#I know there seems to be an underlying meaning

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[waaayoutofline]

Murder On The Dancefloor (part 3)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: Nothing too explicit. Just angst-

WORD COUNT: 3849

A / N: Helloo! So, this is a lengthy one. Remember when I said that this was a trilogy? Well, clearly not-There will be at least one more xd Thank you all for reading and interacting <3

***

When it came to Agent Natasha Romanoff, the word easy was never in your vocabulary. If anything, your dynamic was the opposite. Between the two — both so different, so stubborn and set in your own ways—peace never had a chance to take root.

But as you two glided onto the dance floor with a scary synchronization, an old ‘70s song playing softly, that elusive word was the only one that came close to describing the moment.

It was staggeringly, painfully easy.

The redhead took the lead almost instantly, with a grace and serenity that seemed worlds away from her usual strict persona. The lights cast errant glimmers of gold and silver over her, making her pale skin seem to glow. The faint scent of her perfume left a trace in the air that you couldn’t help to notice.

In these fleeting instances, the woman you’d been at odds with for years seemed subtly, strangely changed.

As if swaying to the beat, guiding you effortlessly through each step, was something she was born to do—like reuniting with an old friend from the past.

You might’ve been confident in your own skill, but you were briefly relieved that Natasha clearly knew what she was doing. If you hadn’t known her better, you might have mistaken her for any of the prestigious dancers here.

Struck by the unfamiliarity of the moment, you were startled back by the countdown of Ethan Cole.

“One, two, three, one!” With that, the music changed to a more upbeat song, and everyone sprung into action. 

With a firm grip on your waist, Natasha pulled you closer to her, her lips lightly gracing your ear. You could feel the warmth of her body contrasting against your usually chilled skin. 

”So, what now?” She blurts out, straight to the point. You create some just enough distance to blink up at her innocently. 

“Oh, whatever do you mean?” You asked sweetly. The redhead didn’t even blink as she stared you down with an unimpressed look.

”Please, we both know you're not planning on winning this with the honour of sportsmanship, so let's cut down the chase.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Oh, perhaps she did know you. 

“But that’s my favourite part!” You practically whined. 

She was right, of course. You weren’t stupid enough to let season veterans surpass you so easily. “You wound me, Natasha. I can play nice, y’know.” You defy, but she merely looks at you. 

“Perhaps. But you don't really want to, do you?” She mutters, lowly enough to almost get engulfed by the base notes of the song. But you hear it loud and clear, the words sending a pang of excitement which further increases as you see the tiniest of smiles graze her lips. “So, who is it going to be first? The Barbie and Ken you have been eying up since we first arrived? Or perhaps that one couple who just came out from a 70s disco ball special magazine? 

Your smirk went into a full-blown grin. ”Ah, perhaps some of my mischievousness has rubbed off on you.” You taunted defiantly. 

“You wish” She scoffed, now with a small smirk of her own. This was no different from your usual banter, but instead of the underlying aggressiveness, there was just harmless playfulness. It felt familiar but strange all the same. 

“Just…-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes with a playful huff. “Don’t worry. It’ll be a… bloodless murder on the dance floor. Just try not to kill the groove, and we’ll get that pass.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow at your quip, a glint of challenge in her eye. Before you could process it, she pulled you in close, spinning you around with a swift, practised move. In an instant, you found yourself pressed against her, her hand settling confidently on your hips.

Heat flushed your cheeks as her face leaned in close to your ear, her breath warm against your skin. You could practically feel the overconfidence radiate off of her when she whispered, “Oh you got it twisted Raven. You will be the one trying to keep up with me.”

You gulped, not really knowing how to react to this sudden shift in her attitude. No, you were the one who usually teased her, not the other way around. It was throwing you slightly off balance. 

After another beat, she spun you around again, bringing you face to face. You pray to the high heavens that she doesn’t notice the slight pink on your cheeks. 

As if on cue, a call of ‘The all together’ rang out. In the blink of an eye, the dancers fell into a line formation, their bodies synchronized, down to the stomps on the ground. Arms raised in a clap, performing a series of dramatic moves in perfect unison.

You seized the brief moment of distance from your peers to gather your thoughts. This wasn’t the time to lose focus. No, you were here for a reason. This time there was something higher at stake.

Natasha distracting you shouldn’t even be a factor! But ever since stepping onto the floor, it was as though she had done a complete 180 on you.

The intensity rose, some couples are already being disqualified, but there were still too many people left, you realized. Shaking your head, you took a deep breath. Concentrate, Raven.

Graciously, Natasha seemed to float above the air as she reached for you again. Once you two were together again, you scanned the other participants' positions, trying to find an opening.

A sigh escapes you, thinking how easy it could have all this been if Natasha didn’t force you to play nice. 

As the two of you engaged in some movements, you eyes landed on the various couples. Some were already moving with  impressive confidence, reaching cockiness. 

You cursed softly under your breath. This just barely started and you already have seen someone being spun through the air like a helicopter. 

But if they think they are going to get away with victory, you are going to prove them wrong.

”Move us to the right.” You mutter in her ear as she pulls you in close after yet another crossed movement. Surprisingly enough, the redhead complies, easily moving you around to where you desired. 

Rolling away, you “accidentally” flex your leg, just in the nick of time to make a woman trip and fall on her backside. 

There was a commotion as the girl’s partner stumbled, desperately trying to catch her up, but it was too late. One of the judges noticed the mistake and promptly disqualified the two. 

The girl, red-faced with fury and indignation, started throwing accusations in your direction, her words growing more frantic as she was pulled away by her partner—and eventually by Cole himself, who seemed to have none of it. Her protests were muffled by the booming call of the “All Together.”

Natasha stepped up beside you, gawking. 

“What?” you said, shrugging and refusing to look her way. “It got the job done, didn’t it?

Her lack of answer was enough for you.

Your attention shifted to an obnoxiously coordinated trio of men directly in front of you. You rolled your eyes, already setting your sights on them. Before you could make your move, Natasha’s hands found their way to your hips, effortlessly guiding your body to the rhythm. 

Her movements were fluid, her touch steady, and your coordination fell perfectly in line as though you two have been practising this for weeks. Was there anything she wasn’t good at? You asked yourself in a mix of confusion and subtle admiration. Not that you would ever confess the last one of course.

As she extended both your arms outward, her free hand brushed over your shoulder in a deliberate motion. Your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering slightly at the unexpected gentleness. You weren’t used to this—weren’t used to her like this.

“I know that glint,” she muttered near your ear, her voice knowing. “Got another victim in your sights, don’t you?”

You hummed in confirmation as you guided her with your eyes to the next person to sabotage, not trusting your voice to sound steady. Natasha caught on to your plan as you slipped from her grasp, gracefully executing a cross-body turn. 

She was quick to guide you back into rhythm as you swooped in, swiftly grabbing the thin strap of one of the competitors’ dresses. With a tug, the whole dress fell, pooling at the woman’s feet.

A gasp escaped the blonde as she scrambled to cover herself, fleeing in panic with her partner chasing after her.

“That was mean,” Natasha admonished, though the laugh she barely stifled betrayed her. The corners of her lips twitched upward, and for a moment, the guarded edge that so often was present in your exchanges softened under the shimmering light of the mirror ball.

“Oh? Is Agent Romanoff actually having fun?” you teased, unable to hide your delight at the rare shift in her demeanour.

Natasha huffed, but the faintest trace of a smile lingered on her lips, betraying her amusement.

It caught you off guard. The usual tension and harshness that defined your… relationship, seemed to dissolve in the glimmering light. For once, there was no mission, no stakes—just the two of you, sharing a laugh in a moment that felt painfully human. Having a nice, casual moment

A voice laughed mockingly in your head at that. 

This went on for a while to the point where even less people remained. The only issue was that the quality of them was also notoriously good.

Through the speakers, one judge announce a small break time. The competitors were expected to keep a bit of a groove going, but it was also a chance to grab some refreshments. It did give you an idea.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you said softly, stepping away from Natasha. Before she could ask what you were about to do, you managed to slip through the crowd, your movements fluid enough to blend in with the rhythm of the room.

Spotting the drinks table ahead, you made your way toward it, gliding with purpose. You glanced around, making sure the coast was clear, then discreetly twisted the hidden compartment on your ring, revealing a small amount of white powder. Just as you were about to mix it into the lemonade, a familiar presence stopped you.

Natasha.

This time, she succeeded in intercepting you, catching your wrist. Her grip was firm but not rough. 

“Raven—” She started, with doubt. It wasnt as accusatory as usual, but it had enough distrust.

“Natasha,” you interrupted, mimicking her tone, though the seriousness on her face made you falter slightly. 

The playfulness from earlier was briefly diminished, replaced with a slightly sharper gaze that meant business. 

Of course. You were briefly enchanted by your timed truce. Natasha’s trust in you still remained as fragile as always.

You sighed, deciding to drop the act. “Geez relax, I’m not poisoning anyone. It’s just laxatives,” you admitted with a chuckle. “Lame, I know, but effective.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied you, searching for any sign of deceit. But you held her gaze steadily, unflinching. After a tense moment, she finally released your arm.  “Thank you,” you said while forcing a grin, stepping past her toward the table.

 You didn’t know why her distrust stung, it wasn’t like the two of you were friends.

“Now shoo—you’ll scare off the boys.” You winked with an overexaggerated enthusiastic expression before turning back to your task, feeling her eyes linger on you for a moment longer before she moved away. Quickly putting in the powder, you stirred the drinks, stood pretty and waited. 

Quickly enough, the trio of men from before approached you, each one wearing what they likely thought were “million-dollar” smiles. You greeted them warmly enough, keeping your expression as unassuming as possible.

“Hey there. Saved some drinks for us?” one asked cockily.

Feigning shyness, you nodded and held out the drinks.

“I’ve been watching you,” another added, his voice dripping with confidence. “Quite the pretty thing with some decent moves, aren’t ya?” His eyes gave you a once-over, and you fought the urge to roll your own. Oh, you’d been watching them too, alright.

You accepted the compliment with a small, bashful smile as they eagerly grabbed their drinks, clearly parched.

They didn’t hesitate, drinking quickly. It didn’t take long for discomfort to show on their faces. Their grins faltered, replaced by pained grimaces, and just as quickly as they had arrived, they were stumbling away, clutching their stomachs.

You finished your own drink with a satisfied grin, which you quickly replaced with one of feigned confusion.

However, your moment of triumph didn’t last long. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Montgomery’s sharp gaze locked onto you. 

You froze briefly, then scanned the dance floor for Natasha, only to realize that she had noticed too. When her eyes met yours across the room, an unspoken understanding seemed to pass between you.

Before you could process what was happening, Natasha moved swiftly. Taking advantage of the distraction caused by the participants crowding the drink table, she slipped out of sight, disappearing behind the curtains. A moment later, you caught a glimpse of her grabbing Montgomery—the older woman’s face twisting in surprise—before they both vanished from the floor entirely.

You blinked, momentarily stunned.

Huh. You didn’t think she had it in her to play along with your games. 

She soon enough came out of the shadows, moving towards you as if nothing happened, just in time for the dance to resume. Guiding you yet again to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but so sneaker. She huffs while moving to position. 

“That was reckless.” She comments. You shrug, hands returning to your rightful place. 

“What’s life without a little risk? Besides, now we only have two judges to care for.” She doesn’t look necessarily pleased with your justification, but relentless nonetheless. 

“Spin me around.”  You muttered, subtly patting your chest with your free hand. Always observant, Natasha caught the motion, her curiosity piqued as her eyes followed the movement. When she didn’t respond, you felt slightly put off.

“Natasha?” you called again, your tone playfully insistent.

When her gaze finally locked with yours, you seized the moment, winking with a knowing smirk and raising your eyebrow, questioning.

It could have been the rising temperature or the suffocating heat of the lights, but you were certain the blush that crept up to her ears was very real. Ah, got caught.

She was embarrassed, you realized. It felt a bit nice, seeing for once the imperfect and human person under the secretive superspy. Not that she would ever really show you willingly, you thought. 

Finally, she lifted both your arms with deliberate ease, guiding you into a smooth spin. With flawless timing, you used the momentum to grab the butter packet you snatched from the snack table, flicking it right under the heel of a currently spinning dancer.

Grinning with satisfaction, you watched as the pair stumbled when she slipped and lost their footing, resulting in yet another immediate disqualification.

This pattern continued throughout the night. Your personal favourite moment came when you managed to slip one of your lacy thongs into the pocket of an unsuspecting male dancer. The garment was just visible enough for his partner to spot it, her face twisting in fury before she slapped him hard across the cheek.

Hiding in Natasha’s arms, you parted away from her chest as if startled by the scene, gasping dramatically.

“Wasn’t that one too far?” Natasha murmured, her tone low, brushing past playful. “I think you just broke a relationship.”

You shrugged, your smirk teasing as you feigned innocence. “Hey, I paid the price,” you said with a light-hearted tone, but then your grin turned sharper, your eyes glinting with mischief. You leaned in as if to share a secret.  “I looked really, really good in those.”

Your voice dipped just enough to charge the air, and as you pulled back, you met Natasha’s gaze through your lashes, your head tilted ever so slightly in a challenge.

You didn’t miss the way her breath hitched. The mask of her usual composure faltered, her eyes darkening ever so slightly as her grip on your waist tightened. For a fraction of a second, you felt her fingers curl against you, her control slipping.

“Careful,” she said finally, her voice low and rough, almost a warning.

She knew what you were doing. You were using the same techniques that seemed to be engraved in you. The seductiveness, the calculated teasing. A mechanism. 

It was one thing that set her off, not knowing when the real you started or ended. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m just practising.” This made Natasha’s eyebrows furrow, a characteristic wrinkle appearing right above her nose bridge when she was confused. You always noticed it because, well, it was probably the expression you made her feel the most.

“The slick brunette seems to hold Harper’s attention. I’m going to redirect it to me,” you said with confidence. But before you could head to the judge’s table, something tugged at you. 

Ugh, Natasha couldn’t seem to let you go. If it were any other circumstance, you’d be flattered, really.

You turned around again, fully expecting a judging look and a disapproving frown. Or even something you were all too familiar with in your life—people who looked at you as if you were a nuisance, always glancing down at you from above their shoulders.

But no, what you encountered was… worry. A strange, almost foreign expression in Natasha’s repertoire that she had reserved for you, and one you’d never seen directed at you. 

But there was no mistaking it. Her eyes seemed to glimmer, her lips tugging downward in clear displeasure. Her mouth opened slightly, but only a shaky breath escaped for a few seconds before she seemed to regain her composure.

You had never seen this kind of worry on her face, not when it came to you.

Finally, Natasha straightened, her body language shifting into something calmer, almost careful, as she stepped toward you. 

“There’s no need for that.” she said, her voice soft, as if she were trying not to scare you away.

Still confused by the sudden change, you tilted your head up to meet her gaze. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

Her expression, however, didn’t relent. The weight of her concern hung heavy in the air, and you hated it. You hated the shift in the atmosphere, the way her focus seemed entirely locked on you, unyielding. It was making you restless.

This just didn’t happen between you two. It couldn’t.

Your dynamic was never like this, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a spark of resentment at her sudden change. 

You’d bantered, teased, and danced around each other almost two years now. You couldn’t allow her to start caring—not like this.

“But you don’t have to.” she shot back firmly, as if sensing your inner turmoil. “I just…we have an actual shot at winning now. Let’s just keep doing what we’ve been doing until now.”

You huffed, glancing around as if to find some excuse to shake this off. “Natasha, look around. We’re down to the final six. Any trick we pull won’t go unnoticed now.” You tried to sound exasperated, but there was a small tremor in your voice. “C’mon, it’s not like I’m going to sleep with him,” you added, trying to inject your usual teasing tone, but it came out with a shaken breath of desperation.

Desperate for her to return to normal. Desperate for her to stop caring so suddenly and openly. Desperate for things to go back to the way they were. You couldn’t stand this.

Your banter with Agent Romanoff was one of the few steady things in your life. It was entertaining yet distant, predictable yet invigorating—like a perfectly choreographed dance. It was something you relied on, something easy and familiar. Something you desperately needed. 

“Don't say that just— I know that you can, but why do it just now? I…we—are going to find another way that doesn’t involve you seducing the pig.” She insisted. As if also, somehow, begging. You didn’t need to hear the words between the lines to understand. You could see it in her.

You both knew it. Not only that, but you were both trained for it—trained to wield your bodies like mere tools for any ends, stripped of your identities for however long it was necessary to get the job done. But the weight of that knowledge, the sheer detachment it demanded, always gnawed at your soul, voracious and unrelenting.

You two fought. She clearly disliked you. So why was she acting like she worried?

It wasn’t meant to be like this. You both weren’t meant to be like this. Frustration starts to build at her sudden change. How dare she take this away from the briefest of moments?

But this wasn’t Natasha, you realized as you dared to meet her gaze again. Her stormy sea-green eyes had shifted into something softer, something more vibrant—a glimmering jade.

No, this wasn’t Natasha Romanoff.

This was a rough sketch of Natalia Alianova Romanova.

A mystery you hadn’t unravelled.

For the first time since meeting her, you felt your blood drum faster, your chest tightening with a nervousness you hadn’t experienced in years. You had always known how to handle the ruthless, unflinching Agent Romanoff. But standing before Natalia?

You were at a loss.

And you were too weak to handle it. 

Releasing an exasperated breath, you broke the now unbearable eye contact and drew in a steadying breath. This was going too far—you wouldn’t, couldn’t, let it. So, when you opened your eyes again, any trace of Y/N Y/L/N faded into the recesses of your mind, locked away and chained.

When you spoke to her again, it wasn’t you any more, not quite—it was Raven. Every grin, every flicker of movement, every perfectly placed mannerism was calculated, deliberate, practised.

You saw the realization hit her, the weight of it sinking like an anchor in the sea-green depths of Natasha’s irises. Her expression barely shifted, but you could feel it. The tension, the shift, the subtle acknowledgment that you had drawn a line between you both, a barrier she wasn’t meant to cross. But she did. 

”Don’t worry, Agent. I’ll get us those passes.” You smirk, overconfident, but even you could feel the detachment in your own voice.

Slipping away, you managed to avoid her brief disappointment. Finally being able to just breathe normally, you shook your head.

Something between you and Natasha had shifted. You felt it in the erratic thrumming of your heart, like a bird desperate to escape its cage, and the faint tremble in your knees that betrayed your composure. You didn’t know how to handle it—weren’t even sure if you could.

At the table, your hands quivered, a crack in the carefully constructed mask you wore. With a subtle clench of your fists and a steadying breath, you forced the tremor away, slipping into the practised ease of a smile. Whatever had just passed between you and Natasha—it couldn’t matter.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

[bookwyrminspiration]

if I see one more “Keefe has abs because he works out” post im going to lose my mind those are NOT synonymous

[imminent-danger-came]

how would you rank the ninja from worst to best based on the ninjago seasons youve seen?

Nya and Wu are the best, everyone else is the same to me

[timeisacephalopod]

Love atheist communities that hate Christianity but reproduce every single issue Christianity has right down to the racism, wild misogyny, and of all fuckin things evangelizing atheism by sending religious people rude ass 'gotcha' type reactionary content to like idk, recruit people to atheism the way Certian Brands of Christian recruit literally anyone to their religion.

Like yes this atheism is what I see a lot of white men participating in, but like how dense do you have to be to only ditch the GOD part of religion and nothing else while claiming you're intellectually superior to religious folks like a great many incredibly talented and smart people in various sciences weren't religious?

[snekdood]

i feel like u shouldnt be allowed to say someone has an ideology if they dont even know wtf you're talking about

[girlbeyondthegrave]

THINGS I NOTICED WHILE WATCHING BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE AGAIN:

This is a very Beetlebabes-centric post, so if you don’t like the ship, please feel free to scroll away. <3

Beetlejuice cut Delores’ ring finger off, and while it was originally a fun joke in the first movie, there’s deep implications about that action when we look at it with the context of the second film. Beetlejuice attacked her after she betrayed him. Anyone would want to kill the person that poisoned them, but the fact that he took the time to find her finger and deliberately cut her ring finger off (and ONLY that finger) reflects how much that marriage meant to him. It also symbolizes that he’s effectively dissolving their marriage. He’s cut off the physical representation of their love and taken the ring, which he tries to give to Lydia hundreds of years later. He held onto that ring for centuries in hopes of finding someone he deemed worthy of it.

He calls his dynamic with Lydia a long-distance relationship, which could’ve been a throwaway joke if not for the fact that when he clearly notices how hot Janet is, he never talks to her or gropes her like he did with Barbara prior to meeting Lydia. Keaton said BJ wouldn’t be politically correct, so this isn’t to reflect the current political climate, but rather to reflect BJ’s motivations.

Beetlejuice was jobless at the start of the first movie, and in thirty years he’s built a company for his bio-exorcisms. Coupled with the picture of Lydia on his desk, it’s possible he did this to impress her. After all, she’s famous and rich now. BJ’s gotta step it up, y’know?

Probably overheard the convo between Lydia and Rory and deliberately bugged her at that time, because if he can possess the phone or whatever, he can probably use it to eavesdrop. This can be further supported by how he got rid of the influencers but kept the people that mattered to Lydia present—Delia and Astrid.

We can also assume he overheard the conversation where Lydia said that Rory loves her and that has to be enough because of the panning to a gravestone. BJ has a special fascination with graveyards, even tiny model ones. If he did overhear them, it explains why he used the truth serum on Rory. He’s testing him. He wants to see if this guy actually loves Lydia or if he’s using her, and then he gives Lydia the means to exact revenge on Rory rather than doing anything himself.

Lydia spends half the movie being strong -armed into a marriage with Rory, and in a way, it’s reminiscent of the first movie’s marriage attempt. Rory dangles their “love” in front of her like a carrot, and if she doesn’t want to be alone, she has to accept his manipulation and agree to get married. Yet she immediately offers it to Beetlejuice, only sounding annoyed rather than terrified. And the movie spends a lot of time proving that BJ has sincere motives this time around, whereas Rory doesn’t. It pushes an underlying message that if one of these guys is going to be a better choice, it’ll be BJ.

Despite Lydia having a tendency to back out of their deals, he still helps her first. He prioritizes saving Astrid even before finding his “runaway bride” again.

Casually calls Lydia the love of his life, looks so sincere when he says he’ll make her so happy. Clearly spent those 30 years planning that dream-dance sequence.

He doesn’t seem to care that Lydia’s sending him away. That coupled with the end scene illustrates how confident he is this time around. Lydia is still stuck with him, and even if he didn’t get her this time, he will eventually. But he also knows how spooked she is by marriage after being a snoop, so it’s possible that he’s just taking it slow on purpose.

In conclusion: Beetlejuice genuinely does want to be with Lydia and care about her. His feelings have evolved beyond permanent residence in the mortal world. If anything, if he still wants that, it’s so he can be by her side.

[littlexdeaths]

eddie munson x shy fem reader

warnings: hope y’all like CHEESE, reader wears glasses

part two |

let’s go, don’t wait masterlist

a/n: this is incredibly self indulgent and lame but i hope y’all enjoy xx.

“You’re staring… again.”

Nancy says under her breath, which has your eyes immediately darting away and back down toward your lunch out of sheer embarrassment.

“I was not staring….” you hiss, picking at the pile of peas on your tray.

“Oh, you soooo were,” she laughs, knocking her shoulder into yours. “Why don’t you just go and talk to him?”

You let out an exasperated breath before glancing over at your best friend. She’s giving you that soft yet encouraging gaze that’s entirely Nancy.

“Why would someone like him be interested in someone like me?”

Your voice is softer, but that underlying fear bleeds through nonetheless.

“I’m just so….” you trail off, chewing on your lower lip. “Boring.”

Your eyes have drifted back over to the hellfire table, where they seem to find themselves almost every lunch period now. Totally entranced by the male sitting at the end of the table.

Eddie Munson, dungeon master and local metalhead. Also the guy you’ve been harboring the biggest crush on since your junior year.

He looks even prettier with the afternoon sun shining through the windows of the cafeteria, highlighting the warm chestnut hue of his fluffy curls. His lips are poised in an annoyed pout, fingers drumming on the table in rapid succession while he listens to Dustin’s nervous ramblings.

“He’s just so— outgoing and doesn’t give two shits what these dipshits around here think of him.”

Your lips can’t help but quirk up into a small smile when you witness him tossing a pretzel at Mike’s head.

“You are not boring,” Nancy sighs, her curls bouncing when she shakes her head. “But you’re not gonna know if something could work out between you if you don’t at least try.”

Your snort has her rolling her eyes, but yours are still transfixed on the boy in question. So much so that you haven’t noticed the way your glasses continue to slip down the bridge of your nose.

“I doubt he even knows my name, Nance.”

When your eyes suddenly catch his chocolatey brown ones, you feel mortified. You’ve been very careful about your…admiring during lunch or in between classes. But Nancy had momentarily distracted you, and now you’d been caught red handed.

Unbeknownst to you, this isn’t the first time he’s noticed your wandering gaze. Soft eyes that are filled with the utmost longing and kindness. Someone with a reputation such as Eddie Munson doesn’t have looks like that thrown his way very often.

So it’s no surprise he’s caught on.

But you don’t seem to notice the way he always glances back once you look away, dark eyes seeking out your figure in the halls. The longing of his own for you to finally meet his gaze. But your nose is either stuck in a book or those pretty eyes are trained on your feet.

It was maddening.

You quickly break his curious stare and jump to your feet, missing the way he shoots up from his own chair. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and leave your tray abandoned.

“I gotta go…I’ll see you later, Nance,” you say before she even has time to protest, keeping your head down as you make your way toward the exit.

Mentally still kicking yourself for being caught gawking at him like some bumbling idiot. But your heart leaps into your throat when you hear the slapping of sneakers on the linoleum behind you.

Before you can even process what’s happening you all but collide into a denim clad chest, gasping softly when his arms slip around your waist to catch you before you almost stumble backwards onto your ass.

“Whoa, easy there,” he chuckles, those same pouty lips quirking up into a lopsided grin. “Didn’t mean to scare ya…”

When he releases you, your whole body deflates— already missing the warmth of his palms. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

“Uh…sorry, did you need something?” you ask, unable to hide the confusion in your tone.

He purses his lips, twisting his rings on his fingers in almost a nervous manner.

Why would he be nervous?

“I just had a question is all…” he mumbles, “and honestly, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now.”

And your heart nearly stops when he carefully pushes your glasses back up the bridge of your nose.

“You free tonight?”

[greengoblinswifey]

Torn— Drew Starkey x Nicholas Chavez x Actress!Reader

summary— you find yourself torn between your boyfriend drew starkey and your costar nicholas chavez. what starts as a weird dynamic with you feeling guilty turns into passion at a party, leading to a moment where all three of you come together.

warnings— explicit content. threesome, unprotected sex, anal and vaginal sex, double penetration, double creampie, oral, fingering, face fucking, polygamy, praise kink, fluff.

You had been with Drew Starkey for a while now, and your relationship had always been solid. He was steady, reliable, and made you feel secure. But everything changed when you started filming a new movie with Nicholas Chavez. From the moment you met him, there was an undeniable attraction, a magnetic pull that left you thinking about him more than you ever anticipated. It wasn’t just his good looks, there was something about his energy that pulled you in, leaving you feeling conflicted. You didn’t want to hurt Drew, but the connection with Nicholas was impossible to ignore.

As filming progressed, the chemistry between you and Nicholas became more intense. On-screen, your characters shared moments that felt a little too real, and off-screen, you found yourself getting lost in conversations with him. Drew noticed the shift. Instead of being jealous, though, he seemed curious, as if he could sense the spark between you and Nicholas, and, strangely, wasn’t bothered by it which went unnoticed by you. You were scared to bring up your feelings for Nicholas, afraid of what Drew might think, afraid of losing him. So, you stayed silent, trapped in a web of emotions.

Then, at a huge movie premiere party for the movie you filmed with Nicholas, everything came to a head. You had had a few drinks, and the atmosphere was buzzing with excitement. Drew and Nicholas both gravitated toward you throughout the night, their eyes never straying far. You felt the tension rising as they slowly closed in. Before you knew it, they had you cornered, Nicholas standing in front of you, his intense gaze holding yours, while Drew was behind you, his body pressing against yours and grinding, radiating heat.

“You okay?” Drew murmured in your ear, his voice low, but you could hear the underlying heat in it. His hands trailed over your hips, making your breath catch.

Before you could respond, Nicholas leaned in, his lips just inches from yours, his fingers lightly brushing your arm. “You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?”

Your pulse raced. The teasing note in his voice, combined with the way Drew’s body pressed against yours, had you feeling trapped in the best way possible.

“I- I don’t know what you mean,” you managed to whisper, though the way you trembled gave you away.

Nicholas smirked. “Don’t play dumb, you know exactly what I mean.”

Drew’s grip on your waist tightened. “You can be honest, you know,” he added, his voice almost a growl. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Your mind was spinning. The music, the heat of their bodies, the weight of their attention, it was overwhelming. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you admitted, glancing between the two of them. “I didn’t want to hurt either of you.”

Drew chuckled softly. “Who said I’m hurt?” His lips grazed your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Maybe I’ve been thinking about this too.”

Nicholas’ fingers lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’ve been stuck between us for a while, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice soft but commanding. “It’s okay, you don’t have to choose.”

Drunk on both alcohol and the intensity of the moment, you, Drew, and Nicholas ended up in your mansion together. The air was thick with unspoken desire, and everything felt like it had been leading to this moment.

Nicholas was the first to act, pulling you into a heated kiss while Drew watched, his eyes dark with hunger. “God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered against your lips, his hands roaming over your body. Drew’s eyes flickered between you and Nicholas, revealing that the connection you felt wasn’t just your imagination, it was real for all three of you.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you breathed, your heart pounding as their hands explored your body.

Drew pressed a kiss to your neck, his voice raspy. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You have no idea how much we’ve both been wanting this.”

Nicholas smirked as his hands slipped under your dress, his touch sending electricity through your veins. “I think she knows now.” As their hands roamed over your body, you knew there was no going back.

“I want you,” Nicholas whispered against your skin as Drew's lips trailed down your collarbone. “Both of us do.”

Drew’s hands tightened on your waist as he kissed a path down your shoulder. “You’re ours,” he growled, and the intensity of their words sent your body into overdrive. He shoved you on the bed, his roughness matching with the tension in the air and he did something unexpected. Drew’s hands cupped Nicholas’ cheeks and their lips met in a passionate kiss filled with need that left you throbbing. You never expected this from either of them and it had you wanting more.

“I’ve waited so long to do that,” Drew said, pulling away.

They stared longingly at each other before turning their attention back to you. “Tonight’s about all of us baby, we’re gonna make you feel so good,” Nicholas smirked.

He removed your dress and your lacy undergarments, leaving you bare as Drew kissed you all over, eventually settling on your neck and finding that sweet spot that made you squirm.

“Beautiful isn’t she?” Drew asked, catching Nicholas taking in your naked figure.

“So fucking beautiful, she’s a masterpiece,” he replied.

They removed each other’s clothes, their eyes never leaving each other and you wondered when the dam would break between them. After, their attention was back on you with Nicholas spreading your legs on the bed and Drew hovering over your face, his cock hard and leaking with pre cum.

“I’m gonna make you feel good and you’re gonna make him feel good, is that a good deal baby?” Nicholas inquired. You nodded desperately, the dynamic between you leaving you aching.

Your mouth fell open and Drew took the opportunity to slide his cock inside as Nicholas’ tongue ravaged your pussy. You could barely focus on the cock fucking your mouth as Nicholas sucked and flicked your clit with his tongue, sending shivers all throughout your body. His tongue focused on your clit as he slipped a finger in your sopping cunt, curling it and immediately finding your g spot. You moaned around Drew’s cock, swirling your tongue and taking him as deep in your throat as you could without gagging.

“Fuck,” Drew moaned, “you fucking like that pretty girl? You like having another man’s mouth on your pussy and my big cock in your mouth?”

You tried answering, forgetting he was practically in your throat and he let out a chuckle, thrusting his hips at a steady pace. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth baby.”

Your legs began to shake as you could feel your orgasm approaching. Nicholas slipped a second finger and he engulfed his mouth on your clit, you felt like you were about to explode at any moment.

“I can feel how close you are baby, cum for me, cum for us,” Nicholas demanded, a dark glint in his eye as you looked down. Hearing the demand that you were to cum for the two men that you were insanely attracted to sent you over the edge, you moaned around Drew’s cock and his cum immediately spurted down your throat as your orgasm washed over you all over Nicholas’ mouth. Their moans filled the room before yours finally subsided as Nicholas’ tongue left your pussy.

“Wanna taste our girl?” he asked Drew. He nodded and with a smirk, Nicholas pulled him in, their lips connecting in a sloppy kiss and their tongues fighting for dominance. The scene before you was so erotic, all that was in your head was to have them do that as they were deep inside your holes. You needed them both.

“That’s so fucking hot,” you panted. Your pussy wet from the ordeal, “and now I need you both inside me, we can take it slow and romantic another time, I just want you both to fill me up.”

Nicholas’ cock was rock hard hearing your plea. Though he wanted to cum in your mouth, doing it inside you for the first time seemed more fitting and Drew agreed.

“You can get her pussy tonight, it’s yours now too, isn’t that right baby?” Drew asked, looking at you, his hands slowly pumping his thick cock.

“Yes sir,” you giggled, his words making you swoon.

Drew positioned himself under you, your body weight lying on top of him as his cock was pressed against your puckered hole. Nicholas stood in front of you slapping his heavy cock on your clit making you moan his name. He spat on Drew’s cock to lubricate it so he could enter your ass easier though this was not your first rodeo with Drew. He had a few kinks, something that Nicholas would soon discover.

They both positioned themselves at your entrances, you were about to be penetrated by two greek gods—at the same time.

“You ready baby?” Drew asked.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Nicholas followed up after.

“Shut up and fuck me, both of you,” you begged and your answer was enough.

Simultaneously, their cocks slowly penetrated you, the feeling of being full getting closer and closer.

“Fuck,” you all moaned in unison, the feeling was heaven. You were heaven.

“This ass is so fucking tight,” Drew moaned, steadily rutting into you.

“So is her pussy, fucking wet too,” Nicholas said, his hands moving to fondle your breasts.

The pressure of being filled on both ends left you breathless, every inch of your body trembling from the overwhelming intensity. Nicholas was deep in your wet pussy, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he rocked against you, his movements powerful and unrelenting. Under you, Drew’s deep thrusts sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, each one pushing you closer to the brink.

“You’re taking us so well,” Nicholas murmured, his voice thick with desire as his lips brushed against your ear.

Drew groaned from behind you, his hand trailing up your back as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Feels too good, doesn’t it? We’re not gonna stop until you can’t take anymore.”

You could feel both of them stretching you, their rhythm perfectly in sync, making you feel impossibly full. Every time Drew pushed in deeper from behind, Nicholas would thrust forward, their bodies meeting yours in perfect harmony. Your breath hitched with every movement, a moan escaping your lips as the sensation built.

“God, I can feel you squeezing us both,” Nicholas grunted, his hand sliding up your side, gripping you harder. “You like being ours, don’t you?”

Your fingers dug into Nicholas’s back as you tried to ground yourself, overwhelmed by the feeling of being completely surrounded, their bodies pressing into yours, both of them taking you at once. The fullness was almost too much, but in the best way, sending wave after wave of pleasure through you.

Drew’s voice rumbled behind you, low and full of need. “Just let go, baby. We’ve got you.”

Immediately, you convulsed underneath them, a primal moan in response to their filthy words and having their cocks buried deep inside you, you felt like you were on top of the world, having your vision blur and stars filling your head as the feeling of ecstasy overtook you.

After everything built up to a crescendo, your body trembled from the overwhelming sensations that swept through you. Your heart was still racing, breath shallow, as you lay back on Drew, feeling utterly spent. The warmth of Drew and Nicholas surrounding you only heightened the lingering aftershocks that pulsed through your limbs.

You felt so full, emotionally, physically, and mentally—like the weight of everything that had been brewing between the three of you had finally crashed over, leaving nothing but satisfaction in its wake. Your body ached in the best way, as though you’d been completely claimed by them, both in the way they touched you and the way they looked at you.

As they both reached their peak, it felt like the tension that had once existed between Drew and Nicholas dissolved completely, replaced with a sense of unity neither of them had anticipated. There was no longer a struggle over who you belonged to, it was a quiet, unspoken understanding that you were theirs, together, and they could share you in ways that felt right for all of you.

The warmth of their release spread inside your pussy and your ass, leaving you feeling impossibly full, every inch of you claimed in the most intimate way. Drew’s hand intertwined with Nicholas’ as they both caught their breath, chests rising.

The soft, lingering kisses that Nicholas pressed against your shoulder, combined with the feel of Drew’s fingers gently stroking your side, made you melt even further into the moment. It wasn’t just the physical release, it was the unspoken bond that had formed between the three of you, deeper than anything you’d experienced before.

Drew leaned in to kiss Nicholas, the once unexpected passion now flowing naturally between them. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, your hand instinctively running down Nicholas' back, feeling the warmth of his skin as their lips met in a deep, lingering kiss. The heat of their connection sent a shiver through you, making the afterglow even more intoxicating.

Nicholas broke the kiss, breathless, turning to meet your gaze, his eyes softening. “I never knew it could be like this,” he whispered, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. Drew followed, brushing a hand along your cheek as he nodded in agreement.

“We're all together now,” Drew murmured, his voice a quiet promise, before the three of you shifted, curling up together. The warmth of their bodies pressed against yours as they cuddled you between them, the moment filled with intimacy, not just passion.

Nicholas gently rubbed your shoulder as Drew wiped a cool cloth over your skin, cleaning you up with surprising tenderness. “You’re perfect,” Nicholas whispered against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You could feel the weight of their attention, not just on your body but on the connection you all shared.

When they finished cleaning you, they turned to each other. Drew smirked, grabbing the cloth and running it teasingly over Nicholas’ chest. “Your turn,” he grinned, the air between them still charged but with a sweetness that hadn’t been there before.

Nicholas laughed, leaning into Drew’s touch. "Alright, alright,” he playfully relented, allowing Drew to clean him up before returning the favor.

Afterward, they both wrapped their arms around you again, the three of you sinking into the bed, completely content. You felt the lingering warmth of their presence, not just in your body but in the calm, comfortable silence that followed.

“We’re not letting you go,” Drew whispered, his hand stroking your hair gently.

Nicholas pressed another soft kiss to your neck, “Not now, not ever.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a contented sigh as your mind swam in the aftermath, your body feeling weightless and warm, cocooned in their presence. Full, cherished, completely theirs—and nothing else mattered.

[targaryen-dynasty]

STEAM THAT LINGERS.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (brother/sister), p in v, bathtub sex, jealousy

WORDS: 3.2 K

NOTES: Thanks for betaing this, @sylasthegrim 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Your mind has been a mess for the past moon's turn, and you have the man you’ve entrusted with all your secrets for all of your life to thank for that.

Although Aemond is your twin brother and it’s a fairly common tradition of your House, you had never expected to marry him, for you always knew that you both are not more than paws to your mother and grandsire to secure Aegon’s claim to the throne.

But when Aemond was betrothed to Floris Baratheon to tie the Stormlands to your side of the family, you couldn’t deny the tinge of jealousy you felt – especially because you still waited for any form of acknowledgement of your betrothal offer from Cregan Stark.

So, the last thing you expect when you step into your apartments late into the night, after spending your evening in Helaena’s solar, is the mop of your twin brother’s silver hair in the adjoining bath chamber, sitting in the warm bath that has been prepared for you. You tighten the knot of the robe that’s thrown around your frame to conceal the nightgown beneath, slowly stepping into the room.

It’s been quite a while since it’s only been the two of you, and you couldn’t have been any more grateful. It meant you didn’t have to endure the sight of him and Floris getting to know each other in a manner that almost seemed ridiculous to you. Aemond never was one for public affection, but for the past moon he’s made quite the show out of courting her, practically rubbing it straight into your face.

His long hair cascades over the rim of the tub loosely, appearing even longer with his head tipped back against the earthenware. Clouds of steam rise from the water, being hotter than what common people not sharing your blood can tolerate.

Although the sight is divine and causes your thoughts to stray to more improper ideas, making your blood all but boil in a good way, you are incredibly cautious for no one to spot him – none of the servants, and definitely none of your ladies-in-waiting. The repercussions would be insane, let alone the consequences drawn by your mother.

“Have you lost your senses, Aemond?” you hiss, stepping into the bath to chastise him.

He carries a lazy smirk on his lips, purple eye not even opening to look at you. In fact, he looks perfectly comfortable in his state of undress, his body relaxing into the warm water as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Lose my senses? Don’t be absurd,” he answers simply with a one-shouldered shrug, turning his head and glancing over his shoulder at you. “I merely thought it would be more efficient to share this bath with you. Perhaps it will cool some of your temper.”

A small growl of irritation leaves your lips at that, your eyes narrowing. The deep breath you take before speaking is you trying to maintain some semblance of control over your words. “My temper would be perfectly calm if my insufferable brother would stop acting like a twat,” you spit, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Is it not enough that you will marry soon, while I will remain a spinster forever?” The tone in your voice conveys all the jealousy you’ve been feeling. “Must you, out of all people, rub it in my face, as well?”

The chance to rile you up is something he’s made use of more than enough over the course of your childhood, clearly enjoying it a tad too much – the widening smirk on his lips indicating as much. “And there is that famous temper,” he teases, waving his hand once as if he means to flick your attitude off. “You act as if I have somehow betrayed you. Do you think I want to marry Floris Baratheon? Do you think I want her to warm my bed rather than you? Why do you take it so personally?”

An underlying implication of your jealousy is laced within his words, causing heat to crawl to your cheeks. You glare at him, while he has turned his head forward again. “You know very well why this is personal to me. You have teased and ridiculed me for months over this marriage,” you reply. “You have flaunted it in front of me like you enjoy the fact that you will be married while I will not. But that is how it works, is it not? The gods would have paired us together if we were meant to be together.”

Aemond sighs heavily as he leans back into the bath, his arms spread to either side to grasp the edge, unfazed by your revolt. “The gods have given us each a role to play in this world, however much we may dislike it.”

Yet he can’t help but feel the rising heat in his loins at the hint of the dragon that lays just beneath your beautiful façade, something he yearns for in the prospect of being forced to marry a plain stag of House Baratheon.

“I have always found that a good bath can help soothe even the most troublesome of temperaments. So why don’t you join me, sister? No one will come to look for you at this hour unless you seek them out.”

Rolling your eyes, your irritation almost grows unbearable. “A good bath may soothe your own temper, brother, but I assure you that sharing it with me will hardly be the same,” you snap. You stand there, furming, unsure of what to do next. Part of you wants to leave to avoid any further confrontation, but another part – the one you’ve been trying to ignore so desperately – wants to take your brother up on his offer.

He has a point and you know it. And even if anyone were to stumble into your bedchambers at this hour, that part of you still would not have rejected his offer. You don‘t need any more of his encouragement, that much is obvious.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself stepping closer. Crossing the room towards the bathtub, your eyes are fixed on your brother, who watches your approach with a smug smirk. “Fine,” you mutter, your mind at a war with itself. You should leave, you know that, but something about you being so close to what you’ve desired for so long holds you there.

Your eyes dart down to your feet, trying not to let your excitement rise to the surface, but a slight tremor in your hands shows your nervousness, having trouble opening the knot that holds your robe together. It‘s partly because you know what is about to happen should you climb into the bath, but also because his eye is all but devouring you.

Aemond studies you with a grin as you try to reveal your beauty. To him, your concealed body already looks perfect, and he has to resist the urge to reach out and touch you — what makes the moments passing without being able to do so much more unbearable.

“Gods be good, just get in,” he commands eventually, the purring in his voice replaced by impatience. Long gone is the smirk.

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You enter the bath in a haste, and with your blood boiling, you immediately get on top of him, straddling his hips. As you shift into a comfortable position and accidentally brush his already hard cock, his eyes fall shut for a long moment. You doubt yourself, until his mouth curves upwards in a wicked smile.

You‘re careful not to put too much weight onto his hips, because you‘re afraid of not being able to hold back once you feel his cock between your legs – but you haven’t anticipated your brother. He reaches out, slipping his arms around your waist, and draws you closer to him, inevitably seating you on his lap.

His hands find your hips, and his fingers toy around with the hem of your soaked nightgown and the curves of your flesh. “You know you could have asked me to take that nightgown off altogether. It’d make things a lot easier.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, and could have taken it off myself if you had only given me more time… and perhaps even a warning that you’d seek me out,” you snap. “I would have chosen a different attire, if only I had known.”

Aemond has to laugh at your words, but he can’t blame you for such outburst.

"I never was the chivalrous sort," he whispers huskily. "Besides, it’s a wife’s duty to be ready for her husband whenever he desires."

“Except that we are not married.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,“ he says with a wink. “We may not be married in the eyes of the Gods, but in every other way that matters, we are bound to each other.”

He bows his head forward to nibble along your jaw, his hands roaming over your figure. You tilt your head to the side, granting him more access as every train of thought gets lost. You’re so soft to his touch, so yielding to his grip, especially when you hold your head that way and offer yourself all to him.

He then leans back and works the knot in the front of your drenched nightgown loose, hooking his fingers under the straps and taking hold of them. He easily tugs it over your head, and discards it recklessly to the side.

Letting out a soft sigh as you finally make yourself bare to him, his hungry gaze glances down at your breasts for a moment before it meets yours again.

“Do you enjoy the view?” you ask, feigned innocence laced in your voice. “Or why are you staring as if you’ve never seen a woman’s body before?”

“Oh, I have seen plenty, but none quite as lovely as yours, sweet sister.” The compliment slips past his lips so fast, leaving no room for you to doubt the sincerity of his words, making heat crawl to your cheeks.

Your hands are resting at the back of his neck, fingers fiddling with the silver strands in the nape of it before you tug it gently to pull him towards you, urging his face back to the crook of your neck.

"Even if you are not to be my wife, I shall grant you that much, and please you as though you were," he mutters the words into the crook of your neck, not diminishing their meaning — not when they are followed by him pressing open mouthed kisses to your skin.

He pulls you close to him so that your head rests in the hollow of his collarbone, nose dragging through your hair, inhaling your scent.

“You certainly are a tempting creature,” he hums, and you fall into his trap, lured in by his praises and compliments. His fingers play with your hair as his teeth find your shoulder, biting down ever so slightly before leaning back again. “One can never get tired of looking at you.”

Then his fingers slide between your bodies to find his cock nestled between them, before his other hand grabs your hips and lifts them slightly to slip his fingers inside of you. He prepares you for him, easing in and out slowly, gently, teasing you in every way possible.

That already is enough to have you writhing on his lap, your head lulling back to release quiet moans.

Out of instinct and desire, you raise your hips, giving him the silent permission to fill you with his cock instead. And he eagerly complies, positioning him at your entrance and pushing inside.

His jaw slackens at the squeezing embrace of your cunt around him, the motion followed by a strained grunt.

Even though you are on top, it doesn’t mean you are in charge. You bask in the feigned control he grants you to perceive, sinking down on him at your own pace, but his firm hand on the back of your neck lets you know that‘s all he is giving you.

Before you can moan, Aemond’s lips press against yours, tasting you slowly and savoring the flavor. Though not as rough as him, your kisses are no less passionate. He breaks away momentarily to take a breath, his lips trailing across your cheek to your ear, hot breath fanning over it. “Move,” he encourages, mouth trailing a bit further south to your jawline. Despite needing time to adjust to his girth, you rock your hips back and forth, eventually getting bold enough to bounce up and down.

Aemond smirks, and tilts his head up to kiss you firmly, as if he means to claim something he deems he is owed. As you lock in a steamy embrace, he wraps his arms around you to hold you in place, forcing you to take the weight of it.

Grinding your hips against his, each time your pearl rubs against the coarse hairs spreading around the base of his cock, the fire inside of you reignites. Every drag of his cock inside of you brings you closer to your peak with wanton moans spilling past your lips.

The calm moment in which he watches you using him for your own pleasure doesn't last too long, though, interrupted by him biting and caressing your neck, his breath hot on your skin. He makes a point to bite down harder this time, leaving a mark that will be the clear evidence of his conquest.

“By the Seven,” you whimper.

Something in the lightheaded feeling mixed with the stinging pain pushes you over the edge, your walls tightening and spasming around him. A flash of intent in Aemond’s eye and a sudden move, and his hand is tight against your throat, catching you by surprise.

When he plants his feet flat on the earthenware of the tub and his other around your thigh, it is clear the grip is designed to give him some sort of leverage, allowing him to drive his hips up into yours.

The pace is suddenly becoming much more intense, the lukewarm water splashing around your bodies and spilling over the rim of the bathtub. Now it‘s his turn to use you to his liking, that much is obvious.

He is holding you too tight, and there is a forcefulness to him that speaks nothing of love and admiration. He knows it, you know it. He won’t give you the passion you are accustomed to for there is only one way you‘ll have him if this is meant to be a secret.

“Fuck… yes,” Aemond trails off, closing his eyes. Toppling over the edge himself, his thrusts become sloppier, the muscles in his stomach contracting.

All strength leaves him at once, hips stilling and lowering back into the water. With his hips ceasing, he releases your throat, only aware of the tightness of his grip when you gasp and cough loudly.

A groan leaves him as he pulsates inside of you, spilling his seed inside of your spasming walls. He tips his head back again, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. You collapse against his sturdy frame, fighting for breath yourself.

As he wraps his arms around you, you meet his gaze, waiting for his next move, for him to say something. But he doesn’t, and instead, he gets on his feet, effortlessly bringing you up with him. Even with the heat of the moment beginning to cool, Aemond still holds onto you tightly. There’s a possessiveness in his eye, his grip on you firm and unyielding.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he says. “No man will ever lay claim on you but me.”

Once he reaches your bed, he tosses you onto it, not bothering to be gentle. You squeal at that, and quickly reach for the sheets to cover your bare body. “This… This is a terrible idea.”

Your words seem to bring out the dragon that has been lurking below his veneer of gentleness. He is a wild thing when roused, a beast of the field that knows only the primal urges of hunger and lust. Pulling away the sheets and crawling onto the bed, he moves on top of you, pinning your body down beneath his own. He looks down at you, his expression one of a man consumed with desire. “Perhaps,” he concedes, voice low and rough. “But sometimes the most terrible ideas are the most delicious. And I did not come here to listen to reason right now.”

You gasp as he pins you to the bed, his weight pressing down on you in a way that both thrills and terrifies you. You can feel your pulse racing, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts, all the while your mind is screaming at you to stop this before it goes any further.

“This could ruin us both,” you whisper. But even as you say the words, your body betrays you, arching up against him.

Aemond chuckles lowly at your body’s reaction to him. Leaning forward, his lips brush against your ear as he speaks.

“Ruin us?” he whispers, “or liberate us?”

He moves his mouth down to your neck, kissing and nipping at it in a way that makes you shiver. It makes you gasp, and your body responds in ways you know it shouldn't. Every kiss, every nip ignites a fire within you, burning hotter and hotter until it threatens to consume you.

You try to regain control, but it's no use. Your body is drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Despite yourself, the protests and warnings in your mind are beginning to fade, his actions driving all rational thought from your mind.

“This is madness,” you whimper, more to yourself than to him. Even as you say these words, your hands betray you, moving up to tangle into his hair, pulling him closer.

Tipping back his head, the loss of his lips on your neck makes you pout. His voice is thick with desire when he speaks again. “Perhaps, but I have never known you to shy away from a little insanity, sister.”

Aemond leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that is as fierce as it is passionate, his tongue delving into your mouth as he claims you completely. He pins your wrists above your head, his other hand roaming over your body, exploring every inch of it.

His words are very much the words of truth, for you have always craved the thrill of the forbidden. “If we do this,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. “I want you to know that you are very much mine just as much as I am yours.”

You can spot his eye darken at your words, a possessive heat surging through his veins at the thought of you claiming him. “As if there was ever a doubt,” he replies. “You have always been mine, and I yours. Since the day we were born. And no one – not our mother, not the gods, no one – will ever change that.”

Feeling yourself giving in completely, as if you are drowning in a sea of desire, the last of your protests melt away as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Then prove it,” you murmur, your voice thick with need. “Make me yours, here and now.”

There is an air of familiarity between you two, an old rhythm that has been reawakened after being buried for years. And although the both of you know you’re in dangerous waters, and despite your better judgements, you mean to conquer them together tonight.

Aemond taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu

@legitalicat @eponaartemisa @peachysunrize @blackswxnn @odairtrqsh

@mfedits @luvdella @lcec99 @jays-bullshit

Bold means I couldn’t tag you.

[vaguely-concerned]

walking through lucanis' mind prison. the tam lin of it all

[appocalipse]

heyy if ur taking requests could u maybe do like bestfriends steve + reader where steve, eddie, nancy and robin have to pick up reader from a party and she’s like REAL drunk and just idk super clingy w steve and doesn’t wanna not be touching him. maybe eddie, nancy and robin all make fun of him for it but they acc find it rly cute.

thank you for your request! ♥♥♥ | 2.2k words

"Stevie!"

You collide into him suddenly, nearly knocking him back a step or two with the force of your momentum; there's a smile on Steve's face when you look up at him through eyes that are more than a little hazy with inebriation. You're drunk. Probably way past drunk, if the way the world won't seem to hold still is anything to go by, but you don't care. There are other things vying for your attention—like how warm he feels against you, how safe he makes you feel, how pretty he looks from up close...

"Whoa," Steve says as you lean even further into him and loop your arms around his waist in a tight hug. "How much did you have to drink, exactly?"

He doesn't mean it in a mean way, which is why you grin up at him from where you've got your cheek pressed firmly to his chest. You can feel his heart beating under the palm of your hand now, a steady and calming rhythm that soothes something inside of you.

"Dunno," you reply, grinning stupidly when you catch sight of maybe three copies of Eddie Munson standing off to Steve's left; all of them have identical amused looks on their faces. "Might've had, like, a couple..."

Steve sighs deeply, though there's no exasperation or disappointment to be found in his expression when he tilts your face upwards to look you over properly. You just beam dopily at him, because he's so pretty right now you don't know what else to do.

"Dude," Eddie speaks up, drawing Steve's gaze away from you while your own attention goes back to pressing yourself even more snugly into him, "she is totally sloshed."

You frown, shaking your head in fervent disagreement.

"Am not!"

"Sure you aren't, sweetheart," Eddie agrees placidly, but you get the impression he doesn't really mean it.

Before you can point this out, however, the blurry shape of Robin Buckley steps forward. The room is dark with flashing strobe lights and smoky with incense and cigarette smoke, but you'd recognize her voice anywhere.

"Who let you drink this much?" Robin asks as she lifts a hand up to brush some hair back from your forehead.

It's oddly soothing and so you lean into the contact with a happy hum. Robin and the others laugh — but then again, it sounds kinder than mean, the kind of laugh that bubbles up when you find something unexpectedly endearing, and so you don't mind as much as you maybe should.

"Nobody," you mumble as you press your face into the side of Steve's neck and take a deep breath in; his scent is the same as always, earthy and warm with an underlying hint of that stupid spray he likes to use sometimes. "I'm here alone. 'Cause Steve here blew me off for you guys, but that's okay," you say, even though, to be fair, it sort of isn't true — he didn't blow you off.

"Hey," Steve starts, sounding half-indignant and half-apologetic all at once. He's got an arm around your shoulder now, supporting you and keeping you upright, which makes you want to tangle yourself up in him completely. "You didn't tell me you wanted me to come hang out with you tonight!"

You sigh mournfully against his skin, feeling wistful all of a sudden. It's true. You hadn't told him. That was partially due to the fact that you had been trying to prove to yourself that you weren't so desperately and helplessly infatuated with him that you needed his presence constantly, but that plan had obviously backfired on you spectacularly.

"No," you mutter unhappily as Steve moves the two of you towards a nearby couch. "But I missed you. Don't wanna miss you."

Nancy, Robin, and Eddie, who are watching the two of you with expressions of varying degrees of amusement, exchange looks. Steve pretends not to notice, probably because he knows he won't like what they have to say if he hears it, and instead guides you down onto the cushions next to him. "You're drunk."

"You're pretty," you reply without hesitation, even though you're very clearly changing the subject. "It's unfair, y'know?"

You hear Robin snort, followed by a quiet thud like someone's just been slapped on the arm, and you know it's her who laughed, and that it must have been Nancy who'd shut her up. You don't know where Eddie is; you're not even sure when he wandered off, to be honest. You're too focused on Steve and the way his face looks under the colorful flashing lights.

"Oh yeah?" he asks, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely at your comment. His eyes are bright with laughter when you meet his gaze and nod confidently. "How do I get 'unfair', exactly?"

"'S all in the face," you say matter-of-factly, your own fingers trailing down his cheek in an almost absentminded gesture. "Kinda makes it hard to think about anything else sometimes, if I'm being real here. Like, it's not really fair, 'cause then what are we supposed to talk about? Oh, oh—and then there's your hair!"

"My hair?"

Robin wheezes somewhere behind you, which would have made you giggle if you were still paying attention to the people in the room besides Steve, but you're not.

"Mmhmm," you hum, your eyes running over the soft brown locks on top of his head. "Love it. Wanna touch it all the time. Y'see, Steve? You see? This is why it's not fair at all. And, and—" you trail off here for dramatic effect, squinting at him theatrically before leaning closer with your hand cupped to the side of your mouth, as if you're about to share something private. "—the way you make my insides feel? So, so unfair. Totally your fault, buddy."

"Wha-" Steve croaks out, looking alarmed and caught off guard by your drunken confession. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh," you regain your serious tone, frowning at him in a somewhat bemused manner when he continues to gape at you. "Not 'sposed to tell you. S'not the rules."

Eddie barks out a laugh somewhere off to your left, but Steve ignores him. "Rules?"

"Yeah, 's against the rules, dummy," you say, like he should've already known that. "Gotta follow the rules! Duh. Steve."

"Yeah, Steve, duh," Robin pipes up, earning herself a glare from Steve as well as a smirk from Eddie. "Oops, sorry. Please, continue."

"Can I touch your hair? Like, please, 'cause I might die if I don't, 'kay? If that's okay. Gotta test the theory. Just a little bit, though." You can tell by his expression that he wants to laugh, and that he's also mildly worried that you've lost your mind. "Please?"

Robin, Eddie and Nancy have their hands clapped over their mouths to contain their laughter. You're too drunk to notice, but Steve narrows his eyes at them in warning. "Yes," he says. "Just—yeah, go ahead."

With a little noise of excitement, you reach out to card your fingers through his hair. He smells really good — like clean laundry and fresh pine trees — and the feel of his hair in your palm is exactly what you had imagined, though you're loathe to pull your hand away now that you've felt it.

Steve goes unnaturally still as you press your face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, a move he should have expected but didn't, and you sigh happily when the scent of his cologne hits you full force. He's like a living, breathing, cuddly teddy bear, you think, a combination of warmth, softness, and comfort all rolled up in one gorgeous, handsome, unobtainable package.

"You're warm," you mumble, feeling like you could fall asleep right now. "So, so warm. 'S like you've got a space heater in your chest, 'n that's like, so awesome."

He blinks a few times, momentarily speechless as he tries to come to terms with the fact that you are, in fact, drunk enough to be saying whatever the hell comes to your mind. "Uh, thanks?"

"Smell nice too," you murmur, hugging him tighter to you. "Like, wow. Love your hair, like, love love."

His cheeks are burning hot now, his heart beating erratically in his chest when he notices Eddie staring at the two of you with a knowing gleam in his eye. "That's—thank you, but, hey, come on now," Steve says, his voice faltering a little. "Let's get you home, okay?"

"I don't wanna."

"Don't you wanna sleep in your bed?"

You pause, considering his words, and eventually concede that, yes, your bed does sound lovely right about now, so you give him a brief nod in response. "I guess, but can you come too?"

He chokes on air, but manages to play it off by clearing his throat. "What—to your bed? No!"

"Why not?"

Steve shifts a little under your intense, alcohol-addled scrutiny; he feels strangely guilty, as though he's letting you down by saying no. "Because you're drunk?" he says, feeling flustered and unreasonably nervous all of a sudden.

You scrunch up your face in a pout. "Oh, that's a dumb reason."

Steve chuckles and you sigh happily again, because you love his laugh and everything else about him, and he seems to realize this, given the way his expression softens. "Come on, you drunkard. Let's go home," he says gently, tugging on your arm in an attempt to get you to stand.

You resist at first, shaking your head stubbornly as you hold onto him. "Can't. My legs don't work anymore. They're all wobbly."

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, huffs out a soft laugh, and you can't help but grin up at him. He's so pretty that, like, how is that even allowed? How can you be around him and not spontaneously combust or something?

"Well, what if I carried you?"

"Like a princess?"

Steve looks at you with an expression you can't decipher — it's halfway between incredulous and endeared, and it makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

"How romantic," Nancy observes.

"So long as she doesn't throw up on him," Eddie adds, nodding sagely in agreement.

"Oh, I hope she does," Robin says, with a devious smile, "he'd deserve it for being such a coward."

"I'm...right here, guys, and I can still hear you." Steve finally says, throwing them a scathing look that only makes them laugh. "If you're not going to be helpful, you can wait in the car."

"As if," Eddie counters.

Steve opens his mouth to tell him where exactly he can stick his opinions, when you grab the front of his shirt and drag him closer.

"Steve," you say, the smile falling from your face as a sudden thought occurs to you. "Are you mad at me? Because I can go home by myself. That's okay."

"Hey, no," he replies softly, "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart. Not ever."

"'Sweetheart'? Really?" Eddie mutters to Nancy, who elbows him in the ribs when he doesn't lower his voice in time. "Ow, okay, okay—just saying. Don't want them to keep dancing around each other forever, is all."

"I'm not dancing," you tell him, completely unaware of Eddie's snickering, "I don't have any shoes on, Eddie. Wouldn't be able to dance without shoes on. Silly."

"My bad," Eddie says, his lips twitching with badly concealed laughter, "forgive me."

Steve scowls at him before turning his attention back to you, his face so close to yours that you can momentarily feel the tickle of his breath against your skin. "Okay, come on," he says, "up we go."

And then, in one swift movement, he slides his arm under your knees and scoops you up into his arms. You let out a squeak of surprise and automatically wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

"Oh, oh, oh," you say excitedly, "you really are gonna carry me."

"Told you so." Steve adjusts his grip on you and makes his way towards the exit. "Are you good? Am I hurting you?"

You shake your head slowly, grinning as you stare at him from a whole new angle. "No," you tell him, feeling much more awake than you were moments before. "This is...this is like, actually kinda cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you repeat, smiling shyly back at him. "Feel like a real life Cinderella now. Whoa, you're, like, super strong."

"Yeah, Stevie, you're 'super strong.'" Eddie teases, waggling his eyebrows when Steve sends him a quick glare. "Aw, don't look at me like that. It's cute. The two of you."

Nancy doesn't tease like Robin and Eddie do. She walks behind Steve, making sure to stay a couple steps behind to give the two of you some privacy. Even so, when you look over your shoulder to make sure nobody's listening, she gives you a wink and a small thumbs-up that makes you smile.

The parking lot is filled with teenagers all wandering aimlessly in groups, so it takes Steve a while to navigate his way through the crowd. By the time he finds the spot where he parked his BMW, you've grown drowsy enough to rest your head on his shoulder.

Eddie immediately pops open the door to the backseat, slapping it a few times as he looks over at Steve and grins. "Hurry it up, lover boy," he drawls out, "she looks half-asleep already."

"She's fine," Steve shoots back, frowning in annoyance when Eddie and Robin both pretend to yawn exaggeratedly, "shut up. I hate you guys."

[moonstruckme]

pls hear me out 🙏🙏 vampire!james is recently turned and doesn’t feed cause he’s such a sweetheart he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

reader notices how weak he is and finds out he hasn’t been feeding and basically offers herself to him and it’s just really comforting and cute

Babe I hear you !!! I hear you soooooo clear (the voices omg, I was so excited to write this). Thank you for requesting!

cw: blood mention

vampire!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

James never had a problem with eating animals before he became a vampire. You pointed this out to him, once, but he only said it’s different. You suppose it is. The chicken nuggets he used to devour came to him cooked, fried, and with sauces, utterly unrecognizable from what they’d once been. There’s no separating the live-ness from what James has to eat now. 

You spy on him over the top of your book. He’s sitting on the other end of the loveseat with your feet in his lap, massaging your arches through your thick socks while he watches a football match on the telly. His dusky skin had paled after he was turned a few weeks back, but he looks even paler than that now. If he were still human you’d think he was anemic. It’s four in the afternoon, and your ball-of-energy boyfriend looks as tired as if he’s ready for bed. 

“Jamie,” you say, and he squeezes your heel to indicate he’s listening, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can, lovely, yeah.” 

“Have you been feeding?” 

James stiffens at the term. “Mm, why do you ask?” 

It’s as close as he thinks he can get to a non-answer, and it’s an answer for you anyways. James can never stand to lie to you. It’s terribly endearing. 

You turn your foot to poke his abdomen. “I can hear your stomach growling.” 

His lips curve. He glances at you. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.” 

“Really? How does it work?” 

“I don’t actually have a clue.” James smiles, which was your aim. He’s been far too downcast for your liking, his new condition entirely to blame. 

“Well, you’re looking pale.” 

“I’ve been pale.” 

“Paler than pale.” You set your book on the side table, moving closer to him. You sit with your feet folded under you. “Also, you haven’t been going out to feed like you used to.” 

James finally looks a bit sheepish. You smile and cup his face in your hand. Though he knows you know, James has still been a tad secretive about the vampire business around you. He sneaks out after he thinks you’re asleep. You’ll hear the front door open and shut when he leaves and then again when he comes back, the kitchen tap running as he cleans himself up. You wish he’d just use the shower. You don’t mind him walking through your bedroom with blood and dirt on him if it means he gets to feel clean when he slips back into bed with you. 

You rub your thumb over his cheek. “What’s keeping you?” 

He sighs. His face weighs a bit heavier in your palm. You think this must be progress, and you repeat your ministrations to his cheek to encourage it. 

“Everything’s hibernating,” says James, a quiet shame underlying his tone. “The…things I used to feed from are gone, and I’m not left with a lot of choices.” 

You hum. “Well, you’ve gotta eat, Jamie.” 

He hesitates, and you give him your sternest look. 

“You do. What about the deer?” 

“They’re harder to catch. And…I…I just feel bad, you know?”

You nod. Take his hand and press a kiss to his palm. Your poor sweetheart. You know James hasn’t killed anything he’s fed from, but even scaring them and potentially hurting them for the time it takes him to feed rattles him terribly. He’s too good, good and kind down to his core, but you know he’s going to have to find some way to cope other than starving himself. 

“What about people?” 

James’ eyes round behind his glasses. “Wha—no, I—”

“I wouldn’t mind you using me.” 

He seems to falter for a moment. His thick brows draw together in stages, from disbelief to confusion and back again. “Angel,” he says, “I couldn’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, it’s—it would be—” 

“Or maybe we could try someone else. Someone bad, like a corrupt politician or one of those people who siphons money away from charities.” 

“No.” 

“Then we’re back to me.” You smile at him, one part teasing and two parts genuine. “James, I want to. I don’t like seeing you like this, and I really don’t think I’d mind it.” 

James looks like he’s still having trouble processing. “You don’t think you’d mind?” 

“I don’t,” you repeat patiently. “I’m sort of curious, actually. It could be fun.” 

He looks, to your surprise, like he might actually be considering it. He’s gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know if it’d be fun, angel.” 

“That’s okay,” you promise him. “I want to do it for you. You’re hungry, yeah?” You try to make your voice serene and persuasive, your hand coasting up and down his arm. “Let me help.” 

James looks you in your eyes. You hold his gaze. After a while, the fight seems to go out of him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. 

“Oh, baby.” You kiss him on his cheek, your heart bulging. “You won’t. It’ll be fine. How do you want me? Hair up?” 

He shakes his head. “It’s good the way it is. I think, um, it might be easier if you were in my lap.” 

“Okay.” You grin, lifting your thigh over his so you’re straddling him. His hands settle on your hips. “Are you romancing me? Is this part of it?” 

James lifts the corners of his mouth, but you can see the trepidation lingering beneath his smile. You do your best to soothe it away with your hands on his shoulders. 

“I want to be gentle with you,” he says.

“I bet you say that to all your victims.” 

“Sweetheart…”

“Sorry, sorry.” You’re nervous. You kiss his nose in apology. 

“If I hurt you—if you don’t like it for any reason, I want you to squeeze my shoulder. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod, trying to look certain. “Does it usually hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” James admits. “With animals, they don’t usually…move much after I’ve bitten them. I’m not sure if it stuns them or what.” 

“I’ll report back,” you say seriously. You glance down at the couch cushions. “Will it be messy? Should we go to the bathroom or something?” 

“No, I’m—I’ve gotten better at it. We should be fine here.” 

You smile at him, your pride genuine. “Sounds good.” 

James is starting to look worried again, so you kiss him. On the lips, as sweet as you can muster, and imagine all your love pouring through it. Then, you pull your hair to one side and bear your neck. 

His pupils splay out.

“Remember to squeeze my shoulder.” He sounds hoarse. One of his hands slips up your back to steady you beneath your shoulder blades. 

“I will,” you vow. 

James looks dazed, almost reverent. He wets his lips, and when he opens his mouth you see his tongue skim over pointed teeth. Some prey animal’s instinct sends a shiver of fear through you. Your blood hums with anticipation. But just before James’ teeth skim your neck, he pauses. 

“Jamie.” It’s soft, a murmur, a plea. “It’s okay. Do whatever you want with me.” 

He makes a quiet sound, like a sigh or a whine, and closes the gap. 

At first, it’s only like he’s kissing you. He’s exceedingly sweet about it, lips opening warmly over your skin, his tongue pressing over your artery as though testing the waters. He splays his palm wide over your back in silent warning before his teeth sink into you. 

There’s a sting, but you were ready for it. You keep yourself from wincing, from doing anything that would make James move away, and after a second the pain dulls. Everything does, except for the extraordinary feel of James’ mouth on you. 

“Oh.” Your mouth opens of its own accord, head lolling further to the side to give him better access. You want more, more of this, more of him. Your brain fuzzes and your heart pounds, every nerve in your body narrowing its focus to where James is sucking at your neck, lapping you up. 

You wind your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, and his palm coasts up your back comfortingly. You feel molten, spectacularly, transcendently languid, like you could press your fingertips to his shoulders and they’d melt right in. You don’t, not wanting him to misinterpret it as your signal and stop, but after a while James’ arms are the only thing keeping you from tipping sideways onto the couch, and he stops anyway. 

He finishes with a few chaste kisses, and you think giddily that you weren’t too far off about the romancing. 

“Y’okay, lovie?” he mumbles into your skin. 

You hum in reply. 

James presses one more sweet kiss to your neck, almost a thank-you. He seals the wound with his tongue. A giggle bubbles out of you, one shoulder coming up to ward him off. 

“Sorry,” you say to James’ surprised look. Your head is starting to clear. “That part tickled.” 

His grin splits his face, one part tentative and two parts relieved. “Yeah? Are you really okay?” 

“Super okay,” you promise him. You can’t help grinning. “You were right, it didn’t hurt. That was nice.”

James’ expression eases, some mix of relief and interest in his gaze. “Was it actually?” 

“Mhm. I would be your blood donor any time, really.” 

James scoffs, but he’s clearly elated. He strokes from your hip to your ribs with a big hand, trailing tender kisses up to your cheek. You’re thrilled to see how much more energy he already has. 

“I don’t know about that,” he says in between kisses. “I’d still rather not make you my victim if I can help it.” 

“I didn’t feel like a victim, if that helps.” Your words go mushy as he reaches your lips, but you keep talking, wanting to make your point. “I just mean, I wouldn’t mind doing it again. Maybe when you’re lacking in other options.” 

“Mm, maybe. What was it like?” 

“Like a really good kiss.” 

James backs up from you to give you a dubious look. “Better than the ones I give you normally?” 

You grin. “Maybe a little.” 

His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth drops open, curving on one side. “Oh, yeah? Bold claims.” 

“I don’t know if you can compete with whatever vampire magic that was, Jamie.”

“My kisses are very magical. It seems like I may have to remind you how good they really are, though.” 

You shrug coyly. “If you think you can top that, you’re welcome to try. I mean, you’re really only competing with your—”

James is on you before you can finish.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ NEED TO LISTEN TO ME — price is disappointed in you and your other three lovers, and finds that some 'training' is in order

read on ao3.

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, poly tf141, ANGRY sex, mean dom price, angst, degradation, minor dom/sub, light humiliation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, minor spit play, minor blood play (not really), rough sex, price orders EVERYONE around, price-centred, whiny johnny and gaz agenda

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

You weren't scared of many things at this point in your life.

Being a signal officer for the military certainly aided that statement, but it was more the fact that you had four guard dogs in the form of the most seasoned special forces operatives you've ever known. Four very large, very scary men that you'd somehow found yourself lucky enough to get to call your partners.

Both on, and off, the field.

That being said, there was one thing you were terrified of. Like, to your bones, petrified.

And that thing had a name.

John Price.

He was formally the captain of your force for a reason, but he was also informally the captain of your relationship, as well. The one you all looked to in the most difficult of moments, the one that held reason and guidance above all.

It's been that way since the five of you met, and remains the same to this day.

Nonetheless.

It was a known fact between you, Soap, Ghost and Gaz that none of you liked seeing the man mad. You four could count on one hand the amount of times you'd witnessed it, all of which having been directed at either his superiors or an enemy.

But. Right now, in this office, seated on the small couch between your three lovers?

Yeah. You don't fear many things.

But John Price's disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

"He's probably ordering our caskets," Gaz murmurs wistfully, eyes wide as he stares at his foot, tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor. It's a nervous tic that gives him away too easily, but even with your hand on his knee, it doesn't seem able to quit.

You exhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. "I hope he gets me a cute one," you mumble back, tone matching the resignation that clouds your captain's office.

"You four. My office."

Those were the only words Price had spoken to you guys, before marching off to a meeting with Laswell.

To say that you and your lovers were mortified was the biggest understatement of the century.

Even Ghost, sat perfectly still, expression perfectly neutral beneath his mask, oozes trepidation like it's the carbon dioxide he exudes with every breath.

"I know 'm 'n tha military, but I still don't wanna die, ya know?" Soap whines, his head flung back and blue eyes glued to the roof as his hands shake in his lap.

You guys must look like unruly students sat outside of your principal's office to any onlookers, and it should be embarrassing.

It would be, if you could feel anything but mortal peril.

You're about to quip a reply to Soap, when the door clicks open, and the three of you sit ramrod straight, Ghost not moving from his already perfect posture.

Price steps in, the door shutting closed behind him.

The silence is a tangible force, and your mouth is so dry, you'd think you were in a desert, not in your lover's office.

His footfalls echo around the modest space, before he leans against his wooden desk, folding his arms over his chest, before directing his furious gaze to you four.

"When I give orders," he starts, and oh god, his tone, it's so unbelievably firm, "I expect my team to follow them."

There's no response, except for the overwhelming quiet coming from the usually passionate and comforting presence that underlies your entire dynamic.

Price clears his throat, meeting all of your eyes one by one. You wonder if you can see the glassiness of yours, the barely restrained tears.

"So why," he begins, before swallowing once more, determination settling in, "Did all four of my teammates rush into an unstable building after being ordered to keep out?"

You know it's not just the anger of a captain's orders being refused.

It's the anger of a lover having to watch all four of his partner's risk their death, while he can do nothing but watch from the scope of a sniper rifle.

The clock on the wall above the door ticks, and none of you make a sound.

Price grabs a pack of cigars from his pocket, quickly sliding one out, placing it between his lips, and shoving the pack back into his slacks. He then pulls out a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the tobacco, before exhaling his first breath of smoke.

In any other situation, you or Gaz would be chastising him, telling him to stop smoking, or to at least do it outside.

Neither of you say a word.

Rubbing at the furrow between his brows, Price then drifts his eyes to Ghost, the only one who hasn't said a word since the mission.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Price says on a deep exhale, shaking his head. There's hurt there, genuine pain, and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. "You're my lieutenant, Simon. I thought you'd at least 'ave the brains to listen to me when I make an order."

Ghost's hand tightens where it sit on his cargos, and even with his mask on, you can tell that a disgruntled frown lays beneath it.

"And you, Soap," he looks at the man to your right, now, and you can physically see him deflate at the disappointment in his captain's eyes. "Disrespecting authority is cute 'nd all, until it's me, mate."

Those words feel like a physical wound, even to you, and judging my Soap's crestfallen expression, for him, it must hurt tenfold.

And, then, it's your turn.

His mouth is set in a grim line, and you hope that he can see the regret, the genuine sorrow you feel at disappointing and -- and scaring your captain. Your lover.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, and your mouth wants to open, but it's as if there's an invisible force pinning it shut. "You weren't even supposed to step foot on enemy grounds, and you knew that."

And it's true. Your role is mainly with communications and technical supplies, not actual combat. You were trained, yes, but it has never been your role.

But you'd seen Soap rush in, Ghost trailing after him, yelling, and then Gaz not long after, and it was like your mind shut out any rational lines of thinking. There was no rationale when it came to your partners.

That was a flaw. A genuine character fault, and Price was cementing that fact in this very room.

"Kyle," Price runs his hand down his face, cigar in between his middle and index fingers, "Kyle."

The pain, regret, the melancholy -- it's its own element in this room, its own being, and it feels as if it's choking you from the inside out. Like a gas leak, or a grenade stuck in your throat, about to go off.

Ghost, shockingly, is the first to speak.

"Captain," he grits out. Not 'old man'. Not 'love'.

Captain.

"We're aware of our... misgivings," he states, the words coming off of his tongue like hot coals he needs to rid off, lest his entire mouth burns.

Price nods, slowly, eyes narrowing at Ghost. It hits you, then, how your lover's just dug all of your graves in one sentence. Gaz seems to realise, too, his eyes going wide, exhaling a low, short breath in surprise.

"Sweetheart," he quips, standing up in the transition of one moment to the next, eyes snapping to your glassy ones. The endearment holds no warmth to it, for the first time, and your heart shatters where it beats in your chest, shards of glass embedding into the muscle surround it. "Get on the desk."

He says the words, and in the next movement, sweeps his arm over his desk, causing all of his papers, his pens, his folders, to go careening to the floor.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, and Gaz winces.

On shaky legs, you stand, walking the short distance to the wooden surface and sitting on it with short pants of breath.

His large hand grips your chin in a tight grasp, tilting your head back and forcing the eye contact between you both.

He leans in, mouth mere millimetres away from your own, before speaking. You can taste the tobacco as he does. "I'm gonna let every single one of my subordinates fuck your disobedient cunt, and it's not gonna get any cum. Do you understand that order, sweetheart?"

It's cruel. Patronising, and so unbearably condescending, but you nod, a tear finally leaking down your cheek.

With a calloused thumb, he wipes it away in one stroke. "Save that for the actual punishment, operator."

And then, he steps back, and takes a seat in his chair, allowing him a full view of the other three still sat at the couch, and your position in his desk.

"This is a lesson on following your captain's orders," Price barks his order, like most other men of his rank would. It's a stone cold contrast to the gentle, comforting way he usual spoke to the four of you. His voice, now, holds no love, no underlying adoration lacing through his words. "You will follow every command I give you, and hopefully, this training will carry onto our future missions."

You're all aware that if it gets too much, one of you will utter the safeword you're all aware of -- the weight of it almost embedded into your beings.

Price knows it, too. And no matter how angry he is, he'll always put you all first, listen to you when you genuinely need to stop.

The feeling in the room has shifted from one of heavy disappointment, to an electrifying anger that has liquid heat melting to your core.

"Simon," Price snaps his fingers, and it's almost as if you're in a parallel universe, because the large man immediately stands. "Lay 'er down on the desk."

Ghost only needs to take two steps from the couch before he's standing in front of you, hand fisting into your hair, before somewhat gently pushing you to lay flat against the smooth surface. Your breathing is harsh, your chest moving in quick rises.

"Strip 'er down," Price orders, voice gravelly as he takes another deep inhale of his cigar, folding his leg so his left ankle rests on his right knee, legs spread wide. He fills out the chair with his frame, and it makes you shiver as Ghost gets to work peeling your clothes off of you.

When your heated skin feels the kiss of the cool air, you let out a haggard breath, head falling back to hit the wood as you clench your eyes shut.

Ghost goes to spread your thighs, before pausing, awaiting Price's directions like a dutiful dog.

You never thought you'd see the day.

"She's wet enough," Price shrugs, taking another drag of his cigar. "Fuck 'er."

Oh, fuck.

He wasn't lying, you were soaking, something about the fear unknowingly having your inner thighs sticky and core aching to be filled.

But... not getting prepped? At all?

Ghost makes a surprised grunt of a noise, pausing for a moment, before recollecting his senses and unbuckling his pants.

Oh. Fuck.

He's really, properly following Price's directions, like the man had demanded. The guilt was eating all of you alive, and that festered in Simon's actions.

His deep brown eyes flick to yours, before he unzips his fly with one hand, gaze not moving from yours. There's slight apology in them, only a hint, before he leans down to spit on your cunt.

You inhale a sharp breath at the act, squeezing your eyes shut as his dick presses against your heat, rubbing against it slightly.

Then, he pushes in -- it makes you cry out, breath hitching as the tip enters. It's a tight fit, but he continues to push in, and it's almost as if you can feel the intrusion, the pressure in your chest.

"So you can follow orders, huh?" Price quips, almost nastily, and it has you shuddering as Ghost's hips finally flush against your own. You don't think you've ever taken any of them without foreplay, and it's a special form of torture. The pressure is almost too much, his cock filling you up so much.

Simon's head hangs between his shoulders, muscles tense as he stares down at you, the epitome of self-restraint.

He always was the most controlling one, the most calculating.

Not today, however.

That title easily belongs to Price, who merely relaxes further into his seat, as if he wasn't just mere feet away from the two of you.

"I said fuck her, Riley. Not stand there and keep it warm."

He's so fucking. He's fucking cruel about this, fully willing and wanting to make this hurt. It's so completely unlike the man you love, and it's psychologically damning in a way nothing else could be.

But, like directed, Simon fucks you.

He stops trying to be kind about it, stops wallowing in guilt. It's rough, forceful, urgent, unlike the way he usually liked to savour your pleasure, your pain. He usually delighted in the smooth, deep strokes, prolonging the passionate act almost vindictively.

No. Now, it's quick, punishing thrusts, and your head falls back and little moans escape your throat.

It's like you've both forgotten that Soap and Gaz sit on the couch, watching, waiting. Price has likely made it that way on purpose, to make them envy the attention you and Ghost are getting.

"Fuck," you moan, tits bouncing as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly, harsh in his movements.

"Does he feel good?" Price is standing, and when you open glassy eyes, it's to see his face looking down at you. If you had the mind to, you'd flinch under his criticizing expression. "Answer me."

You nod, shakily, and when his brows narrow, you rush out a verbal response. "Yes, yes, he does!"

Price hums a noncommittal sound, before his hand slides down your stomach, leaving your hairs to stand on end, before his fingers reach your clit. In tight circles, he has you on the edge almost immediately, and you cry out.

"Gonna fuckin' cum," Ghost grunts, voice low as his eyes clench tight.

"Aww, you two close?" Your captain's voice is gruff, all too condescending, and just before you can find your release, his hand leaves your clit, and wraps around Ghost's neck. He leans into his ear, and his whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Pull out."

Simon makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper, and it's so unlike him that it has your eyes opening wide, before he does just as Price ordered.

He pulls out.

"Seriously?" You groan, filter eviscerated like your high was. You lean up, using your elbows for leverage.

Price raises one brow, before scratching at his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Got a complaint, sergeant?"

You shake your head, lightning quick, like a puppet on a string.

That's what you were right now -- what all of you were. Just puppets in whatever acts Price wanted to see you all star in.

It's exhilarating in the worst of ways.

"Soap, Gaz," Price snaps once more, and Ghost is nothing more than a neglected mutt. Which, really, is almost funny considering the amount of times the man teases you, Soap and Gaz about such a comment. You couldn't count the amount of times he's compare you three to 'needy puppies'.

Now, he was nothing more than that, and you wish you could enjoy that fact more.

The two men adhere to the command, radiating nervous energy as they stand to attention, not unlike they would if they were in a standard military unit.

"Gaz, take her mouth," Price demands, before his hand buries in the short hair near the nape of Soap's head with a mean grip, meant to hurt. Soap barely hides a whine as Price tugs him, forcing the man to his knees as if he's nothing more than the mutt Ghost usually refers to him as. "You, lick 'er clean."

You realise, then, what exactly this is.

It's truly a display of power. Of control. Because you four took that away from him on the field, unrightfully so. There truly is thought behind his anger, his pain.

It only makes the ache in your heart burn, makes it bruise and bleed where the shattered pieces cut and embed into the innerworkings of your body.

This 'training' won't make up for what you four pulled. Not in the slightest.

But it's something to let John get some of his emotions out, in a somewhat healthier way than you lot usually resorted to.

You'd always offer your support, offer yourself, and he knows that.

He's deliberately taking away that option for you, taking control to comfort the side of him that is so deeply ingrained, so deeply relied on for him to live.

You love him. So effortlessly.

Those words remain accurate, even as Johnny first licks over your wet pussy, and Kyle's dick bumps against your lips.

Opening your mouth without a thought, Kyle's tip slips in, his pre-cum salty on your tongue as you flatten your tongue against it. Johnny's as enthusiastic as ever, maybe even more than usual, as he delegates all of his attention to your aching warmth.

John's grip doesn't release from Johnny's hair, shoving his closer against you, and the sight is so hot that you wish you could fully, properly enjoy it.

Another time, when you're all in better spots, happy and unapologetic, you'll ask them to re-enact the scene.

Johnny moans against your pussy, hands coming up to grip at your bare thighs, and you just know there'll be finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow morning. He's always been unaware of his strength, not understanding the proper damage he can inflict, especially in the bedroom. It's attractive as all hell.

"Yeah? She taste good, hm?" John nearly snarls, and you let out a drawn out moan at the pleasure and words. The sound is muffled by Kyle pushing in deeper, having you almost gagging on his length.

Your eyes flutter shut at the onslaught of feelings, but even with no sight, you can feel Simon's eyes on you like a physical weight.

You know what position he's in, without having to look. Leaning against the wall with a furious expression, large arms folded over his bulky chest. Maybe he's pulled off his mask, maybe it's just been hooked over his crooked nose.

"Fuck, cap," Kyle groans, bucking into your throat. "So fuckin' good--"

Johnny muffles a whine as his efforts nearly double, and you swear spots colour the darkness of your vision. You're already there, and it's not like you can say anything, with Kyle abusing your mouth like this.

"She's close, ain't she, Johnny? Feel her clenchin' on your tongue?" John taunts, and you can feel Johnny nod against your core, nose brushing your clit as he does.

John huffs a cruel laugh, before he abruptly pulls Johnny away by the scruff of his neck. You can't help by buck up, searching for touch, but none comes.

"Kyle," John's tone is one requiring no resistance, and with a shaky exhale, Kyle pulls out of your mouth, a string of spit clinging to his dick, before snapping and leaving your cheek covered with a line of it.

You shakily open your eyes, your pussy begging for a release, knowing that you won't get one. Not yet.

"You make a mess, you clean it up," John says.

So, Kyle leans down, his tongue licking over the spit trail, and really it should be disgusting.

Instead, it only makes you wetter.

Your thighs incessantly shake, no hint of stopping as your body aches. The emotional turmoil, mixed with the physical kind -- it's a concoction for torture.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch as John forces Johnny's head in between your breasts, pressing his face into them. It must be almost suffocating, but Johnny manages to whine as you feel John's hand wrap around Johnny's dick, positioning it against your twitching hole.

"Rut into her," John orders, before stepping back.

Johnny does just that -- he thrusts in, bottoming out with one push. Your moan sounds too alike to a squeal at the stretch, the sudden intrusion. Your arms wrap around his back, nails scratching lines down Johnny's back as he thrusts into you almost manically. You're sure that you're drawing blood, but it only seems to encourage the man rutting into you further, his thrusts urgent and feral.

"Jesus christ," someone -- you're sure it's Kyle -- murmurs, and you suddenly want to know what you must look like from a spectator. Ruined, probably.

Your breaths are harried as you feel yourself getting close once more, tears burning at the corner of your vision at the pure need coursing through your veins.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing like a vice around Johnny's dick. "Please, oh god."

"Now you want me to make decisions? Let you two cum?" There's a hand in your hair, and in any other situation, it'd be calming.

Currently, it feels like a thinly veiled threat.

"Please, John, 'm so sorry, please," you beg, eyes blurry as you look up into the man's stormy blue eyes.

Usually, they're comparable to a calm ocean, the beach mid-summer.

Now, they're akin to the darkest of storms, the ones sailors whisper about, the ones that haunt them while they're asleep at sea. Ones that cause shipwrecks to wash up on shores, ones that cause stories to be passed between campers on the scariest of nights.

"Now you're sorry, sweetheart?" And, oh, there's a sliver of the warmth you've come to crave, and it almost has you melting where you lay.

You're so close, you can taste it on your tongue, and your moans get louder, needier, more frantic --

"Stop, Johnny."

Tears fall, then. Hot and heavy down your cheeks, leaving sticky tracks in their wake. Hiccups fall from your lips as you sob from the deprevation.

Johnny whines, head drooped low as he stops, and you can feel him pulse inside of you, both of you at your wits' end.

"You follow orders so well in this room, don't you?" John says. The voice of a captain.

It's almost your last straw. The devastation is too great, the mix of physical and emotion stress weighing on you heavily.

"'M so sorry, shoulda listened," you cry, body trembling.

"John, please, we're sorry," Kyle insists, a furrow between his dark brows where he takes a step closer to you and Johnny.

Simon, although silent, is also closer to you both now than he had been, no longer stood against the wall.

Your boys -- they're so inherently protective, and it's such a nice feeling. No matter how guilty they feel, how genuinely sorry, they can't stand to see you or Johnny so weak, so vulnerable.

Love. You love them, in a way words can never describe.

John exhales. A deep, thoughtful one.

"We're talking about this, after we're all cleaned up," he says. It's the first hint of himself that you've heard tonight, and the relief is like an intoxicating drug.

It's like even the room itself takes a deep breath, dispelling of some of the tension lining every inch of it.

"Off 'er," John snaps his fingers, and Johnny pulls out with a small whimper, head still hung low.

Grabbing your hips, John flips you over, making you bend so your face is to the desk and your ass is in the air. His large hand presses against your lower back, bending you into an arch.

He slides in, and it's an easy entry. You don't think you've been more wet in your life, and gods, you need it.

Setting a ruthless pace immediately, every thrust forces a whimper, a moan, a whine out of your mouth, eyes dazed as your cheek presses against the wood. His hand fists into your hair, forcing your head to face the three men stood side by side, watching you both with a flurry of emotions behind heavy stares.

"Feel so fuckin' good, christ," John seethes, his grip tightening in your hair, causing your moan to become louder as it leaves your lips.

It isn't long before you're at that cliff once more, begging for a final push, just so you can reach that finish you ache for.

"Gonna, fuck, please, let me cum, John, I love you, I'm so sorry," your words aren't fully your own, and they come out in a desperate plea.

"Yeah? My girl gonna cum for me? Needy slut."

Those words are your undoing, your nirvana.

You cum, body strung tight as tears fall down your cheeks once more, your vision nearly blacking out with the strength of your orgasm. It's almost painful, the stimulation altogether too much, and not enough.

John finishes not long after, his cum filling you up with a loud groan from him.

He releases his fist in your hair, and you head falls to the desk, body slumping with the final release of pleasure.

Stroking a smoothing hand down your back, he pulls out, and you can feel his seed leaking down your thighs. You must be a sight -- all worn out and dripping with the white liquid.

"We don't getta cum?" Johnny whines, and you can hear the roll of Simon's eyes.

There's a hand stroking stray hairs off of your face, and from the texture and size of the limb you can tell it's Kyle.

"You won't get to tomorrow, either, if you keep tha' up," Price mutters, and you let out a delusional giggle at his words. You're cum-drunk, almost, from how drawn out your orgasm had been.

"We really are sorry, Cap," Kyle murmurs genuinely, and the hurt is a sharp barb on his tongue. "You know we love you, didn't mean to hurt you."

John releases a long, worn-out breath. "I know that. I do. But you're a bunch of reckless muppets 'nd you fuckin' went too far today. I'm your captain, lover or not."

"We'll talk it over later," Simon states, and you can't help but agree with the sentiment.

You will. And it'll be a painful conversation, but one that you all owe to your captain.

Because, at the end of the day, you four would do anything for the man that you love. That includes the tough words, the difficult exchanges.

John presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and with complete certainty, you're sure that you're all going to be okay.

a/n. the day that i stop loving poly 141 is the day that i die. price needs all the love omg this one kinda hurt to write cause oof angst but hopefully it was an enjoyable read!!!! thank you to everyone who comments on my fics, your notes etc make me do a lil happy dance ily all!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lovelybucky1]

I have a theory and bear with me because It’s hard for me to explain but like, when Wade & Logan are DP’ing (or fucking in general) the reader I feel like wade gets a bit too excited at times (due to his underlying ADHD that we all know he has) and Logan is there to smooth the aftermath. So for example, like when they’re fucking their girl, Wade may smack her ass one too many times to hard and Logan’s hands are immediately there, rubbing and trying to soothe the pain and redness. Wade bites her neck a little too hard when he’s leaving hickeys? Logan’s tongue is gently licking the wounds like a lion licking her cubs sores. Wade fucks her throat a bit to hard when he’s face fucking and gives her a sore throat? Logans prepared with cough drops and warm tea to ease the ache. Logan may do those things at times but Logan knows how far to take it and doesn’t take it too far. Wade I don’t think intends too but their girl is just so damn beautiful and sexy that he can’t help himself lol

it's no secret that wade has poor impulse control. he never means to hurt you, he just gets too excited. the long, thin scratches of fingernails down your back, bruises on your limbs, bites that draw blood. they're all accidents. you know wade is a good guy so you're never mad at him for the pain he causes you. you're just glad that logan is there to take care of you.

logan doesn't seem like he'd be the gentle one of the pair, but he always made sure you get an ice pack, or at the very least, some kisses after you're done. on the occasions that wade breaks skin, whether that be with his teeth or a knife, logan cleans and bandages the wound.

you may not get mad at wade, but logan gets pissed with him every time it happens.

"why the fuck do you keep doing this? can't you control yourself?"

"i'm sorry, peanut, i just get too excited. she doesn't mind, right, cupcake?"

[samaraxmorgan]

Spill Your Secrets

Synopsis: Something strange happened during Sukuna’s most recent fight, he was nearly defeated. Completely losing his ability to harness his cursed energy, he had to resort to bludgeoning his enemy to death with his bare hands. Except after this sorcerer’s death, his techniques didn’t return to him. It won’t be that simple, you see, to regain his abilities he will need to reveal his deepest secret, but what on earth could that possibly be?

Pairing: Heian Era Sukuna x Reader

Contains: blood, lots of mentions of blood, very slight angst but everything ends up okay, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 2.0k

My Masterlist Here!!

The king of curses is nothing if not blunt, never having any problems being as distastefully confrontational towards anyone who meets his menacing gaze. Anyone and everyone, except for you; it wasn��t always like this, of course, but over the course of your time together he’s become… more reserved you could say. He would absolutely threaten to kill you if you told him he was growing soft, but you’re both more than aware that he would never dare to lay a hand on you, no matter how often you intentionally push his buttons.

Like how you are now, waiting for him to return back home and enter his throne room to find you lounging on his precious throne, your back leaned against one armrest while your legs draped over the other. Uraume can’t help but shake their head, unable to comprehend the amount of absolute nerve you possess, or more importantly, how their lord Sukuna seems almost delighted to keep you around regardless of your constant antics.

The grand doors to the estate open abruptly, slamming into the walls as Sukuna enters, the blood of his foes coating his hands and leaving crimson splatters across his broad figure. This fight must have been messy; you’ve seen him return victorious more times than you could count, droplets of blood scattered on his skin, dripping down his face and torso, but this… It must have been personal. He clearly fought with his bare hands, bruises on his bloodied knuckles and a large open gash spread across his-

Wait.

What?

No, no, that can’t be right. You blink to clear your eyes, they’re surely deceiving you, but as he stumbles into the entryway you realize that the unthinkable- no, the impossible- has happened.

Sukuna is injured.

Within the blink of an eye, Uraume is rushing to his aid as you scramble off of his throne and run towards him. You’ve never seen this look in his eyes before, like a rabbit surrounded by wolves, his hands shaking in what could be perceived as either unrelenting anger or an imperceivable fear.

Your voice wavers, panic clear in your shaky breaths as you speak, “What… Happened…?”

“Uraume, the sorcerer I’ve just fought,” He’s trying to keep his voice steady, but there’s no mistaking the underlying panic in his rushed words, “Research his curse technique and report back to me with your findings.”

With a quick nod of their head Uraume rushes out of the throne room, pulling the doors shut behind them to prevent anyone from seeing Sukuna in this condition. He lets out a shaky breath, his guard immediately dropping with the click of the doors as he presses a large hand into the gash drawn across the side of his torso, gritting his teeth as he attempts to cover the wound to prevent more of his blood from seeping out.

“Why haven’t you healed?” Your voice comes out in a whisper, although you didn’t mean it to.

He whispers right back to you, “I can’t.”

You didn’t know it was possible for your eyes to grow wider, your heart pounding painfully in your chest as you forcefully grab one of his hands into both of your own and lead him to a lounge chair. He stumbles slightly, nearly collapsing into the plush cushions; a sharp breath escapes his throat, his head leaning back against the seat and his eyes squeezing shut.

Sukuna has never had to endure pain, his reverse cursed technique always closing his wounds for him subconsciously. You reach for the foot of your long gown, ripping through the fabric to create a large makeshift bandage. Seating yourself on one of his large thighs, you reach forward to wrap your arms around either side of his waist, pulling the fabric flush against his back and whispering out a quiet apology as you tie each end of the bandage and pull it tight, compressing his wound to suppress the bleeding and causing him to huff out a harsh breath, a low growl leaving his lips as one of his hands reaches to cover his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sounds of pain.

You pull his hand away from his lips, gently placing your shaking palm on his cheek; his eyes crack open and his head tilts subtly to meet your petrified gaze. His long fingers wrap around your trembling ones, an attempt to be reassuring, and he gently pulls your hand to his lips to press a weak kiss to the back of your hand that was now smeared with scarlet blood.

His maroon eyes look hazy as you gaze into them, swiping your thumb in an attempt to clear a drop of blood from his cheek but only smudging it across his features, “Tell me what happened.”

His brows furrow and he clicks his tongue, “That bastard hit me with… something,” He lets out a deep breath, “His attack rendered me incapable of harnessing my cursed energy. I’d assumed that disposing of him would resolve the issue, but,” The tiniest hint of a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, “I assumed incorrectly, it seems.”

Tears begin to well in your eyes, your voice breaking and causing that small smile of his to dissipate and his grip on your hand to grow tighter, “Will you be okay..?”

“Yes.” He declares sternly, two of his hands reaching to cup your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and catching a falling tear on the tip of his thumb, his voice sounding softer now “Yes, my dear, I will be okay.”

Tears begin to cascade down your face as you nod your head, forcing a wobbly smile onto your lips. His thumbs brush your tears away, but leave smudges of blood in their wake. His grip on your hand never falters as his last free hand wraps around your waist, the hands cupping your face sliding to the back of your neck and gently pulling you towards him, your forehead pressed against his as his eyes bore into your own; you’re unable to read the look he gives you, but his pupils grow wider.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“He has to what?”

Uraume shifts uncomfortably in the doorway of Sukuna’s chambers, “To share a secret, I don’t know to whom, but presumably he has to inform someone of a matter he is not willing to discuss.”

The tension had settled significantly in the last two days, Sukuna’s wounds slowly but surely healing on their own with no complications; you’ve been keeping a keen eye on his injuries as you cleansed and wrapped them multiple times a day, dark red scabs beginning to form throughout the slice taken from his side. You felt a wave of relief wash over you when you heard that Uraume had discovered the cure to Sukuna’s condition, but now tension has once again began to bubble up inside of you as you peer over at Sukuna sitting on the bed next to you.

What secrets could he possibly have? He’s never held his tongue for anyone.

Except…

“Thank you, Uraume, you are dismissed.”

They nod their head and turn on their heel, pulling the tall wooden door to the chambers shut as they leave. Sukuna leans back against the pillows adorning his grand bed, staring into the flickering flames of the candles hoisted on iron candlesticks surrounding the bed and painting the room in a soft orange glow. You both sit in silence for a moment, consumed in your thoughts as the curtains sway from the gentle breeze making its way in from the open window.

You’re first to interrupt the silence, crawling backwards on his bed and leaning your back onto the plush velvet pillows, gazing up at him next to you with a soft smile, “Well, at least it’s an easy solution.”

His eyes flicker to yours, and you’re greeted with that unreadable expression once again; his pupils growing larger at the sight of you, dim candlelight softly illuminating his darkened eyes that held something behind them. His lips part for a moment, but no words can grace his tongue; his gaze drops to your lips and back to your eyes, his mouth opening again but there is still only silence. He grits his teeth, his eyes squinting and brows furrowing in frustration as he turns his head completely to look away from you.

You lift yourself to sit upright on the bed, looking down at him laying beneath you and pinching his chin between your fingers, turning his head to look back at you, “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

A soft groan escapes his throat as he wraps a hand around your wrist, gently pushing your hand away as he turns his head to look towards the wall. A beat of quiet passes as his eyes fall shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips, “Perhaps that’s the case.”

You scrunch your brows together, giving him a quizzical look as you gently poke underneath his bottom eye, “Well? Spill it.”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s is not so simple.”

You let out a frustrated huff, “Sukuna, we can’t keep you hidden forever. Eventually the people will hear that the king of curses is curseless.”

He grits his teeth, shooting daggers in your direction as his eyes meet yours once again, “I am well aware. Please humor me with your silence, woman.”

“Woman,” You repeat in a mocking tone, your arms crossing across your chest, you mumble under your breath, “I was My Dear two days ago.”

“You-” Two of his hands take hold of your own and pull them away from your chest while his other two rest on either side of your hips, “You’re always-” his words get stuck in his throat, his gaze up at you softening as that look in his eyes returns once again.

One of his hands leaves your hip to prop himself up on the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight as he leans his tall figure down to have his face hover right above your own. His fingers intertwine with yours as he wraps his lower set of arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap, the two of you now eye level.

His breath fans against your lips as he speaks, his voice hardly coming out as a whisper, “You don’t make this easy for me,” He lifts one of your hands to his chest, pressing your palm against his pounding heart, “My dear.”

He looks beautiful, the warm glow of candlelight cascading across his skin as his dark eyes gaze into yours, longing for you, not wanting to ever have you leave his arms.

Your voice escapes in a whisper, “What do you mean?”

He lifts the hand he had placed between your bodies up to your chin, his thumb slowly brushing over your bottom lip, “Every time I have attempted to tell you, my voice has never ceased to failed me,” He leans further towards you, your foreheads pressed against one another’s, whispering against your lips, “It seems that you always manage to tear my breath from my lungs.”

He breaks the distance between you, tilting his head slightly and running his hand to the back of your neck as he softly presses his lips against yours. Your heart races in your chest but your eyes fall shut as you melt into him, sliding your hand from its home on his heart and wrapping it around the back of his head, attempting to pull him impossibly closer. He lets a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding escape him, kissing you deeper, passion flooding from his lips and against your own.

It pains him to pull away from you, but he doesn’t stray far, his lips still brushing against yours as his eyes are back on yours, clarifying to you that his eyes have always been telling you what he has never been able to say in a breath against your lips, “I Love You.”

A/N: So THAT was his secret huh, I have the BIGGEST headcanon that he refuses to ever ever ever say I love you, and a situation like this is the ONLY way to get him to actually admit he could god forbid care for another person. Anyway I wrote this in a more… formal? style than I normally do bc my usual snarky inner dialogues didn’t really fit the vibes here, so I went balls to the walls with the fancy speak lmfao. I hope you enjoyed!!