#WITHER WANTING WONDERS WAIT

[0bticeo]

mark grayson | love me like an innocent (and hold me tight)

summary: viltrumites are war-borne. the only love mark grayson has ever known is the crushing weight of his father's fist. you remedy that.

tw. viltrum!mark, mild blood and gore (it's the invincible show, c'mon), *gasp* hand holding, forehead kisses, reader playing with mark's hair. diabetes inducing amounts of fluff, mark being touch starvedTM. reference to this post.

in another universe, mark grayson is kind, softened by the tender touch of his mother. they call him invincible and his name means hope. there’s something like a boyish lilt to his grin. 

the mark grayson you know pulled you out of the rubble he buried you in, bloodied hand tight around your neck, and left you choking on his ultimatum. follow him or die.

and you were tired of cecil’s no-nonsense, find-a-way-to-beat-these-fuckers stare. tired of playing hero for a bunch of ungrateful scumbags, of ceaselessly bloodying your hands. crime is the many-headed hydra. it will never die. you will. 

you took mark’s hand and buried yourself in his arms. earth burned. 

the flames have settled, the only remaining source of heat being mark’s body, slotted against yours. markus sebastian grayson, clad in the cold colours of viltrum, white and gray molding him into a perfect picture of stoicism. you think of marble. glacial. haughty. 

he’s been… hovering, lately. lingering just out of the corner of your eyes, when the only thing you can catch a glimpse of is the lithe silhouette of him, all sharp angles and cold, eyes colder than the winter soil when frost bites and crops wither. you wonder if he trusts you. if he’s watching you, waiting for the inevitable slip up. 

(you hear the viltrumite talk among themselves. they are not kind - their kin never is. general kregg’s words are cutting. you were once earth’s best defender, with the weight of the sun bearing on your shoulders, liquid fire coursing through your veins. supernova, he mocks. do you really think of yourself as one of us?)

so here you are, on a viltrumite ship, arms crossed as you face the vastness of space. it’s cold, the void of it nipping at your skin despite your powers. you let out a heavy sigh. 

earth orbits before you. you hope it’s worth it, its desolation. the slaughter of the weak. you remember cecil’s gaze as you towered over the pentagon, clad in viltrumite colours. the fear. the betrayal. the knowledge that whatever failsafe he planned against you, to keep you contained, was not enough. the smell of his burnt flesh didn’t make your stomach churn.

a noise. a door sliding open, then shut. viltrumites abhor walking. there are no footsteps to recognise people by here. but there is only one person who comes and goes by the stark room they call your quarters. 

he comes to you with bloodied hands and heavy silence, the weight of it blanketing your shoulders. you do not know if you hate him for what he’s made you do. 

(you remember the regent emperor thragg standing before you and asking to prove yourself to the empire. you remember mark suggesting you lay waste on the pentagon, voice detached. you remember burning the GDA to the ground. self immolation at its peak.)

you see him, his reflection next to you, blood splattering his uniform, his cheeks, his hair. he does not speak. stands a mere few inches away from you. he’s warm, you think, you know, you feel. warm enough that you wonder why he burns, what is burning him. 

hesitantly, you brush your fingers against his. he stiffens, shoulders tensing in the prelude to viltrumite ultraviolence. you freeze, make a move to pull away. his fingers curl around yours, wrap tight and pull. 

your breath hitches, head resting on the angel wing of his collarbone, one you’ve traced the contours of one desperate, desperate night three months ago. you, mark, and so much grief you wanted to drown in it. you had never felt that cold in your life. mark had pulled you close, mouth feverish on yours, thumb smearing blood away from the corner of your lip. you’d melted. 

you’ve learned, then, panting and breathless in the wreckage left of the pentagon, hellfire burning, that viltrumites fuck like they fight. it wasn’t soft, the way mark took you and made you his own, it never was. you don’t think you’d want it any other way. you remember the way he looked at you when you cupped his cheek, the way he flinched when your skin touched his own, impossibly soft. he’s never known anything but his father’s fist.

three months later, and you’re a betrayer to your kin, lone human in a viltrumite ship. and one of their strongest warriors has his hands resting on your hips, thumbs brushing hesitantly over the thick material over your uniform, seeking, seeking. you do not understand why he’s drinking you in like he’s been starving for it, like he can only breathe when you’re around. why now? something like a low, broken little noise echoes in your ear. your eyes widen.

“mark? what’s wrong?”

you turn to face him, hand coming up to cradle his cheek. his breath hitches. you watch as he leans into your touch, the sharp angle of his cheek pressing against your palm. it feels like something is clicking. you meet his gaze. gone is the glacier edge to his eyes. they’re soft. infinitely soft, gazing at you as though you’re holding the universe in the palm of your hand. your heart skips a beat. then another.

something like a soft blush dusts his cheekbones, and you watch, bewildered, as he nuzzles your hand, a stray lock of hair brushing your knuckles. 

“mark?” you breathe. 

he glances away, fingers curling around your wrist. a shuddering breath escapes him, warm on your pulse. he feels it, the way your blood jumps under your skin, fluttering softly under his fingertips. you push away his hair from his face, comb the thick dark locks behind his ear. it’s gotten bloody again.

another soft noise.

“keep- keep doing that.”

“what?”

he nuzzles your hand, grip on your hip growing impossibly tighter.

“touching my hair,” he whispers, burying his face in the crook of your neck, blood and gore and viscera now clinging to you both.

you tut a little and gently push him away, eyeing the mess he’s made. blood drips down from his trembling fists to the floor, drip drip dripping red. your fingers lace with his.

“let’s get us cleaned up, yeah?”

blood drips down the shower. lately, it feels as though the only colours you’ve known are white, grey and red. so much red. too much red- 

mark’s hand cups your cheek. trembling. hesitant. like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. he doesn’t, you realise. not with the way viltrumites are, war-bent, destruction-borne. he’s trying. for you. your heart swells in your chest and you smile at him.

“hey.”

his lips curl in a rare smile, chasing the touch of your hands as they busy themselves in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. he’s practically purring under your touch, leaning down to give you better access.

“hey.”

you brush his split knuckles, the bruises blooming over his ribs, the deep gash above his adonis belt, already healing, reduced to a faint, pink line. he doesn’t flinch. only pulls you closer, chin on top of your head. you have to push him away to avoid getting soapy water in your eyes.

“who was the unlucky guy?”

“spawn.”

one of earth’s strongest. one of your colleagues. one of your frien- 

you sigh. inhale, exhale, until the only things that exist are you, mark, and the scalding stream of water trickling down on your skin. until mark pulls you out of the shower and lays you down in bed, barely dry, his head resting on your chest.

you’ve betrayed everything and everyone the moment your heart started beating for him. but here, with the way his lips curl into a half-smile, with the way he trails soft patterns over the small scar on your hip bone, your guilt eases.

“can you… can you play with my hair?” he whispers, burrowing himself in your chest.

you think he wants to crawl in it. make himself at home between your ribs, nestle against your heart and rest his weary head on it.

“yeah.”

in another universe, mark grayson is born soft and cradled by his mother’s warmth. in this universe, debbie grayson is dead, and all the love he ever knew was violence. he’s all sharp edges and cold gazes and bloodied fists, more weapon than human. 

yet, in the quiet of your room, he softens against you, guard lowered enough to let you press your lips to the crown of his hair. 

“let me love you,” you murmur.

he looks up at you, chin on your chest, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.

“rotten, useless work.”

you press your lips to his.

“not to me.”

(taking the liberty to tag a few ppl, as you guys seemed interested by poor lil mew mew viltrum mark: @gaiasmight @linkwho1 )

[sqvishii]

My personal headcanon is that the way Fae asks for their lover's hand in marriage is by weaving them a flower ring and proposing to them, they either cast a spell to not wilt or to change the flower ring regularly

So imagine the shock when you jokingly proposing to any of the diansomia boys with a flower ring

(This applies to qny of them, but i had silver in mind)

(Also just dumping my tjoughts here)

THIS IS SO CUTE I ☹☹

fuck ir this is so cutr im doing all of them

♡

• sebek zigvolt

both of you were walking in the garden, while he was talking about how great malleus is, you busied yourself with a flower ring

it was a bit simple to make, you wondered if your half fae boyfriend would like your little creation

while he was still talking, you went in front of him and presented him the ring, making him stop for a moment.

his reaction was priceless, just a blank stare with blown eyes once he realized what it was LMAOOO 😭

"HUMAN! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, PROPOSING TO ME WHILE WE ARE STILL SCHOOLING?!"

"sebek what."

turns out you didn't know a thing about fae stuff and all that, he calmed down and accepted the ring

.. silver saw him staring at the wall blankly with tears running down his eyes before looking out the window, revealing you messing around with ace

he was a bit sulky once he found out you didn't know a thing about fae culture and actually thought you were proposing 😭🙏

keeps the ring on, you can see his flustered face whenever he walks around and lilia is teasing him about it

♡

• silver vanrouge

as usual, silver was asleep in the garden. typical

while bored out of your mind, you decided to make a flower ring for your sleepy boyfriend so you can surprise it with him once he wakes up.

with your fingers delicately working on the flower and stickig it onto the ring, you felt silver wrapping his arms around you

his head resting on your shoulders as he asked what you were doing while he was still half asleep, his eyes widened a bit once seeing the object in your hands as you showed it to him.

"[name], are you sure you want to marry me? im not an ideal husband, but i can try to provide and such. if we were to have kids then-"

"silver wtf are you on about."

oh. yeah, you didn't know anything about fae customs.

he was taught about fae culture from lilia lolz, he embarrassingly hid his face from you as you put the ring on his gloved hand.

he wears it daily and often asks lilia to cast a spell on it whenever he sees it withering.

♡

• lilia vanrouge

while you were out somewhere, probably at sams shop, you saw a pretty looking flower ring.

thinking of lilia and how he would rather enjoy the small gift you bought for him, you purchased the said items alongside a few more.

walking back to the campus, you could only be fnaf jumpscared by lilia who popped up in front of you, upside down, like a bat.

recovering from your surprise, you quickly boop him on his nose, makig him laugh before standing up like an actual human being.

sitting down on the ground, you showed him everything you purchased. from antiques to books.

once you showed him the flower ring, his smile turned into a straight line as he stared at you.

it wouldn't be long until he smiled sadly, knowing you didn't know a thing that you just did.

"are you trying to propose? haha, in fae culture, we usually propose through flower rings."

"oh.. then, consider this as my promise to marry you!"

.. just like meleanor.

he could only laugh as he puts it on, did the shine in his eyes get larger?

he wears it wherever he goes, he hopes the day of your actual proposal is soon.

♡

• malleus draconia

you were staying in your dorm before you heard the knock, like, the knock. your boyfriend is here to take you out on a nightly stroll!!

grabbing your jacket, knowing it's a rather chilly night, you noticed the flower ring your made yesterday for him. bringing it with you, you opened the doors and saw him patiently waiting.

holding your hand in his, the moon shining its light down on the pavement the both of you stepped on, the both of you either talked or kept on walking in comfortable silence.

the next moment you brought on a new topic, you pulled out the ring, making him stop taking a few steps forward as he stood there in shock.

it wouldnt be long until fireflies decorated the area near you two, giving it a melodramatic scene as you stood there, utterly confused.

"i accept, man of child."

"malleus what do you mean 😦"

turns out you knew nothing, not even a shred of fae culture.

the fireflies would be gone and it would start raining LMAOOO

he thought you were serious, well, you were; about the whole ring thing, but he didn't think that,,,, ☹

very well then, he shall be content with the trinkets he has now.

having the ring on him, he gets all giddy now whenever he looks at it and never takes it off.

[suiana]

(yandere! vampire groom x gn! reader)

He just wanted you forever. Was that too much to ask for?

"I don't understand why you're being difficult. I thought you loved me."

You were a human, he was a vampire. You were destined to live a much shorter life than he is. In fact, he's already lived way longer than you have. 500 years without you. 500 years without having a meaning in life.

And now he's found you.

How could you be so cruel to deny both you and him eternal happiness? To take away the very reason he's willing to live?

"Why would you resist heaven's grasp? This is our fate, to be forever together. You know it."

His sharp nails grip your arms, eyes narrowing at you as he tries to convince you into seeing his point of view. He really just wants to shake you until you give in, but he probably will achieve the opposite if he does so.

"Come on, a human life is pathetic. You can barely live a hundred years. I am not seeing my spouse wither away in front of my eyes."

Your vampire groom's tone turns desperate as he grips the sleeves of your wedding outfit. You look absolutely beautiful, he thinks. All dressed up like the angel you are.

You'll look even more beautiful when you're turned.

"Why are you so hesitant to be a vampire? Surely being human is not that important to you."

But it is. He knows that. You've told him multiple times already. That you don't want to live forever, to see all your friends and family die in front of your eyes.

His eyes narrow slightly as you remain silent. He leans in even closer, face stern as if challenging you to speak back.

"Come on, is being human more important than being with me?"

"I- and if I say yes?"

The vampire's jaw locks at your answer as his grip on your upper arms tighten ever so painfully. Wrong answer. He didn't like that response of yours at all.

"You'd let me watch you die? You're cruel, you know that?"

He spits in your face as he pushes you against fhe church pew. The candles around you burn bright, their wax dripping to the cold floor of the church.

If you squint hard enough, you'd see a hint of fear in his cold eyes. Fear of losing you. Fear of you dying . Fear of you being ripped away from his embrace.

"But you should respect my choice-"

"And watch you die?! When it could all be prevented?!"

His voice is shrill, eyes widening in a mixture of anger. You wonder if you've ever seen him like this before. Seen him this angry and fearful, or this desperate and annoyed. He's always put you before him. Never asked you for anything but your love.

"Come on my love... You're not seriously dead set on staying human, are you? You'd be so beautiful as a vampire too. I'd let you drink from me and we'd be together forever!"

His grip on your arms grows tight before he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck. You remain silent, unmoving, rooted in your place. You didn't want to say anything. You know anthing you say will only anger him further anyway. He's so dead-set on turning you.

You'll reject him every step of the way though.

"I said no... Can't you just-"

"No. You're being selfish."

His words cause you to pause and think. You? Selfish? Well...

"Can't I have at least one thing? I deserve it. I deserve you."

You feel his lips touch the softness of your skin, his teeth threatening to pierce you. Instinctively, you try to push him away. No way! Was he actually trying to turn you into a vampire right now?

Your beloved groom merely holds your wrists down before nipping at your neck. Wait wait wait! Just hold on a moment-

"If you can't see it on your own... It is my duty to help you see it."

You lock eyes with your vampire groom, blood running cold as he slips a ring onto your finger.

"After all, I belong to you now, as you belong to me. In life and in death."

You feel a surging pain in your body as his teeth sink into your flesh. It's not like the bites he uses when he feeds, no. This time, it's clear he's doing it to lock you with him for eternity. To keep you with him.

"I am your husband now, my love."

Yours, forever and now.

Just like you are his, forever and now.

[oneofreid]

internal reflections (18+)

summary: in which spencer reid wants you to watch yourself as he fucks you.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

a/n: #need that. masterlist

“Spread your legs, baby. That’s it…mm okay, wider”

His brown eyes staring intently at you, studying you, in the reflection of your bedroom mirror. Your elbows slightly propping you up as you bent down on all fours. Knees on the carpet with your bare ass up in the air.

Your clothing already long gone, tossed to the side, the second Spencer had walked through the door.

You waited. Patiently. The cool air of your shared apartment sending shivers through your body as you laid there in anticipation. Desperate and eager to feel his dick fully throttled in you after spending three days apart.

Spencer stood behind you, admiring your ass as he undid his brown leather belt. Letting his black trousers fall to the ground as he stripped himself from his shirt and tie.

Giving his dick a couple strokes, pumping with his own hand before kneeling down behind you. Hand smoothing over the skin of your ass as if he were wiping down a table. Before reaching a hand under you to slide his long fingers through your slick folds to collect some of your slick arousal. Watching you wither, crumbling from his minuscule touch.

“Mmm. Spence, need you,” you whined. Pouting in the mirror as you watched him through the mirror. Gliding a hand over his dick, up and down. Up and down. His own hand twisting with every flick of his wrist. Using his pre-cum as a form of lubricant.

Seeing him touch himself only made you grow more needy, perching your ass up higher out of instinct.

“Easy, sweetheart. Your turn is coming,” he chuckled. Smirking at how needy you always got over him.

Lining his tip up with your entrance, watching your jaw slack as he slowly pushed himself in. Inch by inch. A moan fell from your lips from the familiar pressure that you dearly missed. Feeling full again.

Your pussy welcomed him, completely custom made just for him. And all Spencer could do was stare at the reflection of you two in the mirror. Watching as you closed your eyes shut for a second, mumbling ‘fuck’ under your breathe. Still wondering if you would ever get used to his size.

Spencer leaned forward, his body still connected with yours, “You feel that? It’s just for you, that’s all for you, honey.” Pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Beginning to rock back and forth, slowly retracting his dick just before the tip, only to thrust back into you. Your legs already growing weak, both of your jaws falling open as you both let out the most animalistic moans. Praising each other for how good you made one another felt. How wet you are. How big he is.

The sound of your skin slapping against each other with every thrust of Spencer’s hips connecting to yours was music to your ears. Watching him through your reflection as he fucked you senselessly yet with so much care and affection in his eyes. His hand stayed just under your chin, his chest flushed against your back. Holding you close to him as fucked you from behind. Making sure that your eyes always stayed on the two of you. Watching every face that you made. Every face and sound was witnessed by the both of you.

It was your own pornographic movie, a live show just for the two of you deeply enjoyed.

“Oh, you like that?,” he lightly taunted you. Noticing how your pussy clenched around him when he began to circle his finger around your clit, playing with it.

His hair fell perfectly just in front of his face, framing his features. Thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Sweat lined his forehead as he felt his stomach begin to tighten. Your own face contorting in pleasure with every thrust that he slammed into you.

Being met with pure euphoria when you were finally met with your high, your orgasm hitting you all at once. Reid giving you no time to come down from yours before he swiftly pulled out of you, turning you around. Nudging your mouth open with the tip of pulsing cock as he stood briefly.

Your lips wrapped around his dick, sucking lightly before you felt one last single twitch. Cum spilling all over your tongue as you swallowed. Every last bit of his cum coating the back of your throat.

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: Song lyrics that describe your future relationship

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will give you song lyrics that describe your future relationship. I hope you enjoy this reading!

masterpost > paid readings > patreon masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here the 18+ version is here

Pile 1:

“You’re still the one I run to, the one that I belong to / You’re still the one I want for life.” – Still the One – Shania Twain

“I’ve loved you for a thousand years / I’ll love you for a thousand more.” – A Thousand Years – Christina Perri

“I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets / To carry love, to carry children of our own.” – Perfect – Ed Sheeran

“I never thought I'd be in love with you / But I guess that it was meant to be.” – You and Me – Lifehouse

“You are the one, I will love forever / You are the one, I will never leave.” – I Will Always Love You – Whitney Houston

“And I can't help falling in love with you.” – Can't Help Falling in Love – Elvis Presley

“The more I think about it, the more I think about you / I just want to be with you.” – Everything – Michael Bublé

“You are my best friend, but I also love you / I love the way you look at me.” – I’m Yours – Jason Mraz

“When I look in your eyes, I see forever / And I know I don’t have to go anywhere.” – All of Me – John Legend

“I knew I loved you before I met you / I think I dreamed you into life.” – I Knew I Loved You – Savage Garden

extended reading > 18+ version > paid readings

Pile 2:

“And I’ll be your friend / I’ll help you carry on / For it won’t be long / ‘Til I’m gonna need somebody to lean on.” – Lean on Me – Bill Withers

“When I fall in love, it will be forever / Or I’ll never fall in love.” – When I Fall in Love – Nat King Cole

“You’re the one that I want / You are the one I want / Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey.” – You're the One That I Want – John Travolta & Olivia Newton-John

“And I can’t help but wonder, how much you love me.” – I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You – Elvis Presley

“The way you look at me / The way you touch me / The way you love me / It feels so good.” – I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing – Aerosmith

“I’ll be your shelter / I’ll be your armor / I’ll be your strength / I’ll be your love.” – I’ll Be Your Shelter – Taylor Dayn

“No one ever loved me like you do, / Oh, you’re the only one I see / You’ve got to keep me by your side.” – Only One – The Chainsmokers

“I’ll be right here / I’ll be right here waiting for you.” – Right Here Waiting – Richard Marx

“You're my only reason, you're my only truth / I was born to love you.” – I Was Born to Love You – Queen

“I don’t need a lot of things / I can get by with nothing / But all I need is you.” – I Don’t Need Anything But You – From Annie

extended reading > 18+ version > paid readings

Pile 3:

“We don’t have to talk, it’s alright / Just be my woman tonight / We don’t have to talk, it’s alright / Just be my woman tonight.” – Let's Stay Together – Al Green

“Love is all around me, and so the feeling grows / It’s written on the wind, it’s everywhere I go.” – Love is All Around – Wet Wet Wet

“The harder I try to forget / The harder it gets / I will be here.” – I Will Be Here – Steven Curtis Chapman

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been, I’ll make it right / I’m sorry for the times I haven’t been the one you need.” – Sorry – Beyoncé

“And if you’re feeling scared, you can take my hand / And we’ll fight through it together, you and me.” – Fighter – Christina Aguilera

“We fight, we laugh, we make up / We cry, we laugh, we fall apart / But we’re still standing here.” – You’re Still the One – Shania Twain

“There’s no place like home, you’re where I want to be / So don’t fight it, baby, just be with me.” – Home – Michael Bublé

“I’ll be the one to hold you tight / The one to make things right / After all the times we’ve tried.” – Make It Right – Backstreet Boys

“I’ll never give up on us / I’ll never give up on love.” – Never Give Up On Us – David Soul

“We’re not perfect, but we’re perfect for each other.” – Perfect – Pink

extended reading > 18+ version > paid readings

[no-144444]

hey girl! I LOVEEED your last lando story and i was just wondering if you could do a smut with lewis and franco and reader where lewis is married to reader and franco is into her so lewis makes him watch while he's fucking her? just thought it could be hot.

thank you ml!!!

know it- l.hamilton & f.colapinto

summary: lewis is possessive. franco is a flirt. makes for one wild night. (18+)

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem! wife reader x franco colapinto

warnings: shockingly SMUT. 18+ also, slightly filthy smut, so yeah.

a/n: i'll just leave this here... (why am i only writing smut this week wtf?)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Lewis was known to be a calm person. 

He was anything but calm as he watched Franco put his hand on your waist. Lewis was under the impression that anyone with half a brain could see that you were his wife. Clearly Franco had less than half a brain. He likes Franco, he was a good kid, a good driver, etc. But clearly he wasn’t smart. 

Lewis stalked over to you, the red flashing lights of the dance floor exenuating every single one of your perfect features. He watched like a hawk as you laughed along to one of Franco’s bad jokes. He understood where Franco was coming from, of course he did. He did marry you, after all. But you were exactly that, his wife. Franco wasn’t going to change that. You stood in the centre of the room, your flowing hair and long dress making you look like a goddess. Too bad he was the only one allowed to worship you. 

He kissed your cheek as you leaned in to listen to whatever Franco was saying. You instinctively wrapped an arm around Lewis’s neck, pulling him closer. Franco frowned when he saw Lewis, but picked it back up in time before you saw. 

So he knew what he was doing. 

Lewis smirked as he snaked a hand around your waist, removing Franco’s hand. 

“What do you say about getting out of here?” He murmured, pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck. You knew what he meant. Franco quickly excused himself, though not before sending Lewis a particularly withering look. 

“This is meant to be your party, Lewis,” you teasingly reminded him. “We’re hosting. We can’t just leave.” 

“Actually, I think we can,” he chuckled, a recognisable danger in his eyes. He leaned in again, his mouth just beside your ear. “We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

“Whatever we want?” You mused, your hands exploring down his arms. 

“Anything baby, anything,” he smirked, taking your hands in his. “And I have a few plans,” he admitted. 

You smirked up at him with those eyes, the ones that made him want to throw caution to the wind and fuck you right there in front of everyone. In front of Franco. 

Now that was an idea. 

“You do?” You swallowed, feeling the wetness pool between your legs. “And what are those plans?” You whispered. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he whispered back, making eye contact with Franco. Franco stared at the two of you with a scowl. “And I’m going to make Franco watch.”

You gasped. Never in your marriage had Lewis ever remotely been inclined to share. Not that you ever wanted to either, but Lewis was… possessive to say the least. “Lewis-“

“I’m sure he’ll come to our bedroom if you ask him, won’t he sweetheart?” He smirked, his cock pushing up against his slacks. 

“Lewis, are you sure?” You asked. 

“If you’re alright with it,” he whispered. “I want to see his face when he realises you only cum for me.”

The created quite the image in your head. You gulped. 

And walked over to Franco, ready to ask him, just like the slut Lewis knew you were. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅���ৎ

Franco walked into the club bathroom, you pulling him along. He pressed experimental kisses to your shoulder as you led him to the right place. 

Lewis was waiting and he watched as Franco’s face fell. 

“I noticed how you kept looking at me,” you spoke up, turning to face Franco. “We were wondering if you wanted to join us.”

His cock hardened in his pants and he gulped. “Y-yes.”

Lewis smirked. “Sit over there.”

Franco did as he was told, sitting in the corner of the room. Both the men watched as you pulled off your dress pain-stakingly slowly, but they were basically in awe when they saw you naked. 

“No panties?” Lewis chuckled as you sat on his lap. “So dirty.”

Franco thought he was going to explode right then and there if he didn’t get to touch you. 

You shrugged and grinned Lewis’s lip as you kissed him. His hands groped all over your body, and Franco bit his lip to stop himself from moaning. The sight in front of him was so erotic, listening to your little moans as Lewis teased you, watching how you were putty in his hands. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” Lewis whispered as he drew little circles on you clit. “Should we let Franco see?” 

You nodded eagerly. You’d never felt sexier. Two of the most beautiful men in the world begging to fuck you? Yeah, way to boost a girl’s ego. 

“Such a dirty slut,” Lewis shook his head and slapped your ass, making you jolt closer to him. Though he obliged you all the same, signaling for Franco to come over. He knelt in front of the both of you, a perfect view of your dripping pussy, watching as Lewis played with you. “Do you want to touch, Franco?” 

“Please,” He groaned, grinding into his own hand. 

Lewis laughed as your joint desperation. “Play with her all you want,” he smirked, dropping you onto Franco’s face. 

You immediately started riding his nose like your life depended on it, steadying yourself on Lewis’s thighs. Franco was in the seventh fucking heaven as he tongue-fucked you, your thighs on either side of his face, caging him in. Lewis ate pussy like a champion, and while Franco wasn’t as good, he was definitely different. Lewis fucked like he drove, like he already won. Franco fucked like he still had something to prove. 

“You like riding his face baby?” Lewis cooed, unbuttoning his trousers. 

You moaned out some sort of agreement, your eyes unfocused and glassy. 

“You gonna suck my cock like a good girl?” He cooed again. 

He watched in delight as your eyes went wide. You tentatively wrapped a hand around his heavy cock, stroking him softly. You pressed kitten licks to his head between moans, before he grabbed you by the hair and sunk you down on his cock. You nearly screamed. The mixture of pleasure and pain becoming practically unbearable, but you still couldn’t cum. 

You sucked on his cock like you were trying to milk him dry, and he enjoyed every single moment of it. He listened to your little moans and Franco groans of desperation between your legs, and came down your throat. You swallowed without even having to be asked.

“Please let me cum!” You begged as he pulled you off his cock. “Lewis, I need you to make me cum, please make me cum baby, please.”

Lewis chuckled. “Franco isn’t making you cum?” 

You shook your head, eyes filling with tears. “Only you, Lew, please.”

Who was he to deny his girl? He lifted you off Franco’s face and pulled you onto his cock. Franco groaned at the loss of contact, while you practically screamed at Lewis’s size. No matter how many times, you still weren’t used to it. 

Lewis looked down at Franco, wet patch on his trousers, your wetness covering the lower half of his face, and a satisfied but pained smile on his lips. He watched you two in the mirror, completely transfixed on the sight in front of him. 

“You doing alright Franco?” Lewis laughed as you bounced up and down on his cock, his own voice straining. 

“Great,” he answered, his voice weak. 

“Y’gonna fuck her in the ass while I fuck her tight pussy?” He smirked. Franco stood right up and pulled his trousers down. He looked at your ass, noticing the butt plug he’d missed before. He could’ve moaned out loud. He slowly pulled it out, pulling a high-pitched moan from you, and he replaced it with his own cock, already hard again. 

“Y’gonna let Franco fuck you baby?” Lewis asked as you tensed, feeling Franco enter you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You shouted, digging your head into his shoulder. “I need to cum!”

“You cum baby, Franco and I aren’t done yet,” Lewis cooed, feeling you squirt on his cock. He looked up at Franco as he fucked you through your orgasm. His pupils were blown out as he fucked your asshole, practically drooling all over you. Lewis smirked. 

“She’s cumming on my cock,” he gritted out, fucking you harder. “She wears my ring on his finger. She sleeps in my bed,” Lewis pushed Franco back, just as he was about to cum. Franco came all over himself, a groaning mess. “She’s my wife. Don’t fucking forget it.”

Franco watched as Lewis came deep inside you, triggering your second orgasm of the night. The jealousy he harboured only grew, while Lewis’s pride soared. 

You were his.

Franco knew that now.

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[hivemuthur]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well. I just wanted to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to make a request. Could u write something super fluffy w vik, just pure, cozy domestic vibes with no work since it’s the weekend—maybe soft morning sex, making and sharing breakfast, taking care of Viktor’s potted plants, grocery shopping, or anything along those lines. And vik realises that taking a break from his work isn’t so bad at all. Thank you so much!

Hi Anon! I guess I shouldn't bother anymore, but sorry for the long wait :v here's some morning sex with Viktor hehe (and they do other things too)

Long Weekend

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut + fluff

word count: 2,3K

artist on X

—

Viktor wakes with one arm less than he should have only to realise your head resting in the crease of his elbow acts as a dam holding his blood back from circulating toward his fingers. He wonders, for a moment, what happens there, in his fingertips with all the trapped cells, whether they wither away as his tissues desperately suck out all of the available oxygen or do they squeeze past the press of your cheek, just at a very slow rate.

He connects the tips of his thumb and index finger only to make sure he feels absolutely nothing from the elbow down and wonders again if he should wake you or just shake you off gently. His mind lands on the former, sleep still crusting his eyes as he begins to squeeze his feeling palm between the skin on your cheek and the valley of his joint, accidentally coaxing a protest from your mouth.

“Viki, no,” you groan softly, eyes still closed, brows scrunching. Hand bats his fingers away and he chuckles, voice still hoarse, “Baby, we will have to amputate soon if you don’t free me.”

“Noo,” you whine, wrapping yourself around him like a vice, leg pressing on his belly, arm squeezing between his waist and a mattress, free hand coming to rake through his hair. He sighs, flexing his fingers and elbow, blood crushing back forcefully, almost unpleasantly, as the feeling of thousands of prickling pins surges under his skin, soaking into the muscles.

“That will work,” he says, wrapping his thawing fingers into your hair and scratching your scalp.

“Wait.” You open one eye and throw him a suspicious look. “Are you not trying to flee?”

He shakes his head with a soft smile and presses a kiss to your temple, then sighs. “I promised, did I not? I’m an honourable man.”

You only eye him suspiciously, fully prepared for the I’ll only pop to work for an hour trick. Or the other one, the I forgot something one. You hate them both equally, but you did make him promise, with a hand on his chest and eyes drilled into yours as he repeated the vow word for word after you. Such dramatic means to cage your man at home for two days, if somebody asks you, but desperate times called for desperate methods.

So desperate, that when he folded with an exasperated, “Fine,” it was nearly not enough, so you followed him around the apartment asking constantly, “Do you really promise?” to the point of driving him insane. So he seized your nagging mouth with his, wrapped his hands around you and breathed, “I promise, to everything that’s sacred.” Kissed you some more, kicked your legs so you were the force dragging you both to the bedroom, and then he said, “Shut up already,” with all the love poured into it and then fucked you stupid so you had no more questions left in you.

And now you lay here, promise so far being kept, seeping through Viktor’s arms wrapped around you, his foot tickling yours gently and his stomach rising and falling, your thigh with it.

“Alright then,” you give him the benefit, lowering your head back onto his chest and he chuckles and yawns, loud and wide. You play with the hair curling around his ears, press your nose to the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of sleep on him.

Heartbeat still slow, pumping lazily, Viktor runs his hand over your thigh, fingers spread wide when he gets to your ass and grabs a handful of flesh, kneading and squeezing. He hums, pats one of the cheeks so you snake up a bit to meet his mouth and you share the morning drool with him, heavy and sticky, before your jaw unlocks and your tongue wakes up properly.

“Hmm, what’s this for?” you ask, rolling your weight onto him, your chests now flush together as you tangle all of your fingers into his hair.

“Just exploring the benefits of sleeping in,” says Viktor, lips curving into a smile, and indeed he is exploring, adjusting your ass to rest on his core and he rocks you gently into another kiss. All so slow, sloppy almost, if the two of you weren’t still carrying the sand of sleep within you, hands dry and warm on each other.

“Please explore further, maybe I will convince you to finally take a vacation.” With that you press yourself down onto him and Viktor grunts out something like a warning, keeping you in place when you try to retreat.

“Let’s start with a long weekend, hmm? Baby steps,” he purrs into your mouth and rolls his hips underneath you, holding you still as he licks the quiet moan off your lips. How sweet it tastes on his tongue when you are all warm and pliant and all he has to do is to just shift a little bit to rub himself on you.

He looks so pretty in the morning glow—sun sinking into the room through the cracks in the curtains paints him in golden stains, plays around his eyes and hair as you run your thumbs through the hollows of his cheeks. You sink back into a kiss. His tongue feels soft, and you melt between breaths, first drops of heat slipping out of you onto his cock.

Ass still in his grasp, you do little to no movement and just let his mouth travel from the corner of your mouth to your chin and jaw, where he sucks, then leaves a shy nip, teeth barely there. You flex your neck under his lips, your back arches more and more until he slides freely between his lower abdomen and your pussy, and you have to bury your face back in his neck.

He cocks his head so that his lips brush your forehead when he utters, “I want you.”

Wordlessly, you lick your palm and reach it between you, fingers wrapping around his cock in a lazy stroke. You press gently on the base, drag your touch to the top and rub his head on your clit, everything in the rhythm of your hips rocking together.

“Tease,” he smirks, and you hum a chuckle into his throat.

What is feels like to have your man unhurried, to not have to grasp his belt in haste and press your face into his crotch in an attempt to keep him home for ten more minutes, indescribable. You could whine to this feeling only, the realisation that you could be at it for hours and nothing will interrupt you, nothing will take him away from you today.

It swells in your chest as you slide him inside you, slowly, inch filling you by inch and Viktor squeezes your ass tighter, guiding you down on him with a slow, breathy exhale, as if this brings him relief. You leech your mouth onto the spot where his jaw is sharpest, then lick his ear to finally kiss it as reverently as you would kiss his mouth.

He exhales deeply and you can feel the stretch travelling up your core. Once he is hilted, you just breathe, adjust to him, teasing him with gentle flex of your muscles and smile each time a pretty sound falls from his lips. For a while it’s just a twitch for twitch, gasp for gasp, a non-verbal conversation happening between your mouths while your bodies negotiate who will make the first move.

Viktor does, bending his knees and spreading your thighs further apart. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and respond with a small roll of your hips, rocking his cock inside you. “Yes,” a quiet praise falls from him as the bond between his hands and your ass is finally severed and the white imprints of where he touched fade into pink. The same touch travels up, stops around your hip to hook in its crease while his other hand strokes the curve of your spine and rests wrapped around the back of your neck.

His touch is warm, still sleepy, every deep breath and slow beat of a heart translates into a squeeze here and there as his fingers sink back into your skin.

“It seems I’ve been missing a lot, hmm?” he hums, extending his fingers to the base of your skull, drawing dozy purrs from you.

“You have no idea,” you say, your mind half-there, half of it concentrated on milking Viktor’s cock and sliding up and down his torso. The usually raw country of his body is so welcoming now, his navel peppered with dark hair grinding underneath you, stomach bellowing slowly into yours until you are all mixed breaths and hands holding each other through each slow thrust.

The buildup is creeping into your muscles gently, swelling, pulsing in your lower belly each time Viktor grunts or moans against your mouth. “So good,” he whispers, eyes closed, his eyelashes dusting over your cheek. With the lapping subtlety of incoming tide the shape of you becomes the shape of him and you both wax into one through this calm completion reached between breaths, praises shared like a secret between your mouths.

You come wrapped around him tightly, and Viktor follows soon after, spilling himself inside you with a few slow thrusts, his face buried in your neck. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, arms still holding you close, his body drenched in bliss.

“I will admit,” he murmurs, cradling your head, “this is better than crawling into the lab at seven in the morning.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you smirk, already busy kissing his neck as he softens inside you. “I’ll have you know this activity comes with coffee, too.”

“Does it now? I don’t see any. I think I’ll have to speak with your manager,” Viktor teases, rolling you both over so that he’s now lying on top of you. “I’ll make the coffee. You stay here,” he mutters, pressing a soft peck to your lips.

“Why?”

“I want to explore this activity further once I’m properly awake,” he says, scrambling out of bed, fastening his brace, and throwing the nearest jumper over his shoulders. It’s yours.

You stretch out lazily, and indeed, when Viktor returns with the coffee pot, you explore the activity further—this time, faster. Until your stomach betrays your other basic human need, making it clear that you both need to eat.

Squeezing oranges for juice is your job, yet you barely press on the fruits, too busy ogling Viktor’s hands as he cracks eggs into the frying pan.

“See something you like?” he teases, and you wonder how he knows without even looking at you.

“Shut up,” you snort, putting more effort into dismembering the oranges.

You eat together, and the stupid grin on your face refuses to fade. You don’t even try to hide it. Viktor only smiles knowingly between bites, though he does his best not to look too triumphant about it. His foot nudges yours under the table, and when you glance up at him, he tilts his head, feigning innocence.

"What’s so amusing?" he asks, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

"Nothing," you hum, still grinning. "I’m just enjoying this."

He chuckles, shaking his head, but doesn't argue.

The two of you part only for the essentials—morning routines and quick trips to grab fresh clothes—but for the rest of the day, you remain practically attached at the hip. You go out for groceries, Viktor's hand settling on the small of your back as you navigate the market together. He huffs in amusement as you haggle for the best produce, muttering something about your ‘ruthless negotiation tactics,’ but in the end, he lets you have your way.

Back home, you cook side by side, shoulders brushing as you move around the kitchen. Viktor insists he’s a very precise sous-chef, but you catch him sneaking a taste of whatever he’s chopping. “Quality control,” he claims, entirely unapologetic.

By the afternoon, you curl up with a book, your head resting on Viktor’s lap as he absentmindedly strokes your hair. You feel him shift beneath you every so often, his fingers twitching like he’s reaching for a pen, but he never gets up. He never moves toward his work. You’re fairly sure you’ve achieved the impossible—his mind is not consumed by research or equations. Just you. Just this moment.

Evening settles in, golden light spilling through the windows, and Viktor all but drags you back toward the bedroom. You laugh, half-protesting, but his grip is firm, his intent undeniable.

“Has the domestic life won you over already?” you tease.

Viktor hums, tilting his head as if considering. “Almost. Perhaps a little more convincing would work in your favour, though.”

You arch a brow, playing along. “And what’s in it for me?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Viktor’s lips before he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I think I’ve warmed up to the idea of a long weekend,” he murmurs, his voice rich with suggestion. His fingers trail feather-light up your spine, teasing, slow. “I just need… one last push.”

You gasp as his hands find their mark, but before you can retaliate, Viktor sweeps you up into another kiss, effectively ending the conversation in favour of much more persuasive arguments.

When sleep finally claims you both, tangled in each other’s warmth, Viktor realises something. The world did not collapse. The lab did not burn down. His work is still there, waiting, but today... today belonged to something else. To something just as important.

And maybe, just maybe, taking a break isn’t so bad after all.

[baeshijima]

imagine being a baker stationed in marmoreal market, okhema.

it has been a few months since you first started the business. as is with most, it was a slow start. in the beginning only few took interest, probably curious about the new the dessert shop popping up from seemingly nowhere. you’d garnered a loyal set of regulars, however, who always came for either something sweet to kickstart their day before work, or to treat themselves before they went back home.

in between those times? sparse. but you made it work… somehow.

what it did allow for, however, was the trial and error of new desserts! you can’t always be following the same recipes as everyone else; you have to put you and your craft out there!

…which brings you to now.

“so?” you prod, fiddling with the hem of your apron as you watch mydei chew a piece of the freshly baked golden honeycake. “how is it?”

having mydei in your shop is nothing new. he was the first to know about you wanting to open this shop in the first place, after all — back when you were an aspiring baker and he a runaway crown prince trying to find refuge for his people in okhema. despite his duties as a chrysos heir, he still manages to pop in every day when not away for a mission. how? well, you chalk it up to his sweet tooth and appointed position as your official taste tester.

a pleased hum escapes him; the soft clinks of cutlery rings out once more.

“i prefer your version of the golden honeycake compared to the traditional one,” he comments, taking another bite of the pancake. lifting his gaze to meet yours, a fork is outstretched towards you, a neatly cut square of the golden honeycake skewered on its prongs. “what made you want to change the recipe?”

“oh, that?” arms braced against the small two-person table, you lean towards the fork. a soft sweetness coats your tongue as you concoct a reply. “well, i wanted to make something you would like as a little thank you. you’ve supported me to pursue this dream for a while now. if it weren’t for you…” your voice tapers, eyes softening and lips spreading into an appreciative smile as you meet his slightly widened eyes. “if it weren’t for you, i doubt i would’ve had the courage to make it this far. so thank you, mydei, for being with me during this time.”

“it’s… it’s no problem.” mydei responds after a brief silence, the words briefly interrupted by a swift clearing of his throat as he glances away. “think nothing of it.”

save for your pleased hums, idle comments on new recipes you want to try, and the bustle of marmoreal market just beyond the walls, tranquility befalls your space.

when mydei calls out your name, you halt at the unusually resolute tone. “your efforts will come to fruition. i will make sure of that.”

---

well. sure enough, his words came true. the sight of the shop filled with customers and the long queue trickling into marmoreal market is evident proof of that.

when faced with the sudden influx of customers just two weeks ago, you thought it might’ve been a hallucination concocted by zagreus themself to torment you.

it was only after the thirteenth order of golden honeycake did you start to suspect zagreus wouldn’t waste their time on such a trivial matter on a speck of dust such as yourself. the real nail in the coffin was when you overheard some rather telling chatter between two ladies.

“wow! this modified version of the golden honeycake really is amazing! no wonder crown prince mydeimos loves it!”

“i wonder how they managed to get him to promote it…”

…if you knew having mydei say a few good words about your baked goods would boost your sales exponentially, you would have asked if he wanted to be a part-timer back when you first opened! looking at his withering stare and rather prominent frown as he waits for you to finish your closing shift, however, has you rethinking the choice.

(well, even with him being a prude, mydei would still undeniably draw in customers, so maybe asking him wouldn’t do any harm…)

unbeknownst to you, mydei’s down-trodden mood has to do with the very customers you’re trying to draw in. maybe if he wasn’t so weak to your dismayed gaze and kicked puppy demeanour when a less than satisfactory number of customers came into the shop every now and then, he wouldn’t be feeling so neglected by the attention you’re giving to the crowds of customers now barging their way into your shop.

a subtle grimace flashed across his features. what are they, a bunch of starving dogs fighting to get their meals? don’t they know basic manners? etiquette?

seriously, just until recently it was always quiet in the mornings. it was always just you baking and getting the store ready, and him watching you do your craft, helping out wherever he could — namely in taste-testing said baked goods.

in spite of the part of himself which regrets spreading the word of your talents and having them hog all your attention, the larger part of himself knows you deserve all of this at the very least.

he has witnessed your dedication and continuous efforts to make this dream of yours come true throughout the years you’ve known each other, and it certainly would be no lie if he said you’d weasled your way into his heart. from that day you’d offered him and his people baked goods and drinks upon their arrival in okhema, mydei should have known there would be no escape from seeking you out, ultimately causing this all-consuming fondness for you to grow by the day.

leaning back with a heavy sigh, mydei glances over at the counter where you’re still hard at work. really, your closing hours are soon. should he perhaps stand menacingly at your side to shoo away the customers? no, maybe just directly making them leave would be the most efficient. and—

a torrent of warmth engulfs him, clinging to his skin. mouth slightly agape, he can only gaze wordlessly at your joyful interactions.

…perhaps a few more customers would do no harm. just a few, though.

(curse that heart-melting smile of yours. it truly is the bane of his existence.)

[beloveds-embrace]

Until the Last Loop: Familiar Faces

(Days spent with them making new memories- a silent attempt at forging a new life before it will be ripped away once more)

Poly mercenaries 141 x princess reader

Part One

The castle breathed with life and the scent of burning tallow, but to you, it might as well have been a tomb. Its towering walls and narrow corridors, carved from cold stone and lined with faded tapestries, had grown too familiar over the cycles- prisons that wore different faces but caged you all the same, and you were the bird locked within it each life, merely with different feather each time.

You sung the same melody, regardless. A melody that would soon be snuffed out.

You moved through the halls like a shadow, your impending doom hanging over you like clock that never stopped ticking until its last moments. Servants parted for you without meeting your gaze, and although whispers followed in your wake, they no longer stung the way they once had. You had long since grown used to the weight of their words, their gazes full of pity and disdain. They had become just another layer of the endless loop, a reflection of your precarious standing with the royal lineage.

But the men- the four who trailed in your footsteps, sent by your father to report all your moves back to him with the excuse of protecting you- were different.

They were a presence you couldn’t shake, no matter how many lifetimes passed. Always close, always steady, their shadows filled the empty spaces others left behind. And unlike the others, they weren’t afraid to look at you.

In some lives, you despised them. What comfort could four men give you when all you wanted was your father’s love? Your people’s adoration? Friends your age? None whatsoever.

In other lives, you had been distant. You kept them at arms’ length, unwilling to even converse with them. They were of no use to your desperation to free yourself from this cursed cycle.

You’ve lost count of how many loops you’ve gone through. Even now, you do not know how it started; who started it. A cruel curse, that’s what it was, and you were its constant victim. It was inevitable, so why… keep away the only people willing to be near you?

And so this time, you let them close.

Soap was the first to slip past your walls, an unsurprising fact.

It was late when you found yourself sitting in the gardens, the air sharp with the chill of night. The roses were dying, their petals curling inward as frost crept along the edges, and you wondered- just for a moment- how many times you had seen them bloom and wither like this.

Too many times.

You were alone with him; no maid or lady-in-waiting was willing to accompany you, though rather than saying that, they jusy boldly lied and said they had prior arrangements to the king.

The king. Your father. It was always him. You wished he’d hate you a little less, just enough to not rob you of the care you’ll always long for like a child stumbling through the cold for a flicker of fire, of warmth.

Wistful dreams.

Soap sat down beside you without invitation, though his presence didn’t feel unwelcome. His easy smile was softer in the moonlight, and when he offered you his cloak, you didn’t refuse it.

“You look like you’re waitin’ for somethin’,” he said, voice low but steady, starting the conversation. By now, they’ve come to understand that you are… so different from whatever everyone said of you. You were quiet, your presence squeezed and molded into a tiny nook of the castle so easy to forget.

You didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch. The words came slower, heavier now- weighted by too many winters and too many deaths.

“I think it’s waiting for me,” you breathed out, fingers brushing the edge of the cloak. The flowers fluttered when a breeze blew by, bending in the directionaway from you; they pitied you, too, for not even they’d be placed upon your grave once you were dead. “… My end, I mean.”

Soap didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to deny it, either. He did not have any loyalty to the king or keeping his secrets; no mercenary would bother even if they’d lifk the king’s hand for his gold and coins.

Snakes, all of them. And yet- they were the ones who got to live, so the last laugh was theirs.

“Well,” he said instead, leaning back on his palms, “if it comes knockin’, ye just let me know. I’ll handle it.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

Soap didn’t leave right after that, like you expected.

He stayed, stretched out beside you on the stone bench like he had nowhere better to be, his broad shoulders relaxed but his eyes sharp as they roamed the shadows pooling in the corners of the garden. The scent of dying roses lingered in the air, sweet and cloying, and you wondered if he noticed the way your hands trembled when you smoothed the cloak over your lap.

If he did, he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he tilted his head back and gazed at the stars, his voice softer when he spoke again.

“Ye know, my mum used to say the stars are just folk lookin’ down on us,” he said, accent curling thick around the words. “Watchin’, guidin’… makin’ sure we dinna wander too far off the path.”

You blinked at him. “And what if the path leads… nowhere?”

Soap turned his head to look at you then, eyes dark. “Then ye make yer own.”

It was such an earnest thing to say, so full of conviction that it made something in your chest twist painfully. You couldn’t tell him how many times you’d tried to do just that- tried to fight and claw your way toward a different ending, only to be dragged back to the start again.

Soap didn’t know. None of them did.

And yet, as you sat there with his warmth seeping through the cloak and his words lingering in the air like a promise, you found yourself wishing- just for a moment- that he was right.

That you could carve your way out of this nightmare and leave the endless cycle behind.

But that was foolish.

So instead, you leaned back against the bench and let your eyes drift shut, pretending not to notice the way Soap’s hand hovered near the dagger at his side, ready to draw at the first sign of danger.

Pretending you didn’t feel safer for it.

Ghost was harder to pin down. He lingered on the edges, silent as your grave, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

When the nightmares came- and they always did, another constant- you found him at your door. He never asked questions, never pried. He simply stood guard, silent, until the trembling stopped.

One night, when sleep refused to come after a day of listening to awful, false whispers of you, you found yourself seated on the rug in front of the hearth, staring into the flames. Ghost leaned against the wall, his mask a stark contrast against the flickering light.

“They won’t hurt you.” He said suddenly, rough and low.

You didn’t look at him. You watched the flickering fire, and was rewarded with whispers of the lives where you’d been burned at the stake. “They always do.”

“They won’t.”

And maybe it was foolish, but for once, you almost believed him.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, eyes fixed on the flames as if they could burn away the memories pressing in from all sides.

Ghost didn’t move from his place against the wall. He was a silhouette in the firelight, broad shoulders and sharp angles, the hollow black of his mask turning him into something almost otherworldly.

You didn’t ask why he was there. He never explained himself, and you never pushed.

After a while, he broke the silence again.

“They’re scared of you.”

His voice was quiet, still rough like gravel, but it cut through the room as sharply as any blade.

You swallowed, your gaze still locked on the fire. You couldn’t look away. “No. They hate me.”

Ghost didn’t argue. He let the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving you.

You weren’t sure why that bothered you more than words would have.

“They’re scared,” he repeated finally, slower this time. Firmer. “And scared people do stupid things.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Like cutting off my head?”

Ghost tilted his head, and something about the way he looked at you made your chest tighten.

“They won’t get the chance, princess.” He said, and there was something cold in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to face him then, finally meeting his gaze. Or at least, what you thought was his gaze beneath the mask. It was impossible to tell, but you felt it- heavy, unflinching.

“You can’t stop it, Ghost.”

Ghost didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. “Watch me.”

The words shouldn’t have meant anything. They shouldn’t have mattered when you already knew how this would end- how it always ended. Those words were treacherous to whatever the king wanted and expected of him.

But as the fire crackled and the shadows danced along the walls, you let yourself believe him. Just for a little while.

Because Ghost wasn’t the kind of man who made promises.

And yet, when he spoke, it sounded like one.

… yet you knew, not all promises can be kept.

Gaz was gentler than the others. Thoughtful. Attentive in a way that made your chest ache, because it had been so long since anyone had looked at you without seeing the stain on your birthright first and you second.

He helped you practice with a dagger one afternoon, though you both knew it wouldn’t be of much use to you. The sharp clang of metal rang out against the training yard walls as he corrected your grip, his hands warm against yours.

When was the last time you’d been held like that?

Far too long ago. Far too many lives ago.

“Careful,” he said, guiding the blade down in a smooth arc. “Keep your stance steady.”

You frowned. “What does it matter?”

Gaz tilted his head, eyes searching yours. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

And wasn’t that the cruelest part? That no matter how many times you died, you always woke up again?

You didn’t answer, and Gaz didn’t press. Instead, he let you lean into him when the weight of it all grew too heavy, when the weight of more than just the training pressed down on you.

Gaz stayed close after that- close enough that you started to notice the small things.

The way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than they should, watching for signs of exhaustion or the fear you tried so hard to hide. The way his touch was always secure but never overbearing, grounding you without demanding more than you were willing to give.

He made you feel… safe.

It was dangerous.

Foolish.

But you let him stay anyway. You stayed with him anyway.

The dagger gleamed in the sunlight as you practiced another strike, the blade slicing cleanly through the air. Gaz nodded approvingly, stepping back just enough to give you space, though his presence was still a solid weight at your side.

“Better,” he said, his voice warm but firm. “You’re getting the hang of it, princess. Maybe you’ll give us a run of our money, eh?”

You lowered the blade, breathing hard as you wiped the sweat from your brow. You couldn’t find it within yourself to be humorous “I’m not sure it’ll matter in the end.”

Gaz frowned at that, stepping closer. “Don’t say that.”

You almost laughed. Almost. “You don’t understand.”

His hand came up then, gentle as he tilted your chin to face him. The look in his eyes knocked the breath from your lungs- steady and sure, like he was trying to hold you together with sheer force of will.

“Maybe I don’t,” he admitted, voice low. “But I do know this- every time you get back up, it matters.”

You didn’t realize you were trembling until his hand dropped to your shoulder, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

“Don’t give up yet, princess,” he murmured, softer now. “Not on yourself.”

It was almost too much. Too kind. Too hopeful.

You wanted to tell him that hope had no place here- not in this endless loop of death and betrayal and grief. Not in this damned castle- but the words wouldn’t come, caught in your throat like fish in a net.

So instead, you let him take the dagger from your hands, let him press it back into its sheath before leading you toward the shade of the courtyard’s edge.

And when he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, you didn’t pull away.

Because for once, it didn’t feel like a burden to be seen.

Price was the hardest to read.

He was steady, commanding- his presence filled the room like the smoke of chimneys, lingering long after he was gone. He carried himself like a man who had seen too much and lost too many, and sometimes, when he looked at you, you thought you saw the ghost of something more.

He didn’t speak often, but when he did, his words stayed with you.

“Do you ever wonder, princess,” he asked one evening, standing by the window with a wooden cup of mead in his hand. You didn’t know how he’d even snuck it in, but you weren’t going to snitch. “if we’re all just pieces on your father’s board?”

You blinked at him, startled by the sudden question.

“All the time.” You said.

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer, and there was something unreadable in it.

You wanted to ask what he meant, why the sudden question, but he turned away before you could, leaving you to sit and stew with the thought.

And stew you did.

Because Price wasn’t wrong, was he?

You already knew your father had lied- about these mercenaries, their orders, everything.

They weren’t here to protect you. Not really.

No knights would take you, no nobles wanted you, and no one in the kingdom would lay down their sword for a bastard-born princess whose only crime was existing. Yet here they were, these hardened men, mercenaries paid in coin and silence, assigned to watch your every move.

Not guard you. Watch you.

Keep you until the day you were dragged to your death once more.

You’d known it the moment Price first stepped through your door, his eyes sweeping the room like he was cataloging exits instead of protecting them. The others were subtler- Soap with his easy charm, Ghost with his patient silence, Gaz with his careful words- but Price?

Price didn’t even try to hide it.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because he didn’t look at you the way others did. He didn’t sneer, didn’t pity, didn’t hate. He looked at you like he was waiting.

Waiting for what?

For you to run? To slip up? To hand him the excuse he needed to drag you before your father in chains, so he could take the money and leave?

The thought made your stomach twist.

Because no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t matter- that the loop would end and begin again, and none of this would last- it still sank its claws into you.

And the next time Price caught you watching him from across the room, you didn’t look away.

Not at first.

He held your gaze, steady and unreadable, but there was no malice in it- no sharp edges or hidden teeth. Just something quiet. Something that almost felt like understanding.

When you finally turned away, you expected the weight of it to linger, to drag down your shoulders and settle in your chest like an unwelcome puff of smoke.

But it didn’t.

Instead, you felt the faintest flicker of warmth- barely there, fleeting as a dying ember- and hated how much you wanted to hold onto it.

Days turned to nights, and the hours slipped away like sand through your fingers. The loop pressed closer with every tick of the clock, and yet…

You didn’t feel so alone this time.

They were there- in the quiet moments, in the chaos, in the shadows of your worst fears- and though you knew it wouldn’t save you, you still let them stay.

Because this time, you didn’t have the strength to keep them away.

This time, you… wanted to have fond memories before your death.

Masterlist | Part Three

I hope everyone’s been enjoying this so far! Any guesses on why reader is in a time loop and who might be responsible? :3

[envy-of-the-apple]

Center of Attention

Dark! Geto Suguru x reader x Dark! Gojo Satoru

5.6k wc

Synopsis: Your boyfriend cheats on you with his best friend

(Warnings: rape/noncon, cheating, infidelity, forced relationships, piv sex, oral sex, afab reader)

In the beginning, things with Suguru were great. 

He was nice, considerate, sweet. Down to earth, honest. You'd only been official for a few months, but it felt real. Like it could last forever. 

And then, he introduced you to Satoru. 

It started from there. You hated everything about that man. He came from money and drove in loud, fancy cars. He was vapid and insulting. The way he behaved with you was just as disgusting. Calling you pet names like 'princess' and 'baby'. Touching your waist, your arm, your ass. Suguru once said they shared everything together. You were starting to wonder if Satoru thought you were on the table as well. 

It started a lot of arguments between you and Suguru. He'd always defend his childhood friend, barely even listening to your protests. It's just his nature, he doesn't do it on purpose, he does it with everyone. With how defensive he was about his best friend, you should have known. You should have seen the signs. 

Maybe then you would have been less surprised when you walked in on the two making out. 

You'd left Suguru's house after the last fight you had with him, once again about Satoru. You were halfway home when something like guilt spread across your body. Doubt. Maybe you were being too harsh on them. They were childhood friends. They'd always have a connection you just wouldn't be able to understand. 

You had come back with a bag of take out-an apology- on your wrists. You didn't think anything of it when the front door was unlocked, Suguru's clothes on the ground. 

They were on the couch, half-naked. Satoru was pressing his precious best friend further into the cushion. Suguru's hand was in his white hair, aggressively pulling. You could feel your heart breaking with every second. Every breath you took. 

"Suguru...?" They froze. 

It was your fault. You should have been faster. 

The food you'd brought drops to the floor as you turn, ready to bolt out the door, run to your car, drive far far away and just forget this shitty night. Satoru is faster. His slender hand wraps around your waist, pulling you back. 

"Wait. Just wait," he begs, his voice uncharacteristically desperate. Given any other situation, you would have laughed, but the tears were already streaming down your face. You can only stare at the empty couch, where those two had just been. Where you can see your cotton pink panties. 

God, this is all one sick joke, isn't it?

Suguru calls your name, but you don't bother to look. Satoru's grip is strong, and you're forced to wither just a foot away from the two of them. You feel everything. Humiliation. Heartbreak. Anger. 

You slap away the hand that tries to cup your cheek. It's all it takes to snap you back.

"Don't touch me." Through your tears, you try to wrestle your way out of Satoru's grip. 

"Let me go," you demand, your throat threatening to close, "Satoru let-let me fucking go—" 

"Not until you let us explain," Suguru begs. By now, Satoru had cornered you against the wall, and you feel yourself crying even harder because you don't want an explanation, you know what you fucking saw. 

"Jesus Christ-what could you possibly say that can-that can explain anything!" Your voice is too shrill, too high, too emotional, you need to bring yourself down but you just can't. It's so much. You need to leave.

"Satoru and I love each other." 

Your voice halts in your chest as you look up. Suguru's eyes are somber as he gazes at you. You want to stop yourself from examining him. The unruffled clothes, the dark hickeys on his neck. For some reason, the evidence breaks you more than the action. 

"We always have," he continues like he's talking about the weather. He was always the logical one, "Ever since we were teenagers." 

"Great," you respond, voice too damp to signify any real sarcasm, "how touching. Then just—" 

"—But it wasn't enough," Satoru rushes in, quick to cut you off. "We—we weren't complete. Like we would never have the right time....and then we met you." 

You don't like adoration in his eyes, like he wasn't just about to fuck your now ex-boyfriend. Disgust fills your stomach as you continue to glare at him. You hate him. You hate them both. 

"The first time Suguru brought you home, I knew you were the one for us," Satoru says. "You-you're our missing puzzle piece—what we've been looking for our entire life." He's good with words. He's a little like Suguru, in that sense. Maybe they do deserve each other. 

You can only stare at him, and then your eyes shift to Suguru. He has the same expression, though a little less obvious. Despite how much your heart hurts, a disbelieved laugh chokes out of your throat. 

"...that's your excuse?" you whisper, "you wanted a fucking threesome?" 

"It's not an excuse." Suguru steps forward, now they both are fully trapping you. His voice is soaking with emotion, almost like he was about to start crying. 

"It's the truth. I love you. We love you, and we want you to be with us." 

You couldn't believe them. You couldn't fucking believe them. It was all too much. The argument, the kiss. This, them cornering you and claiming that they love you. It was the first time Suguru had told you that he loved you. You thought you would have been happy to hear those words come from his mouth, given enough time together. 

Now, it just feels like another nail in the coffin. 

You look down, looking at the spilled food. You'd brought curry. It was currently all over the bare floor, leaking into cracks. Good. You hoped when you left and cried your heart out, Suguru would be here, cleaning up your mess. You wouldn't be able to hurt him as badly as he did you, but at least you'd be able to make him miserable. 

"I want to go home," you finally say. You pull at Satoru's hand. He doesn't budge. "I want to leave. Let me leave." 

He doesn't reply. His grip gets tighter, almost crushing. You stumble when he pulls you forward, nearly crashing into his chest. When you look up, he looks....wrong. Off, in some way. 

"You can't." His sunglasses are off. You can see his eyes. They're too wide, too manic. It scares you. "We—we just told you that we loved you. I love you. You—you can't just leave me—" 

“Let go, Satoru.” 

Satoru stops rambling, looking over at the other man. Suguru steps even closer. His hand reaches up, touching your hair. You don’t slap him away again, but you flinch. His frown deepens. You hate the look of hurt in his eyes, like he’s the victim here, like he spent months with someone who was just stringing them along. 

“You need time,” Suguru says, more to himself than you, “we get that. We’ll give you time. And then, you can come back to us.” You should snap at the blistering hope in his voice, but you don't. You grit your teeth, holding everything in until you're finally away from them. 

He steps back. Satoru doesn’t. His teeth mash together, jaw clenching like he wants to argue. Fight. 

Suguru’s eyes darken. “Let go, Satoru.” 

Slowly, you can feel his grip on your wrist loosen. You react, stumbling back, hands desperately gripping on the door. You can feel their eyes on you the entire time. 

You can give yourself credit, however. You don’t break into sobs until you get into your car. 

Two months later, and you still refuse to see them. 

It's not like they haven't tried to get in touch, much to your disdain. They called and texted and spammed until you blocked them. Then, you blocked them on social media. At work, you ask the secretary to start dumping the bouquets instead of sending them up to you. And you have to tell your mutual friends to stop trying to act like the middle-man. 

You can't do anything about the letters or the gifts left at your door every other day. Ignoring the full mailbox becomes customary, and you start passing off the chocolates to your neighbors and friends. 

"Can't you get them to stop?" You ask Shoko as she rummages through another gift basket they had sent, "seriously, I'm close to snapping here." 

"Oh, this looks expensive." She eyes the wine bottle. When you give her a look, she sighs. 

"You know I can't do that. Whenever they get obsessed, they don't take no for an answer. Maybe that's why they have such a great relationship." You wilt at that. 

"Did you know?" 

Her fingers twitch in a way that makes you know she's craving a cigarette. 

"I mean, I knew they had a thing for each other back in high school, but I thought it faded." You sink your face further into your hands. "Trust me, I wasn't in on whatever bullshit they did to you." 

Her fingers reach over to squeeze your thigh, a way of apologizing. You give her a timid smile, before ultimately sighing again. Her hands move to your back. You feel the urge to cry in her chest again, but you've been doing that for days now.

"Just keep doing what you're doing. Ignore them, and hopefully, those assholes will focus on something else." Shoko suggests. She shifts closer. You can smell her perfume. 

You nod. "Yeah, hopefully." 

Eventually, the gifts start to dwindle. The flowers stop coming, the gift baskets get more and more sporadic. Two months later, everything stops, and you're nearly crying in relief. By now, you're mostly over whatever you had with Suguru. You two hadn't been together for very long. Now that you think about it, the whole situation was more embarrassing than anything else. And the fact they both had the audacity to lovebomb you too? Humiliating. All you want to do is never see him again. Him or Satoru. In your eyes, they can both just fall off the face of the Earth and you'd be all the more happier for it. 

The date was nice. Cute, was the word you'd use. A nice dinner and peaceful conversation. And he wasn't that bad to look at. A nice smile. Dimples, you noted when he laughed at something you'd said. 

"I'd like to see you again." He said, right before you let yourself out of the car. 

You glanced back at him. And you stay there when he leans closer. The kiss was nice, too. 

You're giddy the entire short walk to your apartment. It fades just when you reach the door. 

Their arms are crossed, and it strangely feels like you're coming home to two disapproving parents. Satoru is leaning against a wall, sunglasses tucked underneath his collar. Suguru holds something in his hands—another bouquet. 

Your excitement fades, but secretly, you're relieved. You don't feel the remnants of your heart shattering the more you look at them. You feel....nothing. 

Nothing but the slight irritation that they were blocking your door. 

"Welcome back." Suguru starts, but Satoru is much less tactful. 

"Who was that?" He demands, but the car has already left. Thank god you would want to bring a man you'd barely met into your drama. 

None of your business, you want to snap, but it's too late for either of their bullshit. 

"No one," you say and their glowers only grow that more intense. 

"Can this wait until tomorrow?" you finally ask, "I'm exhausted." Satoru seems to get even more pissed at your comment, but Suguru steps in. 

"You haven't been answering my calls," Suguru starts, "and you haven't accepted any of our gifts. We're just worried about you." 

That's rich, coming from him. You can't help but let your irritation control you, at least for a little while. Just because you were over him, doesn't mean you were fine with what he did. 

"Sorry, but you lost the privilege to 'worry about me' when you started sucking your boyfriend's dick," you mention to Satoru, who stiffens, "Speaking off, was he the mistress here, or was I? How long had you two been doing it behind my back, anyway? Or is it technically not considered cheating because you said 'no homo' before making out." 

"I'm sorry," Suguru says, and to his credit, he sounds remorseful, "there's not a single day that goes by where I'm not regretful at how you found out." 

"Oh my God, absolutely not. You don't get to apologize to me to clear your conscience." You're hissing. "What? Do you expect me to give you and Satoru my blessings or something? Fuck off before I start throwing my shoes at you." 

"Would that make you feel better?" Satoru cuts in. "You can hurt us if you want to, baby. What—what do you want us to do?" He steps forward. You step back. "We can get on our knees, and you can punch us. Hit us. Wanna smash beer bottles on our faces? Anything, baby. We want you to forgive us." 

His sincerity takes you off guard. His eyes were wide. He was serious about what he just said. For a moment, you felt bad for Suguru. He was stuck with that. And then you processed Satoru's words. 

"Forgiveness?" You spit out. "You have to be fucking with me because there's no way in hell I'd ever forgive you. Do you know the worst part about this entire shitshow, Suguru? It wasn't the fact that you broke my heart, it was that everyone except me knew that my boyfriend was sucking his best friend's dick. Do you know how humiliating that was? Of course you didn't because you two were so busy thinking about each other that you didn't even think how it would affect me." 

By the time you were done, you were panting. You bit your lip, forcing the hint of tears back because if you broke, it would negate everything you had just said. Despite the tremor in your voice, it felt good to yell at them finally. The look on their faces made the cake that much sweeter. 

"Now, fuck off," your voice was quieter, almost hoarse, "leave me alone." 

They don't stop you when you reach your door. You can barely stop your hands from shaking, and you know you won't be able to hold yourself together for much longer. The door unlocks with a click. 

And then you're stumbling through your home with an added weight on your back. 

You almost fall into the carpet, quick to balance yourself and whirl around. They're already inside. Suguru is shaking his head while Satoru fiddles with the door. 

"Satoru—" Suguru starts. 

"Enough." He hisses. "We've tried doing it your way, and look where it got us. My way, now." The lock clicks into place. 

Suguru looks like he wants to disagree, but he holds himself back. He frowns, glancing over to you. 

"You're right," he says, "maybe actions are better than words." 

Something like fear pushes its way into your throat, but you're waving it away. You immediately reject the sudden increased thumping in your heart. This is Satoru and Suguru. Assholes. They are selfish bastards who care about nothing but themselves. But they wouldn't hurt you. They wouldn't do that to you. 

Right? 

You're certain of it. You know it, yet your voice falters the first time you try to speak up. 

"...What are you doing?" 

You can't keep the anger. It's gone, as much as you try to pull it back inside your chest, keeping it there. Instead of hot, you just feel cold. 

You don't like the way they're slowly inching towards you, like you're a scared feral animal—like they're hunters itching for a taste. 

Despite your clear discomfort, Satoru still has the audacity to smile. Not his usual grin, filled with unabashed confidence, this one is warmer. Nicer.

You think it makes what he's doing worse.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he sounds like he's begging, voice low, simpering, "I never wanted to hurt you. I promise." 

"What are you doing?" You demand again, but your voice wavers even more. 

"I get it. I get why you're so upset with us. You just felt left out, right?" Satoru's saying, and you should be getting angry at his words, but the way he isn't stopping is getting more and more concerning and something is wrong, they aren't leaving, why aren't they leaving?

"Just let us show you how sorry we are, how much we care," Suguru says, "Everything. All for you. I promise." 

"Get out," you're whispering, and it hope it has more bite than you can possibly give, "just get out. Leave me alone—" 

Satoru grabs you. You manage to scream before his lips crush into yours. The kiss isn't anything the way Suguru used to kiss you. Gentle, soft, giving, never taking. Satoru was all strength. The strongest. He pulled, and nipped, and bit until it wasn't even a kiss. It was just you being devoured by him. 

You push away (he lets you), but before you can suck in a breath, Suguru's there, grabbing the back of your neck. The kiss is less painful, but just as searing. Especially considering you've kissed him before, back when things were innocent, much less twisted. 

"See, Suguru?" Satoru whispers when the dark-haired man pulls away. "So much quieter, now. You just wanted all our attention, right baby?" 

You can't speak, not when you can barely breathe. You're pushing again, struggling to get out of their hold, but you are nothing against Satoru. You are nothing against Suguru. 

What are you when it's both of them at once? 

You mumble about a quiet 'get the fuck out'. It's too shaky to be anything intimidating. They both have the audacity to laugh in a way that makes you feel like a tiny kitten clawing at their owner's hands, desperate not to sink into the warm, soapy water. 

It's easy to manhandle you onto the couch, Suguru keeping you nice and pliant as Satoru fiddles with your pants. Suguru hushes you, like you were just playing around. Playing hard to get. Like the sobs and the tears and the tearful begs aren't enough to prove anything coherent. 

"Stop," you say anyway because there's a chance, there's always a chance, "Suguru—Satoru stop. What—what are you doing? Please just—" 

Suguru bites your neck, making you yelp. He apologizes with a warm tongue, ignoring you and glaring down at his companion. 

"Hurry up." It sounds impatient. "You wanted a taste, right?" 

Satoru clicks his tongue and they're both ignoring you, as if your opinion, your struggles, your screams is just background noise, nothing truly important. Your pants are already down at your legs, preventing you from kicking. Satoru's large hands squeeze at the fat of your thighs, and you jump as his cold hands brush over your sensitive skin. 

Your voice is muffled by Suguru's lips once again. The man moans into your mouth, loud and lewd. 

"I'm savoring this," Satoru says while you're distracted.

He pushes two fingers into your clothed cunt, shuddering at the touch. "You touched this pussy all the time. Can't say the same. Cut me some slack, man." 

Suguru reluctantly pulls away, leaving you panted and slightly breathless. He says something to Satoru, chiding. Satoru bickers back. You can only come back when you dazedly look down just in time to see Satoru push your panties to the side and attach his mouth to your pussy. 

You're not wet. How could you be? Satoru remedies that, eagerly licking until your hole is covered by his saliva. Your recent inactivity doesn't help either. You hadn't done anything, not since Suguru. Your body is starved for attention, something Satoru is readily giving. You become wet and needy in no time. 

Not one to be ignored, Suguru pulls your shirt over your head, abandoning it somewhere behind the couch. Your arms are useless, barely catching onto his wrist before he's forcing you away. Suguru's head dips down, running his tongue over the skin at your breasts, eager for a taste. He bites at one of your nipples, groaning when your hands reach up to wildly tug at his hair. Your actions seem only to excite him further as he squeezes your other breast, digging his fingers into your soft flesh. 

On the floor, Satoru is having more than enough of his fill. You aren't prepared to feel the long finger prodding your hole before easing its way inside your tight pussy. You give a faltering whimper, arching your back. Suguru pulls away from your chest with a pop. 

You're sobbing now. It doesn't prove anything, considering each sob is interrupted by a reluctant moan. Suguru leans up to kiss you. You squeeze your eyes, turning away. His lips brush your cheek. He chuckles at your act of defiance. 

"So cute," he says against your skin. Butterfly kisses across your cheek, your neck. "I missed this. I missed you." 

The words hurt, cut into your skin, enough to make you bleed. You cry harder. They are kind enough to let you. 

"Did you miss me too?" Suguru asks. When you give no answer, he laughs affectionately. 

He's unbuckling his belt as he traces more kisses across your skin. Suguru pushes away the hem of his pants, untucking his cock. You can feel its length press against your side. 

Below you, Satoru grabs you by the hips, adjusting you further down the couch until the new angle makes his fingers hit something deep inside of you. You gasp, eyes flying open. 

"Look at him," Suguru says, taking your chin, pointing your gaze down, "Isn't he so pretty?" 

Blue eyes stare back up at you, clouded with lust and need. You can't help but stare back through your tears. You've never noticed how beautiful Satoru's eyes were. They were always covered, obscured by his glasses. They're so pretty. Like oceans, merged with a starry sky. They're so beautiful. He's so beautiful. How could someone so beautiful do this to you?

"He wanted to do this for so long," Suguru murmurs into your ear, "would not shut up about eating you out, making you cum down his throat. Sit on his face until he passes out." 

Satoru says something, it sounds irritated, muffled by the slick sounds of your pussy. In response, Suguru grabs the back of his head, shoving him deeper between your thighs, keeping him there. You jolt at the sudden intimacy, another whine melting out your throat. Satoru seems to forget whatever he was saying, going back to worshipping your battered pussy.  

"If we're lucky, he'll suffocate down there," Suguru says with no real heat in his voice, "though I think he might like that idea." 

His voice is heavy, like he'd been running. Suguru grabs your hand, enveloping it in his own. The same hand that was touching his throbbing cock. When you try to jolt away, he doesn't let you, trapping your fingers underneath his own. 

"C'mon baby." He says through gritted teeth. You squeeze your eyes again, turning away into your shoulder. Suguru doesn't let you run away, not this time. He's quick to make himself known, scrapping his teeth against your neck. He moves yours and his hands up and down his leaking cock. 

"There we go." He sounds relieved. "That's it. So so good for me." 

You let him. You let them. You lie there like a doll, letting them maneuver you as they wish. Satoru's the loudest, moaning against your pussy, sucking on your clit. Suguru is more refined, shuddering into the crook of your neck as he forces you to grip his cock tighter and tighter. 

"Stop." It's nothing more than a pleading whimper. "Please please stop." 

Suguru kisses you again, sloppy and messy, just as Satoru sucks on your clit, hard enough to make you see white. You come right on his tongue and fingers, riding out your high. Against your will, your back arches, rising off the couch with a high-pitched keen. Your thighs squeeze around his head, threatening to crush his skull. He's more than happy to let you. 

Suguru follows right after, you can feel his cum coat your hand. Sticky, making you feel even more disgusted with yourself than you already were. 

You slump into the couch just as Satoru pulls away. Suguru tucks you into your chest, but you don't care enough to struggle. You can only watch as Satoru rises from his place on the floor, locking eyes with Suguru. 

"So?" Suguru asks, still panting, but there's a smile in his voice, "How was it?" 

There's something carnivorous in Satoru's eyes before he lunges. He aggressively kisses Suguru, and the latter returns the affection just as potently. Numbly, you realize that they were softer kissing you. They were holding back. Now, they go together like wild dogs, teeth clashing together. When they part, Satoru's lips are bleeding. 

Satoru turns his gaze on you. You avert your eyes, not wanting to bait the unpredictable animal. Luckily, his earlier inhibitions had been sated by the kiss. He falls on top of you two, burying his head into the crook of your neck, where Suguru has turned your skin into a patchwork of hickeys. 

"Fuck baby," he sighs into your skin, "you're an addiction, y'know that?" 

You focus on breathing. In and out, filling your lungs with much-needed oxygen. It works to keep you from processing the absolute awe in Satoru's voice. The sincerity. The adoration. So so much worse had he just been mocking. The way he usually was. 

But it was over now. It can't be anything more. You'd go insane if it were anything more-- 

"Now, I don't think it's fair anymore," Suguru's sighing into your ear, "you had a taste, right? Let me have a turn now." 

He's about to stand, but Satoru's placing a large hand on his chest, forcing him back on the couch. 

"Sit the fuck down." He spits out in irritation. "You're so greedy, y'know that? I'm fucking this pussy first, just like we agreed on." 

You can feel your breath hitch at that. The way they just stripped you down of your humanity. Like you were a toy, two toddlers were fighting over. It was horrifying. You can feel nausea build up in your throat. 

Suguru notices your distress first. He sighs, nuzzling his face into your cheek. 

"Okay okay, I yield," he relents, "don't start throwing a tantrum just because you don't get your way. Today is supposed to be about someone else, remember?" 

Satoru huffs, but he calms down significantly. He pulls away, you can feel his hands trail again your chest, like he's eager to put his mouth on something else, before he's stopping himself. 

By now, your fight has been sucessfully withered out by these two men. As though you ever had a chance, even in the beginning. Even if Suguru's threatening grip hadn't been present, even if the crazed look in Satoru's eyes wouldn't have manifested through his touch, this result would have always happened. 

Even then, you still squeeze your eyes shut when you hear the clanking of his belt. Your eyes sting again, and you tuck your face into the comfort of the fluffy cushions. 

Your thighs are clamped shut. Satoru easily plies them apart, sliding his way between your legs. Something hot and blunt lightly brushes against your entrance before he eases his cock into your pussy with one smooth motion. 

Despite the previous orgasm, it's not enough to obscure the pain. He's too long, and you're certain you could feel him right to your stomach. He curses a stuttered moan. 

It's useless, but you're reaching up anyway. Nails close to his face. Maybe your true goal is for his two beautiful eyes, ripping them apart, eager to see blue turn into red.

You don't get the chance to find out for yourself. Suguru's stopping you, restricting your body with his own. There's a punishing bite right on your neck. You yelp. Suguru grins through the blood. 

"Be good." He chastises. "Behave. We aren't hurting you, right? We're making you feel good." 

He's wrong. They have hurt you. They are hurting you. You feel it in your neck, the aching bruises, your battered cunt. It's everywhere. 

It hurts even more when Satoru doesn't even give you time to adjust. He's blabbering something; you can't hear through the blood between your ears as he collapses into your chest. The position is awkward, considering Suguru is still sucking on your neck, but never mind. They don't care if they suffocate you. 

The rhythm is rough and deep. He pushes his cock as deep as it can go inside of you, stretching your walls before he pulls back, only to restart the terrible cycle all over again. It's horrible. Excruciating, despite how slick your pussy is. Despite it all, you can't help but compare how differently Suguru and Satoru fucked you. 

Suguru's cock was thicker but wasn't as long. He was nicer, slow, only going when he knew you could take it. But back then, you didn't know Suguru's true intentions. You weren't aware of his sadism, the eagerness to rip you apart. Perhaps he was even worse than Satoru was. 

"Doesn't this feel good?" Suguru asks suddenly. His soft lips brush your cheek when you bury your face deeper into your couch. At least this time, he wasn't forcing you to face your unwanted assault head-on. You suppose you should feel grateful. 

But he's right. You hate that he's right. You get used to Satoru's rhythm eventually. When his cock brushes against something deep inside of you, you jolt around his dick, unable to stop yourself from squeezing your walls. Satoru hisses at that, but he barely falters. 

"Fuck fuck fuck," he's hissing, "squeezin' me so tight, gorgeous." 

He gropes at your tits, trying to give himself a reprieve from the sensation. You mirror him, squeezing your hands into fists, nails threatening to break skin. As if to comfort you, Suguru murmurs sweet nothings into your ear. 

Satoru's rhythm starts to falter. His breath hitches, indicating what's to come. His hands squeeze. His pace gets even rougher. Suguru frowns when you give a wilted moan, more pained than anything. 

"Satoru," he says, almost lecturing, "be nicer." 

When Satoru doesn't respond, Suguru is quick to retaliate. You flinch when he grabs Satoru's hair, yanking him away from your chest. Satoru whimpers. 

"'Can't help it—fuck, so fucking good." His voice is high and needy, juxtapositioning the crude way he's fucking himself into you, the way he's hiking a leg over his hip, driving himself even deeper inside your cunt. He starts drawing quick messy circles around your swollen clit. 

The angle proves to be enough to push you over the edge. You seize around his cock, spamming around him. Despite the harsh grip Suguru has on him, Satoru is quick to follow. He grits his teeth before something hot and horrible fills you. 

You stay like that, heaving in deep breaths. Satoru's breathing is labored too. He laughs, it sounds exhausted. You're helpless to do anything but comply when he grabs your chin to kiss you. It's messy, but not as rough as it was earlier. You're too exhausted to hate it. 

His cock slips out of you. His cum slips out, too, running down your thighs. You should be worried about it staining the carpet, but you're too out of it to think of anything. Suguru brushes Satoru's hair, looking satisfied. When Satoru has his fill of your lips, he pulls away. You catch his eyes. There's no unsatiable lust within them. Just warmth, as well as another emotion that makes you want to hurl. 

But it's over. It's finally over. It's the only part that keeps you from breaking apart. They'll leave. Leave you to cry in a corner while you pick up the pieces that were once you. 

Satoru tucks himself back in his pants. Suguru exhales in contentedness before he, too, rises from the couch. You wait for them to leave. 

They don't leave. 

With horrible gentleness, Suguru picks you up, corralling you into his chest. You whine when he moves your body, but you don't do much else. You can't. 

They share a laugh at your expense before he's carrying your broken, naked body up to the bedroom. It parallels the times when you were too tired to walk to the bedroom yourself. When Suguru was just a man you thought you could love. When you felt safe in his arms. 

Now you feel nothing but cold, despite how warm his hands are. 

He deposits you in the bed. Satoru comes up behind him, pulling an oversized shirt over your head. Their hands are uninterested in your body, working in tandem. 

The don't leave. 

You feel dirty and sticky. You're aching all over. You want to do nothing more but curl up in the hot shower and cry. They prevent that luxury from you too. The bed isn't big enough for all three of you, but they manage regardless. Satoru curls around you, sliding a hand across your back, bringing your face into your chest. You can feel Suguru settle in behind you, draping his hand across your waist. 

Someone kisses your temple. Someone yawns. 

They don't leave. 

You don't want to sleep. You feel like if you do you might not ever wake up from this nightmare. But your eyes are getting heavy, and for even a couple hours, you want to escape from thinking and hurting. 

"Isn't this nice?" Suguru says from behind, burying his face into your hair, he inhales deeply. 

"It'll always be like this from now on." He sounded relieved. Satoru hums in agreement. 

"All for you, baby," Satoru promises again, curling his hands tighter, "We're all for you."

Your heart drops to your stomach. 

That's what you were afraid of. 

[fandomonetwo]

ain't no sunshine — steve harrington

▸summary: steve just wants cuddles. and he'll play the song on repeat until he gets them.

▸characters: steve harrington x gn!reader

▸tw: tooth. rotting. FLUFF

▸a/n: i did not die. have some happy words.

HE MUST'VE HAD the song downloaded four-hundred times on his cassette tape, because you were just about ready to bash your head in when the beginning notes played from Steve's bedroom. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, it's not warm when she's away.

You were in the living room, finishing up some writings that you had due for your classes when you gazed unamused at the ceiling. He'd been playing the song on repeat, singing along badly in order to coax you into giving him some love and affection as you always did on a Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, this deadline was currently taking priority, and Steve was being a drama queen about it. 

You still had about four pages to write, as well as some questions to answer before anything else took over your mind, so you had to suffer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and she's always gone too long, anytime she goes away.

You'd practically memorised the words and melody to this song, mouthing them with good ol' Bill Withers as he provided sustenance to feed Steve's dramatics. You could hear Steve's faux grieving voice as he sang along, making the song a whole heap more dramatic than the original recording. 

Wonder this time where she's gone, wonder if she's gonna stay.

Trying to persevere through the loud stereo blasting muffled music above your head is a lot more difficult than you might imagine. Ever since you had gone to his place in a tizzy that you had things to do before a deadline and couldn't afford any distractions, you had banished him to his room, and for about an hour, had some quiet. 

That changed when the second hour became the third, and the music started when the sun began to go down, reeling on loop as though it was a broken record. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

You smiled slightly, though. For all of Steve's dramatics and ridiculous behaviours, he loved you, and you loved him. All of his quirks made him special to you, and you loved to be with him no matter what was happening around the world, especially when the whole Upside Down thing began catching up to him, mentally and physically. Now, he was a cuddly baby that loved hugging you. He always said that he felt safer to sleep in your arms. 

And I know, I know, I know, I know...

He must've given up on singing, because Steve's voice could no longer be heard. Probably ran out of oxygen. Good. He needed to rest after the whole Russian situation. You only had one page left to write and a few more questions to do before you could give your Steve what he needed so desperately. 

A hug. And a fat nap.

You sighed as the tape continued playing the bridge, scrawling your pencil over the paper. You had started with gorgeous cursive, and had evolved into writing chicken scratch to speed up the time. Two questions down, half a page to go...

Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

Three lines, two sentences, aaaaand...

Done.

Throwing the pencil down and thudding the book shut, you pushed yourself to a standing position, practically bounding up the stairs, dragging yourself up by the handrails. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.

You came to the first floor landing, stepping onto the carpeted floor with your socked feet and beelined for Steve's room. The door was shut, but Bill's soothing voice carried through the wood, almost getting impossibly loud as you inched closer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

Stepping into the room as you swing open the door, the final outro of the song is echoing through, fading away. You smile to find Steve on his back, staring at the ceiling as he waits for the next loop to begin. 

You are silent as you halt the tape, crawling onto the bed and giving him a big ol' smooch. He looks at you with innocent and wide eyes, a big fat smile settling on his face. 

"All done?" he asks. 

You nod, confirming. "All done."

You yelp as he flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tumbling over the other side of the bed. He's quick to bring the covers over you both, leaving the bed side light on. A new habit, but it didn't bother you. 

You tussled for a little, finding a comfortable position that agreed with all parties and bones. You settled on bear hugging him as he tangled your legs together and kept his nose near your hair. 

You giggled, running your nails down his back. "You big baby." 

He grumbled. "Ain't no sunshine when you're not here."

[loverindeepspace]

Lost // Xavier x Reader

This is my first fanfic in years, so please be nice T^T I'll be doing ones with a similar concept for the rest of the boys too Concept: Xavier has a nightmare, you comfort him CW: hurt/comfort, spoilers for his anecdote, death of character (in dream), blood, nightmares, bit of fluff at the end, she/her pronouns for reader Masterlist

He swayed on his feet with every step he took, he had to keep moving, yet every step he took made burning pain shoot up his side. The cuts on his face sting in the cold air, blood long dried and flaking on his skin.

He has to make it back. She’s waiting for him. 

It’s been so long since he last saw her, her bright eyes, a smile that lit up his heart. It’s been so long since he felt her warmth, her hand in his, fitting perfectly like two pieces in a puzzle. 

He looked down, the protocore in his hand held firmly. He was going to save you if it’s the last thing he did.

He kept walking, one step after another, each step closer to her, to the place he knew she’d be, the place they first saw the stars together, a wish placed upon each star that shot through the sky above them. 

He finally spots her, on that trestle bridge.

And then he’s running, running, running, pain long forgotten, until she’s right there, right in front of him. 

She looks pale, bags under her eyes, cheeks hollow with the weight that she lost. 

She was beautiful. In his eyes, he could only see the girl he fell in love with. 

The girl who seems to be withering away in front of his very eyes.

A sense of urgency, of desperation, overcame him. He holds out his hand, still trying to catch his breath, the shining protocore cradled carefully in his palm. 

They exchange a few words, and she reaches out a hand, resting on his cheek, wiping away the blood that clung to his skin. He nuzzles into her cold palm, eyes never leaving her but his sight getting more blurry by the second, tears threatening to spill down his face, sorrow and love painted across his face. 

“It’s too late.”

Her eyes water, streaks of tears spilling down her own cheeks as he cradles her right back. Before he knows it, they’re sitting side by side, her weak body leaning against him, arm around her  back holding her close, the other hand holding hers, lights, like fireflies, floating around them. 

“I wish to meet you in my next life… I wonder if that will come true…”

“It will.”

Her eyes fall closed for the last time, and panic takes hold in his heart. He calls her name, over and over, until the final breath leaves her lungs.

She’s gone.

… She’s gone.

Sob after sob spill from his lips, her name falling from his lips like a mantra between broken breaths, arms holding her fragile body close, not wanting to let go, never wanting to let go.

With a pained whimper, Xavier’s eyes fly open, sitting up as dread settles into his very core. The stabbing pain in his pounding heart seemed like it would never stop, his eyes flying around the room searching for you. Finally they settled on your form, nestled in the sheets next to him, unmoving. His stomach dropped, fear seized him, his breaths coming out sharp as a shaking hand moved over to your form, quickly settling on your hand, his fingers searching desperately for a pulse. 

You had to be okay, please be okay.

Your eyes fluttered open with the sensation of your wrist being held tightly in someone’s warm grip. 

“Xavier?” You muttered softly, the fog of sleepiness still clouding your senses. His blue eyes snap to yours, hazy and unfocused, and all you can focus on is the terror reflected in them. With that you were very much awake, calling his name more firmly, “Xavier? What happened?” You sit up quickly and reach your free hand out towards his face, stroking the still flowing tears away.

“... You’re okay…” He breaths out, relief flooding his features, more tears spilling down his face. Without a second thought, you pull him in, resting his head on your chest, arms wrapping around him. And the moment he hears the steady thud thud thud of your heartbeat, a choked sob escapes his throat, his arms pulling you closer than ever, holding you tightly like you are his last lifeline. 

With a steady breath, you whisper softly, “Shhhh… you’re okay… I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” You try to sooth him, your hands running through his silky blonde hair. You don’t know what happened, but you can put two and two together for now, it must’ve been a nightmare, a bad one at that. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look like he does now. Lost. Frightened. Terrified. 

Some time passes, the sobs dying down, arms still clinging to you tightly.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” His voice is soft, still rough, raw with emotion, his head burying itself deeper in your neck.

“Don’t apologise sweetheart. I’m here, always. I’m always going to be here. Don’t hesitate to wake me up next time, okay?” You murmur into his ear, fingers running along his back in soothing motions, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He shakes his head, drawing in an unsteady breath, “No. Not yet at least. Just… let me hold you, please.” His voice breaks slightly at the end.

“Okay. But When you’re ready, I’m here okay?” 

“... Thank you.” He mutters softly, as the two of you move to lay down, still entwined in each other’s embrace, his face still buried in your neck, feeling and hearing your pulse beating continuously and reassuringly.

[honeyslibrary]

Mother Nature | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); period cramps/symptoms, established relationship, fluff, edited once, not sure what else

Request; 'So happy you’re back, and I hope you’re doing good!! I absolutely love everything you write. I was wondering if you could do a SFW Quinn chapter about either the reader being on their cycle or being sick and Quinn taking care of them? Just very fluff/comfort :) Thank you so much <3'

Word Count; 1.3k

Author's note; This is shorter than I wanted, but I still like it nonetheless! Thanks so much for the request, friend! I hope you enjoy it 😊 Any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated as per usual -Honey

"Afternoon, sleepyhead."

Luke's voice cuts through the kitchen as you enter, his casual greeting immediately setting your teeth on edge. You shoot him a withering glare, shoulders tensing as you take in the scene—your boyfriend and his two brothers already settled at the table, halfway through what appears to be lunch.

"Yikes," Jack says, barely hiding his amusement behind his glass as he takes a sip.

You roll your eyes and move toward the cupboard, the metal of the pot cool against your hand as you fill it with water for tea. The stove clicks to life under your touch, a small blue flame emitting. Before you can retreat back upstairs, Quinn rises from his chair, the wooden legs scraping softly against the tile.

He steps behind you, his familiar warmth enveloping you as his arms circle your waist. The gentle pressure of his body against yours would normally be comforting, but right now it feels bothersome.

"Hi baby," he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck, hands settling on your hips with practiced ease. You say nothing, just exhale deeply.

"You mad at me?" His lips brush against the shell of your ear, voice pitched low, meant only for you despite his brothers' presence just feet away.

You turn in his arms, looking up to meet his gaze. His hazel eyes search yours, concern evident in the slight furrow of his brow, teeth pressing into his bottom lip—that nervous habit you find endearing.

"Not everything is about you," you huff, the words sharper than intended.

A synchronized laugh erupts from Jack and Luke, the sound grating against your already frayed nerves. A groan escapes you as you let your forehead fall briefly against Quinn's chest, the familiar scent of his laundry detergent momentarily calming before you push away, needing space.

"Make my tea when the water boils, please?" You don't wait for his answer, already turning toward the doorway, bare feet padding across the floor. The stairs creak softly under your weight as you retreat to the sanctuary of your shared bedroom, leaving Quinn standing by the stove, confusion etched across his features.

Once inside, you close the door with a gentle click and sink onto the bed, wincing as another cramp twists through your abdomen. You press a palm against your lower stomach, breathing slowly through the discomfort. The morning had started with that telltale pain and the discovery that your period had arrived overnight—earlier than expected and with a vengeance.

You reach for the bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand, unscrewing the cap, and swallowing two dry before curling onto your side. The sheets still carry Quinn's scent, and despite your irritability, you find yourself burying your face in his pillow. It isn't his fault that you feel like your insides are attempting a mutiny, but the combination of pain, fatigue, and his brothers' presence in the house had shortened your already short temper.

It's a few minutes later when a soft knock interrupts your thoughts. The door opens slowly, revealing Quinn with a steaming mug in one hand and something clutched in the other.

"Brought your tea," he says, voice gentle as he approaches. "And I found the heating pad in the linen closet." He sets the mug on the nightstand and unfolds the electric heating pad, plugging it into the wall outlet next to the bedside table.

You feel a pang of guilt at how quickly he pieced together the situation. "How did you know?"

He sits beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. "You always skip breakfast when cramps are making you miserable," he says with a small smile. "Plus, you always want tea instead of coffee when it starts." He offers the heating pad, now warming up. 

You accept the heating pad, placing it against your abdomen with a grateful sigh. "I'm sorry for being snippy with you downstairs."

"Don't apologize," Quinn says, brushing hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. "I sent Jack and Luke out for groceries. Told them to pick up those chocolate truffles you like." He leans down to press a kiss to your temple. "Need anything else?"

"Would you just..." you start, your voice smaller than you'd like, frustration evident. "Lie down with me for a bit?"

Quinn's smile is immediate and warm. "Of course."

You shift onto your back, adjusting the heating pad over your abdomen, the weight and warmth providing some relief from the persistent cramping. Quinn slips off his shoes and climbs over you, stretching out beside you. His arm extends in invitation, and you rest your head against his shoulder, fitting into the space that always seems made just for you.

"I had so many plans for today," you sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "I was going to finish picking the weeds in the garden, and then meet Kenzi for lunch. We've been trying to get together for weeks." You lift a hand to count off the lost opportunities. "And I wanted to visit that new flea market, you know, the one we saw on Facebook."

"Kenzi will understand," Quinn's fingers trace gentle patterns on your arm. "And the market will still be there next weekend," he offers.

"I know, but I've been looking forward to it," you say, frustration edging your voice. "And now I'm stuck here, doing absolutely nothing productive."

"Rest is productive," Quinn counters softly. "Your body's working pretty hard right now, even if it doesn't feel like it."

You make a noncommittal sound, not quite ready to relinquish your disappointment. "And your brother's friends picked this weekend to visit. I wanted to be a better host, not..." you gesture vaguely at yourself, "...this grumpy mess."

"Trevor and Cole won't care," Quinn says, his chest rumbling beneath your ear as he speaks. "They like you because you're you, not because you entertain them." He turns his head to press a kiss to your forehead. "Besides, they owe me about a dozen weekends where I dealt with them at their worst."

That pulls a reluctant smile from you. "I guess that's true."

You lie in quiet for a moment, the steady rhythm of Quinn's heartbeat under your ear offering its own kind of comfort. The heating pad has begun to work its magic, the worst edge of the cramps subsiding to a dull ache.

"I'm sorry I ruined our plans," you murmur finally.

"You didn't ruin anything," Quinn says firmly. "Plans change. We adapt." His arm tightens around you slightly. "Maybe we can order from that Thai place you like for dinner. Watch that ridiculous cooking show where they have to bake with weird ingredients."

Despite yourself, you feel a genuine smile tugging at your lips. "The one where that guy made a cake with sardines?"

"Exactly that one," Quinn confirms with a soft laugh.

You both fall into a another comfortable silence, the tension in your body gradually easing as you breathe in rhythm with him. Your eyes drift around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings—the stack of books on Quinn's nightstand, the framed photo of the two of you from last summer's beach trip, the soft gray curtains gently swaying in the breeze from the cracked window.

And then you remember—the mug of tea Quinn had brought up, sitting untouched on your bedside table. Steam no longer rises from its surface.

"Oh," you say softly, gesturing toward it. "My tea. I completely forgot about it."

Quinn follows your gaze and makes a move to get up. "I can heat it up for you."

You consider for a moment, then nod. "Yes, please. If you don't mind."

"Not at all," he says, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before sliding off the bed. He picks up the mug, testing it with a small sip. "Definitely needs a rescue."

"Thanks," you murmur, already missing his warmth beside you. "Don't take too long."

He pauses at the doorway, a small smile playing at his lips. "Miss me already?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no heat behind it. "Just hurry up before my cramps convince me to be mean to you again."

My Patreon, where you can find exclusive fics not posted anywhere else: HERE

[morallygreychaoticneutral]

Astarion is only real around you.

More in my head only canons about this seemingly simple conundrum of an elf. Contains some game spoilers.

Astarion is only "real" around you. And by real, I mean his true personality as he regains it.

Trust clearly goes a long way with him and if you befriended or romanced him, you've earned it and that is no small thing.

One hidden truth being that he is capable of caring. Something that got him into one hell of a predicament in the past that makes him reject that aspect of himself.

However, you were a complication he did not see coming.

Around the group he is guarded. More resting bitch face and flippant retorts. Most of the banter he has with the party reflects this. His answers are mostly deflective or avoidant.

Lae'zel: "The more I learn of this plane Astarion, the more I believe love is its greatest disease."

Astarion: "Oh, I don't know. The screaming fever is pretty bad."

( I laughed till I had a headache when I heard this the first time.)

Trauma armor : People can't hurt you, if you offer no weapons. So he makes it seem he is aloof and unmoved under the mask of sass.

But as time progresses he shows you that hidden part more often.

For example, his comment about he noticed how kindly you speak to him and about not selling yourself so short in the conversation after his siblings attack. Which to me translated to "Don't speak about yourself as if you are not a unicorn amongst jackasses you abnormally wonderful person." Or the Dark Urge speech where he tells you he is not afraid of you and is by your side no matter what. He's genuine, soft and giving full eye contact in those statements. Its just you and him and he's confident and forward. But wouldn't dare show such vulnerability with the others. Such as when you meet Araj in act 3 (Spawnstarion) he still expresses his concern about not wanting you hurt, but it comes out like its uncomfortable to express.

The difference? People are around. And it's not that he's ashamed. But it proves he has a soft spot for you and he learned that is dangerous information in the hands of others. So the armor goes back on.

Even a the epilogue party, he genuinely wants his friends happy. But he still keeps his distance and instead grouses about the lack of blood.

Which was kind of rude on Withers’ part. Really you dusty rag? You obviously made a stop at a butcher shop.

Anyway...

I like to think Astarion info dumps Gale style when you are alone together after a day of adventuring.

Him telling you excitedly about something he witnessed or learned. His face animated with the memory of how he felt about it. His hands gesturing wildly to make his point. Or laughing so hard at a mishap he has to wipe tears off his face. Or contemplating how each companions' are doing amidst their own plights.

You: "Aww, I can't wait to tell Gale you are worried about him."

Astarion: "Pft..you can try my love. But, thanks to my hard work, he would never believe you."

[nerdy-novelist017]

Trouble (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader)

Bill Skarsgard, covered in blood and acting feral as he violently kills people to avenge the woman he loves?? Yeah, that really did a number on me….but I couldn’t help but fall in love with Eric’s quiet character in the first act so pls enjoy my ramblings! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 1.5k+

Summary- Eric's carefully guarded solitude is disrupted by a bold newcomer who seems to be trouble incarnate.

“I wanna get in trouble.”

A voice, sudden and electric, broke Eric from his reverie as a figure’s shadow fell across the intricate lines and shadows of his drawing. He glanced up hesitantly, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight behind you. His eyes were met with the sight of you – a tempestuous spirit with wild, untamed hair that cascaded around your face like a mane, defying the order and discipline of this facility. There was a glint in your eyes, mischievous and daring, that seemed to challenge the very atmosphere around you. You loomed above him, a figure of restless energy, waiting for a response that he was unprepared to give. 

“What?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the boldness of your intrusion. 

You grinned cheekily, and with an audacity that left him momentarily stunned, you stepped up onto the picnic bench he was perched at, planting yourself so that you were sitting on the table as if it was your own personal stage. Your feet, clad in worn, oversized sneakers rested casually on the seat in a silent declaration of your disregard for rules. “Don’t you?”

Eric blinked at you, his brows furrowed as he hastily pulled his papers closer, as if to shield them from your encroaching presence. “No.”

“No?” you parroted, a suggestive playfulness tone to your voice. “But this place is so boring.” 

He glanced around the yard, taking in the stark reality of the rehab facility, his eyes lingering on the chain link fence with its towering barbed wire glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun. “It’s supposed to be,” he said with cold detachment. “And you’re not supposed to be fraternizing with me.”

You followed his gaze, casting a sly look to the guards who stood at the back door, and a smirk danced on your lips. “Uh oh, I wonder what the consequences for that will be.”

Eric wanted to roll his eyes at your attitude. This was how all the newbies were when they came in: brash, defiant and convinced they could outwit the system. They came in with fire in their eyes only for it to be extinguished within days by the crushing reality of their situation. Nobody stayed trouble for long. He watched as their bravado withered, soon to be replaced by resignation. And the ones like you – those who pushed the boundaries with reckless abandon – often found themselves confined to solitary confinement, their spirits slowly eroded by the wright of their own demons. 

“You think I could seduce one of these guards to sneak us in some contraband?” you asked, raising your brow in a conspiratorial way as you nodded toward a pair of male guards standing near the backdoor, idly chatting and sharing a cigarette. 

Eric’s gaze traveled over you, from the oversized, ugly pink sweatshirt that swamped your frame to the untamed hair that framed your face like a wild halo. You spoke of “us” as if any semblance of companionship existed between you too. There wasn’t. It was just him and his solitary existence. He had no need for friends, no desire for connections – especially not from someone like you. 

“No,” he said finally as he returned to his sketch, hoping his blatant disinterest would be enough to drive you away. “You need to get off the table.”

He could feel your eyes on him, your gaze almost too intense. When you tilted your head, studying him in amused disbelief, he knew what was coming. Another newbie thinking they could crack him open like some sort of nut, put together the broken pieces like a puzzle. He kept his attention on the drawing, hoping you’d take the hint and leave him alone. 

“C’mon, you don’t look like someone who’s this much of a stick in the mud.” Your voice was playful, teasing but Eric could sense the challenge beneath it. His silence seemed to fuel you, as if his resistance was exactly what you were hoping for. “What’s your name anyway?”

He hesitated, hating how you were forcing him to interact with you like some needy puppy. “Eric,” he muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the drawing.

“Eric,” you tasted his name on your lips quietly. It grated on him, the way you spoke as if you already knew him, already had him all figured out. “You’re an artist, huh? I bet you’re all dark and broody, right? The strong, silent type?”

His jaw tightened, his pencil pressing a little too hard against the paper. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him, but he could feel your words digging right under his skin. Dark and brooding? Strong and silent? You didn’t know anything about him, didnt understand the darkness that lingered in the corners of his mind, the weight of the silence he carried, yet here you were, already trying to pin him down with labels. And typically, Eric didn’t care what anyone else here labeled him with, but your unnervingly amicable voice was something he wasn’t used to. It was almost laughable, except it wasn’t. It was annoying. 

Your words struck a nerve. He remained quiet, instead choosing to focus on the shading in the corner of his page, tried to drown out the sound of your voice, but he knew his silence was betraying him. The tension in his jaw, the way his grip on the pencil tightened – it all gave him away, and he could almost feel you noticing it, filing it away for later. God, why couldn’t you just leave him alone? 

Then you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper for only his ears to hear. “You know, I think you want to get into trouble. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours before he could stop himself, his heart racing at the sudden intensity in your eyes. And there was something in your gaze that unsettled him. Annoyance flared up first, hot and defensive. But beneath that, he felt a flicker of . . . curiosity. And he hated that too – hated that you were getting under his skin. What the hell did you even know about him? What gave you the right to pry into his life, his thoughts.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he retorted, his voice sharper than he intended, the words escaping in a rush of defensiveness. 

You shrugged, unbothered by his tone, a playful smile tugging on your lips. “Maybe not yet, but I’m good at figuring people out. And I think you’re bored out of your mind here, just like me. You’re dying for something – anything – to happen.”

Eric shook his head, forcing himself to look back down at his sketch. “You’re wrong.” 

Even to his own ears, the denial sounded weak, and that only served to deepen his irritation. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, stretching your arms overhead, and Eric resisted the urge to glance up. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I’m always up for a little fun.”

“Fun,” he echoed, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered to respond, but something about your persistence was unraveling him bit by bit. “That's what got us in here in the first place. 

You paused, and for a second, Eric thought maybe he had finally shut you up. He looked up and caught a flicker of something else in your expression, something serious that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. But just like that, it was gone, replaced by that infuriating grin. 

“Maybe,” you said, your voice softer, thoughtful in a way that made him uneasy. “But maybe that’s what will get us out of here too.”

Eric watched as you slid off the table, landing lightly on the ground. For a moment, he thought you might actually leave him alone, and the relief that washed over him was sweet. But then you turned back, hands stuffed into the pocket of that oversized sweatshirt, your grin still in place – though it didn’t seem to reach your eyes quite the same as before. 

“See you around, Eric,” you said before sauntering off, as if you didn’t just turn his whole world upside down in a matter of a few minutes. 

He stared after you, watching as you kicked at the feet of another unsuspecting patient who grumbled at you as you passed. His mind raced, his drawing forgotten, the lines and shadows now blurring together in an indistinct mess. He hated how you so easily managed to disrupt his carefully-constructed isolation, how you made him think about things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. He wanted to believe you were just another reckless newbie, just another faceless patient in a sea of addicts who would burn out soon enough. But something in the pit of his gut told him you were different – something he couldn’t shake. 

In the silence that followed your departure, Eric was left to grapple with the realization that the trouble you brought was not just a disruption, but a catalyst for change, a challenge to his solitude. And now as he returned to his meaningless drawing, he wondered briefly if perhaps your indelible, chaotic presence was exactly what he needed to rewrite his own story in the hell hole. 

And that scared him more than he’d like to admit.

Tagging some of you who seemed interested!

@apolloanddaphnis @one-of-thewalkingdead @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @redwitchbitch1 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @mrsalwayswrite

[luvjunie]

— headcanons. miles morales (earth42)

EARTH42!MILES who buys you whatever you want, whenever you want. you don’t even have to say anything, as soon as he notices your focus has gravitated towards a display in a mall’s window, he’s stopped in front of it and digging out his wallet.

“you want that?” “no, baby, it’s fine. it’s probably really expensive anyway.” “i don’t remember asking the price. do you want that, yes or no?”

EARTH42!MILES who shows up to your house to take you on you guys’ first date, two bouquets of roses cradled in the fold of his arm instead of one. he was raised by mama rio, after all, so he knows better than to show up to a girl’s house with only his words to impress her mother.

“wow, these are beautiful, miles… thank you. who’s the other one for?” “for your moms, to say thanks for letting me take you out.”

EARTH42!MILES who is so deeply regressed into the act of suppressing his love and affection for others, in fear that he’ll get too attached, only to lose you just like he did his dad. he doesn’t know if he can survive something like that happening again, so it takes a while for him to actually open himself up to you.

“i’m not going anywhere, miles. you can let me in, it’s okay.” “you promise?” “i promise, my love.”

EARTH42!MILES who gets so flustered when you kiss him or compliment him or hold his hand, though it doesn’t come off that way due to how good he is at hiding his true feelings. his stoic expression makes you think he just doesn’t like it, so you back off some. your fears are assuaged when you come over one day and skip your usual greeting of smothering him in kisses or confessions on how much you’ve missed him, and instead settle for giving him a brief, simple hug.

“¿qué pasa, mamí, what i do? ion get no love today?”

EARTH42!MILES who wasn’t the best at texting at first—often leaving you wondering where he was for most of the day or if he was even alive—but has since stepped his game up.

9:30 AM

[mi novio]: goodmorning mi vida, how you sleep?

11:30 am

[mi novio]: you eat anything yet?

2:34 PM

[mi novio]: i miss you

6:20 PM

[mi novio]: ima be busy at around 7, jus lyk so you don’t worry bout where i’m at. i’ll text you when i’m free, okay chiquita?

EARTH42!MILES who asks for a picture of you every time you get your hair done, because he’s too impatient to wait until the two of you hangout again.

[mi novio]: lemme see your hair and make sure your face in it too, i wanna see how pretty my baby look

[you]: attachment: 1 image [you]: you like it?

[mi novio]: lord have mercy it just keeps gettin’ better. [mi novio]: goddamn you look good [mi novio]: nah i gotta see this shit in person im omw

EARTH42!MILES who literally gets offended when he sees you wearing something he didn’t buy.

“where’d you get these from? i don’t remember buying them for you.” “yeah… i got them from the mall last week when i got paid.” “oh, what, so you sayin you don’t need me no more? it’s like that now, mamí?”

EARTH42!MILES who knows he can always run to you when things get rough; when it all becomes too much for him to handle on his own and he can feel his resolve withering. he knows that all he has to do is push open the window you leave cracked for him, climb through it and slip into bed next to you with his head nuzzled into your chest. you’re the only thing that helps him off the ledge nowadays.

“you wanna talk about it, papa?” “nah, not really. can- can you just hold me?” “i can do that.”

- please do not copy, plagiarize, or repost my works to other sites!

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