#cotton wisp

[mtsodie]

ponies and ponies . and also ponies . and ponies again

( pt 2 )

[wispisstillverybored67]

I ordered my 10 main morons by height and this happens.

(Translated from Cookie to human conventions, this is how they see each other)

Sorbet-4"1

Milky Way-4"11

Chai Tea: 5"2

Cotton/Pumpkin Pie: 5"3

Cocoa/Herb: 5"6

Clotted/Cyuni: 5"10

Twizzly: 6"1

Werewolf: 6"5

[iambecomeyourvillain]

this is the most unserious fucking generation ever 😭

[solbaby7]

Feel Me

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual descriptions, tensionnnn, cocky!az , minors DNI

summary: Fae males don’t make love like the sweet boys you knew in the human lands. Fae’s fuck.

based of the request in [ part 1 ]

—

No one else was supposed to be home.

Rhys and Feyre had left long before the morning dew could mist over the lawn. Cassian and Nesta had slipped out hours ago with their leathers on and hair neatly braided after a steaming cup of coffee.

Buttered pancakes steam on a plate, bacon sizzles on the stove and your hips sway in tandem with whatever bouncy song your humming. Strawberry stumps grow in a pile to your left, knife slicing at ripe fruit contentedly until a sneaky wisp of darkness snatches a piece for its master. “You planning on sharing?”

“Depends on how nicely you ask.”

Azriel doesn’t bite, he only raises a brow with a smirk growing at the corner of full lips. “Was it polite words that initiated Elain’s legs straddling your waist the other night?” Shock shoves the ability to form a sentence out the window and you despise the way your eyes linger on the mess of dark hair atop his head—thoughts wandering to less than respectable places when picturing other ways to muss up soft strands. “Bacon’s burning.”

A frustrated scoff pulls from your throat, a blush fanning across your cheeks and gratefulness floods your chest when you actually have something to busy your hands with to avoid Azriel’s honeyed stare. “Not that it’s any of your business,” You hiss, avoiding spattering oil while forking meat from the pan. “But, I was just helping out a friend.”

“Helping?” His morning voice was sinful; a low rasp coupled with lazy lids and a t-shirt that fit entirely too well.

“I offered sound advice.” The house cleans while you plate, stealing berry stumps as a warm rag is ran over the countertops. Hot water is poured in a mug, a tea bag string twirled around the handle. Azriel’s already next to you, twisting open the honey jar and passing it over before you can reach for it. “I demonstrated to ensure a thorough understanding—nothing more.”

“And what exactly were you demonstrating?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” Syrup drowned pancakes are shoved into your mouth, favoring the possibility of choking on fluffy goodness over engaging in this conversation for a second longer.

Azriel doesn’t feel the same way, blocking off your hasty exit with his body. Was he always this tall? Giant wings hover behind him and they rustle softly when you reach out a hand to gently push him away. It was a mistake on your part—initiating physical contact because now all you could focus on was the warmth that ebbed through the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard muscles hiding beneath it. “Make it my business.”

You don’t pull away, too entranced with the smell of him. The feel of his body against your fingertips. The barely there distance that toed the line of entirely too close. “I don’t understand why you’d even care.” You mutter, snatching your hand away when you catch yourself subconsciously rubbing at the dark fabric. “I was—“ Words stammer, breath catching over the intensity of his stare and you have to will your voice to steady itself. “I was teaching her how to properly be intimate with a male.”

“I didn’t realize there was a proper way.”

“You know what I mean,” You ramble, obviously flustered when swatting away the inky fog that attempts to swipe crispy bacon from your plate. “She asked for advice and I gave a few tips to make her feel more confident—more comfortable. I was being friendly.” The pancakes have started to go cold around the edges but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Azriel keeps stalking closer, arms boxing you into the counter with ease.

“Hm,” His face is unreadable, void of any emotion but your certain his eyes go just a touch darker when you lean back, your shirt rising; broadcasting a sliver of your stomach and the pale blue panties peeking out of your sleep shorts. “And if I wanted some friendly advice—would you help me with that too?”

Breakfast is long forgotten, your eyes following the plate being pushed away by hands much bigger than your own. A shaky laugh emits, strands of your hair tickle at your cheeks and you’re painfully aware of your attire—or lack thereof judging by hardened peaks poking through delicate silk. “Az, you’re no blushing virgin. What could I possibly help you with?”

Cool shadows trace over bare legs, teasing up your calves and curling around your knees. “I can think of a few things.”

A predatory darkness coats every word, lids narrowing challengingly at you from above. There’s nowhere to run and truthfully you didn’t want to; falling into the trap of his insinuations until the smell of your arousal was becoming anything but subtle. But, then again, who fucking cared when this was exactly what you’d been craving for as long as you could remember. Filthy little fantasies about the Illyrian soldier had plagued your mind for decades. You were reduced to haughty looks and bitten lips while he sparred shirtless with Cassian, sweat gleaming against his chest and the sharp ring of swords colliding. Dirty desires that flared when you’d bump into Az late at night, his hair messy and eyes hazy—that lazy smile and those pet names that he’d let slip when he was too tired to overthink them.

Could it have been possible that Elain had been right?

That you just needed to look to find what you were yearning for.

You pray you don’t appear as desperate as you feel when your eyes scan his own; sifting through the shades of warm caramel and burnt sephia as if they’d shift into mystical beings with endless answers to your list of questions. “Such as?”

“Maybe,” The syllables are drawn out with a sing-songy lilt that has your legs shifting. “—we can start with why you thought she’d be using your tricks and charms on me?” You blame the breeze sifting through the curtains on the shiver that rakes up your spine.

The counter is cold when you lift yourself onto it, palms flat and back curving against the window pane. You shrug, breaking the eye contact and turning your head to face the flying creatures fluttering their feathery wings in the bird bath. “I hadn’t considered it’d be anyone else. You and Elain spend lots of time together and she’s obviously beautiful in that delicate, sweetheart in need of saving sort of way.”

“Careful, you almost sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Well, not anymore. But, he didn’t need to know that you’d ever wasted a second of sleep on him. “It was just an observation.”

“A poor one.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not going after your job.” Your arms cross over your chest, knees childishly nudging at the top of his thighs to push him away but he remains steady like a brick wall. Irritation pushes the fluttery twist of yearning out of the way the longer Azriel peers down at you with that look in his eye—that stupidly handsome smirk plastered on his annoyingly kissable lips. “Any other questions you’d like to interrogate me with?”

The vitriol in your tone only furthers the grin on his face, eating up the fluctuating emotions he pulls from you like a full course meal. “Just one more.” A breeze shifts through the open window, cutting through the strands of your hair and the smell of your conditioner permeates the space between you. “How much longer must I wait for you to pursue me before I have to take you for myself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you’d like but not for your pardon.” It’s said so swiftly your brain barely registers the suggestive nature of it before he’s talking again. Sweeping you up in the whirlwind that was Azriel and all you could do was hold on tight for the ride. He obtains a boldness you could only dream of, hips jutting forward between your legs to keep you from slipping away; closing the distance until his wants and desires are anything but unclear when pressed so firmly against you. “How much longer?

You swallow, the movement tracked by a hunters stare as you scramble to pull together a coherent sentence. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you have any almost lovers that you’re still pining after?” Shadows glide over the countertop, sneaking behind you and urging you forward. Silky sleep shorts shuffle upwards with the motion and Azriel’s wastes no time in his exploration. Warm hands rake up the length of your legs leisurely, tracing over barely there scars and memorizing moles many overlooked. “Or do you only want me because you’ve never had me?”

Tension hold thick in the air, heavy mugginess that coats your skin with an uncomfortable warmth as you and Az sized each other up—waiting to see who’d break first.

The odds didn’t seem to be swaying in your favor.

“Never had you?” Azriel repeats as if you’ve told a joke, confidence roaring in his veins from the reactions your body offers him. Goosebumps follow the tantalizing trail of his fingers up your legs, thighs subconsciously shifting wider, granting access for more of his body to touch against your own. “Every time I close my eyes, I have you.” He has to know the effect this has on you. That must be why he insists on stealing your backbone and converting it into a makeshift leash until you’re completely pliant in his grasp. “Not exactly conventional. Nowhere near comparable the real thing, I’m sure.” A wicked gleam twinkles in his eyes, his hard chest the perfect contrast against the softness of your own. “But, it’s certainly served to be good practice.”

“Azriel—“

“How much longer should I wait?”

The barely restrained need he emits makes your stomach clench. Forces your eyes to dart from his own to his mouth; lingering, lusting.

Fuck, not much longer at all. It felt like the clock was ticking and with each second that passed, your fate grew nearer and nearer.

Instinct speeds up the process, nudging you closer until the tip of your nose brushes against his own. It’s cautious—exploratory. Testing what was allowed and what wasn’t but Azriel’s patience only stretches so far and waiting for this—for you—is an impossible task.

His mouth covers yours in a claiming clash of eager lips and hands desperate to learn the shape of you.

You’re no better, nails raking through inky strands and scouring the strong slope of his shoulders like a woman starved. A relieved sigh tickles at his skin when he kisses over your cheeks, down your neck; until that spot just below your ear forces out low whines. “Az,” Your chest heaves, lungs struggling for a full breath. “Someone will see us.”

Azriel groans, lips searching for the spots that shut you up. The spots that had your spine curving and leg hooking over his waist. You lean back, anticipating the cool chill of the wall but all you meet is soft sheets and fluffy pillows as inky shadows disperse around the room. “Better?”

“Almost.” Eager fingers grip at the offending fabric hiding golden-brown skin beneath, attempting to yank it free. “Take this off.”

“You’re not this demanding in my dreams.”

“And in mine, your mouth isn’t really used for talking.”

Azriel’s efficient in adjusting to your suggestions, tearing apart soft silk as if it were nothing more than a piece of parchment in his quest of baring more of you to him. Hips buck up and nails dig into the hard-earned muscles of his back while his mouth sucked marks across your chest. Warm hands dip under the waistband of your shorts, back curving softly in anticipation as preening little moans cut through the darkness of Azriel’s bedchambers.

When he finally touches where you need him most, teeth sink harshly into the fat of your bottom lip; the feeling of his fingers dragging slow circles over the thin cotton of your underwear becoming the perfect torture. It feels too good to ponder on about the arousal soaking through your delicates or the desperate pleas for more that tumbles from your lips like sinful prayers.

Any remaining clothing falls carelessly to the floor, the hard length of him resting at the crux of your thighs. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t I feel sure?” Your brows are a little pinched when you stare up at him, a hand wedging between your bodies to guide the swollen head of his cock to your entrance.

“You feel like mine,” Az confesses hoarsely. Inch by deliciously devastating inch is pushed to the brim, hazel eyes transfixed on the snug wrap of your pussy and the warmth that follows. “Like you were fucking made to take my cock.”

He was better than you’d ever pictured, stealing your very breath away with each dragged out stroke. “Az,” His gaze is heavy, sliding up to meet your own with dark promise casting shadows against god-like features. “Please, just move.”

“Here I was trying to get you properly adjusted,” A biting grip begins at your waist, fingers digging precious prints into your hips as Azriel positions you as he pleases. Bare thighs are braced in the crease of his arms, a cocky smirk ghosting his face. “But you just wanna be fucked.” Eyes roll behind fluttering lids when the pace picks up, the position forcing you to take every inch until all you can offer is choked moans and garbled praises.

Claiming marks are placed wherever Azriel’s mouth can reach, muffled groans and deep grunts of pleasure vibrating against your skin as he carves out a space specifically made for him. You don’t last long, lips searching for his own as you clench around the length of him; toes curling and manicured nails biting at the base of his wings.

“There you go,” He croons, gently tucking stray hairs away from your face—a complete juxtaposition from the relentless way his cock fucks into you. “Taking me so well.”

Bleary eyed and boneless you are in his grasp; allowing him to act on every secret fantasy and salacious desire he'd harbored longer than he could remember until you feel the vicious twitch inside you, his hips stuttering and seed spilling.

The room reeks of sex, sheets sodden and clothes too ruined to walk out of there wearing them without looking like you belonged in a pleasure hall.

Not that it would matter—Azriel won't let you go now; hooked like an addict to their drug of choice. "You were wrong, you know." Your brow raises in silent question. "Now that I've had you, I can't see myself ever wanting anything else."

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Eight

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Riding, unprotected sex, titty sucking, groping, Ghost being a stalker + his perspective

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

Masterlist

Glass panes fogged over, the abyss surrounding you long forgotten through the rusted panes, your reflection like static as your hips ground down against a plush belly, curls of pubic hair wisping up as they tickled against your pelvis.

Sweat dripped from your pores, leaking down the backs of your thighs, trapping themselves amongst the aperture of your knees. The Scotsman was everywhere, tummy practically bulging with his member as you whined out every time you bounced onto him, cock kissing your bruised cervix as a grunt left his lips.

Soap’s eyes were curled up towards your breasts, occasionally glancing over your fucked-out face as you cooed sweetly into the air. Veined hands ruggedly found your tits, squeezing the flesh in his palms as he lapped in every movement caused by the collision of your pussy sinking down on him.

“F’cken milking me bonnie, keep going jus like that,” He spat into the open air, his pupils blown with lust as he watched you. Your lips tucked in between your teeth, metallic spilling into your mouth as you bit back a squeal, head rolling back desperately as your thrusts grew sloppier.

“Dinnae tell me ye’ getting tired, lass.”

You barked out a, “Shut up,” hand slapping against his chest as you raised your hips once more, the squelch of your wetness filling the blank walls, bouncing from timber to window as you whined, thighs burning. Soap cocked out a laugh, now gripping at your hips, groping the fat as he thrust his hips up, meeting your slowed movements.

His length was fathomlessly stroking your walls, eyes cavernous as he watched your face contort up, squeals singing from your throat as he began to take over, cock ramming inside you with an insatiable vigour as your hands fell beside his head, tits hanging low against his face as he fucked up into you.

Scorched skin found his mouth as he licked against your breast, the saltiness of your sweat spurring him on as he grazed against a nipple, tongue wrapping around it as his hands gripped your waist. As Soap continued, you wailed out an expletive, practically choking on the dust that littered the room.

“That’s it, love, fuck – so fucking tight, ain’ ya? Jesus-“

His mouth was filthy, only pulling away from your chest to spit out praise as your walls milked him. Your neck was littered with sweat, hairs clawing against the skin as you held yourself in place, taking every thrust he gave you. Heavy hands slapped at your ass, keeping it apart as he set his bruising pace, balls crudely grazing against the flesh.

“Fuck – Johnny, too deep – I can’t.”

“Ye can f’cken take it,” he grunted, his pace somehow growing faster as you screamed out obnoxiously, pleasure wracking through you. Your body was on fire, veins gushing with pure arousal as your cunt squelched around him, every hair on your body raised as your skin prickled under his touch.

Your legs were weak, shaking mercilessly as the Sergeant held you in place, orgasm bracing you as your stomach tightened, incoherent babble ludicrously scorching through the air as you gripped onto his shoulder blades, a cocky smile across Soap’s face as he fucked you through an orgasm, pussy milking his member before he stuttered out a deep thrust, holding your thighs as he flipped you over.

You whined at the overstimulation against your g-spot, tears breaking the surface as your legs continued convulsing before he pulled out, hot spurts of ivory ceasing against your plush tummy, pants wracking through the both of you as you collapsed.

Your lashes fluttered around subtle light as you felt Soap moving against you, dampness hitting your stomach before prickly cotton engulfed you.

Arrogant gold hues crept up through the slumber of the night, tenacious stars clawing at the midnight of the sky, the early settlers of birds cawing out to the living dead in a mocking manner before settling in the depth of the trees, out of reach to groping, rotting hands.  

Silk weaved between the trees, dew settling between the earth and the branches they clung from before soaking into the dirt, the stench of the morning stalling across the forest. Heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, the indents between large boots stunk of mud and broken sticks as leaden hands grabbed at spider webs, tearing them apart between sudden movements.

A hoarse grumble left the man’s throat as he trenched through the woodlands, the soft bristle of the wind whistling against the thick, black cotton of his mask, eyes salty with sleep. It wasn’t unusual for Ghost to never sleep past sunrise, his body achingly creaky from the distant memories of military life, fists slamming against punching bags whilst others were only just settling down to sleep.

A rugged scar ran across his lip, the faded colour a shimmering pearl under the morning light as he pulled the balaclava down. Even alone, during the apocalypse, the eeriness of vulnerability sank into his stomach as he took in a deep breath before pulling it up again.

Thick fingers gripped around carbon steel, the head of the sniper inches away from the forest floor as the Lieutenant crept through, almost unhidden by the woodland creatures, the occasional squirrel popping its head out before flustering away into its burrow once more.

Thick thighs held their ground, buried in the bushes, the occasional snag of a thorn rustling throughout before the silenced sound of a gun went off, a gentle flurry of birds scattering around before quietude muzzled the wood surrounding him.

He worked best alone and used to never rely on anyone, no matter the stage of his life. The task force became a second home, a cold place that was only warmed by the familiar faces he worked with. His body ached with every movement, the remnants of past wounds only seeming to heighten when he began to forget about them. It was an alarm that gunned through his head, working at the speed of light through his spinal cord to remind him that he would never escape his work.

No matter where, no matter how, it would always stay with him. Sometimes Simon wished for death, the peacefulness of nothing welcoming him like a hot bath, skinning the flesh from his bones in a chamber of perdition.

Blood stained his padded hands, soft speckles of the afterlife draining from the deer’s eyes step by step as he trekked back to the farmhouse. There was a soft patter of rain that littered across the sky, the crops thriving amongst muddy soil, fertilising amongst burrowing grubs and worms.

Your eyes met the door, staring down at his damp figure, the gruelling emphasis of nature splattered among the subtle tears in his clothes and weaves of silken strings displaced on the dark clothing. You peered down at the carcass in his hand, offering him a polite small.

“Thank you,” you murmured, the morning air still shivering across the walls as you adjusted to not making as much noise. After all, you didn’t live alone anymore.

Ghost was unsure of you. He watched you a lot, umber shades shelling over with an unknown feeling. He took in the way your spine creaked through the skin of your back when you bent over or the way your lids would crease over as you laughed. He noticed the way you looked down when you didn’t want to answer a certain question and he could hear from the crack in your voice when you reached your peak, sweaty body writing under anyone, anyone but him, as you clenched around them.

Maybe it was jealousy. Jealous that you found this place, you got to make a life for yourself and earn potential freedom, a rarity that he was unsure he would ever have. Jealous of the fact that he watched you first, eyes glazing over you weeks ago in a town hours away, muscles soaked in salty residue, thighs burnt out from the relentless biking.

Jealous that he didn’t get to sink his teeth into you the night he walked in on you, pussy pathetically gushing around nothing as you attempted to shelter your moans, his cock aching with a demand for release as he stalked back into his room, rutting into Johnny’s mouth.

The deer fell on the kitchen counter, your bodies in close perimeter as he gaped at you. His voice was rugged, holding a girthy tone of citrus to it with every syllable he pronounced.

“You gonna show me how to be a man around here or you just gonna fuck m’ with your eyes?”

[missaengg]

Stealing Xavier's Hoodie

Pairing: Xavier x f!reader Tags: nsfw, mdni, developing relationship, fluff and smut, pwp, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, f!masturbation Word Count: 1658 You stripped to nothing, only wearing his hoodie. The inside of the sweater was softer than it was on the outside. You felt feverish from how sensual the soft fleece felt against your bare skin. ao3 link here.

You loved his hoodie, that soft, white hoodie he always wore on his days off of work so when you saw that hoodie left behind in your apartment, you knew exactly what you wanted to do with it. You brought it up to your face, inhaling his scent, a fresh cotton smell reminding you of cozy blankets and the warm, gentle sun. The fabric was soft, so soft on your skin, and you couldn’t help rubbing your face against it breathing him in. You pictured him wearing his hoodie, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, brushing your face with his nose, tickling your cheek with wisps of his hair.

A gentle stir began igniting in your core, soft at first, but growing as you grew drunker off of his intoxicating scent. Each rub of the hoodie felt electrifying against your skin, the ache in your core growing with each swipe. Soon you were dripping with need, dizzy from your desire for him. You stripped to nothing, only wearing his hoodie. The inside of the sweater was softer than it was on the outside. You felt feverish from how sensual the soft fleece felt against your bare skin. 

With a soft sigh, you dragged your fingers across your thigh, imagining that it was the gray-brown haired owner of the hoodie with his own long, slim fingers. You slid it down between yourself, feeling the slick arousal, gliding your fingers between the slit until they were covered. Your clit throbbed painfully, so sensitive you moaned when your finger brushed against it, the rush of pleasure spreading through your body. You started slow, stroking a lazy circle around your clit, stimulating the sensitive organ without touching it, but soon your pace quickened. The muscles in your hand and forearm burned as your finger shifted to touch your clit directly and kneaded it in rapid circles. You closed your eyes, your breath quickening, breaths exhaled as soft moans. You felt the pressure build in your belly, the muscles in your legs tensing, the electricity of your ecstasy swelling.

Your eyes snapped open at the sound of the beeps of your code being entered and the door being opened.

“I think I left my hoodie here, have you–” the speaker froze at the sight of you on the couch wearing only an oversized hoodie, hand between your legs, face flushed with arousal.

“Xavier,” you gasped out, panting, very much aware that it was blatantly obvious what it exactly was you were doing.

“That– that’s my hoodie,” Xavier stammered.

You blushed, immediately removing your hand and pulling the clothing item in question down to cover yourself – as much of yourself as the length would allow. “Um, yeah, you– you left it here.” You cleared your throat, looking away from him after you answered, cheeks turning a furious red. When he didn’t say a word, you peeked at him, searching his face for any signs of displeasure.

Xavier simply stared at you, his mouth opening and closing rapidly, in a stupor. He shifted between you and the door, a rather cute sight if you weren’t so embarrassed at having been caught in such a compromising situation.

“Do you want it back?” you asked, breaking the silence. “I’ll go put something else on and take this off…” You trailed off, standing up from the couch.

“I want it back right now.”

“What?” You blinked rapidly at Xavier. His eyes were wide, almost as if he had surprised himself with his own statement. 

Xavier licked his lips, and after a beat, repeated with more confidence, “I want it back right now.”

Your mouth dropped open wondering if you had heard him correctly. “Immediately right now?” He nodded.

“Like right this second right now?”

He nodded again.

You hesitated, frowning at him, hands fingering the edge of his hoodie. While you were somewhat certain that there might be a spark of something between the two of you, nothing had been confirmed, and while there had been accidental glimpses of one another during battles with Wanderers due to injuries, he had never seen you so exposed before, which you would be if you were to take off his hoodie right this very moment. 

There was something dark and intense in his eyes, the intensity of which was only adding to the throb between your legs, now more painful than ever from your interrupted release. Without looking away, you grasped the edge of his hoodie pulling it over your head, shivering from the air conditioned air hitting your bare skin. Xavier swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and within a few strides, his lips came crashing down onto yours, nibbling on your bottom lip with hunger. His hands roamed your back, leaving trails of fire. You reciprocated, meeting his kisses with fervor, moaning, feeling your desire dripping down your leg. Xavier slid his tongue in between your lips, flicking at yours until they were intertwined. One hand slid down your back to grasp your ass and the other slid forward pinching your nipple. You gasped and pulled away.

Xavier stopped, removing his hands from you. “Do you want me to stop?” He peered into your eyes, concern joining the dark heat gleaming in his.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat at his expression, feeling breathless at the intense need in his blue eyes. You slowly shook your head. “No.”

Xavier didn’t need any more encouragement. He brought his lips back to yours, a bit more gently this time, and picking you up, laid you down on the couch. You temporarily broke off the kiss, pulling his shirt up and over his head. Xavier was happy to oblige. He threw his shirt aside and brought himself back down to plant soft kisses along your collarbone down to your breasts. His hand cupped one while his mouth claimed another, rolling his tongue over your nipple causing your muscles to tense from the shiver that went down your spine. You trembled underneath him, his hand and tongue simultaneously stimulating your breasts and their pert peaks, leaving you disoriented.

Popping his mouth off of your chest, he pressed wet kisses down your torso. Shuddering with delight, you stroked the back of his head, running his silky hair through your fingers. Your gasps turned into moans as his mouth found your clit, gently sucking on the swollen bud. Your grip on his hair tightened, eliciting a sharp hiss from Xavier, but he kept going, ravishing your clit with his tongue. His hands gripped your upper thighs, holding them apart while you writhed under his touch, hips twitching at each stroke. Using his shoulder to hold your thigh in place, he slipped in two fingers dragging them against the inner wall slowly, his mouth still working its magic. A loud moan escaped you as he started to pump his fingers in and out slightly curled so that they would rake across your G-spot with each entrance and exit. Your hips were moving with him, your ass coming off the couch with each pump. His touch had you seeing stars, your fingers and toes curled in his hair, on the couch.

“Xavier,” you whimpered, tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes at the intense pleasure you felt. “Please, I want you.” You looked down at him, his blue eyes fixed on yours, darker than before. You felt his fingers pull out and his mouth leave you.

“You sure?” 

You nodded, one hundred percent sure that you needed him in you right this very moment. Xavier brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking off your essence. Panting, he unbuttoned his pants, pulling them and his boxers off carelessly and roughly. You gulped at the sight of his hard member, stiff and glistening with precum, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, trembling, reaching for his neck.

Xavier rubbed himself against you, lubricating himself in your arousal. He positioned himself, pressing the tip against your opening. He slowly pushed in, taking his time to sink further into you. You exhaled sharply when he reached the hilt, your arms around his neck and shoulders. He paused, waiting for you to adjust to him. You felt so full from his presence inside you, walls stretching to accommodate both his width and length. Your walls clenched signaling for him to start moving. Xavier grunted as your walls pulsated around him, squeezing him as he pumped in and out, massaging his shaft. He brought his lips to yours again, claiming you with intensifying passion, matching the pace of his thrusts. Xavier stroked your clit, only adding to the dizzying build, the blazing fire burning deep within your core. His movements grew frantic. He was moving so quickly, it left you no room to think, only feel. His grunts became louder, more feral, and he drove into you, his tip hitting your cervix with each deep thrust.

“Xavier,” you cried out, spasming around him, eyes rolling back into your head, reeling from the wave crashing through you.

Xavier let out a strangled groan at your release, his breathing becoming erratic. “I’m cumming,” he grunted, slamming into you until he finally burst, filling you with his warmth. He breathed heavily, chest heaving, barely supporting himself on his arms above you.

You stroked the back of his neck, feeling spent, struggling to catch your own breath. You looked up at Xavier. His body glistened from sweat. The dark intensity of his eyes had disappeared, leaving in its place a cloudy haze. You reached for his cheek hesitantly. Xavier caught your hand, bringing it to him the rest of the way, pressing his lips to your palm before nuzzling his cheek against it. He laughed. 

He leaned forward kissing you lightly, and murmured with his lips still on yours, “Maybe I should leave my hoodie behind more often.”

[tamayakii]

a son for a son.

notes: I changed a thing or two of what happened in the show, basically putting Maelor in cause i still cant believe they didnt put him in it (same thing with Daeron) this can be read as a stand-alone fic or paired with the Their Angel series. pairings: Otto x reader (romantic), Helaena x reader (can be viewed as one sided or platonic) warnings: Otto & reader have a son, SPOILERS FOR HOTD S2;E1!!!

The candle light illuminates the room, flickering against the stone walls of your and Helaena’s chambers. You had moved into her living spaces the night that Aemond had come back from the Stormlands, a sick smirk upon his face as he waltz into the small council room.  

And when your husband had shown no remorse for your brother's actions, no sympathy for your dead nephew? You couldn’t stand to look at him, matter of fact, you couldn’t bear to look at anyone. The grief toppled upon the hatred you had towards everyone who had played a part in usurping your sister’s throne. 

The twins and Maelor were already asleep within their beds, and your own son blinks his big owl-ish eyes at you. He looked so much like his father, even at two years old, a little wisp of white tangled within his brown locks- almost emulating Otto’s salt and pepper hair.

“Why can’t I..?” Alerion fumbled over his words, tiny hands curling over the cotton blanket, trying to fight his heavy eyelids as they dropped low. Chuckling lightly as you brushed his hair aside, he was quite stubborn. Especially as bedtime neared and sleep hovered over him. “Because I said so, besides; don’t you want to play with your cousins on the morrow?” Your reasoning seemed to reach him, Alerion’s brown eyes slowly shutting as he murmured. Sighing, reaching around your back to unclasp your heavy necklaces, you couldn’t help but smile as your son unconsciously pulled the blanket closer. 

The recent days weighed heavily on you; the war was impending. With no word from Rhaenrya, Rhaenys and Meleys helping guard the gullet with the hundreds of Velaryon ships, war was going to burst like a bloated goat. 

Perhaps if you were more active in the small council, you would’ve stopped the rats that sat in those seats. Staring at the necklace as you set it down, dark jade glimmering in the light. Helaena’s soft reflection reflected in the deep sea of green. It hits the table with a soft thud.

As you hear steps incoming, you simply assumed it was Helaena. She always had a sense for when you were upset, coming to you like a doe, with her big purple eyes and soft face filled with worry. 

Or perhaps she came to take you to bed. Since your move, Helaena was delighted to have you close, and near-ordered that you sleep in the same bed, just as you did when she was a little girl. “Quiet! Quiet!” The voice made you turn around, and your gasp died in your throat. Fear laced through your veins like a snake coils around its prey, freezing your body like the north. 

A strange man holds a dagger to Helaena’s throat, her blood dripping over the steel. Her eyes were wide with fear. The man's eyes flicker over to you. “Move and I'll cut her throat.” He spits, slowly dragging the blade, causing more blood to leak. Nodding as the tears well in your eyes, heart beating against your rib cage. The blood roars in your ears like a thousand horses stampeding. 

Another man comes in, a bigger and scarier man, and your heart stops. 

“A son for a son.” His words were all muddled until he said those five words, a son for a son. Helaena offered her necklace to the men, trying to convince them to run off with its worth, but the bigger man snatched it from her. “It’s not a son.” He turns around and looks at the twins in their beds, sleeping ever so peacefully. Gently, you reached back for Alerion’s crib. Shaking hands gripping the wood with a grip tighter than death and yet you were too weak to fight these men off, in the past week and a half, you’ve neglected your meals within your grief and even if you didn’t, you’d sooner be dead on the stone floors of the Red Keep with your sons fate unknown. 

The men came to the realization that they did not know which twin was the boy, and for a brief moment you felt elated that perhaps they would give up their mission, but all hope vanished when Helaena pointed at Jaehaerys.

“Helaena..” You whisper, lips trembling and you can't help but feel bile come up your throat as the men storm to Jaehaerys, the bigger one covering his mouth, covering his scream. Helaena shakes as she makes a move to her daughter and youngest son, and you do the same.

As you hear the splatter of blood, a sob escapes your throat, your hands trembling as you hurriedly and carefully retrieve Alerion from his crib. Helaena runs out first, holding her children close to her and you’re not too long after her. 

Whilst Helaena makes a mad dash down the stairs, you run onward. Climbing up the other pair of stairs, Alerion stirs in your jumbling hold. Whining at the rude awakening and you try to shush him over your crying, 

“Shh.. shh.. Alerion,” The halls rushed past you as you ran, the skirt of your night-dress threatening to trip you. Only thoughts of protecting your own son ran through your frightened mind, fearing that perhaps he would be targeted too. 

The doors to Otto’s chambers slam open and a flurry of fabric and hair falls to the floor in sobs. The man looks at the sight bewildered, but soon he realizes it is you, his wife, that refused to look him in the eye. Surely, you had come to beg for forgiveness, having come to your senses. 

But as you look up at him, your son in your arms, cradling him like he was about to shatter- he knew something was wrong.

“They killed him.. They kill the boy!” 

[jolalibrary]

you're a prize

joel miller x f!reader

summary: it's date night, and joel takes you to the fair

wordcount: 1.9k warnings: allusion and minor mention of smut. no outbreak. established relationship. joel is cute and wants to win you something. an: written for @iamasaddie's zodiac sign edition writing challenge. i got the lovely joel, fair au and virgo. I ignored the word limit, I’m sorry!!! thank you to the @thetriumphantpanda for proofing this little baby for me.

The air smells sweet as you step out of his truck.

Popcorn, cotton candy, and fried treats waft through the air, mingling with the cooling evening breeze as you take in the colourful stalls and bright lights.

The sound of his door slamming brings your attention back to him. His face is tight, unreadable—chest slightly puffed out, his hands fidgeting with his belt before he runs a thumb along the tucked-in edges of his shirt. Fixing. Adjusting for perfection, as though this were your first date and not close to the hundredth. When his eyes finally meet yours, you grin a little wider, and his own smile begins to break through.

It had been Tommy’s idea—but you’d suspected it was actually Sarah’s. The masterplan being laid out when you’d made coffee, the promise of an empty home, a coincidentally timed advert in the newspaper about the fair being in town as you looked at Joel:

Wanna take me to the fair, Miller? Show me how teenage you would have wooed me.

Sometimes, you can’t quite believe he’s yours.

A thing you’d said when you’d begun getting ready, your outfit laid out, putting your necklace on when he’d walked into the bedroom, shirt open, jeans unfastened, belt hanging there—a sinful picture that somehow was real and yours.

It’s why you’d breathed it out, caught off guard, made the two of you leave far later than you’d told yourselves when he’d left this morning. Your eyes having dragged up and down his frame in the mirror before you pressed the very same words to his mouth. Hungry, all of a sudden desperate. Fabric dragged down his arms, jeans somewhere at his ankles—pulling and tugging, needing more until he was on his back and you found yourself sliding down his cock, finding all semblance of words unable to form.

Somehow, even now, an hour later, you have to pinch yourself.

Unable to wrap your head around the fact that your things are alongside his. That you wake up and sleep beside him. A chance encounter, a right-place-right-time, turned relationship.

A thing you know he thinks too—confirming as much when sleep threatens to take him, the veil of honesty at its thinnest as he murmurs about not deserving you, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you the first time you’d met.

He makes up for the handful of hours he can give you between working, parenting and sleeping, by writing poems between your thighs, scriptures against your skin, mouth and neck. Making promises he did his darndest to keep.

“You look good, Miller. Don’t worry.”

“Not worryin’.”

You make a soft noise to yourself, offering your hand as the strings of multicoloured bulbs draped between the parking lot and the stalls flicker on, casting a warm glow across his face as you smile at him.

Date nights happen so infrequently, that you’re not sure you remember how they go outside of takeout and movies on the sofa. Not that you complain, happily trade almost any evening for one of them.

“God, you’re handsome,” you whisper, tightening your fingers around his hand—looping them, feeling how much larger his is, than yours—as your other arm bends at the elbow, slinging around his neck. “Fuck I’m one lucky lady.”

He snorts, loudly. His eyes flick to the side before they land back on you, bashful, soft, as he clears his throat and you scrape your nails against his scalp. “Think I’m the lucky one.”

You smile, all uncontrollably as you inhale the scent of his aftershave. It’s all wooden-edged, peppery—just him. Reminded all of a sudden to the wisp of it the night prior, the fan having picked it up, blew it across the room as you turned a page in your book and heard him sigh, would do anythin’ for you.

“I could kiss you.”

Licking his lips, flicking his gaze from yours to your mouth and back. “Yeah?”

You wonder if he catches how it leaves his lips. How wrecked it sounds, how it’s more gravel than velvet, making heat bloom in your stomach as you draw a shape along his scalp.

“Could. But won’t. I think I need a corndog, maybe a ride on the Big Wheel. Real date night vibes first—not often we have some alone time. Don’t want to squander what Tommy has given us.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head, “Tommy.”

Grinning, you nudge into him when he tugs you to begin walking. Glancing up to notice how the sky is shifting in real-time from deep blue to velvet indigo—feeling him release your hand, to slide an arm around your waist. Guiding. Leading through shifting crowds.

You feel grateful, almost overwhelmed, as you take in the scene around you. On both sides, colourful stalls burst with energy, each humming excitedly. The ring toss calls to you with glistening glass bottles and the satisfying clink of rings, while the joyful pops of balloons from a nearby dart game fill the air.

It becomes apparent, quickly, you’re not sure where he’s leading you—not as you pass cheers that grab your attention, only jolting back to him when he comes to a stop at a stall. One less busy, the outer edge overflowing with giant stuffed animals and oddities—

“Hey look, it’s you.”

Your eyes narrow, flitting around, staring as he squeezes your hip.

“There,” he whispers.

All gruff, right into your ear. His breath dances along your cheek. Making your throat dry, making heat bloom between your legs when his chest becomes flush with your spine, and you follow where his finger is pointing, finding at the end of it—

“A sloth. Like you.”

“Fuck you, Miller.”

His laugh ripples out of him, loud, cracking in places as he wraps an arm around your chest, keeping you pinned—letting you feel how it rumbles through him, vibrating your bones with it as you find it hard not to join him. Shaking your head, but smirking, staring up at him before he presses the softest kiss to your forehead.

The same kind he leaves in the morning when he gets up before you; the same one he leaves on your skin when he walks in and finds dinner cooked, and the evidence of a hard day on your face. The same one that means three words, a thing you’re happy to take, each and every time.

“Gonna win it for you.”

“Joel, c’mon, you don’t need to do that, can just go on the ride, grab a snack and go—”

“I’ll be quick. Promise,” he replies, tightening his hold across your chest, mouth dropping back to your ear as children scream as they run past, “Lemme win you a prize, baby.”

Rolling your eyes, tongue in cheek as you stare at him. “What if you’re the only prize I need?”

He contemplates, in the way he always does—mouth scrunching up, nose twitching. “Still gonna win you a sloth.”

Folding your arms, you see little point in arguing. Resting your hip against the side, watching him familiarise himself with the goal: aim the rifle at the row of little metal flaps and shoot them down one by one—each having painted in little ducks on in faded yellows, and in your opinion had seen better days.

It's odd to see a rifle in his hand—wooden, smooth, worn from countless hands over the years. You're so used to seeing him with a tool of some kind or a coffee mug when he's at home.

Joel's first go isn’t too bad. The second, third and fourth, range from worse to about the same.

Each time, he grumbles—a little grunt here, a fuck there. It hissed, whispered—right under his throat with the passing reminder of children still running around the place—as you shift from leaning to standing, and arms folded to hanging loose at your sides.

“Joel, c’mon, let’s go play something else—”

“Goddammit, I can do this.”

Placing your hand on his forearm, feeling it twitch under, spotting the way his bicep twitches under the fabric of his shirt, you busily focus on his face. “Hey, I know you can. But, I want to go on The Big Wheel—maybe, make out a little, you know? Little over the clothes. See what it was like to date teenage Joel Miller.”

His jaw ticks—teeth running over his bottom lip as his nostrils flare as he inhales. His grip remains tight on the toy, fingers flexing over the trigger as your palm rubs in a line up and down his arm.

“One more go, promise.”

Smiling, you close your eyes and shrug—dropping your hand. “One more go.”

Stepping back, watching him nod to the man to reset the metal flaps, you have a thought. “Hey.”

Brown eyes meet yours—the bulbs of the stall reflecting in them, making them shimmer, shine. His face smoothed out, soft, as though work hadn’t been stressing him for weeks, as though bills hadn’t been keeping him awake.

“You win me that sloth, Miller, maybe I’ll ask the guy at the Big Wheel if we can stop at the top and admire the view.”

His eyes narrow, staring, your tongue dragging along your upper lip before your teeth bite on your lower and you tilt your head. Then, his eyes flash.

Head turning, cracking it on either side as he adjusts his stance and squares his shoulders—his grip different, almost more expert as you press your thighs together at the sight of his arm flexing again, his neck tensing.

Then, he knocks one down and your pulse hammers in your ears. The second makes you jump a little, as your heart skips a beat in your chest.

And you know he still has three attempts for the third, plenty of time. But you pinch your thigh through the fabric skating over them. Trying to level your breathing; trying to not move in anticipation. Fingers almost wanting to cross as you stare at him, admiring, unable to tear your eyes away from him—

Then the third rings out.

Metal clanging—a win announced, practically bellowing and vibrating through the air as he cheers when the bell is rung and you find yourself with your arms around his neck. You don’t think as you press a kiss—all painted in joy, happiness and pride—against his cheek. Feeling his heart pounding in his chest when your hand slides over it, rubbing, trying to soothe it as he shakes his head in disbelief when the toys is held out to him.

He takes it, his hand large and strong, the same one that just skillfully shot down metal ducks to win you a prize. As he hands it to you, his other arm slips gently around your waist.

“Told you I’d win you it.”

“My hero,” you smirk, tapping his nose with the sloth’s hand.

Feeling him pinch your side, forcing a giggle out, he drops his voice again, “C’mon, want my prize now.”

“Am I not your prize?” you tease, smiling, faking innocence as he stares—blinking, unsure what to say.

“Some parts of you more than others.”

Grinning, mouth falling open in shock, you hear him chuckle. “Good job I’m interested in finding out what winning tastes like.”

His eyes darken, lips parting as you watch him swallow, before he groans all in the back of his throat. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Wanna see how much it costs us to have five minutes at the top?”

Joel practically drags you towards the Big Wheel, the fair music blaring from it as you clutch the sloth toy tight to your waist, trying to keep up with him, grinning, from ear to ear.

[moremaybank]

shy but pervy bsf!jj who gets caught using your bikini top to get off...

warnings male masturbation, getting caught in the (solo) act, soft dom!reader, sub!jj, jj cums on r's tits, mommy kink but it's only mentioned at the very end

jj's slumped against the old and nearly-falling-apart mattress in his designated room of the chateau. sweat clung to his skin the more he worked at himself. muscles stiff and rigid, wisps of blonde hair hanging over his eyes as he peered down at his angry, pulsing cock.

wrapped in both his fist and the red framework of your bikini top, he gritted his teeth to prevent his curses from stringing out.

was it risky? getting himself off with your flimsy excuse for a bathing suit while you were right outside? sure.

but it was all your fault in the first place.

you'd spent the day in that same top, frolicking around on the beach while your tits bulged out of the thin material. it pushed them together in a way that jj could only describe as godlike. and if your cleavage wasn't already calling out to him, your nipples undoubtedly were. you stepped out of the water, and the cool breeze hit your wet body. goosebumps spiked across your skin, and your buds pebbled right before him.

he had to hide the drool that was pooling out the corner of his mouth.

but things turned even more sour when you hugged him. they swelled when they pressed against his chest, and thanks to the aforementioned thin fabric, he could practically feel all of you.

then, when the day turned to night, and you'd changed out of your swimsuit and into something more comfortable (his shirt, of course, because you weren't making him suffer enough), jj decided it was within his rights to use your top to his benefit.

his eyes flicked back and forth. from one hand that clutched his phone tightly, the screen lit up with a zoomed in photo you two had taken earlier that day, over to the other he had curled around his cock. he fucked his fist, as well as the striking red fabric, whispering out your name and a few other dirty sayings that only made him harder.

he travels so far into his own world, one that he'd crafted himself with visions and thoughts of you, that he doesn't seem to hear you call for him when you saunter into the chateau. he misses your steps, your knocks on the wooden door, and if it weren't for the creaks of the hinges, he would've missed your gasp.

his head snaps toward you, hand immediately stilling. "fuck. i-i can explain—"

your next words stun him.

"shh." you walk over to him, taking a seat on the bed next to him. your hands raise, framing his flushed cheeks. "if you wanted to cum on my tits, you could've just asked. you know i'd give you anything."

you pull him in, pressing a searing wet kiss to his lips. "you want that?"

it takes him a second, but he gets there, nodding frantically as the words trip past his lips. "y-yeah."

so you play your part of the dutiful best friend, doing anything to make him happy. your fingers grasp the bottom of his worn cotton tee, and you pull it over your head. jj's prayers are answered when your bare tits come into view.

you can see that he's hypnotized, and you have to bring him back to reality yourself. "start stroking, j. let me see how you fuck yourself while you think of me."

the leading star of every last one of his wet dreams is seated before him, topless and asking to watch him while he gets himself off. off on her. he can't tell if he's alive or if he's died and this is his very own slice of heaven.

"anythin' you want, babygirl. anythin'."

eyes locked on your breasts, his hand starts to move. he's throbbing wildly against his palm, just from staring at you, and at the plumpness of your chest. he loses it when your hands travel up the length of your torso, cupping your tits and toying with them in a way that makes jj's tip start to pool and leak. his speed accelerates, and you feel your panties dampen as grunts curses spill from his lips.

"yeah, there you go, pretty boy," you praise, beginning to jiggle them the way they would if he was fucking you. "bet you wish you were the ones makin' them shake, right?"

he lets out a pitiful whimper, hips now thrusting to meet his movements. you hear your name in a whine, watching his eyes screw shut. you're quick to remind him whose rules you're both playing by. you're so sweet about it, almost purring at him while one hand abandons your chest, allowing you to grasp his chin between your fingers. "uh-uh, open those eyes. if you wanna cum, you gotta watch me. can you do that for me, j?"

he obliges. of course, he does. you're his favourite girl. he couldn't say no to you even if he had a gun to his head or a knife to his throat. his eyes flutter open, and he's biting on his lip so hard that it's bound to bleed. your thumb pulls it free.

"don't do that. need to hear you thank me when you cum, right?"

he nods, no longer able to form words when one of your hands cups his balls and starts to massage them. your other pinches your nipple, and you moan for him.

"you wanna paint my tits, handsome?"

"yeah. yeah."

"okay," you say, getting on your hands and knees before him. you bring your chest right up to his cock, giving him what he wants. "cum all over 'em, j. give it to me, baby."

"mommy, f-fuck," he gasps, body going into shock as his cum shoots out in spurts across your skin. "thank you. thank you, thank you, thank you."

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[wispisstillverybored67]

[roseodelle]

First Impressions - Azriel x Vanserra Reader

Summary: Your first excursion away from the Autumn Court to sit in on the High Lord’s meeting doesn’t go without a hitch.

Word Count: 2782

Warnings: Angry Azriel, Eris’s dumb mouth, Violence

Masterlist

“Keep your head high. Keep your mouth shut.” Eris straightens the collar of your coat, choking down his apprehension. Mother hen. “Don’t make eye contact and do not engage. Only speak if you’re spoken to and whatever you do, do not antagonize the Night Court.” You roll your eyes, removing his hand from your collar to hold it gently in your own. You soothe him, meeting his worried eyes with your own. 

“You worry too much, brother.”

“I do not worry nearly enough, sister.” He pulls his hand away from yours, instead placing it on your back to urge you forward toward the throne room. You’ll be leaving home today. For the first time ever. Sure, you’ve seen all there is to see in the Autumn Court, from the ports to the forests to the cities to the hovels. But you’d never visited another court, and you were overjoyed at the prospect. When your father told you that you’d be accompanying your family to the Dawn Court, it took all of your self-control to keep your excitement unknown.

“Who all will be there?” You quietly ask, ensuring your conversation remains unheard by your father's shadows. Eris first replies with a quick shake of his head, tightening his grip on your back to urge you faster.

“The High Lords and their immediate subjects. I’m not sure if Tamlin will be present. If he is, it’ll be a shitshow. Do not speak to him-” you cut him off.

“Do not speak to anyone; do not make eye contact with anyone; stay with mother. Yes, father.” He gently smacks the back of your head. You choke back a laugh, swinging out of his grip to smack his shoulder. 

“Don’t call me that.” He says, a boyish grin brightening his cheeks. Your own smile hurts your cheeks as you grab his hand in yours once more.

“Then fuss less. I’ll be good. I promise.” He gives your hand a tight squeeze before he releases you, taking steps to distance himself from you as the great entrance of the throne room comes into view. Before you can continue, you pause in step. Your mouth opens and closes, question like a stone on your tongue. Eris notices, of course, and halts his own movements.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, and you give him a sad smile.

“Will Lucien be there?” You’d been so young when he’d fled. That night was the cause of a hundred years of nightmares. Nights that had been spent with Eris, silly stories and games keeping your mind from the horrors you’d witnessed as a child. You’d not seen Lucien since, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him. Eris frowns, his shoulders drooping for a fraction of a second before he continues his pace toward the rest of your family.

“I’m not sure.” He whispers, and you remain silent for the rest of the short journey. Seconds before you step foot in the grand room, your perfected dissimulation slides into place. You’d been forced to charade since you were a babe, and you had the best teachers. You poke at your shield, ensuring it's in place, as you meet your mother's somber eye. 

Slipping next to her in effortless fashion, you watch as Eris takes his place next to your father. Your remaining brothers, Bastian and Alarik, stand at attention on either side of the High Lord and General, all mere steps ahead of you and your mother. Your father speaks, his voice harsh and slicing with finality, as he turns to meet your eye.

“Do not disappoint me, Y/n, or you will remain in this palace for another two hundred and fifty years.” And with that warning, you meet Eris’s eye once more as you slip out of Autumn and into Dawn. 

The Dawn Court could only be described as magnificent. Your mother holds your hand in a gentle grip as you arrive with the rest of your family on an angelic veranda. Your gaze rises first to cotton clouds teasing a periwinkle sky, wisps of pink and orange tinging their billowing edges. You stare into the sky for seconds, content to gaze forever, before the tightening grip of your mother's hand in yours draws your attention to the marble floor beneath you. Veins of deep black and pearlescent white mark the stone and lead into the grand palace and home of Thesan, the High Lord of Dawn. Pillars line the entrance and as your sight rises upon the sunstone facade, lavish balconies and stunning archways call your attention. It’s the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. And you've only been here for seconds. A great palace set upon a mountains peak. The stories you’d read and heard paled in comparison to the real thing. 

Your mother squeezes your hand once more, her thumb smoothing your skin with a gentle touch as she motions you forward. You follow as your family is led further into the palace by an attendant. Your mother's hand in yours is a gentle but firm reminder that this is not a visit for pleasure. You find Eris’s back, his posture rigid. If you could see his face, you knew you’d be met with the emotionless eyes and a facetious smirk he’d perfected over centuries of harshness. As you pass underneath another gilded archway, you feel your own facade slipping into place. He’d spent years teaching you how. You’d be damned if you let him down now. 

You can feel it the closer you get to the war room, the stronger the aura of pure power becomes. You feel it in your bones—a dangerous mix of pure disasterous magic that could only mean many powerful beings waited ahead. High Lords, you imagine all of them. Old and strong, it brings chills to your spine, and you throw needles against your own shield, ensuring it’s strength—a pity in comparison to the influence of those ahead. You feel a tinge of relief when you feel your father’s own shield expand to cover you and your mother. The smoky scent and warm touch of your High Lord’s magic offer the barest sense of relief.

Your father and Eris enter first, and as your remaining brothers follow behind, you catch a glimpse of evil grins on their faces. The tips of their too-white teeth are a nasty warning to those ahead.

“Enough.” You hear Eris command, and you know he speaks to keep Basitian and Alarik in check. Finally, you and your mother take a few final steps into the meeting chamber. You keep your head down as you’d promised him you would, your fingers tightening against her hand still in yours. Following her lead, you slide into a luxurious oak chair. Your gaze seeks Eris first, sitting just two seats away from you on the other side of your father, and your shoulders relax immediately as his empty eyes meet your own. He gives you a subtle nod, and you exhale softly, allowing your eyes to wander the rest of the room. It’s Lucien you now seek. When you fail to find his once-familiar deep red hair, you find your heart sinking into your chest. 

Instead, your gaze lands on dark swirling shadows, cognizant and conscious, surely whispering of every breath, every fidgeting movement of the inhabitants of the chamber, and every available secret to the master they surround in a dangerous cacoon. He’s beautiful, you think. Intelligent hazel eyes observe every person and shadow in the room, and dark hair rests in a perfect manner against his sharpened brow and tan cheekbones. Your eyes lower to his arms, large with chiseled muscle and marked by the swirling black ink of bargain tattoos and the lively shadows that surround him. You find his hands and feel tightness in your chest at the sight. Melted skin stretches against the veiny muscles and long fingers.

Burn scars, you know. You have your own, and you know how difficult it is to permanently scar a fae. You catch sight of his siphons, two deep blue ovals attached to the backs of his hands, held in place by dark gauntlets. Encased is pure power. But it’s his wings that halt the beating in your chest. Colossal, powerful, and simply incredible, the dark, scarred leather takes your breath away. Azriel, you think. Spymaster and Shadowsinger of the Night Court. You’d heard many stories about the lethal Illyrian male now in front of you, sitting just a few feet away from you. He sits across the table from Eris, and the deadly glare on his angled face brings a chill to your spine. 

“It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.” The High Lord of Night breaks the strained silence of the room, and you fight back the shiver at the pure power emanating from him. You subtly test the shield that surrounds your family, ensuring it still stands against his thrumming, dark power. Rhysand. He, too, is beautiful. Violet eyes sit underneath perfect dark brows, above cutting cheekbones. He meets your father’s ever-violent gaze, resting upon the Night Court’s concubine. Feyre. Unsurprisingly, she’s ethereally beautiful, with bright blue eyes and long golden hair. 

“Mate- and High Lady.” Beron finishes, lips in a tight curl as he examines the female ahead. Her power, too, is deeply emanative. The couple is deadly. They know it. You seek Eris once more, wishing to be near him. Wishing that it were his hand in yours instead of your mother's. Instead of meeting your gaze, he bares an amused smile across the table. Your eyes glance over the Morrigan, as beautiful as the stories painted her to be. Her history with Eris was disorganized, and you did not know every detail of what had come to pass. You had yet to be born when their forced betrothal ended violently, but he’d told you enough. He stares intently at the female sitting to the side of Feyre, with icy fire in her eyes and pale blonde hair. You do not recognize her, but her sharp gaze is deadly as she stares daggers back at your brother. Her anger is palpable, and you can surmise that this must be Nesta. 

When that certain glint shines in his amber eye, you find yourself tensing. You know that mischievous expression, and you know what often follows. This is not Eris, your best friend—your only friend. This is Eris, the asshole of the Autumn Court. Shit. You gently release your mother’s hand, ignoring the warning glance she gives you, preparing to act if he manages to create enough of a fit to require your assistance, regardless of your promise to behave.

“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.” At the mention of Lucien, your mother releases a quiet gasp. Eris had shared so little with you when it came to him. But he’d told you of Elain, and you knew he was toeing a dangerous line. It’s Morrigan who replies, with a smooth, frigidness in her melodic voice. 

“You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.” A wicked smile appears on his lips, and that glint in his eye is on fire. Fuck, you think. Fuck. Fuck. You found yourself wishing for the coveted ability of the daemati at this moment. To be able to claw your way into his mind and tell him to shut the fuck up before he could begin. But no. Instead, you watch with bated breath as he opens his damned mouth and chuckles to himself before he speaks.

“Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.” You release an exasperated groan, and in the same second, the shield around you shudders and breaks with a pulse of deep blue light and powerful magic. The wood of Eris’s chair is shattered into pieces, and your brother is tackled to the ground. Azriel’s scarred hands are a tight vise around your brother’s throat. Within the same second, another shield is erected. Azriel’s own, deep blue and as strong as the one he’d torn down with no effort at all. You hear a muttered “shit” and “enough” from the other side of the table, and within the same breath, you’re standing with your sharpened emerald and obsidian dagger in hand. You make quick work of the resilient shield Azriel had erected, made of radiant blue magic. You catch sight of his siphons once more; only now can you see that the two on his hands are not alone. He wears five more. Eris, you fucking idiot.

You’re fast. You’re strong. And you know that you’d stand no chance against the giant Illyrian at any other time, but somehow, you manage to get the upper hand. You grasp his sturdy shoulder, rounding your dagger sharply to his neck. You dig in with enough pressure to catch his attention, drawing an immediate and steady stream of blood. You feel him still, muscled body impossibly still in your tight hold. You catch Eris’s eye over the Illyrian’s shoulder, and it’s almost comical—the mischievous and proud look of an asshole turning to a quick and sharp panic as he sees the position his baby sister put herself in to protect him. 

“Release him.” You command, but Azriel’s grip on your brother’s neck remains unbroken. You watch as his eyes begin to redden, vessels widening in a concerning manner. You look across the room, meeting the High Lord of Night’s wide eyes with determination in your own. You crack your own shield, the barrier that keeps your mind safe from the prying eye’s of daemati. The shield Eris had taught you to wield the moment you began to walk.

Recall your dog, or all three of us will die right here, right now. You speak loudly, ensuring your words make their mark. You dig your blade in deeper for good measure, milimeters away from his carotid, steady stream of blood thickening as it runs down his neck and drips onto your brother’s face. 

“Enough, Azriel.” Rhysand’s command is deep and unyielding and yet Azriel does not yield, instead digging his heavy knee into Eris’s stomach. You release your hand from his shoulder, instead opting to dig into his dark hair and pull tightly. Any deeper on his neck, and you knew all three of you would be dead. It’s your father who speaks next, apparently realizing the sensitivity of the situation at hand. 

“Call off your overgrown bat!” He growls, but Rhysand does not utter another command. Your heart beats roughly in your chest, and you allow your sharp fingernails to dig into said overgrown bat’s scalp. It has no effect. Your eyes bore into Eris’s over the bat’s shoulder, wide and panicked in a mirror of your own. 

“Come, Azriel.” It’s Feyre, now standing ahead of Rhysand with a hand outstretched toward the Ilyrian. You sigh in relief as he releases his deadly grip on Eris’s throat. He chokes heavily, inhaling deeply and shakily. You slowly pull your nails from Azriel’s scalp, releasing the tangle of hair from your shaking hand, before tentatively removing your dagger from his bleeding neck. He stands confidently, towering over you in height and with his giant wings.

“Come sit with me.” Feyre commands him, and you shudder in relief as he drops the impressive blue shield. He glances at you, dropping his eyes down and then ever so slowly back up, head tilted in menace, and you shiver under his heavy gaze. Finally, he takes steady strides away from you, and you reach to pull Eris from the ground. His slender and toned body falls heavily against your side as you slowly walk him back toward your family. You pass the shattered chair he once sat in, leading him toward your own seat.

“What have you done?” He near silently whispers, his voice terribly hoarse as he leans in close, ensuring that you’re not overheard. 

“Our deal was off the moment you antagonized the Night Court.” You whisper back, and he tightens his grip on your shoulder.

“Beron will punish you for this.” You drop him into your chair, your mother taking his hand in hers underneath the table. 

“No punishment could be worse than watching you die.” He reaches to squeeze your hand, releasing you as you step back, standing obediently a step behind him. You can feel your father’s gaze on you; his ire is already a burning hand upon your back.

8/13 update: this will remain as a one shot. I wrote and posted a pt 2 but I wasn't happy with it so as of now, I've taken it down. I'm sorry :(

[yanderenightmare]

Dabi x darling x Hawks

TW: NSFW, noncon, war, soldiers, married reader

AN: kinda inspired by when British Parliament passed the Quartering Act in 1765, and those in the American colonies were required to provide housing for British soldiers, and how they were also expected to provide food, firewood, and even beer.

fem reader

Thinking about old-timey soldiers Hawks and Dabi who knock on your door with their caps in hand, plastic smiles on both their faces when asking for a warm homecooked meal – knowing you can’t refuse by order of the King.

It’s a humble cottage more than it’s a house, but the two men make themselves at home while you slowly stir the stew you’ve whipped up for them – only halfway of your own free will. 

Hawks asks where your husband is, and you point to the love letters displayed on the mantle and tell them he’d been called away seven months ago. 

Dabi then asks if you’ve been lonely…

You try and laugh it off as though it was a charming thing of him to say – but you’ve been feeling apprehensive ever since you opened the door – seeing their hands casually resting on the weapons by their hip as though in silent threat.

You sit with your hands in your lap while they eat. They say they’ve missed the sweetness of a woman like you – that the lads back at base don’t know how to do it the same way. And you know they’re talking about the food, but still… you can’t help but feel they’re insinuating something else.

You scream when they grab you – but it’s not like they expected anything else from a married woman – of course, a good wife would give anyone who isn’t her husband some fight – but like any woman, you’re quickly subdued by the two of them. 

Their smiles are still eerily calm, even as you cry – utterly unmatched by their actions, where they squeeze into all your plush parts with unwarranted strength.

Hawks hugs you from behind, forcing your arms behind your back – his crotch planted firm against your rear, even through all the thick layers of your skirt. 

Dabi is in front of you. He ripped open your blouse in the struggle – now whistling at the pretty sight of your tits while stroking his revolver up the crane of your neck, poking it into your cheek before using it to brush a wisp of hair out of your face – pretty and riddled with tears while you snivel and whimper.

He takes your chin in a strong hand, his tone smooth while he tells you to calm down – as though he's not got his loaded fire weapon aimed at you. His nose brushes yours as he croons at you through a smile – giving your quivering lips a quick peck.

Hawks’ tone is just as suave – playful even, grinning toothily, chuckling out how they just want to thank you for the hospitality as he quickly tugs the wool of your dress up, balling it all around your waist. Petting your cunt through your bloomers with your wrists gripped firm in his other hand, pinned tightly to the small of your back.

Cutlery, plates, and cups crash to the floor when Dabi swipes to clear the table – sending you hips-first against it.

The nose of his gun jabs into your nape, forcing your head down until your cheek smudges the splintery wood.

He doesn’t bother retraining you, letting the threat of his bullets do to all the talking while he unbuckles his belt, letting his uniform drop around his ankles.

He rips a gash in the thin cotton of your bloomers. They look too cute to remove. Not frilly like rich maidens wear, like in those catalogs the men will pass around if not pictures of each other's girlfriends. Yours are worker class, probably sewn by yourself from some old curtains – not meant to be erotic, but made so erotic because of it. 

You’re just a simple farmer’s daughter making your country proud – is what he whispers in your ear when he has two fingers stuffed up your cunt.

It’s obvious you haven’t been fucked in a while – the two digits make you wince and, in turn, make him restless to give you the real thing. He can tell just by the buck of your hips it’s going to feel the same as fucking a virgin.

You’re quickly wet like one, too. Makes it easy for him to slide into your tightness despite your teary whines. 

He lets out a heavy groan when you’ve taken him to the hilt – stays nestled there for a minute – in reverence of the tight, wet warmth he hadn’t felt in a while.

Sure, he and Hawks might have done things on cold, long, lonely nights, but nothing can quite compete with the softness of a woman in his mind.

Those precious ways you tighten up and shake from the stretch, shuffling your thighs when he kneads into your womb – soaking him with wet velvet slick.

His gun goes lazy against your back, though still very much keeping you scared in place as he lolls in and out of you at a languid pace – his chin tipped up with a sigh.

But it’s only initial relief – and once it dies down and the hunger spurs anew – he’s got his lips at your ear and his gun in your mouth – crude things flying off his lips, hips thrusting against you with the same haste of a hound in his rut – saying if he were your husband, he’d never leave your cunt and cooking – that he’d pick being buried six inches deep between your thighs than six feet deep in the dirt – sucking your cheek while telling you not to fret long over your man – how he and Hawks will help you grieve when the love letters stop coming.

The blonde is busy looting the liquor cabinet while Dabi ravages your poor cunt – but he comes back to switch with him once he finds the most expensive bottle.

It was a wedding present you’d been saving, one you’d thought you’d open the day your love would return – but Hawks cares little for the etiquette and swigs it raw from the stem as he retakes his place behind you – bathing his thick shaft with the slick sheen on your inner thighs before pressing himself inside you.

He doesn’t bother to start slow – he’d been kept waiting long enough and goes straight to pounding you deep. Kicking your legs apart – a hand buried in the cake of your ass to steady you whilst the other grips the bottle.

The table is small. Meant for only you and your man – so perfect for bending you over – just intimate enough to allow Dabi to stand at the other end with his cock in your mouth.

The whole thing wobbles against the floor as the two men have their way. 

They deserted from their battalion a long time ago and have both grown pretty tired of house-hopping – and this place seems far enough removed from where anyone would bother looking for them. 

Who knows, maybe they’ll stay until the war is over. 

♡ DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA masterlist ♡ HAWKS - TAKAMI KEIGO masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[writella]

Pookie, more Negan x reader to celebrate 1k?🤭

for you? well ofc! ♡

cw: negan x fem!reader, smut, light somnophilia, fingering, rubbing, wc- under 1k.

His sleeping beauty rests one floor above the wives’ quarters.

Alone.

Yeah, yeah, call it special treatment, favoritism.

It is.

The time on his watch reads 10:55 am. It’s a Sunday.

He should have come to you earlier. Slipped in your bed while he was still in his nightwear. Pretend you two are a regular couple for just an hour at least, hold you close, have morning sex.

But he’s late and he hates it. This is the one day of the week where he can be late for everyone else, but of course one of his guys just had to have a fight with a couple of workers already throwing off the entire schedule for the day and he had to manage it.

It doesn’t matter now though, because as he opens the door he sees just as he suspects— you’re sleeping in.

His beautiful girl in his room he reserved just for you. So silent and serene and away from everyone else that he can kneel down on the floor near your bed and unabashedly admire you. Take comfort in your softness. Treat you in a way no one expects.

As he takes you in, he sees the lace and flowers of your nightgown peek through from an arm that is placed over your blanket, exposing your shoulder. Admiring the sight, he takes his hand and wisps the backs of his fingers to swipe bits of your ruffled hair out of your face. He tries as gently as he can but already he sees your eyes fluttering. You breathe in, eyes almost lifting to an open until you settle. You breathe out and dig your head into your pillow on one side.

Negan kisses your shoulder and then slides the hand farthest from your face inside your blanket. His fingers slip down the cotton of your gown until he finds your mound, then your lips, and pushes his fingers inward, starting to rub. He draws gentle circles, and instantly you’re rustling. Your lower body jerks, only once, involuntarily. One hand lightly goes to hold onto his wrist as you find it and your head turns to his direction. With hazy sleep in your squinted eyes and a sweet scratchy voice you let out a croaked whisper, “Negan?”

“Yes, baby,” he answers in a deep, dark alto voice; like flowing chocolate; he still had his morning voice.

Negan’s fingers slide down your leg and under your gown, sliding back up to the now exposed skin to him and he slots his fingers between your lips again. He loves how you never wear panties at night. You make it so easy for him.

He feels a slight slick around your hole and works at your clit again to make you wetter. Your pussy lightly pushes up into him and your eyes stay closed. He takes his hand closest to your face and rests it on your breast and you take both of your hands to hold that one. You squeeze his hand just as your squeeze around nothing down below— his fingerings bringing heat to your body everywhere.

“N- mm- uh- Negan,” you moan out. It’s small, a little whiny, and choked out, but your eyes and nose are scrunched up. You’re still sleepy.

He keeps rubbing circles as your keep trying to push yourself up and down, left or right onto his finger tips and then he slides down, your wetness growing just as he wanted it to, and he slides a finger in. He works it in and out— not too slow, nor too fast.

He takes his hand from in between yours and places his forearm over your pillow so he can get closer to you, kissing your lips and swallowing your whines as he continues to pump with the over hand down below.

“Feels good, baby?” He asks, looking over your swollen morning features and your head that slightly shakes from side to side at the feeling on him working on you.

“Oh, yes!” You answer, light and breathy, in a princess voice. “Mmmm,” you sigh, “would feel even better if you did this,” to which you demonstrate with your hands going under your blanket and back onto his wrist. You take his palm and place it on your puffed clit and rub down and inward as he continues to pump you as best as he can with his fingers. “Oh, yes,” you nod, “mhm”loving the feeling of pressure from top to end, “like that Negan.”

He smiles, fast and lust filled as he rests his head on the bed, continuing to watch your expressions of sleepy awe and pleasure as you both work on getting you to your high.

God, you looked so heavenly with your mouth wide open like that, always ready for those pretty little moans to roll out on that slick tongue. He started imagining his cock choked up in there. It made his semi-hard on stir into a full. “Fuck,” he draws out.

He starts kissing the corner of your mouth, and a cheek, and neck, whispering with that dark chocolate rasp in your ear how, “You’re being such a good girl, baby. Getting so wet for me this fast. I think you’re ready, huh?” To which you whine and nod in response, your back already arching as you try to push his palm into you deeper and deeper. “Mmhm. I know you are. Such a pretty little slut for me. I’m about to make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

[estrellami-1]

Keep Me (And I’ll Keep You)

Ao3 Link

Eddie hums contentedly as he sits on the couch, beer in hand. The couch is cotton, a soft brown that matches the rest of the living room. It’s one of those fancy sectionals that, up until knowing Steve, Eddie had only seen in catalogs. It’s a comfy couch, and he hums again as he settles in, wiggling his butt and shoulders, doing his best to let the couch envelop him.

Steve, to his left, snorts as he sits down. “Looks like you’re trying to become one with the couch.”

“Hey, it’s comfortable,” Eddie says, giving an aborted shrug and leaning his head back.

Steve chuckles, then sobers. “Y’know, sometimes I think when I move out, what’s the one thing I’m gonna miss the most? What’s the one thing I want to bring with me? And nine times out of ten, it’s this couch.”

“What’s the other one?”

“The microwave.” Eddie snickers. “Hey, you laugh, but those things are expensive!” Steve defends himself, also laughing. He’s got one knee up on the couch, turned to face Eddie, leaning sideways against the back of the couch.

A shout startles them both, and Eddie whips his head around to the dining room, where the Party is gathered. Will is DM today, after a long brainstorming session with Eddie. He’d brought the kids here and is available in case Will gets stuck, but Eddie silently thinks Will downplays his abilities. He’s a damn good DM, especially for his age, and Eddie was actively considering joining in.

Ultimately he decided to let the kids have this one. Erica, no doubt, would’ve joked (at least, he thinks it’s a joke) about Eddie cramping their style.

So here he is, relaxing on the couch with the man of the house, who’s relaxing now that he knows there’s no actual danger, only imagined.

Steve sighs, leaning forward to put his beer on the coffee table. “One of these days I’m gonna wake up and find a grey hair, and I’m gonna know it came from them.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, man, you think that’s bad,” he jokes, and continues on to tell a story about something the kids had done involving Dustin’s second cat, a balloon, and a car tire. He leans forward to put his beer down, too, and when he leans back again Steve slides forward, head coming to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

And here’s the deal, right? They don’t do that. They don’t casual touch like that. Eddie does, with most anybody, but Steve is in a class of his own, one that Eddie knows not to mess with for his own heart’s sake.

Said heart rabbits in his chest as he freezes, words drying up. He slowly looks over at Steve and sees closed eyes and open mouth. “Oh,” he whispers, cataloging the soft wisp of eyelashes resting on cheeks, the crinkle on his nose, scrunching up his moles, the lips slightly parted, driving damp puffs of breath to land on Eddie’s arm.

The next thing Eddie notices is Steve’s neck is at a weird angle. If he were to guess, he’d say Steve hadn’t been sleeping very well, and waking him is the last thing he wants to do. He tries to shimmy down the couch a little, to relax Steve’s neck some, but Steve’s upper body moves with his head, and now Eddie thinks the crick in his neck is more severe. “Fuck,” he mutters, shimmying down more, because surely it’ll work this time.

Something happens. He doesn’t know what, exactly, just knows that as he shimmies down Steve’s head slides down his shoulder, down his chest, to land on his stomach.

Steve murmurs something and shifts, turning his face into Eddie’s stomach as he stretches out, still asleep.

Butterflies awaken with a vengeance.

Shifting down his body means Eddie’s arm is free. He lifts it up nonsensically, as if not touching Steve of his own will is better than whatever the fuck is happening, but he can only hold his arm up for so long, so he eventually, gently rests it over Steve’s back and side. “What the fuck,” he mouths to himself.

It’s quiet and comfortable, though, the low murmur of voices in the other room doing nothing to keep Eddie awake, so it’s not long before he begins to drift off, too.

Sue him, he hasn’t been sleeping all that well, either.

He opens his eyes to Will walking into the room before seeing them and freezing. Eddie forces himself more awake, blinking rapidly until some of the fog lifts. He gestures Will closer with the hand not on Steve, and Will shakes his head, smiling. “We’re done,” he whispers. “I’ll call Jonathan.”

The words take a minute to make sense in Eddie’s brain. When they do, he shoots Will a thumbs up.

Will leaves, and Eddie succumbs to the siren call of sleep once more.

When he wakes up, he’s alone.

It’s morning, he can tell by the light in the room, natural now instead of artificial. His back is screaming at him, and his neck isn’t too happy either, so he takes his time sitting up and stretching, imagining the jokes Wayne would throw his way.

“Oh,” someone says, and Eddie looks over to see Steve, pink-cheeked, holding two mugs of coffee.

He seems to make a decision and crosses over to the couch, handing Eddie one of the mugs. It’s blue-and-white checkered, like Dorothy’s dress in The Wizard of Oz, and something about it makes Eddie smile even before Steve says, “Here. Enough sugar to give a bull a heart attack.”

Eddie takes a sip and hums gratefully. “Thanks, man.”

“I, uh. Think that’s my line.” Steve’s cheeks are even pinker now, and he’s studiously not looking at Eddie. “And sorry. For falling asleep on you.”

There’s about a million things Eddie wants to say that he bites his tongue on. Ends up with, “Actually, I slept really well last night.”

Steve’s cheeks are still pink, but he at least glances at Eddie when he says, “Yeah. Me too.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Eddie thinks. “I haven’t been sleeping super well, actually. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “I do.”

It’s silent for a second, long enough that Eddie begins to inanely suggest, “Maybe we could-”

At the same time, Steve starts, “What if we-”

They break off at the same time, blinking at each other before laughing. “You first,” Eddie says.

Steve’s cheeks burn again. “What if we did it again?”

Eddie grins. “I was gonna say maybe we could do it again,” he admits.

Steve giggles, and Eddie has to work to not stare at him with actual hearts in his eyes.

“Not every night,” Eddie hazards. God knows he wants to do it every night. God also knows it’s the fastest way to break his own heart.

“No, of course not. Just- when it gets bad?”

It’s bad every night, Eddie swallows, chokes on. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

“And- we’ll just call each other, I guess.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “You- you’re welcome to call whenever. Day or night. Doesn’t matter.”

“Same for you.”

“What about Wayne?”

“Works nights. And I’m home during the day. If I’m not, I’m with you guys. No chance of waking him up.”

Steve snickers. “Unless you sleep through the phone ringing.”

Eddie snorts. “Fat chance. Every little sound wakes me up, now.”

Steve really looks at him. “Yeah,” he finally murmurs. “I know how that is.”

They finish their coffee, Eddie leaves, and Steve heads into work.

That night, four seconds before Eddie gets up to call Steve, the phone rings.

He bolts down the hall, grabs it so hard he hears the plastic casing creak. “Hello?”

“Eddie.” Steve sounds… small. Relieved, like he wasn’t sure Eddie would answer. “Thought-” Eddie can hear the crease between his brows. “Dream, I guess.” He sniffs, clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“No, hey,” Eddie tells him, “that’s why we’re doing this, you don’t need to say sorry. D’you wanna stay on the phone for a few more minutes? Or can I go for, like, ten minutes?” Usually the drive to Steve’s house is more like fifteen, he knows, but like hell is he following the speed limits when they’re both feeling like this.

“No,” Steve murmurs. “I can- I can go, sorry, you should- you were asleep, I bet-”

“Nope,” Eddie tells him cheerfully. “I wasn’t asleep and I actually was about to call you. I’m gonna hang up so I can drive over, Steve. Are you at a place where you’ll be okay if I hang up?”

Steve hums. “Think so.”

“I’m not getting off until that’s a yes.”

Steve huffs out a breath. “No, it’s- ‘m fine, sorry, you can- if you wanna go-”

“Steve. You’re kinda proving that you’re not okay right now.”

“Oh.”

Eddie huffs out an approximation of a laugh. “Yeah. Think you can take some deep breaths for me?”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll do it with you, ready?” He coaches Steve through a breath, then through three more, until Steve’s able to inhale without it sticking. “Good. How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Steve admits. “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to.”

“Stevie, baby, I don’t have to do anything.”

He’s grinning, hamming it up for Steve, and can hear the smile in return, the little huff that means a laugh. “But you’re coming over? Because you want to?”

“Ding ding ding, that is correct!” Steve giggles. When it dies down, Eddie quietly says, “I’ll see you in ten, okay?”

“Fifteen,” Steve counters, “don’t speed.”

“Five,” Eddie says nonsensically.

Steve giggles as he says, “You’re already here?”

“I’m already in your bed, are you kiddin’ me? I got there half an hour ago.”

Steve laughs again. When he sobers, he says, “Fifteen. I’ll unlock the door in thirteen, not a minute sooner.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Eddie says, “seven,” and hangs up to Steve’s laughter.

He’s smiling as he pulls shoes on and grabs his keys and wallet. He’s out the door in two minutes, locking it behind him and hopping into his van.

He makes it to Steve’s in twelve minutes, hoping the door’s unlocked so he can walk in.

Steve opens it before he can even get there. “What happened to fifteen?”

Eddie shrugs, smiles. “You know me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he moves to let Eddie in. “Unfortunately I do.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, affronted, “what’s that mean,” and pulls Steve into a hug before he can say anything.

Steve stiffens for a second, not expecting the hug, but then relaxes into it so quickly Eddie’s almost sure he imagines the stiffness. “Thanks for coming,” he whispers.

“Thanks for calling,” Eddie whispers back, pulling away with a smile. “Bed? Or not yet?”

“Bed,” Steve agrees, leading him upstairs before stopping halfway. “Or- would you prefer the couch?”

“Why the hell would I prefer a couch over a bed,” Eddie demands, nudging Steve to keep him moving. His words are soft, though, as he says, “Wherever you want.”

“Bed,” Steve agrees, just as softly.

They climb in then stare at each other. “How do you wanna do this?” Steve asks him.

“However you want.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll take too much,” he whispers.

Eddie thinks, privately, Steve’s more fucked up than anyone knows. “Not if I’m willing to give you everything,” Eddie swears, heart in his throat and on the line. “C’mon. You called me. Help me learn how to help you.”

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“It won’t be,” Eddie swears, “but yeah. I’ll tell you.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment. Eddie does his best to keep his expression open and willing. He’s not sure how he’s doing, but it must be good enough for Steve, because he burrows in, tucking his face into Eddie’s chest, throwing an arm over Eddie’s waist and relaxing.

Eddie responds in kind, laying an arm over Steve’s, around his back, and pulling him in that little bit closer. “Sleep,” he whispers, even as he succumbs and his eyes close.

When he awakens in the morning, it’s still dark, but Steve’s getting up. He makes a questioning noise, reaching out for him.

Steve squeezes his hand before placing it down again. “Just going to the bathroom,” he whispers. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again, Steve’s back in bed, curled up against him, breath whiffling across Eddie’s chest.

Something in his chest cracks open as he lets himself study Steve. There’s a slight furrow in his brow, like even in sleep he’s still holding onto stress. Eddie wants to hold him by the ankles and shake him until all the bad thoughts come out and only the good remain. A sigh escapes his mouth at the thought, wisping over Steve’s face, and it’s apparently enough to wake him. Eddie watches as Steve’s face scrunches and his feet kick out in a stretch. He rolls over closer to Eddie, putting his face in Eddie’s chest, then freezes and pulls back, looking up at Eddie with a confused frown that quickly turns into a shy smile. “Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” Eddie responds.

“Y’wake?” Steve asks nonsensically, but Eddie understands: is he really up, or is he going back to sleep.

Eddie shrugs in response. Steve nods, rolling back over into Eddie’s chest and sighing.

The thing in Eddie’s chest cracks more.

He wraps his arm around Steve again. He feels it, the moment Steve falls asleep, all tension leeching from his body.

He’s warm and solid, breathing evenly, and Eddie’s eyes don’t want to open, go longer and longer between blinks.

He falls asleep.

When he wakes up again—the third and final time—Steve’s out of bed, and the sheets are cool to the touch. “What,” he mutters, brows furrowed, palm on the sheets next to him. The area is slowly warming up, from his body heat, but they were definitely cold.

He sits up, stretches, scratches his head, and makes his way downstairs to look for Steve.

He can smell coffee and pancakes halfway down. The thing in his chest is wide open, hungry, hurting.

Hunting.

He thinks, stuck halfway down the stairs, he needs to stay away from Steve.

He has no idea how he’s going to do that.

He finishes his walk and finds himself in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wall, watching Steve cook.

He flips a pancake, shimmies his hips when the pancake is perfectly brown, and slides it off onto a stack next to him. He pours more batter in and turns to get some coffee, freezing for a second when he sees Eddie. “Hey, you’re up! How’d you sleep?”

Eddie nods, watching Steve walk over to the coffee pot and grab two mugs. “Pancakes are almost done, coffee’s here, sugar’s here-” he points, “-and milk’s in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“Um,” Eddie says, and heads toward the coffee.

Steve grins. “Not a morning person? I can tone it down if you need me to.”

Eddie waves him off, doctors his coffee, and takes a long sip, humming at the taste and warmth. “You’re fine,” he finally says. “I just need, like, five minutes for my brain to go oh, we’re awake, I should work.” He adopts a funny voice for his brain, smirking when Steve laughs.

“Fair enough. Any plans for the day?”

Eddie hums as he thinks through his schedule. “Band practice with the guys tonight, and…” he doesn’t have any plans with Wayne, but he knows he needs to talk this through, so, “Wayne wants my help with… something. I dunno.”

Steve snorts. “Sounds exciting.”

“Oh, yeah, the height of excitement, I’m just gonna expire from anticipation.” He sends Steve a flat look, and Steve cackles as he flips another pancake.

“Well let me know if this super-exciting thing you’re doing needs another set of hands.”

“Will do,” Eddie says. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

Steve shrugs. “I like cooking. Not much reason to when it’s just me, so I don’t usually do pancakes, but I do enjoy it.”

“Well,” Eddie says, leaning on the counter, “isn’t that reason enough?”

Steve stills for a moment, tilting his head. “Huh. I never thought of it that way.”

The thing in Eddie’s chest grumbles.

His stomach also grumbles, and Steve hears that, laughing as he retrieves a plate. “Here, take some, syrup is in the pantry and jelly is in the fridge.” He stacks a plate with four pancakes, thrusting it Eddie’s direction.

Eddie notices there’s only two on his plate, takes one from his pile and puts it on Steve’s. “Only if you eat too.”

Steve smiles at him, a small, real thing that makes the thing, the monster in his chest ache. “Okay.”

Eddie leaves soon after, quoting his thing with Wayne, makes sure Steve knows he can call if he needs someone.

Steve makes sure he knows the same.

The monster claws at his chest.

He covers the wince with a grin, waves on his way out, jumps into his van.

Turns the tape up until the drumbeat drowns out his thoughts.

He’s back to the trailer in fifteen. Wayne’s there, awake, facing the door when Eddie comes through. “Thought so,” he says, first thing. “You needta talk.”

Eddie collapses into a ball on the couch.

Wayne joins him, pulls him in, like he’s two instead of twenty, like a heart in danger of breaking is the same as a skinned knee. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to me. That’s what you do.”

“I really like him, Wayne.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s- he’s so nice, but he-”

He sniffles. Only realizes then that he’s crying. “Wayne,” he asks, “am I a good person?”

“You are.”

“Why’s the worst shit always happen to good people?”

Wayne sighs. “I wish I knew.”

“He’s better than me. And he’s had so much shit thrown his way. And I just- I wanna help but I dunno how when I see him like this.”

“You wanna take care of him.”

“Yeah.” Another sniffle. “But he doesn’t want that.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Didn’t need to. I can see it.”

Wayne hums. “Y’know when you first got here, you were scared of me? Not ‘cause I’m Al’s brother. Because of me. ‘Cause my face scared you. You thought I was always mad. Sometimes what you see isn’t how it is.”

“But how do I know?”

“You don’t. Not unless you talk to him.” He rubs a hand down Eddie’s spine. “How ‘bout that Birdie girl? She’s his best friend. She might be able to tell you more.”

“She won’t tell me anything.”

“My momma had a saying. Honesty begets honesty. Talk to her. Tell her the truth. She’ll tell you a truth right back.”

“…Today?”

“Better sooner ‘n later, but I guess it don’t gotta be today.”

Eddie sighs. “Today.” He picks at the knee of his sleep pants, worn with age. “How?”

“How do you talk to her?”

“Mhm.”

“Honesty, boy. ‘S about all y’got.”

Eddie sighs, leans into Wayne. Lets himself be held for a moment longer.

Wayne sighs, too. “Wanna watch that animal documentary?”

Eddie immediately perks up. “Really? You’ll watch it with me?”

Wayne smiles, nudges him off his lap. “Go put it in.”

Eddie grins as he races to do so, and the next two hours is lost to polar bears and orcas.

After it’s over, Wayne stands with a sigh and ruffles Eddie’s hair as he walks past. “Got work tonight. Y’mind bein’ quiet today?”

Eddie hums. “Imma go find Robin. Talk to her. Wish me luck.”

“Y’dont need it,” Wayne says, “but luck anyways.” He waves as he passes into his room.

Eddie grabs his car keys, looks down, and sets the keys back down before trudging to his room to change.

Soon enough he’s walking into Family Video. “Buckley!” He greets happily.

“Munson!” She parrots before her voice flattens. “The fuck you want.” Her eyes are sparkling, though, and the corners of her mouth are twitching up, so he pays no mind to her words. He drapes himself over the counter with a dramatic sigh. “You ‘lone?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we… talk?”

“This is starting to feel like a visit to the principal’s office.”

He pops his head up, eyes wide. “No, no, no! It’s not that at all! It’s me.” He lays his head back down with another sigh. “It’s… okay, so, let’s say, hypothetically, I… liked someone.”

“Steve, got it, go on.”

He puts an arm over his face. “And let’s say—still hypothetically—I did something, said something, that means we’re gonna be in close contact a lot more than before.”

“Okay. I’m following so far.”

He shrugs. “What do I do?”

“What’s the thing?”

“Y’know how he hosted Hellfire last time?”

“Sure.”

“Well I wasn’t playing, Will was DM and I was just there for guidance if he needed it, which he didn’t, kid’s a natural, but. Anyways. I was sitting with Steve in the living room, and we were talking, and I start telling him this story and… he falls asleep on my shoulder.” He groans. “And he looked so peaceful, I couldn’t disturb that, y’know?”

“Okay, I’m following so far.”

“Well turns out when there’s nothing to do but sit there, you end up falling asleep, too.” He clenches a hand in his hair. “We cuddled, Birdie. And then we told each other that we slept well, so I, like the absolute fool I am, said he can call me. If he wants. If he needs someone.”

“He called you last night.”

“He did. I dunno what to do, Robbie.”

“I’m not in the business of telling you what to do. But I can tell you if you told him, he wouldn’t react badly.”

“You’re sure?”

She lays her head down next to his, meeting his eyes. “I’d bet my life on it.”

“So… you think I should tell him?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Eddie.”

He groans and shuts his eyes. “This sucks.”

“Feelings usually do,” she nods, standing up and ruffling his hair. “But if I were you, I’d talk to him.”

Eddie makes a face. “Today?”

Robin shrugs. “Is there a better time?”

Eddie thinks it through. “Tomorrow,” he decides. He looks up at Robin. “If I don’t tell him tomorrow, can you tell him the day after?”

Robin raises her brows. “You want me to?”

“Yeah. Like… like incentive. Because if I know it’s gonna happen anyways, it’s better if I do it, right?”

Robin smiles. “I’ll tell him the day after tomorrow if you don’t.”

“Thanks.” He squeezes her hand, straightens up. Smiles. “I’ve gotta run. You’re a good friend, Buckley.”

She smiles, rolls her eyes. “Get outta here, Munson.”

His grin grows wider. “You’re a good friend, Buckley, I don’t know what I do without you!”

“Die, probably,” she deadpans, also grinning. She makes a shooing motion. “You said you’ve gotta run, so go!”

He laughs and runs out, waving over his shoulder.

He makes it to practice just as Gareth does, and not much practice happens that day, but is it really his fault that Jeff’s mom made lemonade and cookies for them?

He gets home that night, tired but happy, and watches a little TV before going to bed.

It’s a scary movie, not one he’s seen before, with a girl with long, dark hair, obscuring her face. She seems to grin right at Eddie and walks toward the camera. He laughs, because it doesn’t even look real.

Except suddenly it is. Suddenly she’s climbing through the screen, doing things he’s never seen a contortionist do, and heading straight for him. He scrambles over the couch and runs for his room, the girl close behind. He closes and locks the door, searching for his walkie. When he finds it, he depresses the button and yells, “Code red! I repeat, code red! Can anyone hear me?”

Only static greets him when he lets go of the button. His hand begins to shake.

“Code red,” he says again, quieter this time. “Please help, someone, please- it’s a code red, I’m serious!”

She rattles his doorknob, long fingers sneaking under his door, reaching and growing until they can almost reach the lock.

“Hello?” Someone calls out from inside the trailer.

Steve.

“Oh, holy shit-” he can hear Steve scramble back. “Eddie? Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, “I’m alive?”

The fingers stop growing. In the blink of an eye, they’re gone. The girl hisses, and Steve whispers out another curse.

Eddie tiptoes to his door amid the sound of fighting. When everything goes quiet, he opens his door.

He can’t see anything at first. He silently walks out of his room, looking around, freezing at the sight of Steve on the ground, eyes open, mouth agape, and the girl crouching over him.

She’s hissing at Eddie, but he can’t even care about that right now, because Steve is looking directly at him, and he knows what it looks like when someone’s dead, and he-

Steve-

Eddie swallows bile, drops to his knees. “Steve?”

He never got the chance to say anything.

Only had one day to enjoy holding him.

He could’ve had longer, if he’d said something before now, if he’d made a move-

Or if not, at least Steve wouldn’t be here, dead-

He swallows a sob. The girl turns to him, still hissing, and slowly advances.

He closes his eyes. Waits for the inevitable. Sends a silent apology to his uncle.

Except… nothing happens.

He blinks his eyes open carefully, confused when he’s in his dark room. He sits up, looking around, grateful the moon is bright enough to light up his room enough for him to see.

He creeps out of bed, carefully opens his door, and looks around.

His eyes catch on the place he’d seen Steve dead, and it’s a dream, he knows it was, but he still feels-

He dials. Tries to keep breathing as the phone rings. “‘Lo?”

“Steve?”

“Eddie.” A yawn. “You alright, man?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, looking for the right words, but apparently Steve speaks Eddie.

“Am I going over there or are you coming over here?”

“N-no, you- you don’t have to-”

“Eddie. I don’t have to do anything. I’m doing this because I want to. Are you gonna be okay for fifteen minutes?”

“Define okay,” Eddie says, still unsure what words mean. What he’s saying.

“Okay, that’s a no. Eddie, I need you to take a couple of deep breaths for me, okay? I’ll do it too. Ready? We’re gonna breathe in… in… in… now hold it, two, three, four, now out… slowly… out… and hold. Two, three, four. Twice more, okay?”

He guides Eddie through the exercise, pausing when they finish. “How’re you feeling now?”

“Better,” Eddie agrees, sighing. “I’m sorry, man, you really don’t have to come over.”

Steve scoffs. “Unlock the door, Eddie, I’ll be there in fifteen, alright?”

“M’kay,” Eddie murmurs.

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Steve ends the call, and Eddie blinks as he puts the phone back on the hook. He moves to unlock the door then sits on the couch. He doesn’t look at the TV, doesn’t look at the spot on the floor where Steve-

He flinches, a full-body shudder, when the door opens. “Eddie?” Steve asks, locking eyes with him. “Hey, man, everything okay?”

He’s alive. He’s breathing, he’s moving, he’s-

Eddie reaches out for him, face shuddering, and Steve’s quick to respond, crossing the room in three long steps and throwing himself onto the couch next to Eddie, pulling him into a hug, and Eddie can breathe again.

“Fuck,” he mutters into Steve’s neck.

“Bad one, huh?”

He holds Steve tighter. “Dreamed… code red. No one answered. You- you came.” He swallows. “I saw-” he shakes his head, buries his face into Steve’s neck. “I know what it looks like when someone dies,” he whispers.

Steve stiffens, then relaxes and pulls Eddie even closer. “I’m so sorry.”

“I keep- seeing, you-”

“Hey.” Steve grabs his neck, makes him look at his face. “I’m right here, okay? Im right here. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both here, and we’re both alive.” He grabs Eddie’s hand, puts it on his chest, over his heart. “Feel that? Feel my heartbeat?”

Eddie looks down at his hand. Feels the rising and falling of his chest from breathing. Feels the steady thump-thump of his heart. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“I’m right here,” Steve promises, also whispering.

Eddie lets out a shaky sigh and rests his forehead on Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

Steve rubs his back for a few minutes, then pulls back a little to ask, “Wanna try and go back to bed?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Okay. How about TV?”

“No.” His fingers clench, digging into Steve’s chest, and Steve’s hand comes up to cover his, to smooth it back out, to calm him down.

“That’s okay. How about we get something to drink?”

Eddie sighs, takes one deep breath, lets it out. “I’m a shit host,” he jokes. “You want somethin’?”

“I was thinking tea for you,” Steve replies, smile evident in his voice. “How about it? A nice cuppa?”

Eddie snorts and pulls away. “Alright then, mate,” he jokes, affecting a British accent, then back to his normal voice. “Long as you’ll join me.”

“Always,” Steve promises, and the monster growls.

Steve makes the tea. He won’t let Eddie help, but doesn’t oppose to him sitting on the counter and watching.

After they’re finished, Eddie dumps the mugs in the sink with a mental promise to get to them tomorrow. “Okay,” he says around a yawn, “your tea worked. I’m tired.”

Steve smiles. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Eddie agrees, pushing the monster in his chest down and taping its mouth shut. He only hesitates a little when he sees his bed, but climbs in anyways, holding the covers up for Steve.

They get settled, and before he knows it, Eddie’s drifting off.

He wakes up to sunlight on his face. He groans and rolls over, snorting and pushing back when he runs into Steve, who had already been awake. “Morning,” Steve offers.

Eddie plops his head back down and resolutely shuts his eyes.

“Or not,” Steve agrees, amused.

He’s about to speak, to wake up more, when Steve shifts and puts a hand in his hair.

He melts.

He thinks his brain might be melting out of his ears, all his thoughts leaking with it, because suddenly his head is blissfully blank.

He falls asleep again.

He wakes up as Steve settles back in bed next to him, glancing up with bleary eyes. He’s got a steaming mug in one hand, glancing down at Eddie with a smile. “Morning?”

Eddie hums out something that isn’t a word in any language. He blinks, long and slow, but he’s up. He tilts his head away from the pillow to speak. “Wha’s-” he squints at the mug. “Coffee?”

Steve smiles, grabs a second mug from the nightstand, hands it over. “Enough sugar to knock out the Duracell bunny,” he teases, and Eddie’s hard pressed not to blurt out a love confession right here and now.

Except… why not, he thinks. He promised Robin he would. And sure, it doesn’t have to be right this second, but… when else would he do it? He knows himself, he’d just chicken out.

He sits up, accepts the mug. Hums at the sweet taste. Gulps down half of it in the hopes of it waking him up faster.

Steve snorts. “You’re not gonna run out, Eds, there’s more in the pot and we can always make more.”

Eddie smiles sheepishly at Steve. “‘M tryin’a wake up faster.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “You don’t have to be up just because I am, dude.”

Eddie shakes his head, leans against the wall. Can’t look at Steve when he says, “No, I, uh. Actually wanted to talk to you?”

He can see, in his periphery, Steve turning to look at him. “About what?”

He works his lip, takes another sip. “About…” he sighs. “About what we’re doing. About how I don’t think we should.” He ducks his head. “I- I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s fine, I swear, I can get over myself. But I can’t if we keep doing this. ‘Cause I’m, like… stupidly gone on you, man. And I can’t- I can’t keep doing this.” He shuts his eyes. “I could, I could make myself, I could try to tune it out, I could- I could break my own heart. Which is exactly why I can’t.” He doesn’t know when his voice lowered into a whisper, but it did, and the last word comes out scared and breathy.

Steve takes a shaky breath. “You… like me?”

Eddie breathes in. Breathes out. Nods.

Steve swallows audibly, turns to face him. “How?”

He’s whispering, too, and Eddie looks up at him. Looks into honey-brown eyes, full of muted hope. “How do I like you?” Steve nods, and Eddie blows out a breath. “I like you… in the way I always want to make you laugh. In the way I want to always be there for you when you’re sad, or scared, or need help. In the way I want to know every piece of you so well I know how you’re feeling before you do. I want to make you dinner, and pull you close on the couch when we’re watching a movie, and wake up every morning to your face. I want to take you to Enzo’s and play footsie under the table with you until we’re both laughing way too hard and the waitress is staring at us because she just wants us to order. I want to scream it from the rooftops, even though I know I can’t. I want to hold your hand and run my fingers through your hair.”

“You want to keep me,” Steve whispers.

Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah. I want to keep you. I want you to be mine the way I’ve been yours.”

“I am yours,” Steve murmurs. “I want you to keep me.” He watches Eddie for a second. “You want to kiss me?”

Edie looks up at him. Slowly nods.

“Then do it,” Steve whispers in a hiss, and Eddie does.

And he does thoroughly.

“Mine,” he whispers against Steve’s lips.

Steve pulls back, takes his mug, puts it on the nightstand with his own. Turns back to Eddie, grabs his hand, lays his head on Eddie’s chest. “Yours,” he whispers, smiling when Eddie puts his other hand in his hair.

They don’t fall asleep. It’s a close thing, but they don’t have time before Steve has to get up for work.

He hesitates in the doorway. “Tonight,” he murmurs, then falls silent.

Eddie smiles at him. “Come over?”

Steve brightens, nods. The monster in Eddie’s chest purrs, satisfied.

[writefinch]

second puberty

You're a totally normal boy until one day at school you notice that your nipples just kinda itch.

It's weird and it keeps happening for like a week and you think you should tell your parents and maybe go to the doctor but school is busy and you've got a lot on your mind and one day in English class another student says "bro what's that on your shirt"

There's a tiny damp patch spreading through the navy blue fabric of your sweatshirt, right over your nipple, a pale bead welling up on the cotton. As you move you see a matching wet spot on the other side of your chest.

And the guy on the desk across suddenly shuts the fuck up because he knows what's happening to you and doesn't want to let the whole class know because that's just cruel and clumsy but he goes so quiet and looks so horrified that the people around you notice

Oh, you still try to hide it. A few students know, sure. You're being talked about, but it's just talk. You come to school in baggy clothes and tape sanitary pads over your nipples. You even wear a sports bra to flatten them down.

You collapse in gym class the next week. Mastitis. Blocked milk ducts. Swelling, redness, fever. A few more days and it would have gone septic.

Then you have to show the nurse. You're too weak to put the breast pumps on. The nurse acts like you're testing her patience. It feels more like a TSA patdown than a medical procedure.

Later, with your parents, a doctor gives you the rundown. Bovine anthropoidism. It's not a genetic disorder, though it sometimes runs in families. You're turning into a cowgirl. Its progress can be halted with a full orchiectomy, but no doctor in any decent insurance network will perform that operation on a healthy young man with no children.

Your parents are upset. Your mom is acting like it's her fault, and your dad is acting like it's your fault. They had to cancel their weekend plans to take you shopping for a breast pump.

You learn that the thick, dull haze over your mind wasn't feverishness. The mental fog is your body's signal to stop what you're doing and get milked. As soon as those ducts are full, trying to think about anything is like trying to do a math test with a stinking cold.

Your male puberty stops overnight. Those dozen wisps of hair on your chin, which you shave every five or six days, are the most you're getting. You didn't put on much muscle in high school, but you're going to lose what little you did. You're a lot hungrier all of a sudden, like you've always missed a meal. Your parents don't like that. You feel like you need an extra three hours of sleep each night. They don't like that either.

When the news gets out at school, the girls you know are mostly ok to you. The boys are weird and mean about it. Punching you in the chest to see if the rumors are true, mooing at you, making gross milkshake-slurping noises as they walk past you in the halls.

Your test scores drop a little from the stress and the distractions but it seems to have a serious knock-on effect where teachers just… don't take you seriously as a student any more. They all think cows are just dopey all the time.

They get really annoyed that you keep asking to be excused to get your breasts milked. They think it's a sign that you're distracted or just trying to avoid the lesson, openly telling you that you're distracting the whole class every time you slouch off to the nurses office.

Some boys spread a rumour that you did this to yourself deliberately. You ordered bovine hormones because you're a weird pervert. Another goes that you tried to convince another boy to start taking bovine hormones because you're gay and a creep

After that the boys bathrooms are basically unusable for you. Boys start taking their phones out and live streaming you like you're Chris Chan. One of your "friends" mentions to you, out of faithful devotion to your welfare, that you've got your own kiwifarms thread.

You delete your socials after that. The harrassment dies down and in the next school year you find that you can recover a small social circle, as long as you're careful. You even go to a couple of parties.

Your first kiss is an assault from a guy whose name you don't know, who puts a hand on your tit until he feels his palm get wet, and presses his lips to yours as you open your mouth in shock. You hadn't paid him much mind before that. You'd been stealing glances at the pretty girl he was striking out with, and he took you for easier prey.

He was right, you think.

Bovine puberty stops normal erections from happening. You only realise that you can still even get erections when another boy rests his hand on your lower back. It's really hard to figure out what your body wants. It's harder still to figure out what you want. You don't know what's your body and what's your brain and what's just you freaking out like a dumb teenager. You seem to have lost your fight response. It's all freeze or flight now whenever your hackles get up. Anger just turns to fear and timidity.

Really you're lucky. You're still probably going to college. Yeah you got harassed a lot and turned into a bit of a hermit but hey, more time to study. Your family obviously resent it and think you made a stupid mistake but they don't kick you out or anything. You aren't traumatized or anything like that.

School kinda sucks for a lot of people, you guess.

[lcverwrites]

the lovers ― aegon targaryen ... part two

THE LOVERS ― AEGON TARGARYEN ... (part two) (1.9k)

summary ...it has been said that aegon and his wife, the lady tyrell, were a match of political view, but it was suddenly apparent to anyone with eyes, that the two wandering souls were made of the same cloth, two lovers bound with fluttering butterflies and dazzling stars. pairing ... aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader (wife reader) warnings ... smut, this is pure smut, very little plot in this story, 18+ content ahead please be warned, afab reader, unprotected sex (p in v), soft smut, semi sub Aegon (as if he could be anything else), not totally dom reader but like soft dom reader note ... I'm obsessed with this pairing so much, you don't even wanna know. I have so much I wanna write for them, but I'm lacking in the words to actually get it written out. I also have been thinking about making this an actual series, like I've planned out a pinterest board for this couple, I'M OBSESSED.

<< previous part

⠀⠀⠀The red Keep had been engulfed in a warm silence, the waning moon rising just beyond the horizon, painting the castle in a cool milky glow. Few people milled around the castle at this time. A maid carrying a pile of fresh linens for the Princess, guards standing at the ready at the entrance of the hall, poised with silent strength and sharpened weapons, white cloaks glowing beneath the moon’s glittering presence. A coolness creeped into the barren corridors, the breeze carried on the back of the chimes of midnight, brushing upon warm cheeks, a lick of winter in the air.

But beyond the corridors, Aegon and wife painted a rather different picture.

The King’s Bedchamber was illuminated by the hearths flickering embers, bathing the room in Autumnal colours, splashes of warm orange and buttery yellow, breathing warmth into every corner of the room, edging out the cool night. The windows were left uncovered, allowing slips of moonlight into the room, wisps of frigid wind snaked their way into the room, but were pushed through the layers of linen and furs, whipping around the the gossamer like curtains that framed the windows, fabric dancing with the serenity that settled in the room.

Golden goblets sat strewn on the table, drips of crimson wine staining the rich wood, dripping below, painting the stone with the richly scented liquid. The spilled wine was followed by the finest of slips, weaved with rich silks, a pearlescent sheen to the fabric, underclothes belonging to someone of riches. It was intertwined with a piece of cotton, a fine material on its own, belonging to someone entirely different. It was mangled around a pair of leather breeches, ties haphazardly undone, holding on for dear life.

The trail of wine and clothing led to the spacious bed in the middle of the room. The bed is lofted by an ornate frame, wooden carvings swirled around the rich oak wood. Covered in freshly washed, soft looking linens, blankets of rich green and stark white were strewn across the bed, hanging off the edge, tittering with every movement.

Aegon and his wife, Lady Tyrell, were tangled in the thin linens.

She pressed her hands against Aegon’s chest, nails pressing into the smooth skin, leaving crescent indents in their wake.

Aegon panted beneath her, hands running over the expanse of her thighs, dipping into the curved skin of her hips, holding her body against his. Her back curved as her hips followed a fluid motion, back and forth, slow circles that drove Aegon to the point of insanity.

Aegon thrusted his hips up, meeting her halfway. The sudden movement called a whine from between her lips, airy and sultry.

“Aegon” She whined, the air taken right from her lungs, and the only word she could spill from her lips was her lover's name.

Aegon felt spurred on by her wanton sound, using her hips as leverage, pulling himself up. His chest pressed against her own, each breath she took, pressed her skin further against his own, as if wishing to become one.

Aegon craved her pleasure like no one else, coaxed it out with the subtle shove of his hips, hands moving from their rightful place on her hips, grasping her backside, hauling her body against his, as if there were any space between them for her to take. They were skin to skin, sweat clinging to their bodies, slickly sliding between them.

“That’s it, my love” Aegon pitfully groaned, pressing his reddened lips against her neck, lapping at the sweat slicked skin, mouthing at the already pinkish skin.

One of Aegon’s hands released her backside, travelling the length of her spine, feeling her warmed flesh beneath his fingers. He interlaced his fingers in the loose strands of her hair, pulling on the soft locks, tugging her head back, allowing Aegon more of her neck to lather in kisses, soft bites of flesh beneath his teeth.

Her skin was smooth beneath his lips, warmed by the thumping of her heart, blood rushing through her veins. Aegon’s teeth skimmed over the taunt skin, wishing he could bite through her flesh, tearing through muscle and bone alike, devouring her very being, to devour the devotion she bled for him.

He imagined it would be sweet, just as she always was, but tinged with a bitterness that bled from his own heart into her.

He wanted to devour her, mind, body and soul.

And he knew she would allow him.

Her devolution was a double edged sword, and Aegon loved running his fingers over the sharp edges, cutting himself open for her pleasure, bleeding his heart dry for insatiable hunger.

Aegon used his strength to flip them over, laying her against the soft linens, hair fanning out around her, plush lips parted in a silent gasp, enjoying the change of position.

Aegon thrusted his hips against her own, his cock pushing further into her cunt, her legs locking around Aegon’s narrow hips, locking him against her writhing body.

“Yes…Aegon my love, please” She pleaded with Aegon, though Aegon was sure she wasn’t sure what she was pleading for.

But Aegon would give her whatever she desired.

He would give her his heart if she asked for it, served to her on a silver platter for her delight, it was her already anyway, he wouldn’t miss it.

Aegon placed a hand on the pillow beneath her head, holding his body above hers, while the other was gripping the supple skin of her hips, kneading the flesh of her thigh wrapped around his hips, nails digging into the flesh, claiming her body as his own.

“I love hearing you” Aegon whispered into the space between their bodies, their shared air was wet and hot, coated in their arousal and passion.

“I…I love-” Her statement was cute off by a rather loud moan, her hands coming up to grasp at the base of his skill, threading through the silvery locks of Aegon’s hair.

Aegon whimpered at the tugging of his hair, feeling a flush bleed across his already reddened cheeks, ducking his head back into the skin of his neck, teeth latching onto the skin of her shoulder this time, biting down harshly. She responded in kind with another keening noise, nails digging into the nape of his neck, seeking purchase to keep herself grounded.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in Aegon’s ears, the soft squelching sound of her wet cunt welcoming his cock was like music to his ears.

“Please come for me” Aegon whimpered, pleading with his wife, wanting the sweet satisfaction of bringing her pleasure that no one could. “Please, my love”

Her back arched, pressing her chest against his own once more, her hardened nipples scraping against his hot flesh.

Her lips parted a string of half words and pleasured sounds fell past the soft pillows. Aegon continued to thrust his hips, picking up speed, feeling her cunt gripping his cock like a velvet vice, holding his pulsing member inside her as waves of pleasure ebbed and flowed through her body.

“Aegon” She whispered, using her grip on the back of his neck to haul his face from the depth of her neck, pressing her forehead against his own. “I’m gonna--”

“Please, please, please” Aegon whispered, his words overlapping, lips pouted and slick with his own spit. “I want it, give it to me”

She tried to utter another string of words, but the only sound that fell past her lips was a strangled moan, perhaps it had been Aegon’s name, he wasn’t sure, but the sound produced goosebumps to raise across his skin.

The squelching sounds in the room doubled as she came around Aegon’s cock, clenching around him, pulling him into her gushing cunt. Aegon followed her body’s demand, continuing to thrust his pulsing cock into her cunt.

“There you are” Aegon’s voice caressed her cheek, hot breath fanning out against her skin, the low treble of his voice had a shiver of delight running down her spine, quivering in Aegon’s hold.

Her legs were like jelly now, struggling against the force of her pleasure, muscles shivering around Aegon’s hips, but keeping their vice-like grip around his body, holding him close, unwilling to let him free.

Not that Aegon wanted to leave.

“How beautiful you look” Aegon continued to talk to her through her orgasm. “Coming around my cock, coming for your husband-- for your king”

Aegon placed a rather harsh thrust against her quivering sex, resounding in a loud moan from her lips.

“How beautiful you look” Aegon continued to talk to her through her orgasm. “Coming around my cock, coming for your husband-- for your king”

Aegon placed a rather harsh thrust against her quivering sex, resounding in a loud moan from her lips.

“I love you” She breathlessly said, finally gulping enough air, to find the words she wished to say.

Aegon’s hips continued their movement, thrusting in and out of her hot, wet cunt. Hips snapping against her own, an ache forming in his thighs from the strenuous action, but he craved more of her, he always craved more from her.

“My husband” She graced Aegon with a wet kiss against her cheek, his skin like molten beneath her lips. “My King” She followed a path from his cheek, down the long expanse of his neck, teeth gently grazing his skin as she spoke, hot air pulsing around his neck, setting his heartbeat a race.

She used the little strength she had to maneuver them once more, pressing Aegon down into the sweat soaked linens, silvery hair fanning around his head like a slice of moonlight caressed his skin, setting him aglow.

She moved her hips up and down, swivelling atop Aegon’s still throbbing cock, enticing him to his orgasmic bliss.

She bent down, arching her back, lips pursed right beneath his ear, hot breaths spilling over his skin, a jerky moan ruptured from his lips as her tongue licked at the tender skin beneath his ear.

“My lover” She finally finished her loving words, voice reaching the innermost part of his worn out heart, creaking open as if she had pried it apart with her delicate fingers weaving her love into his very blood, burning deep holes into his heart, making a home for her tender embrace.

Aegon’s teeth buried into his bottom lip, letting out a deep and gravelly groan, feeling himself become putty beneath her hands. Aegon’s hands, now firmly pressing into the crease of her hips, held her body to his, giving a half attempted thrust, before he felt himself exploding.

Hot jerks of come erupted from his cock, burying themselves into her welcoming cunt. A shallow groan fell from Aegon’s lips, hips slowly trying to bury himself further inside her.

“Thank you” Aegon found himself muttering, the words falling from his lips before he could think about them.

She pushed her head from his neck, cheeks inflamed with a dark hue, hair a tousled mess around her shoulders, spilling over her chest, tickling Aegon’s rapidly rising and falling chest. Her lips were parted with deep breaths and she ground her hips into Aegon’s keeping his cock within her.

He could see that glimmer in her eyes, the one she had solely for Aegon, the one that spoke the thousands of words Aegon could never find. The unspoken love between them, the devotion that spilled from their very pours, bleeding into each other. The love exchanged between passionate kisses and sweat tangled embraces.

“Whatever for, my love” She replied, in a way that made Aegon think she would never truly know what she did to him.

What she provided him with.

A love like the gods. To be protected beneath her caresses, to feel his skin beneath her palm, without knowing that his entire being belonged to her. To be graced with the heavenly touch of her lips, eliciting sounds only ever made for her ears to hear.

“For loving me” Aegon supplied the simplest of answers.