up emoji.

Very on brand. 

Simple, efficient, and direct. You thought.

With his green light, you pulled out of the parking garage and drove towards his log cabin up at Deer Lake. The hum of the engine was the only sound breaking the stillness of the night. The closer you got, the more your heart pounded against your ribcage, a steady rhythm that matched the thoughts racing through your mind. 

You couldn’t stop replaying the last time you’d been alone with him, the way his eyes had lingered on yours just a fraction too long, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw when your fingers brushed his as he handed you something.

Was tonight the night everything would change?

As you turned onto the narrow, winding road that led to his place, the dense trees seemed to close in around you, the darkness thickening with each passing second.

The familiarity of the path did little to ease your nerves; if anything, it only heightened the anticipation. 

You’d been here countless times before, but tonight was different. Tonight, you weren’t just visiting a family friend—you were venturing into no man's land.

Finally, the cabin came into view, the warm glow of the porch light spilling out into the cold night air.

You parked the car and took a deep breath, your hand hovering over the door handle as you tried to steady yourself. 

There was still time to turn back, to pretend this had all been a bad idea, a fleeting moment of weakness.

But deep down, you knew you weren’t going to, you knew you didn’t want to.

With a quiet resolve, you stepped out of the car and made your way up the steps to his door. The sound of gravel crunching beneath your boots seemed louder in the stillness of the night.

You hesitated for a moment at the door, your hand raised to knock, when it suddenly swung open, revealing Logan standing there, backlit by the soft light from inside.

He was dressed in his usual white tank top and denim jeans. His tall presence filled the doorway, broad shoulders and familiar, rugged face, but it was the look in his eyes that held you captive. There was a flicker of something there—something that mirrored the pressure in your chest.

“Kid,” he said, his voice low and steady, but you could hear the tension beneath it.

“Can I come in?” You mumbled shyly. 

He nodded,  and you stepped past him into the cabin. The door closed behind you with a soft click, and suddenly the world outside felt very far away. It was as if you’d crossed over into a place where nothing but the two of you existed.

You followed Logan deeper into the cabin, the warmth from the fireplace offering a sharp contrast to the cold, restless night outside. He leaned against the table, returning his glass of whiskey in his hand.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to break the silence. “Logan… can we talk?”

He took a swig and looked up, his hazel eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. “‘Bout what?”

You hesitated, then stepped closer, your heart racing. “Logan, I see the way you look at me.”

He took a swig of his drink.

“... it’s okay. I’ve been looking too.” You stepped closer. 

“I know, sweetheart,” He looked down into his drink. “...hard to ignore what’s goin' on between us.” 

Your breath hitched: he acknowledged it. 

“It is hard, and it’s driving me crazy... we can’t keep pretending like there’s nothing here. I like you, a lot, and I know it’s wrong but I can’t help it.” You fiddled with your fingers. 

“Kid,” he began, his voice gruff, “it ain’t wrong to feel what you’re feelin’. Not with the way that things have changed between us.”

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest as you took another step closer, the tension between you thickening with each breath. “Then why have you been pulling away? Why do you keep acting like we can just ignore this?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing as if he was trying to find the right words. “I’ve been tryin’ to protect you…. Things ain’t as simple as they used to be. You’re not a little girl anymore, and I’m… well, I’m me. There’s a lot of weight that comes with this, darlin’. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it too.”

Your heart ached at his words, and a relieved sigh escaped your body. “I don’t care about the weight, Logan. I just… I want to figure this out with you. I want us to be honest about what we’re feeling, even if it’s messy.”

Logan’s expression softened, a hint of vulnerability showing through his tough exterior. “You’re sure about this, princess? Once we open this door, there ain’t no goin’ back.”

You nodded, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I’m sure. I want to see where this goes. I don’t want to keep pretending.”

Logan took a deep breath and pulled you close to him by your waist, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “Alright, we’ll take it slow and figure it out as we go.” 

Logan’s gaze lingered on yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear. The warmth of his hand on your waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft crackle of the fire—all of it faded into the background as you both stood there, suspended in the tension of what was about to happen.

You could see the conflict in his eyes, the war between the desire he’d been holding back and the protective instinct that had kept him at a distance for so long. But as you leaned in closer, closing the gap between you, something in his resolve seemed to break.

His hand moved from your waist to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart swoon. Your breath caught as his gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, as if silently asking for permission.

You answered by closing the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both gentle and intense, like the release of a storm that had been building for far too long. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The kiss deepened, a slow exploration of all the feelings you’d both been holding back. There was a rawness to it, a hunger that had been denied for too long, but also a softness, an unspoken promise that this was only the beginning.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to steady yourselves. Logan’s hand remained on your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as if he was memorizing the moment.

“Damn, kid,” he murmured, You could smell the whiskey on his breath. “That was...”

“Yeah,” you whispered, unable to find the words to describe what you were feeling. “It was.”

Logan’s eyes searched yours, and in them, you saw a mixture of relief, longing, and something deeper—something that told you that whatever came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Without a word, Logan’s hands slid down to your thighs, and with a strength that always amazed you, he lifted you effortlessly. A small gasp escaped your lips as he carried you over to the worn leather armchair by the fire, he settled you in his lap, just like you’d been longing for.

The warmth of his body against yours sent a shiver down your spine as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. Logan held you close, his hand resting on your lower back, grounding you in the moment.

“What now?” he asked with a grin, his voice a little more seductive now as if the kiss had made it harder for him to hold back.

“What happened to start slow?” You tightened your grip around his neck. 

A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, savouring every moment. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this—just the two of you and the beginning of something you both knew you’d been waiting for.

ty so much for your request reader <3

🏷️: @megangovier, @back2thebasics

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[koyagifs]

𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪

pairing: hongjoong x reader au: mafia genre: gore word count: 1.664 words summary: hongjoong gets kidnapped thinking he’s the leader when they have it all wrong. warning(s): gore!! blood, guns, swearing. I mean, come on it's a mafia au.

The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of gunpowder. Your doberman’s snarls reverberated through the room, her sharp teeth bared, and her claws scraping against the tiled floor as she lunged just enough to keep the men frozen in place.

The desk beneath you creaked slightly as you shifted your weight, crossing one leg over the other, exuding an air of unbothered control. The dim light overhead cast long, sinister shadows on the walls, amplifying the chaos around you.

"Pathetic," you muttered, your voice slicing through the panicked murmurs of the cowering men. You spun the gun idly in your hand, the movement precise and practiced, a deliberate display of dominance. The glossy finish of your weapon caught the light, a glint of warning.

The weight of the gun in your hand was a silent reminder of the power you held in this moment. Jongho's grip on the man’s shoulder was unyielding, and San’s fingers dug into the other side of his arm, keeping him firmly on his knees. The man struggled to keep his composure, but his wandering gaze betrayed him, lingering too long on your legs as your dress rode up ever so slightly.

You let out a sharp, disdainful tsk, your crimson lips curling into a faint sneer and tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curling into a smirk.

"You know," you said, your voice calm yet laced with an edge of menace, "it's impolite to stare." The barrel of your gun lazily trailed along the desk, your doberman letting out another guttural bark that made the man's shoulders jolt in fear.

San tightened his grip on the man's shoulders, forcing him to stay on his knees. "Eyes up," San growled, his tone low and dangerous.

Jongho, ever the picture of controlled fury, leaned in closer, his fingers digging into the man’s arm. “Better start talking,” he said coldly, “or her next move won’t just be a warning.”

The man’s eyes darted between you and the gun in your hand, his breathing uneven as beads of sweat rolled down his temple. You leaned forward slightly, the movement deliberate, your gaze locking onto his.

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of your words, the tension thick enough to choke. The man’s breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling erratically as his eyes flicked to the gun and back to your unwavering stare.

“W-Where is who?” he stammered, his voice trembling, the words barely audible over the growls of your doberman.

You sighed, a sound of mock disappointment, and leaned back slightly, your head tilting as if considering his pathetic display. The gun in your hand tilted upward, pressing lightly against his forehead, the cold steel making him shiver.

“Don’t play dumb,” you said, your voice calm but laced with deadly intent. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. Where is he?”

San shifted his grip, forcing the man’s head to tilt upward. “You really want to test her patience?” San hissed, his voice low and threatening.

Jongho added pressure to the man’s shoulder, his jaw clenched. “Answer her,” he growled. “Now.”

The man gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “I-I don’t know,” he blurted out, his voice breaking. “I swear, I don’t know where he is! They— They don’t tell me anything!”

Your eyes narrowed, your lips curling into a dangerous smile. "Wrong answer," you said coldly, the sound of the safety clicking off punctuating your words.

The man’s sobs grew louder, his pitiful rambling filling the room as tears and snot streaked his face. He kept glancing at your doberman, who stood poised and ready, her growls low and menacing. His words were a jumble of apologies and desperate pleas for mercy, claiming ignorance over and over.

You sighed heavily, your expression one of pure exasperation, and leaned forward deliberately, resting your elbows on your knees. The movement was slow and calculated, your neckline dipping just enough to ensure his eyes fell exactly where you wanted them to.

His sobs hitched for a moment as his gaze faltered. You smirked to yourself—hook, line, and sinker. “Look at you,” you said mockingly, your tone dripping with disdain. “Crying like a child. I thought you might be useful, but it seems I overestimated you.”

San chuckled darkly behind the man. “He’s too distracted to be useful,” he remarked, his voice laced with contempt.

Jongho’s grip tightened as he forced the man to face forward again. “Eyes where they’re supposed to be,” he snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning curiosity. "Oh, but maybe you can be useful," you mused, running a finger along the edge of the gun. "You see, I have a rule—if you can’t give me what I want, you’d better make yourself entertaining."

The man gulped again, his face pale as he began to stammer something unintelligible. You leaned in closer, your voice soft but dripping with menace. “So, what’s it going to be? Will you tell me what I want to know, or should I let my dog have her fun?”

Your doberman let out another growl on cue, and the man practically jumped out of his skin. "I-I'll talk! Just—just don’t kill me!" he blurted, his voice cracking.

You smiled, slow and wicked. "Good boy," you purred. "Now start talking."

Just as he gave you the information to Hongjoong location, you tapped his check before you signaled to San and Jongho to let him go. The sigh of relief was heard from him and the smirk on your face grew. You shook your head no, tsking as you began to pet your doberman. “fass”

The man’s sigh of relief was short-lived, his shoulders sagging for barely a second before he froze at the sound of your sharp command.

“Fass,” you repeated, your voice smooth and decisive as you stroked your doberman’s head. Her ears perked, and in an instant, she lunged at the man, her jaws locking onto his arm with terrifying precision. His scream echoed through the room, piercing and desperate, as he tried to pull away, but your dog was relentless.

San and Jongho stood back, their expressions unreadable as they watched the scene unfold. Jongho crossed his arms, leaning against the desk, while San tilted his head slightly, a cold smirk tugging at his lips.

You watched calmly, your head tilted as though studying a particularly boring piece of art. “I let you believe you’d walk out of here,” you said, your voice carrying over the man’s cries. “But lying to me? That’s a crime I can’t forgive.”

The man thrashed, pleading for mercy between his sobs. Your doberman growled deeply, shaking her head slightly, her grip firm.

You crouched down to meet the man’s panicked gaze, your smirk never wavering. “Consider this... motivation,” you said sweetly. “For anyone else who thinks they can waste my time.”

With a quick whistle, your doberman released him, stepping back with a satisfied huff. The man crumpled to the floor, clutching his bleeding arm as he whimpered incoherently.

The faint hum of your tune echoed down the corridor as you walked, your heels clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor. Jongho and San flanked you, their movements sharp and ready, a quiet storm of power at your back.

Pulling a small, tattered piece of clothing from your pocket, you held it out, your fingers brushing against the coarse fabric. Your doberman, Nala, perked up immediately, her nose twitching as she caught the scent.

“Zook, Nala,” you commanded softly, your voice firm yet calm. The word was a trigger, and Nala instantly responded, her nose pressing into the fabric before lowering to the ground, inhaling deeply.

She let out a sharp bark and began to pull forward, her muscles taut with purpose as she led the way.

There stood Hongjoong, leaning casually against the doorway as though he hadn’t just been hunted down. A smirk tugged at his lips, his gun resting loosely at his side. His sharp eyes darted to you, then to the doberman by your side, and finally back to you, his expression a mix of amusement and admiration.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and taunting. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”

Nala let out a sharp bark, her body tense as she stood her ground, her gaze locked on him. You raised a hand to calm her, your expression unreadable as you took a step closer.

“Funny,” you said, your tone cutting through the tension like a blade. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

His smirk widened, and before you could react, he raised his gun—not to fire, but to press it lightly against your temple as he stepped closer. The gesture wasn’t hostile; it was a challenge.

“You’re not easy to find,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were just inches from yours. “But that’s why I like you.”

The air between you crackled with intensity, and just as your hand inched toward your own weapon, he surprised you. His lips crashed against yours, his gun dropping to the side as his free hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was hungry, passionate, and unapologetic, as though he’d been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt instinctively, and for a moment, the room around you disappeared, leaving only the two of you and the fire burning between you.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered, “Now, what took you so long?”

You let out a soft laugh, a smirk creeping onto your lips. “Had to clean up your mess first,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock annoyance.

His laugh was low and rich, the sound warming the tension that had been hanging in the air moments before. “You always do.”

[solarmorrigan]

Everybody's Dying to Be Here

For the @steddie-spooktober day 12 prompt: Graveyard Rated: T | Words: 1561 | CW: suicidal thoughts (vague; you don't necessarily have to take it that way) | Tags: pre-relationship, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson friendship, Steve Harrington needs a hug, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, in his own way, post-season 2 AU Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie has been coming to the graveyard to smoke for years.

It’s not really that he can’t smoke at the trailer; his uncle knows he smokes, has bummed cigarettes off of him before, says he figures there are worse habits for Eddie to pick up, it's just that it’s peaceful there.

There are hardly ever people around, and if there are, they’re not really inclined to talk. Otherwise, there’s a lot of open air, room to walk, green grass, interesting headstones if Eddie’s in the mood to look, and there’s a tree that sits at the top of a gentle slope of a hill that offers a nice view of the surrounding town that can almost make Eddie forget how much he hates the place.

It’s Eddie’s own personal haven.

At least, he'd thought it was.

“You’re in my spot,” Eddie says, staring down at the interloper.

Steve Harrington, who is sitting on top of Eddie’s hill, under Eddie’s tree, turns his battered face up towards Eddie, squinting at him in the sunlight.

“Are you dead?” Steve finally asks.

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare, uncomprehending, at Steve. “Nooo,” he says slowly. “Are you concussed?”

Steve holds up his forefinger and thumb, pinched together to indicate a little bit, and it’s been almost two weeks since he first showed up at school looking like someone had tried to turn his face into mincemeat, the bruising now all sickly yellow and brown, and Eddie realizes he has no idea how long concussions last. A while, apparently.

“Anyway, if you’re not dead, I don’t think you can have a spot in the cemetery,” Steve says with a shrug, and–

Well.

“Touché,” Eddie says, plopping down next to Steve beneath the tree.

He pulls his cigarettes out, shakes one from the box, and then, because his uncle didn’t raise a complete savage, he tilts the box at Steve in offering. Steve begs off with a shake of his head and Eddie shrugs, lighting up and taking a drag.

“So,” he says on his first breath of smoke, “what brings King Steve out among Hawkins’ illustrious dead?”

For one, long minute, Steve says nothing, and just when Eddie thinks he’s being ignored, Steve lets his head fall back against the tree and murmurs, “Just wanted somewhere quiet to be, I guess.”

“Oh? The life of partying royalty getting to be a bit much for you?” Eddie asks.

He knows he isn’t being entirely fair; Steve’s never really done anything to Eddie, personally, and for the latter half of last year and the beginning of this one, he’s actually been pretty decent. Fairly quiet, if nothing else, mostly hanging off of Nancy Wheeler and keeping his head down. In any case, Steve doesn’t seem to take offense, just lets out a little breath of unamused laughter and continues staring out over the town.

“Kinda realized that most of the people I used to party with were dicks, and I didn’t want to be around them anymore,” he says. “Nance– she and I aren’t… together anymore, so I can’t really hang out with her. My dad’s still pissed at me for getting into a fight, so I can’t stay home. The twelve-year-old who thinks I’m responsible for him now is actually cool, but god he can be loud, and I just wanted some quiet, so… here I am.”

There’s… a lot to unpack there. Like, so much to unpack. Eddie has questions. Many questions.

Somehow, though, he doesn’t think his prying would be appreciated, so all he offers is, “Damn. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, then, huh? Hanging out with the school freak.”

“To be fair, I didn’t actually know you’d be out here,” Steve says, sending Eddie a sidelong smirk to let him in on the joke. “Didn’t know I was stealing your spot, either.”

Because Eddie can hardly be mad at him for it now, he just shrugs. “Eh. It’s a free graveyard. I think.” Eddie pauses, blinking down at the headstones spread out before them. “Damn, do you think you have to pay to be buried? That’d be fucked up.”

“I have no idea,” Steve says. “Pretty sure you have to pay for a tombstone, at least.”

“Shit. Society, man.” Eddie shakes his head. “Finding ways to squeeze money out of you even after death.”

“I guess,” Steve says vaguely.

He doesn’t really seem like he’s interested in continuing the conversation, and Eddie guesses that’s fair enough. He’d come out here expecting to be alone, and Eddie had come out expecting the same. He’s not even sure why he’s trying to engage Steve Harrington in conversation at all, except that there’s something a little– lost about him right now, and that’s always drawn Eddie in like a cat to a sunbeam.

That doesn’t mean Steve actually needs him, though, so Eddie lets them both lapse into silence.

He’s just about finished his cigarette when Steve speaks again, almost startling Eddie.

“D’you ever think about where you’d want to be buried?” Steve asks.

“What, like when I die?” Eddie asks, feeling a little slow to pick up on this new turn Steve’s taken them down.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“Uh… hopefully far away from the shithole,” Eddie says, stubbing his cigarette out in the dirt beside him. “I want to get the hell out of here before I die.”

Steve hums. “Bet you will,” he says after a moment, and that surprises Eddie even more than his original morbid question.

“You figure?” Eddie says, and he’s trying for sarcastic, but he thinks something genuine might have snuck its way into his tone.

“Sure.” Steve shrugs. “You’re ambitious. You’ve gotta be some kind of smart, all those speeches you’re always giving. You want it badly enough, I bet you’ll get out of here.”

“I think the Hawkins Public School system would beg to differ with you on most of those points, Steve,” Eddie says, and Steve shrugs.

“Fuck ‘em, then,” he says simply, and that’s–

In its own, weird way, it’s more faith than anyone other than his uncle has shown in Eddie in what seems like a long time, and Eddie’s not sure how to feel about it.

Steve, oblivious to the way he’s currently shaking Eddie’s worldview, goes on. “I think I want to be buried over there,” he says, pointing to a spot on the west end of the graveyard.

“Near the fence?” Eddie asks, following Steve’s finger.

“Yeah. Looks nice over there. Not too crowded, and there’s roses. Or, I think that’s a rose bush.” Steve squints down at the shrubbery for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever. It just looks nice.”

“I guess,” Eddie says slowly, turning to look at Steve, who doesn’t look back.

“I should probably tell someone,” Steve says, almost as if he’s talking to himself now. “My parents would probably pick somewhere stupid to stick me.”

And– shit.

It doesn’t really sound like Steve’s talking about some hypothetical future time when he dies of old age; it sounds an awful lot more like he doesn’t even expect to outlive his parents – like maybe he’s talking about a much less hypothetical soon.

“You, uh… spend a lot of time thinking about when you’re gonna die?” Eddie asks, and immediately wishes he could suck the words back up, because that is a terrible way to continue this conversation.

Steve shrugs, turning a wry look on Eddie. “Kinda hard not to.”

“Right. Right.” Eddie nods, and – what the fuck?

What the fuck? Is he talking about everything that’s happened recently – all the weird shit in town, or the way he keeps getting his ass kicked, or the way his life has imploded and now he’s thinking about–

“So what’s your plan for the rest of the day?” Eddie blurts out.

“I don’t really have one.” Steve shrugs. “Figured I’d just stay out here for a while.”

Eddie frowns. They’re well into November by now; Steve is wearing a nicer coat than Eddie’s, but it’s still cold out. Too cold to just be sitting outside indefinitely. Eddie’s certainly not going to sit outside indefinitely, but he also gets the feeling that maybe this guy shouldn’t be left alone right now, which is precisely why he finds himself offering, “You wanna come back to mine and watch a movie?”

Steve turns to stare at Eddie, as if this is the weirdest part of the conversation they’ve had.

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Maybe I’m bored, and you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all day,” Eddie says, gratified when Steve gives him a little laugh. “It’s more fun watching a movie with someone, anyway. What d’you say?”

Steve watches him for a moment longer, as if he’s searching for something, trying to puzzle Eddie out. He seems to find whatever it is he’s looking for, though, because he finally nods.

“Yeah, okay.”

They stand from beneath the tree and make their way back down the hill, and Eddie hopes his utter confusion isn’t showing on his face as they go. He has no idea how his afternoon reached this point, and he has even less of an idea of what the hell he’s doing, but, as he glances back at Steve, the other boy seems a little lighter as they walk, and he decides that he’s absolutely made the right decision.

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!sorcerer!reader, rough sex, orgasm denial, sukuna’s mean, begging, degradation, pussy spanking, suggested noncon prior to the beginning of the fic, name calling ( brat, whore, bitch ), dacryphilia, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day six [ sukuna ryomen ( megumi ) + orgasm denial ]

“W-wait, please— fuck!!”

another howl of disapproval tears from your throat as the King of Curses pushes you off of his cock, again. your body trembles and twitches; your used cunt trying to clench around air and hold on to the orgasm that you’d been right on the cusp of.

“Let me…” you’re panting, trying to stabilize your weight on your scuffed-up knees, but the muscles in your body had all but turned to gelatin after hours of relentless fucking. “Let me cum…” it’s an attempt to demand, to sound tougher than you were, but you sound pathetic and weak, pushing your ass back towards the bastardized visage of your best friend.

beyond the curse marks that etched into his complexion, Sukuna Ryomen had twisted Megumi into a monster that you didn’t even recognize. or, perhaps, it was because of the tears blurring your vision or the haze your poor brain had been fucked into. you didn’t know anymore.

“So entitled for a little, fucking whore. You’re not acting like you don’t want this, anymore.” one powerful hand grabs most of your hair at the roots in a tight vice and pushes you forward, smearing your face into the floor, and he hunches over you. you squirm and whine, but not from the screaming pain in your scalp or the taste of blood in your mouth, but because you could feel his cock, hard and throbbing, as it rubs against your ass cheeks when he hunches forward. his body is on fire against yours, smearing sweat from his broad chest across your shoulder blades. “A few hours ago you were trying to kill me, screaming for me to stop, and trying to threaten me, and now you’re yipping for my cock like a wild animal. Begging to be mounted. Cum-hungry. You’re an easy one to break.”

“Go to hell,” you groaned, but you still writhed, winding your hips in an attempt to convince him to push back inside.

“I’m taking you with me.” he retorts with a raspy chuckle, before doing just that— and none too gently. with a forceful thrust, every inch of solid cock and pulsating vein barrels through your spongy canal, filling you to the brim and knocking the wind out of your lungs, before he uses his free hand to dig his digits into your fleshy hip and fall into the same, brutal rhythm he’s been decimating you with. you mewl and clamor to hold on to something. your nails scrape against the tiles on the floor, some of them chipping into jagged edges as your eyes roll back. “You know that, don’t you, brat? You’re damned— you were damned the moment you started to enjoy the way I fuck your helpless, little cunt.” his breath is hot and heavy against the shell of your ear as he ruts against your body, pounding it mercilessly. you try to shake your head, but his grip holds it steady and smeared against the floor and he guffaws, “Don’t think I can’t feel you, whore. Your cunt is sloppy wet, but the harder and faster I fuck you, the more I deny your release, the more frantically your hole squeezes.” your stomach feels like it’s in knots, your climax quickly approaching, and he must’ve felt your body start to tighten and prepare to cum, because he snickers and jerks on your hair tighter. “Just like that,” a low grunt dies in the back of his throat, “you’re already going to try and cum again.”

“Please,” you moan, trying to convince him to allow you release by pleasing him, since begging hasn’t seemed to be working. your ass bounces back to meet his violent thrusting, and the way you squelch and the sound of your wet skin slapping against his fills you with shame. “Please, let me cum! I need— need rest— can’t do this—“

“Greedy bitch.” but you could tell by the way he grinds his jaw when he says it that he likes the way it feels. pulling himself back up on to his knees, Sukuna places both hands on your ass cheeks, which were already sore from his relentless spanking, and he digs his sharp nails in. “What makes you think you deserve it? Because you can take my cock, you think I owe you pleasure or something?” he stills you with his strength, and pulls himself from your abused cavern right as you’ve started to hold your breath and knit your brows, on the edge of your climax, much to your dismay. “You get wet because I abuse your pussy, that’s because you’re filthy, not because I want you to like this.”

“Noooo!” you squeal, deflating like a balloon as he soils yet another orgasm. this time, the sensation slipping away was so intense, that your eyes had begun to water, and you try to look over your shoulder at him, glare daggers up at him for being so cruel, but you find his form, massive and daunting and flushed pink with sparkling sweat trickling over marked skin, too dizzying, and you gawk instead.

Sukuna smirks, wide— red eyes alight with malevolence upon seeing your tears. “Pitiful, aren’t you? Ah, but seeing that look of despair on your face only makes me harder. You want it so badly, it’s almost cute.” he looms over you, pushing on your ass to force your chest back down to the floor, your back arching so your ass sticks higher in the air. your thighs tremble hopelessly, and he enjoys the way you shake and sniffle. “Go ahead and cry, brat. Beg me until your voice goes out. I still won’t let you cum. I love this too much.” grabbing his massive cock at the base, he guides the swollen tip to tease your sticky folds, and for a moment, you try to open up and welcome back inside, regardless of the way your walls ache from the stretch, but he doesn’t force his way back inside. rubbing up and down, he teases your cunt from hole to clit, before slapping the squishy head of his cock against you in rapid-fire spanks.

when you start to squirm and babble, working up the nerve to beg once again to be blessed with an orgasm and relief, he leans closer, his tongue licking a fat stripe from your chin to the apple of your cheek, gathering a mass of salty tears on the buds so that he may taste your anguish. “I’d so much rather watch you suffer.”

[theowritesstuff]

Everything

Kaz Brekker x gn!healer!reader

Requests: “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” & “You are everything. Everything.” Although I did change it to “You are everything to me. Everything.”

Warnings: bruises, knives, guns, stabbing, blood, murder (feral Kaz)

A/N: Yeah, this is pretty dark guys. If you’ve watched the show/read the books you’ll be fine, but the crows plotlines are usually dark. I actually really like this one though! Italics are Kaz’s thoughts.

Request a prompt with one of my characters!

Kaz Brekker was methodical. He planned everything he could down to the very minute. It was how he was able to become the leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel. No one dared cross Kaz, in fear of losing their life.

His crew were nearly as untouchable as he was. Jesper, the sharpshooter. Inej, the wraith. Wylan, the demolitions expert. Nina, the heartrender. And Matthias, the druskelle. They, along with their leader, made up one of the most prominent gangs in Ketterdam.

Then there was you. You were the crow that Kaz kept tucked away from the rest of Ketterdam.

Nina had brought you to Kaz after finding you help a small child with a nasty scrape on his knee. She watched as you guided your hand over the scrape, and the cuts disappeared. She hadn’t seen another Corporalnik in Ketterdam before, and knew that having a healer would help immensely when it came to heists.

Kaz was reluctant to take you in, only agreeing once he’d seen you heal a black eye Jesper had been sporting for a few days. He gave you a room at the Slat, gave you a few kruge, and introduced you to the other crows.

They were all easy to get along with. Nina helped you ease into this new life, often times joining you for meals, or taking walks through the markets with you. You had an obvious initial distaste for Mathias, often times choosing to stay away from the druskelle, but seeing him with Nina quickly put you at ease. Inej was incredibly kind to you, and graciously thanked you whenever you healed her. Wylan and Jesper were easy to get along with, often times too absorbed in each other to be aware of other things going on around them.

Then there was Kaz. It was more difficult to have a working relationship with Kaz, anyone could tell you he usually kept to himself unless he was giving orders or collecting kruge. You tried not to take his indifference to you personally.

You do remember the day things changed between you and Kaz though. The group had all come back from a heist exhausted, some injured, some just tired, but you could see Kaz out of the corner of your eye walking to his room quicker than he usually does. You followed him upstairs, and softly knocked on the door.

“Come in.” He grunted.

You’d never been in Kaz’s room before, you don’t think anyone other than Kaz actually has. It’s dark, and honestly exactly what you’d expected. A bed in the corner, a desk against the wall cluttered with paper, and a wardrobe that he was currently riffing through.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to grace me with your presence Y/n?” He asks, his tone sharp.

“How did you know it was me?” You shuffle forward, and close his door behind you.

“Everyone else knows not to bother me after a job.” He turned his head towards you slightly, allowing you to catch a glimpse of red on his cheek.

“You’re hurt.” You take a step towards him. He steps back from you instantaneously.

“I’m fine.” He turns back to his wardrobe.

“Saints, why must you be so stubborn?” You sigh. He doesn’t answer you. “I thought you hired me to heal you, so let me do my job.”

It’s his turn to sigh this time. It would be nice to stop the stinging sensation on his face. He glances at you, then gestures you towards him. “Fine.” He sits down in the chair at his desk, and watches you slowly step towards him.

You slowly move towards him, aware of the way his shoulder tense with every step you take. You don’t know exactly what’s happened to him, but you can easily tell he’s got some sort of touch aversion after watching him for a while. The black gloves that never come off his hands are used as another layer to keep others away.

Once you’re standing in front of him you take a look at the thin cut across his cheek. “I didn’t know the bastard of the barrel could bleed.” You murmur.

You don’t fail to miss the slight upward quirk of his lips at your comment. He holds his breath as your fingertips hover over him. He expected to feel the waters rise up in his chest, drowning him, instead he’s surprised to feel warmth from your hand. You’re careful not to actually touch him, pulling away once he’s been healed.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You ask, stepping away from him.

That was the moment you became more than just the Dregs’ healer. Whenever you went out anywhere Kaz would send Inej with you for protection. He knew how valuable a grisha was in Ketterdam, and he was not going to let someone else take you away. He called you into his office in the Crow Club or his room in the Slat more often. Sometimes he’d need you to heal a paper cut, other times he’d just want your company while he planned out heists. On nights where he came back banged up more than usual he’d bare more skin to you, allowing you to heal him and provide him the comfort a part of him so desperately needed.

He’d never let it be known he was growing some kind of attachment to you. You were a weakness to him, and Kaz Brekker didn’t have any weaknesses.

It didn’t take long for the other crows to figure out something was different between the two of you. Kaz was a cold, corrupt gang leader, but they could see a shift in him when you were near.

He’d give you his coat if you felt cold on the walk from the club back to the Slat. He kept your favorite drink in stock at the Crow Club. He’d look to you for your opinion on plans for heists. He whispered comments to you while he thought the others weren’t paying attention, a smug grin growing on his face as you laughed at what he’d said. Soft isn’t the right word for what Kaz had become when you were near. He was gentle with you.

Jesper caught you sneaking out of Kaz’s room early one morning still in the clothes you’d worn the previous day. He smirked at Kaz as he ate his breakfast for the day.

“Have a pleasant night boss?” He asked over his cup of coffee.

Kaz raises a brow at him, silently asking what he meant.

Jesper simply looks over at you, who is currently in conversation with Nina and Mathias on the other side of the room. His eyes travel back to Kaz, gleaming with mischief.

Kaz looks like he’s about to hit Jesper over the head with the crow’s head of his cane. He gets a stern talking to in Kaz’s office later that day, and is informed that if anyone finds out about his meetings with you, his precious revolvers might end up on someone’s table in the market.

No one mentions any changes they’ve seen in Kaz after that. Everything goes smoothly from then on, until one particular heist.

It was a lot like any other heist, sneak into a place, steal something that costs an exorbitant amount of money, then sell it for twice the price. The problem was Kaz needed someone to sneak into a crowded party, and at that point most of the barrel could pick out any of the crows in a crowd. They needed someone that could be inconspicuous.

It was the perfect job for you. You’d always wanted to go on the crazy adventures your friend went on so often, and this was finally something you could swing.

When you volunteered to step in, Kaz immediately refused. There was a reason he kept you locked away in the Slat during jobs.

No amount of kruge is worth putting your life on the line.

He gives excuse after excuse as to why you can’t be used. You haven’t done this before. You don’t know your way around the building. They need their healer ready to treat them afterwards.

I can’t bear the thought of losing you.

“You don’t even know how to use a weapon.” Kaz sighed, barely looking up at you from the blueprints on his desk.

“Inej can teach me, right?” You turn to the wraith with pleading eyes.

Inej stutters as she looks between you, and the icy stare coming from Kaz.

“Besides, you said that you wanted me to learn how to fight.”

No, I said you should learn to use a weapon. I figured Jesper would let you shoot a few bottles behind the Slat.

“We need them boss. Y/n is our best bet.” Jesper shrugs as he becomes the receiving end of Kaz’s glare.

Kaz looks back down at his blueprints. He knows it’s going to be a busy event, and the others will be spotted on sight. He briefly wonders if he can hire someone else to do the job, but then he looks back up at you. He trusts you, more than he’s trusted anyone in a long time. He knows this is something you’re perfectly capable of, but is it something he’s willing to risk?

“Fine.” He grunts. “But Jesper and Inej will teach you to use their weapons first.”

Your hearts swells up with pride. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thrown yourself over his desk to hug him. “Thank you Kaz. I promise you won’t regret this.”

If only you knew how wrong you had been.

You did train with Inej and Jesper prior to the heist. You even practiced fighting with Mathias a little bit, who was significantly holding back his punches in fear of actually hurting you.

Kaz had made sure to drill his instructions into everyone’s heads, until they could repeat their schedules without thinking about it. Everything had gone to according to plan on the night of, until things took a drastic turn.

He kept an eye on you for as long as he could, until he was needed somewhere else, leaving you in the crowd of the large hall completely isolated from the rest of the group.

You were doing well on your own, slowly becoming more confident as you strolled around and made conversation. You managed to distract all of the merchants with conversation long enough for the crew to get what they needed. It was nearing the time Kaz told you to meet him outside when you were spotted by someone. You vaguely recognized the face, it was a man you’d seen in the Crow Club a few times.

He must’ve known about your affiliation with the crows, because next thing you know you’re being escorted the opposite direction you need to go. You try to stay calm, and remember what Jesper and Inej taught you about fighting, but you know with them holding onto your arms it’ll be near impossible to reach for the knife you have hidden away.

You end up in a courtyard behind the building when they start to question you. Simple things like “why are you here?” and “where are your friends?”. They quickly become aggravated with your innocent act, and become more incessant.

All it took was for one of the men holding you to loosen his grip for you to swing your arm away, and hit him on the side of his face with your elbow. Chaos ensued immediately. You were able to grab your knife, and used it as best you could against the three men fighting you. You had taken a few hits, but were able to stand your ground fairly well, until you felt a sharp pain in your side.

You froze, partially from shock, but mostly from the searing pain you felt. You looked down to see a dagger lodged in your side, being held onto by one of the men. He had a wicked grin on his face as he twisted the knife inside of you. You wailed out as he pulled the knife from your body, and watched as you collapsed to the ground.

“Brekker won’t be able to save you from that, little bird.” He snikered, then ran back inside with the others.

You could feel the blood pooling at your side. You tried to press a hand to the now sticky fabric of your shirt, and put pressure on the wound. You were far too hurt to be able to concentrate your powers to one spot. Your vision started to get spotty when you heard voices above you. A girl’s voice, clearly in distress, and a boy’s voice, sharp and stern.

More hands pressed to your side, then something was wrapped tightly around your waist.

You couldn’t hear what they were actually saying before you felt yourself being picked up, and held in someone’s arms. You looked up to see the figure that was holding you. A bigger build, wide shoulders, blonde hair? Mathias. Had you been conscious enough to speak you would’ve made a joke. Something about a druskelle carrying a grisha to safety. He’d laugh, but retort, telling you about how many times he’s had to save Nina.

You let yourself fall into the darkness after a while, your head lolling against Mathias’ chest. It’s okay, you thought, you knew you weren’t going to make it as soon as he pulled that knife out of you. You just wish you were able to see your friends one last time, to see Kaz one last time.

Kaz could feel his heart thundering in his chest. He tried to keep a calm composure, but anyone of the crows could see the anxiety building up in him. He was barking orders as soon as he saw you laying on the ground, a puddle of your own blood surrounding you. The waves start to build in his chest. He wants to reach out and touch you, to give you any semblance of comfort, because you’re not dead, there’s no way he’s letting you die. He’ll destroy all of Kerch before he lets that happen.

He notices when your head lolls. “Quickly.” He urges the group, speeding his own pace back to the Slat.

Once everyones regrouped they all gather in your room, where Mathias has lain you down on your bed.

Kaz tosses a pouch of coins to Jesper. “Go get some medicine. I don’t care how much it costs. Get the best you can find.”

Inej kneels down next to you, whispering prayers to her saints. Mathias leaves to gather supplies to help you. Nina keeps your heartbeat steady, her hands hovering above your chest.

The waters have reached his lungs now, pulling him down deeper into the ocean. Your blood coats the scarf Inej tied around you earlier, staining the blue material a dark, deep red.

“Saints! Kaz, your heartbeat is obscenely loud! Could you please go anywhere else?” Nina snaps at him.

Kaz doesn’t move for a moment, then quickly leaves your room to go to his own. He attempts to slow his breathing, to calm himself down, but anytime he closes his eyes he sees you again. You and Jordie.

It’s days before he talks to anyone. He only ever leaves his room to step into yours. Nina occupies a chair near your bed, dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep.

“Still alive.” Is all she says to him. He nods, then retreats back to his room.

He scours any and all information he has about the party, until he finds what might give him some relief. He leaves the Slat early one morning, and doesn’t return until late that evening. The gold crow’s head of his cane is now a bright crimson color. Blood is splattered on his neck, and one can assume his clothes as well, though the black hides it well from anyone giving him a second glance.

Jesper is surprised to see Kaz in such a state, knowing that he liked to keep up appearances.

“Hey boss, you’ve got a little…” he trails off, gesturing to his neck.

“It’s not mine.” He rushes passed Jesper, back to his room to start scrubbing the blood away.

You wake up about a week after the heist. Your throat is dry, and you feel incredibly hungry. Your limbs feel weak when move to sit up.

Nina sits next to you on a chair. She’s slouched over, soft snores falling from her lips. You softly nudge her, and let out a hoarse “Nina.”

She grumbles to herself as she wakes up. “Kaz, they’re fine.” She slowly opens her eyes to see you staring back at her, and she gasps. “Saints! You’re awake!”

You point to the cup that sits next to her, and gulp down the water when she hands it to you.

She stands up and looks towards the door to your room. “I’m going to go get Kaz.”

You grab her wrist before she can leave you. “Please don’t. I don’t think I can deal with incessant “I told you so”s right now.”

Nina scoffs. “Oh please, he’s been worried sick about you. I had to kick him out of here because his heartbeat was distracting me from yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He even paid for some pretty pricey medicine for you. Speaking of which, here, take these.” She holds out a few pills. “Now, I’m going to go get Kaz, and maybe after this near-death experience you two will finally just tell each other that you love one another.”

“What? I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shake your head.

“It’s okay, he’s not very good at hiding it either.” She smirks at you before she leaves.

She’s only gone a few minutes before your door swings open with Kaz in your doorway.

“You’re awake.” He says.

You shift so that you’re sitting up on your bed. Kaz closes your door behind him, then sits down in the chair Nina had been using, his eyes trained on the floor ahead.

“I’m sorry about the heist Kaz. But I promise I didn’t tell them anything-”

“I know.”

You furrow your brows. “You know?”

He looks up at you. When he does this, you realize just how close you are to him. You can see every detail in his face. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the dim candlelight of your room. You could brush your leg against his if you shifted. You start to move away from him, afraid of touching him, but stop when what sounds like a plea escapes him.

“Stay.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding, and relax beside him.

“Nina said you were worried about me.” You say softly.

He laughs a little, shaking his head. It’s a sight he’s reserved for just you. “Of course she did.”

“Were you?”

He looks into your eyes as if he’s searching for something. “I was.” He takes a breath, then turns his body so he’s facing you. “You scared me Y/n. I thought you had died, or were close to it. And I…” His admission is quiet. “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” He hangs his head in shame. The bastard of the barrel can’t admit how he feels.

“I understand.” You nod. “I feel so much love for you Kaz, you consume my every thought. You don’t need to say anything. I understand.”

He looks up at you, surprised. Surprised that someone as pure as you, someone who was literally made to heal, could ever love someone who’s caused so much pain as he has. He slowly removes his right glove, and drops the leather to the ground. He lifts his hand to your face, hovering near your cheek.

“You don’t have to.” You whisper, body frozen.

“I want to.” He takes a deep breath in an attempt to push the waves down, and slowly caresses your cheek. His throat tightens up, and for a moment it feels like he’s drowning again. But he focuses on your warmth, and his breathing slows down again. “You are everything to me. Everything.”

-

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

October 16 - Gun Play

pairing: dom!Natasha x sub!Reader

summary: Natasha finds you again and punishes you.

content warnings: gunplay, fingering

word count: 1.3k+

masterlist

A/N: This is the second part of Knife Play.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Cold metal glints in the moonlight, and you stifle a gasp when you feel the barrel of a gun press under your chin. 

From above you, Natasha’s dark green eyes glint dangerously. Her legs are straddling your waist, pinning your thighs to the ground as she holds your hands above your head with one hand. Goddamn, she’s strong. 

“Caught you.”

You let out a laugh, the sound surprising Natasha for a moment. She frowns, digging her gun further into your chin, shutting your mouth forcibly with a resounding clack. 

“Oh, малышка,” you say, your voice low. “You only caught me because I wanted to see you again.”

Natasha’s brow furrows again, and you lovingly trace the lines that appear with your eyes. God, she’s absolutely beautiful. She’s even more attractive when she's mad and pinning you down with all her weight. 

Speaking of which…

You thrust your hips up, attempting to dislodge her. It works, and you’re momentarily surprised. You pause, unsure what to do with Natasha underneath you, your hands on either side of her head. 

“Not so fast,” she growls, and you smile widely at her before knocking the gun out of her hand. 

It clatters on the concrete, and you’re reminded of the deserted ally you’ve found yourself in. You’d chosen this spot on purpose, not wanting too many people around to witness your night of debauchery. 

Natasha squirms out from under you, scrambling for the gun. You feel your palms slap on the ground, the skin scraping slightly as you hiss in pain. Her foot connects with your sternum, and you feel your breath leave your lungs forcefully. 

Staggering backward, you hold your palms up in surrender as you sit up against the wall. You wheeze, attempting to force air into your lungs while Natasha points her gun at you. 

There are strands of hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks, and she distractedly blows them away. Her hands are steady as she rises from her kneeling position to walk towards you. 

“Are you going to shoot me?” you ask, only half joking. 

Truthfully, you didn’t know how this game of cat and mouse would end. You were growing tired of running. As much as you loved getting to see Natasha, you knew this couldn’t go on forever. You think she knows it too. 

“If you try to run, I will.” Natasha’s voice is steady, her eyes hard as she advances. You just nod, mockingly putting your wrists together and holding them up toward her. 

“Well,” you sigh, a small smirk making its way onto your lips. “Go ahead and arrest me then.”

“No,” Natasha says, and you blink in surprise. “I don’t think I will. I have other plans for you… unapproved ones.”

You see the hunger in her eyes and feel your heart rate pick up. She moves quickly, grabbing a pair of handcuffs and securing them around your wrists before you can process the action. 

A firm weight settles on your thighs, and you suck in a breath as the barrel of Natasha’s gun presses firmly against your cheek. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Natasha asks, shushing you condescendingly when you open your mouth to respond. “You like the fear, you like not knowing what I’m going to do next.”

You can’t even deny it. It thrills you, and your core gives a hearty throb of agreement. 

Natasha tilts her head back and laughs, “You can’t even deny it. God, what a fucking slut.”

“Your slut,” you respond, your eyes dark as you watch Natasha’s pupils dilate at the statement. 

“That’s right,” she muses. “You are mine.”

She gazes at you, holding your bound wrists with one hand and moving the gun against your face slowly. It drags over your cheek, and the heavy metal is cold to the touch. 

Good, that means she hasn’t fired it yet tonight. 

“Open,” Natasha commands, tapping the barrel against your lips. 

Your eyes widen, and you lick your lips for a moment while Natasha watches, before parting them slightly. 

“Wider, that was pathetic.”

You inhale quickly, sucking in a breath at the amount of arousal that courses through you at her command. Fuck, if you’d known she was this commanding, you’d have given yourself up a long time ago. 

Opening your mouth, you let your tongue lick the tip of her gun. You do it slowly, holding eye contact with Natasha as she takes in a shaky breath. It's full of need and you feel a tendril of satisfaction rise within you as you watch her. 

Wrapping your lips loosely around the barrel, you moan. The sound is slightly exaggerated, but Natasha doesn't seem to notice, her attention fixated on the way her gun disappears behind your lips. 

You bob your head, taking the barrel further into your mouth. Natasha’s eyes snap up to yours at the movement, her own lips parted as she pants slightly. 

“You’re such a fucking slut, blowing the barrel of my gun,” she growls, grabbing your hair with one hand and forcing your head back. 

You grimace slightly as you feel your skull make contact with the wall behind you. Natasha doesn’t notice, her forearm muscles flexing as she forces her gun in and out of your mouth. You can feel the metal warming on your tongue as she fucks your mouth. 

It’s dirty, it’s wrong, and it’s so fucking attractive. 

“I know you’re probably leaking through your pants right now,” Natasha murmurs, bringing your restrained hands up to the button of her pants. You eagerly undo them, and she moans when your fingers make contact with her slick clit. “You’re not going to cum tonight, not after the stunt you pulled the last time I saw you.”

You would smirk at that, but Natasha pushes the gun further into your mouth. 

“Get me off,” she pants, “Make me cum like the desperate plaything you are while my gun is fucking your mouth like a true slut.”

The moan that sounds out surprises both of you, and you whimper when the tip of her gun hits the back of your throat. Your fingers move solidly against her clit, rubbing fast circles against it while she ruts her hips into your bound hands. 

“You look so perfect like this,” she says, her voice strained slightly. You feel her clit throb against your fingers and begin to apply more pressure as her chest heaves. “God, fuck… so perfect for me. Such a desperate little slut, you belong like this. You belong under me while I fuck your pathetic holes however I want. Isn’t that right?”

The hand in your hair moves, forcing you to nod in agreement. It’s not like you would have denied it, that sounded absolutely wonderful. 

Natasha’s breaths come out more like pants now, her hips moving quicker against your hand. Her gun is practically in your throat now, the lewd movements causing saliva to drip down your chin and onto your chest. 

“Look at you,” Natasha chuckles. It’s low and raspy, and it sets your blood on fire. “Drooling like a brain-dead little whore for me. Perfect.”

You move your fingers faster, pressing firmly against her while she works herself up. You can hear her chanting your name under her breath, and you moan again as you feel the barrel of her gun fucking your mouth deeper. 

Natasha cums with a moan of your name, her clit throbbing against your fingers as you watch her come undone. She quickly takes the gun out of your mouth, crashing her lips against yours. 

You moan into the kiss, feeling her strong tongue sliding against yours as she takes control. She spasms slightly in your lap, moving your fingers out of her arousal-soaked pants once the stimulation becomes overwhelming. 

She pulls away, her eyes still dark as she looks at you. Admiring the dark green for a moment, you smirk in satisfaction as she calms her breathing. A low chuckle escapes her, and you hold up your hands as you ask one final question. 

“Am I still under arrest?”

[izzysink]

𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 𝟷𝟽𝟺𝟿 ✎ 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑠: 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 ✎ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟷 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟸 ✎ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟹

𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑜 = @lanalosty0uu - you should totally check out their steve x reader time travel fic here on Tumblr!

I'm currently undecided on who to pair the reader with atm lol 🌝 but that means that it's kinda up to you 🫵 :0 if you have a character you'd like for the pairing, drop a comment and if I like them or feel it fits with the story I'll use them!! but!!! I won't write poly so you've gotta pick one 😔 ik ik it's a hard choice babes I know you can do it!! can you tell I like exclamation points

“I’m heading out! I’ll be back after my comp-sci class!” you call to your friend Hannah from the door of your dorm at Hawkins Community College, waiting a moment for a sleepy response from the pile of blankets at the end of your roommate’s bed. You shut the door, not bothering to lock it because you knew Hannah had a class pretty soon anyway. You whistle down the small corridor of the singular dormitory for HCC, checking your bag for the essentials; laptop, phone, charger, wallet, keys. 

You’d never expected to end up in Hawkins. Your parents had envisioned you going to an ivy league since you were little, enrolling you in extracurriculars and tutoring as soon as you could read and write; but you didn’t really want that for yourself, you weren’t the best at school - not the worst, but you weren’t yale level, like your parents wanted. After your parents insisted you only apply for places like Harvard and MIT, it didn’t surprise you that by the end of senior year you had no college to drive off to like so many of your friends. You had scrambled to find a place at any college that would take you, scraping the barrel for empty spaces, until a college from the middle-of-nowhere-Indiana, Hawkins, accepted you and your average test scores for a computer science course.

Walking to the campus, you check your phone, giggling at the bickering of your friends on the group chat and the tiktoks Hannah sent you last night. Hawkins Community College has its own campus, but it uses the old high school building as well (a new building was made for Hawkins High in the 2000s, and the old one went out of use until the community college picked it up and refurbished it for the Arts building).

You didn’t have any arts classes, but there was a little known shortcut through the old high school building to the main college campus, and you had made the route your little ritual of the week. It calmed you to walk through the old halls and be saturated in that old school smell and oil paints, getting to see unfinished paintings hung on the walls to dry or works in progress sat against the wall. There was a corridor on the way to the shortcut that was lined with shelving units, all stuffed full with bowles and sculptures and mugs. Your favourite little ritual was to see which ceramics had been kilned, picked up, or painted each week you had your comp-sci 101 class. 

This week, the swirling set of green plates you’d been eyeing for yourself had disappeared, whisked away by their creator. In their place sat an array of little figurines, you guessed they were for a board game of some sort with their angry poses and weapons, axes and magic wands held delicately in their hands. You were entranced in the precision and detail of the mini figures, quiet admiration floating in your mind as you continued on to your class.

The shortcut was just through a door on the left, it led into a small, little used drama room that had a back entrance door to the yard of the lecture building of Hawkins College. Checking your bun in the glass of the old classroom door, you made sure your claw clip was still in place as you opened the door and–

A chorus of sound burst from the dimly lit room, a small group of high school boys sat around a table in matching black and white shirts, a boy your age with a mop of curly hair sat at the head of the table on a plush armchair. The table was filled with dice and figurines and pens and paper, you guessed it was DnD, you had a couple of friends back home who played, and you’d even sat in on a couple of sessions with them before deciding it wasn’t for you.

As soon as you were noticed, all sound stopped, their faces turning to you in surprise. “Oh my god I’m so sorry,” you said, inching past the table towards the back door, “I didn’t realise this room was being used, I’ll be out in a moment don’t worry,” you flash a sheepish grin to the hoard of teenage boys gaping at you. Insecurity bubbled in your stomach a bit, they’re like 12, you thought, snap out of it, you’re in college now! 

Nobody replied, which you thought was a bit rude, but oh well, you had a degree to earn, and you probably wouldn’t see them again anyway. You opened the back door to head to the IT building, but when you stepped outside, it felt like you were sucked into an 80s time capsule, neons and shoulder pads and straight leg jeans assaulted your eyes from every corner. Also, why were there so many teenagers? The high school was a 20 minute walk away from the college. You got a couple of odd looks from some seniors, all decked out with massive hair and even bigger earrings, you could tell some cheerleaders were judging your outfit, which, rude, you thought you looked pretty cute today. You were wearing some baggy low waist jeans with the mini Ugg boots you’d gotten for Christmas a few months earlier, as well as a baby tee with a cute cat graphic on the front. To top it all off, you’d worn your favorite jacket and some little hoop earrings.

Walking backwards, you went back into the minor safety of the inside, at least the drama room had less kids having an 80s phase. You paused once the door shut with a click, looking around confusedly at the room you hadn’t noticed when you walked through seconds prior. You were pretty sure that whiteboard wasn’t there before, the same with that rack of costumes and those desks piled in the corner. The thing that caught you off guard the most was the writing on the whiteboard. There, marked in neat red pen, was the date 10/03/1986.

The hell? 

You tried to ignore the boys sitting around the table who were obviously staring at you as you fished your phone out of your bag, checking the date, yeah, 10/03/2025. You looked up and down from your phone to the whiteboard a couple times before awkwardly walking back to the other door. You’d take the long way then. 

You opened the door before immediately closing it again. 

Hell. No. 

“You okay there, princess?” your head snapped up to meet the eyes of the guy at the head of the table. Looking at him more closely, he looked like a total 80s metal head, crazy hair and rings on each finger. You mouthed a response, not really knowing what to say, I’m stuck in an 80s revival high school, surrounded by teenagers with big hair and all of the dates on the walls say it's 1986 when last time I checked it was 2025 and I’m late to my comp-sci class and-, you get the point.

Since you figured you didn’t have anything else to lose you asked, “sorry, um- where am I?” A younger boy, you guessed a freshman, with baby fat and a mess of curls made a face at your response, “Hawkins High?” he answered with a lisp blinking at you confusedly as you panicked over the new information. How could you have gotten from your college to a building 20 minutes away?

Scratch that, what the hell was going on?

“Okay, thanks,” you say distractedly as you think of what to do next, you look back to the eldest boy, you really needed to catch his name, “Do–” you were cut off by the bell, a lethargic pickup of footsteps outside the door telling you that it was lesson time next, not the end of school.

A chorus of groans rang out in the room as the boys got up dejectedly to get to their next class. You were swept up in the wave of kids exiting the room before you could get another word in edgewise and you found yourself back in the middle of an 80s tornado as the boys dispersed to their respective classes.

The one who had sat at the head of the table leant against the wall as you stood in the middle of the corridor, marveling at the disappearance of your favorite pottery shelves, instead replaced by school lockers and wall decals with various Hawkins High memorabilia. Students swerved around you, giving you odd looks and confused faces, you were clearly in the wrong place.

When the corridor emptied and the halls quietened, the boy spoke up, “I take it you’re not from around here? I’m Eddie,” you spared him a glance before introducing yourself. Don’t get you wrong, he seemed sweet and all, but your mind was a little preoccupied to engage in small-talk.

You decided to at least leave the school, it would be really awkward if a teacher found a college student just wandering the halls, but then again, looks like we’re in the 80s now, and from what your parents had told you about growing up in the 80s, most people wouldn’t care that much about some rando in the school.

You thought it better not to test your luck. “I’m… gonna go,” you tell Eddie, not waiting for a response before beelining it back the way you came. Navigating the hallways, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at how different everything looked, how there was still art on the walls, but done by different people, there were club posters smattered around the school, basketball tryouts were next week apparently, and the walls were almost pristine compared to the paint and grime smudged college block it had become almost 40 years in the future.

You sped-walked through the front office, trying to make it seem like you weren’t not supposed to be there, and burst into the midday sun, tension melting out of your muscles immediately once you escaped the high school.

You stood there for a few minutes, wondering what to do. You didn’t want to even think the utterly stupid idea that kept prodding at your mind. Worried that if you allow yourself to question it that you’d go insane. Not that this situation wasn’t already insane.

You heard your stomach rumble. Well, food didn’t seem like such a bad start.

[knoepfl]

hi I love your arcane viktor and mylo stories a lot 👀 and I have a request!

Could you do one where Y/N (who is his girlfriend in this) is hurt and she almost starts to cry because of the pain but Mylo is there to give her comfort and treat her wounds?? And maybe try to make her laugh by his stupid jokes to distract her pain (I just know that guy is a softie on the inside)

Hope this isn't much keep up the good work!! :3

Omg thank you so much for your request! I'm so happy to receive these and also to hear you like my fics is making me all giddy inside^^ I will absolutely do your request as fast as possible bc to be honest. I appreciate that you love Mylo too! It's hard to find fics with him. So here it is! I hope you like it and I didn't disappoint you^^

Patchwork and Punchlines

Characters:

• Y/N (Your Name)

• Mylo’s girlfriend, resourceful and tough, but injured during a skirmish.

• Mylo

• Sarcastic and witty, but shows his softer, caring side when Y/N gets hurt.

Pairing:

Mylo x Reader

Trigger Warnings:

• Violence and Injury: Includes a brief chase, Y/N being hit and injured, and receiving medical attention.

• Pain and Medical Treatment: Mentions of stinging pain and treating a bleeding wound.

• Mild Blood Imagery: Brief reference to blood and bandaging a wound.

Masterlist

Words: 1149

--- Zaun was no stranger to chaos, but tonight seemed particularly hostile. The air was thick with tension as you and Mylo darted through the crowded streets, weaving between towering pipes and makeshift bridges. A simple errand—delivering a small package for Vander—had spiraled out of control when a group of hostile enforcers appeared out of nowhere, barking orders and swinging batons.

"Split up!" Vi had shouted over her shoulder, already leading Powder and Claggor down another alley.

That left you and Mylo with no choice but to head the opposite direction, deeper into the winding maze of Zaun. The shouts of the enforcers echoed behind you, growing louder with every second.

“We’re gonna die!” Mylo yelled, narrowly avoiding a stack of crates as he sprinted ahead of you. “I knew this would happen! I said this was a bad idea, didn’t I?”

“You say everything is a bad idea!” you shot back, struggling to keep pace with him.

Suddenly, an enforcer burst out from a side alley, cutting off your path. His baton gleamed under the dim industrial lights as he swung it toward you. Instinctively, you ducked, the baton grazing your shoulder instead of smashing your face. The force of the blow sent you stumbling into a stack of barrels, the sharp edge of one scraping your arm as you fell.

“Y/N!” Mylo skidded to a stop, his eyes wide as he turned back to you.

“I’m fine!” you lied, clutching your arm as you scrambled to your feet. The pain was sharp and immediate, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins forced you to keep moving.

The enforcer lunged again, but this time Mylo stepped in, jabbing his elbow into the man’s stomach and yanking you out of harm’s way. “Fine, huh? You’re bleeding, genius!” he snapped, dragging you toward a narrow alley.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather bleed than get arrested!” you retorted, wincing as your arm throbbed.

“Good point,” Mylo muttered, glancing over his shoulder as more enforcers poured into the street behind you. “But I’d rather not do either.”

The two of you ducked into the alley, Mylo practically shoving you forward. The path twisted and turned, the walls closing in as the sound of pursuit grew fainter. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached a dead end.

“Great. Just great!” Mylo hissed, pacing back and forth. “We’re trapped! This is how it ends, isn’t it? Beaten to death by enforcers because Vi couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

You slumped against the wall, exhaustion and pain catching up to you. “Stop panicking for five seconds, Mylo. We lost them.”

He froze mid-rant, his gaze snapping to you. “You’re kidding, right? What if—”

“I said we lost them,” you interrupted, gesturing toward the silence around you. “Now, can you just—ugh—focus on this instead?” You pulled your hand away from your arm, revealing the blood-streaked tear in your sleeve.

Mylo’s face paled. “Oh, crap. That’s… that’s not good.”

“It’s not that bad,” you lied again, though the tears welling in your eyes said otherwise.

He crouched down in front of you, his earlier panic replaced by something softer. “Not that bad? Y/N, you’re leaking! People don’t just casually leak!”

---

You leaned against the wall, biting your lip to keep from crying out. Blood seeped through the tear in your sleeve, the sharp sting of the cut making your vision blur.

Mylo was crouched in front of you, his hands hovering as if unsure what to do. His usual snarky confidence was replaced by wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Okay, okay, don’t freak out,” he said, mostly to himself. “You’re not dying. Yet.”

You shot him a glare through the haze of pain. “Not helping, Mylo.”

“Right, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly flustered. “I’ve got this! Totally. Just… give me a second.”

He rummaged through his satchel, pulling out a ragged strip of cloth and a bottle of something that smelled like it could melt steel. His face softened when he glanced at your pale features, a rare crack in his sarcastic armor. “Hey, I’ll fix you up, alright? I’m practically a doctor. You can call me… uh, Dr. Mylo.” He grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Licensed in talking too much and patching up badasses like you.”

You tried to chuckle, but it came out as more of a wince. “Doesn’t sound very reassuring.”

He kneeled closer, dabbing the cloth in the makeshift antiseptic. “Okay, this might sting a little. Like, maybe a lot. But you’re tough, right?” His voice wavered, betraying the nervousness he was trying to hide.

When the cloth touched your wound, a sharp hiss escaped your lips, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Mylo froze, his hand halting mid-motion. “Whoa, whoa, Y/N—don’t cry!” he blurted, his voice rising an octave. “I mean, not that you can’t cry if you want to, but—uh—oh, crap, I’m terrible at this.”

You couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh at his panic. “Mylo, you’re so bad at this.”

“Hey, that’s rude. I’m saving your life here!” He smirked, clearly relieved by the sound of your laugh. “I mean, without me, who’d patch you up? Vi? She’d probably just punch the wound closed.”

“Powder?” you teased.

“Powder would just throw glitter on it and call it a day.”

The image of Powder sprinkling glitter over a bloody wound made you laugh despite the pain. Mylo grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and gently continued cleaning the cut. “There we go, see? You’re already looking better. Laughing hurts less than crying, right?”

As he worked, he kept up a steady stream of ridiculous jokes and commentary. “You know, if you keep getting hurt like this, I’m gonna start charging you. I don’t work for free, you know.”

“Oh, really? What’s your price?” you asked, your voice steadier now.

“Hm…” Mylo tilted his head, pretending to think. “How about you buy me dinner? Or, I dunno, just kiss me better when I inevitably stab myself trying to open a can or something.”

You smiled through the lingering sting of the antiseptic. “Deal.”

With the wound cleaned and bandaged, Mylo sat back on his heels, brushing a lock of hair out of your face with uncharacteristic tenderness. “See? Told you I’d fix you up. Not bad for a street rat, huh?”

“Not bad at all,” you admitted, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the injury. “Thanks, Dr. Mylo.”

He chuckled, the sound softer now. “Anytime, Y/N. But seriously, next time? Duck faster.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. Mylo might have been a cocky, sarcastic pain most of the time, but when it mattered, he was there for you. And as he leaned in to press a quick, awkward kiss to your forehead, you realized you wouldn’t trade him for anything.

---

[yanderecrazysie]

Guardian Devil (Yandere Sugawara)

This is another commission! Thank you so much for commissioning me! ^-^

Title: Guardian Devil

Pairings: Sugawara Koushi x Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, NSFW, NON-CON breeding, characters obv aged up, chubby reader, Suga’s fuckin crazy

Description: Your sweet boyfriend has a dark side.

Some people believed that there’s only “fight or flight”, but you believed “freeze” was much more descriptive for you. You always wondered if your life would flash before your eyes before you died but, for you at least, there was nothing but sheer terror.

The car barrelled down the street. You could see the driver in slow motion, looking down at something, probably his phone. You were going to get hit, there was no doubt about it.

Suddenly, you were on the sidewalk with your boyfriends’ arms wrapped around you. It still took several minutes for you to come out of your frozen state, and you began to cry, clutching Sugawara’s shirt and babbling out “thank you”s.

The car disappeared around the corner, never realizing how close it had come to taking a life. Sugawara held you close and you could hear his heartbeat, which was much faster than usual.

“Are you okay?” he asked, helping you stand up gently.

“Just a few scrapes and bruises,” you replied, looking down at your ripped jeans and the bloody scrapes on your knees, “But without you, I’d be dead.”

Sugawara let out a wavering sigh, “If you had gotten hit… I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

The two of you continued your walk home. You were still shaking a little, so when someone’s large dog jumped up against its owner’s fence and snarled at you, you jumped a mile.

You caught a look at Sugawara’s face and noticed his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. You’d never seen him look anything other than cheerful or worried, but you brushed the event from your mind as the dog eventually retreated.

You never saw that dog again on your walks home.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Sugawara was suddenly by your side all the time, more than ever before. And when you were apart, he texted you constantly. You wondered if the near-miss with the car had traumatized him and decided to embrace your boyfriend’s new attention.

Whenever you went somewhere without him, he demanded you send him a message that you had arrived safely. He began to ask questions about every friend you met, most of which you couldn’t answer, since they were so personal.

The final straw came when you bumped into an old friend. They invited you for coffee and you completely forgot about Sugawara. You hadn’t seen this friend in forever, so it seemed harmless enough.

When you finally arrived home, Sugawara was waiting on your doorstep. His expression was unreadable as he stood up to approach you.

“You didn’t tell me you would be late,” he said quietly.

“I ran into an old friend, I’m so sorry!” you faltered under his intense gaze, “It was so last-minute I didn’t realize-”

“You could have been in danger,” Sugawara said, “Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

“I was fine! I was just drinking coffee!”

Sugawara’s mouth became a thin line, “Just coffee. With someone who isn’t me.”

You blinked, a little frightened by his harsh tone. Wanting to placate him you said, “Let’s go inside and watch a movie or something.”

As soon as the door had closed, Sugawara’s lips were crashing against your own. You kissed back, despite being surprised by the sudden change of heart. Before you knew it, his hands were sliding under your shirt. 

The two of you made your way onto the couch and you smiled up at your boyfriend, unsure of where this sudden lust came from. Sugawara undressed you carefully, with trembling hands like you were a porcelain doll that could break easily.

His lips met your round stomach and gently kissed his way down to your heat, diving in like a man starved. You moaned at his touch, especially when he inserted two fingers into your hole, pumping them in and out. You tangled your fingers in his hair.

You had always been embarrassed by your weight, but Sugawara treated you like a goddess, murmuring praises about how beautiful you were as he began spreading your legs. “Condom,” you reminded him.

Sugawara stared down at you, and for a moment you thought he hadn’t heard you, too caught up in his lust. Then, he began to laugh- a cold, harsh laughter that sent chills down your spine.

His face twisted into a deranged smile, “Why would I use a condom? If I knock you up, you won’t be going anywhere any time soon.”

“Huh?” was all you could manage to say.

“No more college, no more part-time job, no more visiting random friends,” Sugawara giggled, a strange, hysterical giggle you’d never heard come out of his mouth, “You’ll have to stay home while your belly gets even rounder and these-” he began to knead your breasts with his hands, “-will fill up with milk.”

“I’m not ready for that!” you snapped, trying to sit up. He pushed you back down, firmly planting a hand on your chest.

“You are. And I’ll keep you here until you realize that.”

With that, he thrust inside. You squealed in pure shock as his sizable dick filled your cunt. He held you down as he began to thrust in and out roughly. What scared you most, though, was his crazy ramblings.

“Your friend probably wanted to kill you, so I’m doing you a favor,” he said, almost condescendingly, “I won’t let anyone frighten you again, you’re going to stay here with me forever.”

He was panting and his eyes were dilated. You’d never seen him like this and it terrified you.

“G-gonna cum,” he warned.

“Pull out!” you wailed. Your orgasm crashed over you. Your walls betrayed you by milking your boyfriend’s cock and he responded by collapsing on top of you as rope after rope of cum shot into your womb, his mushroom head pressed as close to the cervix as possible.

You began to cry. Sugawara looked surprised, as though you were doing something completely unexpected. Still laying over you, he stroked your cheek.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you ever again.”

You wondered how he didn’t realize that he had hurt you more than anyone else ever had.

[klunkcat]

50 VAGUE ANGSTY + HURT/COMFORT DIALOGUE PROMPTS

7. "Did they hurt you?" gio + author's choice :3c

This is foul, just want to say! Not my fault!!!

Gioverse can be found here - this is n!mikey centered because its me <3

His first mistake, in a long line of many, was assuming he could leave for a few hours.

Gio had mentioned in the start-stop way of his that meant more half hedging implications of noticing something than ever an outright statement, that he’d never had broccoli and cheddar cheese soup before. This was, of course, a sin that Mikey had no choice but to right as soon as possible. He’d thought he could be in an out in thirty minutes, maybe an hour tops. Swing by April’s place after giving her a call, pick up the ingredients and head back. Easy peasy. 

He and Gio had really started to crack into his recipe book lately, and the thought was a syrupy sweet palpitation in his chest. Adding one more warm thing to the repertoire of lessons he was bundling the kid in seemed like a wonderful opportunity. 

Except, of course, he’d left Gio alone with them. 

It had been a long minute since Donnie had willingly left his lab, in his defense. More often than not Mikey had to brave the mess of cold wires and empty metal to try and bring dinner to his brother that he knew in his heart of hearts would be forgotten. And Raph rarely stayed in the Lair long enough to do anything other than sleep. He hadn’t thought— well, there was the crux of it. He hadn’t thought at all. 

Returning through the front door with bags of broccoli and the fancy kind of cheddar, he’d been thinking of warmth. Of getting that rare shy smile of Gio’s to shine through once again, just for the two of them. He’d been thinking of kitchen lights and music bouncing off walls, and not at all of the echoes or the empty rooms around them. 

“ – if you think, for one second that he’d– “

“That’s the problem!” Raph’s voice thunders. Mikey’s heart takes a sharp twist and tumbles straight down to the stone floor. “I don’t know anymore. You don’t either! Just— can we stop pretending?” 

A sharp, icy scoff. “Isn’t that what you’re best at, brother of mine? Or is that just Mikey. Should we ask him?”

“Don’t,” Raph growls back. 

“Or what! You’re not even here. Am I the only one who can’t do this? This thing where we act like we can make anything better just because he’s here—” Donnie’s voice pitches up, practically a roar by the end splintering off into a thousand barbs Mikey knew he’d wrap himself in the second that he could. But where is Gio? 

There’s a crash.

The bags fall from his hands to the floor. He takes in the fact Gio’s bedroom door is open, that the lights in the living room are on and— 

It’s all noise and color. Mikey barrelling through, skidding to a stop and registering just enough to note Raph’s balled fists, Donnie’s sharp glare, and Gio, standing just behind the couch, surrounded by shards of glass. Gio’s wide eyes, looking between his brother’s and over at Mikey like he isn’t sure there was anywhere left in the world for him to go. 

No one moves except for him.

He falls to his knees instantly, scooping Gio’s face in his shaking hands. “Are you— did they hurt you? Show me your hands, buddy, okay? I’ll check, I’ll make it better, you’re safe I promise, I—” 

Gio blinks, lets Mikey fuss and turn his hands all over, placating and malleable. There’s a tiny scrape on his knee that looks old, no cuts or nicks on his hands. No red or purple rising on his dark skin. Mikey closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against Gio’s for a shaky breath. 

He feels Gio’s hands reach up and press against his palms. “I’m okay,” he whispers after a moment, voice small and trying not to shake in the way that made his voice flatter. Younger. 

It doesn’t stop him from being terrified, because Gio had grown up somewhere Mikey didn’t know, where pinches and slaps had been handed out as easily as words. And it had taken Mikey all these hard months just to get the kid to stop scanning for exits in every room they stood in, and his brother’s had been yelling.

The thought slows, grinds to a halt. His brother’s had been yelling. About him. 

He makes himself lean back. Glances over at the rest of the room. 

Raph’s face is hollowed out. A complete study in guilt, one hand reaching forward almost unthinkingly. Like the smallest shard of an old Raphie had flickered through for a microsecond before vanishing on both of them. And Donnie– 

“We didn’t know he was here.” Don says, flat as ever. 

Mikey frowns, pulling Gio more firmly into his side. “That doesn’t make it okay.” 

There’s something strange to Donnie’s expression. Guilt? It can’t be. The loss of his twin had warped him so thoroughly that Mikey could never manage to fully understand, and he knows that this Donnie is a facsimile more often than his own person, but he’d thought… It isn’t a kind thought. It isn’t a thought he’s allowed to have anymore. 

“Mikey—” Raph tries, and some of the simmering anger Mikey makes sure he doesn’t have rises up between his breaths. 

“Don’t Mikey me. You were yelling about—” his voice catches, he makes it hold. “About me, right? You think I’m playing pretend. That I don’t know how bad we are.” He remembers that Gio’s here and holds onto the reminder like a buoy in the midst of all this disappointment and hurt, and the things they never say out loud anymore trying valiantly to fight their way through. “I’m not a stupid kid anymore, of course I know!” I know more than you, I know a thousand other worlds more than you, how badly we’re broken, I’ve seen them. 

His hurt crashes against him. “Of course I’m angry! I’m tired, and it’s so hard to try but I can do it  even if you can’t, and I am trying, so just. Stay the hell away and leave Gio out of this!” 

Raph’s face twists, his good eye dropping to the floor. “We thought. I thought he was with you. We wouldn’t hurt him.”

Gio’s warm and still bendable with his need to appease at Mikey’s side. It grounds him in all the same ways it makes all of this so much worse. Wouldn’t hurt him, except they’d yell and glare and avoid, right? Wouldn’t hurt him except that they didn’t know Gio thought he didn’t belong in the one place he should always feel safe. That he thought they hated him.

He opens his mouth, some boiling betrayal burning on his lips— 

“It’s my fault.” Donnie cuts in, still blank and stiff and sharp the way he always is, now. The admission is a tiny miracle nonetheless, and Mikey’s anger dies a quiet heat death in the center of himself. He doesn’t miss the tiny lurch in Gio’s breathing at his side, though. 

No one says anything for a long, horrid moment. Donnie looking straight through Mikey like he’s alone on a dying star; and it aches– it aches all the way through to know it’s an untouchable chill Mikey can’t ever break through even when he tries, and it’s worse to think that he’s used to it, but it’s familiar all the same. Don turns his head, hands flat at his side. 

“I’m the one who can’t do this.” Love right, he means. He doesn’t mean he can’t at all. 

Mikey pulls Gio closer, like he can shield him from the misunderstanding he knows will reach the kid anyways. He feels the words hit Gio, wash over him as Donnie leaves with a hiss of his lab door clicking firmly into place. 

He doesn’t mean it, Mikey thinks of saying helplessly. Except Donnie does mean everything he says, it just exists in stone blocks and hard data now and none of the softness has anywhere to stay. 

Raph watches Donnie leave, and lets out a long sigh. He rubs a hand over his face, and ages rapidly in a thousand eye bag lines all at once. “I’m sorry, kid,” Raph mumbles. Mikey’s not sure if he means Gio. He hasn’t been Raph’s kid in a long time. 

“It’s okay,” Gio says, stiff and quiet. Raph nods to himself, eye gazing emptily at anything but them, and shuffles himself off to his room. 

It’s them, again, like always. Mikey hates the fact he’s relieved enough to let himself untense— that his brother’s could ever exist in the same sentence as danger. It hurts to realize that his instincts have been wired backwards and inverted like this, in this reality Mikey couldn’t save anything from. 

He lets Gio go with a puff of breath and forces himself to stand, tries to find the strength in himself not to cry. There’s a light in him somewhere, still, but it’s different, too. 

Maybe he has been playing pretend in a type of way. Acting like he hadn’t changed as much as everyone else, too. 

Gio’s hand touches his, briefly. “Your knees.” 

He blinks. Oh. There’s blood, patches of it on the floor in between the glittering bits of glass. For a moment he worries that he had missed something after all, that Gio had been hurt— Gio stares nervously at Mikey’s legs where he’d crashed to his knees. 

There’s bloody tears in his pant legs. He doesn’t even feel it.

“Oops,” Mikey tries to laugh. It comes out wavering and pathetic. Gio bites his lip–  isn’t that a thought. All the yelling and the anger and the sheer brokenness of their family, and Gio looks like he might actually cry just over some scrapes from Mikey being stupid. He loves this kid so much it balloons right through him constantly in endlessly shocking ways. 

I’m sorry, Mikey thinks. He’s always sorry these days. “Let me get cleaned up, okay? Then, um. How about a new recipe? Think you’ll love it.” 

Gio looks like he wants to say something, closes his mouth instead. Smiles that tiny way Mikey would burn the world down for, instead. 

Maybe they’re both pretending, really. Maybe that’s all they can do. 

___

Gio grew up cold, it’s an inescapable reality he’s forged his understanding of the world around. There’s a bone deep chill that resides within most places, rooms for things that aren’t to be kept, and stern words meant to correct in straight neat lines. There’s no space for anything else. That’s the reality, kid. 

He’d spent most his life adapting, quick as he could to make the next deadline or the next drop. Make sure he was useful but not too important to be seen, to keep the jobs coming and food for the next day available. 

There was a point A to a point B, a quickest route forward. That’s all he needed. 

When Mikey found him a lot of that had been subsequently shaken apart. A lot of things suddenly meant staying, and promises, and bright room lights that held. Suddenly, food was fun and a given, and could be asked for, and there were laughs bubbling up and bouncing back to him, and warm hands against his cheeks asking ‘are you okay’ just to know. To check. 

He knew what being warm was because he knew the cold. He considered this a gift. 

There isn’t a single atom of himself that doesn’t ache with a deep homesickness he’s not sure he’s allowed to have every second that his Mikey is lost somewhere unreachable, but he is grateful. As much as he loves his family now, and their bright silly constant thrum of life everywhere he goes, he wouldn’t ever have chosen differently. 

If he was cold for nineteen years, it was so his big brother could burn bigger in comparison. 

His family now has plenty of warmth all on their own, but he tries to burn the same way for them all the same.

It’s funny, sometimes; his stomach twists with a fond ache that’s equal parts grief and absolute relief all in one that ties his words up somewhere else he can’t touch, but he misses his Mikey in the same way he loves this one. He wonders if Mikey knows how bright he is, that it’s the bravest thing he’s ever known. He’s also so small, here. Breakable in all the ways he bounces. It’s absolutely terrifying. 

Gio had been fighting in back alley scrapes and life or death battles since he was ten, but that doesn’t mean his little brother should. 

“Did they hurt you?” He asks, scanning absolutely every inch of Mikey’s arms and face he can see. He presses carefully at his sides, where the hard shell and plastron give way to more tender spaces. Mikey giggles instead of flinching, thank god. 

“Gogo~” Mikey complains, laughter bright on his cheeks. “I’ve been in bigger fights last week.” 

“You got thrown through a wall.” 

Mikey waves a hand. “Like, a little.” 

“No, he’s right,” Leo leans over Gio’s shoulder. “That sounded pretty rough. Anything dislocated?”

Gio hates the idea abruptly that any of them know what dislocation feels like, or that it’s regular enough it wouldn’t be obvious. 

“I’m fine, really! I pinky promise double swear.” 

Leo purses his lips. “With sprinkles on top?”  

Raph’s worry sensors must ping at the commotion, because Gio can hear him abruptly switching to Mikey fussing mode from the other room. Mikey’s expression darkens, Gio switches tactics. 

“You’re okay,” he decrees, with a tiny nod. “Soup will fix it.” 

Leo’s muffled snort is worth it for the way Mikey’s eyes light up. 

“Oh! I have broccoli I’ve been meaning to use.” He immediately jumps up, luckily confirming he is in fact just fine in the same motion, and instinctively puts both hands on Gio’s cheeks with excitement. “Oh mama, you have no idea what can of worms you’ve just unleashed. I’m going to make so much soup. How about a new recipe? I think you’ll love it.” 

Gio’s heart does something funny. 

“I’m sure I will,” he smiles back. Warm enough for all of them.

[steviewashere]

The Great Cornholio

Rating: General CW: Implied/Referenced Animal Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Animal Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Mild Angst, Fluff, Steve Harrington is Impulsive, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Soft Steve Harrington, Soft Eddie Munson, Adopting a Dog, Beavis and Butthead Reference, Cornholio the Dog, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Domestic Steddie, Domestic Fluff

🐕—————🐕 There’s a disrupting clatter of noise coming from the front door of their apartment. Eddie stops immediately what he’s been doing in the kitchen—wiping down counters and putting away the dry dishes from the rack—and listens in. Shushing. Scraping? And then…a whine.

“Steve?” He calls out.

All of the sounds immediately stop. Unnervingly so.

“Uh…Steve, you alright?” He calls out again. “You didn’t get into another fight again, did you? I think we’re out of rubbing alcohol, so it’ll be a bitch to disinfect any wounds you got.”

Subtle shuffling comes closer to the open doorway of the kitchen. Eddie turns to look. Steve’s standing in his work clothes, vest over his polo, jeans straight down his legs, shoes still laced. He’s flushed bright red. Nervously fiddling with his fingers. He shifts from foot to foot and peers up at Eddie through his eyelashes. Mirth glints at him.

“What’d you do,” Eddie sighs.

Steve smiles at him. All his teeth. Squinting his eyes so hard, they nearly look closed. “I got us something,” he giddily states, “you’re going to love it.”

Eddie gestures for him to get whatever this thing is. And waits, dish gloves up to his elbows, barefoot and in his pajamas, half-tired, not showered. He had a day off from work, the automotive shop around the corner, so what if he does chores and nothing else? But he’s especially exhausted. Just wants to relax. And knows, whatever Steve’s done, will tarnish all of that.

A couple minutes later, Steve comes back towards the kitchen. Vest gone, shoes off. Hands behind his back. Squirming left and right as his grip subtly—or not so subtly—changes. Slowly, carefully, he reveals the contents of his hands. And staring back at Eddie is a dog.

It’s a smaller breed—whatever breed it is. Soft looking, white fur. Ears that fold over like airplane wings. Big, brown, bug-like eyes. Pink nose, straight tail, short legs, and six toes on the front left foot. The dog’s cute, Eddie can objectively notice. It doesn’t mind being held, considering how Steve’s holding it close to his belly like it’s a toddler. And it’s not barking at him, like most dogs do the first time they’re introduced to him. This one’s rather mellow. Very relaxed. Though, that may just be from nerves.

“I got a dog,” Steve says. His voice goes a little high with his happiness. Smile bright and big and unmistakeable. Eyes excited and warm.

Eddie already knows he won’t turn this away.

“I can see that,” he states. “Is it our dog or—“

“His name is Cornholio. Like in Beavis and Butthead. And I’ve got all the supplies in the trunk,” Steve begins explaining, barreling over Eddie’s question. Okay, so it’s definitely ours, Eddie notes. “Cornholio here is housebroken. He knows how to sit and lay down. He’ll be sleeping with us in bed, I’m not making him lay in a dog bed by himself. And I’m going to buy him his own turkey to eat for dinner. And—“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie interrupts. Immediately, Steve stops talking. And his smile fades. Looking more like…Well, it’s in bad taste, but he looks like a kicked puppy. The longer Eddie takes to collect himself, though, Steve appears as if his entire family has been slaughtered in front of his eyes. Eddie rubs a, now gloveless, hand between his eyebrows. “We didn’t talk about getting a dog? What led you to do this? How much did he cost? Have you factored in the possibility that either of us could be allergic?” Calm down, he scolds himself. He takes a quick, steadying breath. “I’m not…We can keep the dog, Stevie. But I—I’m not prepared for a dog.”

Steve cradles the dog closer to himself. Looks down at the top of his head and kisses the fur between his ears. Cornholio looks up with his big brown eyes, his tail wags as much as it can where Steve’s holding him, and he licks the underside of Steve’s jaw. “I just thought it would be nice to have a little buddy around,” he murmurs lowly, a little sad. “There was an ad for the humane society in the newspaper this morning and I thought, y’know, what if I looked after work? Just for the shits and giggles of it, but then I saw him. 

“And he’d been there for three years. He used to be left alone at his old house for weeks on end. Just left with scraps and the bag of dog food. Whatever he could find. He was lonely and sad and…Somebody finally called for him to be taken in.” Steve shrugs as much as he can with the weight of the dog between his arms. Looks up to Eddie, his eyes just as big as Cornholio’s, wet and tired. Meekly, he adds, “He made me think of myself. When…When my parents would just leave me all alone.”

Oh, Eddie thinks. His chest feels heavier. Head foggier. Eyes stinging.

“And you wanted to give him a better chance than what you had,” Eddie says, though he meant it like a question. It comes out a little breathy, too much of a realization to be anything more than that. Steve nods slowly, gently.

“He was only $50. I’ll return him if it’s a prob—“

“No, no,” Eddie rushes. He forces himself to move forward. Stand close and in Steve’s space. He peers down at the top of Cornholio’s little head, his tantalizingly soft fur. So, he scratches his nails over the baby’s scalp. He peers up at Steve again. At his impossibly sadder eyes, just a second away from bursting into tears. His free hand comes up and cups Steve’s left cheek. Thumb gently swiping over his cheekbone. “I think that you picked a good one, sweetheart. This baby’s adorable,” he coos. “Look, he’s even got my eyes.”

Steve scoffs. “Your eyes? He’s my son!”

Eddie hums. “Actually, he’s our son,” he murmurs. Smiles small to himself at the way Steve preens at those words. “And his name is Cornholio, like in Beavis and Butthead. And he’s going to eat turkey with us every night. And he can sleep between us in bed to ward off our nightmares, yeah?”

“Really? You’re not mad?”

He shrugs. “No, maybe just a little scrambled. But…I’m also an impulsive person, so this matters none.” Cornholio’s fur is incredibly soft under his hand. And he looks up at the two of them with all the gentleness in the world. And, maybe, Eddie thinks he could die happy here and now.

Steve leans in a little closer. Rests his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder as they both peer down at the little white dog. “Huh,” he mutters, “I guess he does have your eyes.”

“See?” Eddie asks softly, grinning. “Match made in heaven. How about we take him on a walk? Show him our picnic spot?”

Abruptly, Steve gasps. “Oh my gosh!” He crows, “We can take him on our picnics with us! And he can meet all the dogs at the park! And he can lay in our laps! And—“

Chuckling, Eddie swipes a soothing hand down Steve’s back. He’s bouncing in place, probably five seconds away from lift-off into the ceiling. He kisses Steve’s temple. Murmurs, “I’ll make some sandwiches, alright? Go get his collar and leash.”

Steve positively squeals.

And Eddie was right. This does ruin the plans he had on his day off, but he figures this is better. Way better than anything he could’ve done for himself. There was no way he was going to turn down the opportunity to see his boy happy.

🐕—————🐕

[moodymisty]

M-more Horus stuff? Fluff or smut? I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel for more Horus related content crumbs.

Author’s note: Using your request to spread sugar daddy Horus propaganda, sorry.

Relationships: Horus/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, I was like this close to putting daddy kink in this you all better be fucking glad I held back and go full cringe, Fingering, Clothed sex

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the same thing twice.”

Fulgrim’s sonorous voice surprises you, turning around to see him standing not far behind you with his arms crossed and cape flowing gently behind him. This is only the third or fourth time you've even seen him, but before you have a chance to politely greet him, he continues speaking.

“Horus likes to spoil his little Luna Wolf princess, doesn’t he?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and instead just shirk a bit under Fulgrim's gaze, but you know he's not exactly wrong. You shuffle a bit in your shoes in front of the primarch and attempt to say something that won't insult Horus, nor insult Fulgrim's prodding. You know from Horus himself that the primarch is often quite guilty of doing so, if only of entertainment's sake.

“Perhaps he does get a bit overzealous at times. He does it to make up for how long he’s absent, I think.” Fulgrim gives a sweet but knowing smirk.

“How cute. I’m almost jealous.”

It's hard to tell if the primarch is being demeaning towards Horus, or if he finds the Horus' behavior towards his- as Fulgrim put it - Luna Wolf princess genuinely endearing or at least amusing. Though you don't quite figure it out, as the primarch departs with a curt but friendly enough goodbye, and lets you continue walking to Horus’ private study in silence.

Once you reach it and pass a few Luna Wolves along the way, you reach the ones guarding the door to his innermost study and stop. They tilt their heads downward ever so slightly to look at you, and you nearly stutter from the feeling of being their main focus for a moment.

“Am I allowed in to see him?”

You always speak to his men politely, as often times more casual speech tends to confuse Astartes. Jokes and slang can often turn into entire explanations or accidental offenses, if you aren't careful.

“You’re allowed in any room of Lord Horus’ wing unless he specifically states you’re not, my lady.” You nod and walk past them, the door closing shut behind you just as you catch sight of your primarch.

“Horus?”

At his massive writing desk Horus turns to face you, face perking to a smile as he beckons you closer with a hand. Once you are, he can easily pick you up and sit you on the desk to be at level with him, though when he stands, the height difference is one again drastic; Though not as much as if you were on your own feet.

Despite your shining, smiling face at seeing him again Horus can tell something is a bit off with you, and calls it out moments after stealing a small kiss from your lips.

"Is something wrong?" He says, face soft but a bit sterner than it was in preparation for if this issue is something he has to fix.

“Oh, I saw Lord Fulgrim. He seems to have noticed just how many dresses you’ve given me…” You leave out the myriad of other things he's given you- jewelry, perfumes and other delicate goods - and Horus rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry about him. He has no right to talk about such a thing. I’m sure he’s gathered more than enough opulence to make us all pale in comparison. He’s just throwing stones and enjoys the gossip.” Horus’ hands rest on your waist, though he shifts them occasionally to brush up and down your sides. He doesn't have to do so much, as his hands are already large enough to cover a good portion of your midsection.

“I don’t want to you want for even a single thing. It’s the least I can do for the love you give me.” Horus gives a slightly more mischievous and darker smile, as his thumbs brush over your ribs.

“And, is it so wrong for a man to want to see his beloved draped in all the things he can gift her?”

You can't help but heat up under his gaze, feeling his hands pull away from you only to land on your knees and drift upward. He's taking the fabric of your dress up with him, his eyes watching you intently. He always manages to pin you under his stare with so little effort.

"You look so beautiful, I can't help it."

His hands reach the tops of your thighs, pushing your dress over your hips and revealing your underwear. He pulls the middle to the side with ease, and dares to chuckle at the sigh you let out as his fingers brush over your cunt. He kisses the top of your head.

“My men will be here in a few minutes and I must leave. Let me give you something to think about until I return.”

His fingers slip between your folds and press firmly against you, causing you to let out a soft noise as he toys with you. He can feel you getting wetter and wetter as his fingers circle your clit and you bite the inside of your cheek, before leaning forward as you feel his middle finger prod at your entrance. Your hands grip the loose fabric he's wearing for the gentle chill of Terra, wrinkling underneath your tiny fingers.

He slowly but firmly pushes his way inside of you and listens, feeling you writhe underneath him as he fills you. You can feel him curl his finger inside of you, teasing the most sensitive parts hidden deep.

“Horus…” You mumble, feeling his other hand grip your thigh and pull on it to spread you legs apart again after you'd attempted to close them. He holds it gently, but firm to offer no escape.

“We should hurry, little one.”

Your hands pull on his clothing, attempting to hold on as he looms partly over you. He’s watching his hand between your legs the entire time, listening to the sounds that even quiet still make him warm as he begins slips a second finger inside of you. You legs flex against him trying to move, feeling that momentary stretch before it becomes that full feeling you're oh so used to. You're leaking all over his hand, slick and shining same as your upper thighs and the tabletop beneath you. He feels his cock twitch in his trousers as your hips push towards him, desperate for more of anything he'll give you.

He wishes he had more time. He knows now he’ll be frustrated and on edge for awhile until his desire fades long enough that he can forget about it, until he returns. Once he does, he can selfishly indulge in you until you have nothing left to give, and lay tired in his bed adorned only the most beautiful things he can gift you.

Large fingers curling inside of you, filling you close to but not quite as much as his cock would, had he the time.

“Lord Horus? The Vengeful Spirit is ready to depart.”

The primarch doesn’t remove his eyes from the way his hand stays firmly between your thighs, fingers and palm slick. He responds to his men outside the door without missing a beat, or seeming even the slightest bit distracted as his fingers thrust in and out of you. You muffle your voice on his chest, panting as your warm forehead leans against him.

“I will be there in a moment. Go on ahead and board.”

His sons are quiet for a moment you notice, before responding and leaving. You can barely hear it through the sound of your heart in your ears as Horus leans down to speak; Hot breath against the shell of your ear.

They can all wait a bit longer. I won’t leave you wanting, not yet.”

You’re sure he can feel the heat on your face, radiating off your skin as your hips push towards him. You know he can smell you as well, the sweet saccharine scent of your body begging for him. Your cunt tightens around him as he thrusts his fingers into you just that little bit rougher, faster, trying to pull your orgasm from you.

He can barely feel the death grip you have on his clothes, but the way your small hands grip the fabric he finds adorable. You're so unbelievably small in comparison to him, it always stirs something in him when it's particularly obvious.

The latest time was when he'd offered you his cloak during a cold chill, and the way the thick fabric had swallowed your form while you watched his Luna Wolves train had you underneath him getting your tiny cunt abused in his quarters mere hours later.

The wet sounds he pulls from you echo in the massive room as he forces his fingers as deep as they can inside of you, burying to the figurative hilt. It makes your toes curl in your shoes, and jaw shake from how tight it is. You're so close, your stomach is in knots as you desperately dance along that edge.

Your hands leave his clothing to grip his wrist, pulling on it until his palm begins brushing against your clit. It isn’t long until you’re cumming on his hand, thighs trying fruitlessly to crush it as you cry out. Horus merely chuckles, as if your sensitivity and want is amusing to him.

“Good girl, finally.”

Your lips slightly part as you try to catch your breath, only letting out a groan at the overstimulated jolt as he pulls his fingers from you and casts you in that empty, sore ache.

Wiping his hand on the fabric of his trousers he leans close to you and steals a kiss from your lips, feeling your flushed skin on his. When he pulls away he has a smile, but you can see the darkened lust in his eyes; He's so close to you that when he shifts, you can feel his cock brush against your knee through his trousers.

“I will return soon, my love. I promise. Be ready for me then.”