#but i didn't have the opportunity to feel this heavy of a possible let down going from origins to 2

[malefilus]

I’m really sad about it but I really am not looking forward to the next Dragon Age game. All of the press and statements that have been released just feel like it’s gonna be a let down in one way or another. I understand that the company and devs want to draw in a wider audience and get more people interested in the series, but the statement of ‘you won’t need to play the first games to play this one’ really concerns me. As well as them saying the Inquisitor won’t be a huge factor nor will your (possible) romance with Solas? A huge part of why I personally was looking forward to this game was that tie in. That ending of will it be a bitter end truly or will there be a chance for some sort of happiness? I felt before the announcements a bigger sense of need to not mess up my choices. Now I just feel like it’s going to be a horrid let down and something that ties in poorly with not so great character development. I’m hoping I’m wrong but man, it really is looking like this isn’t going to be a game for the older fans.

[venileix]

𝜗𝜚 .Orange Jumpsuit

PAIRING: AJ x F!reader SYNOPSIS: AJ comes home with the jumpsuit tied around his waist, and with his tank top exposing his tattoos and muscles, you find yourself more attracted to him than ever before. WARNINGS: sexual content, oral (giving), Aj's crippling praise and ever so slight degradation kinks NOTES: MDNI!

⋆𝜗𝜚˚｡⋆

You knew AJ was stressed out about this job. They never did another job this fast after an old one, but he promised himself he'd go all in on this so he wouldn't have to get involved in that life for a long time.

You knew that even though he loved the thrill of a job, he was nervous about the lack of overall planning for this one.

Aj always made sure you were flown out of town with friends during his jobs, scared about anything happening to you, but with how sudden this opportunity arose, he had to settle on practically barricading you inside his apartment.

The two of you had been married for just over a year now, and he promised this was his last job.

As the sky grew darker, the abrupt sound of the lock of the door twisting brought your attention away from the dinner you were preparing.

As the door opened, you relaxed at the beeps of the alarm passcode being entered, knowing it was your husband.

Cutting the strawberries for the desert, you felt arms wrap around your waist, "What are you making?"

You gently place the knife down on the cutting board, twisting your body around in your husband's arms to face him.

"Your favorite," You grin, dragging your hands up his exposed arms to rest on his shoulders, "How is everything coming along?"

"All is going according to plan, don’t worry your pretty little head about any of that.” He only ever tells you the basic details of these jobs, not wanting to worry you about his safety.

Aj grinned reassuringly as he looked at the unconvinced look in your eyes. He knew you were concerned for how stressed out he's been lately, and he was starting to feel bad for making you worry.

"You're lucky you're hot," You roll your eyes at your husband playfully before trailing your eyes down his body.

He had that orange jumpsuit they were using as a disguise tied around his waist, exposing his white tank top and tattoos that lined his arms.

He stayed quiet, allowing you to bring your hands up to his hair, pushing some strands back as he looked down at you.

While you didn't mind his obsession over hats, you had always loved when he didn't wear them, so you can mess with his hair.

You brought your hands back down to his shoulders, fingers gently tracing his bicep where he had your name in cursive.

He got it the day before your wedding, surprising you with it on your wedding night. Needless to say, you gave him a nice surprise in return that night.

You can feel Aj's muscles flex under your touch, making you teasingly smirk as you slowly look back up to meet his eyes.

The moment your eyes meet his, his lips are on yours, and the hands that were wrapped around your waist pushed your hips into the counter.

You let him take the lead, tilting your head so he can kiss you deeper. Aj's hands find their way to your thighs, pulling your body closer to him, if that was even possible.

"Jump," His breath is hot against your lips, making your eyes flutter open, revealing his smug grin as he stared down at you through eyes heavy with desire.

The hands wrapped around the back of your thighs aided you as you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Aj pulled the two of you away from the kitchen, carrying you towards the plush couch in your living room.

Your usual cooking playlist played softly from the large TV on the wall, filling the air with soothing music.

He takes a seat in the middle of the couch, keeping you in his lap.

"I really like getting to see your tattoos like this," You stare down at Aj, watching him smirk at you admitting to your unhidden attraction to his body.

"I would hope so," his fingers rub circles at your hips, "You did half of them."

You subtly rock your hips forward, teasing the man under you as you press against him, "Well I think I made you look pretty damn hot."

He laughs at your words, gripping at your hips to continue making you grind down against him.

"It's all thanks to you, sweetheart." You giggle at his words, bringing your head down, placing soft kisses against his jaw, leading down his neck towards his collar bone.

He let out heavy breaths at the feeling of your lips on his skin mixed with the feeling of your cunt rocking against him.

You slowly pull away, looking at the beautiful man below you through half lidded eyes, a seductive smirk on your lips, "You seem pretty stressed out."

Aj's eyes follow your movements as you slowly lift yourself from his lap, moving his hands away from you as you now stand in front of him.

"Maybe I should help you with that," You can see his jaw clench as you lower yourself to your knees.

He was at a loss for words as you slowly untie the orange coveralls at his hips, pulling them down to reveal his black boxers.

"Look at this," You giggle at the sight of the wet spot on his boxers that showed his evident excitement, "So fucking desperate for me."

Your words were almost enough to make him lose his cool right then and there, but then, as you placed your palm against his bulge, he melted back into the couch, stuttering whatever he was about to say.

"So pathetic; you're so hard for me," You move your palm away from him, moving to pull down the waistband of his boxers, letting him spring free.

"You're so fucking beautiful, sweethear-" He cuts himself off abruptly with a moan as your lips wrap around his tip.

You suck gently, using your tongue to trace his slit, loving the sounds of his moans and whines.

"You're doing so amazing, darling," His voice is hoarse from the pleasure and the sight of you between his legs.

With the praise, you take more of him into your mouth, moaning at the way his tip hits the back of your throat as you feel his hand tangle itself in your hair.

"That's right," His grip on your hair tightens as you hollow out your cheeks around him, "Just like that, baby."

It was adorable to you how easily you can cause his undoing, how easy it was to make him melt in your hands.

You speed up your movements as you bob your head up and down, changing the pressure of your cheeks around him as you moved.

"Oh, baby," He's practically whimpering as he tugs at your hair, "Please don't stop, I'm so close."

It was like music to your ears, his begging tone making you want to never stop pleasing him.

In just a few more seconds, you feel his tip hit the back of your throat again, releasing his warm seed into your mouth, moaning as he feels your throat constrict with its natural instinct to swallow.

He panted as he pulled your mouth off of him, eyes staring down at you with the most loving look you've ever seen from anyone but him.

"So pretty with my cum down your throat." You both smirk at each other as you wipe your lips.

[cozyquinn]

Not bad, old man

Hopping on the older!eddie hype here, seeing as its the only thing I've been able to write anything for recently, bloody writer's block. I'm a sucker for age gap fics, so couldn't resist going for the upper end of the age gap here- Eddie is late 40s, reader is written to be 22-24 (these ages are not mentioned in the fic but they are the ones I had in mind when writing)

A/N: I've left reader's description as bare as possible, down to not specifying what clothes are worn by reader to make it as plausible as a self-insert as possible. I hope it doesn't retract any from the fic! Not 100% happy with this one, but hope it suffices!

I have since gone back through and amended parts that perhaps could have been thought through a little better and added bits in to smooth things out a bit!

Also, I do not give permission for my work to be replicated or reposted anywhere.

summary: When Eddie agrees to resume his place in Corroded Coffin for one night as a favour to Gareth, he doesn't expect the Hideout to offer an opportunity to go home with anyone, let alone the pretty girl half his age.

warnings: 18+ smut ahead, minors DNI. Blogs interacting with this work who do not have their age in bio will be blocked.

No established timeframe, NO established relationship, older!Eddie x fem!reader, NO use of Y/N

trigger warnings for: age gap, daddy kink, use of pet names (sweet thing, sweetheart, baby, baby girl), use of 'fetish' or kink related nicknames (Daddy, Sir), p in v intercourse, oral (f receiving, mention of m receiving) spanking with hand, choking aftercare at the end! Please let me know if you find any others, but also note that this list is not exhaustive- please consume content safely and cautiously! If you don't like this kind of content, please just scroll on!

Your sober mind does little to dull out the unpleasantness of the Hideout in all its stale and smoky glory. The unfamiliar surroundings and gawping eyes of older men have you shrinking into the peeling wallpaper.

Only here thanks to the lack of excitement anywhere else mid-week in Hawkins, Indiana, and the promise that the headlining bands didn't always suck, you settle yourself comfortably against the wall.

Swearing to yourself you'd stay sober tonight, you nurse a tepid Coke -if you could call it that- in your hands, the measly dash of ice now fully melted by the heat of your hands and the heavy smoker's breath filling the room; condensation on your glass matching the slow drip of perspiration at the nape of your neck, both cooling your skin some.

A murmured voice announces the headlining band of the night, and you watch as four older men bustle on to the stage; a concoction of greying hair and fading ink that adorns the skin on show.

The band's entrance is blighted somewhat by a commotion amongst the 18-strong crowd; an elderly patron being shooed from the bar for his rather chancey grope at the band's sole groupie's backside.

On the stage, Eddie shakes his head with a smirk, remarking to himself how some things never change. The wrinkles forming around his eyes deepen as he squints into the cheap fluorescent lights blaring down on him.

Breathing in the stale air of his old stomping ground offers him a little confidence, but doesn't mask the time passed since he was last here; reminiscing on days of shooting the shit until early hours and thrashing himself across the stage until his bones ached.

He scans the room finding mostly dull eyes, only partly bothered by the presence of the aged misfits readying their instruments; the overall response not helping to calm his nerves from years of avoiding any kind of stage presence. This appearance was just a favour to Gareth, after all.

That is, until his eyes fall on you tucked quietly to the side of the room. Entirely out of place, but a gracious reprieve from the groaning oldies giving Eddie an age complex in his forties.

He feels a pang, a warmth, radiating from you across the room; he shakes the years from his heavy shoulders, only breaking your eye contact with a confident wink in your direction.

You quirk a smile up at the older metalhead on stage, his eyes glinting back in amusement as his bandmate musters up an anticipatory drumroll behind him; the rumble sent out across the floor lit a flame of energy below your feet, the vibration coaxing boldness through your bones as you sway to the music.

You keep your eyes trained on him throughout the set, darting between the silver strands scattered throughout his brown curls, his strong hands adorned with rings commanding control over the slender neck of his guitar, and the snarling twitches of his lips as he belts out vocals.

In Eddie's mind, the set goes without a hitch- minus the few misplayed notes dotted here and there from a lack of recent practice. 'Not bad for an old timer, huh', he thinks to himself.

He sets down his guitar, letting the guys know he was heading to the bar to wetten his hoarse throat.

Despite his best efforts to resist temptation -to remind himself of his seniority- he finds himself veering towards you where you'd settled on the left side of the bar, taking in your misplaced youthfullness amongst heavy smoke and wrinkled skin.

He approaches you, announcing his presence to your turned back with a kind greeting to the bartender. You turn your head just as his palm gently brushes your shoulder.

"Hey there, sweet thing. Mind if I sit here?" He says, gesturing to the seat to your right.

"Go ahead" you nod, turning to face him as he settles onto the fraying fabric and creaking wood.

"Thanks doll, the name's Eddie"

He reaches for your hand, bringing your knuckles to his chapped lips; a blush rising from your chest as you garble out your own monicker with as much composure as you can muster. A tarnished ring catches your finger as he gently pulls his hand away, electricity seering through your palm in its wake.

"I see you stuck around for the set. What'dya think?" He keeps up the conversation, a warm smile never leaving his face.

"Yeah, I saw you up there. You were pretty good, for an old man" You quirk your shoulders, a sly grin gracing your soft features as you eye him up from your periphery; doing anything to force a calm facade amongst the flurry of entirely inappropriate thoughts breaching your mind as you eye him up close.

"Oh, low blow. You wound me sweetheart" He chuckles with a hand held mockingly to his chest, any suggestion of real hurt in his voice dampened by the deep-set grin adorning his face. He continues before you can respond.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing here, anyway? Would'na taken this place to be your kind of scene"

You shrug, dipping your head to focus in on your fingers fidgeting against the cup in your hands, doing your best to hide your blush from his attentive eyes.

"I guess I was just looking for something different. I'm sick of all those hyped up bars charging twice the price and offering glorified karaoke as headline bands, you know?" You say, a mischievous glint in your eye as you watch him through your eyelashes.

This earns you a deep chuckle, the gruffness settling heavily on your chest and lighting a warmth under your skin.

"Yeah, I get that" he nods, his eyes squinting in thought for a second.

"Uh, can I get you a drink? Least I could do since you stuck around for the whole set?" Eddie's eyes light up at his own gentle humour, a kind smile settled on his lips to keep you sweet.

Smiling sweetly in thanks for the offer, you reply.

"Oh, I'm not drinking tonight. Not alcohol anyway, just sticking to whatever sugar saturated crap this is supposed to be."

You raise your half-full cup to him with a laugh, trying desperately to ignore the throb settling between your thighs with each look he sends your way.

He laughs deeply, nodding understandingly at your response. He shifts on his seat, his calloused fingers reaching to scratch at the base of his neck.

"I forgot how humid this damn place gets" His voice is hoarse with age and strain but smoothens out with a cough.

He stands, shrugging off his thinning red flannel to reveal a plethora of faded ink dotted down his arms. Your eyes settle on the slightly blownout bats rounding his forearm; wondering what else could be hiding beneath the black shirt left hugging his torso.

Your heart thumps a little harder as your eyes scan out wider, along his broad shoulders and down towards his covered navel. The heavy breath leaving your lips thickens the air around you, winding around your throat in a way you imagine Eddie's rough hand would.

You're cruelly brought out of your thoughts by the sound of Eddie's voice above you.

"Hey darlin', you got a lil bit'a drool right-" he pauses, bringing his forefinger to the corner of his upturned mouth and brushing the greying fuzz above his lip.

You bring your hand up to your face with speed, frantically wiping and prodding at your lips; your mind burning with embarassment, your cunt betraying you with a clench.

He leans down, the scratch of salt and pepper scruff along his jawline tickling your cheek as his supple lips tease the shell of your ear. A gentle whisper sending a flush from your cheeks to your gently throbbing cunt.

"I'm just teasing ya, sweetheart" He takes a small breath before continuing.

"But don't think I haven't seen you eyeing me up. Didn't your daddy ever tell you it was rude to stare?"

His words punch a gasp from your chest, and his sly grin darkens the red tinge adorning your cheeks.

With eyes wide and pupils blown, you lean back. Your mouth agape, lips lightly trembling, as you search your clouded brain desperately for a response.

Eddie beats you to it, his right hand now gently approaching your cheek, his forefinger outstretched to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear; the clench of your thighs doesn't go unnoticed.

A quiet whimper leaves your lips as he brings you closer, his rough palm now caressing your neck. His thumb gently rubs along the vein pulsing through your skin, applying enough pressure to have your eyes fluttering closed and your hands reaching up to his tousled curls for purchase.

Without a second thought, your lips are on his. Chapped against smooth, you taste a hint of settled smoke and mint. You deepen the kiss, wanting to taste more of him. His rough tongue fights with yours, experience overpowering desperation.

His hands map out the path of your body, cupping and pinching in all the right places before they settle on your ass. Experienced fingers pressing into your flesh with a delicious sting, soothed by the lick of cool metal. His lips leave yours as he trails kisses along your chin, suckling a sweet red bud into your skin where your neck meets your jaw.

His mind fights an internal battle. He knows better, you've got to be at least half his age, but the aching pulse from his cock wins over.

"How about I show you what this old man can do, huh?" He growls into your ear, pulling you up onto your tiptoes as he nuzzles his strong nose into your throat.

You squeak out a "yes", the word drawling into a squeal when his teeth nip at your soft skin.

"Was hopin' you'd say that"

With that, he's leading you towards the door, leaving behind any semblance of your control and the now-flat cola you placed clumsily onto the bar.

Your feet stumble slightly underneath you as you try to keep up. The thrash of your thighs against each other with each small misstep eliciting a feeble whine from your lips.

Disregarding the call from Gareth across the room, Eddie thrusts you both out into the crisp air; gently draping the thin material of his flannel over your shoulders as he leads you to his van parked in the lot just a few feet from the door.

Throwing himself into the drivers seat with an urgency he thought he lost in his thirties, Eddie starts the engine and whips the van out of the lot quicker than your hazy mind can keep up with.

Your pulse races to the thrum of the engine, Eddie's hand squeezing your supple thigh leaves you twitching and aching for more; thanking all that's holy for the short distance between the Hideout and Eddie's trailer when he parks up.

He helps you out of his van, his arm flexing around your waist as he half-carries you to the threshold of his front door; swinging it open gently with the rattle of rusting keys.

"Sorry sweetheart. It ain't much, but it's mine" he murmurs, lightly gesturing to the small space of his living room.

You shake your head, a whispered reassurance of his home's perfection slipping through the crack of your swollen lips, you grasp his forearms with desperation, hoping he'll feel the throb of your hole through your hands.

Eddie seems to get the message, pointing in the direction of his room, sealing his promise of joining you in a moment with a kiss.

You rush to his room, peeling your outer layers of clothing from your body, fondling your breasts and teasing the slope of your hips as you go. Unclasping your bra, you toy with the straps in a teasing game, edging yourself with fingertip caresses against your skin.

A hungry grunt behind you grabs your attention, halting your sweet touches. You turn, gently circling your shoulders to tease away the straps sitting pretty on your clavicle.

You spread your arms out infront of you, sending your bra tumbling to the floor; a gentle request for closeness, your skin screaming to be touched.

Standing in just his underwear, Eddie's eyes trace your figure from top to bottom, his chapped lips being soothed with the brush of his tongue across them; you parallel his softness with a harsh bite to your bottom lip as your eyes follow the path of his tattoos to the bulge tenting his boxers.

The only reminder of his age sits at the edge of his eyes, the lines there softening his rugged look. He gives you little time to admire his mature but toned body as, with a feralness you've never before experienced, Eddie has you pinned to the bed.

His hips hold yours to the mattress, the giration of his pelvis offering sweet, agonising relief to your swollen clit through the layers of fabric.

He pulls away, planting hot kisses down your body with a desperation unmatched, the tickle of coarse stubble against your skin soothed by the drag of his warm tongue.

As he reaches the peak of your mound, your jittering hands inch down to circle your thumbs across his cheeks. His deep brown eyes settle on you, committing your vulnerable beauty to memory.

Your fingers loop through his hair, his silver curls adorning your digits like delicate rings as you rut your hips towards him. A sweet whine is all it takes to beckon the touch of his thick fingers through the cotton modesty of your panties.

You writhe and whine, begging for more; the blush of your cunt calling to his cock like a siren's song to a sailor. A slow stream of arousal fills your panties, hollowing the material to show the empty clench of your heat.

"Please Daddy"

It's barely a whisper but Eddie hears it, clear as a bell. His eyes widen for a moment, mirroring your disbelief at the words uttered from your mouth, before he's smirking into your clammy skin.

"What was that baby? Want to repeat that for me?"

You whine, shaking your head as your desperation fights shame. You squeeze your eyes shut and plead, "please Daddy, need you"

He smirks to himself. Whispering so low you'll never hear, "Daddy kink, huh. Should've guessed that one".

Raising his voice enough to flood your senses, his words ring out.

"Sweet little girl wants more, huh?" The smirk evident in his words.

He settles a rugged finger under your chin to coax your gaze back up to his, holding you there whilst you squirm; tears brimming your stinging eyelids.

"No need to cry sweetheart, Daddy's got you" he promises with a gentle tug and pull at the waistband of your panties until they hang idly from your ankle.

He wastes no time in blessing your bundle of nerves with his experienced tongue, branding the Munson name into your skin amongst calculated figure-of-eights.

You sob sweet nothings into the heavy air as his fingers breach the cusp of your entrance. His free hand takes purchase of your chin, curling you in on yourself to watch as the tattoos decorating his knuckles disappear into your heat with a squelch.

The cold sear of his rings against your sore folds has you hissing under your breath; each plunge of his fingers offering a new sweet wetness over the shimmering metal.

You beg to repay the favour, offering him your desperate mouth, as a blinding pressure builds in your core. He reassures you "next time baby", as you soak his fingers, extinguishing the flame of the inked candle on his middle finger with your wet.

Leaving you no time to regain your breath, his mouth is on your lips, your cheeks, your throat. Plump lips caressing your skin as the throbbing head of his cock kisses your entrance.

You whine as he enters you, the stretch unholy as you adjust to his size. His heavy balls rest against your pert arse and his hazy smile tells you he's exactly where he wants to be.

"That's it baby girl. Feels good, huh? Old man still got it?"

He taunts you with your earlier jabs. The curve of his cock relentlessly prodding at your aching walls, sweetening the sting of his jeering.

Flashes of white appear in your vision with each harsh thrust of his hips and snarl from his chest, and you grind your hips further down on to his pulsing cock.

You nod frantically to answer his question, your hands caressing his still-soft skin before puncturing your nails through the swell of his shoulders.

His desperation starts to show, his calloused hands slipping beneath your backside to hold your hips at an angle. His tip kisses your cervix, punching harsh moans from your chest as his thrusts start to falter.

"Gonna cum, sweetheart. Tell me where you want it"

Your head lolls back as you whimper a pathetic "inside me Daddy, please", your own words driving you over the edge to your honey-sweet climax as you quiver beneath him.

His cock throbs inside you, each flex against your walls sending aftershocks through your spent body. His forehead rests against your breasts, both of you rapidly chasing steady breath. As you calm down, he gently removes himself from you, rubbing soothing circles into your hips to lessen the sting.

"I'll be right back babygirl", he whispers into your cheek with a kiss, leaving the room momentarily to grab a damp cloth to clean you up.

You turn to him once the rise and fall of your chest has steadied, your bleary eyes finding adoration staring back. He smiles widely at you as he pulls you in close to his side, but you're the first to speak.

"You okay?", you ask quietly with a smile, not wanting to disturb the moment.

"More than okay. How you holdin' up, sweetheart?"

You only nod in response, your gentle eyes reassuring him that you were doing just fine.

His smile widens, a mischievous glint taking form as your eyes flutter closed.

He chuckles to himself, the vibration of his chest caressing your cheek as his gruff voice fills the air again.

"Not bad for an old man, huh?"

[livelaughlovesubs]

Yandere fyodor

Dom!Reader x sub!fyodor

Nini!rant: Pretty sfw tbh, the ask was Fyodor getting pinned down by reader. Him not being able to concentrate cuz he liked the view of us on top too much.

Thud, a loud noise echoed through the dimly lit room. A low groan following shortly after, “ugh-” it was painful, his head crashed against the floor so harshly. Before he could compose himself, he felt the control of his body slipping from him. Someone was holding his wrists above his head, preventing him from escaping. You were the one who restricted him, you, his love of his life.

Ah..what a magnificent view, your firm hands holding his delicate body down, the closeness of your two bodies causing him to feel your heat. Fyodor could feel a sudden blood rush course through his veins, eyes melting at the view of you hovering above him. One of your legs landed between his legs, causing him to shiver every so slightly. Bottom lips trembling in anticipation, eagerly awaiting your next movements. He was just so smitten with you. Your scent, the warmth radiating from you, the painful ache on his wrists… too good to be true. Finally you were reacting to his antics, he has been pursuing you forever~

Heavy panting as he furrowed his brows, body shaking slightly while he admired you. So hot, so cool, so sexy, so handsome, so pretty so- addicting oh he could write an entire book about you, and make it a series. It was so worth it to kill your enemies, this was heaven, a blessing from above. He wanted to be yours, he wanted you to own him and no one else. Oh god, out of all those people, you choose him. So now he belongs to you, you can't have anyone else but him, don't give your attention to anyone else, he is yours just as how you are his now. Take responsibility, take care of him you have to it's only fair!

Tausends of thoughts are pestering his brain, he was thinking about all the possible scenarios that could happen now. Just the sight of you on top was enough to make him hard, bottom lips trembling as his body shuddered. I love you, I love you, I love you so much, please, l'm yours, please, don't you see? I'm the only one who can make you happy, I can make you feel so good, please I love you, it's hurts so bad I want you, I need you, I'd do anything one chance one chance one chance oh please!'

Hectic and sanity breaking thoughts were filling his head, he wasn't by his right mind, there was no way he was. Everything you said falling on deaf ears, just watching your angry expression was getting him hot. He was so close, normally he only got to watch you from a distance but now you were touching him even. Oh please, please! To die at your hands, that sounds like a gift from the heavens. Please die for him, he wants to keep you with him forever. You claimed him, you took him and now you own him. It's all your fault that he is like this, it's your fault, yours only yours. If only you weren't so enticing, if only you didn't put a spell on him and his body. Just please let him be yours, acknowledge his love for you~!

"Fyodor, fyodor! Fuck, you aren't even listening. Get of your high horse, you disgusting rat. I have to beat some fucking manners into that brain of yours don't I?" You were so furious, why did he have to annoy you so much, getting on your nerves at every opportunity. The grip tightened unknowingly to you, all while grinding your teeth furiously. He got snapped out of his thoughts, but the gaze he wore soon returned to his previous revolting one, “Yes, please do… hit me all you want, I crave it.” Now you were the one who was shocked, taken aback by this sudden confession. “What?” This was rather a question you mumbled to yourself, but he answered you anyway, “i belong to you, you own me, it’s only fair that I’m obedient.” his voice was weirdly sweet, as if he was cooing at you, though it was by no means pleasant. Never would you have guessed that this was his intention from the very start, even if it was obvious. Because now that you think about it, it made sense, especially those fierce eyes he had, the way he looked at you with an emotion strong enough to make you have goosebumps. “You- you are sick.” You said, a wave of nausea hit you while you let go of him. This was sick, truly, it was off putting and any other synonyms you couldn’t think of right now. The man in front of you sit up, those violet pupils staring into yours with twisted desires hidden behind them. He used a gentle yet menacing tone as one line after another spilled from his lips, “Come on, didn’t you want to make me pay? Do whatever you wish, I am yours after all.”

[queenshelby]

The Price for Fame (Part One)

Pairing: Dark!Cillian Murphy x Innocent!Reader

Warning: Manipulation, Infidelity, Smut, Dub-Con, Age-Gap, Cillian is being a bully in this one. It's pure filth.

Just last month, you turned eighteen and moved to Los Angeles to pursue your acting career.

With the help of your friend, Florence Pugh, you scored a role in a new movie which was produced by several big names in the industry, including 48-year-old Oscar winner Cillian Murphy.

Bold enough to believe that life as an acclaimed actress could be yours, you traded the innocence of a rural and religious upbringing for this glitzy haven where fame and glamour wove a pernicious network but it did not take long for things to fall out of place when you screwed up big time on set.

The embarrassment settled in like a slow, tormenting burn as you messed up your lines during a critical emotional scene as much as ten times, causing the shoot to be cut off momentarily. The director, Damien Chazelle, tried to hold his composure but the frustration simmered below the surface. You knew already that he had it out for you, wanting another actress to take your space, and your failure to perform this scene was simply the last straw for him and possibly the end of your career. 

Thus, a quick huddle of the film's top players led to Cillian pulling you aside.

"Let's have a chat," he said coolly, those famous blue eyes impaling you with a steely glare. It was more of a command than an invitation.

"Sure, Cillian. I am so sorry about what happened on set," you stammered, knowing what this was going to be about. 

He was one of the producers of the movie and it was his investment at stake, so you cut right to the chase, "I know you're disappointed but I swear it won't happen again. Anything you want me to do, I just want another chance."

Cillian studied your face for a beat, his blue eyes so piercing you thought he could see right down into the depths of your very soul.

"Let's talk in my trailer, Y/N," he finally said, and began striding off and you followed close behind, unsure of what to expect once you entered his inner sanctum. 

"Listen, I'm getting some heat thanks to you," he began as he sat down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his bent knees. "Damien wants  you out and I'm getting slammed on all sides for not firing you."

"Listen, I'm getting some heat thanks to you," he began as he sat down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his bent knees. "Damien wants  you out and I'm getting slammed on all sides for not firing you."

Your heart dropped into your stomach, the implications clear as day. You had to somehow atone for the massive screw-up on set and convince Cillian that you were still a valuable part of this project.

"Please, just tell me what to do and I'll do it," you said, looking him straight in the eye. "I can't afford to lose this opportunity. I'll do whatever it takes."

The words hung heavy in the air and Cillian seemed to consider them before finally responding.

"Whatever it takes, huh?" Cillian repeated, as if mulling over your words. His gaze never left yours, and the intensity of it made you squirm in your seat. "Well, you are a young and attractive woman, Y/N and we could, potentially, come to some kind of arrangement that would keep you employed on this film."

The implications of his words sent a shock through your system. Was he suggesting what you thought he was suggesting?

"What... what kind of arrangement?" you stammered, hating how weak you sounded but unable to control it.

Cillian leaned back in his seat now, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, I think you know."

You shook your head in confusion. You didn't though, not really.

But the way Cillian was looking at you, like you were some sort of puzzle to be figured out, made you feel exposed and vulnerable.

"You need to be more specific," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Cillian leaned forward again; his gaze unwavering. "Alright then. Let me be clear. I want to have you in my bed, every night, sometimes even during the day, until we are done filming," Cillian said, his gaze intense.

"What?" you exclaimed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You want me to, uhm, like have sex with you?" you asked and Cillian nodded almost bluntly.

Your mind raced as you tried to process his words. Was this some kind of joke? It had to be, right? Except Cillian's expression was completely serious.

"I don't understand," you said finally, your voice shaking. "Why would you want that? You are married and I am much younger than you," you protested, still reeling from his outlandish request.

Cillian sighed and rubbed his temples before looking back at you. "I am married but my wife is not here, and I do have needs, so this seems like an easy solution for me. Plus, I won't deny that I find you attractive," he told you and you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. This was not what you had expected when you agreed to come to his trailer. Your mind raced as you tried to come up with a response that wouldn't ruin your career completely.

"I am flattered but I have a boyfriend and we were waiting until marriage, so I have never been intimate with anyone," you told Cillian, hoping that would put an end to this conversation. But instead of appearing taken aback, Cillian seemed almost pleased by this revelation.

"Really?" he said, with a cunning smile before carrying on. "Well, I can be gentle and, as I see it, no one needs to know about this arrangement. Not your boyfriend, not my wife, and especially not anyone on set," Cillian leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.  His piercing blue eyes bore into you, softening just slightly.

"I don't know. I don't think I can do this," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was still racing, and your mind was swirling with indecision. On one hand, you couldn't afford to lose this opportunity, and on the other, you couldn't imagine betraying your boyfriend like this.

Cillian leaned back in his seat, studying you for a moment before speaking. "Look, Y/N, I understand your hesitation, but this is purely a business arrangement," Cillian said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to persuade you.

A silence fell between the two of you as you contemplated his words. The dilemma wrestling within you was palpable, the weight of the decision threatening to crush you.

His voice broke through the silence once more, "Think about it, Y/N. You need this role, and I need... well, I need something else."

Cillian's words lingered in the air, making you uncomfortable, and the thought of betraying your boyfriend's trust made your stomach churn.

"Okay, but you have to wear a condom and no kissing," you finally agreed, trying to put in some boundaries.

Cillian's face lit up with excitement as if he had just won a jackpot, but he quickly hid it with a mask of composure. "Of course, Y/N. Whatever makes you comfortable."

You felt violated by the sudden power shift, but you couldn't deny that Cillian was offering you a lifeline, an opportunity to save yourself from drowning in the cutthroat industry of Hollywood. You had come too far to throw it all away for principles that seemed so trivial now.

"Tonight, 8 o'clock at my house, wear something nice," Cillian instructed, before dismissing you with a wave.

The audacity of it all left you breathless. In no universe did you imagine that your innocence would be the currency for maintaining employment in this industry. Yet, here you were, walking away from his trailer, carrying the burden of a secret agreement that clashed heavily with your very soul.

***

Eight o'clock came around soon enough, and after hours of overthinking, you stood by Cillian's front door, wearing an elegant red dress and high heels. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you hesitated for a moment, hesitant to knock.

Cillian answered the door with a seductive smirk on his face. "Right on time," he drawled. His gaze raked over you, leaving a trail of discomfort in its wake. You murmured a soft greeting and stepped inside.

The terrace he was staying it for the duration of filming was nice, tastefully decorated and obviously very expensive.

Cillian led you to the living room where he handed you a glass of wine and whilst you did not usually drink alcohol, you decided tonight was different. You needed to calm your nerves and calm down your inhibitions. 

As you sipped on the red liquid, he gave you a tour of his house and, without losing too much time, he led you to his bedroom.

"Let's get this over with," you gasped quietly, trying to sound confident but your trembling voice betrayed your true emotions.

"Eager are we?" Cillian chuckled as you put down your half-finished wine and sat down on the edge of the mattress, noticing a packet of condoms and a bottle of lubricant on the nightstand.

"No, like I said, I just want to get this over with," you reiterated, biting your lower lip nervously. "I don't want this, but you do, and I want to keep my job, so let's just make this quick," you added, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Alright then," Cillian chuckled, that smug grin still on his face as he moved closer to you. Without losing any time, he pulled his t-shirt over his head before slowly undoing his belt. 

"Why don't you get down on to your knees and get me hard , hmm?" Cillian suggested, the lascivious look in his eyes causing you to shudder.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling repulsed at the idea of going down on him but before you could protest, he grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at him. "Don't pretend you don't want this," he growled, his hot breath on your face making you cringe.

"Okay," you nodded reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You sunk down to your knees on the plush carpet, feeling completely degraded and humiliated. You could feel the bile rising in your throat as you looked up at him, his crotch directly in front of your face.

Cillian's face was smug as he unzipped his jeans, tugging them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, already semi-hard and pointing directly at your face.

"Go on then," he commanded gruffly, unaware that you had never done this before either. 

But you knew you couldn't refuse him. Not if you wanted to keep your job and avoid any negative consequences.

So with shaking hands, you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft.

Cillian let out a low moan as you began to stroke him, your grip tight as you moved your hand up and down his length.  Your heart was pounding in your chest, and every movement made your stomach churn.

But you knew this was the price of maintaining your career, so you forced yourself to continue. 

Pre-cum glistened on the tip of his cock, an indication of his growing arousal and, even though you did not know what it was, you pulled away slightly.

"Now be a good girl for me and open your mouth ," Cillian demanded.

You hesitated again, feeling even more repulsed by the request. But you knew there was no room for hesitation or resistance, not if you wanted to keep your job and avoid any negative consequences. So, with trembling lips, you parted your mouth as wide as you could, trying to suppress the sick feeling rising up in your stomach.

"Now stick out your tongue," he ordered.

You did as you were told, sticking out your tongue and closing your eyes which is when Cillian collected some of his pre-cum with his index finger and smeared it on to your tongue.

You opened your eyes , still trembling as you stared up at him, hating every moment of this degradation. Cillian just smiled down at you before nodding for you to continue.

You reluctantly wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, wincing as the taste of salt and bitter muskiness filled your mouth. 

Cillian then grabbed a fistful of your hair, using it to guide his cock deep into your mouth. He pushed it in farther than you expected, causing you to gag.

"You're going to have to relax and take it all in," he said, his tone cruel and condescending. "Otherwise we're never going to get anywhere."

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit as you felt his cock hit the back of your throat.

"Sshh , deep breaths," Cillian cooed softly, tugging on your hair as he pulled his hips back and thrust forward again.

You kept your breathing steady and shallow, trying to prevent yourself from gagging on his length. Tears streamed down your cheeks as Cillian's rhythm grew quicker. He groaned with pleasure, his grip on your hair tightening.

Suddenly he pulled out of you, and the sudden emptiness caused relief to flood through you.

"I want you on all fours now, baby," Cillian growled, his voice husky with lust. "That way, I can see how your virgin hole stretches around my cock when I stick it in there."

You swallowed hard, feeling scared but still you complied. You reluctantly positioned yourself on all fours, your heart pounding in your chest as Cillian reached for the condom packet and lubrication.

Cillian tore open the condom packet with his teeth, rolling it down his hard shaft before squeezing out a generous amount of lubrication onto his fingers. He traced them teasingly over your dry folds, causing you to flinch at the unfamiliar touch.

"Please, just get it over with," you whimpered, your voice trembling as you braced yourself for the excruciating pain of losing your virginity.

Cillian chuckled at your eagerness, but you could hear the sarcasm behind it. "So eager to give up that sweet little cherry of yours, huh?" he asked as he positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock brushed up against your entrance.

"This might hurt a little, but I want you to relax and let me in," he said as he began to push himself inside of you.

You couldn't help but let out a loud gasp as the burning sensation of pain spread throughout your entire body. You couldn't believe that you were actually doing this, allowing yourself to be used like this, for nothing but your career.

"Just breathe," Cillian whispered in your ear as he continued to push deeper inside of you.

You felt him bottom out inside of you, and the feeling of fullness was almost too much to bear.

But before you could say anything, he began to thrust in and out of your tight hole, the friction causing a burning sensation to radiate throughout your body.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Cillian groaned, his hips snapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. You couldn't help but let out a loud gasp every time he entered you, feeling every inch of him as he stretched you open.

Sweat dripped down Cillian's forehead, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he continued to pound into you.

"And you are going to have that cock of mine inside you every day now," Cillian grunted, his voice hoarse as he continued to pump in and out of you.  His words made you feel dirty and cheap, but there was nothing you could do to stop him. You were trapped in this situation, trapped in this twisted arrangement between a successful actor and a desperate young actress trying to make it in Hollywood.

Cillian reached between your legs, his fingers finding your clit as he began to circle and rub, causing you to moan involuntarily. The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming, making it hard for you to catch your breath.

You came, fast, and then you were in a state of shock, unable to fully comprehend what was happening to you. The man behind you, Cillian, continued to thrust into you with no mercy, his balls slapping against your clit with each pump. His fingers were still manipulating your delicate button, and the combined sensations were building up deep within your core.

Cillian grunted, his pace increasing. You could feel his cock swell inside of you as he approached his own climax.

He then groaned loudly, his fingers digging into your hips as he slammed into you with a final thrust. You could feel him pulsating inside of you, the condom filling with his hot seed.

Soon after that, Cillian withdrew from you, and your body ached with the emptiness. He tossed the used condom to the side before collapsing onto the bed next to you.

"You impressed me tonight," Cillian said breathlessly as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

His body was slick with sweat, and his cock was still semi-hard against your thigh.

"I had to," you muttered, pulling away from his embrace. You couldn't bear the thought of being close to him after what just transpired between you.

Cillian chuckled softly, his breath hot against your neck. "I know, and I'm grateful," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss on the curve of your shoulder.

"I want you to go on the pill," he said, his voice firm. "I can't be bothered with condoms all the time, and I want to feel you bare. Can you do that for me?"

His request caught you off guard, but you didn't protest. You were already in too deep, and a part of you wanted to give him what he wanted.

"Okay," you murmured softly.

Cillian smiled at your response, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare thigh.

"Good girl," he whispered approvingly, before pulling you close for another bruising kiss before leaving you to clean yourself up and head back home.

Tags:

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[orions-choker]

Hiii can I request sharing a bed with 80’s Kirk and Jason and they fight for your affections before realizing that they can just share you??

In The Middle ( Jason x Reader x Kirk )

Warnings: Threesome, Face-fucking, Unprotected Sex.

Word Count: 3,247

(Sorry this took so long to get to! Also I realize now that you didn't explicitly request smut but that's all this is so woops! If you would like something SFW please shoot me another request)

“So who’s bright idea was it to only book two rooms?” James growled, breaking the thick tension that had settled amongst the group. The five of them stood in the mostly empty hotel lobby, body’s slack from the exhaustion settling deep into their bones. 

The bright fluorescent lights overhead had Y/N wincing, she could feel the tension coiling at the front of her head. “One of the roadies, it doesn’t fucking matter man lets just figure out who’s sleeping where.” She stumbled backwards into one of the old armchairs. Her fingers rubbing at her temples to ease the growing pain. 

There were some more dissatisfied rumblings amongst the boys. They hadn’t been forced to share a room in a while, and while they could normally afford to book an extra couple rooms had this occurred, the hotel was fully booked. “So we have to split into a group of three and a group of two.” Kirk, the only voice of reason at the moment, spoke up. “I call dibs on Jason.” 

Jason’s brow raised curiously. “I mean I’m flattered but why?” He asked, shuffling the weight of his bag from one shoulder to the other. His eyes darted towards where Y/N sat. The obvious choice would be to pick her as a roommate. 

A childhood friend of Lars’s Y/N had started tagging along on the tours as a sound tech. She had grown increasingly close with all the boys, particularly Kirk and Jason. Possibly because they weren’t the only ones actively trying to sleep with her at every opportunity. It had been a band decision to keep her on their personal bus. 

“Because the other two smell like booze and won’t shut the fuck up.” Y/N filled in helpfully, standing back up. “Which is why I’m choosing you guys as well, that settles it. They can share the other room.” She hoisted her bag up, wandering towards the elevator. 

Lar’s and James shared a disappointed look. “That’s not fair I’ve known you the longest, shouldn't you want to room with me?” Lars trailed after her, offense dripping from his slightly slurred words. She didn’t dignify the outburst with a response. 

 With a chime the elevator doors popped open. The five of them piled inside, bodies pressed together as they shoved inside the cramped space. Y/N had been shoved to the front, pressed against the doors by James' much larger body caged around her. Her elbow rocketed back into his stomach, forcing him further away from where he had pressed into her back. There was a soft grunt but no other protest. 

Bidding their farewells to each other in the hallway Y/N turned to the waiting door of their room. She fumbled with the key tiredly before heaving the heavy door open. “I call dibs on the shower first.” The door to the bathroom closed behind her and nearly instantaneously the shower rumbled to life. 

As the two boys entered the room Kirk groaned. “Fuck seriously, there’s not even two beds.” He walked around the king sized bed, dropping his bag on the floor unceremoniously. “Jase check if the sofa pulls out into a bed.” He nodded towards the couch behind him. 

Jason nodded, moving to tug the cushions off the couch in search of a lever to pull it out. He turned to Kirk with a frown and a shake of his head. “We’re just gonna have to make due.” The bed sprawled out, large enough to fit the three of them comfortably but there would certainly be no personal space. 

“One of us could sleep on the floor.” Kirk offered helpfully, already stripping down to his underwear and sitting on the edge of the bed. With the hair tie around his wrist he pulled his curls back into a low ponytail. 

Following suit Jason slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms, leaving his chest bare. Typically he would sleep in the same amount of clothes but he figured he would be courteous for Y/N’s sake. He cocked an eyebrow at Kirk, eyeing his nearly naked state. “Well if you aren’t going to put on any clothes you're volunteering right. Don’t think Y/N deserves to be subjected to your dick pressed against her all night.” 

Kirk scoffed at him. “As if dude.” Despite that he reached down into his bag, pulling a pair of shorts out. “Let her choose who sleeps on the floor then.” He grumbled, clearly annoyed from being over tired. He grabbed the remote on the side table, flipping through the channels until he landed on a movie marathon of sorts. 

The two boys sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the sound of the running water to cease. The room filled with steam as Y/N stepped out dressed in an oversized shirt as a nightgown, stopping just at mid thigh. Her hair falling in damp ringlets down her back. “You guys are still awake?” She asked confused, ruffling her head with a towel before tossing it into the laundry hamper. 

“Waiting for you.” Jason coughed awkwardly, forcibly dragging his eyes from her bare legs to her face. “There’s only one bed so uh, which one of us do you think should take the floor?” He asked. His leg bounced nervously. 

She turned to the large bed then back to the boys confused. “Seems big enough for all of us, don’t you think?” Her bottom lip jutted out into a pout. “I mean if not I can sleep on the floor I guess.” She shrugged crawling onto the mattress. Her shirt slipped higher up her thighs as she moved to the middle.

Kirk’s mouth went dry, stuttering over his words as he joined her on the bed. “I mean we just thought, never mind.” He shook his head. He waited for a hesitant Jason to join on the other side before leaning over to flip the light off. 

The room was cascaded in darkness, the three of them tucked cozily between the sheets. Y/N turned on her side facing Kirk in the darkness, her leg tossed across his casually. The skin to skin contact sent a shiver up his spine. It left her back pressed against Jason's chest. 

There was a gentle tug at her waist as Jason snaked his arm around carefully, pulling her closer to him. The sudden loss of contact didn’t go unnoticed by Kirk. Frowning he hooked his leg around hers once more to keep her in place. “Okay guy’s knock it off im not a fucking rag doll.” She sighed. Her disappointment echoed off the walls. She felt Jason mold himself to her from behind, his body heat radiating around her comfortably. 

“Well I don't understand why Jason gets to have you all to himself.” Kirk whined attempting to tug the girl once more, meeting resistance. Y/N could see the annoyed look on his face and she groaned. 

She pushed Jason’s arms from her waist shuffling over. “I'm not dealing with this unless you guys learn how to stop acting idiots.” She curled in on herself, shutting her eyes in a last ditch attempt to sleep. 

There was a gentle ghosting of a hand across her waist, she couldn’t tell who it was. “Listen I know how to share, Kirk’s the one who needs to learn.” Jason’s voice was low in her ear. She could surmise it was him leaving the teasing touches across her skin. 

There was a sudden extra set of hands on her, moving up from her stomach and coming to rest just beneath her breasts. Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat at the bold move. “I know how to share.” Kirk’s sweet boyish voice sounded a little more needy, desperate. 

Y/N sat up, knocking the hands away from her body. “When did I say anything about sharing?” She glared at the two, her eyes adjusted to the dark just enough to make out their forms. “Last I checked I wasn’t a toy, nor did I agree to fuck either of you.” She scoffed angrily. She shuffled up to her knees. “Maybe if you asked nicely.” 

The speed at which the two boys sat up was amusing, earning them a giggle from her. Even in the dark she could make out the silhouettes of the matching tent’s in both of their pants. Kirk was tugging her forward, his hands gripping into the flesh of her thighs so that she was hovering over his lap, Jason was behind her quickly, pushing the fabric of her shirt up over her hips and exposing her underwear. “You mean it?” Jason asked, his lips ghosting across the outer shell of her ear. 

Kirk stared up at her in amazement as she swiftly tugged her shirt over her head. Her tits falling with a small bounce as she freed them from the fabric. She reached behind her, tugging Jason’s hand forward to feel the warmth radiating from her core. “What do you think?” She whispered, letting out a content sight as Kirk’s hands came to rest on her chest. 

“Fuck, you’re pretty.” Kirk groaned, his thumbs playfully rolling over the hardened nubs of her nipples. “You really want to take both of us?” Unable to hide the eagerness in his voice. Jason’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of her underwear, his fingers sliding between her wet folds, gathering the slickness between his fingers. 

Her legs shuddered at the sudden touches, head tossing back against Jason’s shoulder with a moan. He took the opportunity to latch himself to the exposed skin of her neck. “F-fuck, yeah wanted you both for awhile now.” She gasped, her hands gripping onto Kirk's wrists gently. 

With a wet pop Jason pulled off her neck, lapping gently at the bruise he had formed there. “Tell us, how did you think about us fucking you baby?” He asked sweetly. His fingers found her clit, rubbing slow circles causing her stomach to convulse and tighten. 

Beneath her Kirk rolled his hips, The hard head of his cock straining against his pajamas as he rubbed up into her. A sweet whine filled the air as Y/N leaned into the eager touches across her body. “Oh,” She breathed out heavily. “Want you in my mouth.” She said locking eyes with the boy beneath her, her nails dragging down his arms leaving light pink scratches across his tanned skin. 

Her head craned to the side, capturing Jason’s lips against her own for a fleeting moment. “And you from behind.” She whispered, her breath ghosting across his skin. In one swift movement Jason had tugged her back, his hand splaying heavy across her skin as he pushed her forwards. 

She was left with her ass in the air, face pressed into Kirk's hip bone as her fingers scrambled against the sheets trying to steady herself. She laughed breathily at the eagerness. The skin was cold against her ass as the fabric of her underwear was tugged down her thighs. Her gaze drifted upwards, locking onto a wide eyed Kirk. 

“You gonna blow him or what?” Jason sighed from above the two of them, his hips pressed against the fullness of her ass. There was a pleasant friction of his underwear against her fully exposed core. Y/N’s eyebrow raised playfully, taking in Kirk’s stunned face. Her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his bottoms as she tugged them down. Beneath her touch she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin like a furnace. 

Each inch of skin exposed left her feeling breathless, she followed the neat trail of hair down his abdomen, pressing soft kisses across the skin. Y/N pulled back slightly as she released him from the confines of his pants and underwear. His cock sprung forward, brushing past her cheek inciting a giggle from her. 

It was pretty, curved slightly to the side and resting just beneath his belly button. The head was swollen and shiny with pre-cum. “Please,” Kirk’s desperate plea stirred Y/N from her admiration. His knuckles gripped the sheets, mouth parted open slightly as he looked down on her eagerly. 

The way his voice caught in his throat sent another wave of heat through Y/N’s stomach. She wasted no more time, dipping her head down, lips wrapping against the leaking head of his cock. The guttural noise it earned her had her moving down further. He was pleasantly heavy in her mouth, pressing down on her tongue as she took him deeper into her mouth. 

She kept her eyes locked onto his with each inch she took, Until her nose was pressed flat against his skin, the head knocking against the back of her throat. “Fuck, Y/N.” He gasped out, hands coming to tangle themselves in her hair. He held her there gently, with just enough force to keep in her place as he rocked his hips forward. 

The motion had her gagging, the sudden constriction around his cock leaving Kirk tossing his head back against the pillows. Tears sprang to her eyes as her nails dug into the skin of his thighs. It was so overwhelming that Y/N nearly forgot about the man behind her, his heavy hands a comfort against her waist. 

It wasn’t until she felt fingers pressing into her she recalled Jason was present in the room as well. She squealed  around Kirk’s cock as Jason's fingers worked her open delicately. The slickness between her legs was sticky, running down his hand as he curled his fingers. 

It had her keening back, raising her hips higher into the air. Her eyes fluttered shut from the stimulation. Kirk and Jason were relentless, each thrust of Jason’s fingers inside her sent her forward further onto Kirk. “God, look at you.” Jason groaned as he pulled his hand back, a rush of warmth spilled between her thighs as she was left empty. 

There was a slick sound behind her, Jason’s breathy moans joining Kirk’s in a pleasant harmony. She couldn’t see behind her with Kirk buried in her throat but she could hear the wet sound of Jason’s hand moving across his length. Using her slick to make the glide easier. She wiggled her hips towards him eagerly. 

A harsh tug on her hair had her eyes snapping up to Kirk, a lazy grin plastered on his face as he continued to fuck into her mouth. “Look at me while he fucks you.” He commanded her, tone lower and a little more raspy. It had her stomach doing flips, it seemed uncharacteristically explicit coming from his sweet voice. 

Obediently she kept her eyes trained on Kirk as she felt Jason's cock rubbing against her entrance. Her eyes widening as he pushed into her. Each inch felt like a near impossible stretch. Her nails dug deeper into Kirk's skin as she cried around him. To say Y/N felt full was an understatement. She could hardly breath, feeling like Jason was in her stomach and Kirk shoved as far down her throat as possible. 

“Fuckin’ tight.” Jason hissed, his hips were pressed flush to her ass. “We’re going to ruin you.” He moaned, he pulled back lightly, the drag of his dick inside her had her clenching around the small loss. A harsh snap forward had her moaning, the vibrations around Kirk’s cock had his hips bucking up. 

They fell into a harsh rhythm just like that, Jason’s quick harsh thrusts matching Kirk’s frantic fucking of her face. Y/N fell limp, allowing the men to move her as they needed, too overstimulated to contribute anything aside from her body. Unable to protest as each orgasm rocked through her body, sending her release across Jason's girth, making it that much wetter. 

Her thighs trembled, only being held up by Jase’s strong grip on her ass. “Fuck, can I come in your mouth pretty girl?” Kirk asked sweetly above her. It seemed like a cruel joke to ask her a question with her mouth full. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully and smiled around him. Her breathing was heavy, being forced through her nose she felt lightheaded. 

Kirk pulled her head back harshly, just the tip of his cock resting against her lips. She sucked in a breath, the sweet relief of air filling her lungs as she opened her mouth. Her tongue laid out flat as he fucked himself against it. His release came with a loud moan, warmth coated her mouth, a small amount splattering across her cheeks. “Oh my god,” Kirk stuttered out, his dick twitching with the last of his climax. 

She swallowed eagerly, salty and warm it burned slightly going down her throat. Jason's thrusts behind her were relentless, her head dropped to Kirk’s hip as his grip in her hair loosened. Her voice was blown out as her cries echoed off the hotel room walls. 

No longer gagged, her moans overpowered the animalistic panting coming from both men. If there had been an ounce of shame left in her body she would feel bad for whoever was in the neighboring rooms. Jase’ was quick to flip Y/N over, man handling her body so her back was pressed against the mattress. 

She looked up at Jason with a grin, her lips puffy and swollen, the remnants of Kirk’s release across her otherwise unblemished skin. He caged her in, his body fully enveloping her own as he leaned forward. Her body bounced obscenely as Jason drilled his cock into her. The sheer force had the headboard knocking back into the wall. 

“Want you to come in me, please” Y/N whimpered, her arms coming to wrap around Jason’s neck. She felt a wandering hand across her body as Kirk leaned forward, pressing his fingers against her clit. She gasped at the sudden touch, she thanked whatever god existed for making Kirk a guitar player as he worked her hard and fast. 

There was a shared grin between the boy’s as Jason fucked her with reckless abandon. “Whatever you want, baby.” He assured her, leaning down to kiss her as his hips jerked forward then stilled. There was a sudden warmth inside her as Jason bottomed out completely, his length twitched as he let out a final groan against her lips. 

Time came to a stand still. The room was silent aside from the three’s heavy panting. Her body weak against the mattress as Jason’s weight rested on top of her, Kirk beside her still trailing his fingers across her skin. Slowly as Jason softened he rolled to the side, laying beside her. 

The mixture of their orgasms was sticky between her legs, dampening the sheets beneath them as well. She shuddered as the cold air hit her body. "Now none of us can sleep in the bed.” Y/N grimaced, kicking the sheets away from underneath her. “And I need another shower.” 

Kirk’s soft laughter was a stark contrast to the filth that had just occurred. His arms came to wrap around her naked waist. “C’mon just enjoy it for a second.” Another pair of arms wrapped around her next. 

There was no war this time, both men entangling themselves with her easily. “Just give us a moment.” Jason breathed out with a smile. “Plus we can all shower together.” She could feel his cheeky smile against her shoulder as he pressed his face against her. 

“Jesus you two are fucking insatiable.” 

[pointycorgiears]

Caught Between The Swells

Here's some quick and light angsty bughawk before I get on a plane today! :D

***********************

Ever since Mihawk returned to Karai Bari from a recent trip, Buggy knew something was up. The swordsman was always quiet and brooding, but since coming home a few days ago, it was like a little black cloud followed the man wherever he would go.

Mihawk snapped at Buggy after dinner last night. That would not usually be nothing new, but this particular outburst had more teeth than what Mihawk normally bothered with. Hell, he even snapped at Crocodile when he was asked what was wrong, causing the taller warlord to stammer out an uncharacteristic apology. The two just decided to let him be, as Mihawk clearly did not want to talk about it. He was barely sleeping. He was eating lightly. He didn't want to be bothered. His bad mood was palpable, and yet still, Buggy wondered why.

Buggy doubted he was ever going to get an answer. So he sat in bed in his personal tent, having just finished brushing his hair and clearing the make up from his face. He was dozing off with a book in his lap, his head beginning to lilt to the side. He jerked halfway upright when he thought he heard soft footsteps outside his canvas door, but relaxed again when nothing but silence followed. He was aware enough to mark his page and put the book away, one hand floating to turn out the light near the bed...

knock knock

...and he paused at the quiet knock on the wooden post that made up his doorway. "Uhh...yes?" he called out. The thick canvas that covered the entryway ruffled a bit before it was gently pulled back and two yellow eyes pierced through the dark on the other side.

Buggy swallowed and raised his brow. "Hawkeyes?" This was unusual. Mihawk never came to Buggy's tent. In fact, he always gave the clown the widest berth possible, especially the past few days. Buggy felt a little on edge. "Is there something you need?"

Mihawk took that as permission to enter. There were two things Buggy immediately noticed about him. One, he was dressed in what Buggy guessed was his sleepwear: a loose white shirt and maroon floral printed sweatpants, which Buggy had never him dressed in until now. And second, Mihawk's eyes darted away from his the second he walked in the tent. They stared at the ground, brow furrowed like something was troubling him. He walked silently into the room, barefoot, his steps hardly audible. He stopped at the bedside, continuing to stare at the floor. Buggy got the feeling that Mihawk did not want to look at him.

"Umm," Buggy murmured, if only to break the awkward silence. He tried asking again, "Hawk, do you need something?"

There was a strange shaky breath before Mihawk finally spoke. "I need to apologize. My behavior was inappropriate earlier. I am sorry."

Silence again. Buggy waited a moment, confused by everything, until he replied. "Huh? It's okay! You were stressed out about, uhh, something. I understand!"

"No, you do not," Mihawk muttered.

"Uhhh," Buggy remained confused. "It's okay, Hawk. Really!"

Mihawk finally raised his eyes. Buggy blinked in shock at what he thought was a flash of despair in the usually sharp golden stare. Like a crack marring the hardened gaze. Mihawk looked away again and his body shifted as if to turn to leave, but Buggy stopped him.

"Mihawk! Sit down here!"

Mihawk twitched his head at the order, but obeyed after some fidgeting. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs hanging over and wound tight, ready to spring up and dash away if necessary. His hands folded over and wrung each other between his knees. Just as it was the last few days, Mihawk would just not relax. But now Buggy had an opportunity to find out why.

"Hawk, what happened out there while you were gone? You haven't been yourself since you came back! What's got into you?"

Mihawk gave a heavy sigh. "Buggy...if I hadn't returned, what would you have done?"

"Wha-if you hadn't...What do you mean if you hadn't returned? Of course you would return! You always come back."

"But what if this time I did not?"

"..."

Mihawk turned his slightly to look at him. "Would you have noticed?"

Buggy blinked, incredulous. "Are you crazy? Of course I would have noticed! It'd be hard to not notice having only Croc breathing down my neck everyday! Though, not being worried about getting sliced up everyday might be nice and take some adjustment, heh! Oh.."

Buggy immediately knew he said the wrong thing when Mihawk glanced away from him. He looked...hurt. As if the man had any right to be hurt by his statement in the first place, Buggy inwardly scoffed. But still, it was strange.

"Hawk. Seriously. If you hadn't come back, we would try to contact you. If that failed, we would send a search party. You know Croc has eyes and ears everywhere. We would find you! And we would help you if you needed it!"

Mihawk stared off into space. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" Buggy was losing his patience. He also just wanted to go to bed already. "That's what we would do! We're Cross Guild! We need you here! The Navy better watch their backs if they ever try anything against you, although I'm sure you could handle them in the first place, so I don't know why you're so worried-"

"It wasn't the Navy."

"Huh?" Buggy looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

Mihawk sighed again. "I ran into a massive storm on the way back from Kuraigana. One that wasn't predicted. It was the Grand Line simply raging in its fury. I had no choice but to ride it out. The wind tore my sail and as I tried to preserve what was left, I was knocked from my boat. I was caught between the swells and realized in my urgency to tie my sails, I had forgotten the safety line. I was in the water, and my vessel was being carried away from me..."

Buggy stared at him wide-eyed. This was the most Mihawk had talked since returning, and the story was frightening. He knew Mihawk sailed alone, on a tiny boat, with no one else to help him. To be caught in a storm must be terrifying for anyone else. "How-How did you get out of it?"

"A giant wave came up behind me. I aligned myself with it and let it carry me as close to my vessel as possible, enough that I could swim my way back to it. I chased it and I fought the water until felt like I couldn't breathe anymore. By some miracle, a rope drifted into my hand and I pulled myself aboard. I secured myself to the deck and the next thing I remember is waking up to a blue sky and a calm sea. I made it through."

He turned to Buggy again and that same despair was still present. "But what if I didn't? What if I was lost at sea? I would have failed Cross Guild. I would have failed myself. I would have failed Roronoa. I would have failed you, Emperor Buggy. All because of a stupid mistake of forgetting my safety line. You would have been justified not to search for me."

Buggy suddenly knew what was wrong. He knew why Mihawk was in such a foul mood, he knew why he was hurting. He knew that look on the swordsman's face. Mihawk was scared. And not just from the idea of failure, but from the fact that Death had laced its icy grip on his soul for a short moment and had nearly dragged him down under the waves. Completely out of his control, with no one to rescue him. Pure hopelessness. Sheer terror. Buggy knew what that felt like. Impel Down had made sure he would never forget that feeling.

Somehow, he was sitting closer to Mihawk than he remembered being, and he took the swordsman in a tight hug. He held him from behind for a moment, leaning his head on Mihawk's shoulders. He could feel Mihawk tense at the touch, but eventually relax and sag into Buggy's embrace.

"We would have searched for you. You're part of the crew now," Buggy muttered into the white shirt. "You're part of my crew. I am so happy you made it home safe. Everyone is."

"I feel so ashamed," Mihawk said under a shaky breath. "I am better than this!"

"But you are not better than the ocean," Buggy quickly countered. "The Sea rules all of us in the end. Sometimes she reminds us of that, as Roger used to say. It's nothing to be ashamed about. I'm just glad you're safe."

"That is...comforting to know, I guess."

Buggy raised his head, releasing him. He stared at Mihawk for a moment, who gazed sadly at him before darting his eyes away. This poor wretch really thinks no one cares about him, Buggy pitied. He sighed and scooted back across the bed. He pulled the covers back and disconnected an arm to tug at Mihawk's own. "Come here," he ordered.

Mihawk didn't put up a fight. Buggy wasn't sure he currently had the strength to. He pulled Mihawk into bed with him, motioning him to lay down. Buggy settled in close beside, positioning his arms around him, wrapping him tight against his side and pushing Mihawk's head diwn on top of his chest. He stroked his hair with one floating hand and rubbed his back with the other.

Mihawk was frozen against him, every muscle tense and unsure. "It's okay to lie like this? Here with you?"

"You're part of my crew. It's alright to cuddle a little bit." Buggy pressed his cheek into the top of his head to drive his point further, squeezing him tighter.

The tension slowly eased and Buggy felt him sink into the bed and his side. The shallow breaths became deeper and Buggy closed his eyes to the soft repetitive sound. He felt himself begin to drift.

Then Mihawk shuttered with a sad whimper.

Buggy found himself alert again from the odd noise. Odd in that he'd never heard such a thing emanate from the swordsman before. Buggy ran his fingers through the black hair, gently scratching the scalp. He nuzzled Mihawk with his nose as he whispered, "It's okay, you're safe now. You're home. You don't have to go anywhere alone again."

He didn't hear any other strange noises after that and his hand floated over to turn the light out...

...In the morning, he let Mihawk sleep as he quietly got ready for the day. He made sure the other remained safely tucked in the blankets of his bed before heading out.

[daenysx]

yeah, i'm addicted to write soft!aemond. this is purely NSFW, hope you like it. (part 2)

send me your requests for drabbles

"lift your hips for me, hmm?"

you look at aemond with big eyes, waiting for him to do as you ask. your fingers fiddle with the waistband of his sweatpants, he looks at you with an unsure expression on his face.

"you should get some sleep baby, you're tired." he says.

you shake your head. "i'm never too tired for you."

he lifts his hips slightly then, helping you take off his sweatpants. he still seems unsure as you hold his hardness in your hand. "you don't have to do this."

your fingers stop. "you don't want me to? i-i just wanted to help you relax, i didn't- i'm-"

he smiles to comfort you. "no, of course i want you to, you know how much i like having your mouth on me. i just didn't want you to lose sleep because of it."

you smile back. "don't think about anything now, just focus on me."

"you think it's possible for me to focus on anything else when you're touching me?" he says, giving you the confidence you need.

you move your fingers on his cock, up and down first. your other hand touches his lower abdomen, stroking the skin softly as his head goes back with a lovely groan coming out of his mouth.

you keep moving your hand until he is fully hard, he takes a deep breath when you get comfier on bed. you take the tip of his cock between your lips, lick the skin with your tongue, and try to coat him with saliva. you treat him nice, like the tastiest lollipop you ever had, licking and moving your lips on him.

"perfect. mm-hmm, perfect." he whispers.

you move your mouth further on his cock, his hardness heavy on your tongue. you keep moving until your mouth is full of him, your eyes teary with the feeling. your hand goes to touch the places you can't possibly reach with your mouth when you start sucking him slowly, driving him crazy by making a pretty noise at the same time.

"fuck- fuck, there you go, baby. my sweet baby, too good for me aren't you?"

he keeps mumbling sweet nothings to you as he gets closer to his peak. he just wants to relax into your mouth, to have the opportunity of relieving. he wants all his worries and stress to be gone.

you keep sucking him, touching him, giving him what he wants. what he needs. a teardrop falls from your eye and he follows it with his finger, dries your skin.

"go slow, baby. don't want to hurt you, fuck, it's too much for you-"

he strokes your hair with shaky fingers, encourages you to keep going. don't stop, never stop, let him find some relief.

"i'm- i'm close, baby. hmm, so close." he says, quietly. you pull your mouth slowly, careful not to hurt him.

"in my mouth, aemond. you'll finish in my mouth, okay?"

he nods quickly, happy with the faster pace you follow. your saliva coats his entire cock now, your tongue everywhere. he knows you're getting tired so he lifts himself closer to your lips, helping you.

when you look at him with teary eyes, he finishes. he lifts himself unconciously, comes inside your mouth with a soft groan. you keep moving your hand on him, help him through his orgasm.

"yes- fuck, yes, perfect. my perfect girl, you have no idea- yes, keep your hand there-"

he takes a few moments more to relax into you, fights with the urge to pull you to his chest and hold you there forever when you swallow. you give him a smile, your body falls next to his on bed as you listen his breathing sounds.

"do you feel better?" you ask, voice sleepy.

"mm-hmm, you were perfect."

you watch him go to bathroom quickly to clean himself. he comes back with slow steps and cleans your mouth and cheeks. you squirm a little under his touch as he throws the towel away and lays next to you. "would you like me to return the favor? are you too tired for that, sweetling?"

you nod, putting your head on his chest. "that was for you. you're welcome to return the favor in the morning though, if you want."

he holds you, kisses you thanks as you close your eyes. "i'll wake you up with my mouth on your sweet cunt. good night baby."

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 03: first kiss

a/n: not sure if I vibe with this part, but I hope it's okay. also don't think you're getting fluff

A broken heart is such a thing that will make you live either in the past or in the future; never in the present moment. Lovesickness feels like a virus is attacking the very fabric of your universe, distorting time and space and leaving you floating; directionless and hurting. 

That is how Steve feels as he goes through the motions of his life, getting his kids ready for finals, for their oral and written exams, or planning end-of-year school trips. While school provides a great distraction and he has mastered the art of switching into teacher mode almost effortlessly, he feels like he’s just an inch or two beside himself. Beside where he should be. 

He’s dwelling in the past or mourning dozens of possible futures, an infinity of them that will end up unrealised, unlived, unloved. His heart is heavy all the time, his head hurting, and his phone chiming with an endless string of messages that go unopened, unreplied. 

It’s been a few weeks since the engagement party, since he last saw Eddie — who asked if he was okay, who has been asking to see him again, to hang out, have a drink, just catch up. But every time he does, Steve just hurts, and he finds excuses. 

— Sorry, it’s finals season, I’ll be spread thin for the next few weeks :(

Eddie had replied with a litany of sad, brokenhearted emojis that were at equal measures ridiculous as they were exactly what Steve was feeling. Is feeling. Will probably always be feeling, for the rest of his life and beyond. 

So far, Eddie hasn’t asked him to be his best man. Steve sort of doesn’t want to give him the opportunity for that. He’s cowardly enough to wish he could avoid Eddie forever if only that meant he wouldn’t have to see his face fall and crumble when he tells him, No. 

No, I can’t be your best man. I can’t make it to the wedding. I can’t make it, I can’t do this, I can’t stand by and watch as you show me and the rest of the world that your dream life is not with me. Never with me. I can’t hand you over when all I wanna do is hold you. Hold your hand. Walk you down the aisle and then sweep you up in my arms, just to run out, run away; anywhere, as long as it’s with you. 

It doesn’t make sense. There won’t be an aisle, there won’t be any sweeping, there won’t be a future for them. Never has been. Not like this. 

Although there was a brief moment in time where their futures almost aligned. Almost. The timing was never right, though, stumbling through the motions and currents of two lost boys’ emotions. But it was almost there, almost enough.

And it's what's been on Steve's mind all week, playing and replaying, tearing at him from the inside out, leaving him with a jigsaw puzzle of infinite pieces of could have beens, would have beens, and what ifs.

"You know," he tells Robin one evening, who has practically moved in now, claiming that broken hearts are best nursed together. "I was actually Eddie's first kiss."

To her credit, Robin doesn't drop the carton pizza at Steve's non-sequitur. She just swallows hard and looks at him in that careful way she has now, where she's trying to read him and ask his eyes to tell her what it is that she should say next. It's frustrating. It's the greatest kindness anyone has ever shown him. It makes him want to punch a wall, and it makes him want to wrap her in the warmest hug and never, ever let her go.

"You were?"

Steve just nods, his lips trembling as his throat closes up again.

"No," she says in the gentlest voice, taking his hand as she guides him to the living room couch. "I didn't know that. Do you wanna talk about it?"

He shakes his head, tucking his feet under her thigh and leaning sideways against the backrest of the couch. His head is heavy and he's tired. He's always tired, even though he doesn't cry as much anymore. It's been four weeks since the engagement party.

"No, I just, uh– Just wanted to say that."

She nods, her eyes boring into him for two, three, four seconds before she finally turns to her pizza.

He looks past her, his eyes unfocused as his mind travels back to that day when they were still in high school.

~*~

The day that Eddie told him he was gay. And Steve had asked how he knew, because he'd been wondering about his own sexuality.

"I don't know, I just know."

"Well, have you ever kissed a boy?"

And Eddie had blushed a little, charred with his feet in the dirt like he always did – still does. "No."

"Okay."

And Steve, ten years ago, had thought, why not kill two birds with one stone. "Would you like to?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I mean, I'm kinda on the fence about it? Sometimes I think I might like guys, but then other times not so much. But I've never kissed one either, so," he shrugged. "If you, like, want to? We can."

"You want me to kiss you?" Eddie sounded incredulous, but his eyes were very big, very dark, very vulnerable. And it was not a no.

"Only if you want to."

A grin split Eddie's face then and he raised his eyebrows suggestively, but there was something forced about it. "Well, what If I fall madly in love with you, Steve Harrington, hm? What then?"

"Oh, please," Steve had only snorted; the thought that Eddie would fall for him out of all people was just too absurd.

And then something had shifted between them, the air turned into something sizzling as Eddie's smile fell and he stepped closer to Steve, raising one hand to his cheek.

"Here goes my first kiss," he murmured.

"Ever?"

"If we discount Lisa from kindergarten, then yes."

Steve huffed, looking down at Eddie's lips, the moment strangely intimate – but not uncomfortably so. Being this close to Eddie wasn't something new, Steve was used to his friend's tactile nature. "Fuck Lisa from kindergarten."

"I'd really rather not," Eddie smiled before finally, finally leaning in and capturing Steve's lips in a kiss.

To this day, Steve is not sure why he went and deepened the kiss like he did. Was it because he knew this was Eddie's first and he wanted to make it good, make it last? Was it because something deep inside of him knew that he liked boys, too, and that he liked Eddie, even though that realisation wouldn't come for another year at least?

He doesn't know why, but he feels it on his lips still, the memory of their first kiss. Their only kiss. A spectacular one that ended with twin smiles after Steve showed Eddie how to move his lips, how to tilt his head, how to open his mouth to let him in. How to capture the little sigh that he would make.

Eddie had looked at him, a little dazed, and Steve grinned at him, delighted at his expression more than at the kiss itself.

"A-And did you," Eddie started, pulling his hands away from Steve and shoving them deeply into his pockets. "Did you get any closer to, uh, to finding out?"

"If I like guys?"

Eddie nodded.

Steve thought about it; about the kiss and how it wasn't as soft as making out with Nancy or Allison. How he would swallow their moans and run his hands along their soft bodies. Eddie wasn't like that. Eddie was just Eddie.

"I think I'll just stick with girls for now," he shrugged with a smile, patting Eddie on the shoulder and squeezing lightly when the other boy began to sway a little.

"Suit yourself, Harrington," Eddie said, shoving him a little. "But you're missing out."

Years later, Eddie had drunkenly confessed to him that he'd had a crush on Steve back then. For years. And Steve had wanted to ask about it, ask if it's still there, that crush, that connection on a deeper, closer level; but then Eddie told him, "Remember Chrissy? We're official now."

And all the words had died on Steve's lips. All those questions, or the confession that, Yeah, me too. Though Steve's crush on Eddie was much later, years after their first kiss, – and it never really ended.

Still hasn't. And it's not a crush. It's more. It's everything.. He's in love. In it. Caught, stuck, trapped inside, while Eddie and everyone else is on the outside, just watching him struggle.

~*~

Later that night, on his umpteenth re-run of the First Kiss Episode that's keeping him from falling asleep, leaving him frustrated and sad and wondering, his phone rings. Eddie's name pops up on the screen, the impersonal Eddie Munson feels like a knife through his heart. He couldn't bear any of the silly nicknames that Eddie's always had in his phone, and needed to go back to a clean slate.

It hurts, though. He watches, considering to let it go to voicemail – but he hasn't talked to his... to Eddie in four weeks. Barely even talked to him on his engagement party.

And even though there's a chance opening for Eddie to ask him or to talk about his wedding, Steve answers the call.

"Stevie," Eddie says, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, and immediately takes away Steve's breath.

"Hi," he rasps. His heart is racing, his hands begin to tremble and he's shaking even under the thick, warm blanket.

"Did I wake you?"

He hums a negative, not trusting himself to speak, and it comes out a pathetic croak, because God, he missed Eddie. Part of him was missing – part of him will always be missing now, he knows –, and it makes him cry. It's not a sob, not a wail, not anything that Eddie can hear or something that would alarm Robin in the other room.

They're silent tears, and he presses his face into the pillow. He should hang up.

"Stevie?" Eddie asks again, his voice so small, so gentle, so worried. "Are you okay?" And after a moment of Steve being unresponsive because he can't catch his breath without gasping, Eddie asks, "Are you crying?"

And just like a kid that tries to be brave through the pain after falling down, but breaks the moment someone asks if they're hurt, Steve lets out a tiny, broken little sob.

"Oh, Stevie baby," Eddie sighs, and he sounds so sad, so compassionate, Steve never wants to hear his name like that ever again. "Do you want me to come over?"

"No," he croaks pathetically, hitting himself once, twice, three times for not keeping it together. For not being strong enough.

I can't do this.

"What do you need?"

"Sleep," he sniffles, stupidly.

"Okay. Then I'll stay here and be silent company, yeah? Don't need to be alone. Is Robin there?" He hums again, affirmative. "Good. Want me to say something? Read to you, tell you a story? Play you some music or–"

"Eddie," Steve manages. I love you. "Just silence? But you don't have to."

"Nah, I'll stay with you," Eddie says before Steve even finished his objections. "Until you've fallen asleep, yeah?"

Steve just nods into his pillow, even though Eddie can't see or hear it.

He's watching the seconds turn into minutes as the time passes. He's so tired, but he doesn't want to let go yet. Not when Eddie is right there. Not when there's still the phantom feeling of his lips capturing Steve's, a memory that is ten years old and still as strong as the very first second.

He should have known, then. Should have leaned in for another kiss, should have told Eddie that he knows he's into boys now, too, and ask Eddie to keep kissing him.

He shouldn't have taken years.

He should have created a new world just for the two of them, with an infinite amount of futures, and all go them happy. All of them SteveAndEddie.

But he didn't. And he wants to apologise. For being so slow, for not knowing until it was too late. For pulling away these past few weeks when that's the last thing he ever wants to do. For not being strong enough; for being too weak.

I'm in love with you, he thinks. Over and over and over. Mouths it voicelessly into the silence between them. Says it out loud when after almost two hours, Eddie hangs up with a quiet, "Good night, Stevie. I miss you." He says it when Eddie's gone, the beep of an empty line the only response he gets before that cuts out, too.

And then he's all alone again.

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @imzadidragonfly @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae and thanks to everyone who said nice things about this 🤍🌷

come back tomorrow for: here come the tears (and hurt/comfort, maybe) | read part 4 here

[skelliko]

Hoiii if possible can yu write a pt 2 to the confession fic with chifuyu, kazutoro and baji? Like just a scenario or small points as to what happened after they confessed and y/n says yes. it's fine if yu don't want to btww! Luv yur writing, hope yu have a nice day 💗💗

yes certainly sorry for the wait! and thank youu, your so sweet <3

I may have done more than 'small' I hope that's okay, I had no idea on how to format it I just went in with whatever and hope it works fine

★- Tokyo revengers

☆- you saying yes to their confession

pt1 here

featuring: kazutora, chifuyu, Baji

°- Kazutora hanemiya

he'd stay silent for a brief moment but a smile would curl up on his face. he wants to say something, anything that would help his brain function but hearing your voice say the words he's wished you to say for a long while has made him awe struck.

once he finally got his senses straight he took a small step closer to you, "wait say that again" he didn't demand it but rather in a really hopeful and proud tone, like a happy boy finding a new favourite song

his previous thought of wanting to hug you has increased but he was still a little nervous on the inside so he held back a little bit. unsure on if you want you want to get physical yet with an innocent hug.

though he extended his arms outwards a little as an invitation for you to hug him, all while he held a slight nervous yet joyed smile. his hug was warm, probably from growing extremely hot at just the thought and middle of the confession.

kazutora nervousness grew a little when you hugged him and took a sharp, subtle breath in and panicked a little on where to place his arm, he's hugged you before but not in a situation like this.

but once his mind got shaken he man'ed up and make a move, his grasp would be gentle yet firm around you, one arm around the waist and the other behind your shoulders. his nervousness would calm down a little and he very clearly never wanted to let go of you.

but of course in a good moment like that kazutora's brain loves to just mess it up for him, 'what if it wont work out well?' 'what if something happens and our friendship will fall apart?' all this overthinking that he never spoke up about.

but the longer he was in your grasp the calmer he felt, he won't pass out an opportunity like this especially after he confessed, he's just a little worried for the future, like a few weeks or months later.

you're basically a cure for him, despite overthinking his mind has already made so many ideas and what you both could do now, more hugs is one of them.

his heavy heart would feel a lot more relaxed and lighter in the end. you are his, and he is yous.

°- chifuyu matsuno

if his face wasn't red before then it sure is now, his eyes wide and his cheeks slightly flushed. this boy is overjoyed but would try to control himself around you in case you'd think his reaction would be 'weird'

"wait really!?" he'd be so happy and hold such an adorable smile but he still would want confirmation so that you're not lying to him, he knows you're not that type of person to lie like that but his overthinking always got the best of him.

he hardly had any idea on what to do in the moment, a lot of the time in his romance manga someone gets flustered and they end up kissing or something but is that really how it is in real life? no, very rarely and it shows.

but you like him back as much as he likes you, his efforts and backed out attempts all paid off and his whole body grew warm.

one question circled his mind 'why didn't I do this earlier?' he knew he wussed out plenty of times before but with it going so smoothly currently it almost seems as if he was worried over nothing, he couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"to tell the truth I've been nervous about this whole thing for a while"

that 'while' was actually a long time, 6 months to be exact,

after he dropped you off at your home with both shy and confident words, on chifuyu's way home he had the biggest smile on his face, his cheeks raised up and ever so slightly pink and his eyes shining, he couldn't contain it. he's already planning out the dates.

°- Baji Keisuke

he would hold an amazing smile without wanting to hold back, he'd be so happy about your answer that he took a step towards you to hug you but quickly realised and stopped himself due to him not wanting to invade your personal space immediately, though he didn't want to take that step back in case it'd make it a little awkward.

but he'd speak up all in hopes of you ignoring the little step

"you really mean it?"

he meant his question too, he also meant his confession, as much as he wishes to go back to change it up he couldn't avoid the fact that even with his corny ass confession you still like him back, you decreased his nervousness and brought it down to peace.

it wouldn't be until he heard your part of your own feelings that he gave in and softly pulled you in for a hug, his arms over and behind your shoulders. for once baji is scared to say a few words, what does he do? does he start a conversation?

his lips would part to say something but no words came out, he'd only look at you as you manage to snuzzle yourself in his embrace and his whole heart would do a flip.

despite him playing out this whole scenario he never finished it to figure out what to do after your words, like an unfinished fanfiction but the idea of it is so clear yet the words are so vague

though that was until he finally spoke up with what was in his mind,

"so... does this mean we're together then?"

deep down he wants to get straight into the couple stuff, you've talked and became close friends in school he doesn't need to do all that nonsense dating, sure you can go on dates even while being a couple but with you he wants to push the barrier a little.

he probably should have thought of something better to ask or say but his mind was blank, empty. and he blames that on you, but in a sweet kind of way.

 ♡---

[writingsbychlo]

HOW TO SAVE A LIFE | rhysand

summary; trapped under the mountain, starfall has always been your favourite holiday and you miss it. tonight, this time, you have one opportunity to share it with someone.

word count; 5577

notes; starfall day 3!! but also, go easy on me, I didn't proofread this. it's like midnight here, I am exhausted, let's not judge obvious mistakes 😅 also, please note, this takes place UTM, and references to rhys' SA are alluded to, so read with caution!!

‘how to save a life’ moodboard

The corridors were utterly silent as you paced up and down. Back and forth, back and forth. Your eyes flickered to the shadows across the floor moving through the open windows, your only way of measuring how much time passed was with the moon’s manipulations. As the shadows encroached closer and closer to the small scuff you’d marked as your limit on the floor, you gave a heavy sigh. 

Your thumb was in your mouth, chewing the nail anxiously, and as that thought came into focus, you removed it, scoffing idly at yourself. You weren’t in trouble. Yet. In fact, you could leave right now, and nobody would have even known it was you, you’d fly right under the radar, as you’d always done, and bring no attention to yourself. 

Who were you kidding? You weren’t going anywhere. Not even as the ceaseless pounding of your heart threatened to crack your ribs, not even as the lingering fear in the back of your mind about what you’d already done to get here made you dizzy. You were waiting it out. 

Your gaze flickered back to the silvery streaks pouring in through the window. 

Time’s almost up.

You finally paused your pacing, staring down at it as darkness crept out of silver, marking your timer. You waited for a second longer, lifting the edge of your dress and poking at it with a scuffed shoe. 

This is it.

You weren’t sure whether it was crushing relief or crushing disappointment weighing you down, that sank your shoulders into a slump that made you feel as though you were holding up the whole world. Shaking out a sigh and loosening your shoulders, that relaxation lasted for only a second, before a dark chuckle emanate from the shadows, and you were whipping around to peer into them. 

You didn’t see him at first, gaping at the darkness until he stepped out, looking every bit like a devil dressed in finery. Purple eyes glowing in the moonlight, the sharp lines of his face like jagged peaks in the dark of the hall, tall and intimidating, with a sinister smirk sat on his lips. 

“You, Little Mouse, are the one who called me here?” Like magic - well, with magic - the letter you’d scrawled in a hurry and slipped under his door mere hours ago appeared between his fingers. Scratchy, torn brown parchment, with other notes and lists and words scribbled out and crossed, reused over and over because it was all you had. 

You steeled your nerves, rolling your shoulders back and tipping your chin up to look at him as he stepped close, close enough to smell the luxurious soap that had your head spinning once again. “I did.”

Your voice only trembled a little as you spoke, and you were proud to get the words out at all. You’d never been afraid of Rhysand, but at this moment, as all that big half-Illyrian warrior and High Lord stood before you, you’d be a fool not to be at least a little intimidated. “For what?” 

He all but purred the words, smirk widening a little more, brows rising at you and his head cocked to the side. 

“A bargain… a fuck… a good look at true power? What could you,” He cast a scornful and slow stare over your body, the torn rags you called a dress, the scuffed and scratched shoes, the messy hair and dirt under your fingernails that made you hide your hands behind your back. “Possibly want from me?”

Your mouth dropped open, words silenced as you tried to work out what to say to him, but his sneer made you second-guess yourself. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe everything you thought was wrong, maybe-

You didn’t get a chance to think any further, before the sound of pounding footsteps and angry voices bouncing off of the stone walls made every decision for you. If you were caught here, lowly and unworthy up in the higher courtrooms of the mountain palace, you’d be flogged for sure. Worse, they’d be sure to get the truth out of you, sure to get the truth of everything you’d done just to get here tonight. 

For that, they’d kill you.

In a spur of boldness that you’d most likely come to regret, your arm shot out, saving him as well as yourself as your nimble fingers wrapped around his muscle-corded forearm. Even through heavy layers of expensive black silk shirts and embroidered blazers, you could feel him tense at the abrupt contact. Dragging him along behind you, you didn’t hesitate, weaving through corridors and pathways, past floor-to-ceiling windows and being sure to remain out of sight. 

He spluttered behind you for the first few seconds, almost enough to pull a smile at your lips with the image of the terrifying Lord of Night spluttering, but your panic was far too high to even entertain that kind of thought right now. He yanked his arm free, a growl on his lips as your fingernails scratched at the soft fabric of his blazer, surely messing up some of the threads, but right now, your adrenaline was too high to be concerned with such trivial fears. 

Everywhere you turned, voices could be hurried; hurried and panicked and frantic. Boots marched, people corralled out of their way, heels tapping and weapons scraping along the floor as they were dragged. A busy, busy night indeed. 

All your fault, a voice taunted in your head, a tendril of regret finally making itself known as you fled. Despite it all, curiosity seemed to have gotten the best of Rhysand, because he was following you, despite your grip no longer being on him. He could have stopped you, even with all that dark power suppressed he would possess enough to freeze every cell in your body to his command with nothing but a wink, and yet, he didn’t. 

His long legs carried him at more of a fast walk to your hurried run behind you, and you jerked with shock when you felt the sharp scratch of an icy talon, then two, then three, scratched down your thick mental barriers. You could feel a ripple of twisted fascination burst from him at encountering any walls at all, at someone who knew how to track and resist a daemati. 

The tall doors at the end of your final corridor beckoned you forward, with intricate designs etched into the front, and thick wood that would hide you both on the other side. You’d already picked the locks, your feet finally slowing down as relief enough to make you almost collapse as you came to a halt before them. Twisting the knob with a prayer that nobody had somehow discovered your plan, locked them again to keep you out, a shaky laugh left you as the door creaked open with just a little pressure. 

Nothing but inky darkness spilt out from inside, and you stepped into it, welcoming its cold embrace and its camouflage, its protection. He followed you in, stepping through with one graceful stride, and your back collapsed onto it to push it closed, a heavy sigh leaving you as your heart rate began to even back out at last. Now, you could barely make out the silhouette of him before you, but you could feel his presence all around, like a weighted blanket closing in. 

His stare was even heavier, you didn’t need to see those violet eyes to feel the depth of them on you.

You smiled anyway, wondering if he could see you through the dark, another gift those lucky High Fae perhaps had that your lowly kind did not. Your steps were rehearsed, pacing across the room, acutely aware of where he was as he followed, just from the buzz of his leaking power on the air, all the way to the window at the far side of the room. Scraping back heavy curtains on either side of clear glass doors, you’d already picked those locks too in preparation. 

Swinging the doors open and stepping out into milky moonlight on the terrace, you took your first real breath of fresh air in weeks, sighing happily at the cold breeze of the early-Spring night.

The curse trapping you both here shimmered before you, barely an inch from the edge of the stone, and you reached out, never touching it, never risking letting it tell of your true location, but hovering your hand before it, feeling the cruel zap in warning of Amarantha’s boundaries. Never to escape, never to leave, trapped here Under The Mountain.

Your peace was shattered by the rough, animal growl of the man behind you, patience audibly fraying.

“Alright, Little Mouse, I’ve played your game. But, you know how it ends when the cat catches the prey, so what do you want?”

Finally, you turned to face him, hands clenching once again behind your back, hoping this time it would hide the tremor as your intentions were finally to be revealed. “I want nothing.”

“Everyone wants something from me. So, what is it?” He stepped a fraction closer, a snarl curling on his lips, ugly power taking over a handsome face.

“Alright, fine.” You mused, stepping a footstep closer to him as well. “What I wanted… was for you to see the sky.”

He visibly faltered, for all the roles he played and the masks he wore, this one slipped for just a second, his eyes widening as though it was a riddle, brows furrowing even deeper, and scowl twisting to a frown of confusion. “Why?”

“Because it is Starfall tonight.”

This time, his mask didn’t just falter, it crumbled entirely, the façade coming crashing down around his feet as his jaw dropped. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, gaze flicking over you in an entirely new light now, eyes narrowing to assess you but no malice behind those pretty iris’ now. “You know of Starfall?”

“Of course. It is my favourite holiday.”

An unsteady breath rushed from him, like he’d taken a hit to the lungs, eyes widening as he stared. His shoulders slumped, rigid posture melting away until he looked positively world-weary, arms hanging by his sides. It was then that he wiped a hand over his face, realising a tired laugh, and you wrapped your arms loosely around yourself. 

He didn’t recognise you, of course he didn’t you’d been counting on it for this plan to work. You just didn’t realise how cold and lonely actually having that fact acknowledged would make you feel. Rolling up one tatty sleeve of your dress to reveal swirls of blank ink beginning to climb up your forearm from your wrist, his eyes somehow seemed to widen further.

He took your wrist in his hand, your fingers tightening to a fist as a shocked gasp sounded, his touch like fire and warmth and comfort all in one as he gripped you firmly, but cautiously. Turning your arm over in his hold, he pushed your sleeve all the way up to your bicep, tracing the patterns with one fingertip, touch so light it made you shiver. Your bargain marks, messy and rough and ugly, just like the deals you’d had to strike which resulted in them.

“These… these are bargain marks. These are Night Court marks.” He traced again, thumb swiping over the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the race of it under the pad, before lowering the fabric back down to cover them again, and releasing your arm. “The marks of my court.”

His voice cracked, something within you shattering at the sound of it, and you choked down a well of thick emotion as you thought of home, for the first time in a very long while. One a whisper as broken as his voice had been, you uttered; “Yes.”

Too much weight in his stare, too many memories of a place you missed like a lost lover, too many bargains made here just to survive. 

It was all so horrible. 

“I didn’t know. I had no idea anyone from my court was here.”

There were questions loaded in that sentence. How did you get here? Why are you trapped? Who brought you? What was your reason? You wanted to answer them all, but at first, a single shrug was all that came to mind. It was so overwhelming, not only to be standing here, finally talking to the one person who could understand your longing for home, but to be standing here with your High Lord, someone you’d spent centuries admiring, decades pitying, and months plotting for.

This time, it was he who attempted a smile in comfort. It helped.

“I was travelling at the time. Seeing all of Prythian, and finding work wherever I could to find my adventure.” A horrible feeling you’d spent so long crying over worming its way back in. 

You’d spent so long dreaming of getting away from the Night Court, to explore and see the rest of the continent, of the world, and now it was all you wanted to go back. To stay forever, curled up on the windowsill of a cosy apartment that overlooked the glowing lights of Velaris, close enough to hear the music from the Rainbow and hear the happy voices, watch the snow fall or bluebells sprout. You wanted it so badly it ached.

“At the time of…” You waved a hand, throat stinging as you wrestled with emotion, unable to even say the words of this foul curse aloud, even after centuries, “I was working for the Vanserra’s. No one important, as it had always been for me, but they always bring their own staff to the parties. In case you hadn't noticed, Beron is quite high-maintenance, and Eris is terribly paranoid and suspicious.”

A laugh burst from him, rough and grating and unsteady, like he hadn't used it in so long, but it blossomed something in your chest that you thought had died long ago.

“I was one of the lowly serving staff they brought with them that fateful night, to keep Lady Autumn’s glass filled with wine, so she’d never have to lift a single finger. Unfortunately, that meant that when they were trapped, I was too. All that wish for adventure. I got a little more excitement than I bargained for, I suppose.” 

Silence settled, the story hanging between you like mist on the morning air, your head turning and gaze shifting to the twinkling stars overhead. Several minutes seemed to pass as he processed it all, and decided what to say next, a hand skimming your shoulder lightly, as though hesitant to dare touch you at all. “Why did you never come to me, before tonight?”

The laugh that tumbled from your lips was self-pitying and sad. Running your hands over the tatty skirt you wore, it felt obvious. 

He was, arguably, beside Amarantha, the most important person here. You were nobody. He wore a new suit embellished with gold and silver, you wore a dirty dress that had more patches and sewing than the original fabric. He smelled of fresh soap and aftershave, you smelled of bleach from scrubbing the floors and cinders from the fireplaces. He slept in silk sheets on a big bed, all to himself, you’d been sharing a dormitory for ten years with scratchy bedding and broken mattresses. 

And yet, you wouldn't trade with him for all the riches in the world. Your anonymity was all that protected you.

You were nobody. You meant nothing. But tonight, just tonight, you had the chance to be something.

“To what end? We’re both trapped, you have your role to play, and I have mine.”

His smile was as weak and empty as your laugh was. “It’s been ten years. I could have… I could have don’t something to help, made life easier for you, so that you weren’t so alone.”

There was a pain in his voice, a kind of ongoing struggle you’d come to terms with years ago, but it was like a fresh slice across sensitive skin for him. You reached out, hand hovering lightly over his arm, unsure whether or not it was your place. Then again, it was a barrier you’d already crossed in an adrenaline-fuelled panic. Settling your hand lightly onto his forearm, you squeezed gently, hoping it was as reassuring for him as you intended. 

“I don’t know how-”

“It’s okay, truly.” Your throat bobbed, the informality of this whole situation was surreal, only the chill in the air, wind whistling through rips in threadbare fabric keeping you grounded. “I was never alone, it’s hard ever to be alone around here. It was just lonely.”

He hummed, a non-committal response, and his mind seemed elsewhere. A heavy sigh, and then his head tipped back, eyes moving to watch the motionless stars twinkle in the sky. It wasn’t until the third shaky breath and slight sniff, hands clenching by his side, that you realised he was choking back powerful emotions. For you.

“Please, don’t worry for me, my Lord.” Your hand swept comfortingly, twice, up and down his arms, that fist of that hand smoothed out when your fingers brushed his the pulse on his wrist. Words, hanging on the tip of your tongue, dangerous and risky and presumptive, but it felt like the two of you had far surpassed those kinds of barriers by now. “It looks far lonelier and far more hurtful at the Queen’s side than where I am.”

His head snapped back down, all that anguish temporarily banished from swirling violet eyes as he studied you once again. It was like a thousand thoughts flashing through his mind too fast for you to read in his eyes. Your lungs were frozen, burning for air but unable to take any oxygen in, eyes wide and body locked as you waited. He was putting something together, he knew, his lips pressing into a thin line and you didn’t know whether this would flip it all over wrongly. 

His head cocked to the side, licking over one lip, before the edges of his lips were flickering at the edges, just slightly. 

“It was you.”

“What was me?” You’d always been a bad liar, gaze flicking away from his and it was your turn now to let the stars distract you. A talon, scraping at your mental shields again, a warning that he could if he wanted to, break through and you’d never even know. Instead, a single finger hooked under your chin, turning your face back to him. 

“It was you. You, who suddenly unearthed this mysterious prophecy about the human girl breaking the curse. You, who has Amarantha on such a wild goose chase that she has no time for… me. At least, not for a while.” He looked awed now, a reassured expression, and his hand slipped from your chin up, to cup your face. Your throat was tight, painfully so, the simple bit of affection making your eyes water and the truth poured from you in a nod. “You were so scared in the halls, pacing and fretting before I even got there. Your fear was heavy in the air. When you heard the voices and the footfalls, you fled. It was you.”

“It was me.” His breath raced from him, lips parted, and you raised your own hand. Holding his to your face, you stole a few selfish seconds, head tipping further into his palm as his thumb swept over your cheekbone; a few sacred moments of comfort. “Buying you a few hours to yourself on this night was the least I could do, my Lord. You may not have known I was here, but some of your actions, the small mercies you disguise as cruelties, have done more for me than you could ever know.”

“Call me Rhysand. Please.” He was fighting tears, much the same as you were, and his other hand joined the first, holding your face up to his own as he stepped a little closer. The warmth from his body was like a magnet you, swayed toward him, the moonlight glowing on his skin like it was made to decorate him and him alone. “At least… at least, when we’re alone. I don’t want to be anything but myself with you. You see me. You’re the only person down here who does..”

You didn’t have to force a smile anymore. It was the first one that felt honestly genuine in years. His thumbs swept a couple more times, before his arms were shaking with restraint, and he pulled them away. Silence settled around you both. With one more glance at the stars, your arms wrapped around yourself, and you turned back to him. “Enjoy the stars, Rhysand.”

There would be nothing to see, no falling stars and souls finding their way. But, just knowing that it was happening out there, watching these ones stay still and twinkle gently, it was enough to feel connected to home, just for a little while. Stepping away from him, the loneliness creeping back up already felt suffocating, like ice water ready to drag you into the darkness and the depths. 

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your own, firm but gentle, insistent but pleading. “Please- please, don’t go. Stay with me. Spend Starfall with me?”

It was an offer like you could only dream of, to spend Starfall with someone else once again, someone who knew. You had no idea how to say yes, mouth hanging open, but he seemed to get the gist, lips curling into a real smile now. Not the cruel grin he wore every day, not the cocky smirk. This was real, this was beauty and emotions and trust. 

“Yes?”

“Yes. I would like that.” This opportunity could never happen again, and so you weren’t going to let it just fly past like a misguided star. He tugged you back a little closer, letting your hand go when you fell into place by his side, and his body dropped any remaining tension. He rested his hands on the railing, cautious not to touch that barrier of the curse, and tapping the space beside him for you to join. 

You did, the two of you staring out quietly at the vast lands, the bright skies, the empty space; nobody ever dared near the centre of the horrid curse killing the lands.

“I miss the grass.”

“I have a friend… a brother, who has terrible allergies. Even a speck of pollen, and he’s sneezing and eyes running.” A wistful look took over his features, amusement and nostalgia crackling under the surface. “It’s quite the sight to see a warlord sneeze and curse at a flower.”

Your mind followed, reeling a little as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “General Cassian… has hay fever?”

“Don’t tell him I told you, he’d string me up by my boxers from the pillars of the moonstone palace.” The sounds of your laughter bounced off of the stony sides of the mountain, echoes disappearing into the tonight, mixed with his deep chuckles. A kind of harmony formed, peace, a small bubble of a happy memory like a light amongst so much darkness. You’d look back on this moment for years, possibly decades to come, relishing in the way it felt to smile again, to have companionship and real happiness, even if it didn’t last long. “I miss the smell of the Sidra just after it rains.”

“I miss watching the snow fall at Solstice.”

“I miss the way it would feel after the snow melted, that first truly warm day.”

It somehow became a game, swapping back and forth, each thing you missed. Some were funny, others nostalgic, some were his royal experiences that made his cheeks heat and sweet chuckles leave his lips when you teased him, others had the same experience on you. 

The conversation shifted, he asked you all about your travels, told you of his favourite places he’d seen in different courts, and asked you if you’d ever been there. He told you stories about all of his adventures, as you did for him, watching the moon slowly inching its way across the dark sky as you confided in one another, all your deepest pain and joy and excitement. He told you about his friends, the shadow singer, the general, the terrifying creature from another world. He was so passionate, he loved so deeply, that by the time he’d finished, you felt as though you knew them too, like you loved them too.

Then, when your cheeks ached and your stomach was sore from all the laughing, when every happy memory had been shared, reality set back in once again. 

“I miss home.”

“Me too.” With your simple response, his gaze fixed once again above your heads, so far away and yet you longed to be there.

“It's- it’s just so godsdamned nice, that just one person knows I’m not a villain.” His words startled you, a fresh batch of pain, something deep and primal exposed like an open wound right to the heart. When you turned to face him, he was staring at the stars, but soft trails of moonlight trickled in fat tears down his cheeks. “Sometimes, so many days pass by where I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, where I can’t even bear the sound of my own name, knowing the way it’ll go down in history. This, this night, your company and your kindness, it makes it feel worth it. That just one person will not hate me, for the rest of my life, makes it feel like it's enough.”

When he finally faced you, wet cheeks and red eyes and exposed vulnerability, you gave him the same comfort he’d given you. With hands on his cheeks to wipe away those tears, you gave your best smile, letting his head hang heavily in your palms for a while. “You’ll never be the villain in my story, Rhysand.”

His lip wobbled, and he twisted his head, lips brushing your palm as he pressed a series of fragile, trembling kisses there. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Your shiver wasn’t from the cold, but from his blatant affection. At the act, however, his pained look became dismayed, glancing over your thin attire with disappointment. He stood, reluctantly peeling your hands from his face long enough to slide down the large blazer he wore, and slipping it over your shoulders. When he pulled the lapels tightly around your body, the plush lining, still filled with his body heat, was like wrapping up in front of the fireplace, on the very rare occasions you could steal a minute to do so. 

With a roll of his shoulders, those magnificent wings you’d only ever seen from afar were visible, appearing before your very eyes as though from thin air, as though they’d always been there, only veiled, and you stared unabashedly in amazement. 

Stepping closer, until you were so close your breath bounced off of his chest and you could pick out the threads in his shirt, he wrapped them around you, sealing out cold wind and the rest of the world. 

“Better?”

“Better.” You whispered, and his resulting look of pride warmed you as much from the inside as he did from the outside. After only a brief moment of consideration, you freed one arm, looping it slowly around his waist. When he only tugged you closer, your other arm joined it. Settling your cheek against his shoulder, he moulded his body to your arm, thick arms wrapping around your body in return, sealing you to him in a hug neither of you intended to let go from any time soon. 

His lips traced the top of your head as he turned, a few kisses dotted affectionately along your hairline, drawing happy sighs from you each time. When his head dipped a little further, lips near your temple, it was to quietly murmur, “Would you like to see the stars falling?”

You pulled back, barely a fraction as he refused to let you go at all, but enough to stare up at him. “How?”

“I still have a little of my powers, such as hiding these magnificent wings.” His smirk was positively feline, the nosey Lord having pulled that tidbit from your mind, and warmth raced to your cheeks. “I can show you some of my memories from previous years, if you trust me?”

Another tap of claws on your walls, a soft stroke like a finger over your skin, and you lowered your shields slowly to allow him inside. As soon as you did, you could feel him everywhere. Swarming in your thoughts, filling your head like you were both in there, and giving as much of his feelings away as it did yours. You could feel the relief at knowing someone else’s touch, that lingering guilt for not having known you but the borderline bliss at being here right now. The elation, at being trusted. The joy of having someone to share home with. 

Your eyes fluttered closed on his command, as he began to play the memories over.

Glimpses of parties, of stars and fireworks and sequins and fancy dresses. Twirling and dancing, intoxicated fun, and when you saw Azriel or Cassian or Mor, you felt his love for them like you’d feel your own. It was like seeing it through your own eyes. In this memory, he was making his way through the palace, the House of Wind atop the mountain. 

You’d seen drawings and pictures, of course, glimpsed it from afar on clear days, but nothing had ever compared to these real images of seeing the palace home. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Tall pillars and columns made of marble and moonstone, carved and designed with intricate swirls and stories. Open balconies, large rooms, enough space that it would take you days to learn your way around, and that was just the small glimpses of it you could see now. 

Eventually, he made it to the balcony, one hand braced on the stone as he stared out across Velaris down below, so far and tiny and beautiful, a vibrant ache in your heart as you longed to be back there, one that matched in his own through the connection you’d forged. 

You watched on, as his attention turned to the sky, to the falling stars, glittery and soaring and so close. So colourful up close, you’d never seen such a sight, like being immersed within the colour, becoming a part of nature temporarily, leaving you breathless and high on the feeling. 

You watched and watched, as he once had, what felt like hours slipping by until it came to an end, and your cheeks felt wet when you finally felt him pull back from your mind. Not entirely, no, a piece of him was still lingering there behind your consciousness, a comforting weight, but your senses were all back, like your spirit had sunk back into your body.

“Thank you for showing me that.”

“Incredible, isn’t it?” 

“That stars,” you breathed, “I’ve never seen it so clearly. They were so close, like you could just reach out and touch them.”

He wiped away your tears with one arm, the other still sealed tightly around you, soon to be rejoined. “You can, and when we get out of here someday, I’ll show it to you. I’ll show you so much, give you so much.”

There was nothing else to say, no more words that could fathom this feeling. But, you didn’t need them. You knew that he knew, his presence in your mind was sure to trace it. So, instead, you just snuggled in closer, cheek on his shoulder once again, and eyes sliding closed as you let yourself sink fully into his embrace. 

He needed this as much as you did, a two-way street now opened between your minds, and a selfish part of you hoped he never took it away, that even when you were alone, you’d never be lonely again. That fraction of darkness in your mind flickered, as if making a promise.

“Why? Why did you do this for me?” He eventually asked, the question that had been hovering all night. “When I have done nothing for you?”

“Because, Rhysand, I have seen you from afar. You’ve seemed so empty, lately. I wanted to give you something to remind you to hold on.”

He’s breathless, you could feel it under your own thudding heart as his pulse raced and he panted softly into your hairline, trying to settle. “Someday, I’ll take you home. Back to Velaris, where we belong. I’ll make up for everything you’ve had to go through. You’ll never want for anything, you’ll never be alone again. But, while we’re still here, I’ll make up for these ten years I’ve missed already. What can I do, what do you want first?”

“Those are beautiful promises, Rhysand, and I appreciate them, but I don’t need them. All I want, all I need, is a friend. To not be so alone.”

“Never again, darling. Never again, will I let you be alone. It’s me and you, now.” He squeezed you in, another kiss to the top of your head, and you pressed into it, leaving a single kiss to his jaw in return. “Happy Starfall, darling.”

“Happy Starfall, Rhysand.”

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

VI. “dinner”

parts: previous / next

plot: after a sour interview attempt, you find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, brief mention of sa (which did not transpire), anger, arguing, feeling helpless

words: 2.2k

You quickly remembered how furiously he beat up the man in the alley. Maybe the truth was more transparent than you'd realized; you saw the Batman edge to him so clearly now. Batman was in the way his jaw set, his stature as he walked closer to someone. The staccato of his pointed words and how they flowed so securely past his lips. You could see it in every flex of his muscles, the intensity of his gaze. You never wanted to be on the receiving end of his vitriol. For now, all you had was his frustration and annoyance. Better than being prey.

"Forcing your dick into a stranger isn't exactly getting anything meaningful, is it?" You bit back, running over the pattering in your chest. Bitterness stung your tongue as you watched him pull back and pace between the desk again. "I'm talking money. Assets. Opportunities. If people had everything they needed, they wouldn't pillage the streets trying to find a means of self-preservation—"

He cut you off as rage seeped into your voice. "You talk like you know from experience."

"I know I'm far closer to them than an out of touch rich kid." You turned the recorder to OFF. He looked at you with suspicion. "What are you doing?"

"This is pointless." You clenched fingers around the recorder and grabbed your phone from where it sat on the table. Anger was starting to overtake you listening to someone who had everything in life handed to him look down on those who had less lucky circumstances. "I'm not dealing with you. I'm leaving."

Quick, heavy footsteps came up behind you and he grabbed your elbow. You ripped it away from him and kept on down toward the iron door. "I'm leaving." As you walked you remembered you'd left your heels; you wanted to turn around, but kept forward. Heat flushed your cheeks when you reached the door that wouldn't open. Panic. Would he even let you out? Is this when the torturing began?

"Master Wayne?" A British man's voice filled the basement. A clank, the sound of metal, and then a stutter. "Who—”

You spun around to face a grey-haired, well-dressed man peering out from an open-plan elevator. He had a pair of spectacles in hand and a worried expression. Opening your mouth to speak proved futile when Bruce Wayne was always so ready and willing to answer. "She knows, Alfred." His tone was flat and to the point, if a bit terse. Worry melted to curiosity as he nodded at you. Was that a statement or a signal?

You did a small, annoyed wave. "I'm Y/N. Wanted to interview Gotham's elusive billionaire." You covered the words in as much sarcasm as humanly possible to mask your deepening anxiety. Did he know how to fight too?

"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N. How about staying for dinner?" You felt softer with the presence of this man in the room. Was this his father? They didn't look particularly alike... and why wouldn't Bruce Wayne have an accent if this was his parent? Hadn't his parents died while he was young? Maybe he was a caretaker of sorts? A cook? Maybe it was too naive, it was likely so supremely naive as to be moronic, but you felt the mood shift when this 'Alfred' walked in. A positive one.

Bruce Wayne started to answer the dinner invite with a resounding hell no, which plastered a smile right on your face. "I'd love to!" You skipped over to retrieve your heels and sidled beside this Alfred in the elevator. Your heels ached and you wanted nothing more than to crash in your own bed. However, pissing off this asshole? And getting free food? You felt it the utmost priority to get under Bruce Wayne’s skin as much as possible. Maybe you could get more information for your paper while you were at it.

Alfred gave a come here motion for him to join you, and after a heavy scoff and eye-roll he slumped his way over. With a press of a button the doors closed and elevator shot up. To your right wafted a gentle scent of fresh musk; whoever he was, he even smelled fancy. To your right the smell of old clothes. Your eyes wandered to the stiffness of Bruce Wayne's suit; it looked like it hadn't ever been worn, and the musty scent lent that credibility. Clustered together in this small space with Alfred too, you got a bit more brave. Tested the waters. Wanted to see if your anxiety could be alleviated. You picked off a piece of lint that was on his shoulder; as soon as you touched him his head whipped toward yours, expression accosted. You suppressed a laugh. "Just some lint, Jesus."

The elevator stopped suddenly, forcing you to grab the bars as you stumbled forward. Him and Alfred walked easily as you stumbled behind them. You looked up to the massive staircase across the way, and noticed this elevator was placed adjacent to the kitchen in a dark hallway. The ceilings were impossibly tall with gothic arches and swirls in excess.

"I'm changing." Bruce Wayne walked unceremoniously out of the room and off somewhere in the gargantuan mansion at the first opportunity. Alfred showed you around the kitchen, handing you a heavy ceramic plate. Knowing them it could even be diamond. The house wasn't particularly well-lit; surprisingly for a wealthy family. Your mind immediately went to rich celebrities and their glistening homes. Gotham was so fucking weird.

Alfred winked at you as he got out two more plates. "Master Wayne can dish up himself, being how grumpy he's acted." You let out a small chuckle when the man himself silently appeared beside you, empty plate in-hand. He was suspiciously quick, and it looked weird outside of the suit. He smelled a bit better now, like a woody oak tree... and detergent. "Sorry, the prince has to dish himself." You crooned, handing him the ladle to the crockpot.

The sound of scraping dishes brought you back to meals with your mom and dad at the living room table. Homesickness enveloped you. How were they doing? They seemed excited to go to graduation; you hadn't seen them in nearly two years.

The scraping stopped. You watched carefully for the first fork to touch a tongue that wasn't yours. You made pleasant conversation until Bruce grew suspicious. He gestured to you. "Didn't you want to eat?"

Goosebumps riddled your thighs and you did your best to will them away from your arms and prying eyes. The house was so dark, but he was fucking Batman. You stumbled over some dumb excuse. "I always let the hosts eat first." It went over about as well as you thought it would with him.

"You think Alfred poisoned you?"

Shame did wheelies in your mind. It seemed a bit storybookish; come to the secret lair, have a final dinner before inevitable demise. The arches, the long table... it was all very reminiscent of something underground, something akin to holiness but more sinister. He stared at you when Alfred took a scoop from Bruce's bowl, and swallowed. You took a bite and instantly settled at how delicious it was. "Alfred, is this, uh, mulli—"

"Oh, yes! How did you know?" He was chipper, likely making up for his less kindly dinner partner. You told him how you'd asked what sort of cuisines Bruce was into—to which he shot another glare your way and the old man grinned.

You made sure to draw out the length of the dinner in spite of Bruce Wayne. He picked at his food, not eating, as you and Alfred prattled on about this, that, and oh, this other thing! It wasn't all a ruse, however; you thoroughly enjoyed Alfred as he seemed exceptionally kind and competent. Looking into his weathered face and hearing his posh accent took the burning sting of Bruce's presence away—which was another thing: he always had people refer to him with formalities, so you resigned to calling him Bruce.

"I'd like to leave, Alfred." Bruce spoke through grit teeth and pushed his plate toward the center of the table in protest. If he had been a bit more animated, it might have looked like he was throwing a tantrum. You didn't bother to hide the grin twitching your lips because you knew he'd hate that, too. It was as if nothing mattered more than getting under his skin. The bickering was peaceful, really.

Alfred wasn't having it. As far as he could tell you were being a perfectly pleasant guest, and it befuddled him why Bruce was behaving that way. He’d put a few pieces together down in the batcave, given Bruce’s unceremonious announcement that you knew about Batman, but why would he be so cold? He had always told the boy it would happen eventually, and you didn’t seem to be a particularly malignant presence.

You'd notice a glare being shot from him to Bruce after he made a snide comment or a face to something you had said, which only made you add another cherry to the pile. It wasn't like Bruce was completely in the right; in fact, he had poked at you equally as much. His transgressions were more passive, less perceptible. A judging twitch of the eyebrow, a squint, an eye-roll. It was his house and he knew he wouldn't be kicked out for acting up, so he didn't bother watching himself.

You frustrated him. Your voice was grating, your chipper demeanor nearly making him gag. But. There was something more. He truly could have gotten up at any time, as Alfred was still under his payroll. Alfred had little say in how Bruce behaved at the end of the day, and he knew he could have stormed off to his bedroom without (much) consequence. You felt like an itch he couldn't scratch. You weren't dismissible, no, but that was due to how uniquely you frustrated him. It made him feel like bees swarming in his mind, thoughts scattered, body constantly teetering off the edge. A thorn he couldn't get out of his side. The very fact that he could not pin down a sure reason sent his frustration past manageability. You knew he was Batman and you were blackmailing him for it, but that was what anyone else would have done in that situation. Why was your personality so infuriating? Like a knife slipping under his fingernails?

ZZZ ZZ. ZZZ ZZ. ZZZ ZZ. Your phone buzzed and Alfred took his cell out of his breast pocket. You opened your phone to an emergency alert. FLASH FLOOD WARNING FOR GOTHAM METRO AREA. SEVERITY: MODERATE THREAT TO LIFE AND PROPERTY. STAY INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

Bruce's brows knit together again, much as they did at city hall. "What? What's the alert?"

Alfred spoke first. "It seems there's a... flash flood warning for our area. It says to stay indoors until further notice." You hadn't noticed the sound of the torrential rainpour until you really focused in on it. There were light pattering sounds far above with the terrifically high ceilings, though very steady and consistent. If it were in your apartment you wouldn't have been able to sleep in that damn cube. Wait. Sleep. You started typing into your phone the Gotham City website, and there was a red banner posted 12 seconds ago scrolling through bolded words in white. You read them aloud.

"It says on the city website to... expect delays for up to 72 hours?!" You couldn't hide the shock in your voice. Alfred immediately turned to Bruce who got up and slammed himself out of the chair. "Great. Just great." His annoyance ricocheted off the entryway walls, his hands fists at his side. Shit. Shit shit. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. "Wait, my paper! It's,"

"It's alright dear. I'll make you a bed in a spare room down the hall from me. I have a laptop too, if your professor still expects you to turn it in during a monsoon." Alfred tried to laugh but you weren't in the mood, your heart pounding against its cage as you sobered at the thought of having to be around Bruce for more than another hour.

"Master Wayne, you'll give a tour to Miss Y/N while I draw up a room."

"Are you kidding me?" You couldn't see him but the frustration in his tone was different now. It felt... inescapable, which made the terror more palpable. You had just blackmailed the most infamous vigilante in the world. And now you were stuck in his house. Fuck. Karma.

[shhh-secret-time]

Hi lovey! I would never pass up an opportunity to request something from you, you are litro my fav writer on here ^_^ Obsessed with the way you perfectly capture the love in your polyam stuff, can we get Style x fem reader with some fluffy and soft lovemaking👀 Aaaa I’d just die for that!

Lots of love from a loyal reader, take care of yourself 💘✨

Me? Me am favorite? Why?! You bless me with the sweet words. I hope I continue to serve.

Also happy Kyle Week guys! We stan a silly man in love! I had a blast writing this one!

Warning: NSFW, Strong Language, F/M/M, Threesome, Pillow violence.

Pairings: Stan x Fem!Reader x Kyle

It's the pressure on his chest that stirs him. At first it was gentle, almost comforting in a way, but now it's too much. Every time he takes a breath it's strained. Kyle doesn't need to open his eyes to know what the source of his discomfort is, he already knows.

Stanley Marsh was a cuddler. It wasn't a secret the man was the most touch starved human being in South Park, but some imaginary pride kept him from acting on it in public. Behind closed doors the man had to be touching Kyle constantly, especially if it was bedtime.

"Dude you can't break the nighttime routine. Hurry up and get your ass in this bed. I'm tired!"

"Then go to bed Stan! Just because you don't care about your skin's health doesn't mean I have to neglect mine!"

It would be one thing if it was just Stan, unfortunately he wasn't alone. You were just as bad, if not worse. Kyle couldn't recall any moment in his shared relationship with you and Stan if you were ever warm. Not a day went by that you didn't complain about being cold.

"Kyle, sweetheart, love of my life, sun in my sky, light of my-"

"Yes, you can use my hoodie and my sweatpants."

A part of him feels bad; because as he cracks open his eyes, letting that early morning light hit the greens of his eyes, you both look so peaceful on his chest. Nothing in this world ever makes him feel so at peace than when he catches his lovers cuddles up against him. Stan tucked into his side; face nuzzled into the crook of neck with a heavy arm wrapped around his chest. You under that arm, slotted between his legs with your head resting just below his heart.

No, he can't think of anything more perfect. One of the many perks of being an early riser. He'd never tell either of you how he lies here for the first ten minutes of his day just admiring your sleeping forms. The way your hair clung to your face or how you would mumble under your breath, letting him know what kind of dreams you were having. Or how Stan's lips would curl up into a smile when he placed a kiss on his forehead. It was adorable that he could give him a dorky smile in his sleep, even with that trail of drool rolling down the side of his chin.

Kyle could deal with the sore arm and crushed lungs, not even the sweat bothered him. But the one thing Kyle couldn't stand being was being late, he couldn't stand it when his schedule was thrown off. If the shrill screaming alarm went off, it meant it was time to get up. Time to start his day and get work done so he can come home to the both of you as quickly as possible. Do the work, get the reward. That anxiety of keeping anyone waiting for him or being late for something was too strong to ignore.

So, what was he to do when his alarm went off and his two partners wouldn't move. Normally the alarm at least stirred you off him, made Stan roll over and give him room to get up. Something about this chilly Thursday morning kept you both glued to your spots. If anything, Kyle thinks he felt Stan's muscles twitch and his arm slide down towards his waist, tightening his hold on him. Your smaller frame moving closer to the source of warmth, sliding your cold little hands under his shirt. He couldn't tell if you were secretly awake and punishing him for even thinking about moving, or if you were just innocently still asleep. Either way that damn alarm wouldn't stop screaming.

With a huff, he moves his free arm across your body and makes a grab for the phone. Stan's eye, the one not buried in the crook of his neck, cracks open and he swats Kyle's hand. Sleep still trapped in his eyes, Stan fumbles with the device making it stop its cry for attention. He misses the glare Kyle shoots his way.

"Stop movin'." Stan's grumbled words make it sound like he's not asking, but Kyle wasn't having it.

"You know I need to get up. Now come on, let me get up." Kyle goes to move you off his chest and into Stan's arms. He figures you both can keep each other warm and comfortable so he can get up to start his day.

"Stop moving..." You whine in response to him trying to get up. He lets out the softest grunt when you push on his chest.

His brows furrow when he's pushed back down onto the bed. Kyle's back hits the plush of the bed making the headboard knock against the wall. If this kind of behavior was done on the weekend, he would have found it kind of adorable that you're both being so whiney. It did make Kyle feel loved that he was wanted, but being loved doesn't pay the bills or excuse irresponsibility.

So, he tries again, moves his arm out from under Stan and wraps it around you. In your sleepy haze you think he's going to give you a hug and give into the snuggling. You should have known better, should have remembered that Kyle was a stubborn man. Kyle twists his body in Stan's hold and uses you as a shield. Moving you into the arms of the raven-haired man, which Stan almost falls for. It's instinct at this point for Stan to hold you.

As much as he clings to Kyle, Stan clings to you. He loves picking you up and taking you away from whatever you're working on for cuddles. You don't fight him nearly as much as Kyle does and you get his warmth, it's a win-win. You huff in response, how dare that man use you and Stan's weakness against you.

"Kyle...noooo! Come back to bed." Your hands fly out to grab at his pajama shirt, tugging on the material.

"Don't give me that. I already told Stan I need to get up, you heard my alarm I know you did." The scolding in Kyle's tone dies when he sees how sweet you look. Even Stan looks adorable with his messy hair and baby blue eyes.

How dare you use his weakness for puppy dog eyes against him. The only defense he can think of is to turn his head and twist his body away from cute kryptonite. Turning his back on you proved to be his downfall. As soon as he did Stan's arm was around his waist, pulling him back against him again. You slipped around his body as if this was a coordinated attack. You moved your hands up his chest and locked them lazily around his neck.

"You're both horrible! God damn it Stan let me go! And you-" Kyle's protests come with a healthy scowl, one he's sure you're not taking seriously. "-you stop helping him!"

"Just five more minutes, please!" You whisper pleading, almost begging.

He knows better. Kyle knows better than to say yes because it won't be five minutes. It'll turn into ten, and that ten will turn to twenty. He'll be trapped here until Stan's alarm goes off, where he'll lay there watching him hit snooze three times. By then he'll have hit the fourth and Kyle will be late for work.

"No. I warned you both last night not to stay up and watch Castlevania." Despite his complaints, Kyle finds his body starting to melt back into the bed. His muscles don't tense as they should. His hands don't pry you away from him and instead find home on your hips. He even lets Stan intertwine his legs with his.

"Hmm, you're just grumpy Stan and I watched it without you." You hum in response, pressing a soft kiss on one of the stray freckles on his neck.

"Hm." Stan doesn't seem to register the conversation you're having, just grunting to tell you he's still awake. And that he really doesn't want to be.

"I'm not upset that you- wait you watched it all?"

".... No?" You muffle your lie in his skin, trying to hide the growing smile creeping across your face.

"You little shit!" He goes to bite down on your neck, squirming out of Stan's hold just enough to pin your wrists back by your head.

Squeals and kicks aren't enough to get him to stop. He rolls you over until you’re flat on your back, being late for work is a distant thought. Not when you just ratted yourself and Stan out. A betrayal like this can't go unpunished. Try as you might, you can't fight back Kyle's light-hearted wrath. His hands are up and under your shirt before you can blink, squeezing and tickling the sides of your stomach.

"Stan! Stan, help meeee! He did it too! Get him!" One minute you're begging to be saved, the next you're trying to drag him down with you. Gasping loudly as you try to catch your breath in between giggles.

Stan grumbles something now more awake since all that kicking, you're doing landed his way. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes before registering what you just said. A little smirk playing on his lips and instead of coming to your aid, he props himself up on his elbow.

"He'll get his! Don't you worry!" Stan's smirk drops. Kyle cuts him off like he knows Stan was about to protest. "Stanley Marsh don't you even try and get out of this!"

Luckily for you Kyle's assault stops long enough for you to scramble away and catch your breath. Your heels dig into the bed, hands fumbling the pillow beside you. Anything to keep distance between Kyle and your sore sides. You watch as Stan sits up, giving Kyle a loving look. Slowly a hand cups Kyle's hips, soft digits rubbing circles in a way that allows him to dip them past the band of Kyle's sweatpants. The Marsh Charm™ is in full effect.

"Kyle...dude look we can watch it again. And we'll get all the satisfaction of watching your cute face react to the stuff we already know." Stan lets his voice dip low, sweet whispers against the shell of his ear.

"Yeah? To the stuff you already know?" Kyle leans into his touch, lips getting closer towards Stan's. He's close enough that Stan's eyelids lower down, breath ghosting across his partner's lips.

"Hm-m."

The poor fool. You almost feel bad for Stan. The Marsh Charm™ is but a candle to the roaring fire that is the Broflovski Wrath™. As soon as Kyle brushes his lips across Stan's lips, and the man's shoulders drop, a pillow is swung hard against the side of his head. Out of left field a flash of blue and white stripes slam into the side of Stan's head. Hovering over him in triumph, Kyle continues his attack. Stan's arms come up to defend his face from the memory foam, each wack making a thump against his head.

"I.don't.want.your.shitty.excuses!" Each word comes with a healthy swing. Kyle was on a warpath now. Denied the right to get up and get his morning coffee. Denied the right to a warm shower to wash the sleep out of his eyes. Denied the right to whatever else his morning routine demanded. And now he was denied any happiness that would have come with watching a silly Netflix animated series with the loves of his life.

Once he's decided Stan's had enough, he falls back onto the bed and sighs. He didn't need to look at his phone, there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to be late. So, he tosses the pillow onto Stan's face, who had just let his guard down again, and curls up next to you. Right back in the middle where you both had him moments ago.

"Fine. You win. The both of you are terrible, awful influences and when I get fired, you'll have no one to blame but yourselves." You and Stan both know that would never happen. The company Kyle worked for needed him badly, and he almost never called out of work.

When he closes his eyes, he expects the both of you to return to your spots. Reaping the sweet reward of a few more minutes of shut eye, basking in the warmth of his body like you always do. And in a way, you do. You and Stan take your positions against him, with you pressed up against his chest and Stan against his back.

Only you don't rest your head on his chest, instead he feels your hands playing with the metal snap buttons on his shirt. He feels Stan's hands playing with the hem of his pants again, hooking a thumb in the band of the sweats. Stan tugs him back against him just as your fingers pop a button open. The little snap makes his eyes shoot open.

"Someone's grumpy~"

"Are you mad at us baby?"

That purr in your voice and that little laugh that comes from Stan tells him that neither of you had any plans of going back to sleep. Kyle feels Stan's nails dig into his hips and can't help but groan a little at the pain. Those pretty sounds from his lips make Stan's cock jump up at attention, the borrowed basketball shorts do little to hide his growing arousal. Chapped lips trail down Kyle's neck, brushing up against the pulse point on his throat. Kyle's head lulls back expecting Stan to bite down, but all it does is open him up for Stan's lips to continue exploring.

He's so wrapped up in the way Stan makes him feel that he barely registers it when you push his shirt down. The shirt folds and slides down towards his elbows where you leave it. Your lips almost meet Stan's at the same point on his body, right on his shoulder where more freckles cover his skin. When your lips brush against Stan's you let out the sweetest laugh, one Kyle can feel make his heart speed up.

"Was here first~" Stan smirks down at you, nipping at your bottom lip. "I left his neck for you."

You giggle again and push your lips up against his as if to silence him with a kiss. You weave a response in between kisses. "You're the biter Stan, you take his neck."

"Don't talk like I'm- ah!" Kyle yelps when your teeth sink into his chest, right below his collarbone. It cuts his complaints short and turns it into a loud moan.

It's Stan's turn to laugh, a hint of pride in that deep sound. His thumb brushes over the bright red mark left behind, admiring it with a grin. He presses his lips back onto Kyle's skin right at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"F..Fucking Christ you two. What happened to five more minutes?" Kyle gasps at the warmth left behind Stan's tongue.

"Stan and I had other ideas! You seemed so upset that we did something without you." As sweet as you sounded, the way your nails scraped down his chest and stomach made Kyle groan. "Now we're doing something with you. Isn't this better Ky?"

He wants to respond with a snarky comment, to gain some sense of control over the situation, but his head is spinning. He should be used to this by now, how you and Stan make him feel. But every kiss and hot breath that ghosts his skin makes his heart flutter, it makes him fall that much deeper in love. Especially when he hears praise after praise falls from your lips.

"So pretty."

Was he really? Kyle looked at himself in the mirror that was connected to your dresser. His face was flushed, and his hair was a mess.

"Love those sounds Ky."

His moans? Or the whimpers? Both? He couldn't stop them if he tried.

"Keep you rockin' your hips like that fuck you feel so good."

Just a little friction, something to help relieve his throbbing cock. Something to help Stan's that pushed him forward, forcing his cock to grind against the thin material of your underwear.

"Let’s get this off you."

The desperate whine that escapes his lips turns into a gasp when Stan pushes his sweats down. Your hands follow close behind pushing down his boxers leaving him in nothing but that sleep shirt still draped on his arms. Stan moves his hands off his hips for a moment, he feels the man shift behind him and soon the rustling of clothes close behind. But a second later he feels Stan's arousal against his.

His cock slides up between his legs pressing up against his. Kyle bites his bottom lip as he reaches down to grasp both members in his hand. Deft fingers wrap around them and begin pumping slowly, creating delicious friction. When Stan moans lowly and jerks his hips, it encourages him to go faster. Pre-cum being smeared in-between his hand and their shafts. It was messy but it made him feel so good, so good he didn't want to stop. He could feel that pressure building, pleasure rocking in his stomach in time with Stan's clumsy thrusts. He tightens his hand, squeezing the tips just as his hand comes back up.

It wasn't until he felt Stan's desperate hands grab at his wrist that he realized just how close he was. The hot pleasure that he was building up simmered down to a low heat. Tiny beads of sweat already forming on his chest and down his arms. When he looked down at you, you seemed to be enjoying the show.

Your fingers were dancing up and down his stomach, causing the skin to flex in response. He watched as they traced up towards Stan's arms and up back behind Kyle's head.

"We have all morning now Ky. Relax~ let's take it slow." Stan purred in his ear, low and soft. He felt his face burry into the crook of his neck again.

Kyle closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. Still, that didn't stop him from seeking out something to help his aching cock. He pulls you closer towards his frame, feeling your thighs instinctively spreading enough to where he can slot himself between. A moan escapes you as he slips his fingers down the hem of your underwear. He slips his fingers past the band, immediately seeking out your wetness. Kyle coats his fingers before placing them straight along your clit.

Your hips start to move in sync with his fingers. Grinding against the calloused fingertips, trying to create more friction. The angel of his hand and the fact that you were the only one still dressed made that difficult.

"Help me take this off."

You sound so desperate, how could he not? Hurriedly he removes his fingers from your cunt to assist you in removing what clothes you still had on. As soon as they were thrown off to the side, creating some pile in the corner of your shared bedroom, his fingers were back on you.

The only time his fingers stop their assault is when he feels your body tense. They sneak down, drenching in slick, he pushes them inside of you. Pulling his fingers out of you just enough to where he can slide them back inside. He creates a repetitive motion, curling his fingers against the sweet spot of your walls.

Stan watches from behind him with a humming approval. His own hand reaches out and grips your chin, bringing you closer. Your lips lock together for a brief moment. Gentle soft kisses that come with a warm smile. Your bodies pressed firmly against Kyle.

Stan gives you one last lazy peck on the lips before he moves his hand back down to Kyle's thigh. He nudges his legs open just enough to slip his hard cock up against his backside. There's a moment where he pulls away but it's only a breath. He twists his body back with a small blue bottle of clear gel.

Seconds later he repositions himself behind Kyle. It's like every moan you let out only encourages him. After putting a healthy amount of lube on his cock, Stan aligns himself back up against him. He takes the time to lather the cold gel onto his hole before gently pushing himself in. Kyle slightly winces in response, his body tensing but as he focuses on fingers on you, he relaxes.

"That's it Ky. Relax. I'm gonna make you feel so good." His sweet words coax him. Kyle can only bite his lip and nod.

At the same time, you pull his hand out of your soaked cunt. His fingers coated in your arousal. You smile up at him when his eyes fly down to you. He's worried for a moment, but that look of love and admiration in your eyes makes him relax.

Not wanting you to go far from him, Kyle wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back against him. He copies Stan's movements and lifts your thigh, tossing your leg over his hip where Stan takes your ankle.

His hand going down to spread your lips where he eagerly guides his tip inside, you both sigh a relieving sigh at the feeling of it. A deep groan sounded from him and Stan both, once he's fully sheathed inside you. Stan rocks his hips forward, pushing in and out carefully. He tries to keep things slow, concentrating on pleasuring you just as much as Stan's giving him.

But the minute he rocks into you, being carried by Stan's momentum, he's commenting on his own desire. "More. Please, hurry up."

You roll your hips in response, hands flying out to be tangled up in his hair. There's that silent conversation that goes on between you and Stan again, one that he can't follow because of how much of a daze he's in. Stan presses a kiss on his cheek, you press one on his chest.

"Anything for you baby." It's the way your voice dips into a sultry purr and the way Stan's hands grab hips. "Like when you beg."

Kyle's seeing stars.

The delicious sounds and desperate use of his name almost sends him overboard. Stan's grip tightens and he picks up his movements, fucking him at a steady pace. Every time Stan drives his cock into him, it pushes his own further into you. Tight walls wrapped around his dick perfectly, like it was made for him.

Your walls stretch and pull him. Accommodating for the thick size, each thrust reaching further inside. Kyle nudges every sweet spot he can to pull more moans from you. The sound of wet skin on skin filled the room. A perfect rhythm and dance created.

It isn't until his name comes out in a choked cry that he knows how close you are. He hits a particular spot that had your vision turning white. That feeling of hot pressure shoots up through your body and down to your feet, you arch your back determined to have him repeat the action. "Th-there! Right there again! Please!"

Drawn-out moans escape his throat encouraging Stan to go faster and him to thrust harder. Your arms wrap around his neck bringing him down for another kiss. Stan's gaze makes it all the hotter, as he patiently waits for his turn. Once you break for air, Kyle doesn't get that luxury because Stan's mouth his on his before he can breathe. Each kiss makes him feel more and more loved.

Kyle has to break the kiss to breathe. To catch his breath and stop the room from spinning. The lack of air leads to the growing pressure building up in his stomach again. He's so close, he can feel his stomach tighten. That familiar warmth pooling at his stomach. He knew Stan was close from the way his hips were beginning to lose their steady rhythm. He wants to hold out. Find a way to cum together, he's not sure why he wants that so badly, but he does.

In seconds of wishful thinking, he feels your body start to tense. Your orgasm building higher and higher, walls constricting around his cock. Kyle watches your eyes flutter shut as a high-pitched whine escapes your lips.

"Close- 'm so close! Gonna cum!"

"Fu-fuck!"

Then like a band stretched too far. He snaps. Kyle lets his climax take over, spilling his load inside of you. The sight alone makes Stan follow shortly after. With a final thrust he buries himself deep inside of him, tightening his arms as he does. Between his blunt nails digging into your thighs and the lazy thrusts, you follow shortly after.

Kyle's heart was racing so loudly it was all he could hear past the soft panting. The out of breath chest heaving up and down in time with one another. He's never felt more connected to anyone before. Through his glossy vision he watches as you're the first to move, slipping off his softening cock. Stan follows behind pulling out of him slowly. Why was his body so spent? He felt so exhausted at that moment.

Your gentle hands move to help clean him, and Stan lifts him up enough to where he's back on his pillows. They've never felt so soft in that moment. He lets his eyes close, and he feels the weight of it all.

"Mm... give… give me a minute and I'll get up." Kyle mumbles in the fluff of the pillows.

"Okay baby. Stan and I are gonna make breakfast. That sound good?"

He doesn't respond. Even his mouth feels too heavy to talk. He just nods and decides to give himself five more minutes. Then he'll get up, grab a cup of coffee, and start his day.

[moki-dokie]

reasons i will never forgive the showrunners if they don't at least acknowledge jjpope by the end of s3

featuring: ✨✨✨queerbaiting✨✨✨

wearing each other's clothes:

jj taking every opportunity ever to touch pope (god there are SO many more examples too):

jj getting sexual with, to, or about pope and ONLY pope, ever:

INTRICATE RITUALS:

(with coincidentally well timed lyrics right as it cuts to this scene sorry not sorry editing choices like that are done for a reason)

jj very often gazing at his lips instead of his eyes while talking to him:

(seconds before going in for the kiss)

jj constantly putting himself between pope and danger or being protective of him:

KISSING:

INTIMATE NECK KISSING IN A HOT TUB FOR WHICH THERE IS NO HETEROSEXUAL REASON FOR????:

I RAN OUT OF ROOM FOR IMAGES BUT LETS NOT FORGET ALSO

how jj has quite a few pet names for pope but no one else, how pope and jj are almost always paired off together, how jj has explicitly said 'i love you' to pope TWICE, how jj calms pope down when he starts spiraling, how jj and pope have more physical contact and affection than the two romantic leads, how jj is supposed to be a manho from how he's introduced and yet the opening shot is the one and only time we've seen him with someone in a romantic or sexual manner. how about the multiple accounts of people sharing gifs of them to people who have never seen the show with 0 context provided and damn near every time the consensus is 'they are not straight/they are hitting on each other'. I've covered most of this before. the list goes on.

we could even get into film editing choices from the perspective of my bestie who has a degree in that very field and how SO many of their scenes are shot, lit, scored, and all around edited with romantic intent,.

but then wait, there's more! how about how multiple members of the cast (including rudy!!) have stated they support the ship and think it's cute? or how multiple netflix socials heavily suggested jjpope was going to be canon? how so many of the key jjpope moments were improv that could have been cut and redone (like the fucking hot tub scene) if they didn't want it going in a possible homo direction??? or how jjpope was the first major ship to come out of obx BECAUSE of such heavy handed subtext?? and then the showrunners have the audacity to pivot to jiara at the last second because of a handful of fucking rabid stans that harassed the cast so severely it drove most of them off of socials??? with the paper thin excuse of 'oh we never expected that lets explore it'???????????

and whats the definition of queerbaiting again? "Queerbaiting is a marketing technique for fiction and entertainment in which creators hint at, but then do not depict, same-sex romance or other LGBTQ+ representation. The purpose is to attract ("bait") a LGBTQ+ or straight ally audience with the suggestion or possibility of relationships or characters that appeal to them."

right.

i still have a sliver of hope that their 'exploration' of jiara is just like, 2 episodes of them giving it a shot and realizing they actually suck together. i still have hope they aren't gonna do us so blatantly dirty and might give us something even if it's just crumbs. most of the cast are loud and proud queer allies, the showrunners have so far been pretty fucking cool and extremely supportive of the queer community, even refusing to film in north Carolina because of transphobic bathroom laws. it would feel especially dirty if they really did bait us because of that. but man. MANNN. it just ain't looking good. i'd hate to give up on the show. i love it and love the actors even more but if they do it, i might just have to.

[mangoshorthand]

Could you possibly do Five x Reader where Five and the reader have a fight and the reader storms off. The next time Five sees them, they're in the infirmity, comatose, and no one is sure when, or even IF, the reader will wake up. Five has to sit with his regrets that the last thing he said was something he didn't mean and that he wasn't there to protect them when they needed it. When the Reader wakes up, Five breaks down in happiness, giving the reader all the love he can. Heavy Angst with a bit of fluff cause I like happy endings. Lol. Thank you!

This gave me serious flashbacks to the end of No Hard Feelings. Hope you enjoy this. Nothing like a bit of angst. Here ya go!

Dickhead Sugar Daddy | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader Words: 2.8k, rated T

It was such a stupid fight. He didn’t even believe what he said the moment he said it.

He insisted that you take that money. He wasn’t the type of guy to beg, but he came damn close. He watched you struggling to pay medical debt for an entire year before you let him pay it off for you. Until then, you were too proud to accept his help. He told you again and again that it wasn’t a big deal. It was only in four figures and his father left behind more money than he could ever use, even when divided among all his siblings. 

“I’d give it to a friend,” he said, “even if you and I don’t work out, it doesn’t matter. Gotta be honest, I wouldn’t even notice if that amount disappeared from one of my accounts. You owe me nothing, okay?”

He could tell it made you uncomfortable and, truth be told, he didn’t much like the feeling of being a sexagenarian trust fund brat so out of touch with ordinary life that this amount of money wasn’t even a blip on his radar. After you finally accepted his offer, he hoped you could both just forget about it.

So why had he been such a colossal asshole?

The argument was about housework on top and booze underneath. Neither of you wanted to state the obvious fact that Five’s binge-drinking was becoming a problem so, instead, you fought about the consequences.

“God, turn that thing off, will you?” he shouted, irritably over the roar of the vacuum.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Well, I’m sorry, darling,” he said, testily, “I just feel like shit, alright? I don’t need the goddamn vacuum in my ear.”

“Well, sorry Five, but the world doesn’t stop because you’ve got a hangover. My friend’s coming tomorrow and you promised we’d clean up today.”

“Here’s the thing: this is your friend, not mine.”

“But this is our home,” you snapped back, “we both live here and this is half your mess. You’ve been shitty about this all week.”

“Oh, so I can’t be busy?” he replied, smiling sarcastically.

“Oh yeah. So ‘busy’,” you said, doing the air quotes that would have made him punt you through a wall were you absolutely anybody else, “- busy farting around with math and looking for non-existent paradoxes around every corner.”

“It’s theoretical physics, moron. Maybe your tiny brain can’t comprehend what I’m doing, but I can assure you it’s more important than the shitty job you do all day.”

“Oh wow.” you said, laughing disbelievingly, “Well fuck you, dickhead.”

“Yeah?” he said, fire behind his eyes, “well don’t come crying to this dickhead the next time you need a sugar daddy.”

Your mouth dropped open. You stood there, frozen, looking into his face. Later, Five thought it could have gone either way in that moment: if only he’d apologized, perhaps he could still have stopped it. 

But he would never know, because he didn’t apologize: he just let his shittiest, most insolent smile spread across his face.

You threw down the vacuum, grabbed your jacket and left without looking back.

At the time, Five considered it a job well done, only glad for the opportunity to rest his banging head. Over the following days, however, he would play your departure over and over in his head, scouring his memory for everything that proved his guilt.

You were agitated; probably too agitated to pay attention: his fault.

You were hurt; perhaps hurt enough to do something impulsive: his fault. 

You were enraged; maybe your final thoughts as you stepped off the sidewalk were of how much you hated him. And it was all his fault.

He didn’t even know he was your emergency contact.

By the time the phone rang, he’d hauled himself off his ass and cleaned in preparation for your friend’s visit. He also guiltily made a reservation at your favorite restaurant, hoping to apologise over dinner.

So when he answered the phone, he expected your voice:

“Hi. Can I speak to Mr Hargreeves?”

It wasn’t your voice. It was a stranger. 

“There are a few of us,” he replied, “you’re gonna have to be more specific there.”

“Mr Five Hargreeves?”

“Speaking.”

“Right. Hello. Uh- I’m a paramedic. I found this number in a patient’s phone’s I.C.E.”

 He could barely register the rest of her explanation. As soon as he heard those four words: ‘hit by a bus’, his entire body went cold. His stalled brain could only repeat it again and again as horror encroached slowly into every fiber of his body.

Hit by a bus. A bus?...Hit by a bus?

He was only brought back to a sense of the here and now by the repeated summons of the voice on the other end of the line.

“Sir?....Sir?”

“Hit by a bus?” he asked, weakly, trying to keep a firm handle on his swimming head.

“Sir, I think you should sit down.”

He took the advice and collapsed into the straight-backed chair beside the phone, eyes fixed straight ahead of himself.

“I’m sitting down. I sat down.”

“Good. Now listen to me: you should try to get here as soon as possible. Give me your address and I’ll call you a cab, okay?”

“I don’t need a-”

“Sir,” the voice said, sternly, “give me your address. You don’t sound like you’re in a fit state to drive.”

Drive? He could as easily drive as he could fly right now. His legs trembled beneath him, his brain sending confusing, bewildered signals. He never folded in stressful situations, yet here he was shaking like a leaf.

“Sir?”

“My brothers,” he blurted, “I’ll get a ride from one of them.”

The paramedic was satisfied with this and gave him the hospital name again very slowly and deliberately. After accepting her good wishes and slamming the phone back in its cradle, he willed his body back into action, stumbling down the stairs and screaming for anyone who might be around.

Lila answered his call, and one look at his shocked, white face told her that this was serious. 

As soon as he could have expected, he was entering your hospital room. Lila offered to accompany him, but he dismissed her with muted thanks. This was something he had to face alone. 

Your face: bruised purple and cuts newly stitched. Your left leg: in a cast that went all the way up. But the doctors weren’t worried about the broken bones, they were worried by the head injury.

Comatose.

You were comatose because of him.

Standing there in the doorway, he was hit by his own bus. His guts constricted, breath catching in his chest. 

“Don’t come crying to this dickhead next time you need a sugar daddy.”

As his own words echoed back to him, he squeezed his eyes closed, shutting out the sight and trying to gather himself. But it was too late. He whooped in a breath and felt the hot sting of suppressed tears behind his eyes.

All he could do was wait, they told him. The brain had a remarkable capacity to repair itself, they said. You might wake up and be just fine...but you also might not wake up at all. 

He swiped at his face with his forearm. 

Seconds were useless now: you needed seconds as soon as you stepped out into the road. If only he’d followed and apologized like he should have done immediately, he would have been there. He might have stopped it happening before it did, or he could have wound back time and undone it. 

But now, hours since you were hit? His puny time-travel powers couldn’t help, not without decades of planning and tinkering and paradox-proofing. Perhaps more years than he had left to live.

If only he hadn’t been such a cunt in the first place. None of it would have happened.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, from behind his own forearm held across his face, “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

He sat at your bedside, teeth gritted against the tears he wouldn’t give himself the luxury of crying. He held your hand tight, as if torrential water might sweep you away were it not for him anchoring you.

He held your hand as if his grip might tether you to life.

And his mind preyed upon itself.

Yet again, his own selfishness had hurt someone he loved. And this time it was the person he loved more than anything. First, he abandoned his siblings for the sake of his own ego and now he’d probably killed you because he was a cruel, spiteful asshole.

“Don’t come crying to this dickhead next time you need a sugar daddy.”

He sat in silence for the rest of the daylight hours, listening to your heart monitor. Every new beep was a relief, the spaces between were looming and fear-filled. The silence held the possibility that the next beep might never come. 

When darkness fell and the hospital’s bustle fell to a low ebb, he leaned forward and laid his head beside yours on the pillow.

“Please don’t die.”

And hearing himself say it was all it took for the dam to break. He couldn’t keep the tears in anymore. He cried like he hadn’t cried since those first years in the apocalypse, when he’d still been young enough to sob ‘I wanna go home!’ and ‘I want my mom!’ into the unhearing wasteland. 

“Please.” he said, burying his red, tear-streaked face in your hair, “Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. I promise I didn’t.” 

He tore in two or three gasping breaths.

“Please, angel. Don’t leave me. I can’t- I can’t-”

But he was crying too hard to speak. He raised his fist to his mouth and bit down on it to contain the wails clawing their way up his throat and threatening to burst bounds.

Cutting white teeth marks into his knuckles, he cried it out until he could control himself; until his voice could stay steady.

“You gotta wake up,” he whispered, “I can’t do this on my own anymore. I need you, okay? I’ll be better. I’ll be whatever you need me to be. Just don’t leave me.”

Another shaky breath.

“-you’re the fucking love of my life. I love you so much and without you I can’t even- I can’t.”

He screwed up his eyes again, trying to keep himself from re-dissolving.

“I can’t imagine getting up without you any more. I can’t imagine going to sleep without you. There wouldn’t be any point, y’know? I may as well just…”

He never finished the sentence. He felt like muscles and tendons in his chest were being pulled apart by strong hands.

Day time. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t washed, hadn’t eaten. He spent most of his time in the chair beside the bed, holding your hand in his, but he occasionally perched beside you on the bed, stroking your hair and talking almost nonstop.

“You’re gonna have to wake up soon, darling.” he said, “They say they’ll have to give you a feeding tube if you’re asleep for much longer. You won’t like that. So how about this: you always hate it when I don’t eat. You loom over me while I’m working and make me eat. So- how do you like this: I’m not gonna eat until you do.”

He made a satisfied noise as if you’d responded.

“Exactly- you don’t want that, do you. So you gotta wake up- it's the only way you can make sure I eat. I've got you there, haven't I?”

He looked down at his own hand over yours. 

“And, to sweeten the deal, if you wake up before they have to put the feeding tube in, you get breakfast in bed every day for two months after we get home. And I’ll massage your feet on demand. Shit, I’ll let the world end rather than miss a single minute with you. I’m going to be better. I’ll do better with the booze. I swear, I’m going to be the perfect man. You deserve that. You deserve better. Please. Just wake up.”

What started off as light humor had devolved again into the desperate bargaining of the night.

He looked down at his shoes and felt exhaustion wash over him. He rubbed at his eyes with the palm of one hand and wished he had the faith requisite to pray. 

A groan.

His head snapped back up so abruptly that it twinged his neck. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of life and found none. Just as he thought he’d imagined the sound, your hand twitched in his.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

Eyebrows knitted, he sprang to his feet and called your name urgently, leaning towards you and resisting the urge to take you by the shoulders and shake you.

“Come on,” he urged, “say something. Open your eyes. Please, just let me know you’re in there.”

Slowly, and seemingly with as much effort as if your eyelids were weighted with iron, your eyes drifted open. They were vague and bloodshot, but they held his gaze.

“That’s it!” he said.

Tears, of joy this time, fell thick and fast again.

“Oh, thank fuck. I can’t believe it. Oh, fuck.”

Your mouth opened and a rusty voice spoke.

“Hello.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He bent towards you and held you to him as tightly as he could in your delicate state. His heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. Relief and euphoria rushed through his every atom. He kissed your forehead, each cheek and peppered several more across your nose and chin. He was too uncontrolled, too carried away by his own gladness to have finesse. Each kiss made a gentle smack against your skin.

“Who are you?” came your voice. 

And it was like the sun going in. He straightened up, cautiously. 

“It’s Five, angel,” he said, gently, “You remember me, right?”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

His breath caught in his throat. 

You had a brain injury. For some reason he hadn’t prepared himself for the fact that some things might be permanently broken. 

But then your face broke into a hazy smile, and a halting creak issued from your chest. If he wasn’t mistaken, that sounded like-

“Ah wait, you’re that dickhead sugar daddy I know, aren’t you?”

You were laughing. You were fucking with him.

Another wave of relief coursed through him. He bent again and kissed you with a pumping heart and tightening lungs. His lips parted yours, desperate, tender and giddy.

“I love you,” he said, between kisses,”I love you, I love you. I c-can’t believe you’re okay!”

And again he was sobbing. He laid his forehead on yours and cried unashamedly into your face. One of your hands drifted slowly upwards and came to rest heavily on his shoulder. He cried that way for a few minutes while you looked up at him dreamily. 

Eventually, when his crying began to lessen, you began to giggle slightly madly. He withdrew, looking down at you in a moment of confusion. 

And then it hit him: the dosage of medication.

You laughed harder, your hand coming to thump him on the shoulder as something hilarious occurred to you.

“Guess what. Guess what, Five: now I’m gonna have…even more…medical…debt!”

You dissolved into a peal of helpless laughter, which he couldn’t help but join in with despite all his tears.

“Don’t think about that now. Dickhead sugar daddy’s got your back.”

He continued more seriously when his laughter subsided. 

“I fucked up bad. I’m so sorry. I was sorry less than ten minutes after you left. I didn’t mean it.”

With the attitude of one who’s won a bet, you pointed at him weakly, 

“Now you have to make me breakfast in bed every day for two months.”

“I will,” he grinned, “if you say you forgive me?”

You smiled but didn’t answer, letting out another little burble of laughter.

He decided that now might be a bad time to talk about what happened in too much detail. There would be time for heart-to-hearts when you weren’t dosed up on enough pain meds to knock out a bull elephant. 

Instead, he kicked off his shoes and brought his legs up so that he lay on the very edge of the bed while taking up as little space as possible. He laid his head gently on your shoulder and heard you sigh with contentment.

Here it was: his longed-for second chance. 

He felt his eyelids growing heavy. All was right with the world now.

“I don’t want the perfect man,” you mumbled.

“Huh?” he said, rousing himself.

“I don’t want the perfect man,” you repeated, “I want you.”

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

hi! it's been far too long since ive done this, but classes have been kicking my ass. next semester is my last at this college, so i'm trying to get as much done as possible <3

thank you to the lovely @captain-of-silvenar for tagging me, and to everyone who has been tagging me in my absence!!

tagging @orfeoarte @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @viss-and-pinegar and whoever wants to do this and hasnt been tagged!!

this week, i bring the rough draft of the rewritten first chapter of An Inner Sanctity. ancano wakes up to find himself in an unfamiliar setting with intense pain he can't find a source for… and someone else in the cabin with him.

The room was dark. Lit only by a hearth, or some other fire. He could almost hear it crackle, if not for the shooting, electric pain digging into him like a hot knife. It ran in wild arcs from his lower spine, up through his shoulders and down through the legs, into his head until it pounded. He strangled a cry mid-way from his mouth and choked on air, face balled tight in an effort to shut it off, but that only served to intensify the tension in his head. He laid back on the pillow, coated in a new layer of cold sweat, lungs ragged in their attempts to keep any air in them. He tried to move, kicking his legs like stubborn carts laden with ore, but they were too heavy to move under the quilts and his own exhaustion. The pain dulled, first a slow glimmer of softening, then it dissipated into thudding behind his eyes. His ears pounded with blood rushing through them, his muscles heavy and uncomfortable. It was as though he had been speared through with a burning iron blade, but as he lifted his shaking hands to his face and touched the skin beneath, he could not feel anything out of the ordinary. His features were a bit sharper, perhaps. And the thin, oily coat of sweat didn't help any matters, either. He couldn't tell where he was, nor why the room was dim, nor why the quilts were there. Was he asleep? How long had he been asleep? The last thing he'd seen is that wave of… What was it, was that magicka? Not like anything he'd ever seen before. But it had slammed into him, knocking him back towards a wall, and a force had shocked through him to his core, and then…

A door opened near where he lay. Ancano shut his eyes. He slowed his breathing as the trudge of footsteps drew closer, a bowl sloshing with water. The guise of sleep would afford him enough time to take them by surprise, to shove them aside and paralyze them before he made his escape. Then, he'd run to the Thalmor Embassy and let them know what had happened at that dreadful College, barring a few details, of course. After all, it was only natural that the one to wield such an artifact such as the Eye should want to keep it for himself, is it not? A warm, wet washcloth swept over the ridge of his brow, the hand who held it moving in slow, gentle motions. He could feel their fingers as they gripped the cloth, and brought it down to his cheeks, over his eyes, and around his mouth. It took all of his strength not to protest the sensation, but he remained still and quiet as a corpse, and allowed the motions to fall over him. The cloth set aside somewhere, the same hand dipped something into the water, before he felt bristles moving through his hair. The motions were careful, pushing back the front of the lengths with the wet brush, ensuring that the one who held it did not harm him. Strange, was he perhaps in the care of a Dominion medic? Is that, by some miracle, where he'd wound up? The brush set aside on a wooden surface - to Ancano's chagrin, as he had enjoyed the little bit of comfort the brushing sensation provided - the mysterious hand returned, moving the cloth down his neck, and around his chest. They moved it along the ridges of his collar bone, and when he opportunity struck, he lurched out his hand like a snake's mouth to prey, eyes shot open as he got a bleary, unclear look at the figure. "Explain to me who you are, and what you are doing, or you will be missing a hand very shortly," he sneered in a hoarse voice, the threat taking the figure by surprise. As he began to register the figure before him, recognition came through the sound of their own voice, the person shoving against his hand on their wrist.

"Let me go, damn it! I'm just trying to help you!" Their protests came out more surprised than scared, and at that moment Ancano got a clear look at the individual before him. He loosened his grip, watching the Mer rub their wrist and pout a little, their dark hair falling over their shoulders in curls. His eyes widened involuntarily as he looked up at them, brow knit in confusion. The last memory that he had of this figure was that of them trying to kill him. "Athenath?" He uttered, throat unusually dry. The Altmer turned their attention to him, giving a nervy grin as he continued to massage his wrist. They then let the hand fall to their lap, looking over Ancano curiously. "Yes, and I'm gonna assume you've always had good grip strength." He frowned. Attempting to push himself up onto his elbows, another crack of pain whipped through his lower spine and into his extremities. Whatever noise he must have made, it was enough to make Athenath flinch, before they began to lower him back into the bed. "Hey, don't do that, not yet," they chided as Ancano's lips ran with haggard breaths, "you're not… well. I mean, I don't think you're sick, but you're definitely injured, though Lydia said she can't find any signs of physical injury. I can't, either, besides some cuts and bruises from… Well, you shouldn't worry too much."

He sneered. "Don't worry, I won't," he replied, words dripping thickly with sarcasm. The other Altmer rolled their dark eyes, and while Ancano had known they'd spoken, and he'd returned his own words, it was as though all sound came from across a corner, down a hall, somewhere out of touch. All he saw was his own pulse-spot-spattered vision, and the gleaming of the hearth reflected in the surface of the water that they'd been using moments prior. He had never known that he could get this thirsty. His tongue laid as dry and sharp in his mouth as a chunk of sandstone, all thoughts focused there. It would be pathetic to ask for water, to beg like a dog, but he found he did not have to, as Athenath pulled over a silver pitcher and poured him a glass. They set it aside, and with as much care as he could muster, began to shift Ancano to sit against the pillows. He winced and gagged on the pain, but the other took his time, and Ancano swore in that moment he almost heard reassurances, words meant to soothe so bitter and mocking in this light. When it was all over, however, he was seated, with the pillows against his back, resting on the headboard of what must have been a makeshift bed, as it was too hard to be a bed used regularly, and too lumpy to be one he was expected to sleep on for much longer. Well, he certainly hoped so, for if he had to sleep on this mattress any more nights, he might burn the entire place down with everyone but himself inside.