#and some moments of tenderness in between

[unholyhelbig]

Hi!

Can I request a yelena x fem!reader fic where they are in a relationship but they’re in a rough patch and aren’t talking about what they are doing that much. They both work for Valentina and end up in the vault together and have different targets. But basically they start trying to defend each other (because they obviously still love each other) and the reader gets hurt. After all that they end up slowly mending their relationship and start communicating more and basically I want some angst with fluff because I’m a total sucker for that.

Ok thank you soooo much!!! 🖤

Title: In the Darkness Together

Ship: Female!Reader x Yelena Belova

SLIGHT THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS

Warnings: Stabbing, mentions of blood, mentions of depression, angst, hurt/comfort, injuries, John being a dick, horrible grammar, I don't proofread

[A/n: Alright, I'll admit that this isn't my best work. I've actually never written Yelena x reader before, I was kind of feeling it out! Feel free to send me some more Thunderbolts* prompts and I'll do my best!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The knife, the kind that people typically use to debone things, had edged past the Kevlar of your tactical suit and sliced into the meat of your side. It had started as a searing, uncomfortable pinch of pain, and had now faded to a dull ache that thudded along with your heartbeat as you trudged through the desert, nose and fingers frigid.

You applied pressure to it, of course. Had done a hack-job of patching it up and breathing through it. You’d need stitches once you got on solid ground, far away from the annoyances around you. The heat that radiated from the deep wound warmed you up, at least, made it easier to round out the back of the group.

It was easy to tune out John Walker from back here. He insisted on leading and you had conceded out of exhaustion. The wind blocked out his gravelly voice as he listed off his successes in tracking and trapping in the military. You could taste sand, grind it between your teeth loudly to block out the rest of his droning.

There was a body next to you, warm and solid and speaking. Your ears were ringing from the gunfire, and you were paying too close attention to the soft pink of Yelena Belova’s lips. How easy they would be to claim if you weren’t vibrating with a certain breed of anger that made you want to prove your point.

What point was that again?

It had been independence before you’d entered that god forsaken vault. Your target had been easy enough to locate and kill, something you’d done so efficiently that they didn’t even get a chance to step foot into the building. But, you were curious too, wondering what had been so damn important that Valentina agreed to this being your last job.

The whole night had been a culmination of punches thrown and blades twisted in the sinew of your stomach and guns fired. You’d watched Antonia Dreykov drop to the floor in a puddle of armor and a faceless mask that you were thankful stayed on, even with a bullet hole through the center.  

“What?” You meant to sound angry, sharper than you were. But it came out sad and broken, even to your own ears.

“You should have let me take a look at that.” Yelena spoke slowly, softly. “It’s not too late, we can stop for a few moments. I can patch you up properly.”

“I don’t need you to coddle me, Yelena.”

You winced, blamed it quickly on the pain. You were turning away her attempt at tenderness. It was the first she had shown in weeks. The two of you danced around one another in the small city apartment you shared. Expertly choreographed moves that involved one toothbrush missing from the cup by the sink at all times.

Neither of you bothered to tell the other when you had a job. You just went. On nights where the two of you happened to be home at the same time, you slept facing away from each other, a decent amount of space between you. Something having shattered along the way, though neither were quite sure what.

Yelena opened her mouth, closed it again. Swallowed hard. She had a crease between her brows that gave way to her worry and you had the sudden urge to kiss it away. It was heavy in your chest, nearly oppressive until you tore your eyes away from hers, stumbled over the heaviness of your boot.

And she was there, of course, she was there. Her hand was on your elbow, holding you up. The concern had ripped through her features in a way that you almost found endearing. This was the most attention the two of you had given each other in weeks. Months.

“Let me take care of you.” Yelena whispered. “pozhaluysta.”

It was desperate, a plea. The word broke like salt rock over her tongue and prickled at the corners of her eyes. Ash clouded her features, marred her skin. Dried blood was against her hairline, head more than likely pounding listlessly. Still, she waited for your signal. One that you gave with a slight nod.

“We stop!” Yelena called out to Walker and Ava, bringing everything to a halt. “We rest for the night. Keep going at daybreak.”

Walker whined at an uncomfortable pitch “Oh, come on. Women need to learn resilience.”

“It astounds me that one agreed to marry you.” Ava replied, shaking her head. She seemed exhausted herself, voice tight, eyes rimmed in darkness. If you stared long enough, her shadow flickered. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. “I could sleep.”

She plopped down onto the hard-packed sand, something that couldn’t be comfortable, but it was finite, deepening the frown lines on Walkers face. He exasperatedly threw his hands up and turned to make himself comfortable on some dusty rocks, shining bright under the moon.

Yelena edged you further away from the two of them, lowering you onto the sand. It still held warmth from the relentless sun, the tips of your fingers digging into the soft barrier. Your back was against a boulder, sprouts of rough buffalograss itched at your forearms.

“Polegche, polegche, detka”

Her hands against you was familiar, something you’d longed for. The tension in your shoulders relaxed, even as she lifted up the soaked fabric of your shirt. It’d dried uncomfortably to your skin, filled your mouth with too much saliva. You swallowed it diligently, letting your head fall back against the rock.

“I would have gotten stabbed in front of you a lot sooner if I knew it would get you to touch me.”

Yelena’s fingers stilled, ghosting over your wound, seemingly satisfied enough with your own patch job. Her eyes flicked up to yours. There was hurt there, vulnerability. There was an insurmountable level of longing that reflected in pools of green. Her cheeks were dusted in red, a trembling breath escaping her before she plopped back on her haunches, arms resting on her bent knees. The two of you stared at each other, beaten and broken.

“I guess we have been kind of stupid, haven’t we?” Yelena let a giggle froth past her lips, sweet and sticky. “Haunting our own house. Each other.”

You shook your head, offering her the small upturn of the lip. “How did we get here?”

There was a blueprint under your skin mapping out exactly how the two of you had ended up like this. Strangers working for the same woman who thought it pertinent enough to pit you against one another in an effort to clean her own hands.

“Lena, when I saw you for the first time, I knew you were the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, and I’m ashamed to say it’s because I recognized a sadness in you that I’d only ever seen when I looked in the mirror.”

Yelena plucked a long, coarse piece of grass from the sand and folded it between her fingers in a nervous habit, she worked the heels of her combat boots further into the ground as if to stabilize herself.

“It was selfish of me to think that I could shove away that dark feeling and the two of us could survive by clinging to one another’s remaining light.” You used the heel of your hand, wiped away tracks of moisture that cut through ash and dirt. “Didn’t take into account what would happen when both of us were surrounded by darkness. There’s nothing to grab onto.”

She sniffed, a heavy and solid sound. “Day in and day out it is all the same. We wake, we go to work, we fall asleep and we try to find something worth living for. You say it is selfish to find solace in someone who feels the same as you. I think it is selfish that we’ve turned away.”

Yelena carefully moved next to you, letting out a groan, her muscles sore and aching from even the slightest bit of statis. Her shoulder was flushed against your own, the sharp scent of gunpowder and sweat filling your lungs, but a citrus that was distinctly your Yelena soothed you.

“Do you ever think there’s going to be a time when we won’t be sad?”

“I do not know.” Her voice broke, “but we can get better at being sad together.”

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, nodded. Wished that the two of you had come to this small realization before you’d been stuck in a vault with other misfits who were hell-bent on ending your lives at the behest of a crooked politician.

Yelena slotted her arm through yours, squeezed it close to her chest. Leaned her head on your shoulder. Your heart clenched fondly at the closeness, not realizing how much you’d missed the simple contact. The softness of her.

You leaned your cheek on her head, breathed in the sweetness of her shampoo. “We should really get a calendar for the fridge.”

“Mm, we can color code.” Yelena nuzzled closer, nosed against your jaw. “Next time we’ll know if we get scheduled to kill one another.”

[aleese1111]

ong please please please do three wolves, one flame part 2 if you want ofc! I need geum seong je he's so hot in this story (I hope we end up with him)

three wolves, one flame two | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin

summary: in a city where stolen phones and bruised egos collide, a tense standoff between two gang members threatens to ignite—but when loyalty, exhaustion, and unexpected tenderness surface, the cracks beneath their rage finally show. as fists unclench and defense fall, they begin to realize that survival might mean learning to lean on each other—even when it hurts.

warnings: [slow burn] violence, language, blood, bruises, mild angst, mutual pining, toxic communication, vulnerable moments, mentions of crime.

author's note: this is getting toxic pal .. making me cry and stuff . requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two.. ??

the motorcycle garage reeked of sweat, oil, and burnt rubber—the kind of place where tempers sparked easier than engines. a dented workbench sat shoved into one corner, tools scattered across it like a graveyard of failed fixes. the overhead light buzzed with a dying flicker, and the air was thick with heat and fury.

“you’re fucking unbelievable,” she hissed, voice cutting through the space like a scalpel.

seong je stood across from her, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. “don’t start with me...”

“start? i’m not starting shit. i’m finishing what your idiot screwed up.” her voice rose to a full-blown yell. “you let one of your morons walk around with ten stolen phones like we’re not running an actual operation!”

“i didn’t let him do shit!” he shouted back, stepping forward. “he went off script! i told him to stash the haul. he got jumped, not my fucking fault!”

“then whose fault is it? mine?” her eyes burned, teeth grit. “you act like this is some damn street gang, not a business.”

“it is a street gang,” he snapped, voice heavy with sarcasm. “in case you forgot, none of us have fucking degrees or a retirement plan.”

“you know what i mean, seong je. we’re organized. we have rules. and your guy just cost us everything we pulled yesterday.”

“maybe if you weren’t so busy barking orders and being a condescending bitch all the time—”

she was on him in a second, finger jabbing into his chest. “say that again. say it again.”

he caught her wrist, hard enough to make her flinch—but just for a second. “you wanna hit me now? is that what this is?” his voice dropped into something dangerous. “you think i’m scared of you?”

“no,” she spat. “i think you’re scared of being fucking useless. that’s why you’re always trying to swing your dick around. to make up for the fact you keep screwing up.”

something snapped in his eyes—sharp, violent. “keep pushing me. see what happens.”

she didn’t blink. “already did. still nothing.”

they stood there, faces inches apart, rage vibrating between them like a live wire. neither moved. neither gave in. both of them breathing hard, jaws locked.

then, without a word, she yanked her arm free and stormed out of the garage. the door slammed behind her hard enough to rattle the frame.

@ . !

by the time she reached the bowling alley, her throat hurt from yelling. her boots clacked across the sticky floor as she passed the empty lanes, not sparing a glance at the clatter of pins echoing faintly in the distance.

she pushed the office door open without knocking.

baek jin didn’t look up.

“tell me again why we keep seong je around,” she said flatly, tossing herself onto the couch like a stormcloud ready to ruin the day.

baek jin wrote something on his notebook. “he does what you can’t.”

“like lose stolen merchandise?” she snapped, dragging a hand through her hair. “god, he’s insufferable.”

baek jin finally turned, leaning back slightly in his chair, eyeing her with calm indifference. “what happened now?”

“phones,” she groaned. “ten of them. gone. one of his half-brained cronies got rolled. didn’t even stash them properly.” her voice cracked under the weight of exhaustion and rage. “and he blames me for being too uptight.”

“because yelling solves everything,” baek jin muttered, returning to his notebook.

she flopped onto her side, legs draped across the arm of the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes. “he called me a bitch, jin. a condescending one. like he even knows what that word means.”

“probably heard it in a movie.”

she let out a tired laugh—just one breath of amusement. “he looked like he was gonna throw something.”

“you look like you already did.”

she pulled his jacket from the back of the couch and draped it over her legs. “i hate him.”

“you don’t.”

“i do.”

“no, you don’t.”

silence.

then, more quietly: “...he scares me sometimes.”

baek jin didn’t respond right away.

“then don’t fight fire with fire,” he said eventually. “you’ll both burn.”

she stared at the ceiling, lips pressed thin.

and maybe she was burning. maybe she'd been burning for a while.

the minutes ticked by in a slow crawl, thick with that kind of silence only known between two people used to each other’s noise. she had cooled on the outside—no more fire, no more raised voice—but inside, the coals still glowed red. she hadn’t moved from the couch. one leg was curled underneath her, the other bouncing softly as she scribbled something into her notebook.

her phone sat to her right, flipped over. a math worksheet lay to her left, partially filled, and next to it was a half-eaten bag of shrimp chips. baek jin was back at his desk, eyes flicking between his work and the occasional glance at her page whenever she cursed under her breath.

“that one’s wrong,” he murmured.

“i knew it,” she muttered, erasing with unnecessary force. “this whole formula’s stupid.”

“no,” he said, typing lazily, “your distribution is stupid. the formula’s fine.”

“thanks for the confidence boost,” she shot back, but there wasn’t much bite in her tone.

“anytime.”

@ . !

they worked like that for another hour or two—sprawled in silence, occasionally interrupted by the click of a pen, the flick of a page, or a question about variables. it felt weirdly domestic. familiar.

until the office door creaked open.

she didn’t look up. didn’t need to. she knew the weight of that silence the second it walked in.

footsteps. slow. heavy. the scrape of worn sneakers on tile.

then something hit the floor beside her with a loud thud.

a duffle bag.

she looked up.

seong je stood a few feet away, breathing hard. his white school shirt was torn near the collar, buttons misaligned like he’d thrown it back on in a rush. his tie was missing. his lip was split and barely crusted over. blood had dried in a streak down his cheek, and his knuckles were red and raw—some cracked open, others bruised deep violet.

but it was the eyes that made her stop.

not angry. not cocky. not blank, either.

tired. steady.

he didn’t say a word.

she blinked, then glanced down at the bag. the zipper was half open—just enough for her to see the corner of a phone box. then another. and another.

all ten were in there.

baek jin stood up from his desk, slowly walking over. he opened the bag fully and confirmed it, counting silently. “you got them all back?”

seong je didn’t answer. just nodded, once.

“alone?” baek jin asked, quieter this time.

another nod.

baek jin whistled low under his breath, impressed.

she was still looking at him. not speaking. not moving. her hand, still holding a pen, trembled faintly against the edge of her notebook.

he looked at her once. quick. just a flicker. but it was enough.

she turned back to her worksheet without a word.

the room held its breath.

seong je wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand and walked toward the couch. he didn’t sit beside her. just near. close enough that she could smell sweat, smoke, and rust on his skin.

he let out a quiet breath and leaned back against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position, legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees. the buzz of the overhead light hummed back into the space between them.

she kept writing.

but she didn’t flip the page again.

after a moment, without looking at him, she reached into her tote bag and fished around. pens, a folded test paper, a lip balm, gum—and then, her hand landed on the small emergency pouch she always carried.

she pulled it out, unzipped it with one hand, and tossed a small box of bandages and antiseptic wipes toward him. it hit his leg with a soft thump.

“try not to bleed out on baek jin’s floor,” she said flatly. “he’s too lazy to mop.”

baek jin snorted from across the room but didn’t comment.

seong je glanced at the box, then up at her. for the first time all day, the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely.

she didn’t look at him.

but her foot shifted slightly in his direction, brushing the edge of his.

and for now, that was enough.

the silence that followed wasn’t tense anymore—just tired.

seong je stayed slumped against the wall for another few minutes, wrapping a few of the bandages around his knuckles with surprising precision. he didn’t speak, and neither did she. eventually, he stood again with a wince and stretched his arms out until his shoulders cracked.

“i’m heading to the pc bang,” he muttered, brushing dust off his wrinkled uniform. “if you’re planning to keep sulking, do it quietly.”

she didn’t reply.

he hesitated at the door, one hand on the knob, glancing back over his shoulder. “...i got the phones back, you know.”

“i noticed.”

“you’re welcome.”

she flipped another page in her workbook. “i already said thanks.”

he rolled his eyes and left.

the door clicked shut behind him, and with it, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

@ . !

the last of the arcade lights flickered off, followed by the clunk of the main door locking shut. the bowling alley was quiet now—emptied out, wiped down, and dark except for the faint blue glow of the vending machine in the corner.

baek jin pocketed the keys with a sigh, shoulders rolling back in the stretch of relief that came after closing time. “we survived another day of screaming kids and gutter balls.”

she slipped on her hoodie, tugging it down to her wrists. “barely.”

“come on. i’m starving.” he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “you ate yet?”

she shook her head. “didn’t have time.”

“perfect. my treat.”

she gave him a sideways look. “your treat is always eight thousand won and spicy as hell.”

“and you always eat it like it’s nothing, so what does that say?”

she rolled her eyes but followed him anyway.

the streets were empty at this hour, just the hum of streetlamps buzzing above and the low whir of a passing bus in the distance. they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing in the narrow alley that led down to the backlot where the tiny tteokbokki joint sat—half hidden behind a metal shutter and marked only by a flickering neon sign that read 분식천국.

inside, it was warm and orange-lit, the kind of place where the plastic stools wobbled and the ajumma behind the counter always gave too much fish cake.

the tteokbokki shop was quieter now, the neon sign flickering softly as the last of the steam drifted from the pan. she poked at her food, her chopsticks moving aimlessly as she avoided looking directly at baek jin. she was still annoyed—still holding that edge—but not as sharp as earlier. it was always this way, after things had settled. tension dissolved, but never fully.

baek jin picked up a piece of soondae without looking at her, his movements smooth, deliberate. he took a bite, chewing slowly, while his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than usual.

“you know,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer than it had been earlier, “you could relax every once in a while.”

she made a face, her chopsticks still hovering above the plate, and shot him a look. “relax? that’s rich coming from you.”

he shrugged, glancing out the small window at the dark alley beyond. the streetlights outside hummed, casting long shadows that filled the empty space between them. then, almost absentmindedly, he reached over and pushed the plate of rice cakes closer to her.

“i’m serious,” he said, quieter this time. “you don’t have to keep everything in motion all the time.”

her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, but she didn’t respond immediately. instead, she stole a glance at him—eyes narrowing just a little, studying him as if trying to read between his words. but he was already looking away, a subtle tilt to his head, like he didn’t mind if she didn’t take the bait.

after a beat, she finally reached for another rice cake. her hand brushed against his casually, just the barest touch, but it was enough to make her pause, fingers still lingering against his. for a second, she almost didn’t pull back, but then she did, almost reflexively, as if she hadn’t meant to stay there.

his eyes flickered to her hand, but he didn’t say anything. he just kept eating, quieter now.

she took a deep breath, trying to shake off the discomfort that crawled up her throat. “i don’t need your advice, baek jin.”

“i didn’t say you did,” he replied, voice laced with something she couldn’t quite place. was it amusement? care? it was hard to tell, but he didn’t seem fazed by her harshness. his gaze was steady, like he was trying to understand her through the quiet.

another beat of silence passed. her foot nudged against his under the table—accidental, probably. but it lingered, her heel against the side of his shoe, the warmth of her body close enough that he could feel the weight of it.

for a moment, neither of them moved. the air between them was thick in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, just... full. heavy with things unsaid.

he cleared his throat quietly, shifting his foot away just enough for the pressure to break. she didn’t pull her foot back, though, and the moment passed without comment.

she didn’t look at him as she pushed the food around again. “you think i’m some kind of... control freak?”

“i think you don’t let people in,” he said quietly, his voice softer now, just a little too honest. “it’s like you’re always holding everything back.”

she froze for a second. his words lingered in the air, like smoke, and she could feel the weight of them, like the air had thickened.

her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, and she looked up at him, but she didn’t say anything for a long time. she wanted to snap back, to tell him he was wrong, but something in his eyes stopped her. maybe it was the way he wasn’t looking at her for a response, but just... waiting.

when she spoke, it was quieter than before. “i don’t need anyone to fix me.”

he gave her a quick, almost imperceptible smile, like he understood more than she wanted him to. “i didn’t say anything about fixing you.”

there was a beat of silence between them, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. it was just... there.

she grabbed the last piece of soondae, eating it in one bite. “i’m done. you?” she asked, her voice a little more like herself again—sharp, biting.

he smiled more openly this time. “you eat like a rat.”

she snorted, setting her chopsticks down with a little too much force. “and you’re a walking mannequin.”

when they stood up to leave, it was a little too quiet, but neither of them said much. she put her jacket on, pulling it over her shoulders with more force than necessary, like it was an armour she didn’t need.

@ . !

as they walked through the dark alley, the hum of the streetlights was the only sound between them, a quiet rhythm in the otherwise empty night. she kept her gaze forward, her hands tucked deep into her pockets, shoulders tense.

but then, that one small gesture—a simple adjustment of her collar—broke through the armor she had been building around herself all evening.

her breath caught for just a second. she hadn’t expected it. not from him. she hadn’t expected him to see her. not in this way.

his fingers barely brushed her skin, and in that moment, she felt the shift. it was like the weight she’d been carrying—unseen, unheard, but always there—just became too much to hold onto.

she didn’t stop walking, but her steps slowed, just for a moment. her heart hammered in her chest, too fast, too loud. the weight of her emotions, the ones she kept buried under layers of sharp words and brittle indifference, started to break free. slowly, quietly, without any warning. she bit her lip hard, the pressure doing nothing to stop the sting rising in her chest.

and then, just like that, she felt it. the quiet crumbling inside her. the tension, the anger, the sadness—all the things she thought she’d put away, forgotten or buried—spilled out in the form of a single, shaky breath.

she didn’t look at him. didn’t react. but something in her shifted.

then, without a word, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

she didn’t wipe it away. she didn’t speak. there was no need to. the weight of the past days, the anger, the fear, the exhaustion—it all sat heavy on her like a stormcloud.

he saw it. he always did.

and without hesitation, without asking or saying anything, he stepped forward and pulled her gently into his arms.

at first she froze, body rigid against him like she didn’t know how to be held. but then—like something inside her finally cracked—she melted forward and buried her face into his shoulder, her hands clutching the sides of his jacket.

that’s when the sobbing started.

not loud. not dramatic. just quiet, broken sounds pressed into his chest, like she was finally letting go of something she'd been carrying alone for far too long.

she was trembling.

he didn’t need her to say anything—he never did. he could feel the way her hands gripped his jacket like it was the only thing keeping her together. the weight of her against him wasn’t heavy, but it pressed into something deeper than he wanted to admit.

he’d seen her like this before. not often. only when everything else slipped.

and each time, it broke something in him he didn’t know had edges.

he didn’t ask what was wrong. he just held her tighter, like maybe if he stayed still enough, long enough, she’d remember she wasn’t alone.

that was enough for him. for now.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two.. ??

[honeyslibrary]

First Mother's Day | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Dad!Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, fluff, edited once! 

Summary; Reader's first mother's day with Quinn and baby Scarlett (installment in the Sweet Girl universe)

Word Count; 1.1k

Authors Note: This is super short, I didn't really have as much time to write earlier as I thought I would (celebrating my mommy and all) but I wanted to post this because I think it's so cute, and I absolutely adore Scarlett and Quinn so much. Hope you like it! And to all the mothers out there, mother figures, and those yearning grieving a child, today we celebrate you, happy mother's day. 🩵 -Honey

The scent of coffee overloads your senses. Not the harsh, burnt kind Quinn sometimes makes in a rush before morning skate, but the good stuff, your favorite vanilla blend. You wake slowly, caught between sleep and something sweeter, that blurry liminal space where dreams dissolve into morning. The aroma wafts through the bedroom like a gentle announcement: today is different. Today is special. 

A small giggle confirms it.

Your eyes flutter open, vision still hazy with sleep, but your heart recognizes them instantly. Quinn stands by the window, morning light haloing his disheveled hair, wearing a well-worn UMich hoodie and some black joggers. Against his chest, he cradles Scarlett as if she contains the universe—which, in many ways, she does. Her tiny fingers tug at his drawstring, her round cheeks flushed with morning warmth, eyes sparkling with five-month-old mischief far too vibrant for this early hour.

"I love you, my sweet girl," he whispers, pressing his lips to the crown of her head where wisps of baby-fine hair catch the sunlight.

You watch silently, savoring the tableau they create.

"Okay," he murmurs to her, "time to wake Mommy."

You quickly close your eyes, surrendering to this game of pretend. The mattress dips beside you moments later. Quinn's calloused fingertips brush hair from your temple with surprising tenderness. Then comes the familiar weight of Scarlett settling against your chest, her heartbeat a hummingbird's flutter against yours.

"Happy Mother's Day," Quinn says, his voice still rough-edged from sleep yet softened by adoration.

Your eyes open to meet his. Scarlett squeals with delight at your awakening, her little body writhing with excitement. You laugh, instinctively securing her before she can tumble from the bed.

“Good morning, my love.” you murmur, brushing your nose against hers. “And good morning to you, too.” You add, glancing up to Quinn.

"She was perfect this morning," Quinn says, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "We've been conspiring."

"Have you now?" You press your lips to Scarlett's rosy cheek. "What kind of conspiracy?"

Quinn leans over and presses his lips to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling away to place a small cream-colored envelope on the nightstand. "Step one. Breakfast is warming downstairs. Step two: read the note after we eat. Step three: you're forbidden from doing anything remotely resembling work today."

"That's an ambitious plan," you say, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"That's why you have me—your very handsome husband." His eyes dance with mischief. "Full-time, highly qualified in diaper changes and nap supervision."

"Qualified, you say?"

"I passed the test last night—she only protested once when I wrestled her into that ridiculous giraffe sleeper."

You snort softly. "She loves that giraffe sleeper."

"And I love you," he says, leaning down to press his lips to yours. "More than anything."

You pull apart with a content sight, hand reaching up in an attempt to smooth some of his bedhead. "You realize she's five months old, right? You could've handed me a dollar store card and I still would've cried."

His smile softens. "I know. But you deserve more than that."

And you do. You know that. But hearing it from him, seeing it reflected in the way he's planned this morning, makes it real in a way that settles deep in your bones.

Downstairs, breakfast waits on the kitchen table: your favorite croissant sandwich with the sharp cheddar from the farmer's market, a bowl of juicy blackberries that stain your fingertips purple, and that warm vanilla coffee he made just the way you like it—extra cream, just a little sugar. You sit wrapped in his hoodie while he bounces Scarlett on his knee, narrating every one of her babbles like it's the most important conversation in the world.

"Oh really?" he says, leaning closer as she makes a string of nonsensical sounds. "That's your opinion on climate policy? Fascinating perspective. Very nuanced."

You watch them over the rim of your coffee mug, memorizing the way Quinn's hands, hands that can send a puck flying with pinpoint accuracy, now move with such care as they wipe drool from Scarlett's chin.

When the last blackberry is gone and your coffee mug sits empty, you finally reach for the envelope. Inside is a note, handwritten in Quinn's messy, barely-legible scrawl that has brought heat to your cheeks with many different love notes over the years.

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And now you're the best thing that's ever happened to her, too. Watching you be her mom has made me fall in love with you in a way I didn't even know was possible. Check the diaper bag. Love, Q.

You're already misty-eyed as you unzip the diaper bag hanging by the door. Inside is a small box, midnight blue against the chaos of baby wipes and spare onesies.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You open it to find a delicate gold chain, simple and elegant against the velvet. Hanging from it is a tiny "S" and a heart-shaped charm engraved with two sets of initials—yours and Scarlett's—interlocked like vines growing together.

"Oh my God," you whisper, running your thumb over the cool metal.

Quinn is behind you before you can turn, a hand wrapping gently around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He smells like home—like detergent and that woodsy cologne you bought him three Christmases ago.

"I wanted you to have something just for you and her," he murmurs against your ear. "Something you could wear every day, close to your heart. A reminder that you're her whole world. First Mother's Day... felt like the right time."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the quiet earnestness in his voice, the weight of what this day means, the feel of your daughter's initial pressed against your palm.

You turn in his arms and hug him tightly, sandwiching Scarlett between you. She makes a noise like she wants in on the moment too, her small hand patting against your collarbone with surprising strength.

"You're unbelievable," you whisper into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

Quinn's chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "No. You are." His voice catches slightly. "You gave me everything. I just wanted today to feel like a thank you."

And it does.

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[ficsloverblog]

A story where the reader has been fake-dating Tywin for a few months now? They married for political purposes, naturally, and because Tywin requires an heir for Casterly Rock, but there's never been any genuine love between them. People have grown suspicious of the fact that R! has yet to have taken with a child, considering they've been wed for many moons now... Perhaps just a twinge of drama is involved? It could be that Tyrion overhears rumors in court, and he promptly puts an end to it. For some strange reason, the notion of anyone speaking poorly of his lady wife makes him angry, and he's slowly starting to realize he likes her? Maybe he sees her interacting with a child, and for a split moment, his face softens, and he's ready to *properly* give her a child, lol. I'm not even sure if that counts as fake dating but 🤷 the idea is there, hopefully it made sense. It could just be their first time together instead? virgin!reader vibes, I suppose

Idle Tongues (NSFW)

Tywin Lannister x wife!reader

A/N: Giggling and kicking my feet as I got to write yet another Tywin fic. Thank you for your request, and for feeding my totally healthy obsession with this man!! Enjoy! <3

It had began as whispers, and like all things in court, it grew into something with fangs.

You heard it first in the corridor outside the sept, when a noblewoman’s handmaid flinched at your approach, silencing her tongue mid-sentence. Then in the godswood, where two ladies paused too long in their embroidery when you passed. A week later, the smile that Lady Serylla gave you at supper was edged with something sharp and pitiful.

You were a ghost among lions.

And then the words began to reach you. Not directly,they were never that bold. But woven into the silences, the way one might slip poison into honeyed wine.

Months had passed since your wedding, and still your womb remained empty. No subtle glow of pregnancy, no adjustments to your corsets, no whispers of midwives being summoned discreetly in the night. And so, naturally, the conclusion was drawn: the Lady of Casterly Rock was barren.

Your silence had always made you a quiet curiosity. Now, it made you suspect.

Some said you were too young, your body unready. Others, that you were cursed, or worse, frigid. That Lord Tywin had chosen poorly in his second wife. That perhaps he regretted you.

They never said these things where he could hear them. But the walls of the Rock were old, and the stone kept secrets badly.

You endured it as you always had: with stillness. With dignity. With hands folded in your lap and your eyes fixed somewhere above their reach.

But silence cannot drown a rumor. And in time, even Tywin heard.

It was a council meeting that ran long and frayed his patience. Trade tariffs in Oldtown. Bandit uprisings in the northern hills. A merchant's son demanding the repayment of a debt long forgotten.

He left the room without waiting for his bannermen to follow. There was a tightness behind his eyes that even the finest Arbor wine couldn’t soothe. His footsteps echoed through the hall as he cut down a side corridor, seeking quiet. He passed beneath a high window, where morning light dappled the red-and-gold stone. And there, just as he turned the corner, he heard it.

“—still no child, and they’ve been wed how long now?”

Tywin paused mid-step.

“They say she’s untouched. Or barely touched. He’s not known for tenderness, is he? Perhaps she couldn’t bear it. Or perhaps he’s lost interest.”

A low chuckle. “Can’t imagine Lord Tywin letting his new lady call the terms. And yet, here we are.”

“They say she was nervous at the wedding feast. Didn’t even look at him as he gave the toast.”

“She looked afraid.”

Tywin said nothing. He didn’t move. His hand curled around the edge of the stone arch, grip tightening.

“And what use is she if she can’t carry an heir? Pretty thing, sure. But that doesn’t last. He’s wasted a name on her.”

“Worse than a waste. A softness like that in the Rock? It’s like leaving silk in the lion’s den.”

Their laughter was quiet, but it echoed far too loudly.

Tywin stepped forward. Deliberately.

The men, minor bannermen, froze.

“My lord—”

“Your names,” Tywin said, voice low, calm, and somehow more terrifying for it.

“Ser Daryn, my lord. Of House Buckwell. This is Ser Ronnet—”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll know them when I strip you of your tongues.”

They paled.

“My lord—please, we meant no—”

“Speak of her again,” Tywin said, “Say anything of her again, and I will send your heads to your wives in a box lined with Lannister gold.”

He left them trembling in the hallway.

The words still echoed in his ears long after the corridor fell silent. A softness like that in the Rock. Worse than a waste.

He clenched his jaw. Not because the gossip was new, he’d suspected the tide of it for weeks, but because it had found a voice so near his own halls. Because those who owed him loyalty had allowed themselves to mock you as if you were decoration.

As if you weren’t his wife.

The marriage had been strategic. Practical. You were younger, softer-spoken than Joanna had been, with gentle manners and no ambition to rival his own. You asked little of him. You never pried. In truth, he had found your quiet company... agreeable.

But now…

Now, the court thought you weak. Barren.

Useless.

And something beneath his breastbone twisted at that thought.

You were in the gardens, unaware. There was a small girl in your arms—the daughter of a visiting vassal—all auburn curls and inquisitive eyes. She had tripped chasing a butterfly and scraped her knee, and while the nurses fretted, you had simply gathered her close and brushed the dust from her cheek.

You cradled her with the ease of someone who wanted children, who might have been a mother already if fate had been kinder.

Tywin watched you from the window of his solar.

Your head was bent, hair falling like silk across your shoulder. The child tugged at your necklace and you laughed. A soft, breathless thing he realized he’d never heard from you before. The warmth of it curled in his chest unexpectedly.

A strange thing, affection. It crept in, uninvited.

You looked up.

For a moment, your eyes met. He expected you to flinch, or to look away. Instead, you smiled. Not the practiced smile of court etiquette, but something simpler. Earnest. Something that made him take a step backward so he could hide from you.

That evening, he found you in the small solar that overlooked the western cliffs. You often came here to read, though he’d never seen you with the same book twice. The firelight painted your face in gold, your fingers were threaded loosely through a teacup’s handle.

You did not startle when he entered. You simply turned your gaze to him, still and composed.

“Tywin.”

Not my lord. Not since the third month. A small defiance he had allowed, though he’d never said why.

He crossed the room without speaking, pouring himself a goblet of wine from the decanter near the hearth. For a long moment, there was only the hush of the waves far below, and the soft clink of glass.

“You’ve heard,” you said quietly.

It wasn’t a question.

He took a slow sip. “Yes.”

You set the teacup down.

“I imagine they thought themselves clever.”

“They thought themselves safe,” he corrected, with a touch of venom. “They were not.”

You looked away, out to the sea. “It doesn’t matter. The court will believe what it wants. They always do.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied you. Not the careful posture or the elegant gown, but the shadow beneath your eyes, the tension held so tightly in your shoulders.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked at last.

You blinked. Then, softly: “Because I thought you didn’t care.”

He went still.

“I assumed,” you continued, voice barely above a whisper, “that as long as I kept the peace, you would tolerate me. That was our arrangement. Wasn’t it?”

Something in his chest, something long caged, shifted.

You rose then, slowly, moving to the window. The sea wind stirred your hair, lifting it gently, and when you spoke again your voice carried a soft ache.

“They think me weak. That I cannot hold your attention. That I’ve failed my duty. That I’m only a pretty thing you regret.”

Tywin stepped forward once, then again, until he stood beside you.

“I do not regret you.”

You turned to look at him.

“I chose you,” he said. “Not for beauty. Not for meekness. I chose you because you were smart. Quiet. Because you would not scheme behind my back or sell your womb to every rumor in the Rock.”

The words were not romantic. Not tender. But they were honest.

“Then why haven’t you touched me?”

His breath caught.

It was not said accusingly. Merely… truthfully.

“I’ve been negligent,” he said. “We married for strategy. That was clear.”

You nodded.

“But I find myself regretting the… limitations of that agreement.”

The wind stirred around you, carrying the scent of wildflowers and sea salt.

“What are you saying, Tywin?”

“I’m saying,” he said slowly, “that I would like to… revisit the terms. If you’re willing.”

A silence. Not heavy. Just full.

“And if I am?” you asked.

His eyes burned into yours, unflinching.

“Then perhaps,” he said, “we should see whether Casterly Rock might finally gain its heir.”

Your breath caught.

“And if it doesn’t happen?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “If I am barren?”

“Then I will not allow them to speak your name again.”

You nodded once, careful not to smile too quickly, too much.

Later, when your maid had gone and the candles burned low, there was a knock. Just once. No hesitation.

You rose and opened the door.

He stood there, as he had stood before battle and judgment both—tall, stern, unreadable. But when his eyes found yours, something shifted. Not soft, no. But open. A gate unbarred after too many seasons closed.

“Come in,” you said, your voice even, your hands steady.

He stepped inside. You didn’t ask what had brought him. You already knew.

He did not rush to you. Tywin Lannister was never rushed. He looked at your room as if memorizing it, as if it were foreign to him even after months of shared roofs and shared vows. Then his gaze returned to you, and did not leave.

“I won’t be gentle,” he said, voice low, almost rough. “Not cruel. But not false either. I have waited too long for that.”

You swallowed. “I don’t want gentleness,” you whispered. “Not if it’s hollow.”

That was all.

He crossed to you, then—one stride, two—and his mouth was on yours.

Not sweet. Not soft. But real. His hand caught the back of your neck, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw as he kissed you like a man claiming something long denied. You parted for him, lips opening with a soft sound you didn’t recognize until it broke in your throat. One of his hands found your waist, the other pressing against the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed as his mouth continued its slow, deliberate conquest of yours.

When he pulled back, your breath chased after him.

“Take it off,” he said, looking at your gown. “I want to see you.”

You obeyed, fingers trembling only slightly as you untied the laces, the gown slipping from your shoulders like spilled wine. You stood before him in your shift, and he reached for it without asking, lifting it over your head in one smooth motion.

His breath caught. Not audibly, but you felt it in the stillness that followed, in the heat of his gaze as he looked his fill.

“You are not weak,” he said. “Not in this, not anywhere.”

You reached for him next, unfastening his doublet with fingers more certain now. He allowed it. Watched you. His body was all tension and shadow under the firelight. Broad chest, scarred skin, the strength of a man who had spent a life at war. When you laid a hand over his heart, it beat steady beneath your palm.

He pushed you back onto the bed then, climbing over you with the slow, controlled force of a lion circling its prize. His mouth found your throat, then your collarbone. Then lower. Teeth grazed, tongue soothed. Your hips arched, and he caught them in strong hands, pinning you with ease.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much,” he said against your skin.

“I’ll tell you if it’s not enough.”

That made him smile. Just barely, but it was there.

When he pushed inside you, it was not with hesitation but with something far more dangerous: intention. You gasped, the stretch sharp at first, but grounding. He filled you slowly, deeply, until you were more full than you’d ever been.

“Look at me,” he said.

You did. And he moved.

The rhythm he set was unrelenting, but not careless. Each thrust purposeful, building heat between your hips, curling it deeper. He grunted softly when your nails dragged down his back, when your legs wrapped tight around his waist.

“Say it,” he ordered, breath ragged. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, “Tywin—I’m yours—”

He caught your mouth again, swallowing the sounds you made as he thrust harder, faster. One hand found your breast, the other gripping your thigh as your body began to tremble around him.

“I’ll put an heir in you,” he growled. “I’ll make them choke on their words.”

And you shattered.

It crashed through you like a tide, white-hot and blinding, your body arching against his as you broke apart beneath him. He followed seconds later, his rhythm stuttering, teeth clenched, his release spilling deep inside you.

Afterward, he did not speak. He lay beside you, breathing heavy, his hand brushing your waist as if to anchor you both.

But when you turned to face him, eyes heavy-lidded, you saw the look in his eyes.

Possession, yes. But something else too.

You weren’t simply a bride of strategy anymore, you were a woman finally seen.

[thirteenheavens]

Hi! I love the way you write!

How do you think friends with benefits with svt is going to be?

Friends with benefits|| Ot13 Reactions

Notes: decided to post some while on my break enjoy!

Word count: 1k+

Seungcheol:

Seungcheol, being the leader, maintains a strict boundary between personal and professional life. When it comes to friends with benefits, he's gentle but firm. "I want you to be comfortable with all of us," he says during your first private conversation about the arrangement. "But our relationship stays strictly physical."

When you're together, he's dominant but attentive, always ensuring your pleasure first. "Tell me what you need," he'll whisper against your skin, his hands exploring your body with skilled precision. Aftercare is important to him, with Seungcheol often cuddling and talking with you afterward. "You're special to me," he'll admit quietly, "even if this isn't conventional."

Jeonghan:

Jeonghan's personality shines through in your intimate encounters - he's playful, teasing, and often makes you laugh. "Come here, pretty," he'll say with a smirk, beckoning you closer. "Let's have some fun together."

During sex, Jeonghan is passionate and enthusiastic, his long hair falling around both of you as he kisses every inch of your body. "You're so responsive," he praises, loving how easily you react to his touch. Afterward, he often brushes your hair while humming softly. "You're the only one I let see this side of me," he confesses, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

Joshua:

Joshua is sweet and caring in your intimate moments, always ensuring you feel comfortable and safe. "You're beautiful," he'll murmur, gently running his fingers through your hair. "Let me take care of you tonight."

His touch is gentle but confident, his movements measured and controlled. Joshua pays attention to every reaction, adjusting his pace and pressure based on your responses. Afterward, he'll often hold you close and sing softly until you fall asleep. "Rest well, baby," he'll whisper, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Jun:

Jun is intense and passionate, his eyes never leaving your body as he worships you. "You're mine tonight," he growls possessively, his hands gripping your hips as he enters you. "No one else gets to see you like this."

His movements are rough and primal, his body pressing you down into the mattress with each thrust. Jun knows exactly how to make you unravel, playing with your sensitive spots until you're begging for release. Afterward, he holds you possessively against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. "You're perfect," he whispers, "absolutely perfect."

Hoshi:

Hoshi's energy and playfulness make for exciting encounters - he's always full of surprises and loves trying new things. "Get ready for the ride of your life," he'll say with a wink, already reaching for the toys he's hidden.

He's a skilled multitasker, often stimulating multiple parts of your body at once with his hands and mouth. "You're trembling so much," he teases, "I love how sensitive you are." Afterward, Hoshi will dance around the room, doing silly celebratory moves while singing about your amazing sex session. "That was incredible!" he'll shout, "Let's do it again tomorrow!"

Wonwoo:

Wonwoo is quiet and reserved in your intimate moments, but he makes up for it with his intense focus and attention to detail. "Lie back and let me make you feel good," he'll say, his voice low and husky. "I want to take my time with you."

His touch is slow and deliberate, exploring every inch of your body with care. Wonwoo seems to know exactly what you need without you having to say a word. After bringing you to multiple orgasms, he'll wrap himself around you protectively. "You're amazing," he whispers against your skin, "and all mine."

Woozi:

Woozi is both gentle and dominant during sex, knowing exactly how to balance between the two to drive you wild. "On your knees," he'll command softly, already removing his clothes. "I want to see that perfect ass of yours."

He's particularly skilled with his fingers and mouth, often making you cum multiple times before even entering you. "You taste so good when you're desperate," he'll say with satisfaction. Afterward, Woozi likes to stay close, pulling you against his chest as he catches his breath. "That was better than any of my music," he'll joke, though there's truth in his words.

Minghao:

Minghao's approach is both artistic and sensual, treating your body like a canvas for his desires. "Stay still," he'll say as he paints intricate patterns across your skin with his tongue. "I want to make art on you."

His movements are fluid and graceful, just like his dance moves, as he brings you to new heights of pleasure. "You're so beautiful when you're coming apart," he'll whisper, capturing your reactions with his eyes. Afterward, Minghao will often draw or paint as you cuddle together, using your body as inspiration for his next masterpiece. "You inspire me in ways I never thought possible," he confesses, sketching a delicate heart on your thigh.

Mingyu:

Mingyu is gentle but passionate, treating you with care while giving you exactly what you need. "I want to worship every inch of you," he'll say as he spreads you out on the bed. "Let me show you how beautiful you are."

His body is warm and solid against yours, his large hands exploring your curves with practiced ease. Mingyu loves making you moan, finding all your sensitive spots with precision. Afterward, he'll often massage your muscles, his strong hands working out any tension while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. "You're perfect," he'll murmur, "every single part of you."

Dokyeom:

Dokyeom is playful and energetic, always finding new ways to keep things interesting in bed. "Hey sexy," he'll say with a cheeky grin, already undressing. "Ready for a fun time?"

He's enthusiastic and vocal during sex, often making you laugh with his silly comments. "Your body is like a dream," he'll moan, "I could stay here forever." Afterward, he'll curl up beside you and sing you love songs until you fall asleep. "You're my favorite melody," he'll say softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Seungkwan:

Seungkwan is loud and confident in bed, not afraid to express his pleasure or what he wants. "I want to hear you scream my name," he'll demand as he enters you, his hands gripping your hips firmly. "Let everyone know who's making you feel this good."

His thrusts are deep and powerful, punctuated by his vocalizations of pleasure. "Fuck yes, just like that," he'll groan, "you're taking me so well." After, Seungkwan likes to cuddle and chat about the experience, often telling you how amazing you were. "Your body is incredible," he'll praise, "and I can't wait to do that again soon."

Vernon:

Vernon is calm and collected during sex, his confidence coming from years of knowing your body. "Relax for me, baby," he'll say softly, already positioning himself between your legs. "I'll take care of everything."

His pace is steady and controlled, hitting your sweet spot with each deliberate thrust. "You feel so good around me," he'll murmur, his breath hot against your neck. Afterward, Vernon will shower you with gentle kisses and whispered praises. "You did so well," he'll say, "I'm proud of you."

Chan:

Chan is energetic and youthful, his enthusiasm for sex infectious. "I've been thinking about this all day," he'll admit with a playful grin, already removing his clothes. "Let me show you what I've been imagining."

His movements are fast and passionate, but still controlled enough to avoid being too rough. "You're so flexible," he'll praise, "I love how easily you move with me." After reaching your peak together, Chan will hold you close and whisper about his fantasies. "I have so many more ideas," he confesses, "want to hear them?"

[kiruamon]

Demon Lord AU - Of caretaking and rings

More sketches for the demon lord au. And some more lore? Also you are already married to them in the last sketches.

Moon: *doing a girly voice* "Oh no! Love of my life, help me! The evil wizard came to bring me back home where I have to marry him!" Y/N: *makes growling noises and talks with a gruff voice* "Do not fret my little morning blossom! I'll chase this fool away!" Sun: *has a hard time holding himself together* //Don't laugh. Don't laugh, Sun. You have to stay in character.//

Y/N: "They have grown fond of you two so fast. Makes me think, you and Sun must have a talent as caregivers. And I've to say, you have been a great help lately. So... thanks for lending me your services." Moon: "Too much praise, but... thanks. I like this work. It's far better then fighting." Y/N: *chuckles* "True, true. It's is much nicer then that." Y/N: *pausing for a moment before gazing into the distance* "I hope things will stay peaceful during the next weeks. I would like to have more time for the little ones rather then fighting off knights and the like." Moon: "Yes. ... I hope so too."

Y/N: "Please accept these rings. So that a part of me will always be at the side of my beautiful morning and evening star."

Sun: "S-Shunshine. They're breathtaking. But why do they... glow? Did you enchant them?" Moon: *had been reading about demon customs the past months* "This shine... Starlight, tell me that you didn't... " Y/N: *gleefully looking at them* "Ah, I see, you noticed it Moonie. It's fine. Really. I just put a little bit of my soul into it. For someone as powerful as myself it's not thaaaat big of a deal." *tail swishes proudly behind them* Sun: "H-huh? Moon? What are you two talking about? W-what does it mean there is a part of your soul in it, Sunshine?" Moon: *stuck between being worried and deeply touched* "Demons can put pieces of their souls into other objects. It increases their power, but... but if these rings... if they would be destroyed then Starlight... " *he pauses, almost inable to say the rest* Moon: "It will weaken them a lot and there would be no way to recover the power that had been lost. It's so risky that it's rarely ever done. In older days demon spouses that were forced into marriages by their families exchanged them as wedding gifts with each other to have some form of reassurance to not be betrayed so easily by the other... " Sun: "T-then we can't accept them! You have to take them back." Y/N: *pretends to pout and turns their head away, but their tail twitches in mischief* "If you do not want them, you can just toss the rings away. But I will not take them back. Aside from that, it's not like I can redo the spell to get these parts of my soul back anyway. Soooo, I would be much happier to know that they are in the capable and loving hands of my spouses." *looks again at Sun and Moon in a much softer and tender way* Y/N: "Please, do not think I made this decision on a whim. Even if I might admit the voice of my heart spoke very loudly in this case. But... I have faith in you two. And like I said I did wanted a part of me to be with you wherever you two might be. So please, do not make me take them back, my darling lights." Sun: *is struggling for words* "Y... you shouldn't have- " Sun: "It's too risky. And... and it's not- " Sun: "... You're not playing fair, Sunshine. ... Ngh, to get us with such trickery... " *sniffles while holding his hand with the ring closer to his chest* "... I'll keep it safe for the rest of my life... just like I vowed to protect you so many moons ago." Moon: *wipes away a stray tear from his eye, but laughs softly* "It seems we don't have much of a choice Starlight as to accept your gift. Be sure we'll take good care of it and feel honored of your grant trust in us." Y/N: *smiles fondly while walking closer to them* "Oh my sweet twin stars. Of course you do. You always are given a choice. But I do apologize for worrying you and... being a bit unfair. It was not my intention to bring you sorrow or to make this gift seem like a burden. But we all have just one life. And I would have regretted it much more to not have shown you my deepest trust and love." Sun: "F-foolish demon." Moon: "Our mischivious, little star." *both step forward to take you in their arms and so you too lay softly one arm around each of them, your face comfortly nestled against them as you hear them whisper words of love into your ears*

A short while after they too gifted you with some rings. One embedded with a blue sapphire the other one with a yellow topaz. Sun and Moon even knew about the custom of your species to attach the rings to your tail which you found delightful and endearing when they asked if they were allowed to slip the rings onto it. Unlike you they weren't able to put a part of their soul into them. But this isn't important to you. You still can feel the love and affection gleaming in them whenever you look at these precious gifts.

[aventurineswife]

The Language of Flowers | HSR Men x Reader

“The Language of Flowers” is a short, symbolic series where you, the giver offers flowers to various HSR Men, each bouquet chosen to reflect their personality, story, or emotional state. Through carefully selected blooms, themes of admiration, healing, remembrance, and unspoken emotions unfold. The flowers become a silent form of communication—revealing what words cannot, bridging distances, soothing wounds, and deepening bonds. Each interaction highlights how something as simple as a flower can carry powerful meaning, offering quiet comfort or heartfelt recognition.

Part 1: Yellow Acacia

Symbolism: Secret love, optimism, enlightenment, happiness.

For: Sunday, Aventurine, Ratio

A quiet offering of Yellow Acacia—bright and warm like sunlight held between fingers. It speaks of unspoken affection, of feelings tucked safely behind smiles and passing glances. To each, it carries something different: a hidden heart, a shared spark, or the hope of something more. Whether noticed or not, the meaning lingers in the petals.

Part 2: Amaranth

Symbolism: Unfading love, faith, immortality.

For: Sunday, Dan Heng, Blade

Amaranth, ever-blooming and defiant of time, is left behind like a quiet vow. It is love that endures beyond distance, beyond silence, beyond scars. To some, it is a reminder that no matter the path taken—or the pain endured—what was once true remains untouched. A bloom that never fades, even in the harshest hands.

Part 3: Aster

Symbolism: Patience, daintiness, good luck, admiration, elegance

For: Sunday, Aventurine, Jing Yuan

Aster—soft-spoken yet steady, offered like a wish whispered into the breeze. It carries grace in its petals, a quiet kind of charm that lingers long after it's gone. Given in admiration, it says: 'I see the poise beneath the bravado, the calm behind the smile.' A small bloom, but never insignificant—just like the moments shared.

Part 4: Arbutus

Symbolism: Love, resilience, endurance; the strength and beauty of the human spirit through suffering

For: Dan Heng, Boothill, Blade, Jing Yuan

Arbutus is not a loud declaration—it’s the quiet strength in staying, in trying, in healing. It’s offered when words fall short but presence says enough. In moments of stillness and shared glances, it speaks of hearts learning to trust again, of pain not erased but understood. Beneath the bloom is a promise: we grow, even here. In soft confessions and silent protection, something fragile begins to bloom—resilient, and real.

Part 5: Asphodel

Symbolism: Death, mourning, the underworld; remembrance and the afterlife

For: Blade, Phainon, Mydei

Asphodel is not a flower given lightly. It speaks of things that linger—grief that doesn't vanish, love that refuses to fade. It blooms in shadow, not to glorify sorrow, but to honor what was and what still aches quietly within.

To offer Asphodel is to say: I carry your memory, even when you cannot. It’s laid down in moments of silence, of held hands, of choked-back words. For those who have lost parts of themselves in battle, in time, or in love, it is a fragile balm—reminding them that in mourning, there is still connection. That in darkness, a soft bloom can still rise.

Part 6: Baby’s Breath

Symbolism: Everlasting love, purity, innocence, new beginnings

For: Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng

A sprig of Baby’s Breath—delicate, almost weightless, yet carrying so much. It’s the gentleness of feelings unspoken, the quiet wonder of something new. In tender moments and lingering silences, it offers comfort without expectation. There’s no rush here, only the slow unfolding of trust, of hope. It speaks of hearts finding light again, of beginnings wrapped in softness. Not a grand gesture, but a gentle one—pure, and full of promise.

Part 7: Belladonna

Symbolism: Danger, deceit, mystery, and beauty

For: Aventurine, Blade, Moze

Belladonna blooms with a beauty that warns—elegant, but edged with shadow. It’s the flower you don’t pick without consequence, the feeling that lingers long after it’s gone. Given in silence, it reflects truths too sharp to speak, desires tangled with doubt. In them lies conflict: the fear of being seen and the aching need to be understood. Love here is not soft—it is complicated, aching, cautious. But in its weight, there’s growth. In the darkness, the first flickers of clarity.

Part 8: Strelitzia

Symbolism: Joyfulness, paradise, freedom, anticipation, faithfulness, love, thoughtfulness

For: Sunday, Aventurine, Phainon

Strelitzia stands tall—vivid, striking, impossible to ignore. It’s the promise of something just ahead, something worth the wait. Given with a quiet smile, it carries both joy and yearning: the kind of love that grows not from ease, but from choice. In every glance and softened word, there's faith—faith in what could be, in what’s already blooming between the lines. Even in sorrow, the flower does not droop. It looks forward, always, to the moment hearts finally meet without fear.

Part 8.5: Carnation

Symbolism: Love, devotion, distinction (meaning shifts with color)

For: Mydei

They looked away not out of disinterest, but out of self-preservation. In the face of a warrior too striking for their own good, they found safety in petals—carnations soft at her feet, blooming as if to catch their heart before it wandered too far. From then on, their hands tended to flowers, not men. Their devotion became silent, their affection buried in soil and scent.

Years passed. War changed faces, titles shifted, and one day—he remembered theirs. Not the shy glances, but the stillness. The calm. And now, when the weight of his battles becomes too much, it’s their presence he seeks. The herbalist with a quiet heart and a garden full of memories. He doesn't need to ask for flowers. They give them freely—while he’s still here to hold them.

Part 9: Amaryllis

Symbolism: Love, beauty, strength, determination, resilience, hope, achievement

For: Ratio, Boothill, Mydei

Amaryllis stands proud—bold in bloom, yet born from quiet persistence. It doesn't open all at once; it unfolds slowly, purposefully, like feelings long held close to the chest. This flower is given not in the height of certainty, but in the glow of almosts—of long glances, lingering touches, and unsaid things that echo between shared moments.

To love like this is not weakness—it is strength. The strength to wait. The strength to feel. To hope. In every gesture, there's a silent promise: I see you, and I won’t look away. The bloom is not a confession, but a beginning—bright, unshaken, and steady. Just like them.

Part 10: Yarrow

Symbolism: Healing, youthful love, everlasting love, protection

For: Phainon, Aventurine, Dan Heng

Yarrow is a healer’s flower—ancient, enduring, laced with quiet strength. It doesn’t pretend to erase pain, but it stands beside it, offering protection where words cannot. It’s given to those still piecing themselves together, those who carry guilt like a second skin, and to those who’ve forgotten how to receive kindness without flinching.

This bloom is not a cure—it’s a hand outstretched. A reminder that love can be both tender and strong. That hearts can heal in time, even if they remember where they broke. It asks nothing but honesty and offers only this: You are not alone anymore.

Part 11: Asphodel (Revisited)

Symbolism: Death, mourning, the underworld; “remembered beyond the tomb,” “my regrets follow you to the grave”

For: Blade, Mydei

Asphodel does not whisper—it lingers. In soil stained with ash and blood, it rises, pale and unwavering. A flower not for celebration, but remembrance. Given in silence after the storm has passed, it is a tribute to what was lost, and to what still haunts the living. The words never said. The hands not held. The guilt that clings like a second skin.

But even here, among broken ground and weary hearts, there is softness. In sharing grief, in tending wounds both old and new, something fragile takes root. Not absolution—but understanding. And in that quiet, when armor is shed and silence is no longer feared, there is a kind of healing.

A flower placed not just in mourning, but in love. The kind that endures, even when it can no longer be spoken aloud.

Part 12: Borage

Symbolism: Courage, joy, resilience, emotional fortitude, solidarity

For: Dan Heng, Ratio, Phainon

Borage is the bloom that rises when everything else has fallen—bright against the wreckage, stubborn in its will to stand. It’s given not in victory, but in survival. In the aftermath of storms, it speaks of the courage it took just to endure. Of strength found in trembling hands. Of the quiet bravery behind soft words and guarded eyes.

To offer Borage is to say: I see your struggle, and I stand with you. It doesn't ask for heroism. It honors vulnerability, the resilience of those who’ve carried too much and kept going anyway. In the hush after battle, when the armor is heavy and hearts are heavier, this flower is a reminder—you are not alone, and you never were.

Part 13: Burdock

Symbolism: Clarity, courage, protection, purification

For: Sunday, Mydei, Phainon

Burdock clings—not to trap, but to connect. In the soft brushing of shoulders and the burrs caught on fabric, there’s an old truth: sometimes affection sticks before we even know it’s there. It’s a flower of quiet courage—the kind it takes to show up, to speak gently, to stay close even when words falter.

Offered in passing, almost teasingly, it marks a shift: feelings once hidden now brushing the surface. A game in childhood lore becomes something more—Will it stay? Will it fall? And when it stays, they notice. They always do.

In shared laughter and long looks, in steady hands and half-spoken thoughts, Burdock blooms. Not loudly—but persistently. Like feelings that simply won’t let go.

Part 14: Cactus Flower

Symbolism: Endurance, protection, love, resilience (with colors deepening meaning)

— Yellow: Heat, security, endurance

— Red: Love

— White: Endurance

— Pink: Gentle love, spontaneity, thoughtfulness

For: Boothill, Jing Yuan, Phainon

Cactus flowers bloom in defiance—thriving where others wither, unfolding petals in the most unlikely places. They don’t bloom often, but when they do, it’s unforgettable. Each color tells a truth: heat and safety in yellow, tenderness in pink, unshaken love in red, and strength woven into silence in white.

These flowers are not soft because life was easy—but because they survived anyway. Offered to those who’ve lived through storms with laughter still in their throats and warmth still tucked behind guarded hearts, the cactus flower is both armor and affection. A slow burn, a steady root, a love that refuses to give in.

In every careful glance and lingering touch, the message is clear: You are safe with me. You are seen. And you are loved, even in your thorns.

Part 15: Camellia

Symbolism: Love, devotion, admiration; meanings shaped by culture and color

— China: Eternal love, union of two lovers

— Japan: Divinity, grace, beauty, perseverance

— White: Purity, innocence

— Pink: Long-distance love

For: Dan Heng, Ratio, Jing Yuan

Camellias bloom with grace—elegant, deliberate, and full of meaning. In their silence, they speak volumes. Each color whispers a different truth: white for the innocence still clung to after wariness, pink for love stretched thin across space and time, and red for the quiet vow—I choose you, still.

Camellia doesn’t beg for attention. It is simply placed. Gently. Unmistakably. A bloom that falls only when ready—and always with its other half.

Part 16: Cape Jasmine (Gardenia)

Symbolism: Love, purity, trust, spiritual connection; often associated with weddings and sacred bonds

For: Sunday, Dan Heng, Phainon

Gardenias do not shout their meaning—they are felt in the stillness. Given in moments when words tremble or fail, they represent a kind of love that is earned, not rushed. Trust, fragile and precious, weaves itself into the heart of this flower. A silent vow: I see you. I trust you. I respect you.

Cape Jasmine is not about grand declarations. It's about being there when it matters. About love as sanctuary. About trust being sacred.

Part 17: Cardamine (Cuckoo Flower)

Symbolism: Rebirth, hope, thoughtfulness

Folklore: Said to be sacred to fairies, the cuckoo flower was considered too wild, too otherworldly, to bring indoors—lest it bring misfortune. Yet even so, it blooms in spring, where frost once lingered.

Cardamine isn’t loud in its promise. It doesn’t offer perfection or erase pain. Instead, it marks the return—of warmth after cold, of feeling after numbness. It’s given not to forget the past, but to say: you can begin again. In the moments where guilt still whispers and grief still clings, it becomes a symbol of choosing to live anyway.

This flower is found in quiet glances, in shared silence, in held hands that no longer flinch. It’s the first step after sorrow. The slow breath of something new. A love that grows not in spite of pain, but beside it.

Part 18: Cherry Blossom

Symbolism: Life and death, beauty and violence, transience and renewal

Cherry blossoms fall even as they bloom—petals soft as breath, yet heavy with meaning. In their brief, brilliant lives, they remind us of everything fragile and everything worth holding onto. A contradiction in motion: love born in chaos, peace found in battle-hardened hearts, tenderness blooming beside pain.

To give a cherry blossom is to acknowledge that life is short, but meaningful. That beauty can exist where sorrow once lived. That something fleeting can still be profound. It’s for the moments of stillness between storms, when a glance carries a thousand unsaid things. When comfort is given not in words, but in presence.

They do not last. And that is why they matter so much.

Part 19:

Part 20:

Part 21:

[hibiskissess]

Lonesome Love

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Summary: You’re about to leave Twisted Wonderland but both Malleus and Leona have yet to tell you their true feelings. Who’s affection will you accept?

╰┈➤ Part 1 | Part 2 (Leona Route) [here!] | Part 2 (Malleus Route)

The deep feeling within Leona’s heart couldn’t be put to rest. He had to act now, or he would forever regret it.

Leona knew you were sociable, but it didn’t make it any less cringe worthy when he saw you walking with the lizard of all people.

Malleus acknowledged his presence before you had, causing Leona to send him a cocky glare. Once you finally saw Leona, he couldn’t help but feel proud of the smile he saw bloom onto your face.

“Oi, Herbivore. Let’s go somewhere… private.” The words hung in the air like venom, Leona’s gaze drifting to Malleus to make sure he knew you were his.

The sky grew darker as Malleus walked off, keeping any further comments to himself. He would have his time eventually, as patience was a virtue he was fortunate to possess.

Leona led you to the Savannahclaw Dorm, a beautiful golden sunset adorning the sky. As you walked side by side, his tail was ever so slightly wrapped around your leg in an unspoken, tender gesture.

He stopped your excursion on a smooth, large rock in a secluded area (which you suspected he had napped on countless times before).

He rested his arm in a casual manner loosely around your waist, holding you close to him. “Prefect, I…” he hesitated, unsure if being vulnerable in this moment would come back to bite him in the end. At this point, though, wouldn’t it be better to at least attempt then be swallowed by regret for years to come?

“I’ve really appreciated all you’ve done for me. You’ve helped me through some rough times when you didn’t need to.” he glanced over at you, his eyes showing his sincerity. “It means more to me than you know.”

Your expression softened as your gaze met his. “I’m glad my efforts meant something to you. You’ve helped me too, y’know. I’ll always remember you for that.”

His heart grew heavier as any further words began to feel suffocating. “About that. I… I don’t want me, us, to be a memory. I’ve always thought that my life was predetermined from the beginning- that I couldn’t change it no matter how hard I tried, because no matter what, I would still amount to nothing. But you’ve shown me that I can still matter. I don’t have to live in the shadows.”

The sun’s golden glow hit Leona’s skin, his deep eyes glowing like priceless emeralds. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Don’t leave me, not now. Not when everyone else has left me before.”

The uncertainty and apprehensiveness in his voice tugged at your heart, hurting more than any wound. “Leona, I… I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. Sure, I had a life back at my world, but I’ve built a life here- one with you. One that I can’t stand even thinking of abandoning.” you placed your hand onto his cheek, the contact of his soft skin causing warmth to flush in your cheeks. “My heart can’t stand to leave when it belongs to you.”

Leona closed the distance between the two of you, one of his rough hands threading itself through your hair. Another hand cradled your back as he gently lowered your body against the rock, his lips tenderly connecting with yours.

Long moments passed, causing him to briefly pull away, admiring you beneath him before diving back in. His tail wrapped around your thigh, his body subconsciously wanting any possible further contact he could have.

After he pulled away to catch his breath, Leona laid beside you on the rocky platform. His reverent lips pressed devoted kisses to your jaw and neck, holding you to him like he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

Your fingers found themselves in his hair, fondly petting his head as comfortable silence washed over the both of you. A low, subtle breeze swept through the air as dusk drew closer. Deep but gentle purrs cut through the stillness, warming your soul more than any sunlight could.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

When night washed over, Malleus was left unaccompanied at Ramshackle wondering where you were. The last time he had seen you was when Leona whisked you away, but…

Malleus wasn’t foolish. He was smart enough to put the pieces together, no matter how painful it was to do. In the end, wasn’t this his fate?

The fae looked up at the stars littered across the twilight, his heart growing agonizingly tight. It was his destiny, after all, to end up in his lonesome. Solitude was inevitable for someone with his life span, but he had only wished it hadn’t claimed him so soon.

Lightning crackled during the agonizing midnight, disturbing the tranquil atmosphere provided by the darkness. Malleus knew he was being childish by not controlling his emotions, but he was too pained to care. When the one person who saw the real him slipped through his grasp, he felt like he had been slashed by thousands of thorns.

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence and inappropriate language. To the readers, I’d like to ask for your engagement with this chapter. I know it took me a while to write this chapter, but I just wanted to let you all know that the next one will be the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read this fanfic.

EIGHT

NINE

The last few days had been a whirlwind of emotions—ones you were desperately trying to ignore as you got ready for the ball organized by your mother and your newly acquired stepfather. Natasha had picked out everything for you: a dress, an exquisite mask, even the shoes. Yet, all you could think about was the fact that Barnes would be taken into custody by Steve once this was all over.

"Need some help?" Bucky’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as he stepped into the room Steve had given you.

You were indeed struggling to fasten the back of your dress. But when you turned to face him, your concerns spilled out instead. "I don’t want you to be arrested, Bucky," you admitted softly as he took a step closer.

"Would it ease your mind to know that I won’t actually be imprisoned?" he murmured, turning you gently so he could reach the clasp of your dress. His cold fingers brushed against your skin, sending a subtle shiver down your spine.

"Those I work for will find me the moment Steve locks me away," Bucky continued, his voice low and steady. "They’ll erase every trace of me, take me back with them. Probably interrogate me until they know exactly how much I’ve exposed… and then—"

He paused, his gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, searching for the right way to say it.

"They’ll kill you," you whispered, the weight of those words pressing into your chest like a knife. Just saying it aloud felt like an unbearable truth.

"Convince Steve not to turn you in," you pleaded, staring at your own reflection, at the way his presence loomed behind you like a shadow you couldn't escape.

Bucky let out a breath, his expression heavy with something almost resigned. "Steve has principles bigger than the world itself. He’d help me, I know he would. But it would cost him—his honor, his integrity. I can’t ask that of him." And you realized, with a sinking feeling, that he meant it. He would rather die than let Steve compromise the very morals that made him who he was.

"Then I will," you say, feeling the final tug as Bucky finishes fastening your dress. He hesitates, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"I’ll stop Steve from getting to you. Run. Don’t look back," you tell him, your voice unsteady, though you're not entirely sure why. A lump rises in your throat, threatening to spill into tears you refuse to shed.

Bucky studies you for a moment before his fingers brush against your cheek, a rare tenderness in his touch. "I can’t ask you to do that," he murmurs.

"You don’t have to," you reply, taking his hand in yours and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I’m doing it." There is no hesitation in your voice, only certainty.

"You have no idea what I’d give to have met you in another life, under different circumstances," Bucky murmurs, his gaze soft as it lingers on you. You take a breath, gathering the courage to lean in, closing the small space between you. Your lips meet his—gently, almost timidly.

“Take care, Barnes—and don’t you dare risk your life by looking back,” you say the moment your lips part from his. Though your tone is confident, you know that whatever plan you manage to pull off to keep Steve from arresting Bucky might endanger not only yourself, but Steve as well. Which means Bucky could be reckless enough to stay. A heavy silence settles between you, thick with everything left unsaid—until a knock at the door breaks through it.

“It’s showtime,” Natasha says, stepping inside just enough to glance between the two of you. “Steve’s already waiting in the car, princess.”

You look at Bucky one last time, and there’s a melancholic ache behind it—saying goodbye to someone who’s marked your life so deeply always feels like losing a piece of yourself.

As you pass by Natasha, pausing by the door before stepping out, you lean in slightly and whisper, “Keep Bucky alive, if you can.” She meets your eyes, nods once, and says nothing. But the look is enough.

“How can you be so sure?” Steve asks, clearly uneasy—almost flinching under your touch.

You gently brush your fingers across his face in a soft caress before replying, “Because you’ll be there to protect me.”

He shakes his head slightly, as if disapproving of the faith you place in him. “You shouldn’t put so much trust in me,” he murmurs, taking your hand delicately in his. Maybe you shouldn’t trust any part of this plan—but whether out of foolishness or courage, you choose to believe it will all work out.

The two of you make your way to the grand ballroom where your mother’s event is already in full swing. The venue is extravagantly elegant, luxury radiating from every corner—exactly the kind of over-the-top display your mother thrives on. The plan is straightforward: capture Alexander Pierce’s confession on record, and Steve will arrest him. All you need to do is find a way to keep Steve distracted long enough to prevent him from arresting Bucky.

“You two are the most beautiful couple I’ve ever seen,” your mother gushes, approaching and embracing you both warmly. You and Steve exchange a loaded glance.

"Where's your other half?" you ask with a slight smile, trying to steer the conversation away before your mother says anything more about how well you and Steve suit each other.

"He's inside with a few guests," she replies casually, though there's a glint in her eyes. "But he did mention he'd be waiting for the two of you in the private office at the back of the ballroom. I don’t want to pressure you, darling, but I think he’s rather curious about Steve’s intentions toward you.” You and Steve exchange a quick glance.

Steve offers a polite smile and says, "I can assure you, my intentions are the best. But I believe there's a party we should be enjoying first," he adds, wrapping his arm gently around your waist and guiding you into the ballroom. The room is filled with elegant chatter, live music, and the clinking of glasses. Your mother disappears into the crowd as you're swept into the glittering chaos.

"Remember, as per the plan—we lure Alexander somewhere quiet and get a confession out of him," Steve whispers close to your ear as he pulls you onto the dance floor. "Natasha and our other ally are listening in on everything through the wire we’re wearing. Do whatever it takes to get Pierce to incriminate himself."

"Promise me you’ll follow my lead, no matter what, so I can get him to confess," you say, fully aware that the impossible task of making Pierce admit to being the most despicable of men has fallen squarely on your shoulders.

Steve steps in closer, his grip tightening around your waist, sending a wave of heat through you from the nearness of your bodies. "As long as you stay out of danger, I’ll follow you like a loyal hound," he says, placing his trust entirely in you. It might not make sense—he's the one with years of experience, the one trained to navigate manipulation and subterfuge—but you both agreed: if you led the conversation, Pierce would be less likely to suspect a trap.

Then, you spot Alexander Pierce approaching, and instinctively, you pull Steve into a kiss—cutting the moment short and shifting the attention. Steve responds with devotion, the kind of kiss that says more than either of you dare to admit. It's strange, the thought that Bucky might be watching all of this unfold. But as your lips part from Steve’s, you force yourself back into focus.

"Am I interrupting the lovebirds?" Mr. Pierce asks as he nears, a charming smile on his lips and a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"Not at all, Mr. Pierce. Y/N and I were just dancing. Beautiful party, I must say," Steve replies, keeping you close, as though he’s reluctant to let you slip away.

“The compliments go more to my lovely wife than to me in this case,” Alexander says with a polished smile. “Now, if you’ll both be so kind as to accompany me.”

You and Steve follow him through the glittering crowd until he leads you into a private office, far from the noise of the celebration. As soon as the door shuts behind you with a soft click, unease curls in your stomach. “This place feels… unusually secluded,” you say, glancing around the quiet room.

“My apologies,” Alexander replies, his voice dripping with false politeness, “but I’d rather not have my guests overhear when I put a bullet in each of you.”

He raises a gun and points it directly at Steve. You move instinctively, but his aim shifts to you instead—stopping you cold. “What do you think you’re—” you begin, heart racing.

“Don’t waste your breath, darling,” he cuts you off. “I know exactly who your charming prince here works for. And I also know you've gotten yourself quite involved with James Barnes.” His eyes glint with something cruel—something venomous—as the weapon stays trained on you.

"You know," you begin, voice steady though your pulse races, "you’re right. He works for the police or something—wants to throw you in prison, obviously. But you don’t have all the pieces yet. James Barnes and I? We're not actually involved. Honestly, he talked me into coming here with this suit-and-tie boy scout just to help wipe you out. But I have no interest in getting tangled in your business."

You take slow, deliberate steps toward Alexander, watching Steve from the corner of your eye. He's tense—confused—but says nothing yet.

"If you don’t believe me, let me prove I’m not with them," you offer, your voice almost tender, persuasive. Alexander narrows his eyes, studying you. Then, after a heartbeat of silence, he smirks and hands you the weapon.

"Prove it," he says, his voice low and commanding. "Get rid of him, and then we’ll talk." Your fingers close around the cold metal, and for a moment your entire body trembles. You turn slowly, lifting the gun toward Steve. He doesn’t flinch. He just looks at you—really looks—his blue eyes unreadable, but ready.

“Don’t do this, Y/N,” Steve says quietly. There’s no anger in his tone—just a steady conviction, like he believes you’re lost, not a traitor.

You say nothing. And then the shot rings out. Steve stumbles backward, a red bloom spreading across his shirt, and collapses to the floor.

Alexander’s chuckle fills the room. “Well done,” he murmurs. You stand there, the weight of the gun in your hand, your heart beating louder than the music outside. But inside, where no one can see—something is shifting. The plan isn’t over. Not yet.

"Now, I need you to lure Mr. Barnes here," Alexander says, locking eyes with you. You're doing everything you can to stay composed, to keep your breathing even despite the adrenaline.

"I assume you'll frame him like you did before?" you finally manage to ask, steadying your voice just enough to sound curious rather than shaken.

A smile curls on Pierce’s lips, cruel and satisfied. “You’re sharp. I like that. Yes, I can easily convince everyone that Barnes killed Rogers—just like I made them believe he was a corrupt agent.” He chuckles bitterly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “If only your little fling had agreed to work for me instead of playing the hero. Foolish, really.”

He doesn’t notice how tightly you’re gripping the gun. But now, with his confession out in the open and the wire still live, all you have to do is keep him talking.

“He’s the man you’ll never be, Mr. Pierce,” you state firmly, now raising the gun toward him. Alexander stiffens, caught off guard.

“Now, say hello to the cameras,” you add, stepping aside just enough to reveal one of the discreetly planted cameras in the corner of the office. For a moment, he falters—jaw clenched, eyes flicking toward the lens.

“I know when I’ve been beaten,” he mutters, almost amused. “But did you really think I wouldn’t have a plan B, darling?”

Before you can react, he grabs a briefcase from beneath the desk and lunges toward you. A sharp pain erupts in your stomach—white-hot, blinding. You gasp as the blade sinks in, your body jolting. Pierce is already sprinting for the exit.

You drop to your knees, your hand pressing to the wound as warm blood spills through your fingers, staining the floor beneath you. The room begins to spin. It’s hard to breathe. Your body trembles, your vision blurs—but somewhere, in the distance, you hear the rush of footsteps approaching.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

Fic Rec Friday

(Pretending it's Friday) No rules or theme, just fics you've read recently (or ages ago) that you want to share with the world.

Following up with more fic recs from last week! There are simply too many wonderful fics in this fandom for one post. (And there are even more on my to-read list)

Shatter by @mirilyawrites

Each time Loki allows his focus to slip, he finds himself dreaming. At least, he’s fairly certain these are dreams.

Absolute poetry that captured me from the first line (and then each line after). Just. Stunning.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave by @lgwilt

Loki spared a moment to wonder at the unlikeliness of it all: Mobius, a man of no circumstance, no wealth, no social rank, whose courteousness and easy charm made him welcome everywhere he went; and he, the son of an Earl, who had graced the finest tables in the land, yet belonged nowhere.

Unless, perhaps, it was at Mobius’ side.

Or, Lokius: the Regency AU.

An absolute HONOR to beta-read this last fall. I remain obsessed with this fic.

beats per minute by burlesquecomposer (with art by @wolfpup026)

Don, freshly divorced single dad, starts going to the gym to regain some confidence, where he meets personal trainer Loki—who regularly works with people yet has a hard time getting close to anyone.

Confession time, I don't generally like modern AUs but I was TAKEN by this fic! It was beyond sweet. This is another one of those fics where I was shocked it was under 20K words because in my memory it was an entire novel. A beautifully built story.

The chair by Love_is_Green

Mobius is almost ready to go to the timeline and leave the TVA, he talks with B-15.

One of those fics that's less than 1,000 words and still wrecked me emotionally. Centered on Mobius reflecting on en empty chair at the TVA. Angst but with a hopeful ending 💚 (also recommend The Veins and the Branches)

happier than ever by @dreamycloud

Loki was Mobius’s everything. His beginning and end. His glorious purpose. So when he’s forever parted from Loki, Mobius realizes that the next best thing is to move to New Asgard and try to connect with the family Loki had been forced to leave behind.

Or, the one where Mobius can’t sense Loki, but Love can, and she may just be what they need to bring them together across time and space.

I am an absolute sucker for a Thor & Loki reunion story. Combine that with a Lokius reunion story too and from such an incredible writer as @dreamycloud, you've got yourself a FIC! Heartwarming story from beginning to end.

A Desperate Play for Control by @in-my-loki-feels (with more art by @wolfpup026!)

What If... Mobius worked at S.H.I.E.L.D. when Loki invaded New York?

When Loki arrives to take the Tesseract, he conscripts an additional ally to his cause, one perplexingly determined to look after his well-being. It isn’t just the scepter compelling Mobius; it’s the hollowed out, hunted look his new boss has. As the war approaches, they inevitably grow closer, but what happens when the fighting is done and there are no more orders to follow?

An instant Lokius classic- I mean Avengers Lokius AU!? How could it not be. Absolutely loved the characterization of Mobius here as a SHIELD agent. 100% could be a What If episode.

Paper trail. Or, traces of you by @doomed-spectacles (explicit)

Loki and Mobius sneak around. Despite having many nooks and crannies for intimate encounters, the TVA is not an easy place to sneak around. Set nebulously in season two.

PWF my beloved. Loved the balance between flirty banter and soft tenderness. (plus shoutout to the tag 'Mobius M Mobius is a little shit' because he IS and you should say it. I say with all the love in my heart. Little shit Mobius is my favorite).

personal space by a_cry_in_the_wilderness (mature)

“Asgardians are known for handling their liquor,” Mobius says, taking a wobbling step forward as he barely handles his. When he trips over his feet, Loki is there, holding tight onto his arm.

“I’m not even Asgardian,” Loki says, his voice soft. “What’s your excuse, Mobius?”

“It doesn’t take much for me.” Mobius admits.

The Lokius vibes here are perfection AND special shoutout to the fascinating look at Mobius and Ravonna's relationship- a relationship I will never tire of exploring!

feel the time pass by icebats (mature)

Truth is, Mobius doesn't remember how many times he's met Loki.

Gorgeous fic that was recommended to me recently. The character study here is truly top-notch.

Still need to leave comments on some of these fics and my to-read list is still miles long. This is an incredibly talented fandom. Tagging anyone tagged here to share their face fics if they want. Happy reading!

Oh another shameless plug for my previous fic recs

Past Fic Rec Friday | Platonic fics | Multi-Chapter Fics | Post S2 Fics | Post S1 Fics

One more- A TLOU fic (spoilers for S2, episode 2)

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The Soles of Your Shoes Are All Worn Down by ermengarde

Joel is so fucking proud of her.

500 words of canon-compliant comfort that I desperately needed post S2, ep 2.

[loveandmurders]

Red string and crimson hands (Poly!Sinclair brothers x afab!reader) - Part V

Hi everyone, this is the second part of this new soulmate AU requested by @mrstargayen09 .

You can find part 1 here, part 2 here and part 3 here, part 4 here.

This part is basically smut without plot. Reader has sex with Vincent and Lester (separately). Sorry Bo.

Hope you'll enjoy <3

Warnings: no proof reading, NSFW, horny!reader, unprotected sex, oral (reader receiving), penetration, breast play,

The twins got quite relieved when Lester and you came back home. You busied yourself by putting away the snacks you got in the kitchen. You were certain Lester had engraved everything in his brain to make sure to get them again next time you would ask for them. Bo was more than happy to make room in the kitchen for your stuff too. It felt right to have your belongings around the house once again, especially now they didn’t have to deal with their parents.

The brothers were hopeful you were going to stay. For the moment, you seemed to enjoy your time with them all. Of course, it had only been a day, but they did good. And you truly woke up all the feelings they had for you. If you had needed the red strings to know they were your soulmates, you had always been an evidence to them.

Being in Ambrose, and even more in this house, woke up something in your brain.

You dreamt about your past. 

You dreamt about Bo kissing your knuckles whenever he got the chance, and the way he intertwined his fingers with you. He enjoyed making out with you when you were on his lap, and you could almost feel his hands roaming your body and leading to something more than just kisses. 

You dreamt about Vincent hugging you from behind and removing enough of his mask to kiss your neck. It always made you shiver in desire as he tightened his hold on you. What was making him completely melt against you was when you were softly stroking his face and kissing his lips with tenderness.

You dreamt about Lester playfully kissing the tip of your nose before kissing your forehead and whispering to you how much he adored you and would always look after you. Lester also loved to fall asleep on top of your naked body as you were gently scratching his scalp and reading to him; he would nuzzle into your neck.

You also dreamt about the way they would pleasure you out of your mind, fingering you, eating you up and fucking you silly. You remembered how competitive they were between the three of them; they all wanted to be the best to you in bed. 

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you were a drenched mess and you groaned to yourself. From what you could recall, you had never wanted anyone that badly, and more importantly you had never felt that at ease with anyone else. It was obvious that in your dreams, you weren’t self conscious about your body, you weren’t feeling shy about your desires or your moans of pleasure, and you were also very much enjoying the power you had over the three men. You loved to receive, but you also loved to give them, and to watch them combust in pleasure for you. 

You thought you were quite lucky to not get only one, but three smoking hot soulmates. Fate had been kind to you in a way, as you easily forgot about the killings. A little voice in your head told you that you could go find any of them so they could satisfy you now, but you didn’t dare.

You still decided to get up and to get some fresh water, hoping it would calm you down. You quietly walked downstairs, and went into the kitchen. You were sipping at your water, looking around yourself, when you heard the basement door being cracked open. Soon enough, you were joined by Jonesy. You knelt down to pet her; she happily greeted your caresses. 

You felt eyes on you so you looked up and saw Vincent observing you from the entrance. You had forgotten you were only wearing a crop top and shorts as pyjamas, but you quickly remembered it with the way the man watched you. You smirked.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased as you stood up in your whole glory. 

Vincent cursed himself for not wearing his mask so he could have concealed his emotions behind it. He looked away, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. He had just wanted to come upstairs to check on you - as he had heard in his light sleep that you were going into the kitchen.

You didn’t know what happened to you but you walked to him and placed your hands on his shoulders. It startled him, but he didn’t push you away. He watched you with curiosity. His hands were itching from finding your waist, but he didn’t want to push his luck. He thought Bo would have done so, but he wasn’t Bo.

“You’re tall” you commented and as your hands moved down his arms, you smiled even more “And strong”. 

You found his hands and placed them on your hips without even thinking about it. It felt right. Vincent leaned closer to you, half thinking it had to be a pleasant dream. Your fingers were about to reach for his face but you stopped, not wanting to overstep.

“Can I?” you asked and Vincent instantly nodded. 

You had no idea how tight and painful his skin had felt without your touch for that long. You smiled again and started to gently stroke his cheeks. He closed his eye in happiness and nuzzled into your palms, before kissing it.

“You’re very hot, you know” you whispered and it surprised you how straightforward you were with him.

Once again, it felt right and it felt normal. He was your soulmate and you recalled how familiar and comforting his presence was. Vincent shot you a shocked glance at such words though, because no, he didn’t know he was “hot”. He was a little bit desperate that he couldn't easily reciprocate your flirting comments, but you could read his body language. 

“Yes… I really don’t know how I’ve been able to leave the three of you behind when you are so hot and I’m sure you’re so nice to me too, aren’t you?” you mused and Vincent nodded, his hold on you tightening as he pressed your body against his.

Of course they were good to their goddess. 

You tiptoed and your lips found his. He was more than happy to hungrily reply to your kiss. He gently reached for behind your thighs and easily sat you down on the kitchen table. He settled in between your legs as he continued to kiss you. The make out session was getting very heated and you both needed more.

“Please, Vince, need you so much” you whined

His lips found your neck, and then your collarbone. He knelt in front of you and waited for you to help him remove your shorts and panties. He would have wanted to tease you a little longer by kissing your legs, but he was a starved man who had missed touching his soulmate very much. 

Very soon you were biting down your lips so you wouldn’t wake up the whole household with your sounds of pleasure. The man definitely knew how to efficiently eat you out, just like in your dreams. The way he played with you clit and then the way his rough fingers reached your spot inside of you had you cumming all over his face a lot quicker than you had anticipated. 

You couldn’t think as you got him standing up again and helping him with his own erection. You guided him inside of you, like you did countless times before, and wrapped your legs around his waist to keep him deep inside of you. He started to kiss you again so he would keep his own sounds of pleasure quiet.

You both forgot about anything else but the two of you being one once again. He was careful to match your pace and his hand found your clit. You whined his name and it almost made him orgasm right away. He couldn’t believe he was the first one of his brothers to get to touch you again. It was true that in the past, he had always been your confidant and the one you trusted the most with your thoughts. He was also the one able to appease you, when Bo was the one making you feel hot and amazing and Lester the one making you feel happy.

Orgasms ripped through the two of you and you panted against his chest for a little while. Vincent hugged you for a moment, catching his breath as well. He finally gently removed himself from you and put his pants back on. He cupped your face and silently asked you if you were alright by looking for your eyes with a slight frown on his face. He was quite reassured by the bright smile you gave him.

“Hot and good to me, yeah” you nodded and you saw the man blushing “But we made a mess” you hummed as you hopped off the table. “We really don’t want Bo to see that” you commented and you noticed a proud and amused glitter in Vincent’s eye “And I need a shower” you added as you put your clothes back on.

Vincent gestured to you to go upstairs for you to shower while he was going to clean the mess up. You thanked him and reached for his face to steal another kiss. You left the room under Vincent’s stare. He was the happiest man on Earth at that moment. He was certain things were going to be okay from now on.

You quickly found new pyjamas and panties before leaving your room.

You almost collided into Lester. 

The man woke up and because of the thoughts of you swirling in his mind, he wasn’t able to get back to sleep anymore. He was up for a walk. He was surprised to see you getting ready for a shower.

“Ya alright?” he whispered

“Wanna grab a shower with me?” you offer, because it wouldn’t be fair to only take care of one of your soulmates

“I… what?” Lester wasn’t sure he heard you right

“Vincent took care of me and I need a shower. But I’d be happy to shower with you. Except if you were going somewhere” you winked

“Vince took care of… Oh.” Lester realised what you meant and he looked at you up and down.

Of course his brother took care of you.

“Yes, let’s clean you up” Lester nodded as his hands found your hips.

He shivered at being allowed to touch you like that once again. He bit down on his lips before leaning toward you. You happily kissed him back, your arms going behind his neck.

“Come” you ordered as you broke the kiss to guide him toward the bathroom

You locked the door behind the two of you and you started to undress in front of the man, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You just had sex with his brother and you were pretty certain Lester saw you naked very often in the past. You weren’t feeling shy or uneasy. You just wanted him. Like you knew you would want Bo later on. But for the moment, your attention was completely on Lester. You helped him undress because he seemed completely in trance in front of your body.

“Ya’re a goddess” he whispered to you with such sincerity in the voice that you stopped for a moment to kiss him again

“You really love me, don’t you?” you smiled against his lips

“More than anythin'” he admitted

You turned the hot water on, then tugged Lester under it. He loved how you didn’t hesitate. He quickly grabbed the bar of soap and started to clean you up. He had you sitting down on the bench so he could worship you, like you deserved to be. He knelt in front of you to start with your legs. He was as hungry as Vincent as been with you before, but he was more patient. He wanted to make you feel good about yourself first. He wanted to show you that he was yours and eager to look after you. He massaged you as you leaned against the shower wall, closing your eyes in well being. Your mind quietened down completely.

Lester continued to wash your body while working on any knots he could find. He didn’t dare touch your private parts; but he still enjoyed the intimacy of the moment and the trust you had in him. He finished with your shoulders and arms.

You looked back at him and cupped his face for kisses. You were grateful for the soulmates Fate sent you. You guided his hands on your breasts and he happily started to play with them. His mouth left yours, to find its way toward your nipples that he started to nibble and suck on. You moaned his name and bucked against him. After the two orgasms Vincent already gave you, you were pretty sensitive, but you enjoyed it way too much for your own good. You were getting soaked again, for Lester this time. Your fingers found his hair and you tugged on it, earning a growl of pleasure from the man.

His hand slowly moved to your clit and he teasingly played with you. You were tingling so bad, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You got up without a warning, and Lester worried he did something wrong before you quickly guided him on the bench. You sat him down.

“Need to ride you so bad” you admitted and Lester blushed while looking at you with heart eyes

“I want ya so much too” he nodded as his hands went on your hips and on his member so he could help you settle around him.

You moaned his name as you took him in so well. You were so full and your walls tightened around him, as if to not let him go. He panted against the shower well, completely overwhelmed with a pleasure he didn’t even remember existed. You started to slowly go up and down as Lester murmured sweet nothings to you, in between moans of pleasure. You brought his head back to your chest as his fingers flickered with your clit.

You both climaxed and you swore you could have fallen asleep on top of the man. Lester helped you standing up, finished to wash you up and himself before getting you out of the shower. He dried you and dressed you.

“So good to me” you whispered and he smiled at you

“Always” he promised

Lester carried you to bed and because you refused to let him go, he settled by your side, and you both slept like happy babies.

--

Part 6

--

Taglist: @staley83 - @joyfulllittlething - @qardasngan

[millerskitty]

Running If You Call My Name

❥ dbf!joel / f!reader x joel miller

❥ (18+) nsfw

❥ reader insert

❥ medium burn, no outbreak au. some timelines are changed to fit the story.

dividers by @/saradika !

warnings: pure smut, hand on throat, not quite choking, cunnilingus, daddy kink!!!!, dominant!joel, rough sex, protected piv, dirty talking

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: oh my god ~ the love that this story has received has made me so happy to continue writing and sharing with you all. tysm for the comments!

masterlist

Chapter 9

Pop was in Odessa for work again and Sarah was hellbent on spending Thanksgiving camping with her friend Dex and their family. It took some convincing, but Joel gave in eventually, gearing her up with bear spray and her own large tent. You would be left alone with Joel which was both exciting and nerve wracking. Little sparks of anxiety flew around in your stomach as you wondered how things would play out the moment you were alone together.

Work had let out early for you the day before the holiday. You stopped at the grocery store for a very hectic last minute shopping trip to prepare a small dinner for the two of you. You grabbed a bottle of wine and a chicken to roast; a turkey wouldn’t be appropriate for a party of two. You planned to also make honey roasted carrots, macaroni and cheese, roasted potatoes and a cherry cheesecake pie for dessert.

Joel knocked at the door as you were putting the groceries away, letting himself in after a beat. You walked over to greet him with a kiss, burying your fingers in his hair. You tugged at the short strands that tangled between your fingers and Joel moaned, squeezing your hips possessively. He walked you backwards until your back met the wall, breaking the kiss to bury his face in your neck and nip at the tender spot that drove you crazy. You squealed when he grabbed a handful of your ass.

“Well hello to you too, sir.” You giggled.

“Need you baby.” He said, his voice gravelly with lust.

“Um, now?” You squeaked.

“Now.” He said, leading you to your bedroom.

He wasted no time at all pulling your clothes off. You helped him by shimmying your jeans off and he pulled them down and off of your ankles, pushing you back onto the bed. Joel pulled a condom out of his wallet and tossed it onto your bedside table. Your body was ten steps ahead, heat pooled below your navel and you felt your panties sticking to your soft flesh beneath them. You’d be lying if you tried to deny that they were soaked from imagining this very scene playing out in your mind.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you watched him pull his shirt over his head and toss it onto your bedroom floor. The sound of him unbuckling his belt sent shivers down your spine. You leaned forward and unhooked your bra, tossing it beside his shirt. Joel’s reaction to your naked body never failed to amuse you. When his cock sprang free, you had to keep your own jaw from dropping. He was well endowed and without a doubt the most impressively hung partner you’d ever had.

Joel practically pounced on you, taking liberties with your breasts on impact. His delicious teasing was met with your whimpers and moans filling the silence in the air. When he hooked his thumbs into your underwear and pulled them down, you reflexively tensed. You were his, you knew this. But you still shied away from his gaze when he came face to face with your sex.

“Don’t close your legs, open up for daddy.” Joel said huskily.

“Hmm,” You whined, obediently following orders.

“Atta girl.” He practically dove down between your thighs and smothered your soft mound with kisses. If there was anything that man loved it was devouring your cunt. His kisses became suckling on your tender flesh, leaving little wet bite marks over your thighs and mound.

He was driving you crazy, the ache at your core was growing so quickly you thought you might explode at the first contact of his tongue to your clit. You almost did. He gently licked a stripe up your slit and then pulled your folds apart to directly press his tongue against you. Your back arched involuntarily and your thighs threatened to smush his head.

“Be a good girl and take it for me.”

“Joel…” You whined. You thought you were taking it already.

“I’ll let you come soon, just let daddy have a taste first.” He said, going to absolute work on you.

His tongue lapped at you with a desperation that could only be described as love. He was eating you like you were his last meal on death row. You were ruined, absolutely ruined for anyone but him. No other experience you’d ever had could compare to the heaven that was Joel Miller’s fucking mouth.

You were whining and moaning, your fingers gripping onto the sheets on your bed. You were nearing the peak of pure bliss, crying out for Joel to keep going as if he was showing any indication of stopping. He slipped two large fingers into you without warning and it was the last nail in your coffin. He’d barely nudged that soft spot that made you fall apart when your walls began to flutter around his fingers.

“Fuck, give it to me, baby.” He said, lapping at you like a starved man.

Your walls clenched down repeatedly around his large digits and your hips bucked forward as you rode out your orgasm against his face. The white hot bliss was blinding; You had no idea how you’d gotten from point a to point b so quickly, but you were in no state to ask questions. As the waves of pleasure stopped Joel slowly removed his fingers, licking them clean. You blushed, hiding your face in your pillow and retreated back into your shell.

“Nuh uh, show me your pretty face, baby.” Joel said, pressing his weight down onto you.

“How do you do that to me?” You whined.

“Do what to you, darlin’?” Joel smirked, pulling the pillow off of your face.

“Make me lose my mind like that?”

“I spread those pretty legs and put my mouth to good use.” You felt his own arousal poking at your hip and suddenly you felt recovered, arousal coiling below your navel once again.

You leaned forward and kissed him; the taste and smell of yourself was sweet, slightly acidic and sensual. You tried to slide off of the bed to get onto your knees, but Joel grabbed your wrist.

“I need inside, baby.” He said, reaching for the condom on the table beside you.

You nodded, kissing his shoulder, as he unwrapped and rolled the condom on. Joel leaned forward, guiding you onto your back and positioned himself at your entrance. He leaned over you as he lined himself up with your aching sex. He gathered your slickness and groaned as he pushed in, your warmth swallowing his cock. He was halfway in when he retreated and then fully sheathed himself inside of you.

Your moans were loud, melodic and raw. He was stretching you out, the sound of skin slapping skin made you blush. He fucked you with pure need, his eyebrows furrowed as he buried himself to the hilt, teasing your cervix. Your whining and panting only spurred him on.

“Fuck, baby, you fit so perfect around me.” Joel grunted as he leaned down to suck on your bouncing breasts.

“Mmnnneed you daddy.” You moaned, locking your legs around his waist.

“Can I hold you like this?” Joel cautiously pressed his hand around your throat.

“Only if you press harder than that.” You whispered and you swear you fell in love with him the moment the words left your lips and you saw his eyes darken.

Joel pressed down firmly on your throat. His thumb stroked your skin, tickling you as he pounded into your cunt. You were nearing your second climax, the familiar throb was building up and threatening to send you toppling over the edge.

You reached down between you and began to circle your clit with your own two fingers.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl.” Joel panted, his strokes becoming deeper, slower..

“Yes, yes, yes.” You whimpered as he split you open with his cock. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as he lost his rhythm, his hips faltering. A telltale sign that he was crumbling, losing control and about to find his release. You rubbed faster, coaxing your orgasm right to the edge, waiting for his command.

“Good, good girl.” Joel said, pressing into you once, twice and finally burying himself into you completely. He called out your name, telling you to follow him and you did. You shattered around him, burying your face into his neck as he dropped his weight on top of you. He went perfectly still and you felt everything. His cock twitched and throbbed as your warmth clenched down, milking every drop of come from him. He grunted in your ear, slowly pulling out and peeling the condom off, disposing of it in your trashcan before collapsing beside you and pulling you onto his chest.

“You’re mine.” He said, his voice rough and tired.

“Always.”

tag list: @foxin5billion, @persiar9, & @victoriaholland

[miggleverse]

Obsession, Need, Want: All of the Above

Summary: Eoin meets Paddy, and Eoin becomes obsessed with Paddy. Eoin isn't as subtle as he thinks. Also known as: the super-unhinged Eoin au. Read here on AO3!

Word Count: 6.1k

Rating: Explicit

Tags: obsessed Eoin, obsessed Paddy, bondage, spit kink, overstimulation, Eoin cries a lot in this one, stalker behaviour from Eoin, stealing, breaking into Paddy’s house, undernegotiated kink, gratuitous use of the word ‘pup’ and ‘please’, multiple orgasms, power dynamic, this was meant to be quite dark so please bear that in mind, also turned out quite tender too.

(Massive thank you to @leftoversl1ce for beta reading this and all your comments and suggestions! This would have been so much shorter without them!)

Eoin could pinpoint the exact moment he first laid eyes on him. It was at one of Ambrose’s rugby games he had been dragged to, and as he stood at the side of the pitch wondering how likely he could get away with fratricide – because really, who willingly gets up early on a Saturday morning – he saw the man who would upturn his life. Dirty blonde hair shone in the bright morning sun as he barrelled past his opponents, throwing himself into tackles and skirmishes with all the ferocity of an avenging god. Eoin was not a jealous person, but seeing the way he grabbed and handled the other players stirred something dark deep in his stomach.

He was later able to weasel out of Ambrose that this man was one Paddy Mayne, general menace on and off the pitch, who also happened to have formed a solid friendship with the older McGonigal through their shared law course. So, when he was invited to the after-match drinks in recompense for his spectatorship, Eoin jumped at the opportunity. 

It was the start of an obsession.

He found Paddy to be a quiet fellow, only speaking when he had something to say. He was nice enough to Eoin when they got introduced, but he couldn’t tamp down the sliver of disappointment when he was only given a cursory once-over before Paddy returned to speaking to the other players.

Not the ideal first meeting, but Eoin was nothing if not determined, especially when he wanted something. He changed tactics, launching a charm offensive to befriend the rest of the rugby lads, and religiously appearing at every game under the guise of ‘supporting’ Ambrose. He made sure his name was on everyone’s lips, his face a regular fixture in the group, forcing himself into the orbit of Paddy’s consciousness until the man had no choice but to pay attention. It was easy enough; he got on with Reg, Dave, Pat and the rest, which meant Eoin had the added benefit of gaining a new set of friends. Soon, he was getting invited to the pub even when Ambrose wasn’t there, no longer known as the baby brother but one of the lads in his own right. A genius plan, he thought, only marred by the disappearance of his precious silver cigarette case, passed down from his grandda. He had filled it with Marlboro Golds on the off chance Paddy would ever ask him for one, practically waving it in the man’s face in a clumsy advert of his usefulness. 

He’d lost it the night it finally served its purpose, being able to offer Paddy a cigarette and watching hungrily as he wedged it between plump lips, Eoin could barely look away as his throat bobbed to inhale that first hit of tobacco. The things he wanted to do to those lips, God, he was going to have to get away from here before getting a hard-on before half the pub. Quickly excusing himself to the loo, he scurried away, missing the amused glance Paddy threw at his retreating figure.

Paddy wasn’t stupid; he had seen how the younger man looked at him, how his breath would hitch, and his eyes light up at every touch. He was flattered that a man as bright and beautiful as Eoin would have eyes for him, more mangy stray than human some days. Seeing the memento he had left on the pub table, silver glinting in the dim light, he couldn’t help but reach for it. Strong hands cataloguing every groove and scuff on the surface, clearly loved and worn over time. A strange, burning sensation flashed through him; he wanted to own every bit of Eoin’s love, of his care. Paddy barely registered slipping it into his coat pocket until Eoin returned and started frantically searching for it. He feigned ignorance, swearing he’d put it right back on the table while the weight pressed heavily against his chest. He couldn’t help but look concerned when Eoin explained its importance, doe-eyes large and watery, looking at Paddy like he held all the answers. He could get addicted to that look, he thought, of Eoin needing him, depending on him. 

Aside from that, Eoin thought his plan worked without a hitch. He formed a solid friendship with Paddy between rounds of cheap beer and the blur of nights out. He found his reputation for violence was well-founded, being the one to pull him out of many pub fights after Paddy had one too many and someone inevitably got his goat. He was the one Paddy started to gravitate to at the rugby socials, spending long hours chatting about anything and everything. 

Eoin soon realised a poet was lurking under his roughened exterior, simply waiting for an audience that would listen. And listen, Eoin did, soaking up every syllable that deep, rich voice uttered. He realised Paddy was smarter than he let on, sharp eyes not missing much around him. There was also something else, something Eoin couldn’t quite put his finger on. He would be talking to one of the others and turn to find eyes as blue as ice staring him down, peeling back the charm, the banter, the deception to reveal the twisted mass of want at Eoin’s core. It thrilled him to feel so seen by the person he craved so much. He would always put a stop to that line of thinking, though, not wanting Paddy to know the lengths he had gone to sate his desire for the man. That look in his eye was just imagination, or at least that’s what he told himself. Eoin was confident, perhaps too much, in his abilities - in being able to steer this relationship at the pace he wanted. Slowly, naturally enough, until he became a permanent feature by Paddy’s side. 

His friendship with Paddy was everything to Eoin. He loved it, needed it like he needed air. But he couldn’t help but want more, need more. Every touch, every moment in his presence set off a deep hunger within him that refused to be satisfied. 

~~~~~

In Eoin’s defence, the stealing started innocently enough, before spiralling into something uncontrollable. The club had a big mix-up, and Ambrose somehow ended up with Paddy’s rugby shirt. Eoin, now better friends with Paddy than he was, offered to drop it back to him when they met at the pub later. Except, he spent too long trying to find the perfect top (casual, nice, but not try-hard) and, in his hurry to get out the door, left it behind. By the time he realised his mistake, it would have been too awkward to bring it up, besides, Paddy never mentioned anything, so Eoin assumed it wasn’t missed too badly.  

In his tiny bedroom, holding the shirt up to his body, Eoin never considered the possibility of keeping something belonging to Paddy. It would be like having a piece of the man at home with him. Shrugging on the top, Eoin twisted to look in the mirror. No surprises that it came up short on the torso, but the sleeves just about fit, and anyway, the white font of M-A-Y-N-E looked so delicious stretched across his back. Yes, he would definitely be keeping this.

From there, it became an itch he couldn’t scratch, especially when the smell of Paddy’s detergent and body spray had faded from the fabric. Eoin still curled up around it at night, desperately wishing the man himself were there with him. But it wasn’t enough anymore.

It became a compulsion, an addiction, after that to hoard small pieces of the object of his desire. It was easy - a bit too easy looking back – to amass a small collection of Paddy’s items he had managed to filch from various nights out: a half-empty bottle of cologne carelessly left in an open kit bag, a tiny book of poetry half falling out of his coat, an old hoodie Paddy forgot in the pub one night. 

Eoin didn’t even consider that these items would be missed, that Paddy would notice their absence. He barely cared, too wrapped up in his need to consider the consequences. The thrill of getting each item was its special rush, a hit of adrenaline and anticipation only matched by the times Eoin could get his hands on Paddy, however brief that may be.

As the weeks ticked by and Eoin started to get more comfortable, Paddy began dropping by the bookstore where Eoin worked, multiple times a week, as if the man were checking up on him. Between lectures or on his way to practice, Eoin could expect Paddy to pop in, usually launching straight into a spiel about his latest read, or how the lecturer that day had gotten his goat. He always bought the books Eoin recommended, which caused his heart to do a funny little dance in his chest, because ‘you have such good taste, sweetheart’. In those weeks, the budget for poetry and history mysteriously grew, and Eoin developed a stiff neck sitting for hours on end meticulously researching the latest publications and articles. Anything to keep Paddy interested, to keep him coming back day after day. It got to the point that Eoin would be seeing the man every couple of hours, if he hadn’t engineered a meeting, then Paddy would be popping up seemingly out of nowhere - on his running route, at the shops, hovering around the entrance of his lectures. Eoin thanked God for these coincidences, lapping up each second he could spend with the man.

One day, he hit the jackpot: they didn’t have a particular book in stock, and Paddy asked for it to be sent to his house when they did. Bingo. Eoin tried to hold back his grin when he typed the address into the battered old computer, a mantra of ‘keep cool, keep cool’ running round his head. He knew the vague direction of his house but hadn't been invited over yet, something Eoin was furiously trying not to mull over. Paddy was very private about his space, and rarely had people in it. Eoin wanted to be one of those select few; he needed to pull the house down brick by brick and rebuild it until he knew every detail of how the other man lived.

It took him a week to work up the courage to do what he was about to do, travelling to the edge of town whenever he could to scope out the small fenced house Paddy Mayne called home. The front garden was neatly maintained, the lawn trimmed, and the bushes kept from spilling onto the road. He had identified a small side gate leading around the back that looked promising - all week it had been left wide open, and Eoin was itching to shut it. Paddy should have been more vigilant about things like these.

He picked a busy Friday evening to put his plan in action, having double-checked that Paddy was out before heading over, palms sweaty on the steering wheel as he stared at the house. Eoin sighed with relief at the lack of lights coming through the windows, steeling himself before getting out and going through the front garden to the side gate. Ignoring the slight shake in his hands as it clicked shut, he tiptoed to the back of the house, grass muffling his footsteps. In the twilight gloom, Eoin could make out white roses gleaming like little diamonds nestled in the dark green of the shrubbery - he knew Paddy kept meticulous care of them, often a topic of conversation. Creeping forward towards the back door, he found it…unlocked? Paddy should really be more careful about his house; Eoin would hate for him to have a proper break-in. The door swung open, well-oiled hinges aiding his entrance. Finally, he was in.

A small kitchen was laid out before him, a wooden table and chairs taking up much of the floor space. For the first time, Eoin let his excitement build; he was here! In Paddy’s house! Now ready to have a good poke around, he went round to the closed door on the other side of the room, giddily anticipating what he might discover. Not that he made it far. No sooner had Eoin stepped into the corridor, edges shrouded in the dim gloom, than he got a solid whack to the head, and the last thing he saw was the floor coming up to greet him. 

~~~~~~

Eoin regained consciousness a couple of hours later.  Soft night sky filtered through closed blinds, and a small lamp next to him cast a warm glow into what appeared to be someone’s bedroom. He was lying on the bed, and the faint smell of familiar cologne and bodywash revealed exactly who it belonged to. Trying to sit up, Eoin found his arms crossed at the wrists with a thick rope which ran through the wooden headboard, with silk covering the part touching his skin. Fuck. He had been caught.   

Kinky, his mind rather unhelpfully supplied, he always imagined he’d like being tied up in bed, and regretted that this was his first experience. Still, Paddy did it, so it must count for something; he would squirrel this moment away in the depths of his mind when he was particularly desperate. Eoin refused to acknowledge that he was particularly desperate for Paddy most of the time. 

His shoulders were already starting to burn from the angle, and Eoin knew if he didn’t get out of the ropes soon, his arms would be good for nothing. Not ideal when caught breaking into the house of the man he had been stalking for the last couple of months. So far, this situation didn’t bode well for him. Double fuck. 

Fruitlessly tugging at the rope achieved nothing but pulling him slightly higher up the bed, half-sitting, half-lying like a marionette doll with the strings cut. There was no give in the knots; he was stuck. Something small and helpless made a home in his ribs, weighing heavily on his chest. Had he overplayed his hand? Would this be the end of his relationship with Paddy? Eoin blinked back the tingling in his eyes at the thought, all his hard work, all that time gone because he pushed too far, too soon. Triple fuck. 

Taking stock of himself, Eoin found that, aside from a mild ache in his head and the aforementioned arm situation, he was otherwise unharmed. This would have relieved him if he hadn’t known Paddy so well. For most people, breaking into his house would have landed them in the hospital, but why he wasn’t a battered and bloody mess right now set him more on edge than he liked to admit. What was Paddy up to? Why go to all the trouble of dragging Eoin upstairs and leaving him like this? Scanning the room for clues, his eyes alighted on a small glinting object on the bedside table. His cigarette case, the one Paddy had said was lost all those months ago, was now gleaming front and centre, right in Eoin’s eyeline, like a taunt. Like Eoin was a fly that had only just realised it was caught in a spider’s web.

A shiver went down his spine. This was not good, not good at all. Paddy was playing with him - he tried not to feel so special about that, but to what end, he still didn’t know. Limp on the bed and processing this newfound revelation, Eoin missed the sound of padded feet coming closer, and the door opening. Only gentle raps on the wood announced the arrival of a rather ungracious host. Eoin whipped his head back from where he’d been intently staring at the knots to see Paddy, in all his golden glory, looking incredibly domestic in a creamy fisherman's jumper and dark jeans, glass of water in hand as he leaned in the entrance. 

A stare-off ensued, Eoin unable to peel his eyes away from the vision before him, and Paddy quietly assessed him, a gleam of satisfaction as he soaked in the sight of Eoin, bound and bewildered on his bed. An expectant silence fell over the room, one Eoin was loath to break - for once, he had no way to weasel out of the situation, his swallow audible as his throat suddenly dried up.  

“Surprised you didn’t come sooner, sweetheart, kept me waiting all week - started to think you’d gone off me to be honest.” Eoin took a moment to register the words, stunned by the implications. His heart gave a stutter - what else had he missed? Had he been that obvious? Shifting to try and get the blood flowing back into his arms, and unwilling to go on the defence yet, he asked, “What d’ya mean, you’ve been waiting?”

A throaty scoff sounded from the doorway before Paddy entered the room, sitting beside Eoin on the bed, setting the water down and clasping a warm hand around his thigh. Despite the fabric separating them, Eoin felt it like a brand against him. Paddy was rarely one for initiating touch, so this caused something bright and warm to bloom inside him. He wanted Paddy to keep touching him forever. Ignoring Eoin’s question, he said, “You’re not very subtle, you know? I was gonna take it easy with you, gentle, seemed like the kinda lad who’d appreciate that. But no, you just had to go and jump the gun, didn’t ya?” Paddy teased, soothing voice completely at odds with his pointed words. Smirking as he heard Eoin give a faint whimper in response. 

“Paddy, I -, what’s going on?” Eoin, voice small and confused, struggling to understand how the tables had turned so rapidly. One minute, he was calm and in control, sure of his next move. Now, he was dancing to Paddy’s tune, relying on his mercy. Not that it was a bad thing, Eoin trusted Paddy wholeheartedly, wanted the other man to take him, keep him and own him, however he saw fit. 

“What's going on, sweetpea?” Hands travelling up to Eoin’s chest, “What’s going on is that you’ve been whining for more attention for months now, except you got impatient, like a needy pup.” The name sparked heavy and hot inside Eoin, dick beginning to get hard in the tight confines of his best jeans. 

He watched as Paddy stroked lower and lower, excitement bursting forth and fizzing about his chest, until those sinful fingers danced over the bulge in his jeans, teasing Eoin with the barely there pressure, “say it.”

“Paddy, no I-, I’m not - “, the fingers suddenly turned vice-like, Paddy’s palm coming down harshly to crush Eoin in a bruising grip. Tears welled in his eyes again while he struggled not to buck into the pleasurable pain. His mind reeled with the multiple sensations warring within him. Increasing his hold, Paddy’s voice came firm and unrelenting, “Say it, sweetpea, you know it’s the truth”. The tears were rolling down his cheeks now as Eoin attempted to squirm away, bound wrists limiting his movement, inadvertently rubbing himself even more against the pressure. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing Eoin had ever experienced.

Fighting back a sob, he managed to choke out, “Paddy, ah, I'm sorry, please, let me go,” in a last-ditch attempt to get out of the situation.  

“No, no, no, Eoin, see, I don’t want to let you go. I want you to tell me what you are,” that did bring forth a half-moan, half-cry sort of noise from within him, realising that Paddy was being dead serious, and was ruthless enough to keep this up all night. Oh god, Paddy was gonna make him say it, and Eoin would do something stupid like beg him to call him more names. Just thinking about the possibilities sent a sharp wave of heat through him. 

“I’m a…I’m a needy pup,” Eoin managed to stutter out, breathing ragged, words catching on small moans. Icy eyes scrutinised him, the thin twist on Paddy’s lips indicating his disappointment. Eoin hated that look and wanted Paddy to return to looking at him like he was the world again. 

“Hmmm, not quite. Do it again, properly” Eoin didn’t even realise he was still grinding up into Paddy until the other forcefully pulled his thigh away, limiting Eoin’s movement even more. 

“I’m a needy pup who got impatient and just wanted some attention, please,” he begged. 

“Whose attention?”

“Yours, Paddy, please, please  - put me in my place,” Eoin whimpered, tone soft as if in prayer. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile, hands melting back to gently palm him. Most importantly, Paddy leaned in and kissed Eoin. His mouth was bruising, passionate and dominant, moving like he already knew he had free access to any part of him. 

“Good boy, sweetpea, see, it’s so much nicer when you tell the truth.” Appreciative eyes swept over his body. Eoin couldn’t imagine what he looked like, curls in disarray, face red and blotchy from crying, pre-cum beginning to stain the fabric of his crotch. His top had rucked up throughout the squirming, baring the soft of Eoin’s stomach to Paddy’s gaze, like he really was a pup submitting to a more dangerous creature. Paddy quickly divested Eoin of his clothes, until he was completely bare in front of the fully clothed man. Something about the contrast creating a lovely haze in Eoin’s mind, cock throbbing with desire. 

Paddy studied him, head cocked to one side in thought, “Could keep you like this couldn’t I, put a plug in your arse and leave you all tied up and wanting for me.” Eoin gave a broken whimper at that, suddenly struck by an image of him plugged and bound, on his knees sucking Paddy’s cock. “Wonder how long it would be before someone notices you're missing? What, two, three days maybe? Would you still be so needy after that? I wouldn’t let you go, though, not even if the police were knocking down my door.”

That sounded like heaven to Eoin; he didn’t want to leave either. Content to stay in Paddy’s bed, in his house. In his life. He would happily never step outside again if it meant he could be with Paddy. He’s a decent cook, would learn to clean, and he’d be a calming respite for Paddy from the world that constantly gets his goat. Just the two of them, in their own little bubble. “Please, please keep me,” he begged, too wrapped up in the fantasy to be ashamed of his earnestness.

“Shhhh, sweetheart, I am, I will.” he peppered little kisses over Eoin’s face before pressing one to his mouth, surprisingly chaste considering his earlier words. Eoin craned forward as much as he could, craving to be near Paddy as much as possible. Lips parted in silent invitation, tongues coming to dance with each other as Paddy mapped out every part of his mouth. Eoin felt like he was on fire, his head swimming with lust, unable to do anything but take it.

Paddy’s licking his lips as he pulls away, like Eoin’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, eyes as blue as a summer’s day. wide, open and adoring. It's fascinating as they turn to shards of ice with his next words, “Pups like you need to learn to behave. So far, you’ve been an impatient boy, haven’t you? Stealing all those things from me, shirt’s probably covered in your cum right now isn’t it.”

Fuck, Eoin thinks, moaning low in his throat, how could Paddy have possibly guessed that? Right now the shirt was, in fact, at the top of Eoin’s laundry pile, stained with his release after fingering himself to the thought of Paddy fucking him in it. He says as much in response, earning a litany of curses, and Paddy finally comes to straddle his thighs, effectively cutting off the movement in the lower half of his body. With Eoin trussed up the way he is, there’ll be no way for him to buck him off; just the thought of his lack of control has his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Paddy could do anything right now, and Eoin couldn’t stop him. He had to heave in deep breaths to stop from cumming at the thought. 

“Paddy, please, please touch me, won’t last long, please.” Christ, he was starting to sound like a broken record, although if he got so addled he could only say ‘Paddy’ and ‘please’ for the rest of his life, Eoin would die a happy man. 

“Aw, is the pup that desperate for it?” Paddy said, voice dripping in faux sympathy, “Not sure you deserve it, what with the breaking in and the stealing…need to learn that good pups ask for what they want. But..since you’ve been so fucking needy I’ll give it to you.” A considering pause followed…then, “let’s say four, yeah? One for each thing, see if that don’t stop you.” 

Without giving Eoin the chance to respond, Paddy shuffled down and took Eoin into his mouth, soft tongue searing his taut flesh, hands coming to pin his bucking hips to the bed. Each lick, bob and swallow sent Eoin hurtling closer to the edge. His body stretched out and wound tight as his world narrowed now to the red hot contact around his dick. Through whimpers and half-breaths, Eoin tried to warn Paddy. All he got in response was Paddy sucking him down to the back of his throat. The little choked-out noise was what finally got him, pleasure coursing through him and shooting fireworks behind his eyes. Paddy pulled away, lips puffy and shiny with drool, face flushed with exertion. Wordlessly, he came up, hand leaving Eoin’s hip to hold his jaw tightly, forcing his mouth open in a delicate o. When Eoin realised what Paddy was about to do he strained to open it wider, right as Paddy leaned in and spat Eoin’s cum back into his mouth, sealing it with an open kiss. It was filthy. messy. depraved. Eoin craved more of it, the heady taste of their combined saliva and his release spilling onto his jaw, the chill of it a stark contrast to the flames rebuilding inside him. Paddy's face was in a similar state as he pressed sticky kisses down Eoin’s neck, biting and sucking in a way that would leave bruises in the morning. 

Eoin let him, boneless and hazy in the afterglow of his orgasm, he almost didn’t register Paddy shuffling about and the snick of the lube cap until his legs were pushed wide, slick fingers gently prodding at his entrance. “Ah fuck, yes…yes!” Nevermind that his dick had still yet to recover, Eoin was suddenly aware of the gawing emptiness inside him, tilting his hips up to try and coax Paddy further inside. 

Paddy smiled down at his attempts, warm and fond, still petting over Eoin’s hole like he didn’t have a rapidly dampening patch on his jeans. “Ever had anyone else in ya, sweetpea?” At that, he stilled; he had never, wanting his first time to be meaningful, with someone who saw and loved him. Looking everywhere but at the man before him, Eoin shook his head, old insecurities running through his mind. “Good” was all Paddy said, a grin evident in his tone as two solid fingers abruptly plunged into Eoin’s heat. Paddy groaned, gaze locked on where their two bodies met. “Can tell too, such a tight hole pup, been saving yourself just for me, huh?”

Eoin jolted at the words, shoulders beginning to strain with his movements as his dick came back to life under Paddy’s care. Fingers twisting and turning, carving his own space deep within him. His vision blurred as a third digit was added, Paddy finding the spot that set Eoin ablaze, honing in on it with military precision, watching as the curly-haired man fell apart under him. His legs fell limp around him, mouth hanging open in silent ecstasy, eyes cloudy and beginning to take on a vacant spark, face tacky with their lovemaking. “Doing so well, doll, “ he praised, “gonna give me the second one, yeah, then you’ll have my cock,” Eoin gave a weak moan, cum splattering across his stomach as his dick jolted with the promise of what he would, finally, be getting. Paddy continued to tease him through it, stopping as Eoin’s hips twitched, pleasure turning sharp within him. 

Paddy layered soft kisses on the buttery skin of his inner thigh, a litany of praise spilling from his lips, how well Eoin was doing, how good he was being, all sweet and pliant for Paddy, his pretty little pup, how he would never have to steal from Paddy again, he could have it all. Eoin couldn’t take it in, eyes struggling to focus, just content to let the balm of Paddy's voice wash over him, sucking in lungfuls of air as his body trembled from the force of two orgasms in such short succession. 

Eoin could barely react as the warmth of Paddy’s clothed body left him, arms now a dead weight above him. He let out a relieved sigh as his head was tipped and cool water poured down his throat, a gentle hand coming to brush stray droplets from his lip. Eoin caught the digits in his mouth, too far gone to realise what he was doing and languidly sucking, tongue catching the last of the water. Distantly, he hears a breath hitch and glances aside to see Paddy palming himself through his denim, enraptured by the sight before him. He whined when the fingers were removed, instantly missing the weight on his tongue. 

Paddy untied one of his arms, massaging his wrists under the silk, kissing where his pulse was pounding reverently. Letting more slack on the other arm, he manoeuvred Eoin onto all fours, his arms instantly collapsing onto the bed and his thighs shaking with the effort. The sheets were warm against Eoin’s chest as he greedily inhaled the scent of Paddy from them, moaning as he felt strong hands spread his cheeks apart, exposing himself for Paddy’s viewing pleasure. He heard the distinctive sound of a zipper being pulled down and the familiar clanking of a belt unbuckled. Eoin arched up, hips pushing back to show himself off, entirely focused on the presence of the man behind him. When the silence stretched on, he wiggled about, frantic need welling in his chest and spreading slowly along his sternum. Impatient for Paddy to get. on. with. it. 

A harsh slap sounded from behind him, pain beginning to bloom at the top of his thigh. Calloused fingers curled in his hair, yanking Eoin up until Paddy’s hot breath brushed his ear, “Still such a show off, sweetheart. Can’t help yourself, can you?” He moaned; he hoped that slap would leave a mark, buzzing warmth spreading from the area. God, he wanted Paddy to do everything, every nasty little thing to him. Eoin was dropped back down, elbows coming out to stop him from faceplanting into the bed, his hips crushed in a bruising grip as Paddy slid into him, sparks rippling across his body, already beginning to feel the zap of overstimulation within him. The stretch his cock was divine, and Eoin could do little more than cling to the sheets as he set a brutal pace. The denim of Paddy’s jeans created a harsh friction against his thighs whenever the other man bottomed out, the cool metal of his belt pressing into his shaking flesh. It made the whole experience dirtier, as if Eoin’s only purpose was to be open and willing for Paddy whenever he wanted. He could feel drool pooling next to him where his face was half pressed against the bed, but couldn’t muster the energy to swallow. He felt completely removed from his body, lost to the feel of Paddy surrounding him: in his hole, across his hips, in the stinging kisses he was lavishing across his shoulders. This was everything he wanted and more. 

Paddy was aware Eoin had gone near silent underneath him, letting out a stream of tiny moans and half-slurred words beginning with P. He pulled him up again, readjusting so Eoin was half leaning against him, back to chest. He peered up at his face and was delighted with what he saw. Eoin’s glazed eyes stared unseeingly back at him, curls flattened to the side of his face, giving up a breathy little whimper as Paddy wrapped a hand around his cock, too weak to bat him away. Arms coming up to curl in the cradle of Paddy’s own. Eoin was full-on crying now, fat tears rolling down his face that Paddy itched to lick away. It was the most beautiful Eoin had ever looked, all fucked out and doll-like on his cock, something snarling and possessive took hold of him then. This was his. No one else would ever see his pup like this, no one but Paddy would make him feel this way. 

Eoin shuddered as he felt Paddy’s thrusts get more erratic, stuttering to little grinds as white-hot warmth seared inside, permanently staining him with Paddy’s touch. It felt like a claim, a homecoming, a promise all wrapped into one. His own cock gave a valiant little spurt onto the sheets, twisting to plant shaky kisses along the other man’s face, Paddy turning to meet him in a tender embrace. “Paddy..” he let out, unable to say much more. He seemed to understand, though, laying Eoin gently back down, avoiding the mess below, smoothing down his trembling body, stretching out his legs and adjusting the arm still tied to the bed as Eoin stared into nothingness. 

“Paddy it’s -, don’t let it -,” struggling weakly to get his free arm under him to stop the trickle of cum working its way out of his arse. He wanted to be full of Paddy all the time. Stuffed full and bursting. He longed to walk around knowing he had a bit of Paddy deep inside him, carrying his warmth everywhere like a treasured secret. He hissed as a weighty plug was pushed back inside him, cool metal sending waves of pain through his over-abused hole. Paddy came to curl up beside him, letting Eoin bury his face into the crook of his neck, still tilting into the hand holding the plug. It would have been fine if Paddy hadn’t started working in and out of him, zaps of ‘too much too much’ zinging up to his sluggish brain, drowning out the filthy squelch of Paddy fucking his cum back into Eoin.

“Just one more pup, so brave, I know it’s a lot, but this is the only way you’ll learn your lesson.” Eoin tried to slur assent against the hollow of Paddy’s throat, free arm scrabbling uselessly at his back in an attempt to pull him closer. Of course, he thinks, Paddy would know best. Paddy was so good to him. Reining him in and not letting him escape when Eoin took things too far. Putting him in his place like a good boy. 

Black spots were beginning to mar his vision as he sobbed into Paddy, getting larger with every twist inside him, hips failing to twitch away from the overwhelming onslaught. Eoin welcomed it, the aches and pain proof that he had finally got what he wanted. Free arm scrabbling uselessly at Paddy’s back as the final orgasm wrung its way out of him, Eoin wasn’t sure if any liquid came out, but the sensation was still the same pressure building up and releasing as the darkness overtook his sight, passing out in Paddy’s arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eoin woke up the morning after that initial night, sore, thankfully clean, to find Paddy curled around him, hugging his back like he was afraid Eoin would slip away (even though rope was still curled around his wrist - he wasn’t going anywhere). 

After that, they settled into a comfortable routine, intimate domesticity coming as naturally to them as breathing. Eoin now had an M-A-Y-N-E shirt that actually fit him, but had never got around to wearing it outside the house. The sight of him wrapped in Paddy’s name guaranteed Eoin would be bent over the nearest available surface and limping for hours after. He loved it. Paddy got them a matching pair of silk bracelets and copied the key to his house on their sixth-month anniversary - a memento, he said, of their first time together. Brushing off the significance of the gift in the way he did when he cared about something a lot. Eoin saw right through it, and his heart ached with how much he loved this man. This man was his best friend, his partner, his joy, and his life. Who saw all of Eoin and loved him wholeheartedly in return. 

He would make sure it stayed like that. Forever.

END.

_____________________________________________________________

tagging (no pressure!): @eiriniko, @ecoustsaintmein, @eoinmcgonigal, @eoinmcgonigall, @gydima, @girlswiththecurls, @carriganrose, @derry-rain

[hohhggk]

it’s okay, you know

• summary : Y/N and her best friend Chris Sturniolo are watching a movie when a sex scene comes on, making Y/N visibly uncomfortable, leading to a sweet and comforting conversation.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

The room was quiet except for the low hum of the TV and the soft rustle of popcorn shifting in a shared bowl. You and Chris were curled up on the couch, blankets tangled around your legs, socks brushing under the warmth of a throw. The lights were dim—just the way you always kept them for movie nights—and everything felt like it usually did: safe, easy, normal.

Until it didn’t.

The scene on screen shifted. The teasing dialogue faded, replaced with slow music and dim lighting, and you knew where it was heading. Your stomach twisted the moment the two characters started touching. It wasn’t graphic—nothing wild—but the implication was clear. The hands, the heavy breathing, the intimacy.

You shrunk into yourself, your back inching further into the cushions. Your fingers started tugging at the hem of your hoodie, nails scratching at the fabric. Your leg began to bounce—barely, but enough to feel it. Heat bloomed on your cheeks, not from embarrassment exactly, but something heavier. A tight discomfort in your chest.

Because you didn’t know what that kind of closeness felt like.

Because you’d never done it.

And every time you saw a scene like this, it reminded you that sex made you nervous—and you hated that it did.

Chris stirred beside you, shifting slightly. You didn’t realize he was watching you until he spoke.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice so gentle it cut through your thoughts like a warm breeze. “You okay?”

You glanced up quickly, startled. “Yeah,” you said too fast. “I’m fine. Just… warm.”

Chris didn’t look convinced. His eyes, soft and steady, dropped to your hands. “You’re fidgeting a lot,” he said quietly.

You looked down at your tangled fingers. You sighed, and the breath came out a little shaky.

“I don’t know,” you murmured. “That scene just made me uncomfortable, I guess.” You hesitated, then added even quieter, “I’ve never done that stuff before. I’m still a virgin. And… I don’t know. It just makes me feel weird. Like I’m supposed to get it, and I don’t.”

Chris’s face didn’t change into anything other than kindness.

“Y/N,” he said, and you could hear how seriously he meant your name, how careful he was being with it. “That’s not weird. Not even a little bit.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. “It just feels like everyone else is totally okay with it. Like it’s no big deal. But every time it comes up—even in movies—I get so uncomfortable. I feel stupid.”

Chris leaned forward a little, like he didn’t want even an inch of space between what you were feeling and what he was offering you.

“You’re not stupid,” he said firmly but softly. “Sex can be really overwhelming. Especially when you haven’t experienced it yet. But there’s nothing wrong with you for feeling nervous. That’s normal, too.”

You blinked, surprised at how calmly he said it. How normal he made it sound.

“Really?” you asked.

Chris nodded. “Yeah. I promise. Sex is just… it’s a part of life. For some people, it happens early, for some it happens later, and for some people it might not ever be a big part of their life at all. But all of that is okay.”

He paused, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, soothing motion.

“It’s not something you have to rush into, or be afraid of. When it’s right, when you feel safe and comfortable and ready, it won’t feel scary. It’ll feel natural. Not like in the movies. Not some perfect, intense moment. Just… human. Soft. Real.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes stinging a little with how tender he was being.

Chris smiled gently. “You’re allowed to be nervous. But don’t let it make you feel like you’re behind, or broken. You’re not. You’re just… you. And I think that’s more than enough.”

Something in your chest melted at that—like he had gently untied the knot that had been tightening all evening.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

Chris leaned his head against yours and let out a little sigh. “Anytime. And hey—if we ever watch something like that again, just say the word. We can skip it. No big deal. I only care about you being okay.”

You nodded, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel ashamed or small.

You just felt safe.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

You didn’t know how to explain how grateful you were for that.

“Thank you for… saying all that,” you said after a long pause, voice soft, like it might break if you spoke any louder. “I always feel so childish for how much it freaks me out.”

Chris’s head shook almost immediately. “It’s not childish. It’s honest. You’re being vulnerable, and that’s never something to feel ashamed about.”

You smiled faintly, but your brain wouldn’t stop spinning—now that the dam had cracked open, there were more thoughts rushing in. More questions you’d never really asked out loud. And somehow, sitting here beside him, in the warmth of the quiet and the way he made you feel safe, you felt like you could finally ask them.

Your voice trembled just a little. “Can I… ask you something?”

Chris turned slightly toward you, eyes soft, full of quiet attention. “Of course.”

You looked down at your hands, suddenly shy. “Will it… hurt? Like, the first time?”

There was a beat of silence. Not hesitation—just care. Chris gently squeezed your hand before speaking.

“It can,” he said gently. “For some people, it does. But not always. And usually it’s less about the physical part and more about whether you feel safe, and calm, and with someone who actually cares about you.”

You nodded slowly, taking that in.

“It’s not supposed to feel scary,” he added. “And if it does, that’s your body telling you you’re not ready yet. Which is completely okay.”

You glanced at him again. “What if I never feel ready?”

“Then you don’t do it,” he said simply, with a shrug like it was the easiest thing in the world. “You don’t owe that to anyone. Ever.”

You exhaled, tension you didn’t even realize you were holding loosening a little.

A moment passed. Then your voice returned, even quieter this time. “What if I’m… bad at it?”

Chris smiled—not in a teasing way, but in a way that was reassuring, like he knew exactly what you needed to hear.

“Literally no one’s amazing their first time. It’s awkward and weird and kind of funny sometimes. It’s not supposed to be like in movies where everything’s perfect. It’s just two people figuring it out together. It’s not about being good at it—it’s about feeling connected, being present, and making sure you’re both okay.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw nothing in his face but complete sincerity.

“I guess I’m scared of not knowing what to do,” you admitted. “Of freezing up. Of not liking it. Of messing it up somehow.”

Chris tilted his head slightly, still holding your hand, his voice the gentlest it had been all night. “You don’t have to know what to do. That’s the whole point—you learn. You go slow. You talk. You laugh if something’s awkward. And if at any point it doesn’t feel right, you stop. There’s no rule that says it has to go a certain way.”

Your eyes burned a little. He was saying all the things you needed, but never expected, to hear.

“You’re allowed to ask questions. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to wait,” he added softly. “And when you do feel ready—whenever that is—it’ll be because you chose it. Not because anyone pressured you. Not because you felt like you had to. Because it felt right to you. And whoever you share that with should make you feel safe every second of the way.”

You swallowed hard. “That sounds… really different from how people talk about it.”

Chris chuckled quietly. “That’s because most people talk about it like it’s a checklist or a performance. But it’s not. It’s just a moment. A really personal one. And it’s okay if that moment happens later for you. Or not at all. You’re still you. You’re still whole.”

Something in your chest softened, slowly uncoiling like a knot you’d forgotten was there.

Chris’s voice was quiet again, almost like he didn’t want to break the stillness. “And for what it’s worth… I think the way you care about this, the way you’re so thoughtful about it—that’s kind of beautiful.”

You blinked, not expecting that.

“Beautiful?” you echoed, a little surprised.

He nodded. “Yeah. You’re not cold or careless about it. You feel everything deeply, and you think before you act. That’s rare. And honestly? I think anyone would be lucky to be trusted by you.”

That did it. Your heart swelled, and your eyes welled up just a little, not from sadness—but from the kind of gentle relief that comes when someone finally sees the part of you you’ve been hiding and doesn’t flinch.

Chris noticed your eyes, of course he did, and he reached up to brush a thumb under your cheekbone.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You’re safe. You’re not alone in this.”

You nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

Then he opened his arms just slightly. “Come here?”

Without hesitation, you leaned into him, letting your head rest against his chest, his arms curling around you like a cocoon. His hand moved slowly up and down your back, grounding and warm.

“You’re perfect exactly how you are,” he murmured into your hair. “You don’t have to change anything. You don’t have to be afraid.”

And as you curled into him, heart still fluttering but quieter now, you believed him.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Chris’s arms around you felt like home.

The warmth of his hoodie, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the way his fingers moved slowly up and down your back—it all made the world feel quiet again. Like the storm in your chest had finally settled.

Still, questions kept circling in your mind. Not in a panicked way now—just soft curiosity. Hesitant wonderings that had never felt safe enough to voice.

Until now.

“Can I… ask you something else?” you said quietly, not lifting your head from his chest.

Chris didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

You paused, your voice barely above a whisper. “What is it… really like?”

He didn’t ask what you meant. He just knew.

“Well,” he said gently, “it’s different for everyone. But if I’m being honest?” He exhaled slowly. “It’s not what the movies make it out to be. It’s not always this huge, fiery, dramatic thing. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s slow. Sometimes you laugh in the middle of it. Sometimes you stop halfway through because something doesn’t feel right.”

You felt your lips curve into a small, curious smile against his chest. “That doesn’t sound very romantic.”

Chris chuckled softly. “It actually can be the most romantic because of that. Because it’s real. It’s two people being totally vulnerable. Not trying to be perfect. Just being present with each other.”

You nodded slowly, letting that sink in.

“It’s about trust,” he added. “And communication. And making sure you’re both comfortable every step of the way. You go slow. You check in. You take your time. There’s no rush. It’s more about connection than anything else.”

There was another pause before you murmured, “But… what if I bleed?”

Chris’s hand paused for a second on your back—just long enough to show he was listening—then resumed its gentle motion.

“That can happen,” he said honestly. “It’s really common, especially the first time. It’s usually just the hymen stretching. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong. But if it happens, it’s okay. It’s not gross or embarrassing. It’s just your body doing what it needs to do.”

You bit your lip, still not lifting your head. “What if it hurts a lot?”

Chris leaned his chin lightly against the top of your head. “Then you stop. Or slow down. Or wait. The right person will care more about how you feel than anything else. It should never be about pushing through pain or pretending you’re okay. And you never have to keep going just because you started. You’re allowed to change your mind at any point.”

His voice was so calm. So steady. It felt like he was pouring warmth directly into the cold, scared parts of you that had been hiding for too long.

“And honestly?” he continued, “Sometimes the first time doesn’t feel amazing physically—but that’s okay. It doesn’t mean something’s wrong. It just means your body is learning. And when it’s with someone you feel safe with, it can still be really special, even if it’s not perfect.”

You finally lifted your head to look at him, your cheek slightly flushed, but your eyes a little brighter now. “You make it sound… gentle.”

Chris smiled, eyes soft and sincere. “That’s because it should be. Especially the first time. It should feel safe. Like a conversation—not a performance. Like… ‘Hey, is this okay?’ ‘Yeah, this feels good.’ ‘Want to stop?’ ‘Yeah, let’s stop.’ Stuff like that.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but it was genuine. “That sounds a lot less terrifying.”

He smiled wider. “Good. Because it shouldn’t be terrifying. It’s not something to prove. It’s just another way people can share closeness, if and when they’re ready.”

You looked at him for a long second. “Have you always thought about it like that?”

He shrugged a little, almost shyly. “Not always. But I’ve learned that it’s way more meaningful when it’s slow. When it’s about trust and softness, not pressure or trying to impress someone.”

His thumb gently grazed your cheekbone, brushing a stray tear you didn’t even notice had fallen.

“I promise, if you ever choose to share that part of yourself with someone—whether that’s tomorrow or years from now—it should be because you want to. And the right person will never, ever make you feel like you have to be anything other than exactly who you are.”

You felt something settle deep inside your chest. Like your heart had just unclenched.

You leaned forward again, this time resting your forehead against his shoulder, your voice muffled but full of emotion.

“I wish more people talked about it like this.”

Chris wrapped both arms around you again, holding you tighter, like he was keeping every fear away just by being there.

“Well,” he said softly, “you never have to be afraid to talk to me about it. Ever.”

And you believed him.

Every word. Every gentle breath. Every touch.

You weren’t scared anymore.

Not because all the answers were easy.

But because you finally felt seen. And understood. And safe.

With Chris.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

You stayed there for a while—tucked into his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his chest and his words, your heart still beating gently against his. But even as the quiet wrapped around you like a blanket, your mind kept spinning with questions you’d never said out loud. Until now, you didn’t think you could.

Chris made you feel like you could ask anything.

You hesitated, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his hoodie. “Can I… ask one more thing?”

Chris looked down at you, his lips curved in that patient half-smile he always gave you when you were overthinking. “You never have to ask permission to ask me stuff. I’m here, okay? What’s on your mind?”

You took a slow breath. “I just… I’ve never really understood how it works. Like—logistically. I mean, I get the general idea, but…” You trailed off, cheeks heating.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. He just nodded, like it was the most natural thing in the world to ask.

“That makes total sense,” he said gently. “No one explains that stuff in a real way. It’s always just assumed you’ll figure it out.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Exactly.”

Chris adjusted slightly so you were still wrapped in his arms, but he could see your face. His voice was calm and easy, like this was just another quiet part of your usual conversations.

“Well,” he started, “there’s no one right way it works. There are different positions, sure—but it’s not like a manual. You don’t have to go in knowing everything. It’s more like… you’re both figuring out what feels good and comfortable together.”

You swallowed, curiosity outweighing your nerves. “But like… how do people know what to do?”

Chris smiled softly. “You talk. You listen. You try something slow and see how it feels. It’s not about knowing every position or move. It’s about being really in tune with each other. You start with kissing, touching, going slow. And if something doesn’t feel good, you stop. Or adjust. You never just push through discomfort. It’s about trust.”

You looked down, voice small. “I don’t even know if I’d be able to relax enough to enjoy it.”

Chris reached for your hand again, squeezing gently. “That’s okay. You don’t have to. Especially not the first time. Sometimes it’s just about closeness. And when you’re with someone who’s really gentle and careful with you, it makes it easier to feel safe. But even then—it’s okay if you’re nervous. That doesn’t make you any less ready. It just means your feelings matter. And they should.”

You let his words sink in, then hesitantly asked, “Do positions really matter that much?”

Chris tilted his head thoughtfully. “Not as much as people make it seem. What matters more is comfort—like what angle feels okay, what pace feels natural. Missionary is common for a first time because it’s slower and more face-to-face, which helps with connection. But again—it’s not about what’s ‘best.’ It’s about what feels right in the moment.”

You bit your lip. “But… what does it feel like? When it’s good?”

Chris’s gaze softened even more. “It’s hard to describe, because it’s more than physical. Yeah, it can feel warm, and intense, and kind of overwhelming—but in a good way. But honestly?” He paused, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “The best part is the emotional closeness. Being that connected to someone. Feeling wanted and safe. That’s what makes it really mean something.”

You blinked slowly, your voice trembling slightly. “It sounds kind of… beautiful.”

He smiled, that soft, sincere smile that always made your heart feel full. “It can be. When it’s with someone you trust—who listens, who cares—it really can be.”

Silence passed again, but this time it wasn’t heavy or anxious. It was warm. You were still curled into him, but everything in you felt a little lighter now—like a part of you that had been scared and confused was finally allowed to exhale.

Chris leaned his head against yours and murmured, “You don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t have to be ready. But if you ever are… and you have questions, or you need to talk through anything… I’m always here.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, not from nerves—but from trust. From how seen and safe you felt.

“I’ve never talked to anyone about this like this,” you whispered. “You don’t make me feel dumb.”

Chris’s arms tightened just a little. “That’s because there’s nothing dumb about learning and being honest. That’s brave, actually.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut.

And in that moment, even though you were still figuring so much out, you didn’t feel alone in it anymore.

You felt held.

And understood.

And completely safe in his arms.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[strifeplay]

there's a gay trans man who's extremely close friends with a straight trans woman—the two of them wind up having bottom surgery at around the same time, entirely by coincidence. they joke around about how they'll both be healed up at around the same time, too. they've always had the kind of friendship where they jokingly flirt with each other, knowing that nothing would ever come of it. she assumes that nothing has changed about that, and makes a joke about her friend giving her brand new pussy a "test run" once they've recovered from surgery.

he plays along with a strange look in his eye. "of course. I'd love to take your virginity." his words make her blush, but she stares at him in confusion; neither of them are virgins, she reminds him. he just smiles at her, not bothering to correct her further.

a few months later, he's the one carefully stretching her tender cunt open with his fingers. he takes his sweet time preparing her, determined to make her first time a pleasurable one. she still can't believe it—why would he even want to fuck her? but he reassures her with a kiss to her forehead. "as if i would entrust your virginity to some cishet douchebag who doesn't know how to find the clit."

he loves her more than anything, and he doesn't need to be sexually attracted to her in order to get hard. it only takes him a moment to adjust his cock to stand erect. he rubs the tip between her folds, teasing her entrance. "don't worry too much. this is my first time too, okay?"

their fingers entertwine as he finally pushes his cock inside, slowly inching forward until he's buried to the hilt. no amount of romance could've made it any more loving than it already is. he treats her gently, like something precious, and rocks his hips into hers until she's trembling around him. bare skin against bare skin, no fabric, silicone, or latex between them. she comes undone, her pussy desperately clamping down on his cock as though pulling him deeper inside.

"i'll always be your first, and you'll always be mine," he whispered, near breathless. "don't let any other man treat you with less care than i do. promise me."

she promises him with starry eyes, no, she'll never accept anything less than his gold standard—but she can hardly imagine any other man satisfying her as well as he can, ever again.

[alicelillianshaw]

Alice feels like instead of kneeling on a couch in some dark theater, chips crunched and waylaid on the ground, she and Jack are sequestered away in some special part of the universe. Somewhere where emails and jobs and human stressors don't exist.

Just the two of them cocooned somewhere special as they talk.

Maybe it didn't even exist in this universe.

And maybe that was for the better, because everything they spoke about felt extra tender, extra vulnerable.

Alice lets her thumb rest against his pulse thrums in his rest, but what he says next almost makes her grip falter.

'Because no one has ever wanted that for me,'

'To just be happy.'

The width of his palm presses even more noticeably into her cheek. How was that possible? How did someone like Jack Kennedy exist, without anyone wanting that for him? How could anyone look at him and not immediately be willing to dash themselves on the rocks if it meant making sure he was happy. Alice had only known him for three days; she can still remember that awful churning hurt in her gut when the lawyer had interrupted their dinner. Her whole mood sank, thinking of Jack in that surprise custody hearing. Thinking of no visitation rights, Jack having something torn from him so abruptly.

Alice had felt sick after that, just miserable, and it was only day one. Now? Hearing this from Jack was destroying her. Eroding her from the base; it makes her want to cry. But this is about Jack right now. Alice wants to take care of Jack. So she swallows back her emotion. Keeps her eyes clear and fixed on him.

There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable in the set of them and his brows. So vulnerable, with her. Admitting this. Handing his trust over like that to her to, admitting how he would let her ruin his life, if she asked. It was too massive for Alice to hold in her head, but. She could handle it. She would be careful.

'And I don’t know if I know how to do it. Not alone.'

Alice feels a line form between her brows.

"Well. I think everyone in the world should want to see you happy." A swallow. "But ... I think I want it enough to count for a billion people."

Oh, Jack. Could he see it flickering in her eyes? That his pain hurt her more keenly than a deep gash?

"I want you to be so happy that I can feel it everywhere. I feel it here—" Alice points to the top of her sternum. "Here." Her finger points to the middle of her chest. "And ... here and here, too." Alice points to her throat, her abdomen.

As it much as it pained Alice to see him like this, resolve settled over her like a thick blanket of snow over the desert. He wouldn't have to do it alone. That was something she could, would ensure.

She stares at him, for another moment, memorizes the look on his face. Her thumb begins to trace a slow pattern around his wrist, and her other hand rises, rests in his hair and cards through it gently.

"Do you think you could be happy if you didn't have to do it alone?"

Jack waited, held his breath. He was ready. Whatever she asked of him, he would do it. It didn’t matter what it was. It’d feel like the easiest thing in the world — there was no doubt about it.

"….Why would you think that's what I want you to do?"

Alice was smiling at him, very softly, mentioning the beautiful things he’d told her, and this feeling in her chest. If it was anything like the one he was feeling — God help them both.

Alice had to set a boundary: she would never ask Jack to do that. It wasn’t what she wanted from him. In fact, the only thing she’d ever ask of him was … to be happy.

And it took Jack by surprise. It was difficult to hear because he was positive those words had never been uttered to Jack before. His parents certainly hadn’t said them. And Sophia? Well. Jack really didn’t want to compare, and he really wanted to stop thinking about the woman all together, but she would’ve taken Jack up on his offer. She would’ve asked him to resign from office, probably. She would’ve isolated him even further from his family.

Only — well. Jack would have never offered Sophia that kind of power. It was special. It required trust. Trust that he already felt for Alice, on the third day of knowing each other, and trust that he’d never felt with Sophia during their time together.

“Because no one has ever wanted that for me,” Jack admitted. He pressed his hand into her face tenderly, his eyes locked on hers. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Gaze intense. Gaze burning.

“To just be happy.”

Jack furrowed his brows. Another vulnerable admission.

“And I don’t know if I know how to do it. Not alone.”